#i know some of you never stopped but still

[maskedbyghost]

You and Simon aren’t together. Never have been. Never talked about it, never even thought about it.

You just click. You always have. It started as a mission thing—paired up for some op because Price figured you worked well together, and then it just… stuck. You got each other in ways that didn’t need explaining. You liked the same things, moved the same way, anticipated each other’s actions before they happened. You didn’t have to tell him what you needed in the field, and he never had to ask you to cover him. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of thing that felt natural before you even noticed it happening.

And then it bled into everything else. Eating together. Training together. Sitting next to each other on long flights, in debriefs, in the rare downtime you got between missions. It was never planned, never discussed. Just a thing that happened, like muscle memory. If you were in a room, Simon was there too, and if he wasn’t, he was on his way.

The others noticed, of course. Soap especially. He was the loudest about it, but even Gaz had taken to shooting you both pointed looks when you showed up somewhere at the same time, or when you answered Simon’s half-formed thoughts like you knew what he was going to say before he said it.

Which, honestly, you usually did.

It all comes to a head one evening, the lot of you gathered in one of the common rooms, half-done with the day but not quite ready to call it a night. You and Simon are on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, idly watching something on the TV while Soap, sitting across from you both, groans into his hands.

“You two make me sick.”

You blink at him. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

“That’s the problem!” Soap gestures wildly. “You do everything together. You finish each other’s bloody sentences. You know what the other is thinking. And you’re just—what? Friends?” He scoffs. “Aye, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Simon leans back, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t think you’ve got the legs for a crown, mate.”

Gaz snorts. Price, watching from his spot near the door, only shakes his head like he’s seen this conversation play out a hundred times before. (He has.)

Soap ignores them, pointing a finger between you and Simon like he’s solving some grand mystery. “There’s only one thing you haven’t done,” he declares. “You just need to kiss. That’s it. Only thing missing.”

Silence.

You turn your head. Simon is already looking at you.

There’s nothing in his expression that gives anything away—no smirk, no challenge, no humor in his eyes. He’s just watching you, waiting. And then, with a tiny shrug, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s short, unhurried. Just a press of his lips against yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he pulls back, his eyes are still on you, searching.

You don’t react. Not outwardly, anyway. You can feel Soap’s disbelief burning into the side of your face, hear the noise he makes—the strangled mix between a gasp and an outraged protest—but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you look back at Simon, forcing yourself to stay still even as your heart does something stupid in your chest.

Because, sure, maybe this was just to mess with Soap. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was a joke.

But it didn’t feel like one.

Simon smirks and leans back, turning his attention back to the TV like nothing happened. “Happy now?”

Soap looks like he’s reconsidering every life decision that led him to this moment. “What the fuck?”

—

Later, when Simon walks you back to your room, he’s quieter than usual. His hands are in his pockets, his head tilted down slightly like he’s working through something in his mind.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t mean—well, didn’t want you to think it was—”

He stops, exhales sharply through his nose. “Just don’t want you to be mad.”

You glance at him. “I’m not mad.”

He nods, but his mouth pulls into something uncertain, like he doesn’t believe you. “Good. That’s—good.”

You reach your door and turn to face him fully. He’s still looking at you, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. And it’s funny, really, how the thought of kissing you in front of everyone hadn’t made him hesitate, but now? Now, he’s hesitating. Now, he’s thinking too hard about it. About you.

So before he can say anything else, you push up onto your toes and kiss him.

It’s quick, barely a breath between you before you pull back, but the impact is immediate. Simon’s lips part slightly, his brows drawing together like he can’t quite process what just happened.

You step back, hand on your door handle, and give him a small nod. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Then you slip inside, shutting the door behind you, leaving him standing there in the hallway, staring at the empty space where you just were.

And for once, Simon doesn’t have a single thing to say.

----------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @ghostslollipop @kylies-love-letter

[bi-writes]

deranged ex husband!ghost thoughts:

he lives up to his nickname. he's not ex husband price who simply Does Not Stop and shows up all the time to demonstrate to your new partners that he is fundamental anatomy to your life.

he haunts you. tampered amazon packages, a room slightly altered when you return from work, he's in your phone, he's in your inbox, he fixes things while you're away just as often as he breaks them.

is there someone in the other room? you bought a travel door lock and replaced every piece of home security tech with something new but you can swear you can hear a window shimmied open, a door lock whirring. you think you're losing your mind. who do you call when you think you're being stalked? when security is your greatest fear? your ex? his friends?

a wriggling and primal part of your mind warns you this is a bad idea. but you unblock his number, you text simon to see if he's still in the area. how are you doing? i know it's been a while, but i need a favor.

oh my goodness............................. (18+)

he says nothing as he does a walkthrough of your new divorcee flat. one bedroom in a nice-enough neighborhood, but you saw the twitch of his eye when he noticed the front lobby doors could be jimmyed open with the edge of a credit card.

the cat greets him like she always does. slender, grey thing that slithers between his thick legs as he moves through your space. you notice his gloved hands ghosting over divots in entryways that he made, flicking the useless lock of your window that he's already broken himself twice. you follow him like a puppy into every room he studies, rocking back and forth, wet eyes and trembling lips realizing as he moves just how unsafe you are.

he says nothing when he stands in your foyer again after doing his thorough once-over, turning to face you silently, where you're already crying. he just stands, not touching you, tilting his head to the side as he watches those glassy, salty tears fall down your puffed cheeks as you sputter through soft breaths that you don't know what to do.

ghost just kisses his teeth and stands there. he's an asshole—he's not going to do anything unless you ask him to. he's mean like that, likes to be wanted. he wants you to open your pretty, wet mouth and ask for it like a good girl. he's not going to assume you want his help; he wants you to put your hands on his thick chest and ask him all pathetic that you need him to do something about the thing that's been breaking into your house.

ghost is not your husband anymore though. when he was, he would've gladly fixed all your things for you. he would've gladly spent the entire day installing cameras, fixing your locks, getting you proper deadbolts, but he's just some man to you now, and his labor isn't for free.

he wants to feel nasty about it, but he can't. you don't even have to ask what he wants—you know what it is. you sniffle, blubbery and whiny, as you put your thumbs into the gusset of your sleep shorts and pull them to the side as you bend over the kitchen counter.

he keeps a big hand tangled in your hair as he fucks you. he yanks your neck back, bending you at the hip, an angle so sharp that your back arches uncomfortably as the edge of the counter digs into your tummy sharply. he barely makes a sound himself, but the slick between your bodies makes up for it.

slap, slap, slap—you're soaked between the thighs, all wound up and hot and breathless after watching ghost be so capable and confident and smart. he's so intelligent. he's so big and brawny and brave. you'd trade anything to feel safe again after living on your own after so long, and honestly, paying for fixed locks for a wet shag with your ex-husband isn't the worst price at all.

the problem between you two was never the sex, that's for sure. in fact, you think the connection alone kept you around longer than you meant to be. ghost would light a cigarette and stick a thick hand down his trousers, and you'd all but fall onto his dick just to placate the heat of attraction that always wound you like crazy.

your eyes roll back in your head when he cups your pussy with a big, hot hand. you grip the counter and grind against his palm, sticking your tongue out as he pounds into you deeper, more forcefully. he's close, you know it by the falter in his breaths, and you can't help yourself.

you just can't.

"inside—" you whine. "don't pull out—"

ghost laughs—why the fuck would he ever pull out?

maybe if he breaks a window next, you'll let him try for a baby.

[darkmatilda]

𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer never thought he’d be woken up in the middle of the night by a woman who didn’t even particularly like him, asking him to examine her breast. and yet, there he was.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, mention of the case they're working on, reader thinks she might be infected by something dangerous, reader is half-naked, chemical nonsense and a made-up disease, reader is described with slightly longer hair, but that's just for the sake of the plot lol—you can imagine her however you want.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3k

𝐚/𝐧: i know something else won the poll but i just couldnt stop myself from writing this. the next part will be one of your requests :3 (shoutout to @angellic4l for listening me ramble about this—btw i used some of her quotes here because shes my personal comedian)

"My weekend? Nothing special," Morgan began, leaning back against the hood of the car. His dark sunglasses had slid slightly down his nose, shielding him from the harsh sunlight beating down on the shopping mall parking lot where they stood. Or rather, where they waited.

"I promised Pen I’d drop by for the evening, but it kinda stretched out. Especially after she talked me into some wine..."

Spencer zoned out somewhere in the middle of that sentence, not even realizing when the words started slipping past his ears instead of through them. And he liked to think he was good at multitasking.

His gaze had been fixed for a while now on the police-secured entrance to the mall, where a woman in a protective suit was stepping outside, slowly peeling it off. The forensic team beside her started discussing something with her, but she barely acknowledged them, sliding the suit down to her ankles and stepping out—one foot, then the other. Underneath, she was wearing her usual formal attire.

Her lips moved as she replied, her face betraying nothing but focus. One hand reached up to push back strands of messy hair…

"…And then on Saturday, we got word from Hotch that he won a belly dance competition at the White House. So, obviously, we baked him cupcakes."

Morgan trailed off, waiting for a response. One of his eyebrows arched in that weird, expectant way.

Spencer realized, too late, that he hadn't been listening at all. Clearing his throat, he grabbed onto the last words still hanging in the air between them.

"Interesting. What kind of cupcakes?" he asked.

Morgan just shook his head, part disbelief, part something else Spencer couldn't quite read.

Reid frowned. 

"What? Something wrong?"

"Morgan. Reid."

Both of them turned their heads toward Hotch, who stood behind them with his usual seriousness—except today, it seemed even more intense. Not surprising, given the kind of case they were working on.

He must have been there for a while. For reasons unknown to Spencer, Derek’s eyes suddenly widened at the sight of their boss, like he was seeing him for the first time in his life.

Reid was starting to feel more and more disoriented.

"Want you to talk to the chemists and get their opinion. Especially in the context of previous incidents," he instructed them, one of his eyes drifting sideways toward his teammate’s face. The other man simply nodded, avoiding eye contact, his lips pursed slightly forward.

A phone rang. Hotch reached into his pocket.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping away. For a moment, however, he froze, something very odd flickering across his face. “Morgan. Just so you know, I'm currently cutting down on processed sugar, so cupcakes aren't the best idea. Just for future reference."

Derek squeezed his eyes shut for a second before nodding, muttering under his breath, I’ll keep that in mind. 

When their boss walked away, he fixed his gaze on Reid and shook his head.

"I hate you. I just want you to know that."

Spencer let his arms fall helplessly to his sides.

"I— I still have no idea what you're talking about. Did you tell Hotch about you and Garcia baking cupcakes? Did you offer him some? You know, you could have guessed he wouldn’t eat that kind of stuff while training for a marathon—"

"If you value your life, you better shut up already, okay?” 

"But—"

"You."

Their conversation was interrupted by the voice of a woman approaching them—the chemist Spencer had just watched removing her protective suit. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her stride as quick as ever, and her expression held nothing remotely positive.

Derek gave her a nod. "Why the gloomy face at the sight of two such handsome profilers?"

She scoffed with the purest form of mockery. All of it.

"Ouch…" Morgan hissed in fake pain, pressing a hand to his chest as if he'd actually been wounded.

Her gaze held a certain resignation. Spencer noted that her face had an odd look, as if some of its color had drained away.

"This gloomy face is the result of looking at a body so drenched in blood that I didn’t even realize the human body could hold that much," she replied dryly, sweeping her eyes from one of them to the other as if scolding them. Then, suddenly, her stare lingered on Morgan, and her expression hardened even further. "So forgive me if, after a sight like that, I’m not exactly radiating joy or giggling at the sight of you two handsome or not. Can we finally get to the point?"

Reid couldn’t suppress a small, petty spark of satisfaction at the look on his friend’s face. Probably the first time ever that he’d taken her side, and, to his surprise, her sharp remarks actually amused him. Turns out, when they weren’t aimed at him, he could appreciate how spot-on they were.

For a fraction of a second, the corners of his mouth even twitched upward—until he reminded himself that she was right, and they really should be getting back to the case.

"Actually, we were just about to talk to you," he said.

"Mm-hmm. Sure you were. Just standing here like two useless lampposts."

He changed his mind. He didn’t like her remarks after all.

To quickly sum up the case they were working on—they had been sent to another state where, over the past few weeks, four strange incidents had occurred. So far, they hadn't identified any connections between the victims, but each had suffered a mysterious attack.

More specifically, they had all experienced sudden, severe hemorrhaging from various orifices—gruesome and unexpected. It was different from their usual cases; the unsub hadn’t directly taken their lives, but they suspected some kind of foreign, unknown substance had been introduced into their bodies. How, exactly, was still a mystery.

The most recent attack had just taken place in a shopping mall. Given the nature of the crime, they were accompanied by their trusted team of chemists.

"What we've determined so far is, well," the woman began, her tone carrying a hint of irritation, "we're dealing with the same thing as in the previous victims."

Reid couldn’t help himself—he let out a short, amused scoff at the obvious conclusion.

"That was never in question," he said, shaking his head. "Anything more? Have you figured out what was administered? When, how?"

Her expression held a double dose of irritation—at him, obviously, and at the fact that her team hadn’t managed to figure out anything more.

"So far, we suspect that the method of transmission wasn’t through contact with a contaminated surface or accidental ingestion," she explained. "In other words, the most likely scenario is that it was introduced directly into the victim’s body. Did you see the other corpses? Any injection marks?"

Spencer exchanged a glance with Morgan, trying to recall. His friend slowly shook his head.

"We’re not sure," he admitted. "But a lot of their bodies were covered in a rash, which might’ve distracted us from spotting any puncture wounds."

The atmosphere between them shifted, thickening with realization. They were all arriving at the same unsettling conclusion.

"So, what—you think some mad scientist is cooking up potions at home and injecting random people? Just picking them out of a crowd and—"

"I don’t think so," Reid interrupted, thoughtful. "I actually wondered if the rash could be an early symptom. Which would mean the substance was in their system for a while before the hemorrhaging started—a buildup of symptoms leading to the final collapse."

"A fatal buildup of symptoms," the woman added, the memory of what she’d seen clearly flashing through her mind.

Morgan turned to Reid, his gaze sharpening. "So you’re saying the victims weren’t random? That there’s a connection?"

"Well, that’s what we need to find out."

To his surprise, the woman let out a quiet hum of agreement.

"You’d better," she said, though not in a way that suggested she was wishing them luck. "Because I never want to see something like that again. I’ll let you know if we find anything else."

With that, she gave a slight nod and walked off, heading back to her team.

Spencer watched her absently, his mind still running through everything they’d learned, trying to piece it all together. He was determined to solve this before another person ended up in the same horrific state.

That’s when he realized Morgan was staring at him.

"What now?" Spencer asked.

Morgan just shook his head, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

*

He was on the verge of falling asleep when someone knocked on the door.

And he knew he wasn’t imagining it—it wasn’t a hesitant, uncertain tapping but a determined pounding. Loud enough to jolt him out of bed. Spencer sat up, a flicker of unease creeping in.

The case they were working on required them to stay in a motel for a few days. It was small, dimly lit, but otherwise, he had no complaints. He assumed it had to be someone from his team—maybe Morgan, wanting to share some new findings, some breakthrough. Or maybe another incident had occurred?

That thought made him jump to his feet. Within seconds, the door swung open.

But it wasn’t Morgan standing there. It wasn’t anyone from his team.

"I need you to examine my breast," the woman said without so much as a blink, before he could even open his mouth to ask what she was doing there. "And not just that. But I figured I’d start with something that might keep you particularly motivated."

Her words might have sounded lighthearted—if not for her expression. Absolute seriousness, a clenched jaw, and something else in her eyes. Something he had never seen there before.

It took him a moment to recognize it.

It looked a lot like…fear.

"You need—you want me to…what?"

He knew he must have looked, to put it mildly, like a complete idiot—staring at her with wide eyes. The theory that he was dreaming suddenly seemed a lot more convincing.

Except…why would he be dreaming about something like this?

"You heard me," she replied shortly before simply letting herself into his room. She slipped through the partially open door so closely that her hip brushed against him by accident.

Spencer remained frozen for a few more seconds before finally snapping out of his daze. He shut the door and turned to face her.

That was when he noticed—she was wearing nothing but a satin robe. Definitely not something provided by the motel, which meant she must have brought it from home. She stopped just where her back blocked the light source in his small room—the standing lamp casting a dim, yellow glow that settled gently along the edges of her figure.

He watched as she took a breath.

"I was just about to take a shower," she began. Spencer could tell she was trying to maintain a calm and measured tone, which resulted in her speaking very slowly, emphasizing each syllable. "When I noticed…I think I might have been infected with whatever those victims had. During the examination, maybe my suit was compromised—I don’t know. I just…you need to look at it and tell me."

As Spencer looked at her—the quiet desperation woven between her words—he was reminded of how she had acted earlier in the parking lot outside the shopping center. Almost masterfully concealed, but still faintly present, was the lingering shakiness from seeing a victim in such a state. Unlike him, this wasn’t something she encountered every day.

And now, that same fear was written all over her. The terror that the same thing might be happening to her.

He felt something twist in his stomach, but he quickly shook his head. He had to be the rational one here, not let panic take over.

"But…you were the one who said it likely wasn’t transmitted through physical contact. That it was introduced directly into the victim’s body by the unsub. So how would you have gotten infected?"

"That was just our assumption. A theory. For all we know, we could be completely wrong, and this thing is highly contagious, and I’m about to collapse onto this…disgusting carpet and start bleeding out from my eyes, ears, and mouth right in front of your bed!" she snapped through clenched teeth.

She took another deep breath, this one just as shaky.

"So, please, just check. Tell me if my suspicions are correct, because if they are, maybe we still have time to—"

"Okay, just—calm down," Spencer attempted, stepping toward her.

"Oh, do not tell me to calm down. I will calm down when you check."

He stared at her for a moment, neither of them moving.

"Please," she added, her voice quieter now, tight with strain. "Seriously, what’s the harm? You might not like me, but I doubt you’d wish me dead."

Spencer pressed his fingers briefly to the space between his brows, shaking his head slightly.

"I’ll do it," he finally confirmed. He had to swallow before speaking again. "Jesus. Of course, I’ll do it. You didn’t have to guilt-trip me so hard."

Her chest rose and fell in what looked like relief, and despite the circumstances, he thought he caught the faintest shadow of a smile at his words. He found himself holding his gaze there, just for a second—before forcing himself to look away, silently telling himself to focus.

"Maybe…maybe you should step closer to the light," he suggested.

He forced himself to take a step closer—to her and to the lamp. She followed his instruction slowly, turning her back to him. From the movement of her hands, it was easy to guess she was reaching for the tie of her robe.

"Most of it is on my back," she explained, sliding the fabric down to her waist, exposing the bare skin of her back.

The motel lighting was far from ideal, and Spencer had no choice but to step in even closer. In fact, he had to stand right behind her, lower his head to focus on the small marks on her skin, partially hidden by her hair. He hesitated before moving his hand. Slowly—making an effort to steady his breathing so she wouldn’t hear how close he was—he slid his fingers under her hair, carefully sweeping it to one side.

She didn’t tremble, but her shoulders lifted and fell in an uneven rhythm, signaling a shift in her breathing.

He knew it was tied to fear and uncertainty, and he didn’t want to leave her trapped in that state any longer than necessary. At the same time, he couldn’t say with certainty whether the small bumps on her skin were the same ones they had found on the previous victims.

Swallowing hard, he leaned in even closer before pulling back slightly to get a wider perspective, comparing the shape, color, and pattern of the marks in his mind. The woman glanced at him over her shoulder. Noticing that he had drawn back a little, she must have assumed he was finished, because she turned to face him. Completely. Still without pulling the robe back over herself.

"There’s a bit here too. It’s the same thing, really, but it’s better if you check everything," she said.

Spencer’s gaze lowered—slowly—from her face, from her lips forming the words, down along the length of her body.

He really hoped his face wasn’t betraying him, that it showed nothing beyond pure, clinical focus. Especially since she hadn’t taken her eyes off him for even a second, searching his expression for the answer she so desperately wanted.

But he still wasn’t sure.

Something flickered in his mind—a thought, a doubt.

The problem was that forcing himself to speak felt almost impossibly difficult.

"May I?" he asked hesitantly, raising his hand slightly but keeping it suspended in place, waiting for permission.

"Well, if it’s necessary, doctor," she murmured, a husky note in her voice.

Spencer took a breath, trying to clear his mind, and slowly placed his fingers against the marks at the center of her chest, where they seemed to intensify toward the right side. He moved carefully, lightly, feeling the texture against her skin, tracing them with deliberate slowness. The moment the answer registered in his mind, he stopped abruptly and pulled his hand back, letting it fall to his side.

The woman's eyes widened in anticipation of his response.

"It's not the same," he blurted out, his voice sinking into a wave of relief that caught him off guard.

She raised an eyebrow at the certainty in his tone.

"Are you lying just to get rid of me?"

"What? No, look…or rather…okay, you don’t have a point of reference, but trust me. The rash on the victims’ bodies was different from this. Sure, the placement and distribution are similar, but theirs had raised bumps, while yours are flatter, almost embedded in the skin. Do you get what I mean?" he explained hastily.

It didn’t help that she still hadn’t pulled her robe back on, as if waiting for him to change his mind.

"Also, the color is slightly different, which I can tell even with this terrible lighting. You’re not infected."

She kept glancing at him with a certain skepticism. Slowly, unfazed, she slid both arms fully into the sleeves of her robe, covering her back. But before tying it, she focused on pulling her hair out from under the fabric.

"Then what is it?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

He had expected her to be happier when he told her she wasn’t about to bleed out from some mysterious substance in her system. Spencer shrugged.

"A regular rash, an allergic reaction—I have no idea," he admitted honestly. "Maybe it’s the motel water, the towel, the sheets…anything you’ve come into contact with," he suggested, watching as her lips pursed slightly. That reaction made him think he had probably hit the mark.

And now that the tension between them had eased—no looming threat of her imminent death and, perhaps less critically but still relevant, she was no longer standing half-naked in front of him—he allowed himself a small, amused scoff.

"Maybe your luxury skin just doesn’t get along with cheap motel bedding."

Her lips parted slightly, and for the first time in their entire acquaintance, she was the one at a loss for words. When she briefly dropped her gaze, he sensed…embarrassment?

Somehow, the thought that she might actually be flustered—because of him, no less—felt more abstract than the fact that she had just undressed in front of him.

"I should’ve known that," she muttered to herself. "It’s not transmitted through contact. My team already ruled that out."

So all of her embarrassment stemmed purely from the fact that she had second-guessed her own intelligence and judgment—not from the fact that she had barged into the motel room of someone who wasn’t even really a friend and asked him to examine her breast.

Spencer exhaled briefly, a flicker of disbelief passing through him as he processed that realization. But he didn’t comment. Because, honestly, had he expected anything different? This was her, after all.

Realizing it was all over, she turned on her heel and headed for the door with her usual brisk stride. One moment, she was in front of him; the next, she was already at the exit, pulling it open. He half-expected her to walk out without a word, slamming the door behind her in frustration at herself.

But at the last second, she turned her head toward him. First, she pressed her lips together—then a small smirk formed.

"Thanks, doc," she quipped. "That was a truly professional breast exam."

Spencer simply closed his eyes for a second, wondering if this was the moment he should officially add her to his list of the most unserious people he knew.

"You’re welcome. Seriously—tried my best."

yes, this was inspired by an x-files episode xoxo

[bucketbueckers]

TIMELESS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: slight language, fluff w maybe a little angst (im beginning to realize the "angst" is probably just plot) but it's literally not that deep at all (this is a bucketbueckers fanfiction we all know there's a happy ending), AU, soulmates, author won't pretend to understand history, potential misuse of period-typical slang, historical inaccuracies (ask me if i care [spoiler: i dont!]), abuse of punctuation, light violence, poorly proofread

wc: 15.5k

synopsis: Even in a different life, you still would have been hers. OR – two (of the many) lives you've lived with Paige Bueckers, and the one you're living with her now.

notes: im not rly much of an au author but i figured i needed a lil bit of something different after FOTS beat my ass. i've been toying w this idea for a while now 😋 this fic is probably better in theory but i had sm fun writing it (and thinking about pilot!paige and knight!paige kinda drives me crazy) idk not too much yapping from me today but as always i hope y'all enjoy &&& happy munch madness, lets have some good vibes going into game day tmr 🫶

2025

It’s a warm, breezy Tuesday in Connecticut, one of your rare off days, and this is quite possibly the last place you’d expect yourself to be.

Standing before you is an old antique shop. It’s a block away from the apartment you share with your girlfriend, Paige Bueckers, and you pass it every day on your morning jog. It’s rustic, worn at the edges, but there’s something softer about its unassuming visage today. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re out a little later than usual – Paige had an afternoon practice compared to her typical morning ones, so the two of you had lounged in bed for a little longer, soaking in the time together.

Whatever the reason, there was something in the air that compelled you to stop by. So you do.

The sign that hangs over the door is rusted, hanging loosely from one tarnished chain, its words unrecognizable from how time has eroded it. A bell chimes happily as you push the door open. Immediately, you’re hit with the scent of aged paper, ink, and something else that is distinctly vintage. The walls are lined with various art pieces, antique furniture tucked neatly into the crevices of the shop with tan price tags attached. You’re wrought with a familiar sense of nostalgia; there’s something so incredibly touching about the fact that everything in this store had belonged to somebody once, had been something of value, something to take care of. Everything is still in perfect condition. It’s beautiful to know that after someone is long gone, there is still someone out there who will cherish their belongings and take care of them the same way they had.

You gaze around the shop, taking everything in, your steps slow and methodical. You were never a patient shopper, always seeking to get in and get out, but it feels as though the shop is trying to tell you something – trying to show you something. You wander, studying the art, the intricate carvings on aged furniture, until you make your way to the check-out counter. The clerk is absent, although there’s a cardboard box full of old pictures – a black and white photo of a bride, toddlers playing soccer, an elderly couple on a porch swing.

There’s something achingly familiar about them. It makes your heart swell, makes you wrack your brain to discern where you’ve seen these photos before. You sift through the rest, lingering on a few; there’s one of a couple laughing on the porch of what you assume to be their first house, a photo of two people embracing – one is wearing an aged military uniform, which makes your face soften, and the third is two teenagers holding hands, dressed fashionably. That one makes you smile as you take in the lovestruck expression on their faces.

Still, there’s something about the photos that give you pause. You pull out your phone, navigating to FaceTime, and you call the one number you know will pick up no matter what.

The line clicks through and Paige’s face fills your screen. She’s slightly out of breath, her face flushed from the exertion of practice, hair messy and sweat beading at her temples. Despite that, she grins, a sort of smile that’s reserved only for you. “Hey, baby,” she greets, her voice soft, which brings a smile to your face as well. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” you say back. “Sorry, I know you’re at practice–”

“We finished early, but I always got time for you,” she promises. “You know that.”

Your smile widens. “Well, I was on my jog, but you know that antique shop in town?” Paige hums in affirmation. “Something told me to go in, so I did. Look at some of these photos I found.” You flip the FaceTime camera, positioning your phone over your collection of photos. Paige leans in a little closer to see, her brows drawing together in concentration.

“They feel…really familiar,” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “Like I feel like I’ve seen them somewhere.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you exclaim. “It’s so weird. It’s like I know these people.”

“Wait, go back to that one,” Paige requests. “The black and white one, military uniform.” Doing as instructed, you pull that one to the forefront of the stack, gazing at them expectantly. That’s when you truly take a closer look, recognizing the expressions on the couple’s faces, their facial features. Your breath hitches just as Paige says, “Why do they kinda look like–”

“Us,” you finish.

“Yeah,” Paige murmurs, a little awestruck. “I can’t explain it but like – I can feel it.”

You flip the photo around, your eyes catching on the date on the back, and the subsequent memory hits you like a truck.

1944

It’s a sweltering afternoon in May when your life changes.

Well, changes for the second time since 1941.

Three years ago, the United States declared war on Germany and the adjoining Axis powers following the attack on Pearl Harbor. It was a dramatic shift for the entire country, one that displaced just about every facet of life. Men were drafted, heading overseas to fight, leaving holes in the workforce. Although the reality was bleak and dire, you saw this as an opportunity – for independence, for some shred of equality, for freedom. With plenty of job openings as workers were joining the war effort, you landed a job at a shipyard along the coast.

It wasn’t easy. Far from it, actually. You worked long, uncomfortable hours, hardly fitting in time for a break. You, along with several other women, worked on building, repairing, and maintaining the ships that would be used to transport supplies or men overseas. For you, it was enough – the daily routine, the knowledge that you were contributing to something greater than yourself, that your efforts were making a difference. It was worth it.

You get off your shift sometime in the afternoon. You’ve been up since the early hours of the morning; now, you’re half-asleep, only going through the motions and letting pure muscle memory guide you down the busy streets. Something big is happening soon – you can feel it. You’ve noticed drastically more uniformed men on the streets, whispers of another draft; at this point, your suspicion is a matter of when and not if.

Barely aware of what’s in front of you, you turn the corner, colliding roughly with the person in front of you. They hardly move although you bounce backwards, knocked off balance by both your exhaustion and the fact that you’re so much smaller than the other person. You’re already bracing yourself to eat concrete, eyes shut tightly, when you realize you’re not toppling over; instead, there’s a pair of firm hands holding you by the arms, keeping you upright.

“You alright?”

Her voice is concerned, if a little gravelly, rough around the edges in a way that captures your attention immediately. You open your eyes, your breath hitching, because you’re sure this is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. The street is busy — everyone lost in their own little worlds moves right by you, but at this moment? It feels like time stops, like nothing exists except for you and the blonde woman before you. 

Her hair is pulled up in a tight, slick-back bun, the edges pressed and the golden waves reflecting in the early May sun. Her eyes are a deep blue, almost startling so, but there’s an evident kindness that softens the intensity. Her jaw is sharp, angular, her nose sloping elegantly despite the chisel, but what truly captures your attention is her stature — she’s the tallest woman you’ve ever seen, no less than six foot, and her broad shoulders fill out her khaki uniform service shirt. There’s an emblem pinned over her left breast, wing shaped in the aviator insignia. You’ve been staring for far too long already and the pilot is smiling like she’s caught you. Despite yourself, you feel the heat rise in your cheeks.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, your voice even, which makes the expression on her face soften. 

“The flyboys would never let me live it down if I ran you over,” she says coyly, her hands lingering just a second longer on your arms before she finally steadies you. Her touch makes you flustered. “Hurtin’ a girl like you is cause for a national emergency.”

You laugh, a tinkling, carefree sound that betrays the way your heart pounds — in a good way. “You think you’re slick, don’t you?”

With gentle hands, she pulls you under the awning of the storefront you’re standing next to — an antiquities shop, according to the sign, keeping you out of the way of the bustling crowd as she murmurs, “I call it like I see it.”

With a teasing smile, you glance up at her, enjoying the way she looms over you far too much. It’s not intimidating, her stature, but it does make you feel warm all over. She’s long, toned, and you can see the muscle hidden behind her uniform. Her khaki button up is tucked neatly into the waistband of her sage green trousers, the top missing a few clasped buttons to reveal the dog tags hanging from her neck. She looks so put together, handsome and beautiful all in one, and maybe it’s the solemnity of the world around you, but this moment in time feels so peaceful, so right. “Do you, now?” you ask. “And what exactly are you seeing, flygirl?”

The nickname makes her preen, flashing her teeth in a smile that could surely ruin you. “Well,” she begins, her eyes scanning your figure in a way that looks as though she’s in a gallery staring at art, and not actually standing in the middle of a crowded street and staring at a woman who has just gotten off a twelve hour shift, covered in motor oil. Her gaze doesn’t make you feel objectified – far from it, but you’re beginning to think that you enjoy her attention. “I see this pretty girl – gorgeous is more like it, but I ain’t never been good with words. Just actions.” Her lips quirk slightly, reaching out with her thumb to wipe away a smudge of grease off of your cheekbone. Your face flushes, which only makes her features brighten like the clouds parting for the sun. “I see honesty. Ambition.”

“You can tell that much about me just from one look?” you say, a little amused.

“I’d tell you a hell of a lot more if it meant seein’ you again,” she confesses.

You scan her features, not quite sure what you’re searching for – deception, maybe, but you don’t see it. All you see is genuinity, a certain brand of hope that you haven’t seen in anyone’s expression in the last few years. You don’t know anything about her other than the fact that she’s a pilot, an aviator, but a slow smile spreads across your face the more you consider her request.

In times like these, you need all the joy you can get, no matter how short it is. So you teasingly lean in, relishing in the way her body eclipses yours as she melts into you, but you stop her with a hand to the chest. You know she could easily push past it, but you appreciate the way her body goes rigid, like she’s letting you make the call. Her brow raises – a challenge, maybe? – but despite herself, her smile grows, too.

“I’m not that easy,” you whisper to her, satisfied when her breath hitches. You press against her gently and she leans back, acquiescing. “You’re gonna have to work for it if you wanna see me so bad.”

“I can do that,” she promises, nodding emphatically, which makes you laugh quietly – she’d seemed so confident, so composed; now, she just seems eager to impress, to listen to every word you say.

Content, you take a step back, flashing one last smile. “See you soon, flygirl,” you say, enjoying the smitten look on her face, until –

“I never got your name, yardbird!” Her voice carries over the thrum of the crowd.

When you pause, glancing back at her, she seems amused, if not a little hopeful to hear you answer. But again – you’re not that easy. “Find me again and I’ll tell you,” you call back, your promise reaching her ears. You watch as her smile grows; even from afar, you can make out the determination in her eyes, the clear message of challenge accepted.

You’re not surprised to see her again.

If anything, you were almost expecting it. Her eyes had held a promise, the vow that she’d rise to the challenge. She didn’t become a pilot by being unambitious – you were sure that it was the complete opposite of that, having to work twice as hard as her flyboy companions. Any surprise you hold is because of how soon you see her.

It’s the next day and you’re walking home from the shipyard again, taking that same path you’ve taken hundreds of times across the years. You’re guided by muscle memory, weaving around the slow walkers and finding natural gaps in the crowd. When you turn the corner, the pilot is standing under the awning of the antiquities shop again, her hair pinned up in the same, sleek bun, her uniform crisp and pressed. She’s glancing at her wristwatch and as soon as you round the corner, stepping onto the street, she looks up and meets your eyes immediately. A smug smile graces her features.

“Found you,” she calls out, pushing herself off of the wall with a boot to the brick. You roll your eyes, amused, and you meet her in the middle by the doorway.

“You memorizing my schedule?” you ask her.

She shrugs a coy shoulder. “I’m committed,” she declares. “Said you weren’t gonna make it easy for me, right?”

“So she does listen,” you muse.

“Every word.” You smile at her, and it’s then that you realize she’s hiding her hands behind her back. Recognizing your curiosity, she reveals her hands, her smile softening – she’s holding a singular red rose, a rich, dark red in color, and you shouldn’t be surprised, but you are. “Think this is enough to finally earn your name, yardbird?”

You hum, tapping your chin dramatically, which draws a laugh from the aviator. Conceding, you take the rose from outstretched hands, much to her relief. You introduce yourself, listening as she tests the pronunciation on her tongue, smiling at how nice it sounds rolling off her tongue. Then, she sticks out her hand for you to shake as she states, “Paige Bueckers, airforce service pilot.”

She walks you home after that, her hand gentle yet protective over the small of your back. Your conversation is full of laughter, teasing, and Paige flirting with you unashamedly; you like it more than you would ever admit to her, although you’re certain she knows. Despite the fact that this is only your second conversation, there’s something about Paige that gives her the uncanny ability to understand you – it’s like a connection that goes deeper than your accidental run in from yesterday, like she was born to know you and you were born to know her. It’s like you’ve known Paige Bueckers your entire life. It’s a new feeling, but certainly not an unwelcome one.

This quickly becomes your routine. You wake up early, spend your morning and the better part of the afternoon at the shipyard, then Paige walks you home. Getting to know her comes as easy as breathing and being with her is almost enough to make you forget about the chaos in the world. It’s like Paige is your perfect complement. She came into your life in the most unexpected way possible, but the more time you spend with her, the more nights you invite her over for dinner, the more you realize that you truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some nights she stays over. Paige blends so seamlessly into your routine that you wonder how you were ever complete without her at your side constantly. In the mornings, she’ll brew your coffee – how she figured out exactly how you took it, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t complaining, make your breakfast, massage your hands (because they were always sore and calloused from working on the ships all day), and walk you to the shipyard every day. At some point in time, she graduated from having a hand on your back to tangling your fingers together, which is something you truly relished in.

Over the month, the two of you get closer. Sometimes you stay at her house, waking up early enough to iron her uniform just to make her day a little easier. Paige tells you that you don’t have to go out of your way to do that for her, but secretly, you like it when she’s still in the grips of sleep and she gets out of bed to wrap her arms around you, resting her chin on your shoulder and watching you smooth out every wrinkle from her shirt. She’s warm, and soft, and dare you say it, she’s yours, even though neither of you have truly discussed it yet. It’s not traditional – in fact, nothing about the two of you is traditional; until recently, it wasn’t normal for women to work, let alone fly airplanes, let alone be in relationships together, but it works because it’s you and Paige. It works because although you’ll never have the vocabulary to describe it, you know this isn’t the first time you’ve met Paige. This isn’t the first time you’ve shared sleepy mornings together. It’s not even the first time you’ve loved her. Whether you truly realized it or not, you and Paige were a story centuries in the making, spanning across several years, decades, lifetimes.

But in a world like this, not everything can be perfect. Your suspicions were right from the very beginning.

“I have to leave,” Paige whispers to you on one quiet, sunny afternoon. It’s June 1st, barely fourteen hours into the day when Paige breaks the news. You’d been working since dawn. When Paige picked you up from the shipyard, she’d been noticeably dim, not nearly as lively on the walk back. You pressed, but she was silent, so you’d hoped that she was just tired from training; then, she’d suggested the two of you go to her backyard to lay in the sun. You curled up next to her, your chin on her chest, smiling as she pointed out the different shapes in the clouds (“That one’s definitely a boat,” you’d said, finger directed at a blob in the sky, to which Paige had responded with, “Y’think so, yardbird?”)

You knew Paige was an aviator. An aircraft service pilot, to be exact. You knew that eventually, she would be called in to fulfill a duty. You just never thought it would come so soon.

“When?” you murmur, willing your voice not to crack. Your hand was resting over her stomach – you can feel how her breathing comes to her quicker, hear the way her heart pounds in her chest. She wants to leave just as much as you want her to, but she knows she’s bound by obligation.

“Tomorrow morning,” she responds. Your heart aches and she can only tighten her arm around your shoulders, her chin pressing into your temple. “I’m flyin’ out to England – all of the Allies will be there. We’ll get debriefed, then… I’m flying twenty men into Normandy to invade Europe. After that, I’ll be transporting supplies and cargo between our bases and the frontlines.”

“Paige,” you try, but the lump in your throat cuts you off.

“Don’t worry about me,” she says, trying for a lighthearted tone, but you can hear that it’s weighing on her just as much as it’s weighing on you. “I’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t make me a promise you can’t keep,” you beg, which makes Paige deflate, unable to continue being strong. “There’s no guarantees–”

“I know–”

“And don’t be reckless, you hear–”

“Yardbird,” Paige stresses, her voice cracking on the syllables of her nickname for you; despite the anguish on her face, there’s a calm acceptance, a sort of determination that looks like a promise to return. She squeezes your shoulder, directing your attention to her face. Tears are pooling on her waterline and if there’s one thing that’s always true about Paige Bueckers, it’s that irritating, unmistakable confidence of hers; you can see it reflected in her eyes. She believes that she’s coming home after this mission. You know better than to get your hopes up. “I promise you–”

“Don’t–”

She interrupts you with a stern look, desperation clouding her features now. She needs you to hear this. “I promise I’ll come home to you,” she vows. Paige’s voice softens to a whisper, her eyes searching yours to make sure you’re listening. “I don’t care what it takes. As soon as my mission is complete, I’ll be flying the first plane out of Europe. You and me?” Paige trails off, squeezing your hand like it’s a lifeline. “We aren’t done here. I still have to make you mine.” You murmur her name, but she shakes her head, needing to finish her thought. “I still have to introduce you to my family – to Drew. There’s so much more we have to do together – that we are going to do together. Okay?”

You gaze at her for a few achingly long moments, trying to memorize the blue of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the way her hair is disheveled because she’s usually so put together and that thought alone makes fresh tears spring to your eyes. Before they can fall, she leans up, pressing her thumbs to your cheeks and her forehead to yours. “I’ll write you letters,” she promises. “Everyday.”

You breathe in deep, trying to remember her scent. You know that you still have the rest of the day with Paige, but it feels like she’s already overseas. Gathering yourself, you nod against her, trying to commit the way her skin feels on yours to memory. “Okay,” you repeat, giving in. Her fingers brush across your skin, tilting your head up to meet her eyes. She’s scanning your features for any hint of a falsehood, but the only thing she sees is a quiet acceptance, the kind that comes when you know you can’t argue anymore or stop something from happening.

She offers you a gentle, wobbly smile, and it does lift your spirits some. If Paige can believe so ardently in something, then so can you. “I’ll be okay,” she says again.

“I know,” you confess, because deep down, you really do think she’ll come back to you. From the very first moment you crossed paths, you learned that Paige was not one to back down. Now, when her choices are coming home to you or not coming home at all, her decision is simple.

Nothing changes when she leaves. You work your shifts, mind obviously elsewhere, but with what you know about her deployment, you know that you can’t dwell on it too much. You have a heftier workload now, maintaining and fixing the ships, so you get lost in the routine.

The bright spot of your week is the first letter comes a few days after she leaves. Somehow, the worn paper smells like her, and you smile at the sign of her looping scrawl, the borderline chicken scratch handwriting. It makes you think of all of the times she’d leave you notes across your house, reminding you that you’re beautiful and that she’s thinking of you. The memory makes your chest ache, so you push it to the back of your mind.

June 3, 1944

To my yardbird,

I just landed in England. It’s very busy here. It’s beautiful, too, and I think you’d like it. I can see us walking down the cobblestone streets together, maybe sometime in the future when the vendors and stalls are in business again. I would probably say something annoying and you’d shake your head, amused and trying to hide your smile, but I would know.

How are you doing? How is the shipyard? The hibiscuses we planted in May? I want to hear everything.

When I sat down to write this, I thought the words would come easy to me. I spent my entire flight thinking of what I would say to you, what I would ask. I thought it would be easy to tell you how desperately I want you and how I count down the hours until I get to see you again. Maybe God’s honest truth is that these aren’t understandings that can be summarized in one single letter – or truths that can’t be summarized at all.

Do you ever think about how you can look up and see the same sky as me, the same stars? I’ve spent a lot of time in the air. I know the clouds like the back of my hand, the way they move, the way the wind currents will guide me home. I know more about the sky than I know of the earth. In my profession, it’s hard to stay grounded – literally and figuratively, but my time with you has reminded me that there is an importance in returning to the soil, spreading my roots, seeking out a future I previously thought I couldn’t afford. You’ve given me hope, a dream, a love.

On my flight to England, I looked to the west and I saw a star. It shone brighter than the rest, glimmering and sparkling despite the fading night. As I’m writing this, I’m staring at the very same star. It makes me feel as though we aren’t so far apart right now, that you could look up and see what I’m seeing. You and I, we’re still connected, two ends of a red string coated in something cosmic and everlasting. When I look to the sky, it’s like I’m looking at you.

I will be home soon. That is my one promise to you. Until then, I hope you’ll look to the sky and look for me, too.

Yours,

–P

You draft your response immediately and send it off with the mail carrier before evening. You don’t know when it will get to her or if she’ll have much time to write back, but before you go to bed that night, you step outside and direct your attention to the western sky. You spot the star she was referring to almost immediately, the way it twinkles against a dark canvas; despite the ache in your heart, looking at it makes you feel a little less alone.

June 7, 1944

To my flygirl,

You make England sound so peaceful. I’m sure it is made all the more beautiful a country by you being in it. I would love to visit with you, when the world is all right and it’s a warm, summer day. Even if we just explore the cities, you have a way of making each moment feel more significant. You turn the mundane into a memory. Wherever you go, you leave a trail of magic behind you, and I am endlessly blessed that God has put me on this earth with you if only so I could follow it.

I’m holding up. The days are long and the nights are short and I miss you more and more each day you’re gone. According to the radios, you flew into Normandy yesterday and the invasion began. I hope you stay safe. The shipyard is busy – we are sending out more and more ships everyday for cargo and for men. Even more come back for repairs. I rarely get a break as of late, although I know my job is an important one. The hibiscuses are healthy, but they bloomed a little brighter when you were here to care for them. I don’t know how you do it. It is as though these things know you – they know you’re gentle, and kind, and that you have this nourishing, uplifting factor about you. They know of your love as well as I do, of what it is like to be without it.

I find myself writing and then pausing. I have so many things I would like to say to you but this paper can only hold so many of my thoughts. I agree that one letter is not enough to express myself fully. However, I know not to worry. You are thoughtful in ways most people never think to be and you have always been talented in understanding me before I’ve been able to understand myself. There are many things you know but I do like saying them. I miss you – isn’t it funny how we always come back to this? I miss you in a way that makes my chest ache. I miss having you in bed next to me and I miss the way you sing in the mornings. I miss you because you are everything I didn’t know I needed and more than I ever thought I deserved.

Remembering that you are under the same sky as me makes me feel a little less alone. Remembering that you see the same stars, the same moon, the same sun reassures me you aren’t so far away. Remembering that you feel the same love reminds me that you’ll be home soon.

With love,

Your yardbird

Over the course of the next several weeks, you continue to work. You continue to gaze at the sky before bed, imagining Paige doing the same before she goes to sleep. You write to her and you read the letters she sends you. They always start the same – an affectionate “To my yardbird” that never fails to bring a smile to your face. She tells you about her days, never once mentioning the toils of the war, only the beauty of the nature around her in spite of the damages around it. She tells you about the other women airforce service pilots – the WASPs – in her platoon and their ineffable courage. Paige tells you about the ones vying to return home to their families, too, and their unshakable determination to make it home.

You reread all of her letters when the sun goes down. Each and every one of them, starting with the one dated from June 3 to her most recent one. At this point, you have all of her letters memorized from the penmanship to the content. You spend hours with your hands clasped as you utter your hopes, prayers, a constant wish for her to be safe.

The weeks tick by. There’s nothing of note on the radio. You get lost in the rhythm of working, of thinking about Paige, of writing letters to her and handing them off to the mail carrier with the same unwavering expression of hope. You remind yourself that you and Paige aren’t done here, and that she’ll be back soon.

Then, her letters slow down ever so slightly. The Allies are pushing for one more coordinated attack, she’d written to you. I’ll be in the air frequently.

All you could do was wait. And hope. And work.

So, you do.

Four more weeks pass by. In that time span, you only get one letter from Paige in the second week, then she’s silent for the next two.

You try to not let the worry ruin your life.

On August 25, the radio at the shipyard crackles to life, announcing, “The Allied advance has liberated France. The Germans are in full retreat.”

You felt as though you could breathe a little easier, but you were still sick without the knowledge of whether or not Paige was okay. You don’t hear anything for two days.

On August 27, you’re leaving work early, a rare happenstance. Given the relative silence of the last few days of the invasion, you and the other women were able to finish repairs fully on the current batch of ships you were working on and you were waiting to get the damaged ones back from overseas. With nothing else to do, you walk your worn path back home, letting pure exhaustion and muscle memory guide you home. You’re too tired to even think, but you do glance up at the antiquities shop as you pass by. It had become a habit over the last twelve weeks, bringing a smile to your face as you remember the day you and Paige had met.

But you stop in your tracks, letting the bustle of the crowd pass you by as you gawk. Part of you can’t believe it, half-tempted to rub your eyes, convinced you’re in the middle of a dream or that the sheer exhaustion of the past three months has finally caught up with you. All you can do is stare, until–

Paige Bueckers cocks one of her signature, amused smiles, her eyes relieved and fatigued all at the same time. Her hair lacks its usual gel, the edges unruly. Her uniform top is buttoned one lower than usual, exposing the undershirt she’s wearing, and the hem is barely tucked into the waistband of her trousers. She doesn’t look injured, just like she could use a really long nap, but the sight of her makes your heart leap out of your chest.

“You’re early today, yardbird,” she comments wryly, glancing down at her wristwatch. “You got a hot date?”

You drop your bag at your feet, coming into her personal space with three quick strides. Judging by her expression, it’s clear she wasn’t expecting this reaction from you, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you cup her cheeks, standing on the tips of your toes to kiss her. Paige melts into you completely, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against her with an overwhelming amount of relief. She sighs against you, tilting her head to kiss you deeper, but your hands tremble on her face as you taste the salt on her lips. You can’t believe that she’s here right now. After twelve weeks of aching, of hoping, of believing, she’s here. 

You break away from her when your lungs burn, needing to breathe. Despite the tears, she’s still smiling when she presses her forehead to yours, her eyelids slipping shut like she just needs to absorb the moment and breathe you in. You do the same, your hands sliding down to tangle in the fabric of her shirt. She’s firm, she’s warm, she’s alive and she’s in front of you and you have possibly everything you’ve ever wanted right here in front of you. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you whisper into her chest, your voice a little muffled, but Paige’s shoulders shake with laughter, dissolving all of the tension left in your body.

“I told you,” she murmurs, her chin pressing into your temple as she holds you close, “I’d come home to you.”

And if there’s one thing that’s true about Paige Bueckers, it’s that she doesn’t break a promise. Not this one, and certainly not the one she makes to you almost a year and a half later in her backyard when the two of you exchange private vows during a quiet, peaceful, summer afternoon, promising to love each other for the rest of your lives.

2025

As quickly as the memory comes to you, it disappears just as fast, leaving you in a daze. You blink once, twice, wondering if you’d just imagined it all or if that was real. Glancing back down at the photo in front of you, the two women embracing in the middle of a crowded street – one a flygirl, one a yardbird, their features so similar and their expressions so loving, you think that it had felt too real to be fake.

“Hey, you alright?” Paige’s voice echoes from your call, concern laced in her tone, and despite yourself, you can’t help but crack a smile because those were the very first words the aviator had said to you. Perhaps there was more truth to it than you thought.

“I’m okay,” you promise, peering down at the photos again. An idea hits you all at once. “You said you finished practice early, right?” Your girlfriend hums, clearly confused with where you were going with this. “How quickly can you get to this antique store?”

Paige doesn’t keep you waiting too long. She makes it to you in record time, the jingle of the bell above the door capturing your attention. You glance up, spotting her, and the two of you share matching smiles as she strides closer to press a kiss to your temple, squeezing your hip. “Alright,” she murmurs. “Lemme see these pictures.”

You hover silently next to her as she sifts through the pile of pictures you’d accumulated. She lingers on the black and white photo of the pilot and the shipyard worker – describing that photo as you and Paige still feels a little too weird, but you watch as her brows furrow, her eyes lighting up with something that looks like recognition. You don’t even have to ask to know that she’s feeling the exact same thing that you did.

“This is insane,” she mumbles under her breath, which makes you laugh a little, amused. Paige holds the photo gently in one of her hands as she looks through the others, finding one of two teenagers holding hands on their way to a dance, presumably, considering the way they’re dressed. They don’t look as similar to you and Paige as the first photo did, but it still brings back a sense of nostalgia that Paige picks up on, too. “You remember prom? Junior year at Hopkins?” your girlfriend asks, nudging you gently.

You resist rolling your eyes. “How could I not?” you say sarcastically. “Someone saran-wrapped the doors so tightly that the principal had to call the fire department just so we could get in.” Paige laughs. Affection blooms in your chest despite yourself, and you grin, too. “We made the best of it, didn’t we?” Paige hums in affirmation, brushing her fingers across the photo before you before picking up another one. It’s two people laughing on a porch. You can tell they’re lovers by their closeness. “Remember when I rented my first apartment and you helped me move in?”

Her lips curl into a fond smirk. By help you mean Paige stayed over every night for a week straight, delaying your unpacking and “breaking in the new crib,” whatever that meant. You’d enlisted her to help with your furniture, your decor, and building shelves, but you’d go to bed in her arms and wake up to all of your furniture in completely different spots. “Oh no,” Paige would whine, a terrible actress to this day. “Guess I gotta stay and help you fix this.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was intentionally waking up at night and “inconveniencing” you just so she could stay a little longer and annoy you, but you suppose the real kicker was she never really needed an excuse to be near you, anyway. You would have let her stay for the week even if it meant she didn’t fuck up the way your furniture was arranged.

“I still dunno why your furniture kept moving,” she muses, still committed to the bit. “You ever call maintenance? Or security or somethin’?”

You roll your eyes for real this time, pressing a little closer. She raises her arm to rest it over your shoulders. You pick up a photo of a 30’s bride, her veil long over her face. It wasn’t a secret that you wanted to marry Paige someday – the two of you had been together since high school and you both had discussed as much; now, she was entering her final March Madness tournament as a Husky. The two of you were so interwoven into the fabric of each other’s lives that you were sure you would be together until one of you took your last breath.

“You look pretty in white,” she comments off-handedly, like she’s slick, but you know better.

You grin. “You think so?” you ask coyly. She hums again, a smile of her own growing on her features the more she stares at the picture of the bride. “Well, I think you look pretty good in a suit, too.”

“Oh, little ole me?” she croons, faux shyness lacing her tone.

“You’re so annoying,” you say.

“You’ve loved me since we were fourteen,” she reminds you – as if you’d ever forget it. “You’re stuck with me at this point.”

The truth was, you’d be content to be stuck with her for the rest of your life. The other truth was that Paige’s ego was already so dangerously over-inflated that it’s days away from popping like a balloon with too much helium, so you couldn’t possibly admit that to her. The third truth was that Paige knows you love her, just as she loves you, so she didn’t need you to admit it to her, anyhow. The both of you were stuck with each other, not that either of you minded.

“Let’s get these?” you request, and Paige nods, scooping up your selected photos in her gentle hands.

But it still feels like you’re missing something. You have your photos, the memory of a life long passed – which reminds you; you and Paige will be having a lengthy conversation about that memory later today – but it feels as though you haven’t seen everything the universe clearly wants you to see. So you link hands with Paige, scanning the shop once more as you search for the missing piece.

It’s Paige who actually locates it after a few moments of walking. She glances at you meaningfully, guiding you down a row of bookshelves, eyes roaming over its contents like she knows exactly what she’s looking for. At the very end of the line, there’s an old, dusty, leatherbound book covered in cobwebs laying flat on an antique table, as though someone pulled it off the shelves to read and then forgot about it. Paige exhales like it was exactly what she was looking for.

She drops your hand to brush the back of her hand over the front cover, getting rid of the dust and the cobwebs, and then immediately sneezes. It makes you choke on a giggle, the mystery and the intrigue of the moment softened by Paige’s incessant allergies, and the tips of her ears flush red as you whisper a quiet, “Bless you.”

When the cover is clean, she wipes her hands on her shorts and opens the book carefully to the front page. You peer over her shoulder again. The penmanship is in neat cursive, the ink fading with time, but still legible enough for you to read. There’s a date in the top right corner reading 1543 September 9. Paige whistles lowly, holding the book a lot more gingerly now, which amuses you a little bit.

You look at the first line, reading, “Father procured me this journal to document my life and my emotions. He believes that it will help regulate me and, in quote, save me from this phase of rebellion lest I make a mockery of the crown. I am only eighteen. Surely, he must understand that the life of a princess is not one for me.”

Paige blinks once. “Well, that’s heavy.��

“Paige, she’s eighteen.”

“Technically, like…” your girlfriend pauses to do the math in her head, “...Four hundred and…eighty sum’.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself, and when you reach out to turn the page, you’re hit with another memory – only this time, you know that Paige is seeing it too.

1543

“Princess, your father is just trying to look out for you. He is just…a little misguided.”

You huff indignantly as you drag your brush through your hair. You truly do not mean to be this dramatic, but indignance just seems to be the main emotion that your father manages to evoke from you. Ever since you turned eighteen, the “of age” marker determining your eligibility to officially inherit the throne, the King – your father – has been nothing short of particular. Exacting. Expectant. If you’re not studying with your tutor, you’re listening in on his meetings, learning the ins and outs of how to run a country. You’re his only heir, so deep down, you understand why he demands so much from you. There’s a short time between now and when your father won’t be deemed fit to run a country. You’re just upset that being the princess means you can’t be you anymore.

There’s a certain degree of freedom you get used to growing up in the castle. You want for nothing – everything is provided for you, no question about it. You have the best education possible, learning from private tutors all over the world – math prodigies, language experts, philosophers. Everything you could possibly want is at the tip of your fingers. As of late, however, it seems that you may just be broken. 

You long to be outdoors, away from the castle and its stuffy, too large walls. You long to do things for enjoyment and not for obligation. You’re eighteen – you want to be with people your age, not the children of the entitled, pompous bureaucrats that your father rubs elbows with. You want to be you, not the Princess, not the heir to the throne, just you.

It seems there are just some luxuries that one cannot afford, not even monarchs with the world at their disposal.

“‘Misguided’ is one word for it,” you huff, trying to not catch too much of an attitude with your chambermaid, Carlotta. It is not her fault, not in the slightest, and she’s been there for you your entire life – even longer than your father has. “I do not want to be–”

Carlotta hushes you, a gentle, cautious hand resting over your shoulder. You clamp your mouth shut. “You must be careful, Princess,” she murmurs.

“There are eyes and ears everywhere,” you finish, your voice barely a whisper. “I know. I’m sorry.”

That was another thing you loathed about being a royal – the constant paranoia. It is a well-known fact that your father has enemies. Perhaps that is just a fact of life that comes with being king, a political figure, someone in charge of making decisions for millions of people. It is hard to be free when you’re tailed by your father’s most trusted knights and officers.

“It is all right,” Carlotta assures you. “Now come – you must be ready for the banquet.”

You nod, swallowing back your remark, and you allow Carlotta to help you into your gown.

The banquet goes as well as you were expecting. It’s loud, raucous, and full of minging, networking, and brown-nosing. You’re certain that you’ve never faked as many smiles or laughs as you have until today, but once it becomes socially acceptable, you sneak out the back door.

Or, as well as one can sneak when there’s a knight tasked with following your every move.

You glance over your shoulder. Just before the door slams shut, a tall figure in breathable armor slinks through the gap, following you at a respectable pace. However, there’s something that gives you pause.

As irritated as you are at the prospect of being tailed by your father’s appointed guards, you’ve made a habit of knowing who they are. Tristan is your usual suspect – he’s tall, lean, and his armor is recognizable. There’s a crest on his breastplate, signifying that he comes from a family of nobles, but this knight lacks the decorative chestpiece. Every other day, you’re then followed by Maximus. He is a little shorter than Tristan, although in place of a family crest, he has the traditional knight’s insignia – he doesn’t come from a family of nobles; rather, he’s an experienced knight who worked his way up through those ranks.

Whoever is wearing this suit of armor isn’t Tristan or Maximus, and you know that while your father makes a habit of annoying you, he wouldn’t reassign your patrols without telling you. Feeling your heart beat a little faster in your chest, you lengthen your strides, trying to get away from whoever is pursuing you without giving it away that you know they’re an enemy.

The issue with all of the country’s royals concentrated in one wing of the castle means that the large majority of the knights are assigned to that wing. That means there’s little protection through the back corridors. That means you need to find a way to get the knight off of your trail. There’s a variety of things you could be used for. A bargaining chip. An arranged marriage. Perhaps you’d just be killed entirely.

You hang a left, casting another glance over your shoulder. You don’t see the knight round the corner just yet, but you can hear his footsteps pick up speed. Realizing how dire your situation is now, you will your body into a run, thanking Carlotta for putting you in a pair of sandals instead of the heels your stylist had set out for you. The heavy clank of armor follows you down the winding halls as you breathlessly search for your exit.

To your right is a set of tall glass doors, leading into the palace gardens. Confident in being able to find somewhere to hide there, you push the doors open and run outside.

What you’re not expecting to find, however, is a tall blonde woman sparring in the dark. She spins on a dime, her sword lowering, but recognition flickers across her face once she realizes you’re the Princess. You briefly wonder if she’s a knight, too, or if she’s here to kill you, as well, but you throw all caution to the wind, deciding to trust the blue of her gaze. “Help me!” you exclaim, throwing yourself behind her just as the glass doors burst open and the turncoat knight barrels outside.

You realize, perhaps a little too late, that the blonde woman is not wearing armor. She’s dressed in a breathable navy and white tunic, the knight’s crest emblazoned across the chest, and a pair of worn boots. At the very least, she’s drastically more agile than her opponent (and taller, too, you note, although you remind yourself that there’s possibly a time and a place for those sorts of realizations). 

The armored knight draws his sword, a quiet acceptance in his body language like he knows he’ll have to go through the blonde knight to get to you, but she’s rigid, confident, rising to the challenge completely.

They collide in a flurry of sparks, loud groans, and the clang of metal against metal. The blonde, to her credit, doesn’t budge, but the force of their impact sends the armored knight stumbling. Using that to her advantage, she delivers a swift kick to his abdomen, which makes the knight fall to the ground completely. 

“Yield!” she barks, her blade against the soft part of his helmet.

He pauses, gazing up at her as if truly contemplating it, before his own leg jerks out, knocking her off balance. She grunts, dropping to one knee, and he uses her injury to kick her backwards as well. He digs his sword into the soil, using it to lift himself up. The knight spins his sword in his hand, remnants of dirt flying off of his blade, and he stalks towards her like a predator to his prey. All you can do is watch on in horror. 

You’re so focused on the other knight that you don’t notice her fingers digging into the dirt next to her until she comes up with a fistful of soil that she launches directly at his helmet. He recoils with a yelp, disoriented, and the blonde knight locates her sword, slashing out in a quick motion and catching the soft spot where his knee bends. He staggers again and she slams her hilt into his wrist, causing him to drop his sword. She grabs it immediately, dual wielding both blades, and the checkmate move comes when she kicks his injured leg. He falls to his knees and she crosses both of the swords under his neck again, chest heaving and sweat beading at her temple.

“Yield,” she commands. “I won’t ask again.”

He lifts his head ever so slightly, meeting your gaze across the garden. You stand your ground even though you’re rattled and you can feel your pulse in your fingertips. Barely eighteen and I’m already surviving assassination attempts, you think to yourself, Father would be proud. Then, he drops his head again, defeat in his posture. “...I yield.”

By the time he finishes his sentences, the garden doors burst open and more of your father’s nights enter the garden, brandishing their blades. They catch sight of the blonde knight, swords to your attacker’s neck, then settle their gaze on you, breathing heavily but not a hair out of place. “Arrest him,” one of the captains instructs, and another knight surges forward to deal with the attacker. “Secure the Princess. Alert the King immediately.”

The garden is a flurry of activity as the knights disperse. One group leaves as they drag away your attacker. Another group surrounds you as if forming a wall between you and any potential danger. Still, you can’t keep your eyes off of your savior, the blonde woman whose cheek is slightly smeared with blood. You’re not sure if it’s hers or his, but this isn’t a night you’re going to forget for a while – not because of the attempt on your life, but because of this knight’s bravery, her spur of the moment decision to put her life on the line for you, especially against an opponent with far more protection than her.

It’s nearly stupid. She’d behaved so recklessly, but it was her job. So why do you feel so drawn towards her?

Your father arrives with a security detail of his own. You’re not quite sure what you were expecting from him, but he gives you a cursory look over, nodding in approval when he sees that you’re okay, before he turns to his men. “Who allowed this to happen?” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to, but you think he’s scarier like this – the deadly sort of calm that only comes out when someone is truly pissed. “Who allowed a turncoat knight to nearly kill my daughter?”

His men are notably silent. Your father scoffs, shaking his head, and he turns on his heel, probably ready to storm out until he catches sight of the blonde knight, standing solemnly in the corner. “Who are you?”

Her voice doesn’t waver when she answers, not meeting your father’s eyes out of respect. “Sir Paige Bueckers, Your Majesty.”

He glances at her – armorless, then he glances at the rest of the knights gathered – uniformed. “Why are you here?”

Paige hesitates, looking up to meet your eyes, a silent plea for help. “She saved me, Father,” you answer for her, drawing your father’s attention back to you. She relaxes slightly, gratitude in her expression. “I noticed the knight following me wasn’t one of my usual handlers. So I ran out here to flee and found Sir Paige.” Your father looks at Paige again, studying her in a new light. His quiet contemplation could mean a lot of things. Then, surprising everyone, you say, “Father, I want her reassigned to my guard detail immediately.”

Your father considers this for a few moments longer, then he turns to the captain. “See to it,” he orders. The captain nods emphatically. And with that, your Father returns indoors, his security detail following. The rest of the knights follow until it’s just you and Paige, who stares at you with a mix of shock and curiosity.

You nod at her, softening. “Come. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

Paige, unsurprisingly, is not a woman of many words. You don’t expect her to initiate any sort of conversation with you given your status, but she does look at you – a lot – mostly when she thinks that you’re not aware of it. There is nothing inherently inappropriate about her gaze. You can tell she’s curious. You can also tell that she knows she has a duty to do. Her gaze flickers on and off you to scan the hallways for any sort of potential danger and her hand hovers over the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist as if someone would jump at you both from the shadows.

Functionally, she hasn’t said a single word to you since you met her, yet you battle the urge to get to know her. You know that would never be allowed – a royal fraternizing with a knight. It breaches every code of conduct and tradition that you’ve been raised to recite by memory. Despite your knowledge, there seems to be a pull between you and the knight, one that you’re finding harder and harder to resist as you watch her brows tent in concentration, her eyes studying everything about her surroundings as you lead her to the medic.

When the two of you reach the infirmary, she doesn’t say much else, either, only nodding or shaking her head when the physician asks questions like “Does it hurt when I do this?” or “Do you feel any pain here?” You do watch as her face screws up, discomfort in her features, when the physician pokes and prods at her knee.

She’s fortunate, according to the physician, that it is only bruised and she should expect to recover quickly. Taking an armored boot to the knee when you���re wearing only a thin tunic is usually grounds for a fracture or a broken bone. Paige takes the diagnosis in stride, her eyes trailing after the physician as she leaves the infirmary to fetch some herbs from the greenhouse, and shamelessly, your eyes find the knight again. She doesn’t glance at you, but you can tell that she’d like to, so you break the silence to say, “You don’t need to be so formal with me.”

Her throat bobs as she argues, “I do.” Then, as if you’d forgotten, she reminds you, “You’re the princess. Treating you otherwise would be disrespectful.”

You cock a wry smile. “And would disobeying my wishes not also be disrespectful, Sir Paige?”

She pauses, not expecting that one, and finally, she glances up to meet your eyes. Her eyes are startlingly blue, alert despite the exhaustion and the lingering pain of her battle, but they’re kind. They’re soft in a way you would never expect from a hardened knight. They’re gentle when they appraise you, studying your features, and her features relax as if she’s looking at you – truly looking at you – for the first time. “I suppose it would be, Princess,” she agrees. “I apologize.”

Your smile softens, too. “Considering you saved my life today, perhaps we can call it even?” you suggest, trying for a joking tone, and you find that it’s well-received when she chuckles. “Thank you for that, by the way. I would not be here without your courage.”

“I was just doing my duty,” she murmurs humbly. “My only wish is for you to not have had to witness that.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” you say reflexively.

Paige glances at you again, her eyes lingering on your face before a slow smile curls on her lips. “I’m beginning to see that.”

You know she doesn’t intend to say that in any sort of way, but the warmth of her gaze, the approval in her eyes, and her words alone are enough to make your cheeks flush. It’s wrong – that much you’re sure of. You haven’t known the knight for very long, but there’s something so magnetic about her, like you’ve met her before, like you know you’ll be safe with her. This conversation feels like one you’ve had before. That thought doesn’t alarm you as much as it should. Paige just feels right.

Then, she raises her hand, rubbing her face, and she doesn’t realize that she’s reopened the small cut beneath her eye. “Oh,” you say, not nothing much of it as you reach out for a piece of gauze, “you’re bleeding.” Motioning to the wound and ignorant to the way Paige’s breath hitches, you ask, “May I?” She nods and you step between her parted legs, hovering over her as you gingerly reach out with the cotton, fingers light and delicate against her skin, cleaning away the blood. You and Paige are inches apart by now, and the sudden closeness makes your hand tremble, especially when your eyes flick up to meet Paige’s. The expression on her face is almost awestruck, reverent in a way that makes you forget about how dangerous this is. You don’t realize that you’ve planted your free hand on her shoulder, holding onto her to keep her from moving, nor do you realize how her hands grip the edges of the table, knuckles white like she knows it would be wrong to touch you, but the way her breath stutters makes it so obvious that she’s desperate to regardless.

Sobering up, you lean back, red tinging your cheeks as Paige exhales deeply. The physician returns to the infirmary at that time, grinding together herbs in a mortar and pestle and muttering to herself absently. You and Paige exchange a glance, the heat of the previous moment softening as you both put some space between each other, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve stumbled across something that you shouldn’t have – the chemistry between you and the knight. You’ve always been curious and daring by nature; you know yourself well enough to know that you’ll track down that spark and see where it goes, even if it means sweeping the ashes under the rug after it ignites into something you can’t quite stop.

For now, you have to play it smarter. All eyes are on you as you prepare to take the throne from your father, and the last thing you want to do is jeopardize Paige and her future, even if you’ve already done so by assigning her to your personal guard.

Beneath the professionalism, the practiced stoicism that you see right through, you recognize that very same spark reflected in Paige’s eyes – the curiosity, the determination, the willingness to press the match to the kindling if you’d so much as asked. You know this is risky, that this energy between you and Paige is something that will splinter the foundations of the life you’ve grown so accustomed to.

And the worst part of it?

You wouldn’t even mind if it did.

Paige assimilates seamlessly into your routine. You wouldn’t expect anything less from the knight, who adjusts to her new position with a startling quickness and efficiency. Given the recent attack on your life, your father arranged to have her moved to a room only a door down from yours in the Royal Wing of the palace, believing that having her close would allow her to protect you better. She becomes your shadow of sorts, although you had to put your foot down early on in your new…partnership, and force her to walk side by side with you instead of the infuriating ten or so feet away.

“Being close to me would keep me safer, wouldn’t it?” you’d questioned her, by no means trying to be coy about it.

Paige had smiled softly like she knew, amusement and acceptance in her features as she agreed, “I suppose it would, Princess.”

She follows you everywhere – your royal meetings, your appointments with your tutors, to the dining room, and well, if she’s found in your bedroom, listening to you ramble about your latest project, then you’d say it’s for your own protection as much as it’s for the growing friendship between the two of you. When Paige isn’t worried about her professionalism, she talks. A lot. It doesn’t bother you at all. You’re content to listen to her stories, her experiences, her life, how every choice she made throughout the years led her here. Selfishly, you’d think that inadvertently, her choices had led her to you, although you don’t voice that thought at all.

She grew up in a small village a few hours away by horseback – Storrs. It isn’t well known for much except for the cold winters that the locals loathe. She’d recounted her childhood with a fond smile on her face, even the uncomfortable parts like the time she’d hurt her knee severely while sparring or when her parents had divorced. Divorce wasn’t as familiar to you, having been raised in the castle where your father remained with your mother until she passed, even though there wasn’t any love between them after your birth and their failure to conceive a male heir – although that’s a story for another day. When you voiced as such, wondering about the casualness in which she and her parents viewed their separation, she’d merely shrugged and said, “Sometimes people just don’t feel the same love that they did before. Why stick around to force something when your heart’s not in it?”

You’d felt as though that applied to a little more than relationships, considering how you didn’t want to be queen. As much as you trusted Paige, you didn’t think it was the time nor the place to drop that kind of confession on her.

While there’s no more attempts on your life, Paige sticks by you fiercely. If it were anyone else, you’d probably be pissed at the lack of independence, but there’s something about Paige’s company that you cherish, even if it’s just her standing watch at the door while your tutor teaches you philosophy. You like having her around. That thought should scare you much more than it does. For the first time in a really long time, it feels like you’re free. Growing up, you’d never had many friends. Everyone your age was always too aristocratic, too pompous, too entitled. You’d tried, but you could just never get along with them – it was always like you were on the outside looking in no matter what you did differently. With Paige, it feels like you’re shedding all of the past desires to fit in. She makes you feel as though you don’t have to fight your way inside just to be accepted. She makes you feel as though there’s always a place you’ll belong, even if it’s just with her.

So while there aren’t any more attempts on your life, that doesn’t mean your life gets easier. As you progress in your training and you begin to take up more royal duties, there is an increase in the number of suitors that make their way through the castle. Most of them have been arranged by your father, seeking to find a husband to rule next to you – or rather, someone for you to stand next to while they rule. They’re either princes of distant kingdoms, or the high-ranking sons of nobles. You hate all of them. They’re either too old, too stuck-up, too arrogant, or too…male. You’d longed for visions of long, blonde hair, twinkling blue eyes, the gentle way in which the knight spoke to you yet the fierce way she protected you. None of these men were her, and you could tell your father was becoming upset by how often you turned them away.

If you hated them, then you’re not quite sure what word to use to accurately portray the amount of disdain that Paige feels for them. You can see it in her expression alone, the white-hot hatred that burns in her eyes even as she speaks to you politely, calmly. You see it in the way she stands unyieldingly next to you, a hand poised over the hilt of her sword as if she was ready to dispose of whichever groveling idiot was trying to propose, if you wouldn’t deny them yourself. You see it in the way her entire demeanor shifts, the way she grows more confident when you’re alone and her hand curls around your waist and she dips her head down to your ear to whisper, “None of them deserve you. Not a single one of them.”

If Paige hadn’t already ruined you for anyone else, then you’re sure she ruins you completely after that.

At first, you think it’s just her commitment to duty. Paige’s entire job is to keep you safe, protected. If she feels as though these suitors would be too violent, too uncaring, too unfit for you, then you suppose she was well within her right as the princess’s protector to feel however she wanted to feel. Then, you think it’s just hate. She knows you almost as well as you know yourself, if not more. At this point, you’re both a little more than princess and knight. You’re friends who share a mutual duty to a kingdom. However, you realize all too late that it’s actually jealousy.

She stands behind you, her tall stature imposing and intimidating as she stares down the last suitor you had scheduled for today. He’s the prince from a kingdom down south. His name is Oscar and if you had to be honest, you got a bad feeling from him as soon as he strutted in, a black and red cape billowing behind him like he’s already king and has nothing to worry about. You’d even felt Paige stiffen behind you, but you promised your father you would at least talk to your suitors before rejecting them (and you were not keen on sitting through another lecture from him).

The interview goes terribly. You can feel Paige’s mood worsen the more Oscar speaks. He interrupts you countless times, talks over you, and when you do get to speak, he dismisses it like it’s trivial and continues rambling on about his success or his fortune or how well he could lead a kingdom. You knew the conversation was over as soon as he promised he wouldn’t take anymore than five mistresses and you had to stop Paige from jumping across the table and stabbing him entirely.

So, you politely tell him, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re what I’m looking for in a potential king. I have to look after my people.”

You see the shift in his expression before he even raises a hand. You just couldn’t react fast enough to block the swing.

But Paige does. She catches Oscar’s wrist in her hand, her grip so tight that the tips of his fingers were turning purple and he was choking on pain. Then, she slams his hand into the wooden table before you, the surface almost splintering from the force of it. You can hear a sickening crunch, but all you do is raise your brows as Paige leans over you, her gaze set firmly on Oscar. “We’re done here,” she murmurs, her voice low and threatening. “Raise a hand to the princess ever again and I’ll kill you myself. Do I make myself clear?”

You don’t hear what he says, too stunned to focus on anything but the vein that protrudes from Paige’s neck, the challenge laced in her tone, the way her response has left a warm feeling deep in your belly. He scurries out with a metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, the door slamming shut, and you and Paige are left alone in the conference chamber. Paige breathes heavily next to you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder in both consolation and apology, yet all you fixate on is the way your thoughts race.

Paige is saying something to you, but it sounds like you’re underwater. You push out your chair, standing as she rambles, and you turn on your heel to meet her eyes. There’s still a lingering fire in there although it dwindles the more she talks, concern and something else you can’t quite place taking precedence. Before you have the time to talk yourself out of it or remind yourself of how wrong this is, you curl your fists in the fabric of her tunic and you pull her down to your level.

She immediately freezes against you, the words caught in her throat releasing in the form of an indulgent groan as she finally registers that your lips are on hers. When she relaxes to kiss you back, the intensity is almost overwhelming, like the fire from earlier has returned. She grips your hips possessively, backing you into the table and lifting you onto it for better leverage, one hand dropping to hold your thigh and the other curling around the back of your neck. Paige leans forward, pressing against you like she couldn’t stand to leave any inch of space between you.

The kiss is hazy and it makes your mind spin in the best way possible. You sigh against her, welcoming the intrusion when her tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and she holds onto you like she’s scared that you’ll disappear if she lets go. Paige kisses you like you’re hers, which you may as well be. You’re hers to protect, hers to hold – not the princes’, not the nobles’, not anyone else’s.

When you both break away from each other, chests heaving, her voice is rough, low, wrecked when she whispers again, “None of them deserve you.” Her eyes scan yours, her thumb brushing across your pulse point and her breath hitching like she can feel exactly what she’s doing to you. “Not you, the princess. And especially not you, the girl whose heart is as pure as it is kind. The girl who I…”

You swallow thickly, feeling the heat in your cheeks and fighting the urge to pull her back into you as she trails off. “And you do?” you murmur. “Deserve me?”

“I’d fight a hundred men and a hundred men more if it meant proving that to you,” she vows. You know her well enough by now that you don’t need her to prove anything more to you. She already has. Your heart is hers. “This isn’t just a duty to me,” she confesses a few beats later, her voice hardly above a whisper like she’s confessing a secret. “It’s real. What you are to me is real. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“Nothing will,” you say, confident and assured. “I’m safe with you.” Paige nods, her hands warm against your skin, and you press your temple to hers to admit, “For you, I’d run away and leave it all behind.”

You feel her freeze against you, surprise, mostly. She leans back to meet your eyes. “Princess, you don’t mean that,” she says quietly.

You nod vehemently, your fingers tightening in the fabric of her tunic. “I do, Paige, I swear it.” She softens, taking in the conviction in your tone. “I don’t want this – I don’t want to marry someone else. I don’t want to be the queen. I want you, a life of peace, where I don’t have to worry that someone will try to kill me or if I’m making a decision that will kill my people. I want peace.”

The silence lingers. There’s a realization in the wake of your declaration that in your position, you could never afford peace. Princesses don’t get peace, or a life of ease, nor do they ever get the one they love. Knights don’t get peace, or a life of ease, nor do they ever get the one they love. You know you’d give it up in a heartbeat if you could find the courage to. You study Paige’s features closely, waiting for her to speak. She swallows thickly before she does.

“Storrs,” she whispers, confusing you. “My village. We can go there – just say the word and I will take you, I swear it. I don’t owe anything to this kingdom. My loyalty is to you. We’ll be safe there, free, and you can do everything you’ve wanted – you can teach, you can explore–”

“Okay,” you agree.

Paige pauses. “What?” she asks, trying to keep the hope at bay.

“We’ll go to Storrs,” you repeat, a smile growing on your face.

“You mean it?” Paige murmurs, her voice cracking, and all you can truly do is cup her face in your hands, kissing her once more. This one is softer, the perfect seal to the promise you’ve just made to each other, and it feels more right than a crown on your head ever will. Her embrace makes you feel more secure than a legion of your father’s men ever could. You know in your heart that this is where you belong.

Happiness doesn’t last for too long. 

When you wake up the next morning, you can feel that something is off. Paige is usually already awake, standing guard at your door and waiting for you to come out for breakfast. Now, there’s an unusual silence that lingers and it makes you feel on edge.

Instead of Paige at your door, you find Carlotta, wearing an uncomfortable expression on her face. Dread wraps its fist around your heart, squeezing tight, and your chest hurts when you ask, “Carlotta, what’s going on?”

“Your father has requested your presence in the throne room immediately,” she says to you, her voice shaking. You swallow thickly, afraid of what waits for you. You cast an uneasy glance at the door to Paige’s room, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, but still feeling as though something is terribly wrong. Carlotta follows behind you as you walk through the winding corridors, anxiety coursing through your veins.

The scene awaiting you in the throne room is not one you could have ever prepared yourself for. Your father sits idly atop his throne, an almost nonchalant laziness in his body language. He’s surrounded by his usual guard detail. Your body burns with anger when you realize Oscar is standing right next to him, his hand wrapped in gauze and a splint, a malicious expression on his face. But what truly devastates you, what makes fear seize your heart entirely is Paige held firmly in the knight captain’s grasp, her hands and ankles shackled. She looks no worse for wear, only disheveled and her bun mussed from an evident fight, but her eyes burn bright with hatred and something that looks like failure.

“My daughter,” the King calls across the room. Everyone directs their attention to you, but you’re not prepared for the amount of grief and shock on Paige’s, like she wasn’t expecting you to see her like this. “Come – we have much to discuss.”

There it is again. That same steely calm from the night in the gardens. Your father isn’t the kind of man to yell – people with power and trained men at their disposal have no need to raise their voices – which is why his demeanor in this situation makes you fearful. Not for yourself, but for Paige.

“I’m not a man who shies away from admitting when he’s wrong,” your father continues when you step closer. “Accountability makes for strong leaders. I’ve always told you that, haven’t I?” You scan his features, your gaze giving nothing away. He’s not looking for a response. “It seems I’ve made a mistake in knighting an individual. Where she goes, trouble follows, such as the night in the garden. And now, with the suitors.” Your father cocks his head, looking perplexed. “Prince Oscar has suffered several broken bones and a fractured wrist due to…your knight being unable to control her anger. Alas, it has come to my attention that she has also filled your head with lies, deceit, and empty promises.”

He stands, his sea of guards parting for him as he makes his way towards you, towards Paige. “If she wants to run away, so be it. If this turncoat knight no longer wants to give back to the kingdom that has made her, that has given her the life she has now, then so be it. What I will not allow is for her to manipulate my daughter – the Princess – into leaving with her.

“So,” he muses, ushering Prince Oscar forward, who gazes at you like he’s won. “We are here to make an example. The monarchy will not be mocked. My daughter, tomorrow at sunset, you will be wed to Prince Oscar. He will be your king and you will inherit the throne. And your knight –” he spits the word like it’s venom, clear distaste evident in his features, “–will be executed at nightfall for treason against the crown.”

Your ears are still ringing.

Your father’s revelation left you numb, reeling. You watched as his men dragged Paige out of the room, her eyes locked on yours in surprise, disbelief, and ever-present grief. Your father had more to say to you, but you weren’t listening. Being forced to marry Oscar of all suitors was at the back of your mind. All you could think about for hours on end was your knight will be executed at nightfall. The word executed circulated through your mind on repeat along with images of Paige’s eyes, betrayed and disappointed all at one.

This wasn’t the plan. You and Paige were supposed to run away. You were supposed to leave kingdom life behind and go to Storrs together. You were supposed to live a life of peace in a small village where the crown couldn’t possibly find you. You’re not supposed to marry Oscar, or watch the love of your life be executed. This was all so horribly wrong.

You’re confined to your room for the entire day, your father feeling as though you would find a way to escape or look for Paige. He knows you better than you’d expected. With nothing but time on your hands, you wait. You cry. You scream and you break the mirror in your room because when you look at it, all you can see is the way Paige had stood behind you as you asked for her opinion on your dress and her jaw had gone slack before she whispered, “I think you’re the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen.” You spiral, because you were so close to making it out but your father and Oscar have derailed your plan.

At nightfall, 24 hours away from Paige’s scheduled execution, Carlotta knocks at your door. She lets herself in when you don’t respond. You hardly look up, even when she takes a seat on the foot of your bed. She’s silent for a few moments before she says, “I’m sorry, Princess.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound scraping against your throat. “It’s not your fault, Carlotta.” Even if it was, you don’t want to think about it. This woman has raised you since you were a baby. You weren’t sure if you could ever handle that heartbreak.

“It’s not,” she agrees softly. She clears her throat. You can almost feel her hesitation. “I was next to your mother when she passed on,” she admits. That confession makes your heart skip a beat. “I held her hand as she was taking her final breaths. I’d loved her, you know. Your father never knew. He didn’t care to. But when I watched my life’s greatest love die, it was a pain unlike anything else I’d ever experienced. I thought a part of me died that day. Your mother, however, entrusted me with something special to her – a part of her. She made me promise to take care of her daughter – the Princess – and to this day, you are the most important person to me.”

“Carlotta,” you murmur, tears pooling in your eyes and your voice cracking. “What are you saying?”

“You love her,” she says, like it’s more fact than fiction, like it’s something as obvious as the sky is blue or the grass is green. “Sir Paige. She is your life’s greatest love. I couldn’t save my love. But there is still hope for yours.” She stands, drawing your attention as you feel her move. There is a folded piece of parchment in her hand. Carlotta presses it into your hands. “Read this, and do not lose your faith, Princess.”

Carlotta leaves before you can say – before you can ask anything else of her. Your mind spins as you look down at the paper in your hands, at Paige’s familiar, sloped handwriting. Fingers trembling, you unfold it, and you begin to read.

Princess,

I did not think I would get to speak with you after they dragged me out of the throne room in handcuffs, so you will have to forgive me if this letter is incoherent. It is difficult for me to wrap my head around the idea – the fact, rather, that I will be dying at nightfall tomorrow.

Being a knight, I had always known that my death would be imminent. My profession is not safe. My duty is to put my life on the line for the kingdom, for the king and the princess. I knew of that long before I picked up my sword for the first time. I had always imagined that it would be in combat – perhaps I would be fighting those hundred men and the hundred men more that I had spoken of. Perhaps I would be the lucky one and die of age after living a life of valor, dedication, and virtue. Execution had never crossed my mind.

If there is one part of my life that I could pick out and say is the greatest moment of it, I would say that meeting you is it. Not being knighted for the first time or my father teaching me how to wield a blade. It was you. It is always going to be you. You are my purpose, my reason for fighting. You have made my life worth it, even if we were only a short time.

I want you to know a few things. First, this is not your fault. If I knew the outcome from the very beginning, I would choose you everytime without question. A moment with you is worth an eternity wherever my soul takes me next. Second, do not give up. You are kind, courageous, brilliant – I know you will think of something. Third, I miss you. I have only been apart from you for a few hours, but I miss you; if I knew of a way to make you miss me the way that I do, I would never dare to make use of it for you are undeserving of such an all-consuming ache. The fourth is that I love you. I planned on telling you once we made it to Storrs, after I had introduced you to my family. You deserve to know.

You are my greatest love, Princess. In this life and the next I will never give up on searching for you.

Eternally,

–P

By midafternoon the day of your wedding and Paige’s execution, you can tell that something has shifted once more. The palace is eerily silent. Again. It almost makes you worry, but after considering that your life couldn’t get any worse, you decide that the silence is a problem for you in the future. For all intents and purposes, you’re still essentially trapped in your room, and you spent the better part of the night and the entire day leading up to this moment rereading Paige’s letter to you. It didn’t make you feel any better about the situation, but you try to remember Carlotta’s words to you. They give you strength when you feel like all else is failing.

The minutes tick by until you hear tapping on the glass door leading to your balcony. Believing it may only be a bird, you think nothing of it until the tapping persists, louder this time. The glass is textured, so you can’t see out of it, but you reach for the first sharp object you can find – in this case, it’s one of your heels – and you creep towards the door, pushing it open with caution.

You freeze immediately. The heel slips out of your grasp and Paige is standing before you, her tunic rumpled and exhaustion in her eyes, but she doesn’t look hurt, and that’s all you can truly be thankful for. “I was beginning to think you weren’t home,” she murmurs, a coy smile on her face that is not befitting of the moment, and you could sob as you throw your arms around her neck. She wraps her arms around your waist, lifting you off of your feet. Paige buries her face in your neck, breathing you in and sighing in relief – you’re both okay. You don’t know what to say, stammering through words that don’t make any sense, but Paige squeezes you a little tighter, shushing you.

After a moment, she places you back down on the ground, drinking you in like she can’t believe this is real. Then, she smiles softly. “We don’t have a lot of time,” she says quietly. “Carlotta is waiting for us at the stables. Get your bag and whatever else you need. She’ll take us to Storrs.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, all you can do is nod, wiping your eyes as you retrieve the bag you’d packed after you and Paige agreed to leave. You make sure to slip into a pair of more comfortable shoes and you don’t forget to grab her letter stashed under your pillow. When you’re ready, she guides you down the wall of the palace and into the garden below, creeping through the bushes until you reach the stables. You hug Carlotta so tightly that she groans, laughing, and together, you, Paige, and Carlotta make the journey on horseback to her village.

Her village welcomes you and Carlotta in – they’re definitely a little shocked, but they’re happier to have Paige back and safe. She introduces you to her family, her mom, her dad, her step-parents, her brother and her step-siblings and they all treat you like one of their own, a blended family that’s no less full of love. They own a small little shop, one that dabbles in selling antiquities and artifacts from ages ago. You can see yourself splitting time between working there and teaching the village children, but most importantly, you can see yourself free, in love, and happier than you ever would have been in the castle. It will surely be a national emergency when the King realizes that the princess, the knight, and the chambermaid have all escaped, but you think that’s a problem for someone else.

For the record, Paige does tell you she loves you – in person, not through a letter – that night after you’ve been fully introduced to everyone and her mothers worked together to make a hearty dinner for you and Carlotta. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of having – a love that’s wholly yours, a life to share with someone who cherishes you, and the freedom to live the life you’ve always wanted. You were always destined to find this – destined to find Paige, to love her, to give her your heart completely; the two of you have always been connected by that red string of fate and wherever your souls take you next, you know you’ll find her there, waiting for you.

2025

The memory fades and you and Paige blink in tandem, your hands still resting over the book as you look at each other. Almost no time has passed, although the both of you look like you’ve lived a whole new life entirely, which you may as well have. Paige breaks the silence to mutter, “I was a knight in a past life and in this one, I have to do homework?” Her disbelief makes you laugh, all of the tension dissolving as she joins in with you.

“Says you,” you retort. “I was a princess.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “You ain’t never letting that one go.”

“Nope!” you chirp happily. Paige rolls her eyes, but she can’t keep the smile off of her face as she closes the book gently. You intertwine your fingers with hers, giving her a squeeze. “Hey, you okay?” you ask.

Paige nods, her smile widening. She leans in to kiss you softly, which makes you grin against her. “Never better,” she assures you. “I was right, though.” You hum, gazing up at her, and she reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “You are my greatest love.”

“You’re mine, too,” you promise, wrapping your arms around her neck as she pulls you into a hug that feels lifetimes in the making. “We’re timeless, aren’t we?”

[sv3t1ana]

SYNOPSIS ᯓ In your college math class, you’ve always seen Choso as the quiet, nerdy guy who kept to himself. He was the one with perfect grades and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. When your midterm grades don’t reflect your effort, you ask him to tutor you.

PAIRING ᯓ Tutor! NerdCho x fem! reader

WARNINGS ᯓ SMUT MDNI, college AU, VIRGIN CHOSO, tw: calculus </3, you take his virginity, you make him call you "good girl," you make him tutor you during it, lots of consent, unprotected piv sex, eye contact, sweet ending, fluff, PORN WITH PLOT, reader is very sweet with nervous shy Choso.

WORD COUNT ᯓ 6.0k

Your head rests in your hands, drowning out the noise of pens moving, glossing over the set of calculus problems sat in front of you. At this point you don’t know why you still try. You’ve failed every assignment so far, and the midterm went so horribly you had to physically go outside and touch grass to keep yourself from becoming too depressed about it.

Most of the class either had their heads in their phone or pretending to follow along, and then there’s Choso. You noticed him immediately, he was always on task, scribbling notes, glasses perched on his nose, he looked like the kind of guy who sleeps with a textbook under his pillow. It looked like math was as easy as breathing for him, and you couldn’t comprehend why someone would actually care about this stuff.

-----

Choso noticed you on day one, your hair perfectly blown out, pink manicured nails, coffee in hand, about 10 minutes late. He noticed even sooner that you struggled, the way you’d roll your eyes and cock your head back dramatically in the middle of an in-class assignment, or when you’d pull your laptop out to check your test scores just to sigh loud enough for everyone to hear.

You were exactly his type. Well, not that he had a type per se, and not that he’s ever so much as shook hands with the opposite sex, but you were too attractive for him not to like you. When you spoke up it made his heart stutter, the way you squinted your eyes and brows furrowed in concentration made his stomach flip, the perfume you wore blessing his lungs.

He knew you were never the type of girl to talk to him. Not when he overheard you talking with your friends outside the classroom about some party.

“I’m telling you, you need to go all out for this Halloween party. It’s gonna be crazy. What are you wearing?”

“Oh, I’ve got the perfect thing. A super slutty devil outfit. You know, a skirt, corset, fishnets.”

He nearly passed out visualizing you in that outfit, how your thighs would look restrained by fishnets, a corset that would cinch your waist dangerously thin and probably make your tits pop out, but he was in the middle of class, and he already told himself he’d stop getting boners in the middle of class.

It was too much for him, why did you have such a tight hold on his heart when you’d never speak to him? It just made his self-confidence dwindle, as if he couldn’t become more of a coward.

-----

It was about three weeks out from the final, and thank god these websites existed online that could tell you what you needed to score on the final to pass the class.

Unfortunately for you, you scored a measly 11/100 on the midterm, meaning you’d need at least 90/100 to pass the class with a 70%, and hell would freeze over before you taught yourself calculus topics well enough to score that high on the final.

It was a Monday, and you were feeling the aftermath of a Sunday darty a little too strongly. You might’ve slept in a bit too much, and honestly, you didn’t care. Attendance was a grade booster, and you weren’t about to let those free points slip through your fingers. You walked into class, hair a mess, dressed in the baggiest sweatpants and the most oversized hoodie you could find.

The second you stepped through the door you didn’t miss the way Choso’s eyes widened as they locked on your disheveled state. You barely spared him a glance as you shuffled to your seat, exhaling loudly in relief that you even made it here at all.

But, of course, the universe wasn’t quite done with you yet.

You reached for your bag, only to realize, fuck, you forgot your pens and pencils.

You giggled to yourself getting out of your seat and walking over to him.

“Can I bother you for a pen?” you asked, voice smooth and sweet, flashing him a playful puppy-dog look.

Choso’s face turned pink, and he immediately froze up. “U-um, yeah, of course.” His voice cracked, and you could practically hear his heart pounding in his chest. His posture straightened, like your words sent a jolt of electricity through him.

His hand trembled slightly as he handed you the nicest pen in his collection, like it was a prized possession.

You grinned, “Thanks!” Then, just as you were about to turn back to your desk, you stopped mid-step and spun around on your heel, catching him completely off guard.

Your eyes locked onto him again, serious expression on your face as he nearly jumped out of his seat. “Oh, wait. What did you get on the midterm?”

He fidgeted, averting his gaze and adjusting his glasses nervously. “Oh, uh.. 100.”

He said it like it was the most casual thing in the world. You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Okay, genius.”

-----

For the next week after that, every time you entered the class Choso was always there first, so you spared him a smile and wave.

At first, he didn’t know you were even waving at him, looking behind him like there must be someone else more worthy of your attention, just to be met with the wall of windows behind where he sat, and you were, in fact, waving to him. He lifted his hand nervously, a timid smile curving his lips, waving back as you set your drink on your desk and prepared for another grueling lecture.

It was becoming more real, finals two weeks out, and you just failed every assignment last week, it was not looking good for you.

Until, a devilish smile spread across your face as an idea popped into your head, almost a physical light bulb appearing above your head because your scheme was just that great.

You had it all planned out. Step one, wear the thinnest, tightest, most revealing top you had. Step two, ask Choso to tutor you. How could it go wrong?

-----

It was just another normal day to Choso, or at least as normal as it could be when the girl he’d spent the last few months secretly pining for had started waving at him almost every day. That had become his new normal, and it still made his heart race every time.

But that day, you walked in, and everything changed.

You wore a pair of tight jeans and a button-up short-sleeved top that was a little too tight across the chest. The last button on your shirt barely held on, the fabric straining over the curve of your breasts, and he had to swallow to keep himself from completely losing it.

“Your name’s Choso, right?” you asked, voice sweet, eyes locked on his, and oh god, you looked so cute.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, cheeks warming.

“Well, I was wondering...” you propped your hands on your knees, bending down to his level, but with the angle you were leaning, your tits were the first thing he saw rather than your face. His eyes shot to the floor. “Would you be willing to help tutor me so I can pass this final?”

You clasped your hands together in front of your chest, bottom lip jutting out as you tilted your head, looking at him with the kind of pleading gaze he couldn’t say no to. “Pleeaseee?”

And oh god, you were begging him. He could hardly breathe, his heart pounding so hard it might’ve leapt right out of his chest.

His face was a deep crimson, ears nearly exploding off his head, “U-um, sure, I-I can help.”

You smiled so brightly that it took all of his willpower not to melt. “Great! Thanks!” you cheered, jumping in excitement.

Shit, holy shit, when you jumped your boobs were bouncing right in his face. Brain short-circuiting, he had to look away, he had to. There was no way he could survive this.

Of course you noticed. “Here, put your number in my phone so I can text you later,” you winked.

He hesitatingly took your phone in his hand, fingers trembling.

All of this. All of this in one day?

First you waved at him, then you wore that outfit, and then you said you’ll text him? It was all over for him at this point. His life was officially over.

-----

It was late at night when you texted, the first text Choso had ever got from a non-family member.

“hey Choso, when can we start the tutoring?”

He kept typing out the message, deleting it, typing it out, deleting it, damn near 15 minutes go by before he actually responded.

“I’m free after class tomorrow if that works for you. I can meet you at the library or somewhere on campus.”

Your response coming almost immediately.

“i was thinking maybe we could do it at your dorm? quieter and more focused, you know?”

At his dorm? It was almost 1:00 AM and he was already cleaning.

“Uh, yeah, that works. My dorm is fine. I’ll text you when I get back.”

You flipped over in your bed, feet kicking in the air and giggling to yourself. Ugh, you loved making boys nervous. There was just something about Choso that made you want to corrupt him, smash his glasses with your heel and make him do your homework for the rest of his life.

-----

You spent all day in your room, holding different shirt options to your body in front of the mirror in anticipation of your first tutoring session. You really did need the help, but what girl didn’t want to look her best with her new male tutor?

You were so giddy about it you skipped all of your classes for the day, this was such an important event for you.

-----

You plucked at the hem of your shirt, dragging the fabric between your fingers as Choso flips through his notes. His dorm was neat, neater than you expected. His bed was all made, desk clean of clutter, trashcan empty, it made you giggle, actually. He did all this for you.

You grinned at him, “you look nervous.”

He adjusted his glasses, deadpanning you. “I’m not.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head at him and squinting your eyes. “Right. So you’re just gripping that pen like it’s your last lifeline?”

Choso glanced down, loosening his grip slightly which made you smile. “Let’s just start. What’s the derivative of 3x cubed?”

You hummed, tapping your lips in exaggerated thought. “Mmm… seven?”

“No.” He replied flatly.

You laughed, leaning forward on his desk. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”

Choso paused for half a second, and you didn’t miss the way his jaw tenses.

He exhaled through his nose, ignoring your comment. “Try again.”

You stretched back in your chair, throwing your arms over your head. “God, this is so hard. My brain just doesn’t work like yours, y’know?”

Choso stares at you, expression unreadable as he flips to a new page in his notebook and scribbles something down, sliding it toward you.

You glance down. A problem is written out step by step, clear, easy to follow. For all his awkwardness, he’s patient. You expected him to break first.

“You know, Choso, I think you might actually be a good tutor.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “that was kinda the point.”

The first tutoring session played out like this, your impatience clashing with his steady calm, laced with sharp-edged banter. In the end, you did pick up a few things, one of them being that your new favorite pastime was making him tremble.

When the session finally wrapped up, you stretched, shirt riding up just enough to make his gaze snap to the desk. “Alright, I think that’s enough for today. I’d say I earned a lot,” you mused, voice thick with fake amusement.

Choso swallowed, not knowing if you meant calculus or something else entirely. “Uh, yeah. Just keep practicing.”

You shot him a lazy smile, telling him how good of a tutor he was and letting his name roll off your tongue. You knew what you did to him.

Later that night you sat in bed, laptop open and textbook in front of you, shooting him a text.

“why is math even a requirement for me. be fr rn. i just tried to do one problem and just stared at it for five minutes before giving up. i am beyond saving.”

“You are not beyond saving. You just need more practice.”

“nerd. okay but seriously, how do you not struggle at all? i bet you could do derivatives in your sleep.”

“I mean, probably. It’s just simple pattern recognition.”

“well the only pattern i recognize is me bombing every exam.”

“That’s why we’re tutoring, right? You’ll get it.”

“you have so much faith in me, it’s almost cute.”

Choso stared at his screen for way too long, rereading your words like they might change if he blinked enough. Cute. Him cute? Well, almost cute. But still. Cute.

“You’re not as hopeless as you think. Just need a better way to approach the problems.”

“aww lol u really care huh? so sweet :)”

He immediately regretted everything.

“Just get some sleep.”

He hesitated before sending another text. He really, really shouldn’t do it.

“Good night.”

Stupid, why would he send that?

“goodnight, Choso <3”

He hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath until he let out a shaky exhale. His heart hammering in his chest, fingers gripping the phone so tightly he thought it might crack.

He cursed under his breath, forcing himself to set the phone down. But he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His thoughts racing, a chaotic swirl of “she’s teasing” and “she’s just being nice” then “no, she’s probably messing with me.”

But what if you weren't?

His heart skipped as he tried to lie still, the faintest tremble in his legs and hands betraying his calm exterior. He squeezed his eyes shut, sweat beading on his forehead, heat creeping up his neck, skin burning with embarrassment.

You idiot. Why did you say anything?

The words “good night” had felt like an eternity before he hit send, and now that it was done he couldn’t help but question everything.

He grabbed his chest, clutching it like he could contain the frantic rhythm of his pulse. Was he too forward? Too weird?

God, this is so stupid.

But he remembered how you smiled earlier, how you looked at him like you wanted to keep going. That thought alone was enough to make his heart beat faster. He groaned into his pillow, clenching his fist around the sheets, unsure of how much longer he could survive this.

-----

Today was your second tutoring session with Choso, looking forward to it because you knew the chaos you were about to stir.

It wasn’t just the subject that had you on edge, it was the way he made you feel when he tried so hard to maintain his composure, and how cute he looked when you knocked him off balance.

You picked out a low-cut top that left just enough to the imagination. The black fabric clung to your body, outlining every curve, and the thin straps only accentuated the subtle shift in your posture as you moved. Paired with denim shorts that were just a liiitle too short for your liking.

Oh you were definitely going to enjoy this.

When you arrived at his dorm, he greeted you at the door, eyes widening just a fraction as they flicked to your outfit. His face flushed and he nervously cleared his throat.

“Hey,” you greeted, casually walking in and trying your best to act nonchalant, the little smile tugging at the corner of your lips betraying you. “So… what are we doing today?”

His voice was a little too strained. “Uh, w-we’re going over limits and derivatives,” he darted his eyes around the room. “You, uh… you ready?”

You couldn’t help but notice how stiff he was, how his posture was unnaturally rigid like he was trying not to make any sudden movements. His eyes kept flicking up and down between your face and anywhere else on your body, his gaze lingering too long on your chest, hands twitching at his sides.

You raised an eyebrow as you took a seat, smiling at him so warmly you looked like a beautiful renaissance painting. And Choso tried so hard not to look at you directly, his fingers shaky as they reached for his textbook.

You leaned forward, making sure to get just a bit closer than necessary, your bare knee brushing against his as you settled in. You watched how he stiffened, body going tense as if he were holding himself together by sheer willpower.

“You look distracted,” you quipped, and oh, you just looked so pretty, sitting so close to him, hair framing your face perfectly, long lashes fluttering in his direction like you didn’t know what you did to him.

He blushed again, immediately averting his stare. His words stammered as he tried to focus. “N-no, I’m not distracted! Just trying to make sure I can explain this correctly.”

You bit your lip, savoring the moment. Watching him squirm under your teasing felt way too good. You really liked this.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” You said it with a mischievous glint in your eyes, turning your body to face him more directly and leaning in, hands in your lap so your arms accidentally pushed your boobs together. “I think I’m distracting you.”

You could practically feel the sweat beading his hairline. His voice cracked when he spoke, “No! I’m fine, I-I can do this.”

He cleared his throat again, turning the pages of his textbook with a little more force than necessary. Without thinking, you reached your arm forward, one of your elbows accidentally brushing against his arm as you reached for the textbook.

You don’t know if he actually gasped or you just fantasized that.

His hand landed clumsily on your thigh, just below the hem of your shorts. His fingers were warm, thick, long, you could feel his pulse beneath his skin, fast and erratic. His eyes were wide, mouth agape staring at his hand like it just committed a heinous crime. You had to fight to keep your expression neutral, but a part of you want to grab his hand to keep it there as he drew away.

“Uh!” He stammered, yanking his hand away so quickly it felt like he burned himself. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean- I wasn’t-”

You smiled, leaning back casually. “It’s fine. Really,” you said, your voice sweet like honey. “You can touch me anytime.”

As if his blush couldn’t get any deeper, his mouth opened to say something but the words seemed to fail him as he returned fumbling with the pages of his textbook. Hands even more jittery than before.

You sighed, humming to yourself, taking in the sight of his discomfort with an unrelenting smile. He’s so cute when he’s flustered.

The tutoring session stretched on longer than either of you expected, filled with more awkward moments and persistent tension. But despite the longing glances and missteps, you could kind of understand unit 1. Progress. A small victory.

----

It was the morning before your final, and your bed felt like the only thing worth living for. The world outside was bustling and you couldn’t care less. You tossed and turned, half-heartedly kicking off your blankets and throwing your pillows across the room as if it were the source of all your problems. Maybe if I break the pillow, you thought in a daze, I’ll magically forget I have to study.

The snooze button was your best friend but it wasn’t doing you any favors today. You were stuck in a loop of staring at the ceiling and wishing for the sweet release of sleep, but even then, your mind couldn’t settle. Your brain refusing to focus on anything other than the thought of seeing Choso later. It shouldn’t have been that exciting, but you were feeling a little giddy. Maybe it was his nervous, earnest energy, or how adorably flustered he always got around you. Whatever it was, you had to admit: you were looking forward to tutoring today… just not the actual studying part.

As you got yourself ready for the day, your phone buzzed, and it was a message from Choso.

“Ready for tutoring?”

You stared at it for a while. You really didn’t want to study. But the thought of seeing him so pliant, of making him fidget like he always did, was enough to pull you out of your pit of dread.

-----

You barely looked at your notes, instead keeping your gaze on him. You pouted, jutting out your bottom lip, not bothering to hide the irritation building inside of you.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you groaned, slouching and folding your arms. “Can’t I just not? I mean what’s the point?”

Choso hesitated, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “I- well, I think it would help if we just focused a little longer. You’ve made progress.”

But that didn’t help your mood. You puffed out your bottom lip even more. “Ugh, no. I don’t wanna,” you whined, catching his eyes with yours, watching him fumble with the pen in his hands.

You extended an arm, resting your hand on the nape of his neck playing with the stray hairs that fell from his buns. “Come on, Choso. Tell me I’ve been a good girl today. I deserve it for actually showing up.”

He froze, breath hitching. There was a moment of silence before he pushed his glasses up. “I-I… You’ve been good,” he mumbled.

You tilted your head at him, still twirling his hair between your fingers. “No, I’ve been a good girl, right?”

His lips parted, looking at you shyly when you began tracing circles on his upper back with your nails, causing a shiver to visibly run through his body. “Yes… you’ve been a- a good girl.”

You smiled softly at him. “Thanks, Cho, but I really don’t wanna study today,” you said, voice melodious.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, cut off from whatever else he was going to say when you stood from your chair, throwing a leg over his lap and straddling him.

“W-we need to study,” he said, expression pure as he looked at you, he really had no choice to, you took up his entire vision, nonetheless sat on his lap. Your breasts were squished against his hard chest, your erect nipples poking from your shirt, which he saw you wore no bra.

“Chooo,” you said in a sing-songy voice, bringing your glossed lips inches away from his. “If you really wanna study that bad then fine, but I deserve a reward.”

“A-a reward-”

You brought your lips to his in a sweet, delicate kiss, testing the waters. He halted for a beat before returning the kiss, not knowing exactly what he’s supposed to be doing and accidentally using way too much teeth.

You couldn’t help but giggle, wrapping your arms around his suspiciously broad shoulders, momentarily breaking the kiss. “Jeez, you work out or something?” You asked, leaning back to eye him as your hands traveled his shoulders, squeeze his biceps, caress his chest.

“U-um,” he didn’t have time to respond before you kissed him again. This time, your lips parted to lick his, grazing your teeth over his bottom lip before bringing it into your mouth to lightly bite it. He groaned in response, instinctively bringing his hands up to rest modestly high on your back.

You hummed into his mouth, retracting your hands to guide his, helping him to find purchase on your ass. “You can touch me, Cho,” you said gently, moving your hips higher on his lap.

He nearly whimpered feeling your body weight on his erection, involuntarily squeezing you as your hips grind on his, planting wet kissing along his jaw and neck.

You laughed to yourself, he was so adorable like this. He had no idea what to do, no idea how to kiss, where to put his hands. It was so precious, and it made the heat in your center burn even more.

“Take my shirt off,”

“A-are you sure? I mean, we need to-”

“Pleeeaseee, Cho?” You gave him that pout again, that look with wide, sad eyes that he couldn’t resist. Your existence just made this a losing game for him, and his palms were already sweaty peeling the fabric off your body, letting out a shaky inhale at the sight of your pert nipples, rotund breasts that were just begging him to touch.

“You- you’re beautiful,” he said under his breath, unable to take his gaze away from your bare body before him, he could tell your skin was delicately soft without even touching it.

“You really think so?” A brush spread across your cheeks, your arousal soaking your panties watching him completely awestruck. “You can touch them, it’s okay.”

He cupped your breasts with either hand, kneading them and letting the tissue pillow between his fingers in his grasp.

“Put one in your mouth,” your voice was so sweet, so sugary guiding him through the normal bouts of foreplay.

And he did just that, lowering his head to meet your breasts and sucking so tactfully like you were a precious heirloom that’d break if he was too rough.

“You can be more rough, I’m okay, I promise.” He looked up at you questionably, before he used the flat of his tongue in long strokes over your nipple, taking his time to relish in this moment, savoring the taste of your skin on his tastebuds. He used the tip of his tongue to toy with your nipple, drawing shapes on it which only made you arch your back into him, threading your fingers in his hair.

He just kept going at it, switching between them making sure they both got the same love before you had to tell him to stop, the teasing stimulation making you so antsy sitting on his clothed cock.

You removed his shirt next, revealing his chiseled chest and abs, your mouth watering at the sight. You licked stripes up his neck, sucking on his pulse points and biting as he melted under you. You’d give him a bite, smooth it over with your tongue, plant kisses on it, then give him a hickey.

By the end of this he’d be littered with them, marked as yours.

Your bare breasts on his skin was making him feral, he never in a million years thought this was how he’d spend the end of his sophomore year in college. He thought he’d have to pay someone in order to lose his virginity, probably spend the rest of his life alone as his awkwardness made it impossible to talk to women. But here you were, half-naked and gyrating your hips on his erection. Let alone a woman as beautiful as you, someone he fell in love with the moment you opened your lips for him.

“Should we study, Cho?” You ask, looking up at him from where you left traces of yourself on his body.

“Uh, s-study?” His breath was nearly gone, lost in thought about how he had to be the luckiest man in the world to somehow sign up for the same math class as you.

“Yeah,” you planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “We can start studying now,” you began getting off his lap, and he was trying to devise a plan on how to get through a tutoring session with the ache in his pants, that was until you slipped your shorts off, panties landing on the floor with them.

Oh.

Oh.

When you straddled him again, your slick arousal was already forming a spot on his pants.

“U-um,” he stuttered, pushing up his glasses. His blush started at his appled cheekbones, ending somewhere his happy trail ran under his pants. Somewhere you were so desperate for. “I thought, you wanted to-”

“We’ll study,” you said, caressing his muscled form, using your nail to trace down his chest, then his abs. “Is it okay if I unbutton your pants?”

He bobbed his head up and down almost frantically, his mouth drooling at you fully naked, fully naked on top of him. He pinched the underside of his leg to make sure this wasn’t a dream, his head had been spinning from the moment you touched him.

You deftly unbuttoned his pants, unzipping and letting him shimmy his way out of them. You palmed the very large erection over his boxers, running your hands up and down his length. His head dropped forward, having to suck in breaths to avoid whining like a virgin when you haven’t even touched skin yet. Your fingers were so delicate yet your grip on him was firm, working him over the cloth that covered his most sensitive area and toying with his leaking tip, letting a wet spot appear under the waistband of his boxers.

It was then that you popped his cock out, eyeing the veins that ran up and down his length, his nearly crimson tip, swollen in hopeless desire for release. His balls were so tight, you massaged them with one hand as the other started jerking him slowly, almost painfully. You brought your lips to his again, absorbing all of his whimpers in your mouth and kissing back with addiction.

He tasted sweet, his luscious lips and wet tongue saccharine on your tastebuds. He was so addictive. A man so flexible under your insatiable presence, you removed his glasses and pushed his bangs out of his face, beautiful chestnut brown eyes that looked at you with so much love and desire.

You lifted your hips, “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?”

He nodded intensely, eyes locked on yours with his brows barely pinched together when you teased his tip, running it between your slick and spreading your wetness all over. He was practically pleading you with his eyes, not able to say a word as he let you take the lead.

You sunk down on him slowly, letting him feel all of you and the way your tight walls stretched for his thickness so perfectly, it was like you were made for him.

“Ngh­- what is it- fuck- that we need to study?” You asked, breathless, dumbstruck when you bottomed out, his tip poking your cervix as you sat, unmoving.

He stilled for a moment, hesitating in the other-worldly pleasure your pussy offered. You broke him out of his spell when you skimmed your thumb lightly over his cheek, bringing his attention back to reality.

“I-integrals,” he spluttered. “You need to learn- mmh- integrals.”

You started moving your hips slowly mid-sentence, an unhurried tempo so you could watch how he breaks for you.

“Mmm, start explaining it.” You grabbed his hands that gripped the armrests of his chair, bringing them back to your ass, his grip tightening immediately, squeezing the fat firmly with his rough hands.

“Integrals are- hah- the opposite of- hngh-”

“Mhm? Opposite of?” You were sweating, willing yourself to keep a languid tempo and not fuck him how you wanted. He was a virgin after all, and one that was so smitten with you, you loved dragging it out, loved the attention he gave you.

“Th-they’re the opposite of- of derivatives,” his grasp on you only tightening, it was aching, throbbing inside you as you tenderly lowered your hips each time, slowly feeling him getting harder and harder, it was a battle with himself not to cry out.

You leaned in close, your hands cradling his face like he was some delicate artwork, “you’re so big inside me,” you brought your lips to his. He was in a total state of catatonia, your walls milking him with each descent, a puddle of your arousal and his pre drenching the curls at his base. “Aren’t you, Cho?”

You just held his face in your hands, he was so angelic when he was fucked out, bangs sticking to his forehead that you move out of the way for him, skimming your thumbs over his cheeks, a sheen of sweat coating his face.

“A-and,” he began, the grasp he had on your body frantic as he took in more of you, filling his palms with your curves and spreading you wide for him in attempt to feel more. He loved you so much in this moment, he wished he could live inside your skin. “They’re the- the total- mmpf- accumulation over an interval.”

“You’re so sexy when you- ugh- explain things,” you sped up the tempo slightly, just barely, but enough to heighten the carnality, enough to tighten the coil in your abdomen. “Give me an example.”

He was completely hunched over, his head resting on your shoulder as you worked your hips. He was barely able to form a coherent thought let alone do math.

“U-uh, an example?” He huffed out.

“Mhm, give me an example baby.”

“The integral of- haah- x is x squared over 2.” His face was contorted, lips sucked in, brows pinched tightly, nose scrunched as he wallowed in the pleasure, how you only seemed to get more wet the more time that passed, his multiple releases of pre making your entrance so slick, so easy for you to slide up and down his length.

“Cho,” you looked at him with big eyes, grasping his forearm. “Cum with me, touch me here,” you brought his hand to your clit, showing him a circling motion with his thumb.

“Here?” he asked breathlessly, almost jumping out of his skin at the thought of making you cum with his fingers and cock.

“Yes, mmm, just like that, more pressure,” you coached him.

His thumb was circling your clit now, adding the pressure that you pleaded for. His other hand rested lovingly at your back, and you bounced rapidly on him, your thighs slapping his with each fall of your hips. Your hands gripped his shoulders for support, his muscled physique flexing under you as he climbed closer to climax.

You both reach your breaking point at the same time, maintaining eye contact over clouded vision. Your walls milked him for all he had and more, body quivering as you bellowed deeply, all of the stress and tension leaving your body being stretched by his thick length, no choice but to hit your g-spot because of his size. He worked you through it, urgently rubbing you with his thumb while he squeezed his eyes shut, twitching violently inside you releasing his rich seed, no doubt entering your womb.

You both came down from your high together too, foreheads resting as you caught your breath, his dick refusing to go flaccid as you sat still on it.

“Cho,” you looked up at him, tears pricking your eyes and smudging your makeup. “I want to be with you,” you pleaded.

He looked at you so worryingly yet so tenderly, he put a hand at the back of your head, bringing you to his chest so he could hold you close.

“I want to be with you too.” He added.

-----

You took the final the next day, then found yourself sitting on Choso’s dorm room floor with the final grades one click away. Your finger hovered over the screen before finally tapping, the number appearing in bold.

38/100

Silence.

Choso, ever the supportive boyfriend, started gently, “it’s okay, babe, I’ll help you study next ti-”

“LET’S GOOO!” You shouted, pumping your fists in the air like you’d just won the lottery.

He flinched at your sudden outburst, staring at you like you’d completely lost your mind. “Wait, what?”

“I did better than last time!” You grinned, spinning to face him.

His brows lifted in disbelief, mouth opening then closing. You still failed terribly.

Before he could find the words, you launched yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck. “You can still tutor me!”

He let out a small, helpless laugh, arms instinctively wrapping around your waist. He sighed, pressing his hands tighter.

“I’ll always tutor you.”

A/N: i'm just sitting here giggling at this because choso really is a horrible tutor. like reader girl already had no hopes, but he just let her ride him instead of studying the DAY BEFORE the final... but this is smut, and the integral of x is actually (x^2/2)+C

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵 ( 𝗯𝗼𝘆, 𝘁𝗲 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗼 )

   ⊹ ࣪ ˖ everyone has warned you about the less than shining reputation of women's hockey team captain daniela avanzini. arrogant, hot-headed, so, so bad for you, and extremely off-limits. so why is it that you can't get the blonde out of your head?

         ˎˊ˗  ❄️  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: hockey captain! daniela avanzini x coach's daughter! f!reader

   ➴ genre + wc: 23k, college au, forbidden/off-limits romance, friends w benefits to lovers?, sneaking around, slow burn, angst, bad communication, they start off toxic sorry not sorry, fuckboy/fratboy jock dani, reader's "i can fix him" energy is much too strong, however "you fall first she falls harder."

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: te quiero - kiss of life

┈─★ a/n: and we are all now officially full circle in the ditto verse to welcome home our fav fuckboy daddy dani <3 let me know what you think. i know it was a ton but i had so much fun exploring this dynamic i just couldn't stop adding to it. i'm gonna miss u hockeyverse!wigline but they were genuinely so much fun to write. hit me up with any ideas for anyone, i'd love to write a few shorter things/imagines and get more creative! thank you again for your time and all the love everyone has given this series! <3

cw:// mentions of recreational drug use, suggestive themes, mild violence but it's a hockey fic so that was to be expected i think....

[*set one year following the events of ditto/hlbwfil!]

“and another thing, your location stays on at all times.” your dad’s rambling to making sure you know exactly how little freedom you have. “you go to class, you come to practice, you go to the library maybe, and you go home.”

you cross your arms. “dining hall?”

“fine, dining hall.” he huffs. “i want permission before you step foot off this campus.”

“not happening,” you tell him simply. the vein in his forehead looks like it’s about to burst. 

“oh, are you paying for your own lawyer? after all the shit you pulled, you’re lucky you were even able to transfer.” he glares you down, his brow twitching. “i’m trying to keep you from ruining your life, y/n.”

“y/n,” your mom adds sternly, as a warning. “you have no idea how lucky you are that you get to start fresh after this.”

“yeah, no cheer, no friends, basically under house arrest, finishing college in the stupid boring city i grew up in instead of literally anywhere else. i feel like a real winner,” you roll your eyes, disappearing upstairs to go find your laptop before they can keep lecturing you.

you can talk back all you want, but they’ve never listened anyways. 

the last thing you want for your junior year of college is to have to start over, but here you are, trying to memorize the layout of this confusing campus before classes start tomorrow. you slip your earphones in and close your eyes, trying to get some rest. you have a feeling this semester is going to be a hard one.

-

you’ve always hated growing up in this city. he drives you to campus together and you hate the fact that you’re a year away from graduating and getting a ride from your dad still. you find your way around your first few classes and end sitting next to a gorgeous bobbed girl in your world literature class. 

“do you care about this stuff?” you ask, figuring you might as well make friends if you’re going to have to start over.

“i do,” she nods.

“would you be down to study with someone who doesn’t?”

she laughs and gives you a quick once-over. “you give trustworthy vibes.”

your dad was extremely clear. classes, practice, then straight home. you make your way to the stadium to get to their practice, under your dad’s direction after you get lost twice. you hate feeling the eyes on you as you walk into the training area, clearly a new face amongst people who’ve been training together since the summer time.

“new prospect?” someone asks. 

your dad clears his throat and motions to you. “this is y/n, my daughter, she’ll be shadowing for the season.”

“i didn’t know you had a girl, coach,” a blue-haired girl says curiously, waving up at you as you set your stuff down on a bench.

you’re not surprised. he usually only talks about the boys, your two older brothers, and how one is currently a commentator for the nhl and the other runs a hockey training camp on the east coast. 

“she’ll be stats manager,” he tells them, and it catches you by surprise— it’s the first you’re hearing of it. 

“isn’t that the assistant coach’s job?” you question.

“always good to have an extra pair of eyes,” he says, glaring over at you, almost threateningly, and the double meaning isn’t lost on you.

“welcome to the team,” a tall brunette says to you as she gets on the ice, and you smile appreciatively at everyone who acknowledges you, even if it’s just kissing your ass to get better with your dad. 

you hate starting new. you watch a red-haired girl, a ginger, and a blonde coming down the rafters, gear in hand, the blonde laughing as the red-haired girl tries grabbing her by the shoulder. they’re approaching you quickly, and maybe you should move out of the way of the player box, but by the time the thought occurs, they’re in front of you. 

“off limits,” you hear the red-haired girl say quickly.

“what is?” you ask, but you’re cut off by a rush of someone in your bubble. 

“hi,” the blonde girl, now just inches out of your face, greets breathlessly, a giant smile on her face. “you are absolutely gorgeous.”

oh god. it’s a strong first impression, but the way her dimple creases in the corner of her cheek makes your heart thud. you feel your cheeks turning red and already abandoning you.

“thank you,” you manage, before the taller ginger yanks her back.

“are you sure you’re related to our coach?” the red-haired one laughs. “the big bald dude who looks like he’ll shit himself at minor inconveniences?”

“dna test says i’m his,” you joke weakly. 

you can hear them mumbling amongst themselves as they get on the ice and skate away.

“god damn,” the blonde shakes her head. 

“off limits,” another girl echoes, shoving into her shoulder. 

your dad hands you a clipboard, and the assistant coaches comes up to you to break down your new job. you look up and spot the blonde on the ice. the assistant coach’s words get lost in your ear. maybe you’ll let yourself enjoy the view.

practice is long and tedious. you’ve never been a hockey girl, much to your dad’s frustration, so watching this is like torture for the past two hours. 

you hear a sharp whistle, the one that someone blows from between their teeth. your eyes snap up to meet those sharp mischievous ones, staring you down from the ice. 

“dani, don’t fucking start–” you hear the goalie warn, but the blonde is already blasting past her, building up a dangerous amount of speed. 

realizing her pleas are on deaf ears, the goalie cheers instead, hollering at the top of her lungs. you laugh. what a girl– if you can’t stop her, might as well cheer her on.

without a single ounce of hesitation, this “dani” girl pivots to skate backwards, braces down, and leaps up to land a recklessly tossed backflip. you almost wish she’d crash, just to wipe that shit-eating grin off her face– but no, she wobbles but sticks the landing, and you get the hint that this isn’t the first time she’s done something like this.

“avanzini, we said no more with the fucking backflips! stop showing off,” the assistant coach grunts. “ten laps since you want to be such a smart ass.”

she looks over at you one last time and flashes a grin at the assistant coach. “i’ll do eleven as an apology.”

she’s still doing laps when your dad gives a quick reminder about tomorrow’s practice and waves the girls off. they trickle off the ice and towards their gear one by one. you’re waiting for your dad before you hear a tap on the plexiglass, turning to spot the blonde waving at you from the other side.

“hey, don’t forget about me when you leave here today, alright?” she grins.

“already forgot your name,” you tell her, and you won’t mention having picked up on it from the goalie.

“it’s dani.” she breathes up against the plexiglass and traces the letters in. she grins charmingly, pointing to the word written in the fog of her breath against the glass. “d-a-n-i. now you won’t forget it, promise?”

you shake your head laughing as she skates past you. your dad is on another lecture as the two of you drive home, him rambling something about who knows what. you’re not listening, anyways.

you don’t want to give her the satisfaction, but her stupid antics worked. you can’t get the blonde out of your head. 

-

chaewon, the girl from your literature class, adopts you and somehow you’re always 2 degrees of separation from that stupid team. chaewon is dating one of the defenders, the blue-haired girl named yunjin, but luckily chae’s other friends don’t care for hockey quite as much. 

going to practice is still a pain, but the girls are never mean to you. you start to pick up on the names, the dynamics of the girls, and how your dad sees them. he mentioned last names to you before, but the names never stuck. you’re way better with faces anyways. 

there’s a clear star on that ice, an insanely fast ginger who pushes so hard, she’s dripping sweat within minutes of each practice starting. 

your dad never critiques one of the goalies, simply nodding at everything she does the way he used to approve of your brothers. you pick up on her likelihood of being your dad’s favorite and make a mental note of it. she’ll be the one you hunt down when you need to get out from under his radar. 

and that damn blonde. you see the way his head gets progressively redder and redder each time he screams at her. but what you like about her is she bites right back— for every call your dad makes that someone else swallows and takes on the chin, daniela is pausing practice entirely and challenging him on it. 

“i’m not arguing with you again, avanzini,” he growls at practice during week 2 of school. his face reddens as he blows the whistle. as much as you expect for the whistle to resume play, daniela holds her hand up to the rest of the team. they stay frozen on the ice. 

listening to this girl, instead of the head coach? when you did cheer, your coach’s word was like god. to see just how much influence the blonde has on the group is terrifying. 

“give me one good reason why kazuha should sweep left if she’s right dominant instead of passing,” dani questions.

“throws off incoming offense,” your dad responds.

“no, it throws off our outgoing offense,” daniela pushes back, nearly a growl. “if zuha passes backwards to yunjin, megan’s fast enough to catch whatever she sends up and i can block off anyone incoming.”

“megan’s fast but not—“

“i can be faster,” megan chirps up, nervous eyes on your dad as she hides behind the shorter blonde. “dani always knows where to put the puck. if we fake it and send it back to yunjin, dani can make a hole, and i can be there.”

“do you hear how insane you guys sound, intentionally losing ground?” your dad balks.

“kazuha’s strongest doing what she does best: covering right. yunjin’s powerful enough to get the pass up, and megan is fast enough to receive it.” daniela skates right up to your dad, where he stands in the player box, and gives a confident smirk. “and i’m damn smart enough to see who’s gonna try to intercept it.”

you can tell this is the girl that has cost him many sleepless nights. “the shit-head” as he used to refer to her when he’d rant about work. 

-

the team has a friendly scrimmage against a neighboring team later that week before the season starts, you see the team’s synergy on full display. your dad runs them like a well oiled machine, working like a pack of lions to take down a kill with your dad orchestrating all of it.

and daniela, with that damn smirk as she blasts past everyone on the ice with expert precision.

“she’s not exactly the biggest, but she’s smart on that ice,” your dad tells you in the car after their scrimmage win, shaking his head. “smart as all hell. kills me that our team captain is such a shit-head, but damn can she can perform.”

“and left wing, that position with that ego?” he keeps rambling. “when i met her before her freshman year, when she had first signed with the university, i was shitting myself thinking she’d be a puck hog, but she’s such a team fucking player. her and kazuha set megan up like clockwork. that little megan is shaky off the ice but such a force when she’s got the right set up.”

“and daniela is the right setup?” you question curiously.

“daniela and kazuha. they work together.” your dad explains, gesturing with two fingers side by side. “the defensemen keep to the back to support the goalie, and the wings work together up front to support the center.”

“okay,” you breathe, but your mind is still on that damn captain for reasons you can’t explain. maybe hockey has some redeeming qualities.

“you know, kiddo, it’s nice to see you so interested,” he smiles as you guys pull into the driveway.

you choke back the laugh. maybe you’ll spare your poor dad from your inner thoughts.

-

the hockey girls are nice to you, but almost too nice. you can tell they’re tip-toeing as they assess how delicate you are. it sucks, because you’d love to make friends with them if you have to spend every day seeing them, but at least you have chaewon, and she’s exactly who you seek out when you decide to do a little digging.

“what do you know about daniela avanzini?” you ask her one day out of the blue, as you’re in line together for coffee. 

“oh, she plays hockey with my girlfriend,” chaewon says, but you can tell there’s more she’s not telling you just by how she stiffened at the name.

“and?” you press.

“she’s the captain of their team.”

“and?”

“y/n, what are you trying to find out?”

“i’m just curious,” you shrug. “my dad can’t stop talking shit about her but she’s nothing but nice to me.”

“i’m sure she’s nice to you, just like all the girls are, so your dad doesn’t kill them,” chaewon laughs. she pauses, then shakes her head, letting out a sigh. “yunjin has her thoughts. dani’s… somethin’. i’m not a fan, personally.”

“you’re the first person that’s been honest with me,” you thank her. you hold onto her words for the rest of the day, even at the end of the night when you’re curled up in bed scrolling through your powerpoints for the next day.

chaewon doesn’t forget, and sends you a link. you open it and it sends you to a tik tok. 

“who on the team would you not let your kid date?” the girl behind the camera asks, before cutting to several other girls on the team.

“dani.”

“oh, definitely daniela.”

“daniela avanzini.”

the final scene of the tik tok is the blonde herself, a big toothy grin, clearly not in on the joke.

“my name is daniela and i’m a left wing.”

you stare at the comments. 

oh i get it

HI DANIELA (louder than the rest)

raw, in reverse, on my knees, whenever she wants it, til the bed breaks, til the neighbors call the cops-

you feel your curiosity multiply at the next related video, one of her giving a few press statements following last year’s championship win. 

“we played smart and worked together. the only thing you can ask for is unity, and this year proves what a good unit can do.” she seems so serious in the clip, yet equally playful as you’ve seen her. an interesting balance for the face of their team.

“you were able to focus on all his despite losing player of the year?” the interviewer asks.

“i’m player of the year in many people’s hearts, and that’s good enough for me. gotta keep a good head game up if i want to rep that C,” she responds.

you roll your eyes at the way she smirks at the camera. the comments all go crazy over her suggestive double meaning, but it’s the most viewed video on the account, so you kinda get it. dani is infuriatingly charming, and that makes for a great face for the team. 

you feel your pulse race. god, what is it with you and the intrigue of this girl who everyone is telling you to run far, far away from?

-

“hey!” lara greets you the next day after the girls all finish up with physical therapy. she’s always been particularly passionate about making sure you feel included, and recently, you’ve let yourself believe it’s a sincere attempt at forging a friendship.

“what’s up?”

“a few of us are going back to my place to watch tapes on the tv, prepping for the game.” she hands you her phone, opened to the dial pad. “you’re welcome to join us.”

“you sure i won’t be intruding?” you ask before giving her your contact info.

“not at all. we’ll be up late. it’ll be like a fun hockey sleepover.” lara smiles, before motioning over to the ginger. “don’t let the puppy dog scare you off, we fed her once and now we can’t seem to get rid of her.”

“if i knew being your housemate meant you’d keep making that stupid stray dog joke, i would have just stayed living in the dorms,” megan glares at the older girl. 

you laugh and nod in appreciation. “i’d love that. i think chaewon is getting tired of me interrupting her study time. i’ll be there.”

your dad is actually quite pleased to hear you’ll be reviewing tapes, and drops you off at lara and megan’s place just a few minutes off campus. you figured lara’s name would be the key to getting out of house arrest, and you were right. 

the house is huge and slightly messy, littered with clothes and meal prep boxes, the clear home to some very serious student athletes. 

you’re getting comfortable on the couch as megan runs to get you a water bottle, when a bedroom door opens and you’re staring directly into the dark mischievous eyes that have been stuck in your head for the past two weeks.

“what are you doing here?” she asks quickly, narrowing her eyes in confusion. 

“reviewing tapes.” you blink as you realize whatever room she came out of, she came out in only some shorts and a sports bra. you try not to objectify her, but damn is she making it hard. “same as you?”

“i live here,” daniela responds quickly, and you come to the realization that lara didn’t specify megan as her only roommate.

“put some clothes on,” lara rolls her eyes, throwing a hoodie in dani’s direction. “we have company, you animal.”

“sorry you’re jealous of my insanely hot bod. if you looked like this you’d be half naked everywhere too,” the blonde pushes back, and you try to ignore the way you feel your heartbeat in every vein as she hops over the back of the couch and gets comfy next to you on the couch as lara turns on the first video.

you begrudgingly share with lara that your dad is extremely protective, and she’s the only one he trusts you to hang out with. she beams proudly and promises to not get you into any trouble with curfews or whatever.

lara’s girlfriend joins you guys just a few minutes later, as do a few other girls from the team. being alone with them away from your dad helps them loosen up a little, and it’s actually really fun to see their actual dynamic instead of the fake niceties you see as they try to be on their best behavior at practice. 

11pm rolls around, and your dad shoots you a text letting you know he expects you back before midnight. you want to scream at how little freedom you have even at your grown age, but the girls are all extremely understanding and offer their own solutions to helping you get home without having to rely on your dad to come pick you up.

“i can uber,” you wave them off, not wanting to inconvenience anyone.

“no, dani’ll drive you home,” lara states firmly, pulling out her phone. “i’ll vouch to your dad for you since i’m your designated guardian angel.”

you don’t want to be a burden, but the thought of getting to finally talk 1 on 1 with the girl stuck in your head sends your pulse racing.

“is that okay with you?” you ask, turning towards the captain in question.

“yeah,” she nods, getting off the couch and slipping on her sneakers. “lar, give me the keys.”

“no stops, no detours, no nothing,” lara warns, tossing her the keychain. “it takes 15 minutes to get there so i’m gonna watch your location. if i don’t see you driving back home in 16, i’m calling the police on you.”

“fine,” the blonde responds curtly, motioning for you to follow her outside. 

“daniela, i’m so serious,” lara threatens. “be decent.”

dani rolls her eyes and waves her off as you two make your way to the car. 

“thanks for being willing to take me,” you tell her, trying to be loud enough over the heater blasting. you don’t know how she’s able to just be out in the fall-time weather in a hoodie, shorts, and some socks.

“no worries.” she shakes her head, eyes locked on the road. “coach doesn’t want you out of his sight or what?”

“he thinks being on high alert keeps me out of trouble,” you roll your eyes.

“what kind of trouble did you get into?” she asks curiously.

you freeze. ugh. and this was supposed to be your fresh start. 

“i just really, really like doing things i’m not supposed to,” you answer after a moment, hoping it’s enough.

“ah,” she says simply, her jaw hardening, but there’s a smirk threatening to come out. “that’s my bad habit too.”

you admire the way the red lights illuminate her skin, the roundness of her features, the contrast against the sharpness of those mischievous eyes. 

“kind of embarrassing that you know my dad like that,” you wrinkle your nose.

“he’s not that bad, as far as coaches go, obviously can’t speak about him as a dad.” she snorts. “i’d kill to have a dad that passionate about hockey.”

“have your parents ever seen you play?” you ask, hoping to get to know more about this girl.

she looks at you in surprise. you wonder if she’s ever been asked this question or what.

 “when i was a kid, they were at every game. not so much for collegiate.”

“live too far or what?” you ask curiously.

she smiles, but it’s a smile of hesitation. you try to read what she’s debating within herself.

“they cut me off when i was 18.” 

“why?”

“tried to bring a girl home for my birthday.” she clicks her tongue. “big mistake.”

“you’re serious?” you ask, half-shocked at the answer.

“they cut me off, and the girl dumped me. double whammy. luckily, lara’s family took me in for the summer.”

“how far back do you guys go?” you ask, curious about their dynamic. of course they’re also close with megan, but lara has always seemed particularly protective of dani, weird considering dani is technically in a position of power over her friend.

“we met at a hockey camp in the 5th grade,” daniela smiles. “every time her parents see us play, they cheer for me too.”

she’s so sweet, sharing this piece of herself with you, you figure she deserves a piece of your puzzle too. 

“i got kicked out of school because they caught me with drugs.” you confess, and you don’t know what it is about daniela’s sincerity that makes you feel like you can trust her. “they weren’t mine. they were my friend’s, and she needs to be there, getting a cheer scholarship, going to school.”

“you took the fall?” she asks, and her voice is full of surprise without being full of judgement.

“i have a family, a house,” you explain, “she had literally nothing.”

she arches a brow and smiles at you through the corner of her eye, still looking at the road.

“i just thought you had a bad attitude,” she teases.

you laugh. “i have that too.”

“as someone who could have easily been in your friend’s shoes, she’s lucky to have someone like you,” daniela tells you, and the sincerity in her voice makes your whole body go warm. you can’t help but dive into a deeper question, something that’s been clawing at you.

“dani,” you start, your voice dropping quietly. “can i ask you something?”

“as long as you’re prepared to not like my answer,” she laughs, and you catch yourself in the shimmer of her tooth gem. 

you breathe out softly, trying to connect the dots. 

“how come everyone is telling me not to be friends with you?”

daniela’s smile falls ever so slightly, her hands tightening around the steering wheel.

“are they?” she wrinkles her nose. 

“kazuha said i’m off limits, lara’s whole ‘be decent,’ thing,” you remind her, trying to think back to other times the team has been weird about dani being around you. “have you bullied people off the team before or what?”

“something like that,” she shakes her head, staring off at the street. 

“you’re the only person who doesn’t treat me weird because of my dad,” you tell her, “you’re not delicate or super nice to me like i’m going to snitch on you.”

“i’m an asshole to everyone,” she laughs.

“but you’re not an asshole,” you push. “you’re actually very, very decent.”

“is that a compliment? i’ll take it as a compliment.” she beams. “i thrive off attention, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“you’re hard to not notice,” you poke back.

you both laugh together as the car pulls into park. you half think about asking her to kiss you, those insanely beautiful lips achingly close, but your eyes dart to the time and you realize it’s 30 seconds until lara threatened to call. you hate this stupid house arrest shit. 

“hope you don’t get your ass beat,” she says simply, and you laugh again. 

“thank you for driving me.”

“don’t get used to it,” she reaches over your lap to unlock your car door, and the proximity of her body sends your brain into overdrive. she swing the door open and pulls back into her own seat. “you won’t get the princess treatment here.”

“wouldn’t want it anyways.” you give her a quick once-over before leaving the car, taking the moment in one last time. she waves as she watches you disappear back inside.

maybe the team thinks they know her, but the version you saw tonight of the blonde makes you feel like you’re going crazy. daniela checks off all the boxes. authentic, unfiltered, and infuriatingly hot. you fall back onto your bed once you get upstairs and let your mind roam into fantasy world, and you finally admit to yourself what it seems your body has known for much, much longer.

you have a crush on daniela avanzini. 

-

the first game throws you straight into the deep end of college hockey. you didn’t realize how serious women’s hockey was to the university until you see the jam-packed crowd, nearly every single seat in the arena filled with screaming fans for the team’s season-opener game. 

“good luck,” you tell the girls, nerves fluttering in your chest as you take to the coach’s bench next to your dad and the assistant coaches.

you spot megan press a quick kiss to her girlfriend’s lips and raise a thumbs up at you. a few other girls nod at your well-wishes, but that blonde is pushing past them all without an ounce of fear. 

“don’t need it,” dani tells you simply, grinning before hitting the ice. 

the game is insanely fast paced, and you never realized just how fun keeping up with hockey can be when you’re actually invested. the scrimmage was interesting but the actual game is addicting, violent and coordinated all at once, making it impossible to tear your eyes away. the girls dominate the first period, keeping an early lead on the other team. the second period is a strong play for defense to keep their lead up. it’s in the third and final period where they get a little shaky, the rookies starting to stand out from the veterans as a missed play accidentally gives up a shot to the other team, tying them back up 1-1.

your dad, infuriated by this misstep, calls a timeout and the girls all come zooming to the player box, dripping in sweat and drinking hurriedly from their water bottles. 

“who cost us that fucking shot?” your dad roars angrily from the time out. 

you know the only reason the other team got the puck was because of that new little freshman eunchae, who was losing steam in this last period and ended up too far back in her zone to catch the pass back from yunjin, giving it up by accident to allow the other team to score. 

“me,” daniela immediately speaks up, and you feel your face twist in confusion. “it was me. i wasn’t open for eunchae to make it to me.”

before you can call her out for the lie, she shoots you a glare, and you realize what she’s trying to tell you. 

“you’ll feel it in practice,” your dad threatens.

“i’ll get us up by two,” daniela bites back immediately.

“big talk for someone who just let us get tied in the bottom of final period.”

daniela leaps over the wall and takes back to the ice before the timeout is even called over. she’s skating hard enough to look like she’ll smash through the ice with each stride.

you analyze it. lara and yunjin sharing a look, eunchae looking both panicked and relieved as she sits on the bench and lets the other defenseman swap her in, megan skating up to dani and trying to say something to her. but daniela waves her off, pointing to a few spots on the ice, before the timeout ends, kazuha regains her position, and the faceoff starts once more.

you hate to admit it, lest it feed your crush any more, but holy shit, is daniela good. 

the debate with your dad ramps her up into 6th gear. she was good before, but she’s insane now, her movements sharper, her skating harder. every time the puck ends up in her control, if she’s not taking a shot, then she’s making sure megan can. she’s absolutely relentless in her pursuit of catching up.

“she’s freaking their goalie out,” the assistant coach says, realizing what daniela’s intention is. the blitz at every opportunity has clearly exhausted the goalie on the other team, meanwhile lara in the goalie box has barely gotten a chance to see the puck due to dani’s aggressive offense. kazuha passes to dani, who makes a shot to bring them up a lead 2-1, but it doesn’t seem to be enough for daniela.

true to her word, the buzzer hits with dani sending a pass to a waiting megan, who scores them a final point.

ending score: 3-1.

“i better see you a half hour early tomorrow for that extra point you cost us,” your dad huffs at dani as the girls are barely coming off the ice. 

“bring me a donut, big guy,” she bites back dryly, her chest heaving. you’re amazed she can manage to get the words out after how tired she seems.

you wait in the car as your dad does the post-game debrief, but when he gets in the driver’s seat, you have some pressing questions based off what you saw.

“she got the team up to the win. why are you so hard on her?” you ask as your dad drives you guys home. 

“avanzini? that’s what a captain is for,” he responds in confusion.

“to be a punching bag?”

“to be responsible,” he corrects. “it was her call to start eunchae instead of letting her watch from the bench. i’m not blind, i know it was hong’s fault she lost that pass.”

“so then why did you let dani take the fall if it wasn’t her fault?”

“because it was her call.”

“but this is eunchae’s first game. i’m sure it gave her tons of confidence to see playtime and know her mistakes won’t cost her.”

“then hopefully avanzini finds it worth it.”

you won’t pretend to understand. you finally decide to commit and follow each of the team members on instagram. they all follow you back within the hour– all except for daniela.

-

your crush only grows, and yet, you feel like since that night in the car, something shifted for her. she’s less attentive to you, less eager for your attention, almost intentionally cold. she avoids your eyes during group meetings, stops sitting next to you during tape reviews, and she still hasn’t fucking followed you back on instagram. you don’t know what her deal is, but your intuition tells you to push deeper.

that’s why, when you spot the blonde curls peeking out from under a beanie at the coffee shop near your house your dad gave you permission to walk to, you tug her by the sleeve and smile as she turns around, pulling her headphones off her head. 

“hi, did you drive here?” you ask curiously, noting that she’s breathing heavily and covered in sweat.

“i always stop here when i finish my runs,” she answers, but the way she’s eyeing the door makes you wonder what exactly she’s so eager to escape.

“perfect,” you sing song, reaching out to her with your hand outstretched.  “walk me home?”

“bad idea,” she says quickly. 

“good idea,” you push back. “plus, i owe lara her textbook back.”

it’s true, lara’s girlfriend had let you borrow a book for your class, and it’s sitting on the corner of your nightstand. maybe you just need an excuse to talk to her again, to figure out why she’s playing this game of hot and cold with you, and you figure she’ll respond best to directness.

“you’re avoiding me,” you tell her, less of a question than an observation. 

“not true.” she shakes her head, taking a sip from her drink.  “just been busy.”

“yeah, busy avoiding me,” you push.

“maybe you’re just annoying as shit,” she bites back, but there’s a slight grin at the corners of her lips that make it feel more teasing than hurtful.

“you wouldn’t know if i’m annoying or not, ‘cause you’re avoiding me, remember?” you answer.

“fine,” she gives in, wrapping her headphones around her neck and reaching for your arm. “ i’ll walk you home, just to prove my point.”

you can’t deny the satisfaction of knowing she’s giving in, and the way she guides you out of the door of the coffee shop by your arm makes you relish in the closeness. you’ve only had one real conversation with her, but it was enough to crave another one, and walking side by side up the sidewalk gives you a warm sense of victory in your chest.

“i know you covered for eunchae,” you start, feeling the breeze nip at your nose.  

“don’t know what you’re talking about,” she smiles playfully, eyes focused on the concrete. “you know me, i just like making coach mad.”

“if you want a dad to yell at you ‘cause yours doesn’t, feel free to keep him.”

“you make me sound super fucked up when you put it that way,” she shakes her head. “like it’s a daddy issues thing.”

“the way you try to push his buttons on purpose makes it seem like a daddy issues thing,” you laugh.

“i just like getting under people’s skin,” she shrugs, and you feel your heart thud at that stupid damn dimple.

“you’re good at that,” you admit, and you almost forget what exactly you two are talking about.  “too good.”

before you know it, you’re in front of the house, a cozy two story with a giant tree in front of your window that you and your brothers had planted when you were just kids. 

“this is where coach lives?” daniela asks, looking up and down in surprise.

“i grew up here. i’d rather live alone in a dorm than with my parents, but that’s consequences or whatever,” you roll your eyes. “let me give you lara’s book. it’s upstairs.”

you push past the front door and realize dani is still lingering on the porch, staring hesitantly at the entrance.

“you can come in,” you reassure her, before noting, “nobody’s home.”

you see her eyes flicker up to you, assessing the lack of cars in the driveway, before she kicks off her shoes and follows you in. 

daniela avanzini is in your room. you try not to make a huge deal out of it, but your mind is absolutely racing. 

“don’t mind the boxes, i still haven’t unpacked all the stuff i brought back from school,” you warn. motioning to the piles in your otherwise tidy room. 

“cute,” she smiles, pointing to the framed picture of you with your former cheer team. “do you miss them?”

“all the time,” you admit. “but we talk a ton, so it’s easier.”

“this one’s hot,” she says, pointing to the picture. 

“don’t piss me off,” you warn, laughing. 

you see something return to those mischievous dark eyes of hers as they flicker up to meet yours, her tongue pressing against her teeth.

“what if i like pissing you off?”

“you’d be admitting to liking me,” you answer quickly, and she grins back at you.

“you’ve got a smart fuckin’ mouth on you,” she says, wagging a finger in your face. 

“yeah?” you challenge, feeling your pulse race as you push her finger away. “you’re pretty cocky yourself.”

“i like the attention,” she reiterates.

“but not from me?” you question playfully, taking a step closer into her bubble. “why were you avoiding me?”

“i was avoiding you,” she finally admits, reaching up to rub her jaw as she avoids your eyes. “i know you’ve done your research.”

“i want to get to know you, and you’re not letting me get to know you,” you push back, reaching out softly to link your fingers. the touch sends sparks through every nerve in your limb. 

“i need to stay away from you,” dani groans, but the way her eyes come to fixate on you abandons what her words try to convey. you realize what’s happening– she’s cracking.

“says who?” you ask, reaching down so your fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. your fingertips brush lightly against the dip of her abs and you feel your mind go numb.

“says literally everyone,” she laughs lowly.

“everyone also says you have a mind of your own,” you push back, tilting your head to look at her.

“that i do,” she breathes, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips as her gaze flickers across your features. you feel drunk under the dizziness her gaze alone has.

“so are you going to think for yourself?” you challenge.

“i’m not a decision to take lightly,” she mumbles, bringing her fingers to trace up your arm and across your collarbone. “i think you’ll hate me if you get to know me.”

“i want to make that decision for myself,” you experiment with your fingers running along the elastic of her shorts. your hands are both starting to seek more and more skin along the other’s body.

“they made it crystal clear how off limits you are,” she groans. “you set me up to fail, and i fucking hate losing.”

“i think you should kiss me, like, now,” you breathe anxiously. you feel your pulse in your ears as she watches as she leans closer and closer.

but before she can close the gap between you two, you hear the loud shut of the front door, and the click of your mom’s heels against the floor. dani’s eyes flash to the open door, and she cooly moves away from you to sit easily on your bed, pushing you away ever so gently.

“y/n? d’you get back from your walk yet?”

“hi mom,” you call out. “ran into dad’s captain and she walked me home.”

“hi, mrs. y/ln,” dani grits through her teeth, eyes still locked on you, as your mom comes upstairs and greets you both. you hope the flush of your skin isn’t enough to sell you out.

“daniela, nice to see you again. thanks for keeping an eye on y/n for us.” your mom smiles sincerely, and you figure you’re in the clear. “i didn’t know you and y/n were friends, you’re welcome to come around more often.”

“i think coach y/ln would flip if he saw me here,” dani smiles knowingly, flashing you a quick look. “but i’ll be around.”

dani excuses herself, and your mom starts going on about the lawyers calling and how your case is going to get argued down to something that’ll easily come off your record. it’s a relief, but she’s still clearly irritated with the whole situation, and you ask to go to bed early to end the conversation there.

you look down at your phone as you make it back into your bed. dani has finally followed you back, and you see a private story posted.

a picture of the top of her head, simply captioned “tryna get up to something.”

you feel a pit in the bottom of your stomach and decide to just go to sleep. at the very least, you know you didn’t make it up.

-

“coach, can y/n come out with a few of us tonight?” lara asks at the next practice. you look up at her in surprise. they had just gotten back from an away game and lara had mentioned something about a greek life party she was eager to hit up. you knew there was no chance, but lara gave you a confident shake of her head and insisted she’d figure something out to get you there. you didn’t think this meant being so confident as to ask your dad directly.

“something small?” he raises an eyebrow at her. 

“i’ll share my location if it makes you feel better,” she smiles.

“i trust you. stay with lara,” he waves you off, and you stare at the red-haired girl in disbelief. you won’t test your luck. she gives you a time to be ready to get picked up, and you thank god that your dad has favorites.

your history with college parties has been iffy at best. your cheer coach was notoriously strict. you’re jealous that the hockey girls have a different standard, but you try to push that thought away and focus on the positive: at least now, you can party without fear of punishment. 

there’s another thought you want to push away: the thought of daniela in your room. lara, megan, and their respective partners are all in the car when they stop by to pick you up, but dani is nowhere to be seen. you make up your mind that tonight, you’re going to get over this stupid fucking crush, and you’re going to do so at all costs.

you’re only a few minutes in to the less-than-tiny house party and lara has already disappeared somewhere to go be alone with her girlfriend. megan is outside in the backyard laughing insanely loudly on the swingset with her own girlfriend. you start to regret not inviting chaewon or someone else outside of the hockey team, leaving you there alone on your own.

but then blue haired yunjin is popping up in your peripheral, offering you a shot, and you take it, deciding you have nothing to lose. 

“no girlfriend tonight?” you ask.

“chae’s studying for her comps,” she wrinkles her nose. “i’d give anything to be making out with her right now.”

you laugh. “i’ll kiss a few strangers in honor of chae.”

“she’d hate that,” yunjin cackles, before serving you another drink. “but i love your intentions, so let’s pick your victim.”

“no, i get too picky,” you shake your head. “give me a criteria and that’ll be my victim.

“oh fuck yeah,” yunjin laughs, and you love how down she is. “hmm. next person to offer you a drink?

“you better put that fucking bottle down then or your girlfriend will kill you.”

yunjin shrieks with laughter and sprints off to leave the bottle back at the bar. she finds you once more and you two dive into the mosh pit of bodies all dancing together. she dances stupidly alongside you, and for a split second, you’re grateful that despite all you’ve been through this year, you can still find decent people you enjoy being around. 

a pair of hands snake around your waist, and you see a bottle of tequila get presented to you from behind you. you feel the sweat and the faint musk of a familiar clean cologne from the stranger behind you. you nod at the bottle, looking up at yunjin as you realize your victim has been selected. 

but yunjin simply stares back at you with wide eyes, shaking her head as if to warn you, before you turn and realize just what has her in such a panic. 

or rather, who. 

the stranger grabs your waist and pulls you closer, and you turn to come face to face with that mess of blonde curls. dani’s skin is flushed from what you assume is both adrenaline and drinks in her system. the two of you lock eyes and you feel the room slow down.

“hi,” you greet, wrapping your arms around her neck. 

“hi,” she breathes back. those damn eyes scan over you, searching for something. 

“we should find somewhere quiet,” you tell her simply. she eyes you, something dangerous in that dark gaze, but within moments she’s leading you upstairs, grasp tight around your wrist. you can see the shimmer of someone else’s lip gloss smeared on her mouth already, and part of it infuriates you. 

but you’re finally alone, the back of your legs hitting the bed and leading you to sit down. she’s quickly invading your space, stepping in and planting an arm on either side of you to lock you in beneath her. 

“i don’t make good decisions,” she warns you, and you let your hands untuck the front of the jersey she’s wearing, exploring the skin of her torso experimentally. she doesn’t stop you, and it makes your whole body tense.

“that’s fine,” you breathe quickly, the proximity dizzying you.  “the bad choices are always more fun.”

you see her jaw clench as your fingers trace along her back, your nails pressing into her strong shoulders as an experimental test. 

“last warning,” she breathes into your ear, her head falling to press her temple against yours. your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest with how her guard falls. 

“you’re finally going to let us be friends?” you grin, watching as she pulls away to go lock the door.

she glares back at you, something dangerous in those eyes, and reaches back to pull her shirt off in one smooth motion before a devilish grin takes to her lips. 

“we’re not going to be friends,” she says simply, before leaping forward to finally claim you.

-

“you look like you’re in a good mood,” chaewon chirps as you race into the seat next to her in the early morning literature lecture.

you mention nothing of the fact that you’re on 2 hours of sleep, waking up late, ready to fall asleep at the table. 

“did i miss anything?” you huff, trying to get a grip.

“colonization, racial undertones, empiricism, the usual good stuff,” she smiles, before eyeing you in concern. “i’m serious, everything okay?”

it’s one thing to hook up at the party, but when lara called you to let you know it’s time to go, it’s another thing to be pushing daniela off you so she doesn’t make you sound suspicious over the phone. 

the ride back was spent in complete silence, lara not at all suspicious as to where you both disappeared for the few hours, but by the time you get back to their place, dani is covering your mouth with her hand to slip you into her room instead of letting you sleep on the couch where lara had initially offered.

you shudder as you fight off the flashbacks and try to focus on the lecture. “i’m totally good.”

“yunjin said she had fun hanging out with you last night,” chaewon goes on, showing you a picture the two of you had taken together that yunjin had sent her. “you guys went to that party together?”

“we ran into each other there,” you smile, loving how yunjin was so immersed in the party and still found a way to include her girlfriend. “we missed you. we both would have killed to have you there with us.”

“next time, maybe i’ll join,” chaewon smiles, and you drop your head into your hand. 

class ends, and you’re almost disappointed to not see anything from daniela. no texts checking in on how you got home (an uber to your house before your dad woke up) or dm’s letting you know she’s even alive. you’ve never been clingy before, and you don’t intend to start now, but just being acknowledged would be nice.

your head is pounding as you walk to practice. as soon as you get home, you’re going to sleep as long as physically possible, and try not to think about how incredible daniela’s hands are at–

you push the thought away, but you spot the flash of blonde curls approaching the stadium at the same time. you swear she spots you out of the corner of her eye, but she keeps walking, bag slung over her shoulder.

you’re no stranger to one night stands, but at the very least an acknowledgement would be nice? you have to work together for the rest of the season. the least she can do is not be a giant fucking jerk.

you speed up to catch her and shove into her to get her attention.

“hi, i’m alive or what the fuck ever, if that matters to you,” you push into her shoulder.

“i warned you, and you found me.” she gives you a disinterested glare, and you almost can’t believe this is the same girl you had played such a fun cat and mouse game with. she keeps walking, and you speed up to keep up with her as you guys head to the locker room. “if you’re pissed that i didn’t call you, just call me first.”

“you are really fucking full of yourself,” you spit angrily. 

“you can’t say you weren’t warned,” she shrugs, entering the empty locker room to put her bag into a locker. she takes off her jacket and hangs it up, reaching for her helmet out of her bag. “i’m not stupid. i know every single person on this team warned you about me. if you didn’t listen, that’s on you.”

“are you proud of that reputation?” you ask in disbelief. 

“i know your type,” she smirks smugly. “you play hard to get and then you’re pissed when you give in ‘cause there’s no more mystery.” 

“you don’t know shit about me,” you growl back, and something about having shared so much with her stings. you’re not mad about the hookup, you’re mad about buying all her vulnerable bullshit and thinking she wasn’t going to be every bit as shitty as everyone warned you she’d be.

“i know what you sound like screaming my name and you can’t take that shit back,” she laughs, and you want to absolutely fucking murder her. 

“i don’t know why the fuck you’re being such an asshole, but you’re a piece of shit, and i hope you choke on that ice today,” you blurt, storming off towards the player box.

“you good?” yunjin asks, noting your expression as you two cross into each other.

“i’m fine,” you wave her off, and you have to bite back a scream as daniela hops on the ice, laughing her head off with megan and lara as if your interaction had never happened.

you try to hide your disappointment. a crush you had believed in so wholeheartedly, only to see that everyone else was right to warn you.

- 

you’re relieved that your dad makes you stay home for the away games, and a break from having to see dani’s stupid face is exactly what you needed. the team leaves that weekend for a game and your mom takes over the hawk-eyed supervision, but it gives you a chance to introduce her to some of your new friends. chaewon comes over to do homework with you and brings along a friend from her english class named sophia, and you find out sophia is friends with megan’s girlfriend. 

you desperately need someone to open up to about your entire experience with daniela, but knowing chaewon is less than her biggest fan, and sophia does her best to avoid hockey drama, you realize you’re probably shit out of luck. plus, you were fairly warned by literally everyone, and you still were stupid enough to get yourself involved with her, so really, it’s a fitting punishment that you deal with the consequences.

halfway through the study session, megan (sweet, angelic megan,) reaches out to you that night to ask you to run her stats from the game. the assistant coach took from the game, and you start running the numbers while sophia and chae bicker about where the best study spot on campus is. you feel your heart sink as you realize you’ll have to do this all over again for the rest of the semester: run the numbers from every game and inform the players, and you let out a loud groan.

“i fucking hate hockey,” you tell them, interrupting their debate.

“oh, do you know how beat up my girlfriend is when she comes home to me?” chaewon shrieks. “she’s like a zombie half the time. i can’t wait for her to be done with this stupid sport.”

“all the players are massive-ego’d idiots,” sophia echoes. “well, maybe not yunjinnie–”

“no, i’m not offended, yunjin can be so loud,” chaewon butts in, wrinkling her nose. “but that megan is really sweet.”

the three of you laugh. the ginger may be single handedly balancing the reputation of the team on her shoulders. 

“well, they have an idiot for a leader,” you say, and they both chirp in agreement.

“i just have to hear about them, but you’re up close and personal,” chaewon gapes, shaking her head. “you’re a saint for dealing with all of them.”

you feel your ears get red. your closeness with daniela would probably be categorized as anything but holy, but that’s something you’ll end up taking to the grave, it turns out. 

you guys end the night with a quick goofy round of youtube karaoke, sophia and chaewon trying to out-do each other so loudly your mom drops by in concern, and you can’t help but feel a little better at the idea of facing the team tomorrow. 

“it’s like what, three more months left in their season, and then you’re free?” sophia reminds you as her and chaewon get into the car. “so easy.”

you’d like to believe her, but unfortunately, daniela wants to make it anything but easy for you.

you go player by player before practice starts, pulling them aside to show them their graphs. lara smiles at her current save rate, megan nods as you show her how fast she’s improving on her shot ratio, kazuha mumbles something to herself about more strength training when you give her the statistics on her pushbacks.

you suck in a deep breath and approach the blonde last, out of all the girls, to try and get it over with the fastest. 

“your numbers are dropping.” you tell daniela simply, dropping the clipboard in her lap as she laces up her skates.

she shoots you a glare, biting the tip of her glove to pull it off her hand and flip through your pages, and you have to physically remind yourself to stop thinking about what those teeth felt like on your skin…

“what?” she questions, brows furrowing. you’re almost surprised by how shocked she sounds. clearly, you’re telling her something she isn’t expecting.

“your average. compared to this time last season, you had this many assists under your belt.” you point to the comparison curves on the graphs. “this season, you’re hitting numbers almost a third lower. harder time keeping up?”

“check your math, there’s no way,” she huffs, standing up and tossing the clipboard off her lap. you feel your blood boil at her attitude, but there’s something giving you a power trip about seeing how angry she’s getting.

ugh. you don’t want to admit the high it gives you to get under her skin.

“ouch, that struck a nerve.” you observe, fighting the grin that wants to take over your features. “you’re underperforming, avanzini.”

“i’m competitive,” she says curtly, eyes darkening, and skates off without another look in your direction. you hear her mutter something with a curse word in spanish, and somehow, it feels like a win in your book. 

it’s not that you want to give daniela a hard time, especially if you’re going to have to be stuck together for the rest of the season, but by the time practice starts, she’s looking over at you every time she makes another pass or takes another shot. you won’t admit how much you like the attention she’s giving you, even if it’s just to prove that she’s every bit as good as her ego claims, but you hold onto the feeling of irritating her and how satisfied it makes you feel. 

lara invites you out to dinner with them again, but dani stays back on the ice after everyone else leaves, and you consider yourself the winner that day. 

dani calms down the rest of the week at practice, and is right back to ignoring you as you do your best to ignore her. you know there’s a chance you two can coexist peacefully– your friendship with lara and megan is actually quite enjoyable, even if dani makes a big deal of disappearing every time you come over or join the red-haired girl and her ginger sidekick. you kind of like the ability to not have to worry about daniela being around, but something in your stomach lurches every time you realize you’re still on her close friends story and she’s posting another shirtless photo surrounded by gorgeous random strangers. 

you know she’s probably not even thinking about you, but she’s so fucking aggravating, you need to get back at her somehow to regain your sense of control. 

so at the next evening practice, you decide to test another theory.

usually it’s just your dad who gives feedback to the girls, but he’s busy chatting with the assistant coaches and the trainee physical therapist, so you decide to put your clipboard down and lean against the half-wall to call out to the girls as they continue through their drills.

“nice shot, kazuha.”

as if they’re surprised to hear your voice, nearly half the team looks up at you, kazuha herself looking confused before breaking into a giant grin. 

“oh, ah, thank you, y/n,” she beams, and the pure joy in her face makes you wonder what the fuck your dad puts these poor girls through if the slightest affirmation is enough to excite them this much.

“me next, me next!” lara calls out to you, and the two of you laugh as you wave her off. these poor, compliment-deprived jocks.

“you gotta do something worth cheering on, first,” you yell back to her, and all the girls scramble on the ice to push further. your original plan was to compliment every single player and leave out the captain, but as you look up, dani is glaring daggers at kazuha, who is still smiling from your call out.

maybe this will be a little easier than you thought. if dani is the attention seeking type, what easier way to piss her off than showing her how easily she can be ignored? and if you can find someone specific to make it feel personal, even better.

you try remembering the dynamics you observed among the team. your dad mentioned kazuha and daniela being partners on the ice, you know she’s protective of megan so that probably won’t make a difference, lara is too goofy to take the compliment anyways–

it clicks. you remember the way chaewon doesn’t like daniela. yunjin and dani might have some kind of rivalry between them.

you pray yunjin won’t make things weird. but as if perfectly on cue, yunjin practices a spinning check on daniela and sends the captain flying backwards, slamming into the plexiglass as easily as pushing a child.

“good shit, huh,” you call out loudly as the defender skates off. yunjin’s head snaps up from the ice, and she shoots you a bright grin and a thumbs up. a few of the girls even go so far as to laugh, and you send her a matching thumbs up to emphasize your point.

you look over at the blonde, and you see dani’s jaw twitch. something about yunjin specifically strikes a nerve. bingo.

your dad takes over practice again, and daniela skates like she’s trying to smash through the ice with each stride. she’s ignoring you fully this time, taking all her passes and shots as if she’s trying to break her stick each time she hits the puck, and you’re absolutely relishing in the fact that you got the upper hand. you write down a few notes in your binder and lose yourself in thought, before a whistle from your dad catches your attention.

“huh was wide open, avanzini,” your dad glares.

“i had a clear shot,” dani shrugs. you look over at yunjin, who is shrugging confusedly at lara and rolling her eyes.

“it was your idea to pass back to her,” he reminds her.

“an idea,” dani bites back, before skating off. “not a promise.”

your dad gives some quick recap speech about the upcoming home game, and the girls break. a majority of them head straight to the showers, and you’re there waiting for your dad to finish touching base with the assistant coaches, but you notice a small handful stay on the ice. all the starters, actually. you figure it’s what gets them their starting position– extra effort, extra talent.

kazuha is the first to leave after an extra 15 minutes on the ice. then lara follows, and yunjin. your dad is back out 45 minutes later, hand on your shoulder.  you wave him off as he asks about taking you home. 

“i’ll get a ride with lara or stay at her place. is that okay?”

“you want to watch these two? i knew there was a hockey girl inside there all along,” he smiles proudly.

“i want to finish my notes,” you tell him, pointing down to your clipboard.

“go home,” the assistant coach tells the girls still on the ice. it’s just dani and megan left taking shots, passing between the two of them, now almost an hour after practice has ended. you have no idea how the two have the energy to make it through practice, much less show up early and stay behind this late, and not be collapsing the next day. finally, an hour after practice, megan leaves to go to her girlfriend’s, and that leaves you alone with daniela. 

she glares over at you, cold stare as she heads into the locker room. you follow, like a moth to a flame, not even sure what you’re planning on getting out of this conversation besides hopefully irritating her even further.

“i thought you weren’t a puck hog?” you taunt her, in reference to the reprimand from your dad for dani not passing to yunjin.

she shrugs, avoiding your gaze, as she pulls her helmet off her head and drops her gloves into her bag. “what can i say? i like the eyes on me.” 

“hm, i can tell.” you say back. 

“did you have fun watching huh today?” she asks, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she peels her jersey off her back. the black compression shirt she wears underneath is clinging to her, drenched in sweat, and it takes everything in you to peel your eyes away.

“yunjin is my friend, and i’m allowed to fucking cheer her on,” you remind her. “i thought you guys were friends?”

“we are friends.” before reminding you, “you and i aren’t.”

“you seem really weirdly jealous of someone you call a friend,” 

“i don’t want to talk about yunjin,” she nearly growls, and you can’t wait to keep exploiting this soft spot of hers.

“why not? she’s improving, like a lot, and it didn’t sound like she had a lot to work on–”

in seconds, she’s grabbing you and pressing you against the locker, her hand against the bottom of your jaw.

“y/n,” she seethes, “if you want my attention that bad, you fucking have it.”

“tell me you’ve been thinking about me,” you press, and it feels almost obsessive. her full weight is pressing against you into the lockers and it makes your pulse race att the memory of her touch. “there’s no way you’re that fucking good at pretending.”

“of course i haven’t stopped fucking thinking about you,” she breathes, and it feels like a confession. “i’ve been trying to ignore you but you’re annoying as shit. are you pissed, or do you want me? you’re sending mixed signals.”

“i thought you could think for yourself?” you challenge back.

“i can,” her eyes are trailing off to scan up your body, her grip still firm against your jaw. “if it were up to me, i know exactly what i’d want from you. but coach’s daughter is extremely off-limits, in case you didn’t remember.”

“i know what i’m getting into,” you push back.

“i warned you the first time too,” she reminds you.

 “just don’t play games with me,” you growl. “do what you want, and i will too.”

“it sounds like you want me,” she grins, leaning in so that your foreheads are almost touching.

“you think everyone wants you,” you roll your eyes, but your hands are already pulling at her waistband to pull her close. something about the fresh layer of sweat slicking her baby hairs to her neck and forehead is infuriatingly attractive to you.

“that’s ‘cause they do,” she hums back easily.

“you look at every reflective surface you walk past.” you shake your head. “you’re obsessed with yourself.”

“you’ve seen what i can do, i think you get it.” she leans down, experimentally letting her lips brush against your neck. “i’m pretty easy to be obsessed with.”

you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of a single word more, but the proximity between you two and the craving inside your bones takes over. she’s sweeping you up in one easy motion, your lips colliding with bruising force, and you lose sight of whatever it was you two were fighting about. when dani’s hands take over, everything you hated her for disappears from your mind, and all you focus on is losing your fingers in those curls as she pulls you into the showers with her.

-

you told yourself you wouldn’t get involved with anything dangerous at this new university– no bad influences, no friends that did illegal things, no risky behavior that can make things worse for you when you’re trying to start over. but when you made this list, you never considered that you’d get addicted to hooking up with the very hot, very irritating, very bad-for-you hockey team captain that already makes your dad’s life a living hell. 

and it’s confusing, to say the least. she ignores and avoids you through the day, and then stays fixated watching you throughout an entire practice. she can go hours without texting you back but as soon as you post that you’re out with yunjin and chaewon, she’s climbing up the stupid tree in your yard to tap on your window and sneak in as if she hadn’t been radio silent the whole day. 

you know it’s just a hookup, and nothing more, but something about how she overdoes it with ignoring you makes it even weirder when you two are rushing to see each other, desperately making up for the time spent apart. you won’t complain: between school, practice, friends, and now daniela keeping you busy, you don’t even have a chance to think about getting into anything else.

“i know what you’re doing,” she warns you one night after sneaking into your room again. she pushes you off her lap when you’ve spent a little too much time with your lips on one spot on her neck.

“feeling possessive,” you hum, running your fingers through her curls, admiring your work against her soft skin.

“you’re fucking crazy,” dani groans, but you catch the way she grins looking at herself in her phone. “it’s getting late, i should go.”

some would even call it romantic the way she steals lara’s car to come park it up the street and sneak into your room on the nights you can’t spend with her at her place. you guys are quiet enough to make sure nobody else hears, and you’ll admit that the sneaking around part makes things so, so much more fun.

“just leave before my dad wakes up,” you tell her, pulling her down by the neck to plant another kiss against her jaw. 

“i’m only gonna spend the night in your room once you specifically ask me to,” she pushes you away and smirks at you playfully. “i’ll be around if you need me.”

“whatever.” you roll your eyes and turn to pull up your phone. “not gonna beg.”

“someone else will,” she says back, but not before jumping on the bed to plant a forceful, dizzying kiss on your lips. “bye, y/n.”

you want to rip your hair out, but it doesn’t make your heart thud any less watching her climb down and out of your bedroom window. you roll your eyes as she stops, looks up at you, and does another one of her stupid backflips right on your front lawn before disappearing into the night.

dani shows up to practice the next day wearing every single hickey you gave her on full display. she didn’t even try to cover them up. you guys lock eyes briefly and you can’t tell if she’s playing a mind game with you, or is just trying to play with fire and test your limits. you won’t give her the satisfaction though– part of you likes knowing the secret stays between you two.

“ah, heartbreaker dani strikes again. another sorority girl?” kazuha arches a brow, shoving playfully into daniela’s shoulder. lara shakes her head laughing and follows onto the ice. 

nevermind. you feel your blood boil. maybe next time you should leave your initials. 

your dad makes dani get off the ice and go put on a neck guard to stop distracting everyone. dani rolls her eyes but does so begrudgingly. your eyes meet as she hops off the ice and towards her bag. 

“are they really a distraction?” she asks you casually.

“extremely.” you say, trying to match her non-chalance. “tell your girl toy to stop trying so hard next time.”

“she’s got a mind of her own,” she shakes her head, eyes lighting up with something unholy. “but i’ll do my best.” 

-

the weeks pass and you guys don’t discuss the nature of your arrangement, but you both know it’s critical to keep it under wraps. your dad is thrilled that you’re spending so much time at lara’s, and lara and megan are too busy with their own things to notice dani either disappearing all night or letting you in. 

your phone buzzes in the middle of homework and you spot the number, saved simply as “captain.”

come over

say please

i don’t beg but i’ll make sure you do so, again, come over

you roll your eyes at how easily you’re convinced. 

“taking the car and going to lara’s,” you call out to your house, and your dad calls back in approval from the other room.

your stomach hasn’t quite stopped flipping when you pull into the trio’s driveway. daniela is already in the doorway, looking stupidly attractive in her oversized hoodie and baggy shorts, and you two nearly don’t make it to her room before she already has her hands on you, pulling you in.

you two fall back onto the bed and you’re straddling her much too quickly to call it casual. she pulls at your top and you try to regain some of your dignity by poking fun at her. 

“wasn’t i just here this morning? so eager to have me back so soon,” you tease.

“you can stop showing up whenever, you know,” she bites back, putting her hands over yours to guide them to her hoodie. you take the hint and pull her hoodie off over her head, biting your lip in eager anticipation.

“you’d miss me too much,” you clip back easily. she smirks and reaches up from beneath you to capture your lips with hers, her fingers hooking into your waistband to start sliding your pants down your thighs. you know the motions by now and start to lean up to let her get them off from your ankles.

that is, until you hear the door swing open.

“have you seen my bite guard? i left it in the–” megan starts, but immediately pivots into a half- scream, hands flying up to cover her eyes. “oh, bro, jesus christ–”

oh fuck. 

you and dani move equally fast to push off each other. you truly had convinced yourself that you two had mastered the whole sneaking around thing, so you’re not exactly prepared for whatever may come next. the dread sets in immediately. you can trust daniela, and you can trust yourself, but the last thing you need is someone else involved.

“you can’t tell my dad,” you blurt out immediately. 

“oh my fucking god, not coach,” megan panics. “he’s going to kill me if he finds out.”

“why would he kill you?” dani squints at the younger girl.

“bro, i’m letting this happen.” megan brings an open palm to her forehead, beginning to pace around daniela’s room. “i’m complexit, or whatever.”

“complicit,” dani corrects quickly

megan ignores the correction and keeps rambling. “no, this is so bad. i’m basically putting the strap in your hand.”

“okay, meg, please, too far,” you groan, and daniela lets out a loud hollering laugh.

“i’m going to die and i literally just barely beat the virgin allegations,” she gasps.

you shake your head and give a look to daniela. is she always this neurotic? 

“meg, please, go like, take some deep breaths over there. we’ll stop if it’s freaking you out that bad,” daniela tries to soothe her, pointing out the door.

“how long?” the ginger asks.

“oh my god bro, we’ve only fucked like, the past month.”

megan’s dark puppy eyes go wide, honing in on you. “a month is more than zero. i was hoping you would say zero.” 

“are you asking for an apology?” you try to ask, desperate to make sense of why exactly she’s panicking. 

daniela groans and finally gets out of the bed, tossing a hoodie over herself and handing you your pants back. she grabs megan by the back of her neck and waves over to you. “we’re gonna go.”

“where?” you question. it’s nearly 10pm and the tail end of a freezing october. 

“where else? the lake, duh. she needs to hit the ice to calm down. we’ll be back.” she groans and grabs a few sticks tucked away in the corner of her room, before she drags the ginger out the door and shuts it behind them.

you let your head fall backwards onto dani’s pillow and stare at the ceiling, the dread sinking in. 

-

you’re not quite sure when you dozed off, but you’re woken up to the sound of the door creaking back open. the familiar curls enter the room and dani comes to kneel in front of the bed, eye to eye with you. the gesture is sweet, almost tender, as if she’s trying to be close without waking you.

“i didn’t think you’d still be here.” she tells you quietly, before gently poking at your cheek. “awake?”

“i told my dad i was sleeping over at lara’s and he has my location. i can’t just leave my phone here,” you groan groggily at her. “meg okay?”

“she’ll be fine. she won’t say anything. believe it or not, we can keep secrets surprisingly well. ask lara what we pulled for her girlfriend last year.” she sits on the edge of the bed. “you stayed?”

“does me being here ruin your plans somehow?” you ask, confused about what she expected.

“i mean, no, i’m going to a party anyways.” she shrugs, her demeanor hardening. “might bring someone back. if you don’t want the couch, then you might want to room with lar.”

“you’re a fucking joke,” you blurt at her, sitting up to meet her eye-level. “always so irritating.”

“what happened to feeling possessive?” she arches a brow playfully.

“no, shut up dani. tell me something– why were you so much nicer to me before we started hooking up?” you question, narrowing your eyes at her. “you weren’t this big of a dick until the first time. i didn’t even think you were capable of being this big of a piece of shit.”

“i didn’t know you noticed how i treated you before,” she says simply, crossing her arms over her chest and giving you a curious look. “you cared about that?”

you take a second before ripping her a new one and read into her implication. it really does make sense in her head that if you only wanted her for sex, there was no need to keep up the dynamic from before. 

is this the root of all this confusion? is daniela just playing a role she thinks you assigned to her?

“tell me something about you,” you blurt out. 

she un-crosses her arms and arches a brow in confusion. “like?”

“anything. what’s your favorite color?”

“blue.” she pauses for a second. “yours?”

“blue,” you repeat, and she smiles at the coincidence. 

“do you miss cheer?” she asks quickly, as if to not let the silence take over.

“you remember that i did that?”

“yeah,” she says simply, before fishing in the pocket of her hoodie for a protein bar she had clearly just been eating. “do you want a bite? did you eat while i was gone?”

you feel rattled by her sudden change in demeanor. where did the fuckboy from 5 minutes ago disappear to?

“where is all this coming from?” you ask.

“if you wanted to be friends, you just had to say so.” she seems so casual about it, the flip, but you won’t question it further. this feels like the dani you met in the car, that first time alone. the sincere, unabashed one you got so inexplicably hooked on, and you want to make the most of it while she’s still showing you that girl still exists.

you take the protein bar as a peace offering and take a bite. “i do miss cheer, if that matters to you.”

“try out for our team,” she says quickly, like the solution is obvious.

“it’s not that easy. it’d be like you trying to play for a new team right now in the middle of your season.”

“so then cheer just for me,” she grins.

“i’d rather die than be an ice girl.” you roll your eyes. “i can’t even skate.”

“seriously? with your dad?”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes. “dani, please don’t talk about my dad while i’m debating getting naked for you again.”

“yeah?” the way she grins at your confession makes your heart thud. 

“but you said you had a party to get to, so…” you trail off, eyeing her. 

you almost let out a scream as daniela leaps and tackles you back into a laying position, biting playfully at your jaw. 

“you’re going to get me in so much trouble,” she sighs, pressing feverish kisses against your neck.

“good thing he won’t find out.” you lift her chin to face you and press a finger to her lips, admiring her pretty, pretty face. “don’t tell me you’ve never kept something a secret before?”

“i’m gonna have to,” she breathes, her arms snaking under your back, “‘cause i’m having a hard time keeping my hands to myself.”

“do something about it,” you grin, and dani doesn’t make you wait.

-

there’s no point in lying to yourself. you can fool the world, maybe, between the stolen glances and rushed kisses in the empty locker room or in the secrecy of your bedroom, but you can feel the way dani’s eyes never quite leave your head. you find yourself thinking about her at every turn, remembering new things as she keeps opening up to you about her past, her hopes for the future, her experiences as captain. you want to think that of course, if she’s the best hook up you’ve ever had, it’d be obvious why she’s on your mind, but you know it’d be a lie to pretend your feelings weren’t getting involved, despite your better judgement.

each time you watch her wink at you from the ice, or order your coffee perfectly as if she’s memorized it, or see her leave a stupid cute note on your clipboard, you can’t help but wonder if she’s this damn charming with all her other hookups too. 

you try not to overthink it and instead focus on the newfound freedoms your dad is slowly loosening up to allow you, with each passing week that you stay out of trouble (at least, trouble that he’s aware of.)

can i go to a party if i stay w lara and megan the entire time?

You’ve got some nerve asking If I call you need to pick up at any point

i’ll leave with her and text you each step of the way

you text to the group chat that you’re good to go and they all send a variety of cheering gifs or stupid memes about how fucked up they’re going to get you.

(at least, all of them except for dani, who never acknowledges your texts in the group chat.)

you appreciate that they’ve finally stopped treating you just as coach’s daughter, finally brave enough to stop babying you. you’re especially grateful when you get to the party and yunjin is feeding you shots much to chaewon’s disapproval, the defenseman screaming laughing as lara and kazuha try to race to take down their drinks before megan even manages to take a single, nervous sip from her cup. you’re grateful to have made so many stupid fun friends who are so so nice to you, but you can’t help but feel like the shenanigans would feel complete with the presence of one particular frat-boy-like captain who thrives in these environments. 

you try to not be obvious about looking around to seek her out, but you can feel the eyes on you from the other side of the room. like two magnets finding the opposite ends of each other, always pulling to touch.

unfortunately, when you do spot her, looking painfully attractive in an oversized university polo and a backwards hat, she’s standing way too close to a random girl for your liking. you guys had never discussed the parameters of what was and wasn’t allowed, and a part of you had always known she wasn’t likely the type you could lock down if you were just friends with benefits. 

fine. you don’t owe her anything. you turn back around and reach for chaewon’s hand, inviting your friend to dance with you as lara’s girlfriend hands you another drink. you’re over trying to push dani. if she wants anything from you. she knows exactly where to find you.

you’re almost able to push her out of your head until chaewon trades to be dance partners with kazuha, landing you with yunjin holding you by the waist. you think nothing of it– her super secure girlfriend is literally two feet away from you, doing the same with kazuha, and yunjin has always been nothing but platonic with you, doting on how much she loves chaewon.

“i’m sure these moves have your girl so, so happy,” you laugh, motioning to how she can manage to both lead you so smoothly and also trip up over her own feet at the same time.

yunjin grins back at you in response. “i always step on her feet, and she’ll still kiss me. i think she pretends it doesn’t even happen.”

“now that’s true love,” you coo, motioning over to the bobbed girl in question, who blows you both a kiss as kazuha dips her over and over.

“i like to think she’s into me,” yunjin smiles.

“y/n isn’t drunk enough to be able to keep up with your whack ass moves, huh.”

the hair on the back of your neck tingles. you’ve gotten too good at picking up daniela’s husky voice absolutely anywhere. 

“funny. if anyone knows about getting shit-face wasted, it’s you, cap.” yunjin raises her cup to the blonde, words teetering dangerously on the edge of disdain. she motions to you and shoos you two off irritatedly. “take it away.”

before you can protest, dani is pulling you into the hallway, secluded from the bustle of the party centered in the living room.

her hands are all over you, her teeth in your neck painfully fast with no warning, as if to assert herself. you shove her away. 

“what the fuck, dani?” you hiss, wincing at the sting of your skin.

“missed you,” she says simply, pressing you back up against the wall, and you’re in shock about hearing her blatant confession. you think back and realize it might be the first time she’s ever admitted something like that. 

“you’re sending me mixed signals,” you call her out, putting a hand on her chest to keep some space between you two. “you don’t want me to get mad at you but you go crazy when you see me complimenting someone else.”

“fine then,” she growls, though you knew she’d avoid taking accountability for the whiplash she’s putting you through. “so should we just fucking quit while we’re ahead?”

you see the way her eyes change, something pressing beneath that calloused exterior, you know dani, deep down, and you know what it means when she acts out. so you decide to take a chance. 

“i want to know more about you,” you breathe gently, looking around quickly to make sure there’s no prying eyes, before cupping a hand to her cheek. “and i want to keep seeing you. please stop trying to fuck with my head.”

her eyes soften, and your heart melts. your bet pays off– her guard is dropping.

“you won’t like what you find,” she warns, and the way her voice hardens makes you wonder what she’s possibly been through to think so low of herself. 

“let me decide that on my own,” you tell her, tilting your head. “why do you keep pushing me away?”

“i thought i was fine with it, but i kept thinking about it. and i don’t want to hook up with someone who’s just using me to get back at someone else.”

“me liking you had nothing to do with my dad. it’d be easier to like you if my dad wasn’t terrified of you,” you shake your head, realizing how fucked up the reality of the situation is.

you don’t realize what’s slipped out of your mouth until daniela’s eyes are lighting up, even in the dim lighting. her voice is so, so eager, you want to risk it all and kiss her right there and then.

“y/n, you like me?” she questions.

“duh,” you wrinkle your nose, embarrassed but unable to find a way to take it back. “are you blind? is it seriously news to you?”

“i thought yunjin was fucking with me.”

“god, yunjin could see it,” you want to shrivel up and die– you had never mentioned dani to her, but yunjin is dating chaewon, the super genius, and is clearly no idiot herself.  “but why would she lie to you?”

dani bites back a guilty smile. “i’ve been kind of shitty to her before.”

you remember the first time watching their rivalry at practice, the smoothness with which they play but the very obvious tension off the ice. you even remember how dani didn’t bother you until it was yunjin who started dancing with you. 

“why are you so fucking weird about yunjin?”

you expect an excuse, but dani simply grits her teeth and lets out a breath. “yunjin is like, what i could be if i wasn’t so fucked up. she’s confident and stupid but people really like her.”

“people really like you,” you press back.

“people put up with me,” she corrects, smiling painfully. “you and i both know i’m bad news.”

“that’s not true.”

“you know it is,” she insists “coach only tolerates me because i’m lara’s best friend, and because i got captain.”

“you’re a star player, that’s why you’re captain.” 

“megan is a star player,” she corrects you again. this is new territory for you– daniela’s always been so infuriatingly cocky, you almost don’t know what to make about the overload of sincerity she’s sharing with you. you regret every time you’ve talked shit about her ego, realizing it was probably the only thing protecting her from this terrible notion she has of herself.

“you almost won player of the year last season,” you remind her, the party now lost behind you both. “that’s nothing small.”

“your dad got so mad when i got nominated that year and not lara,” she laughs, but you can hear something painful in her voice. the pain of being constantly compared.

“you earned it for a reason,” you answer quickly, and you see something click in her.

“you’re the only person who’s never sized me up to lara,” she tells you. “or yunjin.”

“no comparison,” you answer quickly. “you’re so one-of-a-kind, dani. it’s mesmerizing.”

“i love lara, but even she puts me in this box, like i can’t be trusted. i know she means well but it’s hard sometimes. she’s so perfect, yunjin’s so likeable, and i’m too much,” dani breathes. 

“you’re not too much,” you disagree. “you’re so human. you’re like the most authentic person i know.”

“i feel like my feelings are too big for my body sometimes,” she admits, and you can’t believe she’s sharing all this at a frat party at like 1 in the morning. “like they control me instead of the other way around.”

“that makes you so special. you’re not hiding away like everyone else. you’re not scared to treat people like human beings.”

“nobody cares about that,” she snorts.

“i care about that. my dad always treats me like i’m some breakable doll.” nobody has ever made you feel safe or seen enough to confess the frustrations of being the youngest in your family comes with. “my brothers were always the ones allowed to get away with everything but i had to be under his thumb.”

“i wish we would have met any other way,” she says simply, and you feel the weight of her words resonating from inside of you. she leans in before adding a quiet whisper, “y/n, you like me?”

“i should have never said something,” you roll your eyes, but she reaches for your hand.

“you guys okay?” 

your eyes both snap up at the voice. you breathe out a sigh of relief as you realize it’s those big brown puppy eyes looking back at you. 

megan.

“i was going to steal lara’s keys so we could go–”

“kiss, a lot,” her girlfriend chimes in, cheeks flushed from clearly one too many drinks.

“no, she’s too tipsy for that, ignore her.” megan wrinkles her nose, holding the girl tightly by the waist to help hold her up. “i was going to let her sleep it off in the car but i’ll just get us an uber to take her home. take the keys, and go talk. that way, nobody interrupts.”

“i’m gonna teach her how to rock your shit once you’re all sobered up,” dani promises, pointing a finger at the both of them.

“dani, i am so serious, please shut the fuck up,” megan begs, and you can see her ears flushing red from beneath her beanie.

her girlfriend grins mischievously. “nooo, you should hear what she can do when–”

megan interrupts by simply turning them around and walking away with the girl in tow, throwing the keys at your feet as her eyes go wide. you hear her tone soften as she walks off in search of somewhere to let her clearly drunk girlfriend sober up. “okay, baby, not now, but especially not ever with dani…” 

-

you’re a little nervous that you’re being driven home without lara present, but you figure being home is better than staying out in your dad’s book. dani admits she hadn’t actually been drinking that night, which is a surprise to you, but you’re absolutely counting it as a win that she confessed all these thoughts sober.

you don’t remember who reaches out first, but her hand is holding yours as she drives down the familiar streets to your house, and you feel like you can picture it forever. 

“how did you get captain after lara turned it down?” you ask, after she had opened up about so many other issues in her life, answering each of your questions more honestly than the last.

“it was our old coach, she was training your dad before she transitioned to a new team.” you remember this. your dad had been assistant coach for years, and when the old head coach announced her retirement, your mom threw the biggest celebration to cheer him on for his promotion. “coach misty looked me in the eyes and told me that even if the athletics department wanted lara, i was always her first pick.”

“really?”

“she said i needed the responsibility so i wouldn’t do more stupid things.”

“that worked out,” you deadpan.

“i was worse, when i first joined the program. i’d skip practice, i had a shit attitude, i’d show up to games hungover. i threw up once offsides because i had been partying the night before too hard. at least now i stop before i get sick.”

“really?” you can’t imagine it. as destructive as dani is off the ice, her commitment to her sport is sacred. sure dani can be a goof during practice, but never during the drills themselves, or the games. you’d never once seen her show up with less than 110% when it comes down to it, laser-focused on whatever she’s doing.

“she saw the worst in me, and still believed i could be good,” dani shrugs. “good enough to announce me captain. i cleaned up my act a little once that happened. wanted to make her proud.”

“someone believed in you, once upon a time.” you tell her softly. “maybe you should remember that when you feel reckless.”

“fine.” she lets out a sigh and taps the steering wheel as if she’s thinking. you’re about to make a dumb comment about how good she looks in that hat, but she catches you off guard with her next statement: 

“i think we should stop hooking up with other people.”

“what?” you question, as if you heard her wrong.

“just make it easy.” she shrugs again, avoiding your gaze. “plus finals are coming up, we’ll be able to stay focused and blow off steam with less time in between.”

you’re too caught off guard to give a straight answer. instead, you want answers to your pressing questions. “when we first met, why did you get weird when i told you everyone was warning me about you?”

she hums for a moment, her thumb running across your knuckles. “i let myself start to like you, then i remembered who i am and what i do.”

“you’re not a bad person, dani,” you shake your head.

“you can’t even claim me,” she pushes back, pulling up in front of your house. 

“you’re not exactly showing me off either,” you point out.

“your dad would kill me,” she laughs, pointing to your house with all the lights off, “and i have one more year before i go pro.”

“fine.” you turn in the seat to face her, bringing your interlaced hands up to examine her knuckles. “we keep it secret for one more year, and once we graduate, if we’re still together, we say something.”

“so, we’re not gonna sneak around forever?” she asks, eyes lighting up.

“i’m private, but i want to make it very clear that i’m not ashamed of you.” 

“you’ll hate me in a year,” she pushes you teasingly. 

“i hated you for a little bit, but you grew on me.” you reach over to plant a soft kiss on her lips, feeling much too bold considering your dad is asleep just inside the house. “maybe you’ll hate me in a year.”

“guess you’ll just have to stick around a year and find out,” daniela smirks, before reaching across your seat to let you out of the car door once more.

you make it upstairs to your room, and she sends you a screenshot of her lockscreen.

look at what time i made it home. 

the time is irrelevant. all you see is that her background has been changed to a team photo, where you and her are sharing a glance. your heart thuds as you hunt down the same photo and change yours too. 

“this fucking stupid ass crush,” you mumble to yourself, before letting yourself fall asleep. you don’t have to have a name for it. whatever it is with dani, at least as of tonight, is perfect.

-

there’s two semifinal home games left until the championships, and you’ve never felt more anxious to be through a game in your life. between finals coming up, your dad extra on edge, and now trying to make time to see dani outside of just when the sun is gone, you feel like something is dangerously close to bursting, and yet you’re not sure which part of your life is bound to burst first.

the semi-final game, however, gives a hint that hockey is probably going to be a huge stressor for the next two weeks.

the game is absolute insanity. the girls are playing like maniacs, both intense and borderline sloppy as they barely manage to keep a lead up above the attacking team. your dad is beyond himself, screaming so hard he ends up snapping a clipboard over his knee out of frustration when the team lands another foul and gets away with it.

dani, however, is not one to let things slide, and makes sure the team knows she won’t tolerate a dirty play against megan under any circumstance.

daniela takes the other team’s center down, gripping her by the back of her jersey, and slams her into the ice. she drops on top of her, swinging two fast blows in succession against her helmet before the ref can swing over. yunjin jumps in quickly, dogpiling onto the other girl as her teammates come to her rescue. kazuha, freakishly strong, reaches down to yank a girl off dani’s back. 

the referee finally makes his way over and calls a 2 minute penalty for daniela. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her in the box. she storms over and slams the half-door shut, watching anxiously as her team tries to play without her for the next 120 seconds.

“never seen you fight before,” you tell her through the glass, trying to distract her as her eyes stay laser focused on the ice.

“this team fractured my eye socket last year.” she tells you back sharply, and she seems genuinely pissed. “and now trying a high-stick on meg? they had it coming.”

they barely scrape by with the win, and you have to sit through your dad’s lecture about how playing sloppy is almost worse than losing.

you, the golden trio, and their girlfriends are all leaving the stadium towards the parking lot, ready to go to their place and go straight to sleep after such a heavy game. but there’s an unfamiliar voice calling out from the dimly lit lot.

“you had to try and play dirty to win?” the girls call out, and you recognize them as some of the players from the other team. you look around and realize it’s just the few of you in the parking lot, last to leave. you get a sinking feeling in your stomach.

dani, fearless as always, is the first to step in front of your team and snap back against the attempts at intimidating her team. 

“i was gonna apologize for beating your ass bare in front of thousands of people, but it sounds like you deserved it,” she bites back.

“you call a dirty dogpile beating my ass?” the girl scoffs. “try again alone and you won’t come out as easily.”

“not worth it,” lara rolls her eyes, unlocking the car door to load her stuff into.

“easy to say when you can only win on home turf,” the girl responds.

“home court advantage? are you serious? look at our fucking record. you talk a lot of shit for a team that just got their asses whipped,” dani bites back, chest puffing as lara reaches out to hold her back. you feel frozen at the exchange.

megan is stepping backwards with nervous eyes, tutor girl pulling her by the wrist to try and distract her.

“oh come on, come step up like a fucking grown up.” the other team’s player points at the ginger in question and how tutor girl is trying to redirect her. “or does your little loser girl do all the hard shit for you?”

you see something twitch in megan’s jaw, her eyes blowing dark. 

holy shit. 

within seconds, megan is launching forwards, both hands pressing into the other girl’s shoulders and sending her slamming into the ground with one harsh push. she stands over her as you all bolt to grab her.

“next one ends as you with no teeth,” megan says, voice cold and even. you have never once heard megan talk like that, much less think she was capable of it.

ugh. to be her girlfriend, having someone claim you that hard. 

“she gets it, baby,” tutor girl pulls her back.

you can tell this was the catalyst to something terrible.

“you wanna start something then not finish it?” the other girl snaps angrily, lifting herself up off the ground with the help of the two other girls.

“your girlfriend says that’s a pattern of your’s,” dani snips. 

oh, this idiot and her big mouth.

“try it again, blondie,” she challenges, gesturing for her to approach.

“walk away, daniela,” lara pushes her, but dani’s too fucking stubborn to back down. 

in seconds, dani’s shoving into the other girl, despite the height difference, pressing her face into the other girls’ fearlessly. you’re in awe of how she seems completely unphased.

“they might not fight, but i do,” she bites, “and i’m not known to fucking lose.”

the other girl shoves back and before you know it, they’re at blows, even scarier now without all the padding from the game. you’re seconds from running in to try and pull them off of each other when you see a flash of another girl coming up behind her. you realize her intentions look less than a friendly way to blow off steam.

megan’s scream is the loudest. “dani!” 

the girl lifts her foot to land a kick straight into the side of dani’s knee, and you see the sickening bend of a joint that shouldn’t go in that direction. 

daniela screams and drops to the ground face-first, and the other team’s girls freeze as they realize what just happened of their teammate taking it too far. they sprint in the opposite direction, disappearing into the night, and you feel your heart start to race as dani stays on the ground. you’re waiting for her to make some stupid joke, to pop up and do a backflip or something, but once you see her swollen cheek and bloodied lip dripping with silent tears as she grips her knee, you realize something is horribly wrong.

“dani?” you whisper.

“i think we need a doctor,” lara utters, starting the car.

“dani, can you get up?” megan asks worriedly, and daniela keeps ignoring everyone to clutch her leg.

“this is not good,” you whimper, feeling your body go numb.

you immediately direct megan to help dani to her feet, and lara is racing to pull her car around. megan and her girlfriend help dani limp into the car, and the blonde is ignoring all of you with wide eyes. 

“i think she’s in shock,” lara says worriedly, and you bring a hand to dani’s face. the gash above her eye from where she hit the ground is bleeding profusely, and she looks pale.

“hey, you’re okay,” you reassure her, trying to bring her back to earth.

“y/n, i felt two pops. both my ligaments.” she says it solemnly, eyes still wide, as if she’s processing it over and over. “that’s my knee. that’s my career.”

“you also hit your head which i’m sure didn’t help,” you push back, knowing dani always manages to get out of things with the craziest of luck. you press a kiss to her knuckles, forgetting the world around you. “you’ll be okay.”

“that’s it for me,” she says quickly, before her face pales again and her head slumps forward, the shock clearly wearing off.

the ER nurse takes one look at daniela, bloodied, bruised, and her limp body only held up by megan’s sheer strength at this point, and hurriedly gets her in a wheelchair and out of the lobby.

your group waits anxiously in the lobby, intentionally leaving out mentioning this your dad yet. you can already hear what he’s going to say to her, and you figure the last thing she needs is to hear his lecture right about now. hours pass by, megan and her girlfriend curled up in one chair, lara falling asleep on your shoulder, as you fidget with your phone waiting to hear literally anything back.

they allow one person back to go see her, and lara wakes up and volunteers immediately. part of you wishes you could go back with them, but you figure if only megan knows, you shouldn’t be spilling to just anyone especially when dani can’t stand up for herself.

lara comes back a few minutes later, shaking her head. the disappointment is written clearly on her features.

you realize now, why it had to be dani as captain. yes, lara is lovely and easy to like and responsible, but as soon as the pressure hits, you can read the distress all over her features. she’s shutting down, clearly bearing bad news.

dani would be frustrated, maybe, but her energy would stay up and she’d find some way to make even the biggest problems seem like no sweat. that’s what coach misty had seen in dani, all that time ago, to appoint her captain. an undying tenacity and a willpower of steel– the kind that inspires people.

“the forehead needed three stitches, which they did.” she lets out a sigh. “um, but they’re putting her in for a cat scan right now to see what’s going on with the knee and how bad it is.”

“they’re going to go straight into surgery to see what they can repair in her knee. the acl and the mcl both ripped from the impact. they said we should look into pressing charges.”

your heart drops.

“the good news is my girlfriend has seen plenty of acl rips that can heal fast enough to finish a season. we might not have her for championships but she’ll be with us next year.”

you look over at megan, who is teary eyed at the thought of all of this. “can we see her?”

lara nods. “she has a room, they’ll let us know when we can go in.”

lara decides to be the responsible one and steps outside to call her girlfriend first, and then face your dad. once a nurse comes down to say she’s accepting visitors (albeit, sleepily due to the pain meds,) megan is leaving you guys in the dust to race upstairs towards the room. 

dani’s peaceful snores from her bed bring you some source of comfort. megan curls up in the chair next to the bed and pulls out her phone, mumbling something about calling out from class the next day. 

lara’s girlfriend arrives and the other girlfriends wait outside the door, peeking in through the crack in case dani stirs.

“poor lar is still on the phone with coach y/ln. you can imagine how it’s going,” she wrinkles her nose. tutor girl grimaces.

“hate to be her right about now.”

“check it out. your puppy dog doesn’t want to leave her side,” you laugh. 

“you haven’t either,” tutor girl points out playfully. 

“someone sane has gotta keep an eye on our captain,” you shrug. 

“dani is like a big sister to her,” tutor girl says worriedly, watching from the window as megan lays her head on dani’s bed. “she loves her.”

lara’s girlfriend turns to you, and with zero judgement in her voice, asks simply: “what’s she to you?” 

“loaded question,” is all you say, and they both laugh in response. 

megan bursts out the door with an eager smile. “she’s awake!”

you let the other girls go in first and say their pieces. at this point, it’s nearly 2am after all the waiting, and the adrenaline doesn’t balance out how tired they all must be from the game and being up this late. you let them trickle out of the room as they finish up, last out being megan, before you nod to her and promise you’ll keep an eye on her best friend through the night.

they leave, and you step into the room, feeling a small breath escape you at the sight of her.

she’s sitting up in the bed, beaming that stupidly gorgeous smile at you, but the stitches on her forehead and the scrapes and bruises on her face make your heart ache. she looks so small in the hospital gown, your otherwise larger than life daniela, but all you can think about is how grateful you are that she’s in one piece.

“will i sound too familiar if i start screaming about your dumb fucking choices tonight?” you start, but your voice can’t hide the fact that you’re not actually angry at her, as stern as you’re trying to be.

“sorry i’m such a shit-head,” she apologizes simply, the smile never dropping. 

“how’d you know my dad’s nickname for you?” you tease.

“‘cause he calls me it like it’s my government name,” she winkles her nose back at you, looking around before reaching out a hand to you.

“i don’t think you’re all that bad, daniela avanzini.” you smile gently and take her hand in yours as you stand next to the bed.

“you haven’t known me long enough,” she snorts. “you’ll find something.”

“shockingly, i’ve liked what i’ve seen.” you press playfully into her chin. “i hope i get to know you long enough to prove you wrong, but you’re gonna have to stop doing stupid shit like this.”

“careful,” she clicks her tongue. “people might think you’re soft for me.”

“you got under my skin at some point.” you shrug, the smile on your lips only growing. “unfortunately, i think i like you there.”

she pauses for a moment, and you wonder if she’s going to say something stupid, but instead, she simply looks up at you with those sharp gorgeous dark eyes. 

“will you stay, please?”

“you know,” you tell her, relenting instantly and cuddling into the bed with her, “i had this sick fantasy of finally hearing you beg, but now that you’re begging, i feel like a horrible person because it doesn’t actually turn me on.”

“you’re so evil,” she laughs. “maybe we are meant to be.”

“slow down, playboy,” you tease, before letting out a quiet nervous breath. “what’d the doctor say?”

“good thing i’m still insanely hot,” she says, flexing her biceps beside you, “cause it sounds like i’m never playing hockey again.”

your heart drops. “what? but lara said–”

“recovery for all the ripped joints is well over a year. that’s this and next season.” she holds up two fingers. “there’s no chance i’m going pro missing my rest of my junior and then my senior season, and that’s if my knee even heals right.”

“dani…” you feel your heart ache at the implication.

“that’s what, almost 15 years? just down the drain.” she shakes her head, dropping back against the pillow with wide eyes. “everyone is asking me what the fuck i’m going to do next and all i can do is stare back like an idiot.”

“you don’t have to know that yet,” you tell her gently, resting your head on her shoulder. “i think you should give yourself a chance to rest.”

she scoffs and runs a hand through her hair, sarcasm dripping in her voice. “still want to sneak around with me? broken knee, no more games, useless ass captain with her career down the drain? at least i can smoke so much more weed while i rot on the couch.”

you blink once, twice, as you realize the warmth in your chest has overflowed in a way that never had anything to do with daniela’s status. you like her for her, and you’re hurt she couldn’t see that from the start.

you cup her face gently in your palm and turn it to face you.

“dani,” you say quietly, trying to take in every inch of her features, her poor cut up face. “i don’t think i want to sneak any more.”

your heart pounds at the way her eyes light up.

“even like this?” she questions.

“especially like this.” you nod. “just give me some time to find the right chance to talk to my dad. maybe you can tell lara. we can figure it out from there.”

you’re mentally prepared for an excuse, from the pushback of wanting to still be single. you’re prepared for her to flip that switch and slap you with some stupid fuckboy ecxcuse, as she does whenever feelings start to get too heavily involved, but you know that’s a risk you run wih her anyways.

instead, she just stares back at you with those beautiful eyes, her smile threatening to split her face in two. 

“okay,” she says simply, and it’s enough for you.

“you’re going to be okay,” you reassure her, carefully leaning into her chest to not disturb her bad leg. she wraps and arm around your shoulder and plays mindlessly with your hair. “you’re so one of a kind. things always work out for you.”

the night finally catches up to you, and you fall asleep in her arms. at this point, you don’t care who sees you. all that matters is dani needs you, and you want to be there for her, and there’s nothing your heart wants more than to make her feel cared for. 

-

the championship game finally arrives two weeks later, and your heart breaks as the teams make it a special point to roll out a carpet on the ice to celebrate dani, who limps out in her leg brace and blows kisses all around her at the roaring fans. 

the collegiate sports world was rocked by the news after your dad helped file the police report last week. the headlines hit immediately after: 

“hockey champion’s career cut short due to violent assault from opposing team.” 

you know it breaks her heart to have to watch the game from the bench, but dani’s calling out and making suggestions to your dad, screaming at the girls from the box to make sure they know she’s down but not out for the count. you can tell it does wonders for their morale, their leader still pushing as hard as she can from the constraints she has. 

they’re wobblier on the ice than usual– like a creature on four legs that just lost it’s front foot. megan is compensating for the new left wing, who doesn’t match up with kazuha quite as gracefully as dani did, but they’re making it work. the game stays at a tense 0-0 even down to the bottom of the final period, and that’s equally lara’s job as goalie as well as yunjin’s work as defenseman to keep the puck away from their net.

it’s the offence that is feeling dani’s absence the most. it had always been kazhua to dani, zuha making a hole as dani runs the puck up, and then both of them clearing a clear pass to megan to make the final score. megan is overcompensating, somehow in multiple places at once, and by some miracle, makes a buzzer-beating shot that brings them up to their second championship victory.

1-0, and no easy feat.

the girls all swarm megan on the ice, but you quickly realize megan is crying her poor little eyes out as she races out of the swam and instead runs straight to the player box, crushing daniela in a hug as she tosses her helmet to the side.

dani furrows her brows and gives megan back the tightest hug she can manage with all the padding still on her. the other girls come to quickly trickle in and follow suit, and you can hear megan’s loud sobs heard over the hums and sniffles of the other girls. the reality sets in. their  beloved captain is done for.

“we’re going to announce the next captain tomorrow after the championship recap press release,” your dad tells them, after a few pictures with the trophy and a debrief about the game. “get some rest, you all played your best tonight.”

he points to yunjin and daniela and motions for them to follow into his office. you figure you’ll give them some space and wait outside with lara and her girlfriend, but once you see yunjin step out and hurry away, you hear the volume increase. lara and the physical trainer both exchange concerned glances and walk away to offer them more privacy. you try to focus on other things, but you hear a thud of something hitting the desk, and walk into the office.

you catch the tail end of their argument. daniela’s jaw is hard and her face is red, almost as red as your dad’s, and you can tell the two have probably been screaming at each other a fair amount of time before you got there. 

“captain goes to yunjin.” he presses firmly, slamming his fist down again into the table. “you thank the program for their time, you make the announcement that it’s huh, and you train her until the season starts. you can still see your scholarship out as long as you’re training with us since the injury wasn’t your fault.”

“i don’t give a fuck about my scholarship. yunjin is the wrong call for captain,” daniela bites back fearlessly. 

“if you wouldn’t have gone looking for trouble, we wouldn’t have to be making this call.” he growls, shooing the both of you out of his door.  “you don’t get to call shots any more, avanzini, you are done for. do what i say. announce huh at the press conference and stop causing issues.”

daniela storms out of the office, and you follow behind her, your dad slamming the door shut behind the two of you.

“if i wasn’t stuck in this fucking brace, i’d beat his ass too,” she rants, waving lara over. “let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“enough with fighting people,” you growl, following them to the car.

you spend the night, and daniela doesn’t want to say a single word more about it, instead simply laying in the bed and letting you play with her hair until she falls asleep. you want to leave it there, but something inside you is pressing to dig a little deeper, so you slip out of the bed as gently as you can without waking her, and ask lara if you can borrow the car to make a quick trip. your dad is clearly too stressed out about the conference tomorrow to be checking where you are, so you figure maybe you can dig a little deeper into this as you give chaewon a quick phone call. 

you make it to chaewon’s apartment complex and just as you had the hunch, yunjin is pulling up at the exact same time, looking like a zombie as she tries punching in the access code to the front door. you park and race up behind her before she can leave you behind.

“hi yunjin,” you greet, making your presence known.

“y/n.” she forces a smile, spinning on her heel. caught. “good to see you.”

“i thought we were cool, but you don’t seem that thrilled to see me,” you wrinkle your nose. “did chae tell you i was asking about you?”

“unfortunately, yes,” she wrinkles her nose back at you. yunjin straddles the line between being confident and cocky, just barely able to rein it in that you’re never quite that annoyed with her. 

“sorry for you, but i need answers,” you press.

“all for a girl who won’t claim you?” she arches a brow.

you bite back a grimace, not wanting to admit how deep that cuts. “this isn’t about dani.”

“when it comes to this team, everything is about dani.” she shakes her head.

“when it comes to dani, everything is about the team,” you insist, and you see yunjin’s eyebrow twitch slightly.

“i hate admitting when daniela is right, but i also disagree with the call to make me captain.”

“so don’t accept,” you state simply.

“i have to,” yunjin sighs. “it’s not that easy.”

“why don’t you think it should go to you?”

“i love hockey, but i don’t live and breathe it. coach y/ln just wants an incoming senior who can say the right polite things, keep the sponsors happy, and then graduate and be out of there. i’m the closest she could get to lara raj. dani, as much trouble as she caused, also got us the right kind of attention. it was supposed to be her keeping captain until she graduated. someone like that isn’t going to pop up again. lightning doesn’t strike twice.”

you marinade on her words. that might explain why dani is so irritated about the call– yunjin seems ready to be a puppet for the next year, and daniela would rather die than let captain go to someone who doesn’t see the sport as their whole life.

“i’ve never seen her like that before, so reasonable. she’s crazy about you,” yunjin adds as an afterthought. “she met her match in you.”

“crazy knows crazy,” you laugh.

“i think you believing in her changed her.” yunjin corrects you, offering a small smile as a peace offering. “she’s a pain in the ass, but she’s our favorite pain in the ass, so thank you for taking care of her.”

suddenly the door swings open, revealing a sleepy-eyed chaewon.

“oh hi, y/n,” she blinks, looking between the both of you. “i wasn’t expecting you to actually come over.”

“not crashing, just needed to find yunjin. thanks, chae. see you tomorrow.” you nod to them both and head off. you don’t have a plan, but you at least have a better idea of what’s going through daniela’s head, and maybe that can be enough for now. you drive back to her place and squeeze right back into bed with her, wondering what this new chapter could possibly have in store for you.

-

the press conference finally comes the next day, and you’ve never seen so many bodies packed in the conference room before. photographers, reporters, even what looks like scouts and coaches invited from other teams. yunjin is seated next to you in the front row by the coaches, and megan and lara are right outside the door watching on the screen outside the room with the rest of the team. 

dani limps her way onto the stage, unreadable expression on her face. they offer her a roaring round of applause, their university’s mini-celebrity, before quieting down as she takes to the microphone to start the speech.

“hockey has given me the most beautiful past 15 years of my life. i’d like to thank the program, for giving me a home to call my own, and the coaches, for pushing me to be my best. i’d like to thank the girls, most of all, for trusting my decisions, following me into the dark, and picking me up every single time i’ve fallen in pursuit of perfection.”

“as we celebrate this win,” she continues, “i know my time as captain has come to a beautiful end. i will mourn the season i never got to share, but i know the next captain is going to set the most incredible example for the team moving froward. being captain changed me. it gave me something to be responsible for, and a reason to believe in myself, even on the hardest days, when nothing felt redeemable. this is not a decision the program has taken lightly, as the job of team captain is only for those strong enough to lead by example, and believe in themselves to do it with a clear focus on the team.” 

she presses her lips into a fine line, clearly trying to fake a smile. your heart aches as you know she’s being forced to do this against her better hopes.

“i am proud to announce my successor,” she starts, her face cold. 

theres a pause, and you see her eyes change. she looks up at you and that glint of mischief shines as your eyes meet. you whisper a scolding to yourself but the grin on her face tells you that her mind is made up. she leans into the microphone and takes measures into her own hands.

“the women’s hockey team is in no better hands next year than incoming junior megan skiendiel. thank you,” she nods and stands up, and the conference room bursts into a roar of flashing cameras, overlapping questions, and a few whistled cheers.

you know your dad is going to fucking kill her but she walks off the stage with no fear and heads backstage. 

tutor girl texts you immediately. 

holy shit

daniela’s too smart. the university is in too tight of a position to retract her statement. dani is adored by thousands, and the sob story of her early retirement locks in her legacy as a hero– if your dad retracts her statement, he’s as good as dead.

you all rush to find her backstage as your dad scrambles to the mic, announcing “no further questions.”

megan is the first to spot her, and you can already see the color drained from her face in shock as her lip quivers. “dani–”

“listen, megs.” daniela grabs the taller girl by the shoulders, pulling her in to look her deep in the eyes. “you are our top scorer. you are first to practice every time and always the last to leave. you live, breathe, and die by this sport. everything i know, i’ve taught you, and you’ve surpassed me. you are a better, younger version of myself and you are the heart of this team.” 

you didn’t know where dani’s head was at with yunjin, but you can see it now. experience and composure vs talent and dedication. yunjin is perfect on paper, but megan is obsessed with the sport down to her very core. and when daniela needed a reminder she was more than just a stupid little problem child, she recognizes that megan needs the same push to see she’s not just some nervous idiot little kid. 

“i can’t do what you do,” megan hiccups, and you can see how hard she’s biting down on her lip to stop herself from bursting into tears. “i can’t do any of this without you.”

“you won’t have to.” dani pulls her into a crushing hug, and you feel your heart warm. “i’ve got your back, and you’ve got all of ours. believe in yourself, or at least remember that at least one person believes in you, and the rest will come naturally.”

your dad’s voice booms over all of you, interrupting the otherwise tender moment. 

“avanzini, my fucking office, now.”

he’s stanced menacingly in front of the group, finger pointed in the direction of the coach’s offices. you all fall silent, clearly terrified of what comes next from him.

well, all except for daniela, who steps right up to him and points a finger just an inch from his face. 

“yeah, keep swearing at me ‘cause i got more to say to you, you bald-headed bitch,” she pushes back fearlessly. 

“oh, don’t start, avanzini,” he groans, backing down and walking towards the office. 

you want to die of laughter as you watch her limp after him. daniela and her incessant need to run her mouth.

you give megan a quick squeeze of reassurance and leave her in the arms of the girls. whatever is about to go down between daniela and your dad should probably involve a witness, so you chase them down and follow into his office. they don’t even notice you entering, right back into a screaming match they’re all too good at. 

“do you know the shit you just got us into? i have a whole department losing their minds over their top spokesperson having to transition off and now you’re going off script picking your own fucking captain! do you know the position that puts us in?” he’s seething so hard, you see the spit flying from his lips as he can barely contain himself. “do you ever fucking think about anything besides yourself?”

“yes, actually.” daniela’s face is hard, she’s standing tall, taking the verbal beating but snapping back just as forcefully to make sure he knows it won’t be an easy fight. “i think about a lot of other people, actually.”

“forgive me for finding that hard to believe, between the partying, the disrespect, and the self-centered attitude.” he holds up a finger for each vice he lists. “you carry yourself like some cocky frat boy and i’ve enabled you for way too fucking long. sometimes i wonder what the fuck goes on up there in that brain of yours besides thinking about yourself.”

you see daniela’s fists clench, and she lets out a sharp breath. 

“you wonder what i think about?” she snaps, before taking a step back and laughing bitterly. “this is a great time to tell you that i’m in love with your daughter.”

you freeze. oh christ.

“don’t joke like that, avanzini.” he waves her off, immediately attempting to call her bluff.  “you’ve already put my blood pressure high enough. don’t pick the low fucking blows.”

“coach,” dani says simply, and her eyes flicker to you. 

you look back at her, and realize your dad is staring between the two of you. his face falls instantly as he sees the look you share.

“y/n, if she’s roped you into some prank, it’s not fucking funny, and this is not the time. this is serious, kiddo, you can’t let her use you to make a joke at my expense–”

your eyes meet dani’s once more, and you realize you have a choice. be stuck under his thumb forever, or choose to be impulsive and brave. 

and something about those eyes makes you feel like maybe, it wouldn’t kill you to be your own person. 

“i know daniela is a pain in your ass, but she’s also passionate, and brave, and she loves hard.” you start, and your dad groans in exasperation as he buries his face in his hands.

“not you, y/n, i literally told them the only rule was not you,” he sighs, before pointing back at daniela. “i should have known i couldn’t fucking trust you.”

“you don’t see the good side of her because you’re too busy wishing she was lara, or yunjin.”

you see dani and your dad tense simultaneously. 

“i’d be pretty annoying too if i couldn’t exist by myself,” you continue. “you’re always comparing her and she never gets a chance to just be celebrated for everything she does right.”

“no. not being trusted is a consequence of your own decisions,” he tells her.

“you don’t know everything about me,” daniela growls. 

“no, avanzini, i do know you,” he snaps back quickly, an accusing finger in her face. “i know you’re arrogant and hot-headed. i know you act first and think later, and that’s if you even think at all.”

“and all of those things make her someone you can depend on to give 110%,” you jump in to her defense. “do you know how many times she’s shown up to cheer someone up after a hard game? how she teaches others how to show up first to every practice? how she’s there the moment anyone needs someone? every time the girls start to beat themselves up because you’ve been a dick, she’s the first one helping them feel better about themselves.”

“it’s not just about being composed,” you go on, “it’s about being connected, and daniela cares about everyone equally. doesn’t pick favorites, unlike you.”

“y/n, are you trying to kill me?” he runs a hand over his bald head, his skin redder than you’ve ever seen it before. he glares once more over at daniela. “and you, shit-head, you are to stay away from my daughter or i kick you from the team.”

“i’m not approved to play anyways,” dani snaps back immediately. “you can’t stop me from shit.”

“kicking her isn’t your call,” you push back.

“she’s going to ruin your future,” he warns, but it feels like the weak final attempt of someone losing to try and get the upper hand.

“you not listening to anyone else is going to ruin yours. watch how your team falls apart without dani to guide them,” you snap back, grabbing daniela’s hand to yank her out of the office with you. “she’s not some fucking monster.”

you pause for a second in the doorway, before adding a final thought.

“and for the record, dad, dani did everything possible to ignore me. i sought her out, over and over, because she was the only person who treated me like a human being and not like your little puppet.”

your hands are shaking as you two simply keep walking, making your way out of the building. you’ve never once pushed back against him like that.

“holy shit,” daniela says simply, slumping up against the giant oak tree by the athletics building. 

it’s not enough for you, you’re all adrenaline, and if there was ever a time to claim and be claimed, it’s now.

“you could say it to my dad, right in his fucking face, and yet you can’t look me in the eyes and say it to me?” you tell her hurriedly, grabbing her hands and holding them in your own shaky ones. “you can look him in the eyes, tell him off, tell him you’re in love with me, and still not be able to look me in the eyes to say it here?”

“i didn’t think the chance would ever hit me again,” she admits. “i did it, but i was fucking scared.”

“big bad avanzini, scared?” you laugh, throwing your head back. “never thought i’d see the day.”

“i want to be a different person for you,” she tells you, her tone dropping into a more serious one, as she brushes a few strands of hair from your face. “a good one.”

“you are a good person,” you press, taking her face into your hand. “i wanted you then, before you knew you were good, and i want you now.”

“it’ll kill me if i hurt you,” she clenches her jaw.

“dani, we’ve already hurt each other and we weren’t even together.” you shake your head at all the time you two had wasted being stupid and playing games. “and you forgive me, and i still forgive you, and i still know you’re good at your core.”

“i want you bad, y/n,” she breathes shakily. “but things i’ve loved in my life never really end up working out.”

“because you sabotage them, thinking you’re not worth it.” you hold her perfect face in both of your hands, forcing her to look at you. “you are perfect for me.”

“it’s risky,” she warns you, but you can see her guard falling one last time. “being in love can be really fucking painful. it’s a huge risk.”

“luckily for me, i fell in love with the most reckless, relentless daredevil i’ve ever met,” you grin, and she matches your smile with her own. “i trust you, daniela avanzini. with my whole heart, actually.”

she pulls you into a searing kiss, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve ever kissed in the fresh air, not hidden in someone’s room or in a dark hallway. you relish it, her soft, warm lips against yours in the brisk winter time air, the way she pulls you in to press your bodies flush together. your heard thuds at the realization. 

it’ll be the first of many.  

-

megan taps the microphone nervously, pulling at her tie to loosen it. 

“uh, hi.”

tutor girl is recording next to you, looking like a proud soccer mom. she told you just moments before how hard megan had worked on this speech. the summertime pre-season press conference is no joke, usually it’s how the program will set the tone for the upcoming season, and the team is eagerly waiting in the front row of the conference seating to cheer on the ginger on stage.

“i take the torch of leadership from a mentor who is extremely dear to me.” she starts slowly, and you notice that she has no notes in front of her, having memorized the speech itself.  “i’m excited to work to bring out the best in this team, the way our former captain brought out the best in me, and in every one of us. i will aim high not to achieve, but to improve. all i will seek is that we improve upon ourselves, and the rest we’ll take as it comes for the love of this beautiful sport. thank you for believing in me, and i hope this season gives everyone something to be proud of. my name is megan skiendiel, and i am extremely honored to be named the women’s hockey team captain.”

she nods, bowing slightly, and stands up once the photos have all been taken.

dani watches on the other side of you, arms crossed. her lips are pressed into a grin. 

“you did this,” you tell her, motioning to the packed conference and the roars of cheering fans from outside the conference room. “your stubborn self made this all happen.”

“someone once described me as relentless,” she smiles, poking you in the hip.

“no, i said you’re annoying,” you correct, as the two of you make your way back towards the coach’s area.

“i’ll be honest, i probably wasn’t listening either way.” she teases, and you roll your eyes. “you start yapping and i get lost in those eyes.”

“okay, alright loverboy,” you push her face away, but she presses back twice as strong to plant a kiss on your cheek. you squeeze her cheek in response. “ugh, you’re so fucking cute it makes me aggressive.”

“you’re always aggressive,” she laughs. 

“don’t let anyone look at you during the faculty meeting,” you warn. “if someone smiles at you, you say–”

“‘i have a girlfriend, i love her with my whole heart, and she’ll kill you,’” dani nods, remembering the lines you two playfully ran the night before.

“you’re so good.” you hum happily.

“if anyone looks my way, i’ll call you and then punch them in the head,” she reassures you, laughing.

“no violence.” you warn her. “you’re not a frat boy any more.”

“i love you,” she says simply, but the firmness in her tone and the way she reaches for your hand speaks volumes. 

you grab her by the chin and stare deep into those beautiful dark eyes. her tooth gem sparkles as she smiles widely back at you. 

“be good, and have fun. i’ll wait for you at home.”

“naked, hopefully,” dani quips back quickly.

“we can’t keep traumatizing poor megan,” you laugh, shaking your head.

“you are the best thing that ever happened to me,” she tells you earnestly, eyes looking over you as if seeking something.

“if someone discovers how to quit you, i hope they let me know,” you wrap your arms around her neck and plant one last kiss on her forehead.

“hope that never fucking happens.” she says easily. “you’re stuck with my ass.”

“ugh.” you push her away with one last kiss to her cheek. “go be charming and stupid somewhere else before i drag you into a bathroom.”

she looks so fucking cute in the university polo. a popped collar and a red cup in her hands and she’d look much too comfortable throwing back to her frat boy days. she runs off and joins the familiar figure of your dad as the hockey program faculty head into a meeting room.

your dad shoves her, and she grins twice as big up at him as she jumps up to slap the back of his big, bald head and then sprints off. he grumbles something and you watch as the two disappear into the room with the rest of the staff. you couldn’t be more proud of the way dani has found a way to keep chasing her dreams.

daniela avanzini. incoming senior, and new assistant coach in training.

and, her title for you and you alone, daniela avanzini. the most passionate, caring, insanely brave girlfriend anyone could have ever imagined.

[itsraceweekbitches]

JUST HOW FAKE ARE WE?

summary: Your so-far-successful fake relationship with Max takes a different turn in Monaco. But how far will things go eventually? ✤ pairing: Max Verstappen x reader ✤ wc: 3.2k ✤ tags: fem!reader, marriage talks, fake relationship, teenage crush, excited-puppy-in-love!Max

[march 2025 – australian grand prix]

The media is having a field day with your suddenly revealed relationship with Max, who seems to enjoy this show a little too much. I’m bored, it’s fun, and it’s absolutely no big deal, he said.

And he clearly means it, because he doesn’t let go of your hand when you’re walking down the paddock together for the first time on Saturday, and he always makes sure he has a hand on your body, or places a kiss on your cheek whenever there are cameras around.

The inevitable happens shortly before qualifying, when the first article about the two of you is published on a well-known gossip site. And then comes another. And another. Followed by social media posts and video edits by fans. The fans are obsessed with this turn of events.

Some immediately catch on, stating that there is no way this relationship is real, that it’s nothing more but a decoy. They’re right, of course, but lucky for you, there are many more fans who believe the lie. Some even uncovered a few photos from the boys’ karting days, ones where you and Max can be seen together talking, laughing, and even hugging.

Charles has been apologizing non-stop, telling you he feels guilty since the press got the conversation from his account, and he even believes he shouldn’t have joked about it at all.

Now Max is attending an emergency meeting to discuss how to handle the situation, while you’re hiding in his driver room, talking to Charles who has already returned from his own emergency meeting.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Charles tells you during your video call, although you can see the doubt in his green eyes.

With a groan, you lean back on the bed, but you can’t calm down, you can’t think clearly, not when your brain is in overdrive by the fact the whole room—and especially the pillow—smells like Max. You’re not used to being surrounded by this scent, and it feels like you’re invading his personal space.

And the decorations keep reminding you that you’re not at Ferrari anymore, that this is uncharted territory, something you know nothing about yet. Sure, you will have to get familiar with things here, but you are still feeling out of place.

“I know it’s not the end of the world,” you finally speak up, “but now we dragged Max into this, and—”

“Hey, no, no, no, he volunteered. We didn’t hold him at gunpoint.”

You roll your eyes, then give him a look that immediately silences him, and his lips are pressed into a thin line as he forces himself not to go on. You’ve known Charles literally your whole life, you know each other like you weren’t just best friends, but siblings who are stuck together.

“I’m just worried he’ll get into trouble because of me. You should have seen the faces when I showed up in Red Bull territory this morning,” you note with a grimace.

The most shocking moment was running into Christian, who watched you with narrowed eyes, as if he was thinking about what ulterior motive you had. If he only knew the truth…

On the other side of the line, Charles lets out a heartfelt laugh. “You as a corporate spy… Nah, you would suck at that,” he points out, then takes a deep breath. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Here you go again, he’s apologizing once more, and probably not for the last time. You wish you could go over to him and give him a big hug, then play video games until you both fall asleep. Like in the good old days.

After shaking your head, you sit up and lean your back against the wall behind you. “Charles, it’s not your fault. And I could never be mad at you, you know that.”

You want to go on, just to make sure he understands that there’s no reason to blame himself, but you’re interrupted all of a sudden.

“Honey, I’m home,” you hear Max’s familiar, cheerful voice from the door when he enters the room. “Oh, I didn’t know you were talking to someone,” he says when he comes to a halt in the middle of the room.

You flash a smile at him and shake your head. “It’s just Charles.”

“Just Charles?” the Monegasque asks with a roll of his eyes.

Before you know it, Max kneels on the edge of the bed, and leans down to press kisses all over your face, a move that brings a stupid giggle out of you. “She’ll call you back, now she’s all mine,” Max announces when he looks at the camera for a second.

It’s hard to miss the expression on your best friend’s face, the way his nose scrunches and he acts like he was about to throw up. “Disgusting,” he notes.

Next to you, Max doesn’t seem bothered by that, if anything, it just makes him more smug than he usually is in your company. “Screw you. I can shower my girlfriend with kisses anytime I want.”

“Since when?”

You let out a tired sigh as you push the man on your side away before he can give you another kiss on the cheek. “He’s been like that all day, he thinks he’s funny,” you tell Charles with a shake of your head.

“I’m hilarious,” Max corrects you as he lies down on the small space on your side. “And since we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, it’s only natural to act like this, no?”

“Only in public.”

“If you touch her in an inappropriate way, I’ll push you off the track tomorrow,” Charles warns him.

Instead of being scared, Max only lets out a carefree laugh. “You’ll have to get close to me first.”

When you turn back to the phone, you can see that little shit kind of grin on your friend’s face. “Your car sucks this year,” he notes happily. “Anyway, I have to go. Talk to you later.”

You wave him goodbye, then end the call with a sigh.

“So does yours,” Max mutters under his breath, even though Charles isn’t there anymore.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, then blow it out slowly to calm yourself. Soon this will pass, soon you’ll be free again. Until then, you’re stuck here with the Dutchman, who happens to act like the perfect boyfriend.

When you look over at Max, you notice that he’s staring right back, as if he’s been watching you all this time. But what if he has truly been watching you? There’s something in those blue eyes you can’t quite place yet. It’s something you’ve never seen before, an emotion that’s completely unfamiliar, and maybe even a little unsettling.

Before you could say anything, though, he grins at you then rolls off the bed, heading to the mini fridge in the corner to get a Red Bull out for himself. He asks you if you'd like one, but your heart is already racing, an energy drink is the last thing you need.

Just two or three more races. The storm will end, and you can all go back to your everyday lives.

[may 2025 – monaco grand prix]

Over two months later you’re still pretending.

And now it’s time for the most important race of the season: the Monaco Grand Prix. Charles’s home race. The one you want to watch from the Ferrari garage along with his family you’re so close to.

But first, it’s time for dinner with Charles, his mom, and Alex, to which Pascale invited Max too. If Charles brings his girlfriend, you should bring your boyfriend too, she said. And who are you to say no to your second mother?

Later in the afternoon you’re trying on dresses in your family’s penthouse, happy that they are away with their friends until Saturday since Max decided to jump in and pick you up. He arrived early–like, two hours early—so now he’s the one rating your outfits.

“The color is nice, it suits you, but the shape is terrible,” he comments as he holds up the makeshift rating card, a smaller whiteboard he writes his points on.

Six points. Okay, this goes back to the walk-in closet, but you only leave after sticking out your tongue at him, because you love this dress so much that hearing it doesn’t look good on you physically hurts.

Three more outfits later he lets out a groan and jumps up after tossing the whiteboard to the other end of the couch. “I have an idea,” he begins as he follows you to the bedroom for whatever reason.

“I’m not gonna wear jeans with a Red Bull Racing shirt, forget it,” you point out without looking back at him.

“What? No, I’d rather you wear that when you’re with Ferrari this weekend.”

You spin on your heels to look at him, and sure enough, there’s that cheeky, boyish grin you were expecting. But how does he know about your plan to spend the weekend on Charles’s side of the paddock? You never mentioned that.

To your surprise, he knows perfectly well what’s going on inside your head. “What? You thought I wouldn’t know that this weekend is special? I discussed this with Charles a while ago, everything’s ready for you,” he tells you casually.

“Thank you. So, what do you have in mind, then?” you wonder as you walk closer to him.

Max lets out a thoughtful hum as his eyes sweep over your body, as if he was making this up on the spot. “Well, I would suggest jeans and a Simply lovely shirt, but no, I have a better idea. I have a surprise for you in my backpack, give me a sec.”

You watch him rush out of the room with a frown on your face, wondering what the hell is happening here. Max being nice and thoughtful is nothing new, but today it just feels different, like something has shifted in your fake relationship.

To be honest, you may have been thinking about him more than you probably should, even when he’s not around. You find yourself opening the messaging app you usually use, typing some words before changing your mind and deleting them. Or other times your finger hovers over the screen as you wonder if you should call him or not.

You’re kind of afraid of whatever that means. Is this more than just pretending?

At this point, you can’t help but wonder if it’s time to put an end to this. By now the press moved on, focusing on other drivers’ relationships instead of yours. It’s yesterday’s news, and everybody knows Charles and Alex are back together, and that they’re happier than ever. So what’s the point of this? Nothing.

Yet…

“Before you ask, I cheated and asked Charles to somehow get me what size you wear. Apparently Alex straight-up asked you, so,” he begins with a sheepish smile as he holds up a dress.

It’s a beautiful dark blue cocktail dress, which somehow didn’t have any wrinkles on it despite spending God knows how much time in that backpack. You don’t even know what to say, mostly because this gesture only proves what you’ve been suspecting about this certain shift you’ve noticed.

“You don’t like it.”

Your eyes move from the dress to your fake boyfriend, and you don’t hesitate to shake your head. “No, it’s beautiful. I just… Never mind. Thank you.”

Max lets out a sigh as he places the dress on the back of a chair. “Listen, I can see something’s bothering you. What is it?”

What are you supposed to say to this? That your brain is wandering to places you don’t want to explore?

“I’ll try on the dress, so could you wait outside?”

Nodding, Max gives you one last look, then leaves the room without a word. That’s the last time you speak until you meet the others, and even then, you keep an unusual distance. For him, it’s about being cautious. For you, it’s about making sure you make a fool out of yourself.

Charles, of course, notices the change in the atmosphere right away, and he even pulls you aside to start questioning you. But, even though he has known you since you were born, meaning he could probably give you some advice, you decide to lie and act like it’s nothing. 

But it’s not nothing. 

Your eyes keep finding Max throughout the evening, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. Does he have the same thoughts? Or is he desperately waiting to be free of you? It’s hard to tell. 

Just as you planned, you spend the weekend with Charles, arriving at the paddock with his family, staying in Ferrari territory just to be safe. Safe from Max. Safe from your thoughts. Safe from the media. 

But there’s an itch in the back of your brain, one you can’t scratch. And the itch even has a voice, repeating his name over, and over, and over again. It’s getting louder with each passing second, with each moment you see him on the screens on the wall, when your phone buzzes to notify you of a new message from him. 

Alex gives you worried looks every now and then, but it takes her a while to open up and tell you what it’s about. And when she finally tells you what’s going on, you feel like the whole world has turned against you. First, everyone was freaking out because they thought you and Charles were getting married. Then it was you and Max. Now? Now the fans are mad because you chose your best friend over your boyfriend. 

You close your eyes for a moment, but then you take a deep breath and leave the garage, trying to move in a way that doesn’t scream how terrible and pathetic you feel right now. Some fans are screaming bloody murder because Max is starting the race from P10 after a mechanical issue in Q3, which only happened because his lucky charm–you–wasn’t there with him on Saturday. 

To be honest, you haven’t talked since the dinner. You’ve been avoiding him, ignoring him, and you hate yourself for not answering him. 

“Wait,” you hear a familiar voice calling after you. 

Fuck. 

Max ran all the way here, ready to jump into the car based on the suit he already wears, but despite this, here he is, looking for you. There are people already turning in your direction, you can’t just leave him there, so you come to a halt and force a smile on your face. 

“Hey, I–”

Before you could say anything, he gently but firmly puts a hand around your neck to pull you into a kiss. It’s rushed, passionate, and messy, yet it feels perfect. This is the first time the two of you kissed, until now you carefully avoided that situation, but God, what did you miss?

It’s only when he lets go for a moment that you notice the cameras around you, but it doesn’t seem to bother him, in fact, it just draws a smug smirk on his face. “Well, if you want to jump ship, Red Bull’s always waiting for you. I love you,” he adds quietly. 

This short-circuits your brain. This didn’t sound fake, you have a feeling he meant it. But if he meant it, then… Okay, you need to stop, you can’t overthink, you can’t let him put ideas in your head. 

You want to say something, anything, really, but nothing comes to your mind. 

He flashes a big smile at you before pressing a rushed kiss on your cheek. “Come over tonight. The cats miss you.” And with that, he waves goodbye and leaves. 

What the hell just happened?

Luckily, you have enough brain capacity left to send him a quick good luck message.

“I was hoping you would jump in, but don’t worry, I’m glad you’re here now” Max says when he opens the door of his apartment. 

Yeah, right. The invitation. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t go there, not now. Not when you had these confusing feelings and thoughts. Did he mean it when he said those words? Did he catch feelings just like you did?

Because you did. You caught feelings in the past two months, and it wouldn’t be fair to deny. Just how long can you play pretend knowing damn well you want more from him? 

Letting out a sigh, you go straight to his living room without saying a word–something that confuses him based on the questioning hum he lets out as you walk past him. Once he catches up, you gulp and prepare to speak up, breaking the awkward silence. This has never been the problem, not once. You could always chat and laugh, but now it feels different. 

“Maybe it’s time to end this fake relationship,” you announce, even though the thought breaks your heart. 

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats stubbornly as he sits on the couch and picks up his youngest furry kid. “Aren’t we having fun? Why can’t this become something real? Come on, you enjoyed that kiss this afternoon, didn’t you?” 

Oh, that confident smile of his is driving you crazy. You just want to slap him. 

You want to slap that handsome face. 

DAMN IT! FOCUS!

“Max, people have moved on, there’s no reason to keep going,” you try, although your voice lacks conviction. 

And he knows. He always knows if there’s something you’re not telling him. This time he starts with a doubtful look, which is followed by a wide, Cheshire Cat grin. The thing is, Max always gets what he wants, and this time you have a feeling you’re what he wants.

Before you know it, he puts the cat to the side–who gives him a mean look in return–and reaches out to take your hands to pull you into his lap. Your brain melts when you feel his hands on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. Why does it feel so good? You don’t want to like it as much as you do. 

Taking a deep breath, you try to pry his hands off yourself to break the spell, but his grip only tightens as he launches himself forward to capture your lips in a kiss. Another mind blowing kiss that knocks every coherent thought out of your brain. 

The fact you like it is pathetic.

But still oh so good.

Maybe giving him a chance is what you should do now. Maybe he’s right, maybe you would be good together. So, without thinking more, you let yourself get lost in the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck. But he suddenly leans back to build a little distance.

“I have an idea,” he begins with a smile, his lips red and swollen. “I have napkins in the kitchen, let’s write a contract. Seems to work for you.”

“God, you’re so silly,” you tell him with a grin, then kiss him again.

[sunshinesfreckless]

Every Girl Gets Her Wish

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Hyunlix x Fem!Reader

Summary: Just Felix being unable to say no to his girlfriend.

Warnings: Phew…. Double Penetration, Lots of Sex, we also got a bit of Dick on Dick action thanks to Hyunjin and Felix, a little bit of Breeding kink…. yk a little bit of this a little bit of that….Minors DNI

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Felix had never really thought of himself as a voyeur, but maybe he was. Or maybe it was just Y/N. Maybe it was just Hyunjin.

Whenever he took his girlfriend, fucked her good, he wanted people to know. His boys, especially. Maybe it was ego, maybe it was something else, but he liked it when they heard. When they knew how she moaned, how she came apart under him. And maybe—just maybe—he liked the idea of one of them stepping in.

Hyunjin, especially.

────୨ৎ────

It started as a passing thought, just a flicker in his brain during late-night practices when he was too tired to think straight. The way Hyunjin’s lips always looked plush and wet, the way his fingers were long and delicate, the way he looked at Y/N sometimes—too fast to be caught, but Felix saw. He always saw.

Then, the night in the dorm kitchen happened.

Felix should’ve pulled away when Hyunjin walked in, should’ve at least covered her up. But he didn’t. Instead, his grip on her thighs tightened, lifting her slightly, angling her just right. He wanted Hyunjin to see. See the way Y/N took him so well, see how her body responded, how she moaned into the marble countertop, breathless and needy. And Hyunjin—he didn’t leave. He didn’t say a word. He just stared, mesmerized, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Felix had fucked her harder after that.

Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop picturing what would’ve happened if Hyunjin had stepped closer. If he had bent down, taken one of Y/N’s nipples into his mouth, let her whimper against his tongue. If he had traced his fingers over her stomach, lower, lower, until—

Felix exhaled sharply.

Beside him, Y/N shifted. Then, she turned to him, eyes heavy with something unreadable. Felix set his phone down as she leaned in, her voice quiet but certain.

“I want to have sex with Hyunjin.”

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Fuck.

────୨ৎ────

Felix didn’t hesitate. He never did when it came to Y/N. His princess got what she wanted—always. And if she wanted Hyunjin, then that was exactly what she was going to get.

He had to be smart about it, though. Had to make sure Hyunjin knew this wasn’t some weird setup, wasn’t some test of loyalty. He could already imagine the way Hyunjin would furrow his brows, lips pressing into a tight line, searching Felix’s face for any sign of a trap.

“You’re serious?” Hyunjin had asked when Felix finally brought it up, voice low, careful.

Felix just smiled. “She wants you.”

Hyunjin scoffed, crossing his arms. “And you’re just… okay with that?”

Felix leaned in, his voice dropping. “More than okay.”

The disbelief lingered in Hyunjin’s eyes, but Felix saw the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched, restless. He was thinking about it. That was enough for now.

────୨ৎ────

So Felix set it up.

Y/N deserved more than some awkward, hesitant arrangement. She deserved to be wanted, to be cherished, to feel like the center of the universe. So he made sure everything was perfect—her favorite lingerie, soft lighting, the scent of vanilla lingering in the air. And then, he sent Hyunjin a simple text:

“Come to your room.”

Hyunjin walked in first, shoulders tense, still half-expecting some kind of joke. But when he saw her, all that skepticism melted away.

She was waiting for them, sprawled across his bed like she belonged there, wrapped in delicate lace, smiling so brightly it made his chest ache. Like she was the happiest girl in the world. Because Felix had given her exactly what she wanted.

Hyunjin turned his head slightly, eyes flickering to Felix.

Felix just grinned.

“Go on,” he murmured. “She’s waiting for you.”

And fuck, if that didn’t make Hyunjin’s knees weak.

Hyunjin swallowed hard, gaze flickering between Y/N—laid out so perfectly for them—and Felix, who stood beside him, entirely at ease.

“Come here,” Felix murmured, voice smooth, knowing. He stepped forward first, crawling onto the bed like he’d done a thousand times before, settling between Y/N’s legs. His hand ran up her thigh, slow, possessive, before he turned back to Hyunjin, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “Let me show you what she likes.”

Y/N let out a quiet sigh as Felix’s fingers trailed over her stomach, his touch light enough to make her shiver. “She likes it when you take your time,” he continued, voice dropping lower. His fingers brushed over the lace covering her, making her hips twitch. “She likes being touched like this first—gentle, teasing. Gets her desperate for more.”

Hyunjin exhaled sharply, but he listened. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Felix’s hands, watching Y/N’s reactions, her breath hitching, her lips parting just so.

Felix glanced at Hyunjin, eyes dark with something unreadable. Then, he reached out, grabbed Hyunjin’s wrist, and guided his hand over Y/N’s thigh. “Feel how warm she is?” Felix murmured. “She’s been waiting for you, too.”

Y/N whimpered, pressing into their touch, and Hyunjin felt like he was drowning.

Felix’s voice was right by his ear when he spoke again. “Kiss her,” he whispered. “She’s so pretty when she gets kissed.”

Hyunjin hesitated for half a second before leaning in, brushing his lips against Y/N’s. She melted into him immediately, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer. He could taste the sweetness of her lip gloss, feel the soft hum she let out against his mouth.

And then, just as Hyunjin was getting lost in her, Felix’s fingers tilted his chin.

Hyunjin barely had time to process it before Felix kissed him.

It was slow, deliberate, a test—but also not. Felix kissed like he did everything else, confident and easy, like he already knew Hyunjin would kiss him back.

And fuck—he did.

The air in the room shifted, heavier now, hotter. Y/N whimpered between them, watching with wide, eager eyes as Felix pulled back just enough to smirk.

“See?” he murmured. “Told you this is what she wanted.”

And maybe—just maybe—it was what Felix wanted too.

Felix didn’t stop.

Hyunjin was still catching his breath from that kiss, lips tingling, head spinning, but Felix was already moving. His hands ghosted over the hem of Hyunjin’s shirt, fingers brushing bare skin as he pulled it up and off. Hyunjin let him. Let Felix undress him, piece by piece, watching as Felix’s own shirt hit the floor next.

Y/N lay between them, eyes glazed with want, her hands skimming over their bodies, exploring.

Then, Felix’s hands were back on her, tracing the straps of her lingerie, playing with the delicate lace before sliding it down, baring her inch by inch. “Perfect,” he murmured, voice thick with admiration.

Hyunjin swallowed hard.

Felix noticed.

His smirk was slow, knowing. He tilted his head slightly, voice low, taunting. “You want to touch her?”

Hyunjin exhaled, shaky and uneven. His gaze flickered to Y/N’s, searching for permission—for confirmation that this wasn’t just Felix testing him.

She met his eyes, and for a second, she was so soft. So willing.

Then, without hesitation, her fingers wrapped around his wrist, delicate but firm, guiding him exactly where she wanted.

The first brush of his fingers against her made her gasp.

Her thighs twitched, back arching slightly, hips pressing closer to him on instinct. Warm. So fucking warm. Hyunjin swallowed hard, his breath coming out in a shudder as he watched his fingers disappear inside her.

Felix sat back, a quiet curse slipping from his lips. He was watching everything, chest rising and falling in short, uneven exhales, his pupils so blown they were nearly black.

Hyunjin worked her open, pushing deeper, curling his fingers just right.

Y/N moaned.

She spread her legs wider, giving them both a perfect view. And then, slowly, deliberately, she reached down with her free hand—using her own fingers to spread her pussy lips even more.

Hyunjin choked on air.

Felix nearly groaned.

“See how tight her pussy is?” Felix murmured, voice low and wrecked.

Hyunjin’s breathing stuttered. His fingers flexed inside her. His eyes flicked up to Felix, something dark and unreadable swirling in them.

“You kept that all for yourself?”

Felix chuckled, running a hand through his hair. His smirk widened, lazy and dangerous.

“Not anymore,” he murmured, shifting closer. His voice was a husky promise.

We stretch her out today.

Their smiles matched.

But Y/N—Y/N smiled the most.

Oh, this was heaven.

Hyunjin wasn’t hesitant anymore.

The second he had Y/N trembling under his fingers, once he saw the way Felix devoured every little reaction, something inside him snapped.

His grip tightened on her thigh. His other hand fisted the sheets beside her head. He wanted more.

Y/N let out a soft, surprised gasp as Hyunjin pushed her back onto the bed, his body hovering over hers. His eyes were wild, pupils dark, jaw clenched tight.

He wanted to ruin her.

Felix leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Let him, princess.”

And she did.

Hyunjin spread her wide, lining himself up, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. His grip on her thigh was firm, holding her still, keeping her open as he eased inside, stretching her inch by inch.

Her lips parted in a soundless moan.

Felix’s breathing hitched. His fingers flexed against his thighs.

Hyunjin let out a slow, shaking breath, his head dropping to her shoulder as her tight heat swallowed him whole. His jaw tightened, a deep groan breaking from his throat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, already breathless. “You feel so fucking good.”

Felix’s cock twitched painfully at the sight.

And then Hyunjin moved.

Deep. Slow. Deliberate.

A steady, claiming rhythm.

Y/N gasped, her back arching off the bed, nails dragging down Hyunjin’s arms. Her tiny, helpless whimpers filled the room, mixing with the slick sounds of her soaked pussy taking him so easily.

Felix couldn’t fucking look away.

The way Hyunjin fucked her, the way Y/N arched into it, the way her pretty little moans grew louder with every thrust—

He was gone.

“Felix,” Y/N moaned, reaching out blindly, her body shuddering between them. Desperate. Needy for her Boyfriend.

Hyunjin’s gaze flickered up, something dark and knowing swirling in his eyes. He saw it too—the way she ached for more.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice low, husky. “She wants you.”

Felix didn’t let them ask twice.

He was on the bed in seconds, his hand sliding over her heated skin, feeling her tremble beneath his touch. His lips crashed into hers, swallowing her soft, breathy whimpers, his tongue teasing hers—hot, slick, claiming. She tasted so fucking sweet, so wrecked already, but he wanted more.

And then Hyunjin.

Felix barely had a moment to breathe before their eyes met again, their lips only a whisper apart. He could feel Hyunjin’s breath—warm, uneven —ghosting against his mouth, and suddenly, he wasn’t thinking anymore.

He just took.

Their lips collided again—this time with no hesitation, no second-guessing, no restraint.

It was Filthy.

Their tongues tangled, the kiss messy, deep, hungry, like they had been waiting for this just as much as Y/N had. Felix groaned into it, his fingers sliding lower, palming Hyunjins balls through his thrusts, feeling the way his cock buried deep inside her, the way he filled her so perfectly.

Hyunjin moaned into his mouth, the sound low and wrecked. His hips stuttered, but he didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked Y/N even harder.

Rough. Deep.

Felix felt every thrust, felt the heat radiating from them both, the damp sweat clinging to their skin. He pulled back, panting, watching the way Hyunjin’s cock disappeared into Y/N’s tight, wet pussy, the way she arched into every movement, the way her lips trembled, her eyes fluttering shut as pleasure consumed her.

She loved this. She fucking loved this.

And then Hyunjin flipped her over, pressing her down onto the bed.

Positioning her just right.

“Open your mouth for Felix,” Hyunjin murmured against her ear, his breath hot, his fingers gripping her jaw—not too rough, but just enough to make her shiver.

Y/N obeyed immediately.

Lips parting. Tongue flicking out. Eyes pleading.

Felix’s cock twitched at the sight.

“Fuck,” he muttered, a deep, low growl, his fingers threading into her hair, gripping it just tight enough to make her gasp.

Hyunjin smirked behind her, one hand sliding down the curve of her back, spreading her open, watching her drip for them.

Felix exhaled shakily. “That’s my girl,” he whispered. Rough. Possessive.

And then Hyunjin thrust into her from behind, slow and deep, while Felix slipped between her lips, groaning the second the heat of her mouth wrapped around him.

They moved in sync.

Hyunjin’s thrusts rocked her forward, forcing her to take Felix deeper, her throat tightening around him as she let out a strangled moan. Felix’s fingers flexed in her hair, his head dropping back for a moment, a breathless curse spilling from his lips.

She was so Helpless. Overwhelmed. So completely theirs.

And Felix had never fucking loved anything more.

Hyunjin met his gaze over her shoulder, his smirk all mischief.

“Wanna stretch her out more?”

Felix swore under his breath, his grip tightening.

Hyunjin smirked wider. Their hands met in a quick high-five, both of them already so fucking gone, before Felix pulled away, letting Y/N catch her breath.

But she didn’t want a break.

She whimpered at the loss, soaking the sheets beneath her, shifting, needy, desperate.

Hyunjin chuckled darkly.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, rubbing slow, teasing circles against her overstimulated clit. “You still want more?”

Y/N could barely speak, barely think—all she could do was nod.

Felix exhaled hard, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “She’s not done until we say she’s done.”

Hyunjin’s grip on her hips tightened. “Exactly.”

Felix moved her again, effortlessly flipping her onto her back, lifting her into his lap like she weighed nothing.

Her breath hitched, completely at his mercy.

“Hi, baby,” he whispered, his voice like velvet, fingers trailing down her spine, teasing, possessive.

She smiled, still breathless, her heart pounding in her chest. “Hi, sunshine.”

Felix tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes drinking in her flushed skin, her kiss-bruised lips, the dazed, blissed-out look in her gaze.

God, she was so fucking beautiful like this.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, lips ghosting over her cheek, his voice a slow, delicious tease.

She nodded, a soft, desperate sound escaping her lips, her thighs squeezing around his hips.

Felix smirked.

“You know I always give you what you want,” he murmured, lining himself up with her, teasing the head of his cock against her soaked, aching entrance.

“Just ask for it. You know how much i love Spoiling you”

Felix pushed inside her, slow and deliberate, groaning at the way she squeezed around him, her nails digging into his shoulders.

Before she could even adjust—Hyunjin.

His hands found her waist, warm, firm, grounding.

His body pressed against her back, his breath hot against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

“Breathe, baby,” Felix whispered, his lips brushing against her temple.

And then—

Hyunjin pushed in.

Right beside him.

The stretch was unreal.

Y/N’s head fell back, a strangled moan spilling from her lips as Hyunjin eased inside, the two of them filling her so completely she could barely breathe.

Felix let out a shaky exhale, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as Hyunjin groaned, gripping her hips tighter, his fingers leaving bruises.

The way her walls squeezed them both, the wet heat surrounding them, the perfect, sinful tightness—it was almost too much.

“How do you feel, baby?” Felix asked, voice gentle, breathless, wrecked.

“Is it okay?”

Behind her, Hyunjin pressed soft, teasing kisses along her jaw, his lips barely there, his hand slipping up to cradle her throat.

Her breath hitched, her body shivering, stretched so perfectly between them.

Felix’s fingers found her clit, circling slow, deliberate, coaxing, guiding her into pure, blissful surrender.

“It’s so good,” she whispered, voice trembling. So full. So overwhelmed. So desperate for more.

Hyunjin’s gaze met Felix’s over her shoulder.

Felix smirked.

Hyunjin mirrored it.

“You take two cocks so well,” Hyunjin murmured into her ear, voice smooth, thick with admiration and lust.

A shiver ran through her.

She arched back against him, pressing into the hard, muscled tones of his chest.

His arms tightened around her, securing her, owning her, holding her in place as they both pulsed deep inside her.

And then—his lips were on hers.

Plush. Warm. Needy.

A kiss that sent her spinning.

Felix took his time with her breasts, rolling her sensitive nipples between his fingers, his lips tracing over her throat, worshipping every inch of her.

They stayed buried inside her, letting her adjust.

But she was ready for more.

And they knew it.

When they started moving, Y/N swore she was on cloud nine.

The stretch—blissful torture.

A deep, delicious burn that made every thrust more intense, made her head spin, made her body tremble.

She was so fucking full.

Two thick, hard cocks, moving inside her, claiming her, fucking her open.

Hyunjin moaned, low, wrecked, ruined at the way she clenched around them.

Felix cursed under his breath, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her down onto them both, forcing her to take every inch.

The friction was filthy.

She could feel them, not just inside her but against each other, their cocks rubbing eachother, sending electric shocks of pleasure through all of them.

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, his hips stuttering slightly. “Fucking hell,” he groaned, voice thick with pleasure.

Y/N’s nails dug into one of their arms—she didn’t even know whose.

Felix’s voice was in her ear, soft, breathless, hypnotic.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin. “Taking both of us like a perfect little slut.”

“God, you feel so fucking good.”

“So tight for us, princess. You’re dripping.”

And then, Felix grabbed Hyunjin by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a kiss over her shoulder. Messy, desperate. Tongues sliding together, Felix sucking on Hyunjin’s bottom lip like he was starved for it.

“The way your dick presses against mine is so fucking hot, Jinnie,” Felix groaned.

Hyunjin chuckled darkly, breathless. “Mhm… and this is the best pussy I’ve ever had. You’re a really good friend, Lix.”

Felix let out a breathless laugh—until Y/N shifted between them, so needy.

“Oh, look at her,” Felix cooed, a teasing edge to his voice. “We’re not giving her enough attention.”

“Sorry, princess,” Hyunjin smirked.

Their hips snapped forward in sync, harder, deeper, filling her over and over until she was nothing but moans and trembling limbs. Their hands and mouths were everywhere—hot lips dragging down her throat, rough palms gripping her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh. Completely surrounded. Completely taken.

She came harder than she ever had before. A cry tearing from her throat, body shaking, completely undone.

The pleasure was so overwhelming that she barely registered the way Hyunjin and Felix groaned in sync, her orgasm clenching around them, drawing them deeper into her. They had to have been heard. The entire dorm probably knew what was happening by now, but none of them cared.

The men pulled out, leaving her trembling, her body still spasming from the aftershocks. Hyunjin laid her on her back gently, pressing soft kisses to her damp forehead before pushing back inside her, sliding in so easily through the mess they had made.

Felix followed, stretching her out all over again.

Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, thrusting in tandem, driving her into another wave of overstimulation that had her eyes rolling back, her lips parted in helpless moans. It was too much, but it was perfect.

Her fucked-out state only made them more desperate—her messy hair, the deep red marks littering her soft skin, her parted lips glistening with drool. She looked ruined, and they were responsible.

And they wanted more.

When Y/N came again, they both lost it.

Hyunjin let out a deep, guttural groan, his body trembling, his grip on her tightening as if he was trying to hold himself together.

Felix bit his lip, his whole body shuddering, a choked, wrecked moan slipping from his throat.

But in the heat of the moment, their lips met again and somehow, both of them slipped out.

Y/N barely had time to process it before she saw the sight in front of her.

Felix and Hyunjin, lost in each other.

Hyunjin’s hands roamed greedily down Felix’s back, gripping his ass, squeezing, spreading him open, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin.

Felix gasped into Hyunjin’s mouth, his hips rolling forward, their leaking, rock-hard cocks rubbing together.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Her pussy was still pulsing, loose and aching, but all she could do was watch, mesmerized, entranced, utterly ruined by the sight.

Hyunjin wasn’t gentle.

He grabbed Felix’s hips, pulling him closer, grinding against him, their cocks sliding against each other, throbbing, dripping, needy.

Felix moaned into his mouth, his fingers tangling in Hyunjin’s hair, tugging, making Hyunjin groan, making him push harder, rut against him like he needed to crawl inside him.

Felix’s hands slid lower, gripping Hyunjin’s ass in return, pulling him in, pressing their bodies together even tighter, until every inch of them was aligned, until they could feel each other’s heat, each other’s need.

Felix’s fingers trailed over Hyunjin’s nipples, teasing, pinching, making the other man gasp, his hips jerking involuntarily.

“F-Fuck,” Hyunjin stuttered, voice thick, needy, desperate.

Felix grinned, breathless, smug.

“You like that? Wanna fuck my ass someday too ?” he murmured, dragging his tongue along Hyunjin’s jaw, his throat, tasting the sweat on his skin.

Hyunjin just groaned a quiet yes, his fingers digging into Felix’s back, nails leaving faint red lines.

Y/N let out a soft, desperate moan.

This was the sexiest thing she had ever seen.

Felix and Hyunjin panting against each other’s mouths, rubbing against each other, fucking against each other, hands roaming, tongues tangled, grinding and moaning like they couldn’t get enough.

Hyunjin’s forehead dropped against Felix’s, his breath ragged, uneven.

“I’m so close,” he gasped, his voice breaking, wrecked.

Felix nodded quickly, his hips still rolling, chasing friction.

“Me too—fuck,” he choked out, his cock twitching against Hyunjin’s, so fucking close to falling apart.

And then, Y/N’s voice cut through the haze.

Hoarse, desperate, wrecked beyond belief.

“Inside me.”

Both of them froze.

Felix’s gaze snapped to hers.

Hyunjin’s fingers tightened on Felix’s skin.

They didn’t need to be told twice.

They turned their attention back to her, both pushing inside her at the same time, their cocks sliding in so easily, her pussy still greedy for more. The overstimulation made her whimper, and they groaned in sync, finally giving in.

Hyunjin shuddered, his breath hot against her skin, as he came deep inside her, Felix following moments after, moaning as he spilled into her alongside Hyunjin.

The thought of it—being so full, so completely claimed by them—made Y/N smile in satisfaction, her body utterly spent.

“Imagine if she gets knocked up by one of us,” Hyunjin murmured, still panting, his voice laced with laziness and amusement.

Y/N only hummed sleepily at the thought of their cum breeding her—not even knowing which one of them it would be.

With all of their energy drained, none of them moved. They simply stayed buried inside her, keeping her warm, adjusting so she lay comfortably between them. Their bodies pressed close, their arms wrapped around her protectively, sweat and heat mixing as they held each other.

Felix traced soft circles over Hyunjin’s arm, his other hand resting on Y/N’s stomach, possessively, tenderly.

“On a scale from one to ten, how happy are you right now?” Felix asked, his voice drowsy but warm.

Y/N barely had the strength to answer, but she smiled sleepily at Hyunjin before whispering, “Twenty.”

Hyunjin chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You cute girl.”

But she was already asleep, safe and cherished in their arms.

[thewitchblue]

"Mooooooom!"

You heard across the house. Little Jason came running to you with an overbearing Dick trailing behind him, doing cartwheels.

"Mama, he won't leave me alone!"

Jason clutched onto a book he was trying to read and hid behind your legs. You wanted to laugh but managed to hold it back.

He peaked at Dick from his poor hiding spot. Now he was doing backflips. Dick wanted his attention, but he tried everything, and he couldn't find any other way to ask for his attention besides doing circus tricks. You asked,

"Dick, what do you want from Jason?"

Jason wrapped one of his arms around your leg. He only wanted to read in peace. He thought he finally found a corner in the library Dick hadn't found yet.

"I wanted to play a game with him, but he was busy reading, and I needed his attention to ask."

You kissed the top of Jason's head. Your sweet little boy, Jason, looked at Dick as if he were an alien. Surely, there are much easier ways to get his attention. He couldn't have been that engrossed, right? He looked at you with guilt-filled eyes.

"Ma? I didn't mean to ignore him, I promise."

You believe him. He would never intentionally ignore anybody, let alone his friendly big brother. Your heart melted at the teary look he gave you. He doesn't want to be thrown out back onto the streets. He knows you'd never do that, but it's an anxiety that won't go away.

"I believe you, sugar bear. You can listen to him now."

Jason bravely stepped out from his hiding place and walked towards Dick with a nervous smile. He still wanted to stay with you, but he listened to the game Dick proposed.

Your two boys ran off to cause their mischief after Dick explained the game he wanted to play. It was one of his favourite circus games that he knew Jason would love. He couldn't believe it took him months to remember the game.

You casually picked up the book that Jason accidentally dropped in his haste to play. Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief. You read the first page and smiled. He was halfway through the book already and likely has the whole series stacked in a pile in the library.

You decided to put the book on his nightstand in his room. His room was covered in books with an entire wall dedicated only to books, but what's one more?

You smiled fondly as you looked around. Little Jason was so passionate. When he loves something, it's part of his heart forever.

Dick's room is full of circus decorations, and you even made a net on the ceiling to catch him when he inevitably falls from the ceiling after a circus trick.

You smiled as the two ran past you, both giggling like they were having the time of their lives. Until Dick backflipped over the guard rail on the third floor. You screamed,

"RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON!"

You ran to the railing and watched Dick ride the chandelier for five seconds before landing onto the couch like he's done it millions of times.

Horrified, you ran down the staircase. You had to check him for injuries immediately while he laughed. Jason was also terrified.

Dick wasn't even bruised to your relief, but the anger came after the relief. You physically relaxed but still looked at him with anger.

"Little wing, never do that again."

You pulled him into a tight hug and kissed his forehead. You will have to tell Bruce and figure out some way to prevent this from happening again. Maybe put up a mesh wall to stop it.

"You can't take the circus out of the kid, mom."

He winked with a grin. You shook your head with a small smile. He's right, of course, and that's why you have to safeguard the entire manor.

"You are so lucky that chandelier didn't fall. It's the oldest in the house."

He didn't seem too bothered by the idea of falling from the ceiling. You suppose he lost his fear of heights a long time ago.

"I tried to stop him, ma!"

You heard from the staircase. Jason was peaking behind the corner. You chuckled.

"I know, sugar bear. You can't control other people."

Alfred, who had been watching this whole time, said in an exasperated tone,

"I'll put a net up tomorrow, Mrs. Wayne."

You smiled gratefully at the butler, but Dick complained that nets take the fun out of his tricks. You chose to ignore his desire to be without a net and instead turned to Alfred,

"Thank you, Alfred. Dick, I'm putting up nets regardless. You shouldn't be doing dangerous tricks. I'll get you a jungle gym and a trampoline room for your tricks, but please stop doing circus tricks off of railings."

Dick was excited about the compromise and ran off again. To do what? Nobody knows. Jason hugged you. He asked shyly,

"Ma? Where is my book?"

You kissed the top of his head before telling him,

"In your room, sugar bear."

Jason, too, ran off after being told where his book is, almost running into Bruce in the process. He mumbled a quick apology as he scampered away.

Bruce watched on with amusement. Jason was a joy to have as a kid. You kissed Bruce's cheek when he approached you.

"How are you, my queen?"

You laughed at the nickname. He's always coming up with a new nickname, but he's really been enjoying calling you his queen lately.

"I'm recovering from a heart attack. We need another net, my liege."

Bruce groaned. Dick found a new spot to jump off of? He thought he had found all the spots. You said worriedly,

"He's only getting more and more creative, Bruce. I promised to build him a jungle gym and a trampoline room to get him to stop. He rode the chandelier!"

Bruce sighed softly. He can make those changes in the rooms next to the game room. His voice rumbled as he said,

"I'll get it taken care of, my love."

Alfred chimed in with raised eyebrows,

"How many more nets would you like, master Bruce?"

Bruce seemed to do a mental count of all the rooms in the manor and the ones he's blocked off. You have blocked out a good amount of the rooms and railings, but he worries Dick will simply jump off the balconies at this rate.

"At least 10 more. Thank you, Alfred."

You mirrored Bruce's thank you with a grateful smile. Alfred bowed before walking off.

You gave Bruce another kiss as he tucked you into his side. Bruce murmurs to you,

"I went to the orphanage today."

Bruce's baby fever knows no end. You rolled your eyes and said with a laugh,

"Are you collecting children like Pokemon cards?

He promised he hadn't taken in any more this time. He said while wrapping an arm around you,

"Two is plenty."

Well, jokes on you both because you ended up with twelve children, and Bruce has yet to stop. Where did he find them all? You had asked jokingly. At this rate, you are going to have a full house. He didn't have a better answer than "I'm Batman."

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 23

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

We are wrapping up loose plot threads so: Hungary 2024, WHICH I FIXED (kinda). My questionable understanding of racing strategy? Crocheting.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando had seen Lizzie nervous before—before a book signing, even before their first public appearance together—but this was an entirely new level. She was sitting in the passenger seat, gripping the hem of her sweater so tightly that he was surprised the fabric hadn’t ripped yet.

“Lizzie,” he said gently.

She exhaled sharply. “Lando, I don’t think you understand. Your sisters have read my books.”

“Yeah, they love them.”

“That’s the problem!” She turned to him, eyes wide with panic. “What if your mum has read them? What if she’s read the spicy parts? Lando, I wrote those scenes!”

He tried—he really did—to keep a straight face, but a laugh escaped before he could stop it. “Liz, I hate to break it to you, but my mum is a grown woman who had four kids. She’s not going to combust if she reads a bit of smut.”

Lizzie looked at him like he’d just blasphemed. “That’s your mum! God, Lando, you’re missing the point.”

“Oh, I have a point,” he said, still trying not to laugh. “And that point is, you’re making this way too big a deal.”

She scowled at him, whacking him with the back of her hand. “You’re being extremely unhelpful right now.”

He caught her hand, grinning. “Hey, I’m just providing perspective. But if you want to keep being nervous on your own, be my guest.”

Lizzie huffed but didn’t pull away from his grip. “Why do I feel like you’re enjoying my freaking out?”

He squeezed her hand, still amused. “Because it’s entertaining to watch.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the effect was diminished by the way she was worrying her bottom lip. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Lando bit back a smirk, bringing her hand to his mouth and pressing a small kiss to her knuckles. “Maybe I am.���

“Your dad is a millionaire, Lando,” she muttered as they pulled into the driveway. “What if he thinks I’m using you for your money?”

Lando couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “What?”

Lizzie huffed, glaring at him. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s a valid concern!”

He tried—and failed—to regain his composure. “You’re worried my dad is going to think you’re a gold digger?”

Lizzie nodded, looking at him with wide, earnest eyes. Lando bit back another laugh, shaking his head. “Liz, love, you really worry too much.”

“I’m serious, Lando!” she protested. “People talk, okay? And with your family’s background, I can’t blame them. How am I supposed to convince them that I’m not just some fangirl with a talent for writing dirty scenes?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, I am,“ she whispered.

“Come on,” he coaxed, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “They already love you.”

“They don’t know me.”

“They know of you. And they’re excited to meet you properly. Trust me, they’re more likely to make me uncomfortable than you.”

Lizzie lifted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

Lando smirked. “Because they’re probably going to tell you all the embarrassing things I did as a kid.”

That seemed to help—at least a little. She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “If they bring out baby photos, I’m taking pictures.”

“Traitor.”

“Survival.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before unbuckling his seatbelt.

Lizzie did the same, taking a deep breath. When Lando walked over to her side of the car and held out his hand, she took it, gripping it tightly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, but she climbed out of the car anyway.

Mara jumped out of the backseat with a wagging tail, immediately tucking herself against Lizzie's side.

Lizzie laughed, giving the dog a quick scratch on the head. Lando watched her intently, noticing how tense she still was.

He moved forward, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Breathe,” he told her softly.

She let out a shaky exhale, leaning into his touch. "I'm trying," she muttered, sounding a little less nervous.

They began the short walk toward the door, Mara trotting happily ahead of them. Lando could feel Lizzie trembling a little under his touch.

“Remember," he murmured against her ear, "they’re going to be just as nervous as you, if not more."

Lizzie shot him a disbelieving look but didn’t have time to say anything as the door swung open.

The front door opened before they even reached it. His mum stood there, beaming, and before Lizzie could get a word out, Cisca pulled her into a warm hug.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s so good to finally meet you.”

Lizzie tensed for a split second, then melted. “You too, Mrs. Norris. Thank you for having me.”

“Cisca,” his mum corrected, stepping back. “And please, we’ve been waiting for ages to meet you. Lando keeps you all to himself.”

Lizzie shot Lando a look, and he just grinned. “Told you.”

His mother stepped back, still smiling. “Well, now that I’ve got you in person, it makes sense why Lando's been so distracted." She cast a sly glance in Lando's direction. He just rolled his eyes.

"Mum," he said, a warning tone to his voice.

His mother just laughed, patting his cheek affectionately. “Oh, don’t you mum me.” She turned back to Lizzie, linking their arms together. “Now, come on. We’ve got lunch ready.”

Lando let them walk ahead, watching how easily his mum settled Lizzie. Even when he was a kid, his mum had always had a way of making people feel comfortable. Now, it seemed Lizzie was on the receiving end of that skill.

They headed inside, the rest of the family waiting in the living room. They all stood when they entered, and though Lando wasn’t surprised to see the eager curiosity on their faces, he still shot them a warning look. His brother in particular looked like he was preparing to say or do anything to embarrass him.

“Finally!” Oliver stood , arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. “The Elizabeth Treshton, in the flesh. Lando has been hoarding you." His brother wasted no time. “Alright,, I have questions,” he announced brightly. “First of all, how did this idiot pull you? Second, how long did it take before you realized he’s an absolute menace? Third—”

Adam Norris appeared in the doorway, shaking his head fondly. “Leave her alone, Oliver.”

Oliver just grinned. “No can do, Dad. She willingly signed up for Lando. I need answers.”

Adam shot Lando a look. “You should’ve known bringing her here would be opening her up to interrogation.”

Lizzie was trying hard not to laugh, but her eyes were sparkling. Lando couldn’t tell if that was from nerves or amusement.

"I have questions!" And there was his youngest sister. He should have known that neither Flo or Cisca were going to be normal.

"Of course you do," Lando muttered.

Flo ignored him and beamed at Lizzie. “I have questions too!"

His mother rolled her eyes at her children, stepping forward. “How about we hold off on the interrogation until after lunch?” She placed a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder, offering the slightest bit of reprieve. “I think poor Lizzie here needs a moment to readjust before we barrage her with questions.”

"But I have book questions!" Flo said quickly.

"And you can ask those during lunch," His mother assured her, steering Lizzie away. "Give the girl a chance to breathe."

"Fine, fine," Oliver said, flopping back onto the couch like a disgruntled teenager.

Adam chuckled. “Maybe try not to scare the poor woman off in the first five minutes?”

"Oh, no worries there," Oliver drawled. "She put up with Lando, right? Everything else will be a breeze."

Lando just rolled his eyes.

Adam laughed, clapping Lando on the back. “Don’t act like that comment wasn’t 100% accurate.”

Lizzie slipped right in the midst of his family, like she always had belonged there. Keeping up with his sisters' rapid-fire Q and A, his very fascinated toddler niece who kept staring at Mara, who sat next to Lizzie, as well-behaved as always...

It was almost surreal to watch the scene unfold. Lizzie was already comfortable with his family, chatting and laughing, easily deflecting questions and answering others. Even his sisters had given up their attempts at embarrassing him, too interested in Lizzie to bother with him now.

He watched all this, trying to keep the smile off his face. It wasn’t until his dad walked over and stood next to him did Lando realize he hadn’t said anything in a while.

Adam clapped Lando on the back, his tone warm. “You picked a good one, son.”

Lando’s chest filled with quiet pride as he watched Lizzie laugh at something Flo had said.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I really did.”

He should have known that something was going to go wrong.

It started with Mara.

She’d been lying calmly at Lizzie’s feet one second, then suddenly sprang up, ears perked, tail stiff. She nudged Lizzie’s leg with her nose, then her arm. Insistent. Focused.

Lizzie stilled.

Lando was already frowning. “Liz?”

She exhaled slowly, looking down at Mara before turning toward him. “I’m going to have a seizure.”

Just like that. Simple. Direct. As if she were telling him it might rain later.

Lando shot to his feet. “What—what do I—”

A tense silence fell across the room as the others picked up on the situation. Lizzie reached out, fingers skimming Mara’s head as she struggled to keep her breaths even. She was already pale, a thin sheen of sweat gleaming on her forehead.

His mum was the first to recover, her expression calm but her voice sharp. "How do you want to handle this, sweetheart?"

"I need to go lay down," Lizzie said, her voice careful. "I should have a few minutes until it hits."

Everyone else was still reeling, frozen in shock, but Lando’s mind snapped into focus. “Right. Yeah. Come on.”

He crossed the room, gently tugging Lizzie to her feet. She leaned on him, her weight a little heavier than usual.

“Lando,” Adam said, “we can—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, cutting his dad off. He shifted Lizzie’s weight, supporting her as best he could. “Just...give us some space, okay?”

His dad nodded, clearly wanting to say more, but holding back for Lizzie's sake. Lando appreciated the effort.

He half-carried Lizzie out the door, Mara sticking close to them. The dog knew as well as Lando did – something was wrong.

The walk to his old room felt like it took an eternity.

As soon as they reached it, Lizzie was already moving, sinking down to the floor like she’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe she had.

"What do you need?" he asked her, sawllowing.

“Nothing,” she said. “You don’t have to do anything.” She stretched out, lying flat on her side, arms loose, legs bent just slightly. Mara settled near her head, pressed close but not touching.

Lando hated how practiced it was.

His pulse hammered in his throat. He dropped down beside her, panic clawing at his ribs. “Lizzie—”

“If you can’t watch it, I get it,” she murmured, voice calm, even as something flickered in her expression. “But don’t touch me.”

Lando’s hands clenched into fists.

“I— I can watch,” he said, even though his entire body screamed otherwise. “I’m not leaving you.”

Lizzie managed a weak smile, but her eyes were already going glassy. "Okay," she whispered. "But don't blame yourself." And then her breath hitched, and her body began to tremble.

And then she was gone.

Her body tensed, jerking suddenly, violently. Her hands curled, fingers twitching erratically. Lando could hear her breathing shift—harsh, uneven. It was awful.

He dug his nails into his palms, forcing himself to stay still, to stay calm.

It felt like forever.

In reality, it was barely a minute.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended.

Lizzie sagged against the floor, still, quiet except for her uneven breaths. Mara whined softly, nuzzling against her arm.

Lando moved carefully, shifting onto his knees.

“Liz?” he asked, voice tight. “Can you hear me?”

A long pause. Then, a weak murmur: “Mm. Hate that part.”

Relief hit him so hard he nearly choked on it. He exhaled sharply, pressing a shaking hand over his face. “Yeah,” he said, voice thick. “Me too.”

Lizzie cracked one eye open, exhausted but there. “You okay?”

Lando let out a strangled laugh. “Am I okay?”

Lizzie blinked at him like it was a genuine question.

“Jesus Christ, Lizzie.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “That was awful.”

She hummed, voice drowsy. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t—don’t apologize—”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.

Lando swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Okay. But I still hate it.”

Lizzie sighed, shifting slightly, her limbs sluggish. “Me too.”

He watched as Mara pressed in closer, her body warm against Lizzie’s side. Lando reached out slowly, brushing damp hair away from Lizzie’s forehead.

She leaned into the touch, just barely.

Lando swallowed hard. “You’re okay,” he murmured.

Lizzie didn’t answer—already half-asleep in the aftermath.

But she was breathing.

She was safe.

And he would make sure she always stayed that way.

He wasn't sure how much time went by, but eventually, soft footsteps sounded at the doorway. He glanced up to see his mum standing there, her face pale, expression carefully neutral. She took in the situation for a moment, her eyes lingering on Lizzie before looking to Lando. There was a silent question on her face, and Lando nodded to her. She exhaled softly, nodding to herself, before speaking quietly.

"Is she alright?"

Lando's voice felt like gravel in his throat. "She's fine. She'll probably sleep for awhile."

His mum stepped more into the room, taking in the sight of Lizzie on the floor. A deep frown pinched her brow, like she was trying to hold back her emotions.

Lando looked back at Lizzie, reaching out and brushing his fingers gently over her damp hair. Just the sight of her sleeping peacefully was enough to soothe some of the wild panic from earlier, but his heart still ached.

"Does...has this happened before?" His mum's voice was quiet and careful, as if she were worried about upsetting him.

"I've never seen it," he admitted weakly. "I knew she had epilepsy. I have seen her after a seizure...but I never saw her seize," Lando admitted, swallowing. "How can a mother see this and then decide to leave?"

"Lando..." his mum's voice was gentle, almost like she was bracing him for something.

Lando's heart felt heavy. "I just don't understand how someone could—" he cut himself off when his voice broke, trying again. "I don't understand how someone could just leave their child like that."

His mum crossed the room, sitting beside him and pressing a hand to his shoulder. "I don't think most people will ever be able to understand that, hon. I can't," she admitted freely. "If I imagine that it's Flo or Cisca in her place...nobody would have gotten me away from my daughter," his mother said fiercely.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, his voice tight. "That's because you wouldn't leave her," he said, voice low. "You'd never go without her. You'd fight to stay every step of the way. And you sure as hell wouldn't give up on her."

There was a beat as he stared at the floor, and he barely registered his mum wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She pulled him into a tight hug, and he couldn't help but bury his face against her shoulder, eyes stinging.

His breath hitched. "I just... I can't imagine just walking away from her."

"Then don't," his mother said simply. "Don't be like her mother. Don't walk away. Talk with her and the next time it will happen, it will still feel horrid. You'll never get used to it. But you'll learn to live with it."

The words hit Lando like a weight to the chest. For a moment, he just sat there, absorbing them. His first instinct was to disagree. He would never, ever be like Lizzie’s mother. He could never abandon her like that.

But then...

His mum was right. He'd never get used to the idea of him just standing by and watching while she suffered. No matter how many times he would see her seize, it would still be torture for him.

But this wasn’t about him. 

This was about Lizzie. Lizzie, who needed to live with an invisible illness that could be controlled to the best of modern medicine's knowledge, but never cured completely.

And Lando would rather live through the torture of seeing her have a seizure a hundred times than to let her go. To leave. To let her deal with it alone. 

***

Lizzie woke up feeling like she’d been wrung out, every muscle sore and heavy, her head pounding with the dull, familiar ache of exhaustion. She blinked at the ceiling, willing herself to move, but even that felt like too much effort.

Then she remembered.

Lando.

The seizure.

How he’d seen it—how he’d stayed.

Her stomach twisted.

Carefully, she turned her head.

Lando was lying on his side, facing her. He was awake. Had he even slept? His hair was an absolute mess, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, studying her closely.

Lizzie had always known this moment would come.

She’d warned Lando about it early on—matter-of-factly, no dramatics. She had epilepsy. She had seizures.

But knowing about something and seeing it were two very different things.

And she’d lost people to the latter before.

Her mother couldn’t handle it. The fear, the helplessness, the exhaustion of watching and not being able to do anything. It was too much. So she left.

Lizzie didn’t blame her.

But she also knew what it felt like to be too much for someone to love.

Lando held her gaze, the silence stretching painfully between them.

She swallowed hard, bracing for it - the looks of concern, the pity, the thinly veiled excuses.

Then Lando spoke, his voice rough and quiet.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I lost a fight with a freight train.”

Lando’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I figured.”

The silence between them was heavy.

Lizzie forced herself to push up onto her elbows, ignoring the way her body protested. “Lando—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head, his eyes never leaving her. “Stop talking.”

She went silent, staring at him. His gaze was like a steady weight, pinning her in place.

He inhaled slowly, as if steeling himself.

“I’m not going anywhere, Liz.”

Her breath caught. She'd been bracing herself for rejection, for distance. For fear and confusion and pity.

But Lando was just...looking at her. Just like that. Not like she was broken. Not like she was different now. He was just looking at her.

“You’re not?” Her voice was a whisper, vulnerable and terrified in spite of herself.

He shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Something stirred in her chest. Hope, maybe.

Or maybe it was something else.

She swallowed, trying to get control of her emotions. “Most people don’t stick around after they see it.”

Something flickered across his face—something sharp, something angry. “Well, they’re idiots.”

Lizzie huffed a small, tired laugh. “Maybe.”

Lando shifted closer, hesitating before reaching out. His fingers brushed lightly over her wrist, careful, almost hesitant.

“Did it scare you?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers curled around her hand, grounding both of them. “I hated seeing you like that,” he admitted, voice low. “Knowing and seeing aren’t the same thing.”

She sighed, exhaustion pressing against her bones. “No. They’re not.”

Lando shifted again, his thumb sweeping over the back of her hand. “Your mum couldn’t handle it.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lizzie swallowed. “No.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then—“I’m not her.”

Lizzie’s chest ached, and not from the seizure.

“I know.”

Lando’s fingers squeezed hers. “Do you?”

She let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good.” His voice softened, but the weight of his words remained. “Because I need you to believe that I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes stung with held-back tears. She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Lando’s expression remained steady, but she could see the determination in his eyes. "I do know that,” he said softly. “I know me, Liz. How I feel. What I can handle. And I can tell you with complete certainty that I’m not leaving. You can’t get rid of me now even if you tried.”

She tried to keep her voice steady, but her breath hitched on a stifled sob. “What if it changes though? What if one day you can’t—”

“Liz.” He cut her off, his tone firm but not unkind. “Stop it. Stop worrying about what-ifs. This is my choice. I’m staying. End of story.”

“But—”

He cut her off again, his grip on her hand tightening, as if he could force her to believe him through touch alone. “No buts. This is a non-negotiable for me.” He took another deep breath, his voice growing even quieter. “I’m not your mother, Liz. You are not too much. And I’m not scared. Got it?”

Something crumbled inside her, some long-held piece of fear disintegrating in the face of his steady, certain gaze.

Her throat felt tight, and she could feel the tears threatening to spill over.

“Got it?” He repeated, his thumb rubbing softly over her knuckles.

There was something pleading in his voice—a silent plea for her to understand, to believe him.

And she realized in that moment, as he held her hand and looked at her with so much certainty...she did.

She believed him.

[rafes-slut]

Wanting to make you jealous again he sends you video of him fingering some girl

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Ex!You (established relationship with another man)

Warnings: Toxic behavior, manipulation, jealousy, explicit content (18+), fingering (male x female), video sent without consent, emotionally abusive undertones, cheating themes, possessiveness, mentions of past intimacy, strong language, angst, argument over text.

You thought you were done with Rafe.

You really did.

You’d walked away from him months ago, left behind the chaos, the volatility, the screaming matches that always ended with one of you storming off and the other crawling back. The cycle that had been your normal for far too long. And for once, you stayed gone. You didn’t respond to his texts, didn’t show up when he baited you, didn’t let him in.

And you met someone else. A good guy. Someone stable, kind—everything Rafe wasn’t.

But Rafe didn’t believe in letting go.

Not when it came to you.

You were curled up on the couch, your boyfriend’s arm slung over your shoulders as you watched some mindless show. The glow of the TV flickered across his face, relaxed and peaceful. His thumb gently traced your skin, grounding, sweet. The kind of affection you used to dream about.

You should’ve been happy.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, screen lighting up in the dark room. You knew that name before you even looked.

Rafe Cameron.

Your stomach twisted, a familiar tension settling in your chest. He hadn’t stopped texting—not once. Even when you never replied, he still sent messages. Dumb shit. Obsessive shit. “Miss me?” “Bet he can’t touch you like I did.” “You still think about me, I know it.”

You never responded.

But you always read them.

Tonight, you hesitated. Your boyfriend didn’t seem to notice, too focused on the show. So you let the message go unread, forcing your attention back to the screen, pretending like your heart wasn’t racing in your chest.

An hour later, he kissed you goodnight, heading off to bed while you stayed behind to “finish the episode.” The second you heard the bedroom door click shut, you reached for your phone.

The message stared back at you, unread.

Rafe Cameron: Thought you might like this.

Video attached.

You knew better.

You knew better.

But you opened it anyway.

It started with darkness, the sound of rustling fabric and a low chuckle you knew too well. Then the camera shifted, focusing on a girl lying back on his bed—the one you used to fall asleep in. Her legs were spread, his hand between them, fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Yeah, just like that, baby. You’re doing so good for me.” His voice, low and smug, made your skin crawl. Not because you didn’t like it—because you did. Because it hit too close to home. Because those were the same words he used to whisper in your ear when his fingers were buried deep inside you.

Your stomach churned, heat rising to your face as the video continued. He panned the camera to his hand, slick with her arousal, then back to her face—eyes shut, lips parted, gasping for breath.

You should’ve turned it off.

You didn’t.

Because you knew exactly what this was.

This wasn’t for her.

It was for you.

A calculated move. A mind game. He wanted you to watch. To think about him. To miss him.

And damn it, it was working.

Your fingers tightened around your phone. Your chest heaved with the weight of it all—anger, jealousy, something uglier beneath the surface. You knew you shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of replying.

But the pull was stronger than your will.

You opened the message thread, heart pounding as your thumbs flew over the screen.

You: You’re sick.

Rafe: You watched the whole thing, didn’t you?

You: You’re disgusting. Fucking some random girl just to get my attention? Pathetic.

Rafe: Pathetic? You’re the one who opened the video. You needed to see it.

You: I didn’t need anything from you.

Rafe: Then why are you texting me? Shouldn’t you be with your little boyfriend? Or did that video get you all worked up?

You stared at the screen, seething.

You: I feel sorry for her. You’re using her like a pawn.

Rafe: I could say the same about him. You still think about me every time he touches you. You know it.

You: You’re delusional.

Rafe: Am I? Tell me, did you get wet watching that? Or were you picturing you on my bed again?

You could barely breathe, fingers trembling.

You: You’re a fucking asshole, Rafe.

Rafe: Maybe. But I’m the asshole who knows exactly how to ruin you.

You wanted to scream. To throw your phone across the room. Instead, you typed back, your anger boiling over.

You: Go to hell.

Rafe: I already have. It’s life without you. How’s that for hell?

You froze.

And as much as you hated him…

You hated how much you still felt.

And you hated that he knew it.

You lost this round.

[sularis]

God, what have I gotten myself into.

I have never run this fast. Even back when I was on my school's running team, I've never been able to reach this speed. Maybe then I was too young, or maybe now I have somehow more energy? Doesn't matter. That's not something I should be thinking about in the face of death.

Since leaving my old job, I've been getting stalked. I don't know by who, but I have my suspicion. They have enough power to have me whipped off the face of this earth, but instead they resort to terrorising every facet of my existence. I think I realise now that if they will kill me in that way, it won't be questioned. I gave them my medical report. They know about my heart condition. And now, they know how to use it to their advantage.

I'm a whistleblower for one of the largest food companies in the whole country. Soon, though, I might be found dead in a ditch. Or not found at all.

As I'm running with all I have, I hear the voice of my roommate; it rings clearly in my mind: "A walk won't do you any harm and the fresh air may cool your nerves." Now I wonder if she was in on this whole thing as well. Everything that she has said to me returns in an instant, I think I could easily pinpoint the day she could've received an offer to off me. Should've trusted my gut. Should've known that no one will be on my side when the other is offering them money for my life.

I got out of my apartment complex while it was still quite bright outside. The sun was slowly going down, but I believed that if I returned home before it got dark, nothing too bad would happen. Nobody could attack me, because someone could see me, right?

I don't know how long I ran, but I know I ended up outside my city somehow. That sure is some distance. The place I was in now was full of trees and only a singular road was crossing this forest. It was very dark already and I suspect that the person who was after me now is in the car that sped towards me a moment ago.

It didn't take me long to realise I was being followed; it took me longer to finally think I lost whoever was after me. Until he leaped at me from a side alley and almost stabbed my chest. I'm so grateful that out of all the responses, I got the "flight" instead of "freeze". Never would I suspect that the moment I started running would prolong for this amount of time and distance. He started running after me, but disappeared soon after, only to reappear somewhere else, where I didn't expect it. It could've been more than one person, but in my panic I couldn't see clearly.

They never stopped pursuing me. And I never stopped running.

Even now, as the terrain gets more unpredictable and I can't tell a tree from a person and any sound is ten times louder, I don't stop running. I don't and I can't. Because if I stop, I won't live to see the next day.

I don't know if anyone is behind me, I don't see any lights, nor do I hear any steps. Maybe I could hide somewhere? Only now I start feeling the exhaustion, but I can't stop, no. I can't let me be killed like that. Not tonight. Not ever.

The moon has come up. Lucky me, I can see what's before me. The trees are much clearer and I can avoid them easier. I can search for places to hide. I might survive and not collapse.

Unlucky me. The moon is out. I am seen in it too.

There's a small clearing in front of me, and a watch tower in the middle of it. I could run ad hide there. I shake that thought off immediately. I will be seen, so easy to spot. Need somewhere else. I am so, so tired.

My legs start to shake as I slow down. Please not now. All of the trees are thin, the bushes won't hide me if they have torches. I don't see lights behind me, though. I'm barely walking, everything hurts. Suddenly, a large tree trunk, I can see it close to me. There seems to be an opening there. I need to get inside but I can hardly move. I must've sprained an ankle because it hurts to walk so bad.

I'm about to reach it, and safety, when I hear something. The leaves are rustling. It isn't windy. Whether it was an animal or not, I'm not risking it. I start running again, through the pain, through the tears streaming down my eyes. I'm once again reaching speed I never thought I could reach. Like a deer I traverse the forest that I never was in before. I don't let my imagination let any more creeps scare me, I've enough of them trailing me and then--

I fall. Face first into the forest floor. The ankle, that I thought was sprained, hurts so much more right now. The pain is so horrid that it doesn't register at first fully. I'm disoriented, but the pain is clear and it's sharp and oozing. Warm and cold. Do I even have my foot still?

Finally, I reach down to see what's going on. I feel cold metal on my fingertips and some liquid on it. Oh, it's so clear now. A bear trap. That's how I die.

I try to move my leg, but the trap is chained to a tree nearby. Breaking free would be nearly impossible in this condition. I'm so tired, I lay on the ground battling sleep when I hear rustling again. I can't move, this is my death. With all my might I crawl and cling to the tree that will accompany me in the last moments I'm alive. I will die here, either of blood loss or whatever the man chasing me will do with me.

I'm struggling to do anything. Breathe. Look before me. Not sleep. It all feels like an impossible task. May the death come sooner? I'm starting to get cold.

Hugging the tree, I feel something in my jacket. Right, my phone. And wallet for whatever reason. I wanted to buy myself a drink before I returned from my walk, but currently, it feels silly to have it with me in my last moments.

My phone is useless here too. Nobody, who once cared about me, does any more. Family is long gone, further relatives got paid to forget me. So did my friends. Roommate. Before police would find me here I'd already be decaying. I'm doomed, and nobody sees it as a loss.

Suddenly, a thought flashes through my brain. Many of them, honestly, the life I led is playing for me and somehow it feels like a short film. One of the memories is important. A girl at the bar, piece of paper, numbers...

Wallet. Oh, how I beg it is still there.

I search through every pocket in my wallet as the memory plays on. "Here you go" she said "Use it whenever you like. Whatever you'll need will be answered if you call it." I thought she was flirting. "Don't take it for granted, girl. It might save your life one day."

I found it. The numbers are as clear as day. I check around, looking for movement. Nothing. I check my phone. It's half way charged. I thank God silently as I put the number in and hit the call button. I put it to the ear closer to the tree, I need the other one to hear threats approaching.

Calling....

There's signal!

One....

Two....

Three....

Pick up. Pick up whoever you were, girl. Pick up.

Four....

Suddenly, it connects. There's silence on the other side. Then a hesitant:

-... Hello?

It is not a woman's voice. Doesn't matter. I breathe is shakily, my throat feels on fire. I need to talk.

-I need help. Please.

I don't know how I said it, but it resulted in another while of silence.

-What's going on? How did you get this number?

He sounds serious. Did I annoy him? I need him to help me.

-A girl at a bar. She gave it to me... years. Years ago. I don't know why she gave me yours, but it doesn't matter. I need your help. I might die soon if I don't...

I sound pathetic. Begging for help from a total stranger. What did my life come to? My voice broke and the tears nearly chocked me before I could finish my sentence.

-Die? What? Is this a joke?

-No, I swear. Please don't be mad and don't end it. I'm sorry but this is the only number I could call. There's someone after me. He's been chasing me from the city and into the forest I'm in now. I need help. I can't run any longer. I'm trapped. Please, please, don't hang up. Please help me.

He didn't respond. I heard his breathing, though.

-Please....

I cried. I just needed him to stay with me. Even if he couldn't help, all I needed was for him to stay on the call. To be there with me. So I wouldn't die alone, forgotten.

-Where are you right now?

His voice. It was much gentler. I still sobbed.

-Forest. North of Tulan. The right side of it from the street.

-Tulan....

He repeated quietly.

-Are they still after you?

-I don't know... They tried to run me over with their car... I ran into the forest but I don't know if they went after me. I'm alone now, though...

He sighed heavily. I heard a mechanical keyboard in the background. Was he typing something?

-Are you hurt? Will you be able to hold on for a while longer?

-My leg's in a bear trap... I'm tired and cold, but otherwise fine.

-Bear trap?... Oh, I've got it.

He sounded so sure. Does he know where to find me? Is he sending help?

-Prepare the men and the helicopter.

Was there someone else with him? Helicopter? Who did I contact?

-The help is coming. Hang in there and don't fall asleep before you hear us coming.

Us? Is he coming too? Will they find me before my pursuers?

-Thank you...

I mutter before the call ends. And once again I am alone. Everything is quiet and I wonder if that's how death is. I wait in anticipation but there's no new sounds. I don't hear a helicopter for sure. The minutes drag out and I'm feeling worse than before. Please find me sooner than the Reaper.

Now that I'm alone with my thoughts again... Wasn't his voice familiar? I've had to heard it before, but where?

I hear rustling. Steps. Breaking branches. Chatter. I cling closer to my tree. My only solace right now.

It's getting closer. There's light appearing. There's more of them than necessary to kill me. I close my eyes and make myself smaller. Maybe they won't find me in the shadows. I feel the bright light suddenly falling on me and a loud yell right after.

-She's here! Get the medic!

Medic? Is it...?

I open my eyes slowly, getting them used to the light as I hear more footsteps coming towards me. Some are approaching faster than the other.

-Oh, thank God.

I hear a sigh of relief coming from a person in front of me. It's the same voice I heard through my phone. It's much clearer now and I recognise it much quicker. It's much more... soft, than how I hear it usually.

I can't see the person well. I know who he is. He approaches me with someone else. The other person immediately examinates my leg. All while the man I know, more or less, wraps a warm blanket around me and crouches to my side.

-How's it look like?

He asks the medic. His voice, it's... soothing, yet strikes concern, fear maybe, it's much different than when it's directed towards me. It's one of a ruler. The one in control.

-It's not good. Sprained and now this. We need to take her to our ward.

The response wasn't of a fearful subordinate. It was of a professional working alongside someone trust worthy, reliable. It was of someone who wasn't treated like a pawn, but a friend, colleague, someone who knew whatever he said would be taken seriously.

-That's what I thought.

The man muttered. I could see much clearer now. His hair is shorter than I remember. Sharp pain strikes my ankle again. I curl up and grit my teeth to deal with it. A groan escapes my mouth and tears well up in my eyes again. I breathe in and out, trying to ease it somehow. The trap is off and the wound was treated with a disinfectant.

Then I feel something else. His hand grabs mine. It's grip is strong, but not crushing. It's comforting. I finally start feeling safe. It's the first time in months that I do.

In no time my leg is bandaged and secured. He ordered his men to get something to transport me safely to his helicopter. It's apparently parked in the clearing. Clear in sight. How far must I have ran from it that I couldn't hear the machine approaching?

Everyone else is busy with something else. The medic went back with others to pick up the right gear. I'm exhausted. I feel myself falling, slipping away, before I gently land on something soft, stable, warm. I can finally relax, I feel. I don't think I can think of anything right now. I feel right, though.

I'm safe and I feel that. I close my eyes against my better judgement. I don't notice the man is looking right at me. I don't feel his arm wrapping around me and pulling me closer. I don't feel his hand gently wiping my wet cheek. Neither do I hear him ask me:

-What the fuck have you gotten into, Carrie?

He doesn't expect me to answer. At least for now. But he'll know soon, and that'll make a change in his life. And mine. And it won't ever be changed back.

You met a girl at a bar who gave you a number. Turns out, she has a superpower; Any number she gives out to others turns into the number they needed to call the most. You call it, and it forwards you to the most powerful supervillain in the world.

[scoupsakakitty]

heyy, can you do a Chan x 14thmember where she’s a 97’ liner and he’s always been in love with her but she didn’t want anything romantic with him cause she was afraid of the small age difference.

Idk, he’s kinda jealous that DK is her best friend and when they’re arguing he calls her by her name and she gets angry he’s not using honorifics.with a lot of angst but with a happy ending

♡

Say My Name | idol!Dino x 14thMember | angst, fluff

"Yah, you should've seen your face!" Seokmin wheezed, barely able to stand from laughing so hard.

Y/N groaned, pushing his shoulder. "It wasn't that funny."

"Oh, it was," he countered, wiping at his eyes. "Come on, Chan, back me up!"

Chan sat across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. He was watching them—always watching them. Seokmin's arm slung around Y/N's shoulder like it belonged there, the way she laughed at everything he said, the way her eyes softened whenever he pulled one of his ridiculous antics.

He hated it.

"Dino?" Seokmin called out, his voice teasing. "Are you sulking again?"

"I'm not sulking," Chan muttered, standing up abruptly. "I just don't find it funny."

Y/N frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you care, Y/N?" he snapped, shocking them both.

The room tensed. Seokmin blinked between them, before muttering, "Uh, I'm just gonna… go." He slipped out, leaving only silence behind.

Y/N sighed. "What’s wrong with you lately? You’re always so tense."

"I should be asking you that," he shot back. "Why do you act like I don’t exist unless Seokmin’s not around?"

She folded her arms. "Don’t be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? Y/N, do you even realize how long I’ve—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind."

She frowned. "Say it."

"I’ve been in love with you for years!" he finally burst out, his voice breaking with frustration. "And you—you act like it’s impossible! Like I’m a kid to you or something. But I’m not, Y/N."

Silence. Thick. Unmovable.

Her mouth opened, then closed again, hesitation flickering across her face. Chan scoffed, stepping back. "See? There it is. You won’t even acknowledge it."

"Chan, it’s not—"

"Oh, now I’m just Chan? Not 'Dino'? Not 'maknae'?" he interrupted bitterly. "You never say my name like that unless you’re mad."

Her breath hitched, eyes widening. "You didn’t use honorifics."

"So what?" he shot back. "You’re not just my sunbae. You’re Y/N. And I’m Chan. Why do we have to act like there’s some huge gap between us when there isn’t?"

She swallowed hard, looking away. "It’s not just that."

"Then tell me what it is! Because I’ve spent years trying to figure it out, and all you do is push me away!"

"Because I’m scared!" she snapped, her voice finally breaking. "Scared that if we cross this line, everything will change! That it’ll be different and—"

"And what?" he demanded. "You’ll actually have to admit you feel the same way?"

Silence again.

Chan stepped closer, his voice quieter now, but still firm. "I know you do. Maybe it scares you, but you don’t get to pretend like I’m imagining things."

Y/N swallowed hard, eyes darting to the floor.

"I just—" she exhaled shakily. "I didn’t want to lose you."

His shoulders relaxed slightly. "You won’t."

She finally met his gaze, and for the first time, she didn’t look away.

It was terrifying. And exhilarating.

Chan smiled—just a little, just enough. "Say my name, Y/N."

A pause.

Then, soft as a whisper: "Chan."

And just like that, the wall between them crumbled.

He smirked slightly, stepping even closer, his voice low. "You’re mine now."

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, but for once, she didn’t run. She just smiled back. "Yeah… I guess I am."

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤALIEN GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Qu Reader Part 4

☆⁠ HEADCANON : It's been two years since you told him you're pregnant. And when he start to believe that maybe you were wrong, he become a father...

☆⁠ NOTES : Qu is an alien species from the book All Tomorrows. You can learn more about her here. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Mark had been convinced you weren’t actually pregnant.

Two years had passed. Two whole years.

Two long years of your strange habits, cravings, and obsessive nesting.

But… no baby.

At first, Mark had panicked. Then, after months of nothing changing, he thought, Maybe she was wrong? Maybe whatever weird biology she had messed up and she wasn’t actually pregnant.

He even asked his mom about it.

Debbie had given him a deadpan look. "You’re hoping it’s a mistake?"

Mark sighed. "I mean, yeah. It’s been two years. Nothing happened."

Debbie just shook her head. "Mark, honey. She’s an alien. You don’t know what’s normal for her."

Mark groaned. "I just—I don’t know if I’m ready for—"

But then, one morning, he woke up to— Something he never expected.

Mark walked into the bedroom that morning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes—

And froze.

Tiny babies. A lot of tiny babies.

Mark froze.

His brain shut down.

You were curled up in your nest, naked, looking like a goddamn angel, surrounded by— He blinked. What… the hell? There were tiny creatures all around you. At first, he thought they were insects or some weird alien parasite. But then one of them turned its tiny, shimmering face towards him— And Mark swore his heart stopped. They were—

Glowing, beautiful creatures.

Some were spinning in circles, some were chewing on your hair, and others were just clinging to your fingers like tiny, precious fairies.

Mark’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

You were smiling softly, cradling one of them in your hand. The little thing let out a soft, bubbling sound and nuzzled against your nose.

You laughed.

A sweet, soft sound—like bells ringing in the wind.

And Mark—

Fainted.

He woke up to tiny hands patting his face.

He blinked blearily, vision blurry.

Then, he saw it.

A tiny, palm-sized creature was sitting on his chest.

It had soft silky hair, jewel-like eyes, and a face that looked eerily like yours.

It stared at him, then made a tiny, frog-like croak.

Mark screamed.

The baby screamed back, jumped in surprise, flipping in the air like some kind of acrobat and landing on his face.

Mark flailed. "WHAT—WHAT THE HELL?!"

You tilted your head from where you were still lying in the nest, surrounded by tiny babies.

"You loud," you said, unbothered. "Babies sleep."

Mark sat up so fast the baby on his face tumbled into his lap. "I—what—what the fuck?!"

Mark’s brain short-circuited.

He looked around. The nest was covered in tiny, glowing babies—some were curled in your hair, chewing on it like kittens, others were nestled against your stomach, and a few were floating?

Mark stared.

Then, slowly, he looked down at the tiny baby in his lap.

It was looking up at him with big, glowing eyes.

It reached out—tiny, delicate hand brushing against his chest.

Then it leaned forward and kissed him.

Mark melted.

You were still holding one in your hand, gazing at it with a soft, angelic smile, your eyes full of warmth. The tiny baby made a bubbling, singing noise, almost like a frog’s call but… softer. Sweeter. Mark’s heart squeezed. This was… This was… actually… kind of beautiful? The baby bite your finger. And you laughed. It was the most pure, soft, happy laugh Mark had ever heard from you. Mark felt his head spin. His chest ached. His eyes burned. He stepped forward, swallowing thickly. "Babe… are these…?" You looked up at him, your glowing eyes soft and proud. "Our sons." Mark felt his heart explode. "Sons. I have sons. Holy shit. I have too many sons."

Then, as Mark took in the beautiful, fairytale-like scene before him— You opened your mouth. Wide. Way too wide. Like something out of a horror movie, teeth glistening. And one of the babies dangling above your mouth. Mark’s soul left his body. "HOLY SHIT—" He lunged forward, grabbing the baby out of your hands.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!"

You blinked at him, confused. "Mark?" Mark clutched the baby to his chest, horrified. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING?!" You tilted your head. "Eat." Mark screamed. "NO! BAD! DON’T EAT THE BABY!" You blinked, then giggled. "Not eat all. Only some." Mark felt like he was going to die. "OH MY GOD. YOU’RE A TERRIFYING MONSTER." You pouted. "Not monster. Mother. Must eat weak." Mark hugged the baby. "OVER MY DEAD BODY." You blinked at him. Then, after a pause, you smiled. "Mark strong." Mark huffed. "Damn right I am." You just laughed and snuggled into him. "Then no eat." Mark sighed in relief— And then froze. "Wait, so you’re saying—if I wasn’t strong, you’d eat them?!" You shrugged. "Maybe." Mark’s eye twitched.

The babies chirped curiously, tilting their tiny heads. Mark sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jesus Christ. I need to call my mom."

Debbie had seen a lot in her life. But walking into her house to find one hundred tiny, fairy-like grandchildren crawling around her living room was definitely a first. "...Mark." Mark turned to her, exhausted. "Mom." Debbie looked around. The babies were absolutely adorable—singing softly, clinging to Mark, playing with each other’s hair. "...I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this." Mark sighed. "Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting her to try to eat them." Debbie froze. "...She what?" Mark groaned, rubbing his face. "Apparently, her species eats their weaker children." Debbie stared. "And you stopped her?" "Of course, I stopped her!" Debbie hummed. "Huh." Mark narrowed his eyes. "Why do you sound… not surprised?" Debbie shrugged. "Honey, you dated an apex predator. What did you think was gonna happen?" Before Mark could respond, Nolan walked in. He took one look at the scene before him— And froze.

He just stood there, staring at you—looking like he wanted to drop dead. "...You gave birth to a hundred." You tilted your head. "Small number." Nolan inhaled deeply. "Small number." Mark shrugged. "At least they’re cute." Then, one of them climbed onto his head. And Nolan watched as Mark just let it happen.

His expression was unreadable. Slowly, one of the babies floated up to him, its tiny, glowing eyes staring at him curiously. Nolan glared. The baby chirped prettily. Nolan’s face twitched. The baby gently kissed his nose. Nolan let out a deep sigh and rubbed his temples. "Goddammit."

Nolan still hate you. But he had to admit— These things were… adorable. They were unnaturally well-behaved, polite, and clung to Mark like little ducklings. And worst of all? They liked him. Nolan would be sitting on the couch, arms crossed, trying to ignore them— When suddenly, a tiny one would crawl onto his lap, grab his mustache, and start playing with it. Nolan’s eye twitched. "...Mark. Get it off me." Mark smirked. "I think they like you." More babies swarmed him. They hugged his arms, kissed his face, and made little happy croaking sounds. Nolan just sat there. Defeated. "...I hate this." But he didn’t move.

The babies love Mark. They sleep on his chest, crawl all over him, and fight each other for his attention. And they were obsessed with him. Mark could not escape. He woke up one morning with ten of them sleeping on his chest. Another time, he found them cuddled in his hoodies, making little happy noises. Mark’s life was now just being followed by a pack of glowing, fairy-like children who worshiped him. And honestly? He loved it. Even if he caught them eating random things. Because these kids? They ate anything. One time, Mark caught one of them chewing on a doorknob. Another was licking the floor. And one almost ate his phone. Mark had never screamed so loud in his life. Debbie caught one doing the dishes. She nearly cried. They talk to you in your native language. Mark has no idea what’s being said.

It's terrifying.

It clicks, hisses, gurgles, and warbles.

It chirrs like an insect’s wings, croaks like a deep-sea creature, pulses like something breathing in the dark. It is wet, guttural, and skittering, yet somehow, in its horrific alien cadence, eerily beautiful. “Ɐ̷̢͙̤̖ɦ̶͙̳̝͚͖’̙̻̠̼̫͢z̢̲̦̗̗h̵̛̞h̵͍̘͉̠͙l̨̡̥̟̝̠͚l̠̦͉̜͜ͅ r̸̪̜̰͕ͅr̴̗’̳͚̦̲̲̞k͕̗͉̗͢a̶̛̗̞̩a̵̜̯͖̜̠a̵̙̦͉̗̦ͅ-̡̡͉̪͕̞̪̜c̡͚h̴̡͍̖̦̳ī̶͓͖̝͚̙ī̴̫̻͇ͅī̡̢̬͈̹,͇̜̞̩͎͎̕͜ ś͍͉͉s͏̦͕͍̻ͅa̶̮̠̳̲̹’̴͖͍͈͙͖v̦̬̺̰̻͍͠a̸̳h̞̦͈͈r̸̖͖̞h̖͙̯͜h̵͉̠̘͎̞̰ t͉̳͈͞c̴̳͍̜̟̟̻h̨̹̖̳̖͡ͅa̢̰͓͚͎’̡͎̹͡k̸̝͝a͓̞̗͡a͎̠ͅr̵̫̪u̶̘̜͚u̢͍͉̠̘.̸̪”

Sleep, little spawn, the dark waters hold you now... hush... hush... hush...

“T͕͘’͖͚͓͡k̦̘͖͍̀k̢͉͍h͏̲̼̙r̩̙̦̬r̵̨̟r͙͉͚͉̺͘ͅ s̜̻͎̞͜s̛̪̠̼̘̦’̵͏̻͍̯ͅk̸̼͙̞͍̩̯̕a̴̬̰̳͍̘͇͝a̛̬a̼̕̕’̡̦v̸̮͕̲̞̙̕v̵̛̠̜̲n̹̩̕n̨̩͙̝̲̬̳͠,̸̜͍̗͇ h̹͎̲͕͜h͉͝’̨̡͓̝͎̰z̖͙̠͝ͅr̷̞͉̤͚̘̗͞r̜̼͢r̸͙̼̟̕a̡̻̦̙̞͡a̛͙͉-̵̨̳͕̩c̡̡̲͈h̖̜̤͟ͅi̢̨̻̥̤i̵̛̗’̻̘̲̘͠v̷͎̯̘h͎͝u̞͝r̷͉̗̩̰r̴̙͎̞ͅ.̦̖̞͎́”

Do not tremble, do not weep, the deep will consume all things in time... hush...

“C̞̩̠̰͘h̞̻̪̀k̨̼̲̺̠k̠̀’̼̕ͅh̶̨̞h̵̘z̢̙̞̞z̷̲̩̰—͏̗̝v̡̻a̵̦͖̬à̺̗’͙̤̤͙̳͡r̶̜̲̱̬͢i̼̪͡’̷̡̯̹x̷̡̗h̷̩͜h̩͞a͏͙̪̼̝͝a̸̲̥!̡̢̬͇̪͖ K̨̩r̠̕i̦̩̕͢i̛̺͜’͜ͅͅt̷̮̼̩͙ź͖̥̤c̯̙̳̟̥̕h̸͜ v̶͔͢r͏̡̞̜̼’̵͏̰r̸̜͎̰r̼͡n̷̦̝̜̰n̛̬̦͖̜a̛͚̻̗̝?̨͏͎̰”

Oh, my little crawling thing—what is this mess you've made?

“H͠h̀͜z̷z͝h̸̗̬͖̼’̡̺̩̪͓k̷̺̦̠̩k̛̘h̸̝̯͕,̢͎̗̬ v͞á̻͕a͠’̸̳͚͇͙x̡̨̬̦r̸͕̟͙͜r̢̛̻̩̲h̕͟.͡.̶̯̜͓̼͉̹.̶̩͙̻ c̴̝͉h̢̨̝̗̤’̵̙̯̗t̡̢̻z̷͎̻̳h̸̗̖h͙̖̕̕h̷̪͓ v́r̴̻̖r̶̦̠̰a͠a̢̠̙a̳͜a̢̲̰̟ s̴͚ͅz̞̝̦̕͞à͙’̨͙͖̕l̨̙̰̖͡a̢.̶̦̦”

Shhh, my teeth... I will tell you what the tides never whisper...

“T̵̟̝̻’͍͡s̵̗̝̼h̢̯̗̰̰h̢͚͕̪k̷͖a͏̛̥̖a̛̜͎͍͕ v͎̬̗̖͢v͏̡̙̜̗r̵̬̘̻͡’̵̯͙̕h̨͎h̦̞̹̕u̷̝̲u̦͕̬͜u̷̠̰n̶̨̝̗̠ c̰̩̝̺͘h̸͏̝͙̼̩z͚͎͔̕z̛̙͕̯t̩͘͝’̛̹̹̰̘v̸̰̹̗͉͜v̡͏̹̹̲̬h͇̕̕a̵͖a͏͕,̷̨̠͙͉ m͏̹͚̖a̡͚̲̠͠h̡̛̗̗’̪̬̪̻̯͝t̴̬̻c̸͍̘̯͍̝̕h̸̦͡r̘̖̳͜ͅr̢͎͠h̷͍̤.̷̢͎”

Come, my dripping, writhing things... to my arms. They all croak back in unison everytime. Mark dies of cuteness. He's also kinda scared because he don't understand anything. They like to steal Nolan’s things. His gloves, cape, books. One tried to steal his boot. Nolan caught it dragging the boot across the floor.

"Mark. Control your gremlins." "Dad, they’re literally palm-sized babies." "They have no fear." The babies nest with you. They curl up in your hair, hold onto your fingers, and purr. Mark watches them sleep and feels his heart explode. He still can’t believe it. He’s a dad. And despite the sheer insanity of it all, Mark had to admit—

These kids were freaking adorable.

They clung to him like little monkeys, curling up on his chest when he napped.

They kissed him all the time, tiny soft lips pressing to his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

They loved everyone—especially his mom.

Debbie would be cooking, and they’d all be floating around, handing her ingredients.

"Thank you, sweetie," she cooed at one, patting his little head.

The baby made a soft, frog-like song, happy and proud.

Mark’s heart melted.

Even Nolan had given up fighting it.

Mark had caught him more than once with a tiny baby curled up in his palm, snoring.

"...They are cute," he admitted. Mark smirked. "See? Told you."

And Mark’s favorite thing?

You, curled up in the nest, singing them a lullaby in your strange, haunting language.

The babies would float around you, making soft chirping sounds, slowly drifting to sleep.

And Mark?

Mark would just sit there, watching, realizing how much he loved this insane, beautiful, monstrous woman.

And his strange, perfect, tiny children.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[kunasthiast]

madness

It started innocently enough.

“Here. Happy anniversary, brat!” 

Sukuna handed you a big ass box (his gift), grinning like he’d just given you the solution to all your life problems. You took it, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Wow, you’re really splurging on me, babe. What’s inside?”

“Just open it.”

“Okay fine –” you tore off the wrapping and blinked. “What the fuck is this?” You asked nicely with shock as you stared at your husband’s gift, utterly baffled.

Because, really. What the fuck was this? Inside the big box… were six smaller boxes.

And as someone who’s chronically online (admit it, the only apps you ever open are twitter – you still refuse to call it ‘X’ – for F1 updates, tumblr, instagram, youtube, and pinterest), your algorithm had NEVER shoved this thing in your face.

Sukuna, on the other hand, looked way too smug about it. Arms crossed, smirk in place, even throwing in a wink for good measure.

“That, my dear wife, is a fucking Labubu.”

“A what?”

 “A Labubu,” he repeated, as if that explained anything.

“Huh?”

“You seriously haven’t heard of it?” Sukuna blinked, feigning shock. “Weird. I thought you were the one most updated between us.”

“Well yeah, but not with… whatever this is,” you narrowed your eyes as you shot back. “Mostly just F1, Stardew, and some new game drops. Not this.”

“Oh well,” he shrugged. “Just open one already.”

“Fine,” you sighed, grabbing a box and tearing into the packaging.

“Huh, why is there another plastic inside?”

“Obviously, because it’s a blind box, brat,” Sukuna replied, his tone dripping with amusement.

“Pfft, why are you so impatient today?”

“I’m just very excited for your reaction”

You narrowed your eyes, again, at your husband and said, “No, really. Tell me, babe.”

“Just open it. Stop stalling.”

“Hmp, fine –” and you ripped the plastic open.

Then you squinted. “What the hell am I looking at?”

Inside was a tiny, goblin-looking creature. You held up the plush toy in your hands, inspecting it like it was an alien artifact. It had big round eyes, sharp little teeth, and fur that made it look like a cross between a mischievous raccoon and... a gremlin.

"It's cute," Sukuna declared, like that was the only justification needed.

“You’re telling me this –”you wiggled the plushie at him, still very skeptical about this whole gift thing, “– is supposed to be cute?”

“Obviously.”

“Sukuna. This thing looks like it’s gonna scam me out of my life savings and then laugh about it.”

“Exactly,” he smirked. “Just like you.”

You gasped, clutching your chest. “Wow. So that’s what you really think of me, huh?”

“Don't act so shocked.” He leaned in, voice dropping to that infuriatingly smug drawl. “You did swindle me into marrying you.”

“Excuse me? I swindled you?”

“Mhm.”

“You literally begged me to marry you.”

“Did I?” He tilted his head, playing dumb.

“Yes.” You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. “You were down bad. It was embarrassing, honestly.”

Sukuna scoffed. “I don’t recall.”

“Should I pull up the texts?”

“Anyway,” he cut you off, reaching for another box inside the box set, “open the other ones. You’ve got five more to go.”

You eyed him warily. Then the box. Then back at him. “…Why do I feel like you just dragged me into some weird collector's cult?”

“It’s not a cult—“

“That’s exactly what someone in a cult would say.”

Sukuna just chuckled and handed you the next box.

You sighed, opening it—because at this point, you might as well embrace your fate. After opening all the boxes, you set them on your shelf, thinking that was that. Oh, if only you know how wrong you were.

A week later, you found yourself scrolling through Labubu forums. You don’t know how it happened. One moment, you were researching out of sheer curiosity – and then it was 3AM. Sukuna was fast asleep beside you, and you were staring at photos of different Labubu plushies and figurines, heart pounding like you’d just discovered a new religion.

Wait… are these actually kinda cute?

No.

No, no, no.

You turned your phone off. Absolutely not. And put in on your bedside table. No way in hell.

But the next day, you found yourself staring at your Tasty Macarons Labubus a little too long. And your husband? Of course, he noticed this.

“Babe.”

No response.

He moved closer, sitting beside you on the couch. “Babe, you’ve been ignoring me. What’s up?”

“…Huh?” This time, you finally tore your gaze away from your shelf and turned towards your husband and said, “Nothing, don’t worry.”

“You sure? You look like you’re about to shut down.”

Ttruth be told, you were debating whether to check out the Have a Seat collection sitting in your cart since 3AM or not. But you’d rather die than admit that to Sukuna.

And then another week passed, and somehow – somehow – your new collection arrived. Your husband took one look at it and raised a brow.

“So that’s why you’ve been out of it all week.”

“What do you mean?” You shot back.

“Babe,” he drawled, smirking. “I knew you’d get addicted,” he simply added with his I-know-everything-about-you tone. “Next thing you know, you’ll be selling your soul to rare editions.”

“Pfft, no way.”

“Uh-huh. Give it two weeks before you start spiraling.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a phase, babe.”

It was not a phase. You were wrong. Sukuna was right. Always right.

Because a week later, you nearly had a breakdown when Sukuna surprised you with three big-ass plush dolls – Angel in Cloud, I Found You, and Catch Me If You Like Me.

“Oh my God, they’re so fucking cute,” you whispered, clutching one to your chest like it was your firstborn.

And your ever-loving husband? He just flashed that signature smirk of his, watching you descend into madness. As if he’s actually supporting (more like enabling) you going crazy over these plush toys.

Another week passed, and you found yourself pressing “checkout” on the Coca-Cola Special Set. Then, not even a week passed but in just 3 days, you went full psycho mode, caving in and splurging on all the special edition Labubus – Wings of Fortune, Happy Halloween, Wings of Fantasy, Fall in Wild… and more.

At this point, your soul had left your body, and you refuse to do the math on how much you had spent. And as they say: denial is a healthy coping mechanism.

By the time your birthday (just a week later passed) rolled around, Sukuna dropped the biggest bomb yet and gifted you four entire boxed collections which are all lined up on the dining table, wrapped with a pretty ribbon.

You gasped. “FOUR?!”

Yes, you were losing your mind. You were in Labubu fucking heaven. This was no longer a phase. This was a full-blown lifestyle.

And your husband? He was just watching. Amused. Satisfied. Like a man who had bet on the right horse.

“You’re so gone,” he smirked.

You clutched your new babies and agreeing with him, “I am so gone.”

But you see, there was one problem. Scratch that, four problems.

After all your collections, the only ones missing were the Mega Sketch Labubu 1000% and the elusive secret plushies from all the pendant sets. I mean what are you even gonna hang on your designer bags for next week? Here’s when your true descent into madness began.

As a woman on a mission, you scoured the internet, joined every damn collector’s group to hunt these secrets down. And after an intense bidding war – finally – you secured the three missing secret plushies.

For… a mere $700.

The cherry on top? Once these plushies came, you ended up opening all boxes and inside were fucking Lafufus. The knock-off ones who don’t even look the exact same.

Of course and obviously, you cried. And Sukuna? Oh bless the Gods everywhere, your husband was pissed. Not just the mildly annoyed kind of pissed – it’s the you-are-the-biggest-dumbass-I’ve-ever-married kind of pissed. In short, he was fucking livid.

“Are you kidding me?” He grumbled, rubbing his temples with one hand and the other patting you on the back with you crying for hours now since you opened those damn boxes. “I told you to double-check before buying from random sellers, dumbass.”

“I did check!”

He shot you a look and said, “For someone who triple-checks F1 rumors, you forgot this one time where it involves your money, brat.”

“I panicked!” You wailed. “The seller said it someone else was gonna buy it if I don’t act fast.”

He exhaled, slow and controlled. “You fucking idiot.” And yes, he’s done with your bullshit. For the next two days, he said nothing about Labubus. Which meant you were suffering in silence.

With your husband being him, even after all that, even after your idiotic decision-making, he still went and did what he does best – spoiling you rotten.

On the third day of Labubu silence, you woke up to a giant box sitting in the middle of your living room.

You gasped, scrambling to tear the wrapping open. And there it was, in all its oversized glory – the Mega Sketch Labubu 1000%. And right next to it? Three, small neatly wrapped packages.

Your hands shook as you opened them. And when you did, your soul left your body. Yes, it was that crazy for you.

Inside were the three secret plushies. The real ones!

You turned to look at Sukuna, eyes wide with tears and disbelief. And yes, you’re on your knees, grabbing the couch for support, “You… you did not. No fucking way this is real!”

Sukuna smirked, arms crossed. “Well, I did, baby. And it’s real. And just so I don’t forget, happy belated birthday, dumbass.”

Still can’t believe that all of this is true, your jaw dropped. “I – HOW?! THESE ARE – THEY’RE LIKE – THEY’RE IMPOSSIBLE TO GET??? IT’S SOLD OUT EVERYWHERE!”

“I have my ways.”

You choked on air. “SUKUNA!”

He just shrugged and leaned on the doorway, looking way too pleased with himself. “Figured I’d complete your collection before you go and do something stupid again.”

You threw yourself at him, clinging to him like a koala, tears in your eyes. “You’re the best husband ever, oh my god.”

“Ugh – get off!” He groaned, trying to pry you off him.

“NOPE! NEVER LETTING GO! You love me so much, it’s actually embarrassing for you”

“Tch. As if.”

“You doooo,” you cooed, snuggling closer. “You got me my dream Labubu even though I made the dumbest purchase of my life.”

Sukuna sighed, but his hand was already under your butt and squeezing them. “Yeah, yeah. You’re still a dumbass, brat.”

You pouted. “Rude.”

And so, with your ultimate Labubu collection complete, you swore you were done. No more. This was it. The final haul.

The next week, your doorbell rang. Sukuna frowned as he stared up from his laptop and called for you, “Babe, did you order something again?”

“Nope!”

You ran towards the door and find another large parcel sitting on your doorstep. And yes, you just remembered, you did order something… when you were sulking over that scamming situation.

You brought the box inside and set it in the middle of your living room. With Sukuna who stopped his reading and raised a brow at you. Giggling, you opened the box and yes inside was an entire Space Molly figurine set.

You turned to Sukuna in slow motion.

He just let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down his face. 

“You’re fucking hopeless.”

“Ehh, you still love me.”

a/n: this was one of the reasons why i was gone for a month or two. i was fucking livid with these damn blind boxes. especially, labubus! but thanks heavens, all my blind boxes were gifted to me and i haven't spent a dime yet on any of these blind boxes... and please... this hasn't been edited nor proofread yet aaaa

[chaos-deimos-et-eris]

[lD:

#we owe the people of past generations an apology #we've been acting like they were idiots for eating lead without asking if it tasted good

end ID]

lowkey why i get a little bit angry when people are like "if you live in America there is no reason for you to drink bottled water. tap is right there!" but yeah. as soon as i got to school people warned me "dont drink the water if it is hot. it will make you sick." older kids passed down the warning. teachers that lived in the city muttered it as we left to go us the bathroom. teachers that commuted from much richer whiter nearby cities would give us detention if we took too long to go to the one water fountain with a filter, on the first floor by the kindergarteners. they couldn't afford more, and the littlest kids needed the safer water more than the rest of the school. this was still a problem when i got to high school. you couldn't always get to the one safe-ish water fountain in the school without getting into trouble. sometimes u risked it. if u drank too long the water would start coming out just a tiny bit sweet.

then flint happened. i guess some teacher from out of town raised the alarm. or perhaps some immigrants that havent gone to school and havent been warned, that just havent lived their whole lives with "dont drink warm water. dont drink sweet water." something in the water was normal for me even if no one have even told me exactly what it was. grass is green. sky is blue. water sometimes becomes not safe. when the news came out that we too had a serious lead in water problem and my dad told me, i was like "yeah, we know." like i never connected the dots until that moment, but culprit of my childhood anguish between not wanting to get this mysterious water illness and not wanting to get in trouble was clear to me then. i got in trouble for joking about it but we knew. the city knew. something had been wrong with our water, and we had worked around it for so long it had long since stop registering as anything more then a daily annoyance. to this day i dont know if lead gets u sick fast enough for the link to be made, or if this mysterious illness was just a boogieman to get us to reject the water in fear. it worked. never had a classmate go to the hospital for collapsing from lead poisoning. several of them got tested after the news and all had high levels of lead, some dangerously so. i never got tested, not sure i wanted to know. it wasnt nessercery, we all knew we'd been affected.

supposedly all the lead pipes were to be removed and replaced but we all know someone whos never had their streets pipes removed. so i thrust bottled water in my little cousins hands and join again as a new voice in a long line of warning. Dont drink if the water is hot. Dont drink if the water is sweet. It will make you sick.

Why was I today years old when I learned that lead compounds taste SWEET and THAT'S why kids eating paint chips back in the day was a concern?