#if there's mistakes... no there's not! <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[veryluckyclovers]

reupload bc grammar mistake </3

[hot-patootiee]

Eddie wholeheartedly believes that Steve and Robin are dating, but instead of backing off or “respecting their relationship” he fully commits to making Steve break up with her and date him.

Eddie is frustrated, like can’t Steve see that Eddie is perfect for him?

Even Eddie has morals, so he has to get them to break up because who would feel secure in a relationship with a cheater?

Robin and Steve fully deny that they’re dating, but when they’re bunked together at a party, Eddie will not let it stand. He’s sitting at the edge of their shared bed with a cup of water, all three of them sitting on the blanket.

Then Eddie laughs especially hard at Steve’s joke and purposely dumps that water on Robin. He immediately starts feigning apologies, pulling her to the bathroom, getting her a change of clothes.

But when she comes back, she finds Eddie has stolen her spot in bed with Steve. They’re joking around, Eddie leaning on Steve in a way that just begins to suggest his actions are not entirely platonic and laughing a little too hard. She catches a glimpse of Steve’s hand on Eddie’s thigh and smiles.

Robin doesn’t say anything though, assuming Eddie made a mistake and just got comfortable while she was getting changed. Robin just grabs her shit and heads to the guest room Eddie was supposed to stay in.

Events like this happen several times.

…

Robin puts popcorn in the microwave on movie night. She returns to her spot next to Steve, but when Eddie gets there he looks a little annoyed, taking a seat between Robin and the other end of the couch.

Then under the guise of checking on the popcorn, he goes into the kitchen. He comes back quickly and Robin thinks nothing of it.

When 3 minutes later, the microwave finally goes off, Robin hops up and goes to the kitchen. She opens the microwave and immediately gets hit with the smell of burned popcorn.

She spends a while in the kitchen, grieving her popcorn and throwing it out, popping a new bag in the microwave. She sets it, assuming she simply set the wrong time before.

When she walks back to the room, Eddie is basically cuddling Steve. He’s curled around Steve like a happy cat. Steve’s hand is essentially on Eddie’s ass and holding him there.

Robin bitterly sneers when she realizes she didn’t mess up the time on the popcorn.

…

Robin and Steve conversation as soon as Eddie is gone:

Robin: You know your embarrassing crush on Eddie? Guess what? He has a crush on you too!

Steve: No, he doesn’t.

Robin: Eddie spilled water on me and burned the popcorn, so he could cuddle with you! Not to mention the time he dumped trash juice on me so he could have time alone with you! How could he not be clearer?

Steve: Eddie wouldn’t do that.

Robin glares at him.

Steve: okay, maybe he would.

Robin: Just fix it. I’d rather not be in a one sided Cold War with Eddie Munson.

(If you ask nicely I’ll write the trash juice story. Or meanly I don’t care)

It has been written

[mojean13]

This heals a little bit of me.

I was 20, and had just escaped my abusive ex. He had been my first real relationship, we had an almost 3 year old. I had always written little stories, but when I was with him, I had to stop. Once I was free though, I started writing again. Me and my sister started putting together an Inuyasha fanfic. I was so excited. I could write again, I could hang out with friends and family again. I stumbled on an Inuyasha forum, and so many people were sharing their fanfics. I made the mistake of posting mine.

I was torn apart. My original character (me, how I imagined I would be if my life had been different), was shredded. Picked apart and thrown to the wind.

I was crushed. Everything they had said was true. She was a Mary Sue.

I never wrote anything else for the fanfic. It's still hidden, somewhere in my basement. Never to see the light of day again, yet I can't bring myself to destroy it, to destroy the once hopeful part of myself.

So having this post, and seeing so many agree with it, makes me tear up a bit. I wish I could go back and show that younger version of myself that it's OK.

I am actually so serious I think it really messes with a childs creativity and joy to tell them to never make a mary sue OC. Like that unbridaled form of joy where you make a self insert OC who super cool and everyone loves them and they have every superpower in the world SHOULD be something a kid makes, it nourishes their ability to create things for fun and not be stifled by "oh but what if my character is too overpowered and cringey...". whatever

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 5

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 10k

warning: language

hey guysss !! i was planning to edit this tmrw after finishing my schedule, but honestly thats probably gonna take forever and tmrw is gonna be a long day for me 😭 so i js pushed through the drowsiness and edited the chapter now to finally post it. i feel bad for delaying releases so much lately 😓 its almost 12 rn while im writing this note but im scheduling this to post at 12:30am not like that rlly matters but if there are any mistakes or parts that dont add up, js um pls ignore them—i am half asleep while doing this ABSAHHSA anywayssss i hope you guys enjoy and tysm for being patient 🫶🏽

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

There were very few things Azzi enjoyed more than sleeping in on a Friday morning, especially when she didn’t have class. No alarms. No deadlines. Just her, her pillow, and a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

That is until her door nearly exploded.

BANG BANG BANG

“AZZIIIIIIII. OPEN UP. I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

Azzi groaned, yanking her comforter over her head. “Goddamn, Caroline…”

BANG BANG

“I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL PICK THE LOCK. YOU KNOW I KNOW HOW—”

Azzi flung the blanket off, shuffled out of bed with all the grace of a sleep-deprived zombie, and opened the door with a slow, dramatic pull.

Caroline stood there, too bright-eyed for someone who had clearly been awake for hours, wearing leggings, an oversized UConn hoodie, and a knowing-ass smirk. Phone in one hand. Coffee in the other.

“Good morning, my beautiful sunshine,” she sang, stepping inside without waiting for an invite.

Azzi scowled and shut the door behind her. “You’re psychotic.”

Caroline beamed, completely unbothered. “Aubrey texted me.”

Azzi froze mid-turn. “…About what?”

Caroline dropped herself onto Azzi’s desk chair and spun in a half-circle. “About you. And Paige. And about the—what was it? 3 hours? Yea I think 3 hour tutoring session you had last night. And the pizza. And the Uno.”

Azzi sighed, dragging her hand down her face. “It was not 3 hours—”

“Azzi. It was 3 hours,” Caroline deadpanned.

Azzi flopped back onto her bed, pressing a pillow over her face. “Why is everyone making this such a big deal?”

“Because,” Caroline said, crossing her legs, “you never hang out with anyone that long. You barely even tolerate me for 3 hours.”

“True.”

Caroline glared. “Rude.”

Azzi cracked a smile under the pillow.

“So?” Caroline said, kicking Azzi’s foot. “How was it? What happened?”

Azzi lifted the pillow just enough to breathe. “We ate. Talked. Played Uno. Studied.”

“And?”

“And… that’s it,” Azzi shrugged.

Caroline gave her a look. “You’re being vague on purpose.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Caroline said. “Because I know you. You never just talk to people. You don’t really talk to anyone unless you’re comfortable. And you’re not exactly the ‘let’s play Uno and bond over pizza’ type unless something’s different.”

Azzi stared at the ceiling.

Caroline smirked. “Is it still awkward?”

Azzi hesitated. “Less.”

“Oh ?” Caroline leaned forward dramatically.

Azzi sat up, running a hand through her messy morning hair. “It was awkward at first, but… not in a bad way. I don’t know. She’s actually different in person.”

Caroline raised her brows. “Different how?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She thought back to Paige last night, curled up with her hood down and glasses on, talking about her siblings, quietly listening when Azzi talked about her family and basketball. The way she’d smiled when Azzi joked about beating her in 1v1. The way she laughed when she lost in uno and threatened to throw the whole deck.

“She’s just… more real than I thought,” Azzi said quietly.

Caroline tilted her head. “Real like…?”

Azzi rolled her eyes and got up, walking over to her dresser. “Why are you analyzing everything I say like I’m on a therapy couch?”

“Because I’m your best friend and this is so much more interesting than scrolling on insta.”

Azzi huffed a small laugh.

Caroline grinned. “So? What do you think of her?”

Azzi glanced over her shoulder.

Caroline’s grin widened. “You like her, don’t you?”

Azzi turned back around quickly. “We’re just getting to know each other.”

“That’s not a no,” Caroline sang, giddy.

Azzi didn’t respond. Her heart felt annoyingly warm and fluttery and she hated that Caroline could see through her like a glass door.

Caroline leaned back in the chair. “It’s just funny how every time I ask you to come to a game, you’re suddenly busy or you have ‘homework’ or you’re too tired. But Paige asks? Boom. You’re in.”

Azzi crossed her arms. “I was gonna say no.”

“But you didn’t.”

Azzi rolled her eyes again, cheeks faintly pink.

Caroline sipped her coffee with a smug look. “You know, it’s kind of hilarious. You’re usually the most unbothered person I know. But now? Look at you. Blushing and awkward.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. Fully.”

Azzi sighed dramatically and sat down on the bed again. “Whatever.”

Caroline softened a little. “So you’re really coming?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. I said I would.”

Caroline smiled, this time less teasing, more genuine. “Good. It’ll mean a lot to her.”

Azzi blinked. “You think?”

“I mean even though Aubrey and I asked her to tell you, do you really think Paige just invites anyone to her game?” Caroline said

Azzi didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, she grabbed the pillow again and hugged it to her chest.

Caroline stood and headed for the door. “I’m telling Aubrey you’re officially down bad.”

Azzi groaned. “Don’t you dare.”

“Too late.”

“CAROLINE—”

The door slammed shut with Caroline’s cackling echoing down the hallway.

Azzi sighed again, falling back on the bed.

—---------------------------------

The second the doors to Gampel opened and that familiar blast of cold air hit her face, Paige felt her brain officially switch to game mode.

It was 2 pm. 3 hours to tip.

She walked in with Caroline and Aubrey, all of them still in sweats and slides, bags slung over their shoulders. They didn’t say much, didn’t need to. The place just had a vibe on game days. Everything buzzed.

The second they pushed open the locker room door, the noise hit.

Ice and KK were playing some weird game of reflex catch with a rolled-up pair of socks. Sarah had both legs up on the wall doing stretches while scrolling on her phone like she wasn’t upside down. The others are doing their stretches.

Caroline took one look and muttered, “Circus.”

“No place like home,” Aubrey said, grinning as she kicked her slides off.

“Yo, Jana,” Paige called, already unzipping her bag.

Jana looked up.  “You ready?”

“Yep.”

Jana grabbed her comb and stood behind her, already parting Paige’s hair.

Paige sat still, phone in her lap, as Jana’s hands moved. She always liked getting this part out of the way early. Hair done. Locked in. No distractions.

Ayanna walked past and clapped Paige on the shoulder. “You better show out tonight. Geno’s already in his pacing era.”

“He’s pacing at 2?” Caroline said.

“Full-on hallway laps,” Ayanna  replied. “He yelled at Ice for chewing too loud.”

KK snorted from across the room. “It was one cheeto bro.”

“Yall are cursed,” Jana muttered, finishing the last braid and tying it off. “Okay. You’re good.”

“Bless you,” Paige said, standing and stretching her neck. “I’m gonna go sort out that ticket thing real quick.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “For Azzi?”

Paige froze mid-step. “…yeah.”

Aubrey immediately perked up. “We’re coming.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes we are,” Caroline said, already pulling her sweatshirt back on. “We wanna witness.”

Paige groaned. “It’s literally just a ticket.”

“You’re personally escorting her to the bench,” Aubrey said dramatically.

“I’m making sure she doesn’t get stuck in the student line.”

“Mhm,” Caroline said. “So romantic.”

“Can’t believe we’re third-wheeling to the box office,” Aubrey muttered as they walked out.

“Y’all need help,” Paige said, but she didn’t stop them from coming.

They crossed the main hallway and turned into the little hallway where the ticket box was set up for player comps. It was quiet, just one event staff guy at the desk.

He looked up and smiled. “Hey, Paige.”

“Hey,” she said, stepping up. “I just wanted to make sure a name got added. Azzi Fudd.”

He scrolled through his list. “Yep. She’s on here. One comp ticket. You want her behind the bench?”

“Yes, please.”

“She need a pass for tunnel entry?”

“Yea.”

“Got it. I’ll leave it at security.”

“Thanks,” Paige said.

Behind her, Caroline stage-whispered, “Wow. Behind the bench and a tunnel pass.”

“She’s so special,” Aubrey whispered back.

“Ok, shut up,” Paige muttered, cheeks warm.

As they walked back toward the locker room, Paige pulled her phone out and typed fast.

Paige: ur all set—come thru the player entrance & tell them ur name. theyll give u a pass n walk u down. u will be behind the bench

The reply came quick.

Azzi: ok cool ! thanks i cant wait ☺️

Paige stared at her screen for a second too long, smiling like an idiot.

“Did she text back?” Caroline asked, peeking.

“Mind your business.”

“She did,” Aubrey said. “Look at her face.”

“She’s blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“Azzi’s got you in a chokehold,” Aubrey said, grinning.

“She does not”

“She does,” Caroline said. “And honestly, it’s kinda adorable.”

Paige shook her head and pushed open the locker room door again.

“Y’all are worse than Geno.”

“Geno doesn’t call you out when you get all heart-eyes,” Aubrey said. “We do. You’re welcome.”

“I hate both of you,” Paige said, dropping back onto the bench.

She didn’t. Not even a little.

—---------------------------------

Azzi backed away from the mirror and stepped into her baggy jeans, loose and frayed a little at the knees, then slipped on her fresh white AF1s. Classic. Reliable. A little creased but still got the job done. She looked down, gave her outfit a quick once-over in the full-length mirror on her door. Oversized hoodie, chill jeans, clean kicks. Comfortable but not sloppy. Casual but… ok, maybe a little cute.

But whatever. It wasn’t for anyone. She was just going to a game. A basketball game. Just to watch. That’s it… Well, maybe there is a reason.

She grabbed her small crossbody bag, double-checked that her student ID and phone were in there, then slipped in her lip balm and airpods for good measure..

A small little jittery feeling crawled under her ribs as she walked out the door.

—---------------------------------

The closer she got to Gampel, the louder everything became—students yelling across the sidewalk, music from somebody’s speaker, the steady hum of gameday energy. It was barely 4, and the lines outside the arena were already long, stretching past the fencing with people buzzing about seats and rankings and starting lineups. She could see the security checkpoint from the road. The air was cool but not cold, and people were already filing in through the main entrances.

Azzi bypassed the crowd, headed toward the smaller side door—the one Paige told her to go to.

She had to show her ID twice, and the security guard looked skeptical until she said her name.

“Oh,” the woman said, flipping through a clipboard. “Fudd, right? Got you here. You’re with player comps. You’re good.”

She handed Azzi a pass on a lanyard and pointed toward the tunnel.

“Just walk straight down. Someone will meet you at the end to bring you to your seat in the section behind the bench.”

“Thanks,” Azzi said, slipping the lanyard over her hoodie.

She followed the path inside, the noise of the crowd behind the walls growing louder with every step. She passed volunteers setting up last-minute signage and workers wheeling coolers and towels toward the team hall. Everything looked busy. Real. Like a behind-the-scenes of a movie, except everyone had a job and no one was pretending.

As she reached the mouth of the tunnel, she slowed down.

The court was right there. Empty for now—no players, no layup lines, just a few staff in polos walking around, checking things off clipboards. The arena lights were already blazing, bleachers half-filled and still moving. Students were trickling in. Families and season ticket holders were already chatting and pointing. One little kid in a No. 5 jersey ran past, trailed by a tired-looking dad with a soft drink in each hand.

Azzi stood off to the side, unsure if she should keep walking or wait. A staff member spotted her and walked over.

“You Azzi?”

“Yeah.”

“Right this way. You’ll be just behind the bench. You’re early, but that’s good. It gets crazy in here fast.”

Azzi followed, heart thumping way harder than she expected. It wasn’t nerves, she wasn’t nervous. Not really. Just… out of place.

The staff guy pointed her to a seat directly behind the team bench.

Azzi sat slowly, eyes scanning the whole space. Gampel looked different from down here. Bigger. Brighter. Louder, even though it wasn’t full yet. She rested her hands in her lap, curling her fingers around the fabric of her hoodie sleeves, and tried not to smile too much.

Behind the bench. Just like Paige said.

She let her eyes wander the court again, then up toward the tunnel on the far side.

Still no players out.

But soon.

—---------------------------------

5 minutes later, the lights dimmed just slightly and the music shifted to something deeper, bass-heavy. The student section roared.

South Carolina jogged out first, shoes squeaking loud as they fanned out into layup lines. The cheers were mixed—loud, but not for them. More like respectful hype. Some boos too, mostly from the students already fired up.

Azzi leaned back in her seat, watching. They looked sharp, no doubt. Big. Fast. Focused.

And then exactly five minutes after the place exploded.

Cue the hype music. Cue the lights shifting again. Cue the announcer’s voice booming over the speakers.

“HERE COME YOUR UCONN HUSKIESSSSS!”

The tunnel across the court erupted, and the team ran out in a wave—Paige leading the team, followed by Ice, KK, Caroline, Aubrey, and the rest. The noise was unreal. Azzi flinched at how loud it was down here.

She stood halfway, not sure if she was supposed to. Paige hadn’t even looked her way yet—none of them had. They were all in that pregame zone, clapping, calling plays, running straight into warm-up drills. It made her grin. They moved like they belonged. Like they owned the place.

A few minutes passed then Caroline glanced over mid-drill and did a double take. Her whole face lit up.

She jogged over first, grinning and breathless. “Ok, you’re officially the most committed tutor I’ve ever seen.”

Azzi laughed. “Gotta keep my clients in check.”

Aubrey appeared a second later, pulling up beside her with a grin. “You look good! Not, like—you look good—like you look good here. This is so cool.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh. You almost stuck that landing.”

“Shut up,” Aubrey said, bumping her shoulder. “She’s coming. Brace yourself.”

Azzi didn’t have to ask who.

Paige had peeled off from the group, jogging over with a slight smirk, ball tucked under her arm

“Hey,” she said, voice a little breathy from drills.

“Hey,” Azzi said back, smiling.

They hesitated for half a second then Paige leaned in, and Azzi hugged her. It was quick but warm, familiar. Paige held on a beat longer than necessary.

Behind them, Caroline immediately made a sound like a dying seagull. “Awwwwwwwww”

“Tragic,” Aubrey added. “She’s down bad.”

“I am not,” Paige said, pulling back but very much still standing way too close.

KK appeared like she’d been summoned by the drama, spinning a ball on one finger. “Ooooo we really doing hugs now? That’s cute.”

Ice showed up behind her, sipping from a Gatorade like it was tea. “What’s next? Matching jewellery?”

Paige groaned and stepped away, dramatically throwing her hands up. “Y’all need to worry about your own business.”

“We are, that’s why we’re invested,” Ice said.

Azzi laughed.

“Okay, okay,” Caroline said, backing up. “We’ll leave you alone now. Just don’t make out in front of the children.”

KK saluted Azzi as they trotted back toward drills. “Good luck, scholar. You’re doing the Lord’s work.”

And then it was just Paige and Azzi.

Paige rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry. They’re… always like that.”

“I kinda love it,” Azzi said. “Feels like a sitcom. A slightly chaotic one.”

Paige chuckled. “Yeah. Welcome to the show.”

Azzi tilted her head. “So. You remember what I said last night?”

Paige blinked. “Uh… which part?”

She crossed her arms, mock serious. “If you play shit, I’m not tutoring you anymore.”

Paige put a hand to her heart. “Wow. Cold.”

“But…” Azzi’s eyes sparkled a little. “Put on a masterclass…”

Paige’s grin turned smug. “And we hang out after the game.”

“Exactly.”

“Define your version of masterclass.”

“Score a bunch. Flashy passes. Maybe make someone fall. I want drama.”

Paige nodded solemnly. “Say less.”

Azzi lifted her brows. “No pressure or anything.”

“Oh, I’m pressure-proof,” Paige said, backing away toward the court. “Just wait.”

Azzi watched her jog back into the drill line and shook her head, still smiling.

—---------------------------------

The pregame announcements came and went in a blur of thunderous applause, blinding lights, and player-by-player videos flashing across the screens. UConn’s starting five had been called—Kaitlyn, Paige, Ashlynn, Sarah, and Jana—each jogging out to their own roar, each moment louder than the last.

Now, the energy in Gampel had hit that strange, electric stillness that always came right before tip-off. Like a held breath.

The court was polished to a shine, the reflections of the overhead lights rippling off the hardwood in slow motion as the players took their positions. South Carolina huddled near their bench, focused and bouncing on the balls of their feet. UConn mirrored them.

Azzi sat forward in her seat, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on the court. Or more accurately… on Paige.

She was in her element now—shoulders rolled back, stance low and ready, head slightly tilted like she was listening to something only she could hear. Her jersey fit perfectly. Obviously. But something about the way the lights above caught her arms, casting shadows under each line of muscle, made Azzi’s thoughts derail for a second. Maybe even longer than a second.

She wasn’t trying to be dramatic. Really. But the lighting in this arena? Insane. She could practically sketch out the definition in Paige’s arms just from the way the overheads hit them. Her arms were flexed, loose but brimming with potential energy, the way athletes looked when they were seconds from exploding off the ground. Even the veins on her forearms were visible, subtle but right there, and Azzi had to drag her eyes away before her brain gave up entirely.

Unfortunately, she didn’t drag them fast enough.

Caroline, perched at the end of the bench just a few feet away, half-turned and caught the look on Azzi’s face.

“Oh my God,” she said under her breath but not quietly enough.

Aubrey leaned over behind her. “What?” she whispered back, eyes scanning and then landing right on Azzi’s very, very red face.

“Oh my GOD,” Aubrey repeated, laughing this time.

Azzi’s head snapped around, lips already parting in protest. “Don’t.”

“No, no, it’s cute,” Caroline whispered, clearly not about to stop. “That was a full-on thirst face. Like, textbook.”

“I was not—” Azzi’s voice squeaked, which didn’t help her case.

“She was admiring the… ‘lighting’” Aubrey said, using air quotes and everything.

“It’s excellent lighting,” Azzi muttered, tugging her hoodie sleeves over her hands like they might hide her mortification.

“It’s ok,” Caroline said, barely holding in a grin. “I stare at her arms in practice all the time. It’s healthy. Builds character.”

“Yea same” Aubrey added.

Azzi buried her face in her sleeve.

“God, yall are terrible,” came in Ice, from two seats down, who must’ve caught enough of the exchange to weigh in. “Let her blush in peace.”

“She’s got front-row view of the gun show, what do you expect?” KK added from beside her, sipping from her Gatorade again.

Azzi didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She was too busy trying not to pass out from secondhand embarrassment.

And then the ref blew the whistle for tip-off.

A ripple of noise surged through the crowd, a wave of cheers rolling up from the student section like thunder. Kaitlyn stepped to center court for the jump, crouched, poised. Paige was already bouncing on the balls of her feet, smirking at her matchup like she was born for this.

Azzi peeked up through her fingers.

Paige glanced toward the bench and for a split second, their eyes met.

Azzi wasn’t sure if Paige could see her blushing from there, but the little smirk that tugged at her mouth?

It said yes.

The ball was tipped, and the game began with a burst of adrenaline that pulsed through the entire arena. Jana got her fingers to it first, tapping the ball back to Paige, who immediately corralled it and pushed up the court to a roar from the crowd.

Azzi sat on the edge of her seat, practically vibrating.

From the jump, South Carolina came out locked in. Their defense was tight, switching everything, bodies quick to rotate, hands always in passing lanes. UConn’s offense opened a little jittery—hesitations, missed timing on cuts, a rushed shot or two. And Paige… Paige looked like she was pressing.

Azzi noticed it instantly.

She still looked good, poised, focused, but there was something off in the rhythm of her game. A half-second delay in decisions. A loose dribble here. A contested pull-up that bricked long. Not bad, just… not her usual smooth.

By the third possession, Paige had missed 2 jumpers, both slightly off-balance. She passed up a look from 3, choosing instead to drive and kick to Aslynn in the corner who missed.

South Carolina was capitalising early, too. A fast break off a turnover turned into a clean and-one finish, and UConn trailed 9–3 before they could get settled.

Geno stood with arms crossed, deadpan. “Let’s settle, huh? Find a flow. Let the game come to you.”

Paige nodded, but Azzi could tell—she was in her head.

She kept glancing toward the sideline. Not overtly. Just little looks. Between free throws. After a whistle. That barely-there flick of her eyes toward the bench and just past it.

Toward Azzi.

Azzi flushed every time it happened, like she’d been caught eavesdropping on a secret.

Caroline, now seated two down from Coach, leaned back during a break in play and whispered to Aubrey, “She’s tight. You see that?”

“Yeah,” Aubrey said. “She’ll settle. She’s just trying to act normal with her here.” She tilted her chin toward Azzi without looking.

Azzi caught it. She pretended not to.

Midway through the first quarter, UConn had made some changes. Still, the Huskies couldn’t get their rhythm right. The passes were clean, the movement was there, but it didn’t click yet.

By the end of the first quarter, the score was 16–12, South Carolina up. Paige had just 2 points on 1 of 5 shooting.

Second quarter, it started to shift.

Not all at once but in moments. 

Paige called a high screen and crossed over into a hesitation step-back, nailing a mid-range jumper over the outstretched arms of the defender. She didn’t celebrate but she looked straight to the side of the court again.

Right at Azzi.

Azzi raised her brows. Smiled. Gave her a small nod.

Paige cracked the tiniest smirk before turning and jogging back on defense.

It built from there.

A backdoor cut caught South Carolina off guard, and Paige hit Kaitlyn on a dime with a no-look bounce pass for an easy two. The crowd roared.

On the next possession, Paige pushed in transition, split two defenders with a lightning-quick change of pace, absorbed contact, and threw up a scoop off the glass—

Whistle. Bucket.

“AND FUCKEN ONE!”

The scream cut through the arena like a blade. Paige banged her fist into her chest once, fire in her eyes. The student section lost it.

Azzi blinked, caught between shock and—yep. That was hot.

Caroline turned halfway around, caught the expression again, and just snorted.

“Pray for her,” she murmured to Aubrey. “She’s a goner.”

UConn closed the quarter strong. Ashlynn hit a corner three off a skip pass. Paige pulled off a slick behind the back dribble that had her defender stumbling. The bench exploded. Even Coach Geno surprisingly cracked a small smile as the lead trimmed to two before the half.

Halftime score: 34–32, South Carolina still ahead.

But momentum? Shifting.

The third quarter opened like a different game.

Paige didn’t hesitate now.

She wasn’t thinking anymore, just hooping.

She blew past her defender early in the quarter with a hard right drive, finishing with a reverse that spun off the glass and went in perfectly. The next trip down, she sized up a slower defender in isolation and drilled a stepback 3 with a hand in her face. Bang.

The crowd went absolutely wild.

Paige smirked, holding up 3 fingers as she backpedaled.

Azzi jumped to her feet without even realizing it.

By now, the bench was up on every play. Morgan and Aubrey waving towels, Caroline yelling, KK throwing up 3 fingers after every 3 point shot Paige hit.

Which kept coming.

A fast break? Paige picked the pocket clean, weaved through 2 defenders, euro-stepped around a third, and finished with finesse.

Then, late in the quarter, a hesi-crossover-spin move that left her defender frozen. Paige went up strong through contact, landed awkwardly but the shot dropped.

Whistle.

She didn’t say a word—just smirked, rolling her shoulder forward in a slow, deliberate flex. Then she pounded her chest twice, her eyes saying everything her mouth didn’t.

Azzi just about melted into her chair.

Caroline didn’t even try to be subtle. She turned full-body and said, “Be honest. You’re making out with her later, right?”

Azzi covered her face. “Caroline!”

“Just checking.”

Paige ended the third with 24 points and counting.

4th quarter?

A clinic.

She was everywhere. Her footwork was surgical, her vision insane. She skipped a pass through 3 defenders for a layup, then came down and hit a transition 3 in rhythm off a kick-out from Sarah. The team was cooking.

Geno didn’t sub her once. He didn’t need to.

Final minute, Paige hit a deep 3 from the top of the key to seal it.

32 points.

Gampel was shaking.

The buzzer sounded, and the final score lit up: UConn 74, South Carolina 65.

Paige stood near mid court, hands on her hips, chest heaving, the crowd roaring around her. Her teammates mobbed her—chest bumps, shoulder slaps, screams.

But once the initial chaos died down, she pulled away gently. Walked toward the sideline.

Toward Azzi.

She looked nervous now, like the adrenaline had dropped just enough to let the rest of her rush in. Her hair was damp, sweat still clinging to her neck, but she had that grin. That stupid, crooked, overly confident one that almost hid how unsure she really was.

She stopped in front of Azzi, still catching her breath.

“So…” she said, voice light but a little unsure. “About that hangout. Or… what do you think?”

Azzi smiled, heart thudding in her chest. “I think you earned it.”

Paige’s grin went bright.

Before she could say anything else, Caroline popped up between them like she’d been waiting. “Okay lovers,” she gestured toward Aubrey and Ice, who were now approaching too,  “we’re all hitting Ted’s after. So she,” she pointed to Azzi, “is walking with us to the locker room, and you,” she turned to Paige, “are gonna meet us outside.”

“Wait, me?” Azzi blinked.

“Yeah, we’re just grabbing our stuff. Be quick,” Aubrey added. “You can wait by the tunnel. VIP access.”

Azzi hesitated, then nodded. “Ok, yea. Cool.”

“Cool,” Paige said, clearly trying not to look too pleased. “See you soon.”

Caroline pulled Azzi along with them toward the tunnel, throwing a wink back at Paige as they walked.

Paige stood there, wiping her wrist across her forehead, still riding the high of the game, the crowd, the win.

But her eyes?

They were only on Azzi.

—---------------------------------

The locker room buzzed with chatter and laughter as the team's victory sunk in. The players were all talking, half-showered, still catching their breath from the frenetic pace of the game. Paige, however, was in her own little world, the high of the game still pulsing through her veins. Her teammates had already started to scatter, some heading straight for their things, others lingering in the hallway.

She quickly finished wiping down with a towel, the heat from the shower clinging to her skin, but her mind was elsewhere on Azzi. The idea of spending time with her after the game had her stomach doing backflips. She couldn’t explain why she was suddenly so nervous, considering she had just put up 32 points in a game that felt like a war. It was almost funny how her brain switched gears so fast—one moment, she was locked in the zone, the next, she was just a girl hoping Azzi would say yes.

As she walked to the locker room exit, she found Caroline talking to Azzi near the tunnel, laughing and chatting. Caroline gave her a knowing look, a smirk pulling at her lips. “You two better make it quick,” she said, as if she had orchestrated this entire thing.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Paige said, trying to sound cool, but there was no hiding the excitement under her voice.

Azzi smiled as she approached, still in her game-day hoodie, her hoodie strings pulled tight against the slight chill of the hallway. “You did great out there,” Azzi said, her voice calm but sincere.

“Thanks,” Paige said, her grin spreading. “I had a slow start, though. Just needed to get into a rhythm.” She shrugged, hands on her hips as they made their way outside the arena, the cool night air hitting them.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Slow start? That’s one way to put it. But you definitely found your groove. I was impressed.”

“Hey, I’m not perfect,” Paige said, rolling her eyes. “But you know how it is. Nerves. Playing in front of everyone with… you know, you in the crowd.” She didn’t really know how to say it without sounding like a total mess, but Azzi just nodded like she understood, no big deal.

They made their way down the street, with Azzi walking just a little bit ahead of Paige. Azzi was quiet, observing the world around her with the calculated calm she always carried with her. Even now, after watching Paige play, she was still analyzing, assessing.

“So, yeah,” Paige started, trying to fill the silence, “what did you think of my shooting tonight? I felt like I missed a bunch early, but I found it eventually.”

Azzi glanced over at her, her lips curling into the smallest smile. “I mean, you were taking shots from everywhere. Some of them were a little rushed early on, but you adjusted. Your footwork on that step-back three was solid. You just need to stay patient and trust the shot.”

Paige felt a little relieved, hearing Azzi’s constructive take on it. She didn’t want to come off like she was fishing for compliments, but it felt good to hear that the tweaks she’d made in her head were obvious to Azzi.

“Yeah, I was thinking too much,” Paige admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “Once I stopped caring so much about… I don’t know. I could just play. It’s like something clicked. Then, I couldn’t miss.”

Azzi nodded. “That’s how it goes. Sometimes you’ve got to let go of all that extra stuff and just play.”

They arrived at Ted’s, the place where their team frequently hung out after big games, and Paige immediately ordered hot chips for the table. It wasn’t even a question—she just knew Azzi liked them. She didn’t need to ask. They slid into the booth, a comfortable space, away from the chaos of their teammates who were already deep into drinks and dancing.

Azzi slipped her hoodie off, revealing the black cropped tank beneath. Her arms were toned, and the cool air inside the restaurant made her look effortlessly chic. She adjusted her seat, her gaze falling on the other girls as they shouted and laughed at the bar.

Paige grabbed a shot, but as she took it, Azzi raised a hand. “I’m not drinking,” she said lightly, and Paige immediately set it down, her expression flickering with surprise.

“Alright, no drinks for me either,” Paige said with a shrug, pushing the shot glass away. “Guess we’re just here for the chips then,” Paige added, giving her a wink.

Azzi snorted, looking over at the table as the drinks continued to flow. “You sure about that? Because it looks like half the team is planning on taking shots ‘til they pass out.”

Paige laughed, leaning back in the booth and trying to get comfortable, even as her teammates got more rowdy. “I don’t need to be that wild. Maybe I’ll just have a few more chips instead.”

“Right,” Azzi said, sipping her water. “Because chips are so much better than shots.”

The server came over, bringing the massive bowl of hot chips to their booth, and Paige eagerly grabbed a handful. They ate in quiet contentment, the conversation ebbing and flowing, sometimes about the game, sometimes about nothing at all.

The team’s energy was infectious, but Azzi and Paige were perfectly content in their little bubble. Paige’s arm found its way over Azzi’s shoulders, a natural motion, something unspoken, as they both relaxed into the quiet moment, watching their teammates in the distance.

Azzi leaned in a little, her cheek resting against Paige’s shoulder, the gesture so simple, but it felt like they had been doing it forever. Paige’s heart fluttered at the gesture, but she didn’t overthink it. She simply put her arm around Azzi like it was the most natural thing in the world.

—---------------------------------

As Paige and Azzi continued to settle into their little corner of the restaurant, the noise from the team started to blur into a distant hum. It felt like they were in a bubble, just the two of them, a quiet, contented space that Paige had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Paige’s arm was still casually draped over Azzi’s shoulder, and the contact felt so natural, like it had always been this way. Azzi had leaned into the touch, her head resting lightly against Paige’s shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

The clinking of glasses and laughter from the rest of the team rang out across the room, but it felt like they were in a world of their own. Paige’s heart raced a little faster every time Azzi shifted slightly closer, and she had to stop herself from overthinking it.

Just as Paige was about to say something, Caroline’s voice cut through the cozy atmosphere, full of energy and more than a little tipsy.

“Hey, you 2!” Caroline’s words were a little louder than intended, and her presence swayed across the booth like a gust of wind. She was grinning, clearly enjoying the drinks she’d had so far. She leaned in toward the 2 of them, practically collapsing onto the table with a half-laugh, half-giggle. “What’s going on over here, huh? You 2 lovebirds look way too cozy.”

Paige immediately felt her face heat up. She was trying so hard not to overthink it with Azzi, but now Caroline’s teasing was making it ten times worse. “What are you even talking about?” Paige’s voice was a little higher than usual as she glanced at Azzi, who remained leaned against her shoulder.

“I mean, look at you two,” Caroline teased, waving a hand around dramatically, her eyes sparkling from the alcohol. “You’re, like, totally in sync right now. This is a new level of cute. Someone get the cameras, I’m shipping it.”

Azzi, though her face was flushed from the warmth of the moment, just rolled her eyes with a tiny smile. “You’re drunk, Caroline.”

“Am not!” Caroline retorted immediately, before bursting into a fit of giggles. “Okay, maybe I am. But seriously, you 2? This is precious. It’s like you’re both the same person but in different outfits, you know?” She looked between them, giving them a knowing wink.

Paige couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re insane, Caroline,” she muttered, but the smile on her face betrayed her.

Caroline leaned forward, elbows on the table, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “No, I’m right, Paige. I know exactly what’s going on here. I’ve seen this movie. You’re, like, one step away from making it official. I’m here for it.” She raised an eyebrow, clearly proud of herself for her “wisdom.”

Azzi, still tucked into Paige’s side, let out a soft laugh. “Well, you’re wrong, but thanks for the insight.”

Caroline tilted her head dramatically, as if considering this. “Ok, ok, I get it. No labels. Yet.” She sat back, pouting slightly before giving Paige an exaggerated wink. “But you gotta admit, it’s pretty cute.”

Before Paige could respond, Aubrey came swaggering over, clearly on a mission. She was holding a tray full of shot glasses in one hand, her other arm draped over a teammate who was stumbling behind her. “Shots, anyone?!” Aubrey announced loudly, her voice booming across the table.

She slid into the booth beside Caroline, her grin mischievous. “Paige, I know you usually don’t pass up a drink after a game, what’s up with you tonight?” She eyed the untouched beer in front of Paige with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not telling me you’ve gone soft on me now, are you?”

Paige’s lips parted, unsure how to answer, but Azzi’s voice cut in before she could. “She’s just here with me,” Azzi said with a shrug, a soft smile playing at her lips. “No need for the shots.”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, glancing between the 2 of them, clearly sensing something more than. “Ohh, I get it now,” she said with a teasing tone, but she was far too drunk to make it anything more than a playful remark. “You 2 are real cute. Alright, no shots for you then.”

Caroline laughed and stood up, wobbling a bit. “Imma go join the others,” she said, clearly not paying attention to the fact that she was still holding onto a shot glass. She waved, drunkenly tipping over to another table. “Enjoy,” she called out, giving them both a cheesy wink before stumbling away.

Aubrey lingered for a moment longer before turning to Paige with a raised glass. “Don’t forget, you’re still my partner in crime, alright?” She smiled and then wandered back into the mix of the team, disappearing into the crowd.

As soon as the noise of the bar filled the space again, Azzi finally leaned back into Paige’s side, her cheek resting lightly on Paige’s shoulder once more. Paige smiled down at her, her heart still racing from the attention, but also grateful for the quiet.

“So,” Azzi said, her voice soft but clear. “What do you think? Ice cream?”

Paige blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Ice cream?” she asked with a smile, still processing the energy of the last few minutes.

Azzi nodded eagerly, her excitement apparent. “Yeah, I’m craving some. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Paige grinned, feeling a spark of energy at the idea. “Well, if you’re craving it, I’m definitely down.” She gave a quick look to her teammates still sitting at the table—Sarah, Allie, and Morgan—who weren’t drinking and were busy having a quieter conversation. Paige stood up, grabbing Azzi’s hand with a soft tug. “Let’s go tell them, make sure they’re cool, and then we can head out.”

Azzi looked up at her, her eyes lighting up at the idea of leaving the craziness behind for a little while. “I’m so down.”

Paige waved to the table of freshmen, who were all sitting together, and walked over to them with Azzi at her side. She leaned in and whispered, “We’re heading out for ice cream, you guys good here? Make sure everyone else is fine, alright?” She glanced back at the table full of noise and chaos.

Sarah, Allie, and Morgan looked up, nodding with understanding. “Yea, we got it,” Sarah said with a grin, her eyes glancing over at the wild energy of their teammates. “Go get that ice cream, we’ll make sure the rest of them don’t do anything stupid.”

Paige smiled and gave a quick nod before turning to Azzi, her heart racing with excitement. “Alright, let’s go.”

Azzi gave her a smile that made everything feel even better. “Let’s get ice cream.”

The night air hit them as soon as they stepped outside, crisp and cool against their flushed cheeks. The sky was a deep navy, scattered with stars barely visible against the glow of the campus lights. Paige immediately reached for the zipper of her jacket, tugging it up just a bit, but next to her, Azzi shivered slightly.

Without a word, Azzi pulled the same hoodie she’d worn earlier and slipped it back on. Her fingers worked quickly, tugging it over her head before she stuffed her hands into the front pocket with a little sigh. The hoodie was a bit oversized, the sleeves just brushing her knuckles, and it made her look even cozier. Paige glanced over, smiling quietly to herself.

“Cold?” Paige asked, even though it was obvious.

Azzi nodded, blowing out a puff of air that hung briefly in front of them like fog. “I thought it was gonna be warmer tonight. Rookie mistake.”

“You were inside a packed restaurant full of drunk 20-somethings,” Paige said, nudging her lightly with her elbow. “It probably felt like summer in there.”

Azzi gave a soft laugh, bumping her back gently. “Yea, well… my body regrets that confidence.”

They started down the path toward the main strip near campus, their steps naturally in sync without either of them trying. It was one of those peaceful silences, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. Paige kept glancing sideways at Azzi every now and then, not even meaning to—just checking in, like her brain hadn’t caught up to the fact that they’d actually left together. Just the 2 of them.

“You ever notice how food cravings hit way harder after games? How I felt back in my basketball days.” Azzi asked suddenly, her voice casual.

Paige grinned. “Literally every time. I’ll finish a game, chug half a Gatorade, and 10 minutes later I’m like, ‘You know what sounds good? 17 pancakes.’”

Azzi snorted. “You would eat 17 pancakes.”

“If the stakes were high enough? Hell yea.”

“What stakes would require 17 pancakes?”

“World peace. Or, like… if someone dared me.”

Azzi laughed, the kind of laugh that crinkled her eyes and made Paige’s chest feel a little too tight for a second.

They turned the corner toward the strip of late-night food spots, the ice cream place glowing warm and welcoming. It was mostly empty inside, just a couple people scattered in booths. Paige held the door open, letting Azzi step in first, and they both headed straight to the counter.

“I’m going mint chocolate chip,” Paige said confidently. “I need that refreshing hit. Cleans the soul.”

Azzi gave her a look. “It tastes like toothpaste.”

“That’s slander. You’re just uncultured.”

Azzi raised her eyebrows. “Uncultured? I’ll have you know I’m a chocolate traditionalist.”

“Boring,” Paige muttered, grinning.

Azzi stuck out her tongue. “Delicious.”

Paige paid for both of them and got their cones and walked back out into the night. The cold air was a little sharper now, but it was quiet, peaceful. They strolled aimlessly, just enjoying the calmness.

About halfway through her cone, Paige paused. They were walking near the rec center, and just beyond the sidewalk, the outdoor court sat under the dim glow of overhead lights. It was deserted at this hour, just the faint echo of music from someone’s speaker in the distance. And right there, abandoned like it had fallen from the sky, was a basketball.

Paige’s eyes lit up.

“Ohhhhh,” she said, already veering off the path. “Look at that. Fate.”

Azzi followed her gaze. “What, the ball?”

“Yep.” Paige scooped it up with one hand, spinning it in her palm. “You know what this means.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, licking her ice cream. “That some rec bro forgot his ball?”

Paige pointed the ball at her dramatically. “That we have been chosen by the basketball Gods to honour this sacred space.”

Azzi gave her a look that was about 90% amusement and 10% fake disbelief. “You’re such a dork.”

Paige smirked. “A dork who can cross you up in one try.”

Azzi took another bite of her ice cream and said with the straightest face possible, “Let me finish this chocolate masterpiece, and then you can embarrass yourself.”

Paige laughed and bumped her gently with her hip, careful not to knock her cone. “You’re lucky I’m letting you warm up first.”

They wandered toward the edge of the court but didn’t step on it just yet, choosing instead to sit on the bench nearby and enjoy their cones. Paige took a dramatic bite of her mint chocolate chip, shivering exaggeratedly like she’d just ascended to flavor heaven.

“Tell me that’s not the most refreshing thing ever.”

Azzi stared at her. “It’s literally minty milk.”

“It’s rejuvenating,” Paige insisted, licking the drip that slid down the side.

Azzi grinned, taking a bite of her chocolate. “You know what’s rejuvenating? Something that doesn’t taste like mouthwash.”

“You’re so wrong it physically hurts me.”

They both laughed, their knees lightly touching where they sat side by side. Neither moved away.

Paige leaned back slightly, balancing the basketball on her knee. “You know, this night didn’t suck.”

Azzi gave a quiet hum of agreement. “Yeah. It really didn’t.”

Paige looked over at her. There was a peace about her right now, something soft and grounded. Paige looked away before she could linger too long.

“You still good for balling after this?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Azzi licked the edge of her cone, then gave her a sideways glance. “I was born ready. I just didn’t know I’d be playing in a hoodie and jeans.”

“I mean, I’m in Jordans and vibes. We’ll survive.”

Azzi snorted. “Jordans and vibes? That should be your next Instagram caption.”

“Please, like I’d waste that level of genius on a random post.”

They sat in companionable silence for another minute, each of them working through the last of their cones. Paige’s fingers were a little sticky, her mouth tingling from the cold. Azzi was licking the last bit of chocolate from the tip of her cone with a soft hum of satisfaction.

“Alright,” Paige said, standing up and tossing her napkin into a nearby trash can. She spun the ball once in her hands and looked down at Azzi, a playful glint in her eyes. “Game on?”

Azzi stood slowly, brushing the crumbs from her hands, hoodie sleeves flopping slightly over her fingers. “Game on.”

And with that, they stepped onto the court, just two silhouettes under the glow of the campus lights, still riding the warmth of laughter and sugar. The night wasn’t over just yet.

The basketball echoed softly against the court as Paige bounced the ball a couple of times, her eyes narrowing playfully at Azzi. They’d gone from laughing and joking to this, a one-on-one game. Azzi was looking at her like she was about to put up a fight, and that… that was exactly what Paige needed.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Paige grinned, dribbling the ball between her legs, flashing a quick, confident look at Azzi. “I warned you, I’m in elite form tonight.”

Azzi crossed her arms, leaning back against the court’s outer boundary, watching Paige with a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Elite, huh? We’ll see how ‘elite’ you are when you can’t keep up with me.”

“Oh, it’s on,” Paige said, eyes locking onto Azzi’s with playful intensity.

The first point was quick. Paige faked right, then spun left, finishing with a smooth layup. “Boom. 1-0, me.”

Azzi didn’t miss a beat, bouncing the ball with a practiced hand. “Yeah, you’re real smooth. Let’s see if you can keep that up.”

The game quickly turned into an all-out battle. Paige was fast and agile, but Azzi wasn’t letting her off the hook. With every move, Azzi made Paige work harder. At one point, Paige tried to fake a jumper but Azzi was right in her face, her hand up, challenging her to make the shot.

“Oh shit, you’re not gonna let me get anything easy, are you?” Paige grunted, trying to slip around Azzi’s defense but failing as Azzi’s hand swatted the ball away.

“Not a chance,” Azzi grinned, stealing the ball and dribbling it down the court with fluid ease, taking her own shot for 1-1.

They kept exchanging points like that. Paige, despite all the cocky smirks and back-and-forth banter, couldn’t deny Azzi was holding her own. 

The score was tied at 8-8, and Paige was starting to feel the burn.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. “I’m sore as hell. My legs are still feeling that game earlier.”

Azzi, not buying the excuse, shot her a sly look. “Sore, huh? You seem fine to me.”

“I’m telling you,” Paige huffed, bending slightly at the waist. “If I’m not careful, I’ll pull something. Might even tear my hamstring.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Uh huhhhh. Sure.”

“Ok, look,” Paige said, stepping back to reset, “Maybe a little hamstring tear will help with your defense.”

Azzi smirked, taking a deep breath before getting back into position. “That so? Bring it.”

It wasn’t long before they were back at it, and Paige, feeling the heat of the competition, decided to pull out some tricks. On the next possession, she faked a shot and instead went for a quick spin to the right, aiming for an easy drive to the basket.

But Azzi, as usual, was right there, her hand shooting up to contest the shot. They collided, their bodies pressing together in defense, and Paige let out a surprised laugh, nearly losing her balance. “Damn, Azzi, no need to get so handsy.”

Azzi shot her a knowing grin. “What can I say? I play d like a pro.”

They were up to 12-12 now, and Paige was starting to feel the pressure. Azzi wasn’t giving her an inch, and Paige’s energy was starting to flag.

She came up with an idea—tickling. As Azzi came at her with her signature defense stance, arms wide, Paige couldn’t help but smirk.

As Azzi lunged to block, Paige slipped a hand under her ribs, giving a quick poke. Azzi jumped, her posture faltering for just a second, which was all Paige needed. “Gotcha!” Paige yelled, driving for the basket and scoring easily. “That’s 13-12, baby!”

Azzi shot her a playful glare, shaking her head as she bounced the ball. “You are so lucky that was a game move.”

Paige laughed, throwing her hands up in mock victory. “I’m just that good.”

Azzi came back with a vengeance, charging at Paige like a freight train. “Oh, you think you’re good?” she teased, getting in Paige’s face, her arms up in perfect defensive form. Paige stepped back, trying to pull off another quick move, but Azzi stayed glued to her like a shadow.

Paige could feel her exhaustion creeping in, her muscles sore from the earlier game, the endless dribbling, and now the added pressure of Azzi’s perfect defense. “Shit,” Paige grunted, trying to push past her. “No way. I’m not losing this.”

Azzi grinned. “We’ll see. It’s 16-15 now, so you better pull something out of your bag of tricks.”

Paige wiped her forehead again, eyeing the ball. She was getting cocky, maybe a little too cocky. “Watch and learn,” she muttered, then launched herself into a spin move, faking a pass to her left and then driving right.

Azzi wasn’t fooled. She blocked the shot cleanly, sending the ball flying off toward the side. “Not so fast, superstar,” she taunted, scooping the ball and taking it to the hoop. She finished the layup, making it 17-15.

Paige’s jaw dropped. “What the hell? That was supposed to be my shot!”

Azzi shrugged, clearly pleased with herself. “Guess you’re not as elite as you thought.”

Now Paige was scrambling. “Oh, it’s on, Azzi. I’m about to turn this around.”

But it was too late. Azzi, cool and composed, didn’t let up. With every move, Paige felt herself getting slower, her excuses sounding weaker. Finally, after a contested shot, Azzi knocked it down to make the score 19-15. The game was almost over.

“You good?” Azzi teased, eyes sparkling with playful victory. “You sure you don’t want to just give up now?”

“No fucking way,” Paige snapped, trying to dig deep, but it was clear the fight was out of her.

Azzi crossed her arms, leaning against the hoop with a smug grin. “1 point left. You ready to admit defeat?”

Paige put her hands on her knees, out of breath and just a little defeated, but still smiling. “Alright, alright. You’re gonna make me do the walk of shame, huh?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Yup. And when you do, you can call me ‘the one who took you down.’”

Paige scoffed, trying one last desperate shot, but Azzi was right there. She grabbed the ball and bounced it once before driving to the basket and finishing with a smooth layup.

The game was over.

“20-15,” Azzi said, grinning. “You didn’t even come close in the end.”

Paige sank to her knees dramatically, holding a hand to her chest like she’d just played the game of her life. “Alright, you win. But next time? I’m going all out. No excuses.”

Azzi laughed, offering a hand to Paige to help her up. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Paige grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling herself up. “You’ve been warned. I’m gonna get you back for this.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, chuckling. “I’m looking forward to it.”

The sound of their heavy breathing slowly filled the quiet space between them as they both collapsed onto the bench, feeling the cool night air wrap around them like a soft blanket. The basketball court lay empty now, the only sound being the occasional squeak of their shoes shifting as they stretched their legs, their bodies sore from the intense game.

Paige wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, breathing in deeply, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t help but chuckle at how worked up they both had gotten. The whole game had been a battle, but somehow, the competition had felt like nothing more than a way to spend time with Azzi. They were both sweaty and exhausted, but there was something calming about the stillness now that the game was over.

Azzi, sitting beside her, leaned back, staring up at the stars. The light from the nearby lampposts bathed their surroundings in a soft, golden glow, making everything seem peaceful. Azzi’s gaze drifted to the sky, her face a little more relaxed now that the adrenaline was fading.

“You know,” Paige said, breaking the silence, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a game quite like that. You actually made me work for every point.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, a smile tugging at her lips. “I told you, you weren’t gonna get anything easy tonight.”

Paige grinned, leaning back on the bench, her eyes following the stars as well. “Yeah, you sure weren’t kidding. I’ve got to give it to you, Azzi. You’ve got some serious game.”

Azzi shrugged, her eyes still locked on the stars. “It’s nothing, really. Just the usual. I’ve played for a  long time.” She paused, and for a second, her voice softened. “But you… you’ve got a real competitive streak. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in Azzi’s voice. She wanted to say something more, to ask her what she meant, but instead, she just nodded, taking in the peacefulness of the moment. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, just staring up at the vastness above them, listening to the occasional rustling of the trees in the distance.

A few moments passed, and Paige couldn’t help but feel a pull to Azzi. She looked over at her, noticing the soft curve of her neck and the way the moonlight seemed to highlight her profile. Without really thinking, Paige shifted a little closer, her leg brushing against Azzi’s, the faintest of touches.

Azzi didn’t pull away. Instead, she subtly leaned into Paige’s side, her shoulder gently bumping against hers. Paige’s pulse quickened slightly, but she didn’t move away. She wanted to stay right there, close to Azzi.

After a beat, Azzi shifted even closer, her head resting gently on Paige’s shoulder. Paige’s breath caught in her throat, and she could feel the warmth of Azzi’s presence seeping into her. It felt natural, easy, like they’d been sitting this way for years.

Paige’s arm moved instinctively, draping over Azzi’s shoulder. Her fingers brushed lightly against the soft fabric of Azzi’s hoodie, then lightly caressed her, almost as if to reassure herself that this was real. It was a small gesture, but it felt significant, as if it were something more than just a casual touch.

Azzi let out a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering closed as she settled deeper into Paige’s side. “I’m a little tired,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. “But… I don’t really want to leave yet. This is nice.”

Paige’s heart fluttered, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips. She couldn’t explain why, but hearing Azzi say that, in that tone of voice, made her feel… warm. Safe. She felt her own exhaustion creeping up on her, but she wanted to savor this moment just a little longer.

“I get it,” Paige murmured, her voice low and soft. She tilted her head slightly, resting her cheek gently on the top of Azzi’s head. Her hair was soft against Paige’s skin, and the feeling of Azzi so close made Paige’s chest tighten in a way that was almost unexplainable.

Azzi shifted slightly, her breath even and calm, and Paige’s heart fluttered again at the closeness between them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so… connected to someone like this. There was something about Azzi that made her want to protect her, to keep her close, and it wasn’t just the competitive edge that had drawn her in during the game. No, this felt different. Something deeper.

The two of them just sat there in the quiet, the only sound was their breathing and the faint hum of the world around them. Paige didn’t want to break the silence, not yet. It felt perfect. Just being with Azzi like this, in this moment, was all she needed.

—---------------------------------

The night had grown even quieter, the sounds of the world fading into the background as the two of them sat there, still and content. Azzi’s breathing had become slower, more even, and before Paige even realized it, Azzi’s head had tilted slightly, resting more comfortably against her shoulder. Paige noticed the softness of Azzi’s breath against her skin, the way her body had relaxed completely, sinking into the warmth of their shared space. Azzi was falling asleep.

Paige’s heart fluttered again, but this time, it was with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. She watched her for a few moments, unable to tear her eyes away from the peaceful look on Azzi’s face. She almost didn’t want to disturb her, not when things felt this good, this right. But as time passed, Paige felt her own exhaustion creeping back in, and she knew it was time to head back to their dorms.

She carefully shifted, adjusting her arm around Azzi’s shoulder, and gently nudged her. “Hey… Azzi,” she murmured softly, a little hesitant, not wanting to disrupt the calm atmosphere they’d settled into. “You should get some real sleep. You can’t just crash here.”

Azzi stirred, blinking sleepily. She rubbed her eyes, groaning softly as she adjusted herself, her face still nestled against Paige’s shoulder. “Mmm… it’s fine,” she mumbled, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep. “I’m good.”

Paige smiled softly, amused by how stubborn Azzi could be. “I know you’re good, but I’m walking you back to your dorm,” she said, a gentle firmness in her voice. “Come on, let’s go. It’s just a 10 minute walk.”

Azzi gave a half-hearted sigh but didn’t argue. “You really don’t have to—” she started, but Paige was already standing, pulling Azzi to her feet with a gentle hand on her back.

“I know, but I want to,” Paige said, grinning. “It’s just a short walk. Plus, I get to spend a little more time with you, so I’m good.”

Azzi chuckled softly, adjusting the sleeve of her hoodie, but let Paige guide her toward the path that led to her dorm. The walk was quiet but comfortable, the night air still warm enough for them to walk side by side without shivering. Paige kept glancing at Azzi, noticing how tired she looked but also how content. It made something inside Paige stir, something she couldn’t quite place but knew she didn’t want to let go of.

—---------------------------------

When they finally reached Azzi’s dorm, Paige stopped at the entrance, her hand resting on the doorframe. Azzi turned to face her, eyes still a little heavy from sleep, but a soft smile tugged at her lips.

“Thanks for walking me back,” Azzi said quietly, her voice low but sincere. “And for the game tonight. It was… fun. I really needed it.”

Paige smiled, her heart doing a little flip at Azzi’s words. “No problem,” she said, voice soft. “Thanks for coming out, Azzi. It was… honestly one of the best parts of my day.”

Azzi looked at her for a moment, her gaze lingering, and then, without saying anything more, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Paige in a slow, steady hug. Paige froze for just a second, her arms instinctively going around Azzi’s back. The warmth between them felt different this time. Deeper. Something unspoken passed between them, something soft and vulnerable.

Azzi held the hug a little longer than usual, her cheek resting gently against Paige’s, and Paige couldn’t help but feel a rush of emotions swirl in her chest. When they finally pulled away, Azzi gave a small, almost shy smile. “You wanna come over tomorrow?” she asked, her voice casual, but Paige could hear the quiet invitation behind her words. “Just to hang out. Not for tutoring or anything. I’ll make you coffee, or whatever.”

Paige blinked for a moment, surprised by the offer, but the thought of spending more time with Azzi made her pulse quicken. “Yeah,” she said, her voice soft but certain. “I’d like that.”

Azzi smiled again, a little more brightly this time. “Cool. I’ll text you when I wake up.”

Paige felt a warmth spread through her chest, and for a brief moment, she didn’t know what to say. She just stood there, looking at Azzi with a soft smile, her heart pounding in her chest.

Azzi, still blinking a little, smiled back, a quiet but genuine expression on her face. There was something in the way they stood there, something that made Paige feel like this moment was more than just a goodbye. It was the kind of silence that said everything and nothing all at once.

“Well,” Paige started, clearing her throat, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Azzi nodded, her smile still lingering. “Yea, tomorrow. Goodnight, Paige.”

“Goodnight, Azzi,” Paige replied softly, giving her one last lingering glance before Azzi walked back into her dorm.

As she made her way down the path, she could feel the warmth of their moments still radiating through her chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. A spark of something she couldn’t quite name, but one she was more than willing to explore.

And as she walked, Paige couldn’t help but think—tomorrow was something she was already looking forward to. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ovaryacted]

OFF THE LEDGE

─ Dr. Jack Abbot x fem! reader || WC: 4.6k

SYNOPSIS: Surviving is hard. You've become exhausted with the current circumstances of your life. When the pressure finally gets to be too much, you fall apart at the seams. Luckily, Jack is there to put you back together.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. ANGST. Hurt/Comfort. Age Gap implied [Jack is late 40s, reader is late 20s/early 30s]. Power imbalances [Attending/Resident]. Established “secret” relationship. Mentions of a drug overdose & medical treatment (patient in ED). Mental health triggers & descriptions of depression, suicidal ideation, and a mental breakdown. Reader is passively turned actively suicidal. Injury from self-harm/self-infliction using a razor that results in bleeding & stitches. Brief references to past sh attempts from reader. Mentions of Jack struggling w/his mental health in the past. Jack being a good partner and providing support.

NOTE: This fic contains explicit descriptions of self harm, depression, and mental health issues that may be triggering for some readers. If you or a loved one are experiencing this, please reach out to someone or call the corresponding crisis lifeline in your state/country. For the U.S. - Dial 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

A/N: I usually don't write things like this, and a part of me was scared to even upload this, but I’m gonna take the risk and do it anyway. I initially wrote this when I was going through something, especially this week, and just needed to release all of these built up emotions somehow and I created this, which was cathartic to write & read. We all deserve reassurance that we are still loved after our mistakes, and I hope those who are going through a hard time know that you are deserving of a long and joyful life and that you are loved. Thank you to @ozarkthedog for proofreading this and the constant encouragement, love you hun. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’d think by now things would get easier. That the ringing in your head would become more manageable; the noise would fade away, and the voices would quiet their chattering for once.

You thought wrong.

A part of you thinks you never should’ve taken the time to go through high school, undergrad, and medical school to enter a field where you were frequently reminded of how fleeting life was. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, the grim reaper was always there, breathing down your neck, watching the sand in the hourglass run out for those bound to leave the mortal coil. The emergency department was their personal hell, and you served as the angel of death, guiding them into the afterlife, witnessing the lights dim from their eyes and declaring the time they crossed the bridge like it was second nature.

It reminds you that it could’ve been you. Sometimes you think it should be.

Of course, that wasn’t rational thinking, was it? The constant nagging voice drilling into your head that you don’t belong here, you don’t deserve to be walking the earth alongside everyone else. It was painfully ironic working in a field where your hands were capable of saving lives, all while you constantly battled to validate your own existence.

A walking contradiction you were.

You hid it well from everyone around you, continuing with business as usual during your night shifts at the Pitt, working doubles just to get through the day, regardless of your body begging for rest. It wasn’t a problem; in fact, the staff were more than glad to have someone reliable to provide more support without asking, and with someone as capable as you, they had no qualms about adding overtime hours to your payroll.

But Dr. Abbot? He saw right through it, right through you.

He knows because he gets it.

You’re good at your job, almost too good, and nobody would dare say otherwise. Despite your talents under pressure and your quick reflexes, there was a darkness that hung over your head like a shadow everywhere you went. Your eyes were clouded over, trying to hide something; the curl of your smile was subtle—never too wide; and your laugh was too tight to be considered a chuckle but enough for an exhale.

Jack knows, because it’s him.

The next time he goes up to the roof for some fresh air, he isn’t entirely surprised to find you already there. You stood on the other end of the ledge, leaning against the railing, hands in your pockets as you stood straight, head held high to admire the Pittsburgh skyline. Jack doesn’t make a sound as he steps closer to you, discreet in his footing, careful not to disturb your moment of reflection.

“You’re in my spot.”

Looking back, he thinks his comment could pass off as reprimanding, spotting the same cues from you that recalls a version of himself he often tries to forget. The version of him that saw more men die than he can count, his past self that buried a piece of him along with his wife, the part of him that didn’t care to see another day in spite of how long he’s fought to be here anyway.

You don’t flinch when you hear Jack’s voice from behind you, tilting your head in acknowledgement and returning your focus to the buildings in front of you.

“Had to borrow it for a second. Wanted to take in the view.”

He only hums, arms reaching over the railing and clasping his hands. Leaning forward on the opposite side of you, he keeps his attention on the side of your face, observing you with keen eyes.

“Next time you’re up here, bring a drink. Really adds to the ambiance.” That got you to laugh dryly, and for a second, Jack considered it an accomplishment.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Unless you plan on joining me for that drink, considering this is your spot and all.” You turn to face him then, and the twitch of a smirk tugs at his lips, taking in your features before glancing down to the floor.

“I’ll put a pin in that for our next meet-up, kid.”

Jack was only half-serious when he said that, but your uncoordinated meetings became more consistent, the sight of Jack growing to be a welcoming one. Amongst the chaos of the Pitt, above all of the death and carnage that came through the ambulance bay every day, Jack was always there to keep you grounded in ways you didn’t know you needed. A pat on the shoulder, a hand on your lower back, a squeeze on your arm, and an expression that inaudibly asks, “You’re good?” To anyone else, they’d think he’s just being a good mentor and doctor as he always was, but you knew there was a secondary motive, not that it wasn’t reciprocated.

He made you stronger, better, and for the longest time you were okay, happy even. In a professional sense, he kept you on a tight self-care regimen, making sure you ate proper meals, slept a full 7 hours at minimum, and took supplements you wouldn’t admit made you feel better even after being more energetic and clear-headed throughout your shifts. He did you the favor of setting you up to get connected to his therapist, at least for a consultation before being referred to someone who was better equipped to handle your needs, going as far as being your sponsor if necessary.

You knew he was only looking out for you, but when the concern transitioned to desire along the way, it felt natural, comforting, safe. Jack welcomed you into his reality, made room for you in his home and his heart, told you his nightmares and the memories that haunted him while making new ones with you. He let you weave yourself around his very being and made you promise to never let go, whispering those three words without issue to cite that you belonged with him, that he wanted you here where he could love you the way you deserved.

But even Dr. Abbot couldn’t keep you safe from yourself.

He can always tell when your worst habits start to make a reappearance, when you have trouble sleeping and he finds you on the couch in the middle of the day, aimlessly watching something on the TV. You pick at your food more, no longer enthusiastic about your favorite lasagna he’s cooked for dinner, saying you’d save it for lunch at work and going to bed with a dwindling appetite.

You hide yourself from him, less receptive of his touch and affections; the kisses you returned were superficial at best, but it was better than nothing. The spark he adored was slowly dimming from your eyes, giving him a sad smile when he said he loved you, the words muted when they tumbled from your lips as if you were afraid of repeating it.

Back at the Pitt, your mask began to crack. Your laughs were minimal, your face permanently frozen and devoid of emotion, and your head tormenting itself as you strained to suppress your mood. You spend much longer on the roof during your shifts, and though he trusts you enough, he still keeps track of the number of times he spots you sneaking away and heading for the stairs. He’s told you so many times before—

“If you’re not back in 5 minutes, I’m coming up to get you.”

And Jack sticks to his word, running up to the roof and hoping he’d still find you on the other side. He always does, approaching you cautiously, talking to you in the same passive authority he uses in the ED. It does the job, bringing you into his chest and cradling the back of your head, feeling you grip onto him like he’s the only thing you had left. It does little to quell his own anxieties about your fraying state of mind when he finds you closer to the ledge every time he comes to get you.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before you fall apart, or worse.

Your shift at the Pitt was manageable for the most part until a case of a self-inflicted drug overdose came in at the wee hours of the night. An unresponsive teenager around the age of 17 came in through the ambulance bay with his parents, suspected of an extreme intake of Xanax, no reaction to pain or light, blown pupils, and weak pulse. Everyone knew there was limited time to bring them back from the brink, and the first attempt using Narcan was already unsuccessful.

The teen crashed in Trauma 1, you called for the crash cart and ordered two shocks before attempting compressions. You pumped the kid’s body full of atropine and epinephrine, cracked a few of their ribs and worked up a sweat giving compressions, but his overworked heart wouldn’t restart on its own. You kept going for another 30 minutes before Jack called it, and you noted the flatline on the heart monitor, spacing out as your ears rang and the walls closed in on you.

Jack took the responsibility of notifying the parents, suggesting you take five to cool off. When he found you in your spot, you were sitting down on the edge of the roof, feet dangling on the edge and looking down to the ground.

That was the closest he found you to the ledge.

The drive back home was quiet, the air rigid between you, but he knew well enough it wasn’t directed towards him. You didn’t bother to look at him for the entire commute, staring out into the window, counting the streetlights passing you by. Rolling into the driveway, you grabbed your work bag and made your way to the front door, Jack matching your pace behind you, reading your body language like a hawk. After unlocking the door, you were quick to walk past him and march to the bedroom, but he was faster than you, grabbing your arm and bringing you back into the foyer.

“Hey, hey. Talk to me.” He turns you to face him, one hand rubbing over your wrist and the other cupping your cheek. “I know today was hard, you don’t have to hide it from me, you know that. But please, just talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

“I just want to rinse off the day, Jack. It’s been… I’m tired, okay? Can we talk later when I’ve slept a bit? Please?” You held his gaze, his touches only unnerving you more, confused and struggling to focus. He didn’t believe you; he knew you weren’t okay, but the last thing he wanted to do was smother you when you couldn’t give him a straightforward answer.

“Alright, we’ll talk later. Go shower, I’ll make you something to eat before you sleep.” He planted a light kiss by your temple, breathing you in as if it were for the last time. “I love you.”

“I know.” It was the only thing you said, and he apprehensively let you go without hearing the sentiment returned to him, letting your silhouette disappear into the master bathroom.

It had been 40 minutes since he last saw you, and it was eerily too quiet for him to be tranquil. The hairs on the back of his neck stick up once he’s done packing away the food he made for you in hopes you’d be able to keep it down before heading off to bed. The danger senses that always protected him were firing off, and he knew you needed your space, but the urge to check up on you pestered him to the point of suffocation.

Stepping into the shared bedroom, you were nowhere to be found. The lights in the bathroom were still on, and the shower had long stopped running, but he heard the muffled sniffles, probably stifled with your hand covering your mouth.

Something wasn’t right.

“Sweetheart?” He knocks on the door, trying to get your attention. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid question, he thinks. He knows the answer is no, but when you don’t give him a response, his worry deepens.

He instantly thinks of the worse-case scenario, compartmentalizing what could be happening in the small room closed off to him. He knew from the moment you lost that patient a switch had gone off, that your subconscious roamed into the abyss you’ve been fighting to avoid. You’ve gone off the deep end, and he had to try to bring you back.

His trained ears pick up on the sound of something clinking in the sink, sharp and metallic, a hiss emitting from you followed by a restrained groan. You were in pain; something had caused you to react that way, and from the way you started to hyperventilate and cry, he can only imagine what happened.

“Baby, please. Let me in.” Jack calls out to you, reaching for the doorknob and twisting it open, but finds the door locked. He calls your name again, knocking on the door harder without trying to startle you further. “I won’t be upset with you, I promise, but I need you to open this door. You gotta let me in, or so help me, I will break it down to get to you.”

Your name tumbled out of his mouth in a plea, knuckles rasping harder against the wooden door, the knob rattling under his grip as he cursed to himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to help, of being kept in the dark while you do God knows what to yourself. Silence on the other end made his blood run cold, shoulder and head now pressed to the door, trying to find any sign of your presence on the opposite side.

Already in position to ram into the door, the click of the lock registers in his ears. Wasting no time to swing it open, his heart pounded in his ears at the display before him.

There you stood, tears streaking your face and eyes empty from the mess that was your psyche. His sight trailed lower, nostrils flaring at the sight of crimson pooling in the sink, surrounding a bloody razor. Your trembling hand swathed your wrist, the red liquid staining your palm and your fingers digging into your tainted skin in a poor attempt to manage the flow.

“I’m sorry…” You mumbled, your bottom lip wobbling as you refused to meet his eye.

He didn’t react or think about anything else; his sole focus was on you.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but he stayed collected for your sake. Coming into the bathroom, he held you by the hips, eyes anchored to your face because he knows he’ll lose his shit the instant he looks at your arm. “I’m going to sit you down for a second, alright? Just breathe with me, I’m right here.”

As much as your body could in its state of shock, Jack maneuvered you to sit on the toilet seat, keeping your eyes stuck on the tile. You could hear him moving around you, grabbing a boxed item from the cabinet and running the sink for a bit. Your breath lumped in your throat, lungs tight and wheezing on every exhale. It was a blur how you got to the kitchen, your feet moving on their own as you floated outside of your body, your cognizance wandering to anywhere but here. 

“Let me see your wrist, honey.” Jack advised, his voice unwavering despite the constriction of his pupils disclosed his panicked nature.

Carefully, you revealed your injuries to the veteran, blood streaming down onto the sterile procedure underpad he placed your arm on. He sighed in slight relief, thankful the two wounds were horizontal like the rest of the faded scars instead of the opposite, not deep enough for immediate concern, but you’d still need stitches.

“They’re not too deep, but I need to stitch you up so they heal, okay?” He was talking, you think he was, and despite not fully processing his mouth moving, you nodded anyway.

Placing the lightest kiss on your forehead, Jack promptly got to work. Opening the tactical first aid kit he kept in the bathroom, stacked to the brim with medical supplies, he found some gloves and got his station ready. He treated you like any other case in the ED, holding off on everything else going on in his head until you weren’t hurt anymore.

As serious as he can be, he numbed out the area for your comfort and flushed out the cuts for better visibility, taking hold of the suture and piercing the curved end to your skin. You didn’t jerk your arm away as he did so, looping the metal hook into your flesh a few more times before neatly tying the end and cutting the rest off. He double-checked to make sure the wound would heal properly with minimal issues and wrapped your wrist up in some gauze and a medical-grade bandage.

You were silent the entire time, the tension thick enough to cut through. He was figuring out the best approach to this conversation, to make sure he wouldn���t push you farther away.

“How’s the wrapping?” He started off with that, something easy for you to answer.

“It’s fine.” You shrugged, thumbing over the bandage. “Can’t feel anything.”

“Good, that’s good.” He replies, maintaining his analytical gaze on you. He plotted what exactly he could say, the right sequence of words that would put you at ease, but you got to it before he could.

“Jack…” He scanned your distressed features, never taking his eyes off of you. “Are you upset with me?”

“Why would I be upset with you?” The thought of your priority being his reaction to your behavior in such a high-stress environment ached him. “I couldn’t be upset at you. Not for this, not for anything. You understand that, right?”

“I just… I feel so fucking stupid. For doing this, after being clean for so damn long.” You stared down at your wrists with sunken eyes, the self-deprecating thoughts banging around in your skull doing nothing to calm you down, eyes stinging with residual tears that never seemed to stop falling.

He uttered your name softly, reaching out to hold your hands as if you were made of porcelain, making an effort to dodge the new bandages covering your wrist.

“You’re not weak, or any less deserving of a life worth living for repeating old patterns. We’re not perfect, and when your mind is your worst enemy, it’s a constant battlefield up there. You think I didn’t struggle the same way before? I still do sometimes, and I’m sure if there was a remedy to get rid of all of the bullshit in our heads, we would’ve taken it a long time ago. What matters is you’re still here, breathing, talking. You’re still here.”

A pregnant pause followed his words, your grip tightening around his, blankly looking at his digits and mindlessly rubbing over his skin.

“I’m tired, Jack. I’m tired of it all, of the noise, of constantly needing to fight everything, to find a reason to keep going.” The tears still pebbled at the corner of your eye, lids lined with red and irritated from the emotional turmoil you’ve been working through. “It’s all becoming too much, and nothing was working, so I just…needed something to release the pressure. I don’t know how much more of this I can take, and that scares me. I’m at my limit, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

It killed him to know you’ve been carrying so much pain. He already knows of your background, of your prior attempts, and the skeletons hidden in your closet. Jack understands the cards that have been stacked against you from the very beginning of your existence, chasing a calm reality you’ll never experience; the closest you got to that was being in a partnership with him. Jack loved you with every part of his soul, he’s told you countless times. He hoped his love was enough to nullify your suffering, but even he knew there was no remedy for being your worst enemy.

“You don’t need to have it all figured out right now, and you don’t have to tell me everything you’re thinking or are choosing to forget. But just know, I love you, and I want to be able to love you in any capacity while you’re here with me.” His voice grew taut as he spoke, the faintest tell that he was being strong for your sake.

“This doesn’t change that, and whatever comes, I will help you through it. You’re worth the fight, you always have been, and you’ve been fighting for your place here for so long. I’m not letting you go, not that easily, and I won’t let you give up on yourself either. You don’t have to do this alone, not anymore.”

His words struck a chord with you, feeling them reverberate through your body, shuddering as he said everything you needed to hear. You sat together in the kitchen, letting his declaration to you hang in the air and marinate, breaking the silence after some time.

“Thank you.” Your gratitude for Jack’s selflessness goes without saying, the hazel eyes that had been drawn to you from the start were kind as they always were, warm and full of adoration you’ve never felt with or from anyone else.

“Always.” His head tilts behind him, gesturing to the fridge. “Made something in case you still wanted a bite.”

“I don’t think I can stomach anything right now, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, I already wrapped it up in case you changed your mind.” Jack stayed quiet, pondering for a beat before talking again. “I’ll ask the other residents to cover your shifts for the rest of the week, and I’ll switch out with Robby so I can stay here with you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You didn’t want to be any more of a burden than you already were.

“I know I don’t, but I want to, I feel like I need to. We’ll just take a few days, recuperate, get you out of the house for some fresh air and do something together, maybe coordinate next steps. How does that sound?”

For the first time in what felt like weeks, that spark that slipped away appeared in your eyes again. It was faint and fleeting, but you were still there underneath all of that baggage.

“It’s much better than being in the Pitt. I don’t want Robby on my ass for not showing up for a while.” He chuckles dryly, shaking his head in agreement.

“He’ll understand, trust me, and he loves being there with all of the rookies. Plus, the old man owes me, he won’t mind.”

Your shoulders dropped from their stiff position the entire night, your body language now more relaxed than before as the exhaustion from everything started to kick in.

“I think I want to go to bed now, sleep all of this off.”

“I’m right behind you.” He didn’t debate with you or ask for more answers to his questions; there was no need if he knew you'd come to him when you were ready to talk.

Packing away the rest of his medical gear and disposing of the hazardous material properly, he made sure the rest of the kitchen was cleared before meeting you in the bedroom. You stood awkwardly in front of the bathroom, the same place where the offense took place, losing yourself in the constricting tiled room.

“Do you want me to help you?” He lingered, as he usually did, and you’ve never been more grateful for his consistent support.

“Please.”

He put the first aid kit back where he found it and searched around the bedroom, finding his overworn Army shirt you claimed was your favorite. He approached you with a cool and collected attitude, gently asking for permission before he slipped your current t-shirt off of your head and dressed you in the olive green cotton, caressing the side of your jaw affectionately.

Letting you go to slip under the sheets and claim your side of the bed, he sat on the edge of the mattress to take off his prosthetic, placing it against the bedside table for when he woke up. Tossing the duvet cover over him and filling the empty space beside you, he angled his body towards you, head digging into the pillow under him.

You shifted to him in an instant, nestling your face into his chest. The scent of him hit your nose, overpowering your senses and soothing your nerves, leaning against him with your full body weight and seeking out his warmth. A thick arm shielded you from the rest of the world, winding around your waist and bringing you closer, resting comfortably on your backside. Your breathing matched pace with his, mimicking his inhales and exhales as he coached you to fully settle.

“Jack?” The hum he gave you vibrated underneath your cheek. “I love you, and I hope you know that, even if I don’t say it all the time.”

“I know. I love you too.” He kisses your hairline again, your face tilting upwards to meet his lips, soft and sweet, and just enough pressure to reassure him you felt the same. “You have me, sweetheart. Always.”

“Tell me a story. Want to hear you while I sleep.” You requested shyly, throwing your free arm over his waist, stroking the arch of his spine under his t-shirt.

As he retold another memory from his past, a fond one from his childhood, while his hand rubbed the back of your head, kneading the nape of your neck and running lines over your scalp. His words trailed off as your eyes fluttered closed, your hand ceasing its movement over his back, falling limp along with the rest of your body. You fell asleep long before his story finished, but Jack didn’t close his eyes just yet, he couldn’t.

It was in the stillness of the night that his trepidation creeped up to the surface, his mind running a mile a minute, overrun by all the protocols of the worst-case scenarios and their proper reactions. When it came to you, the same rules never applied, his sense of reason always flew out of the window. He released a quivering breath he didn’t realize he was holding; the thought of losing you, of not being there to save you, haunted him in his sleep. He never thought a part of his nightmare would manifest into reality, but he knows this was more than just him.

Whatever came next, however you wanted to handle this, he vowed to stick beside you, no matter the outcome. He was determined to prevent you from falling through the cracks, not if he could help it. You were worth the heartbreak and the sorrow; he’ll share the burden of your existence with you if it means he can keep loving you for a bit longer if you’ll let him.

In any way, Jack is here to stay like the loyal soldier he is, and he’s not planning on letting you go anytime soon.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[hyprfixate]

magnum opus :: [H.H] x reader

read on AO3

summary: you get a call at 3AM from a number you should've blocked ages ago. you subsequently make three mistakes.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

tropes: exes to lovers, artist!hyunjin, artist x muse, grapheme-color and emotional synesthesia, angst-to-smut, post breakup yearning, hurt-comfort kinda

smut warning: semi drunk sex, dry humping, desperate hyunjin (like, very desperate), begging, biting, pussy eating, slow, needy sex, unprotected sex (use condoms ppl), slightly dubious consent at first, vaginal fingering

content warning: hyunjin has a drinking problem, mentions of past arguments and previous toxic behaviors

word count: 10.9k

author's note: this was supposed to be another plotless smut but I couldn't help myself lol. also i did not edit this. if you see typos no you didn't. enjoy!

A sound penetrates your subconscious, worming its way into your dream until you blink awake, eyes dry and not yet used to the darkness of your room. It takes a second to orient yourself, to recognize that the sound is real and coming from your phone. The digital clock by your charger reads 3:24 AM.

Had you been more awake, you would recognize the ringtone, or would have seen the caller ID. This is mistake number one of the night.

You swipe accept on the call, eyes still blurry and thick with sleep. You clear your throat, which proves useless when your words still come out croaky and garbled.

“Hello?”

“Hi, pretty girl.”

It feels like ice has been doused down your spine. You shoot straight up in bed, the hairs at the nape of your neck standing fully at attention. 

You know this voice. 

It's an entirely unique voice. A voice splattered with colors and textures you can't begin to comprehend. But even if it weren't, you know it would still be etched in your brain forever. Your hand shakes as you pull the phone from your ear to glance at the contact name.

‼️DO NOT ANSWER (Hyunjin)‼️

Oh fuck.

This has to be a dream.

You hear his voice crackle through the speakers one more time, his words unclear with the distance you created. Hyunjin shouldn't be calling you, and you certainly shouldn't have answered. It would be wise to hang up, to block his number like you thought about doing so many times. Instead, when you hear more crackling as he continues speaking, you hold your breath as you put the phone back to your ear.

This is mistake number two.

“-- you there, love?”

You swallow thickly, willing your mind to wake up faster so you can fully comprehend what is happening. You feel like you're floating. Or drowning.

"I didn't expect you to pick up."

Your heart hammers in your chest.

"Are you okay?" You ask after a few beats of silence. It's the only thing you can think to ask.

You hear a deep hum of contentment. “Yeah. Better now.”

The air in the room suddenly feels too cold. You should hang up. You need to hang up. But your fingers refuse to uncurl from the death grip you have on your phone. “Why… why are you calling me?”

You hear the distant sounds of the city on his end of the line, padded by his breathing. It sounds labored. Manual, like he's reminding himself every so often to inhale and exhale, too busy chasing a fading feeling. You could recognize that specific pattern of his breath anywhere. You close your eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

"Are you drunk?"

"No," he murmurs. "Maybe. I don't know."

That translates to a yes.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers. This is why you don't answer his calls. This is why you should've blocked him months ago. You feel the tension of the moment fizzle into nothing but annoyance. "It's four in the morning. Why did you call me?"

Hyunjin lets out a soft whine, his breath picking up.

"I miss you."

His words land like a punch to your chest, knocking the wind out of you. A simple string of words in that pitiful, whining tone of his, and you already feel like putty in his hands.

You hate this. You hate him.

You want to scream at him. Tell him that this is bullshit. He's bullshit. That you've been trying so hard to stay away from him. But your heart is pounding so hard that you can feel it in your throat.

"No you don't,” you decide to be civil. “You're just drunk."

"But I know what I'm saying."

The civility only lasts so long. “Oh, fuck off," you breathe. There is no real power behind it, but it's better than nothing. "Don't say stuff like that."

He starts to speak, but a nearby train cuts him off. You think about taking the opportunity to hang up, but as much as you don't want to hear what he says next, you're powerless to stop yourself from listening.

"I missed your voice so much, pretty girl." The laziness of his tongue makes the words sound like something entirely new. "I missed hearing you say my name. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you say my name? Please?"

His words are slurred and heavy. You shouldn't be entertaining this. He won't remember this conversation in the morning, too busy with his extravagant artist lifestyle and the swarms of other girls that want his attention. You'll be a distant memory floating around his hippocampus with nothing to tether to, like an itch he will never find.

"Why?"

He lets out a shaky breath, the undercurrent of a whine coating his tone. "Please, baby." The desperation in his voice fills your chest and makes it squeeze tight. "Say it for me?"

You are weak to his voice, but the distant, angrier part of you refuses to let it affect you. He doesn't get to just call you in the middle of the night and ask you to talk to him. Not when he's had months to do that and hasn't bothered.

"No."

You hear him swallow thickly, a slight shift in his breathing as he lets out a short, humorless laugh. You wait for him to speak again, but you're met with nothing but silence. It stretches long enough that you wonder if he hung up, but then—

"I miss you so much, angel."

Six words.

It's only six words, but they hurt worse than anything else he could've said to you. You don't know if it's because you think he doesn't mean them, or because you hope that he does.

Regardless, emotion swells so quickly in your chest, you feel like you're going to be sick. You can't do this. You can't keep letting him do this to you.

"I have to go," you say finally, voice trembling.

"Don't hang up." He sounds panicked. "Please don't hang up. I need to hear your voice."

Your face feels hot, the back of your nose beginning to burn. You will not let him hear you cry. "No, Hy–” You stop yourself. “I can't do this with you anymore."

"Please, baby. Please. I need you. I can't stop thinking about you. I miss you."

That damned phrase again. Your breath stutters in your chest, words coming out softer than you intend. "You don't mean that."

"I do, pretty girl. I promise."

You shake your head as if he could see you. You wish he could see you through the phone— to see what exactly he's done to you, how he destroyed you. You know he doesn't mean any of this, that they're just the chosen lies from tonight's bottle of vodka.

There's shuffling on the line for a second. Then—

"Can I see you. Please?"

You close your eyes, the tears you tried so hard to fight spilling over and sliding down your face until they make fat plopping noises on your sheets. No. He can't see you. You can't do this with him anymore. You need to hang up. This has to stop.

"Okay."

And this is your final, biggest mistake.

—

You're not sure why, but you don't believe he'll actually show up.

You've played this game with him before, right after the two of you broke up. You remember the anxious anticipation whirling in your stomach while you waited for him one night, and how the first rays of the sunrise curdled it in your stomach. You suppose his way with words was what made him a good artist anyway—there is no surprise there.

So when you hear two raps at your front door, there is some surprise there.

You wipe the tears from your face quickly, running a hand through your hair and praying it isn't as wild as it feels. You glance in the mirror by your front door, giving yourself a once-over to make sure you're presentable enough, but you shake your head and stop yourself. It's not like he hasn't seen you at your worst before.

When you open the door, Hyunjin is standing in front of you, illuminated only by the soft glow of the street lamps on your block. He looks exhausted.

"Hi, angel."

You blink slowly, suddenly regretting every decision that brought you to this moment.

"You're here."

He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "You look tired. Did I wake you up?"

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his question, stepping aside to let him in. "Yes. It's four in the morning. Obviously you did."

He has the decency to at least look sheepish as he stumbles past you, looking around your apartment with a faraway expression on his face. You can smell the alcohol on him. It makes you incredibly dizzy.

He toes his shoes off and you watch him quietly, something stirring in your chest. He remembers. You didn't have to remind him about the no-shoe rule.

The realization sends a course of emotion through you that you cannot parse, so instead, you choose to focus on shutting and locking the door behind you.

It's been a full six months since Hyunjin has been in your apartment. It may not be that long in the grand scheme of things, but the two of you used to spend almost every waking moment together, especially when you were dating. You had grown accustomed to having him around so much, his absence left an aching hole in your life, your home, your bed.

When you gain the courage to turn around, you see that he's standing at the threshold of your living room. Hyunjin looks like he belongs here, yet somehow he also doesn't. This isn't the same Hyunjin from your final weeks together—the one that you screamed at until you couldn't breathe. This isn't the same Hyunjin that, in the middle of your last fight, pressed himself against the front door, caging you in your own apartment while you cried and begged him to let you leave.

That Hyunjin was different. He had meticulously styled hair and sunglasses that cost more than your rent. He was swimming in his quick rise to success, riding the wave and content to let you drown under him.

You look at present-Hyunjin, who's now peeling off the hood of his oversized sweater. There are no sunglasses.  no neatly styled hair. They are replaced by a blonde buzzcut, and watery, red eyes that cannot stay focused.

It would be easy to see him as a stranger, an intrusion, but you can't. It just feels like he's come home.

You're staring for so long, you don't realize until he looks over at you from his awkward stance by the couch.

"Are you gonna come over here?"

You take a few steps toward him, but not too close. You are a flame and he is a gas leak. You will both explode on contact.

You choose, instead, to play offense. "What are you doing here?"

He looks around your living room, fingers twitching like they're begging for something to hold. He won't meet your gaze. After a bit, he lets out a deep exhale.

"I don't know."

"Why did you call me?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know anything?”

He glances at you, his already watery eyes looking dejected and tearful, and your heart stutters in your chest. You wish you could hold steady to your hate for him. Sometimes it slips through your fingers like sand, leaving you scrambling to catch the pieces. Other times it's solid as glass. You wish it was always like that. You want to shove it in his face and let him suffocate under the weight of it.

But that look. The tears, the pain. You recognize it. It's a mirror of the same look you gave him when he broke up with you: heartbreak, rejection, confusion. 

You can't do this. You're going to cry. Or pass out. He shouldn't have come.

You open your mouth to say just that when he turns fully toward you, closing the gap a bit more. He's always towered over you– he's six feet tall and you're barely 5’1 on a good day– yet you find the intrusion surprising for a moment. You trail your sight all the way up to gaze into those red, unfocused eyes.

"You never say my name anymore," he says, the slur in his speech making a subtle appearance. He's wobbly on his feet. "Never on the phone, and not once since I've been here. Why?"

The question takes you by surprise. "What?"

"My name," he presses. He takes a step toward you, his presence pushing you one step back. "Why don't you say it anymore?"

You take another step back as he advances. You're not scared of him, you never could be, but the closer he gets the faster your heart beats. He's staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before, not even when you were together.

"I don't know," you echo. The lie is bitter in your mouth.

"Yes you do." He looks at you with those unfocused eyes, hurt flashing across his features. He takes another step. "You do know. You used to say it all the time, like my name was..." He trails off, his fingers twitching at his sides again, like he's trying to grasp something invisible. "Like it was yours."

You take a final step back, your spine hitting the wall. Hyunjin doesn't stop until he's a single step away from you, his chest so close to yours that you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"Don't,” you warn.

"Say it," he pleads. His hands are shaking, and you're beginning to recognize that it's not the effects of the alcohol, but a raw desperation. He's literally shaking with need. "Please. Just once."

You exhale slowly through your nose, willing your anger to come to the forefront. You feel the start of it in your bones, boiling hot and ready to lash out.“Why would I say it now? You only listened when it was convenient for you.”

His brow furrows, confusion warring with the lingering haze of alcohol. "What are you talking about?"

The words feel hot like bile in your stomach, the heat of your anger boiling everything in you. He's too close. You're getting too angry. You should stop now, kick him out and block his number. 

But Hyunjin closes the gap, his shaking hand reaching to cup your face. He barely connects with your skin before you feel the explosion.

"Don't touch me," you bark, jerking away from his hand. The hurt that flashes across his face only fuels your anger more. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to-- to come here, drunk and desperate, pretending like you care about what my voice means to you–"

"I do care," he insists, his voice cracking. "I've always—"

"No, you don't," The words tear from your throat, sharp and raw. You put both hands on his chest and shove him away from you with all of your strength. He stumbles back, but he's still not far enough.

"You stopped caring the minute that painting made you famous. The minute everyone wanted to know about the hot new painter with synesthesia and raw talent.”

It’s the first time you've said the words out loud. They taste like acid on your lips, and you hate that, but not more than how much you hate the way your eyes burn with tears.

You let the weight of your words settle between the two of you like a boulder in the ocean. You watch as Hyunjin grimaces, and internal war showing on his face before he lets out a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face and turning to take several steps away from you.

You don't want to feel bad for him. He deserves this. He deserves every ounce of pain you're feeling. 

You remember that conversation you had over a year ago, tangled in his messy sheets with your head on his bare chest. Your relationship was still new, still tender. The honeymoon phase seemed neverending.

As you laid there, his heartbeat was, at first, a steady pulse against your ear, but the longer you two basked in the afterglow, the faster it got.

You remember sitting up after a minute, hands cupping his face in concern. "What is it, Hyun?"

"I... I have something to tell you," he murmured.

He told you about his synesthesia, how it was his inspiration for pursuing art, but also an insecurity he struggled to coexist with. You listened to him, comforted him, encouraged him, loved him. Told him how amazing he was and how every little quirk of his just made him better.

A few months later, he was kissing you awake and saying he had a surprise for you. When you walked into his living room, you saw the most gorgeous painting you'd ever seen-- a canvas segmented into 4 sections, each section similar in their subject but distinct in composition.

"It's, uh. It's you," he explained, ears burning red at the tips. "Not a portrait of you, but this is how it looks when you say my name. When you're sleepy, when you're laughing, when you're upset with me, and when you... when we--"

He didn't need to finish his sentence. You knew.

It was you that encouraged him to submit it to a contest a couple weeks after that. It was you who picked out his outfit for his first gallery showing. It was you who said his name over and over the night after while he showed you just how he got the inspiration for that last panel.

And yet.

"You cast me aside."

You wipe at the tears that have traitorously slipped from your eyes. "I was behind you through all of that, and then you let the sounds of the attention you got become louder than me. I didn't mean anything to you anymore."

Silence stretches between you like a chasm. Hyunjin's shoulders rise and fall with each labored breath, his back still turned to you. The air in the apartment feels suffocating, thick with everything that's been said and has yet to be said. 

You don't even know why you're doing this, why you're bothering to explain anything to him when he's drunk. It'll be gone from his mind in the morning, and then what will have been the point?

You close your eyes and let your head thud against the wall. “Look. You should–”

"I never meant to make you feel invisible," he says.

You take a steadying breath. 

He carries on, his voice rough in the silence. "It was intoxicating. The praise, the intrigue, the attention-- I was seeing so many colors and shapes I'd never seen before. I'd never had so many people find it– find me interesting. Or worth something.

Your voice is small. “You had me.”

He turns back to you. There are tears streaked on his face, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes makes your heart twist in your chest. “I know. But I got lost in it– in the attention. I was drowning in so many colors that meant nothing because they weren't yours. But I didn't realize that until you weren't around anymore."

You want to stay angry. You want to hold onto the hurt that's kept you safe these past months. But seeing him like this— almost as broken as you'd been feeling —cracks something open inside of you.

"Do you know what the worst part is?” At his silence, you continue. “I was, and still am, so proud of you.” Your voice is quieter now, more tired than angry. "Even when it hurt, even when it felt like you used me. I was proud."

Hyunjin opens his mouth to say something, but the words die on his lips. You watch him swallow, hard, the deliberate bob of his Adam's apple catching your gaze. In everything he does, he looks like art. It's maddening.

He clears his throat, finally finding his voice. "Can I... can I show you something?"

You narrow your eyes at him, confused. "What?"

He fidgets in his spot for a second before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. After a moment of scrolling, he turns the screen toward you. It's a photo of a canvas—clearly a work in progress, layers of color bleeding into each other in abstract patterns.

"I've been trying to paint again," he says softly. "Ever since we broke up. But nothing's been working. The colors are wrong. Dead."

He flicks to the next picture. It's a similarly unfinished painting. "It gets easier to ignore how wrong they look after a few shots. Sometimes they move around like before. But it never lasts, because it's not you.”

The confession hangs in the air between the two of you. Unlike the heaviness of your earlier words, Hyunjin's float above you two like a balloon, hoisting the last of your irritation away with it. You see the truth of his words in the muddy browns and grays that dominate the canvas, so different from the vibrant explosions of his earlier work. It feels, painfully, like he's lost a piece of his soul.

You can't look at it anymore. You glance up at him instead.

He looks more nervous now than he did when you opened the door. It reminds you of your first ever date, and how he tried to hide his nerves with a devastating smile and charm. The memory chips at a hardened part of your heart.

You've missed him.

You've been so, so tired of missing him.

"Why did you come here,” you breathe. The question is softer this time. More genuine.

He puts his phone back in his pocket, gaze locked on you. Beneath the haze of whatever buzz he still has, you see a glimpse of your Hyunjin, the one who made you laugh so he could paint the bright yellow rays of sunshine that exploded in his vision. The one who left you sketches of your sleeping form if he had to leave before you woke up. 

The one who thought the smallest pieces of you were his magnum opus.

Perhaps that's why, when he takes a step closer, you don't move away this time.

"Because I'm selfish," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because I miss you. Because I need to see it again– to feel it. Even if it's the last time."

He takes another step, the height of him caging you against the wall. His eyes search yours, desperate and hungry. "Please, angel. I am begging you. Say my name. Let me see it again."

The request vibrates through you, from the tips of your ears down to your toes. It's maddening how easily he can awaken something you've tried so hard to bury.

You know this is dangerous territory—that giving in now could shatter you all over again.

But his proximity is intoxicating, the familiar scent of him filling your senses. Your body remembers what your mind wants to forget—the way he used to worship you, the way your voice could bring him to his knees in more ways than one.

"This doesn't fix anything," you whisper, even as you feel yourself weakening.

"I know," he breathes, close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell the lingering alcohol on him. "But God, I miss you. I miss the way you light up my world."

Your back presses against the wall as he crowds into your space, not touching, but close enough that the air between you crackles with tension. He puts his hands on either side of your head, caging you in so that all you can look at is him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with need and something deeper, more desperate.

"Say it, pretty girl."

You let his voice be the final push over the edge.

"Hyunjin," you breathe, and you watch as his entire body shudders in response.

His eyes flutter shut, plush lips parting slightly as a soft moan slips out. He's trembling now, hands twitching on the wall near your head as though still fighting the urge to touch you. "Again."

"Hyunjin," you repeat. Your voice is stronger now. Your heart is racing, stomach twisting with nerves and desire. It's been so long since you've said his name like this, and the effect it has on him is beyond intoxicating.

He whimpers, leaning in closer until his forehead rests against yours. "Fuck, I missed that," he murmurs. His breath is hot against your skin. You feel the brush of his low cut hair against your forehead. "I've never seen it like this before. Please, baby. Again. I need more."

The desperation in his voice makes you weak, and you find yourself sliding your hands up, up, up, until your fingers curl into his fuzz, tugging gently at the wisps of hair at the base of his skull. The reaction is immediate—Hyunjin grunts, low and guttural, his hips bucking forward against yours.

"Again," he pants. "Please. Please."

You drag your nails along his scalp, pulling another groan from deep within. You brush your noses together.

"My Hyunjin," you whisper, right against his lips.

He surges forward, crushing his mouth to yours in a hot, bruising kiss. You cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he licks into your mouth. It's wet, messy, and desperate-- a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you both breathless. You can't remember the last time anyone has kissed you this hard, this passionately—like he's trying to crawl inside you and never come back out.

He tastes like vodka and cheap beer, but underneath that is something that is so innately Hyunjin that you feel yourself melting, giving in to his touch and his mouth and his greedy hands. He shifts, slotting a thigh between your legs and flexing up into you. It pulls a moan from your throat that he swallows hungrily.

"Can I touch you?" He breathes his words right into your mouth.

You don’t hesitate. "Yes. Hyun, please."

His hands drop from the wall to the curve of your waist, sliding down until he has a bruising grip on your hips. His movements aren't as clumsy as you expect, but there's a hesitancy and nervousness that makes everything more enticing.

He uses his grip on your hips to grind you against his thigh. His movements are slow, deliberate. Your bodies are pressed flush together, his mouth still on yours, kissing you like you're the only thing keeping him on this plane of existence.

He bites down on your bottom lip and you whine his name right into his mouth. He hisses out a strangled sound before he breaks away, trailing hot kisses down your jaw, the column of your throat, and sucking a bruise into the soft, sensitive skin behind your ear. You're a mess of moans and whines and incoherent, half-finished sentences.

"God, you sound so fucking good," he murmurs into your neck. "Missed that too. Missed how pretty you sound for me.” He nips at your earlobe. “C'mon. Sing for me, angel."

He presses his thigh up into you more, the friction sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. You feel the length of him, hard heavy and hot, through his sweatpants. You dig your nails into his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping you. 

"Oh. Fuck, Hyunjin."

His hips buck involuntarily, a grunt slipping from him. He kisses his way back to your mouth. "That's it, my love. That's it." 

"Hyunie." You're panting into his mouth now, words coming out in broken gasps. It's overwhelming, all the sensations– his hands, his mouth, his thigh. You try to hold back your next words, but the building pressure in your stomach disintegrates the barriers in your brain. They come pouring out before you can stop yourself. 

"I missed you so much.”

The confession seems to do something to him. He curses and ruts up against your leg, chasing the contact, the friction. You're both breathing heavily, the space between you nonexistent, moving with a practiced ease that's only born from being familiar with each other. He knows your body like he knows art, like it's a medium for him to mold and shape into whatever he wants.

"Wanna paint you," he huffs out when you moan again. He drags his teeth along the length of your throat. "Want you to see the colors you make for me."

“Tell me.” You drag your nails along the nape of his neck. “What does it look like?”

He moves his thigh up, the sharp movement making you gasp and drop your head onto his shoulder.

"That," he pants, "That one is white. Soft on the edges like feathers. It feels like cotton in my ears."

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, his hips rutting against you with urgency. You can't help the moan that slips past your lips, and you swear his grip tightens, his breath hitching.

"Fuck," he breathes. "And that-- that one is hot. It's like rich red. Like the sun. It tastes sweet. Tastes like you.”

You whine into his neck, the combination of his words and the movement of his thigh making the heat coil tightly in your core. You're so close, right at the edge of your orgasm. You know you should stop-- that this is a dangerous line you're crossing-- but your body aches for him in a way it never will for anyone else.

"Come on. Cum for me, angel.” His voice is ragged, raw. "I wanna see it. Let me see it, please." 

And, well, you have never been able to deny him anything.

You tip over the edge, pleasure shooting through your body like a spark. Your orgasm hits you so hard that your vision goes white around the edges, a broken cry of his name spilling from your lips.

Hyunjin groans and ruts against you harder, faster. "Fuck, yes, that's it. Just like that, baby." 

He kisses you again, swallowing up every noise you make while he lets you grind your way through the aftershocks. His hands roam their way around your body, his nimble fingers slipping under your shirt to trace patterns on your skin.

You come down slowly, breathing hard into his mouth. When he's sure you've ridden out the last of your orgasm, he pulls back, eyes glassy and still a bit unfocused. His gaze is locked on yours as he slides his hands down your body, slipping a hand into the waistband of your shorts and moving to cup your ass in both hands.

Some of your wits return to you. You find the hairs at the nape of his neck again, dragging your nails against him gently. "Hyun," you breathe. "Hyun, you're drunk. We should stop."

"No," he whines. There's no aggression in his movements, just pure want. He tugs at your ass again, pressing his hips into yours. "Please, baby. I need to feel you."

He leans forward again, kissing down your jaw to your neck. The brush of his buzzcut against your face makes you shiver, but you don't pull away. Instead, you press a kiss to his temple, then another, and another, until you're kissing the shell of his ear.

"You'll change your mind in the morning," you murmur. The thought doesn't sting like you thought it would. It just seems like a fact. “Let's stop now.”

It takes some effort, but you manage to gently untangle yourself from him. You put a hand on his chest, not exactly pushing him but enough to signal a need for distance between you. He relents easily, stepping back and giving you space to breathe.

You take the opportunity to stare at him for a moment, taking in the sight of him: frazzled hair, blown-out pupils, kiss-swollen lips, and an erection straining painfully against his sweatpants. It's a sight that has your body singing for him all over again.

He looks lost. Desperate. Like you're the only thing keeping him together. Yesterday, you would balk at the thought of that, but now it makes your heart soften in your chest. You try to remember a time when you weren't weak for this man and come up short.

You sigh and reach out, resting your hand on his arm, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin. "Come on, Hyunie," you murmur. "You obviously can't go home. Let's get you to bed."

He follows you down the hallway to your bedroom like a lost puppy, fingers loosely tangled with yours. When you flick on the bedside lamp, the soft glow illuminates the space that used to be so familiar to him. He stands there, awkward, until you turn down the comforter and sit on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to you.

"Do you want me to sleep here?" he asks, his voice small.

You nod. "I'll take the couch."

His hand tightens around yours immediately. "No." His voice is small, fragile. "Stay. Please."

You close your eyes, summoning strength from somewhere deep inside you. "Hyunjin, I don't think—"

"I won't touch you," he rushes to say, desperation creeping back into his tone. "I promise. I just... I can't be alone right now. Please don't make me be alone."

The plea strikes something painful in your chest. You've spent months trying to convince yourself that Hyunjin was fine without you—thriving, even. That he'd moved on to bigger, better things. But the man standing before you now, with bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, is far from fine. 

"Okay," you relent, because you're weak and tired and overwhelmed from the events of tonight. 

When he slides under the blanket, there's a safe distance between you. Not as vast as it's been the past six months, but a tangible space nonetheless. You lie there on your side, staring at him, wondering if this is what it feels like to drown. He stares back at you, and you watch the redness of his eyes dissipate, his body relaxing under the weight of your gaze. You can't even find it in you to be angry, but you try. You really do.

He looks at you with those glassy eyes and a soft smile. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.

You feel the anger slip through your fingers.

"You're drunk," you whisper back.

"I know."

You're not sure who moves first, but you find yourself closing the distance between you, your head tucked under his chin and your arm slung over his torso. He's warm and solid beneath you, and you find yourself melting into his embrace.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and you can hear the steady beat of his heart in his chest. You close your eyes, focusing on the rhythm, letting it lull you to sleep.

"Goodnight, pretty girl," he murmurs.

You're asleep before you can respond.

—

Sunlight filters through your curtains, painting warm stripes across your face. You stir, your consciousness returning to you in fragmented pieces. The first thing you register is the coolness of the sheets next to you. The second is the ache in your chest.

You open your eyes, staring at the empty space where Hyunjin had been.

Had.

He's gone.

The pillow still bears the impression of his head, the ghost of his presence lingering in the sheets in the form of his expensive cologne. You reach out, rubbing a bit of the sheet between your fingers, finding it cold to the touch.

Of course he left. What were you expecting?

You're not sure how long you lie there, staring at the ceiling, but it's long enough for the tears to come. They slip down the sides of your face and into your hair, leaving wet stains on the pillow as everything from last night comes back to you: the desperation of his voice on the phone, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, his breath hot on your neck as he begged and pleaded for you to bathe his world in color again. It all felt real, so urgent in the midnight hour.

But morning has a wicked way of washing everything clean, the sober light revealing every mistake in detail.

You wish you could be angry. You wish you could feel anything other than the pain that's splitting your chest in two. You wish you could hate him.

You press the heels of your palms against your eyes in an attempt to stall the tears before they get worse. This is exactly why you should've blocked him, why you shouldn't have let him in or slept beside him like nothing changed between the two of you.

"Stupid," You murmur. "I'm so fucking stupid."

A familiar weight settles in your gut, the same one your carried for weeks when he first left-- a noxious mix of anger, embarrassment, and grief. You thought you'd finally shed it, but here it is again, through no fault but your own.

You drop your hands from your face and glance at the clock, which tells you it's a bit past 11am. He's back at his fancy apartment by now, already forgetting the things he whispered in your skin. You let out a humorless snort, imagining that he's painting, finally able to put colors together properly after using you for inspiration.

You're about to drag your pity party to the kitchen when you hear it-- the faint squeak of your bathroom sink turning on.

Your eyes snap in that direction instantly. For a moment, you don’t hear anything else. Then–

Splashing. Someone is washing their face.

He stayed.

You freeze, heart suddenly pounding against your chest. You can hear the water continuing to slosh around for a second, then it shuts off.

More silence, just for a second, then the unmistakable padding of feet on tile.

The en suite door swings open. Hyunjin materializes in the door frame wearing the same clothes from last night. His hair catches the morning light like a halo and his face is freshly washed. His eyes are no longer glassy, even though they're rimmed with the telltale shadows of a hangover. When he sees you sitting up in bed, he pauses, hovering in the doorway as though he's unsure if he's still allowed in.

The two of you hold eye contact for a moment. It feels like forever, but you know it can't be more than a second or two. It doesn't matter how long, really. It's still too long. Long enough to make the ache inside you bloom until your entire chest is suffocating under its weight. Long enough to realize how much you still want him and need to keep him in this space that was once yours and his. Long enough to want to reach out across time and space and mold his edges into something that belongs solely to you—that only you can recognize. Something different and yet exactly the same.

"Hi," he says.

The breath is knocked out of you all at once. 

"You're still here," you breathe. You feel a new wave of tears behind your eyes. You think it might be from relief.

Something flashes across his face quickly-- hurt, maybe, or understanding. "Yeah." His voice is soft. "I told you I wouldn't leave again."

Did he say that? You don't remember. You can't exactly think over the pounding of your heart in your ears. 

The words hang in the air anyway, a fragile bridge stretching across the space between you. It feels precarious, like one wrong move will send all of it crashing down. You scan his face for any hint of deception, for a flicker of the old Hyunjin that prioritized his rising fame over you. But all you find is a raw sincerity that mirrors the ache in your own chest.

He takes a hesitant step into the room, then another, like he's waiting for you to change your mind and kick him out. You don't. You just sit there, heart thrumming against your ribs, watching as he drifts closer until he's standing at edge of the bed. There's barely any space separating you two, yet everything still feels so far away.

"Last night," he starts. He clears his throat, fighting against the tremble in his voice and hands. "It was a mess. I was a mess, I know."

You wait, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

"But even in the middle of all of that... I need you to know I meant it. Every word, angel. I still do."

Something swells inside of you, the pain making way for something soft and tender. It's overwhelming, but the good kind. The kind that makes you feel light and free.

"Do you?" Your voice is so quiet, you're not sure if he hears you. But he does, because his gaze softens, eyes never leaving yours.

Hyunjin lowers himself to the ground, situating himself on his knees so the two of you are eye level. He reaches a hand out, his long, slender fingers making their way across the space, gently cupping the curve of your jaw. You close your eyes, holding your breath while you bask in the way his skin makes contact with yours. The air around you feels like it might come alive. As you lean into the warmth of his palm, the ache in your chest begins to fade bit by bit.

"Yeah. I do," he whispers. His voice is thick.

There are a million things you want to say, yet the only thing you can force out is: "Why?"

He brushes his thumb along the rise of your cheekbone, the gesture tender and familiar. It's almost like he never left, like no time has passed between the two of you. He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it, like the words are getting stuck in his throat.

"Can I show you?"

The question sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow and nod.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, the hunger evident in his gaze. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours and breathing you in. His breath tickles your nose, the scent of your toothpaste mixing with the smell of his sweater.

"Are you sure?" he whispers.

You answer him by closing the gap.

Unlike the kiss from last night, this one is slow, measured. You pour everything you've wanted to say since he left into it, and he returns it tenfold. He kisses you with a passion that threatens to consume, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly, tongue sweeping out to lick at your bottom lip. You part for him immediately, the taste of him igniting the dormant fire inside you.

Hyunjin kisses you like a starving man. You give him everything he needs, letting him map your mouth with his tongue, moaning into the heat of his kiss. You feel it everywhere, the heat coiling low in your belly and spreading throughout your limbs. It feels like a revelation, and the way his grip tightens tells you that he feels it too.

"Say it, please baby," he breathes. The desperation from last night is creeping back in. His hand leaves your cheek, trailing down the length of your neck to your collarbone. He curls his hand into the neck of your shirt and tugs it down to expose your skin, dipping down to wash his tongue across your collarbones. You're already shaking before he even nips at your skin.

"Hyunjin," you moan. The sound makes him grunt against you, low and needy.

His mouth is on yours again, bruising, like he wants to drown in the taste of you. You sink your fingers into his hair, pulling gently and feeling his body shudder in response. He adjusts his positions on his knees, tugging you closer to him so your hips are flush against his chest. The heat of his feverish skin burns you through the thin fabric of your night clothes.

"Again, angel," he pleads, mouthing his way over your shirt, down to your breasts, hands trailing up your bare thighs and gripping hard. You let out a little whimper, head falling back as you thread your fingers in the wisps of his hair, holding on for dear life. He doesn't stop. The mixture of his mouth and his hands has your mind hazy and unfocused.

"Hyunjin. Hyun, please." You feel him shudder at that, his mouth kissing lower, lower, lower. When he reaches the hem of your shit, he grips it in his teeth and pulls it up, tongue darting out to run a stripe across your belly button. You pant and squirm, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin through his sweatshirt.

He nips at your stomach and you cry out his name, the sound breaking through the space like a firecracker. Hyunjin's hips buck up against the bed as his mouth finds your hip bone, sinking his teeth into the tender skin. Your back arches, legs clamping around his torso. His grip is bruising and you really hope he leaves a mark, that there are traces of him on you long after you're finished. You want him to burn himself into your skin so you never forget this again.

He's pressing sloppy kisses over the skin he's just bitten, murmuring a mixture of words you can't decipher. The sound is muffled against your skin, but you don't miss the way he says "angel" over and over again, the way his lips form your name against your body like it's a prayer, and he is the sole saint who has come to worship at your altar.

He shifts his mouth back to the waistband of your shorts, his big, blown out eyes fluttering open to stare at you in question. The look you give him is all he needs to peel off the fabric, slowly, teasingly, tossing them away and letting his fingers trail the newly exposed skin. His touch is hot on your legs, trailing up and down until you're panting for him.

"So perfect for me, pretty girl," he praises, his lips ghosting over your hips. Your brain feels like mush, like his praise is the only thing that exists anymore. You watch his long, perfect fingers slide up the expanse of your thigh until he reaches your heat, pushing your lips apart to reveal your aching cunt to him. His touch is so featherlight that it has your hips bucking up, trying to get more.

"Be still, love." He presses a kiss to your clit. "Be still for me. Let me worship you, yeah? Can you do that?"

You whine, desperately  trying to remain still, to let him explore every inch of your body with his perfect hands, to let him touch and tease you like he needs to.

"That's it, baby," he breathes. His fingers run along the wetness of your cunt. "Look at you. So fucking wet for me, my angel."

He slips his middle finger in with ease, sliding all the way to his knuckle. You barely have a second to adjust to the feeling before he dives down, plump lips wrapping around your clit and sucking hard. It sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine so sharp, you can't help the half scream that falls from your lips, your hand shooting out to grab onto his head. He moans in response, letting you grind yourself up into his face. He laps at you like a man possessed, fingers curling deep inside you to press against that one spot he's found countless times before.

The room fills with the wet sounds of your cunt against his eager tongue. His hair is soft under your hand, a contrast to how hard he's fucking his fingers into you. They move with urgency and precision. Each thrust has you panting his name, and in response his moans vibrate through your cunt.

He moves his free hand to grab the one that's gripping his hair and squeezes, fingers curling between yours in a silent show of gratitude for letting him touch you, letting him drown himself in you.

The combination of his touch and the sounds he's making has your stomach coiling, tight like a spring, and your release comes quick and sharp. Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, and you call out his name, louder than anything he's ever heard from you before, so loud your voice bounces off the walls. He works you through it, licking up all the wetness that's pouring from you, groaning and growling like a starving man. He slips in a third finger to fuck you through the last of your high and the stretch is so good, so perfect.

His grip on your hand is the only thing that keeps you grounded as the last of the pleasure courses through you, leaving you shaking and trembling against his face. Hyunjin keeps his eyes on you the entire time, watching you like a predator watches prey, pupils blown so wide only a sliver of dark brown peeks out at you. He only pulls away once you stop shuddering, dragging his fingers out of you with a loud, wet noise, slipping them straight into his mouth.

The sight of his plush, pink lips wrapped around those perfect fingers makes you whine and squirm with want, even though you've just been thoroughly fucked out. Hyunjin crawls his way back up your body and kisses you deeply. His lips are wet with you, and he fucks his tongue into your mouth so you can taste yourself. You find yourself gripping at the soft hairs on the back of his neck again in an attempt to press him closer. He pulls away slightly to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses down your jaw, teeth dragging across the hot skin.

"You drive me crazy, pretty girl," he pants. He sucks a bruise into the junction where your throat meets your shoulder. "Every noise you make, it sizzles in my eyes like fire. I see you everywhere."

You drag your nails down his neck and he groans into you. You can feel the impossibly hard length of him pressing against your thigh through his sweatpants. He ruts against your body lazily, his movements sluggish. The post orgasm haze still hangs over your body like a heavy fog, slowing everything down to a sluggish, sensual pace. It's hypnotic and delicious, the feeling of his hardness dragging along your thigh while he peppers kisses along your skin. You know this dance, your bodies know the steps so well it feels like your back at the very beginning again, like no time has passed at all between the two of you.

"Let me have you, please." His voice is tight. His desperation is bleeding into everything, tinging the air between you like an intoxicating drug. It makes your head spin and your skin tingle. He shifts his position so his hips are rutting into yours now, slow, deliberate, and grinding right down into you. You're so wet for him still that there's no resistance in his movements. With your eyes fluttering from the sensation, you drag your fingers across the expanse of his broad shoulders and then down to the dip in his spine, trailing your fingertips up under his sweatshirt to drag across his hot skin. It pulls a shaky whine out of him.

"God, please angel." His cock throbs against you. "I'll make it good for you, so fucking good. Just please let me have you, please."

You tug at his sweater until he relents, breaking away to yank it up over his head, tossing it somewhere in the room. You take the opportunity to look at his chest, which is flushed with color and heaving with want. His lips are parted as he tries to catch his breath, lust-blown eyes staring down at you like you hold all of the secrets to his universe. He's still getting harder in his pants, the fabric stretching taut over his cock, the shape of his length visible beneath it. The sight alone makes you dizzy, and the wetness that has been slowly building inside you reaches a crescendo, your cunt pulsing at the sight before you.

Your hand drifts down between your legs. Your fingers slide easily over the wetness that's gathered there from the pleasure Hyunjin has been so dutifully dishing out to you, and you don't even think about what you're doing. Hyunjin watches, eyes glassy as you dip two fingers in the wet mess he's made of your cunt. You slide them back up to your clit and moan, hips twitching into your own touch. His lips part a fraction, a breathy gasp spilling from him. He looks so painfully hungry that the thought of denying him crosses your mind for the briefest of moments. The thought disappears the second he opens his mouth.

"Baby, please, I need it." He shifts on his knees, squirming and aching for you. You almost don't recognize his voice— it's so raspy and tight with need, words stumbling out of him with no hesitation, no thought. It makes your skin hot all over again. You circle your fingers around your clit as you watch him watch you, his chest heaving in tandem with the movements of your fingers. 

Then he makes the prettiest little whine you've ever heard in your entire life.

The sound alone is enough to make you remove your hand and offer your wet fingers to him, his mouth falling open obediently to welcome them in. He swirls his tongue around your fingertips, lapping up any of the wetness he's left on you. He groans and shudders, eyes fluttering shut as he sucks and licks and hums around your fingers. Your brain feels like static and your thighs squeeze together to try and ease the ache inside you.

"Fuck, Hyunjin," you moan out, watching him suck your fingers clean. You try desperately to focus on keeping your hips still, the friction from your bodies moving together making you want to chase your pleasure again.

He moans around your fingers before pulling back, catching the hand you had been using to play with your clit and pulling it up to place a gentle kiss on your palm. He keeps eye contact the entire time, looking at you from under those thick lashes and his hooded eyes. His lips part just enough for the tip of his tongue to lick at your skin, his fingers still wrapped tightly around your wrist. It makes your stomach drop. He has you under a spell and he doesn't even need to try.

He nips at your fingertips once more before speaking again, his voice low. "You make it so impossible to see anything other than you," he says, breathless. "Everywhere I turn, everything I see, there you are."

He shifts again, his body moving downwards and slotting itself between your thighs. He uses his free hand to wrestle himself out of his sweatpants and boxers, leaving them to hang low on his hips, cock finally free from their confines and bobbing heavily in the cool air. A shudder runs through him and you can tell it's both from the chill and the feeling of relief that comes from the sudden freedom. Your eyes linger on the head, leaking so prettily for you that it has your cunt squeezing around nothing again.

The hand holding your wrist pushes gently until it has you pinned above your head on the bed, the grip loose enough to not hurt you but strong enough to hold you in place. He reaches down to finally wrap his free hand around himself, stroking the length of his cock as he lets his eyes wander all over your body. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and you're transfixed by the way he lets it run along the swell of his mouth. He's such a pretty, pretty picture like this.

You think he might say something again, but the only sound that fills the space is his soft pants and moans. His strokes on himself once, the slick, wet noises making your brain go fuzzy all over again. Then he stops, leaning forward so he's hovering above you, the tip of his nose mere centimeters from yours. His lips brush against your mouth and his fingers twitch around your wrist, like he wants to let go but can't bear to.

You tilt your chin up to catch his lips, a soft whine bubbling in your throat. Want simmers under your skin so badly that you're a shaking, trembling mess under him. He coos at you in the kiss, and you feel him shift over you, lining himself up with your entrance. He rubs the head of his cock against your slit, gathering the wetness that has dripped out of your pulsing cunt and onto the sheets, using it as lubrication for the tip of his cock to catch on your entrance. Your hips twitch upwards involuntarily, making him break the kiss with a gasp, and you both look down to watch as pushes the head of his cock into you.

"Shit," he whines. It comes out like a hiss, his eyes slipping closed. The feeling of your body welcoming him home has a shudder running up his spine. He releases your hand and uses his elbows to hold himself up over you, fingers burying themselves in the sheets surrounding your head. The tips of his ears are dusted pink, and his mouth is slack as he lets himself be enveloped by the heat of your body. He rests his head in the crook of your neck.

He feels impossibly large inside of you. It has been so long since you've had him this close, it's almost like you forgot how good he can fill you. He shifts and pushes himself a bit further in and you can't help the whimper that tumbles from your mouth. The stretch is so deliciously good that your hips twitch again, body instinctively trying to grind itself onto his length to get him right where you need him. He curses above you again and his grip in the sheets tighten as he nips at your throat.

"Angel," he chokes out. His breath feels boiling hot against your skin. "Please don't move. Not yet, baby. You feel too fucking good."

His voice is strained, tight in his chest like he's barely holding himself back from pounding into you like his body so obviously wants to. The feeling of being stretched by him has you quivering, cunt pulsing around the intrusion. It feels like it takes him forever, but he finally manages to fully slide into you, letting his hips press against yours so you can take the time to adjust to the fullness. His name is a mantra on your lips, the only coherent word your brain is able to conjure right now. He kisses your neck to calm you down, nuzzles his nose against you, licks at the tender skin that has a pulse beating rapidly underneath it.

"So tight, angel," he grunts. His teeth dig into the skin of your neck, sucking another bruise into your skin. "So fucking tight for me."

Your nails are digging into his back now, scratching angry red lines down his shoulder blades as you struggle to breathe beneath him. It feels so good, the way his weight pushes into you and lets you feel every twitch and pulse of his body, lets you feel him shake and quiver. He slides back a bit before pushing into you again, his entire body shaking with the effort it's taking for him to maintain this languid pace. His forehead is pressed against your skin still and his breath comes out hot and shaky as he fucks himself into you again and again, slow and shallow.

The drag of his cock has your toes curling. Your hands slide from his back to his shoulder, down to his biceps, fingers digging into the skin to leave crescents that you can't bring yourself to feel bad about. The heat is pooling in your stomach again, making the feeling in your toes and fingertips start to fizzle away. All that's left is you and Hyunjin. The artist and his muse.

"Hyunie," you breathe. "Hyun."

"I know baby," he grunts. You can feel the drag of his lips on you, leaving kisses against your feverishly hot skin. "I know. I'm here, I'm here."

He picks up the pace then, hips snapping against you to get his cock as deep as it'll go. Your brain has become static, aware of nothing more than the sound of skin slapping against skin, of the wet noises coming from where Hyunjin has returned to his home inside you. You arch your body into his hold and he slips his hand into the curve of your back, pressing you close so that every thrust brings him as close to your heart as he can get.

When he pounds into you particularly hard and you flutter around him, he grunts, sitting up and on his heels to gain leverage to piston into you deep. 

"So fucking perfect," he groans. He reaches down to thumb at your clit, circling it and grinding it down in time with his thrusts. You whine his name and buck against his hand as his thrusts get harder and faster in response. It has the coil in your belly winding tighter, so tight your body feels rigid against the bed. "Gonna show me that rainbow, right baby? Be good and come for me, yeah?"

You're already nodding frantically, words completely failing you. The sound of your skin meeting is loud, and your own moans are a chorus that's getting lost in his groans, in his pretty little whimpers of your name. It's all too much— you can barely catch your breath.

His hand that isn't playing with your clit finds one of yours and brings it to your stomach, pushing your palm into the skin below your belly button. When you feel it—the subtle bump from the tip of his cock, pressing against his fingers and into the flat of your stomach—you moan and dig your nails into the back of his hand.

"Fuck," he grits. "You like that angel? You like feeling full of me?"

A distant pulsing of your clit is the only warning you get before your orgasm hits you hard. You scream Hyunjin's name, nails digging into his skin for something to tether to. Your orgasm washes over you like an electric current, shooting up your spine and down to your toes. It whites your vision out, each pulse of Hyunjin's thrust translating into faded bursts of colors behind your eyes. The force of it makes your cunt squeeze down hard, so hard that you feel him stutter in his rhythm above you. You feel him drop forward to grip onto the pillow behind your head and bury his face into your chest, fingers digging in tight, hips bucking up into you. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's biting hard down on the fabric of your shirt, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. You don't need to look to know he's coming inside of you, filling you up and painting you white.

It feels like the two of you ride through the aftershocks for years before he comes back down enough to gently slip his cock out of you, hissing from the sensitivity. You barely even feel him roll off of you, the world still tilted on it's axis significantly. Your vision takes a second to focus as your chest heaves. It takes even longer to realize that Hyunjin is staring at you from where he's lying on his side, head propped up on his elbow and an expression on his face you haven't seen in months. The thought that he could still look at you with a mixture of reverence and wonder after all this time is overwhelming.

But exhaustion is the prevailing emotion, and you only manage a small, sleepy smile before you pass out, lulled to sleep by the soft kiss he presses to your shoulder.

—

When you wake up a few hours later, you’re not panicked to find that you’re by yourself. The sheets are still warm, the shower is running, and there is still a dull, pleasant ache between your legs. You stretch, muscles nicely liquid and pliant, before patting around for your phone on your nightstand.

You do not find your phone. You find, instead, a piece of paper.

It takes a moment of sleepy shuffling, but once you get the lamp on, you see that it’s a pencil sketch of your sleeping form. There’s a cloud of colors surrounding you, beautifully rich blues and pinks that overlap to create equally vibrant purples. The colors feather out around the paper, swirling into soft, delicate hearts.

There is a single word on the bottom of the drawing:

Reconciliation.

[kagaintheskywithdiamonds]

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face @thefallenangel2008 @ravmycupine

just wanted to add some thoughts to the memory vial/brain dead au (or whatever we're calling it)

because of course ford's guilt about using the memory gun on stan is so much worse than it is in canon, not just for the obvious reasons but also because like

this wasn't the plan

Stan agreed to have his memories erased—of course he did, the whole thing was his idea. But he didn't know he was going to die. Granted, I feel like Stan probably still would've been willing to make that sacrifice if he had known that. But I don't think Ford would've.

Ford just thought he was turning his brother into an amnesiac, and even then he almost couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. And of course he knew it was going to hurt, having Stan look at him like he's a stranger, but at least that's the outcome he was preparing himself for.

He was not prepared to see Stan's body topple over on its side, his unblinking eyes staring blankly ahead. Ford rushes to his brother's aid, grabbing him by the shoulders, trying to rouse him, calling his name (except, he wouldn't know his own name anymore, would he?). Stan's not moving. He's not breathing. Oh God, he's not breathing. Ford glances at the memory gun on the ground next to them, and horror washes over him as he realizes what he's done. The gun erased more than just memories, it erased everything. Stan's brain was a floppy drive and Ford was the magnet, wiping it clean and leaving it broken beyond repair.

No, no, this wasn't the plan. Time to call off the con. This wasn't supposed to happen. Stop, cut, abort mission, abort mission!

But it's too late. What's done is done, and he can't take it back.

Oh God, I killed him.

Sobbing now, Ford mutters choked-out apologies, first to Stan's body as he holds him tight—and again at his grave after he's buried. And the apologies start up anew every time he visits.

As the years go on, Ford is haunted by all the what-ifs that might've saved his brother's life. What if he had thought to type "Stanley Pines memories" into the memory gun instead of just "Stanley Pines", would it have kept his essential brain functions intact? Hell, what if he typed in "Bill Cipher"? Would that have been enough to kill the bastard and still let Stanley keep most of his memories and, more importantly, his life?

Ford doesn't know the answer to that question. And he'll never know. Because as much as he longs for it, he'll never have that chance to go back and do it differently.

[kxsagi]

hii, hope ur alright! some1 recently requested a rin ff, the one with the calvin klein briefs and i wanted to ask if u could write one like that again but with isagi if thats okay!! thank you <3

“𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞?”

a/n: i loved the rin one so i am happy i can write an isagi one! however, i did make it a little different, with reader and isagi not dating in this one, but rather, just finding each other attractive + isagi def asks for your number after the shoot

listened to sativa while writing this so the title was def inspired by that song

(artist is louvbon on twitter)

you pride yourself on being a professional. you’ve worked in high-pressure sets, shot campaigns for big-name brands, captured images of people whose faces are plastered across billboards and subway walls. but nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared you for this shoot. 

because standing in front of your lens right now, stretching his arms behind his head in a way that makes his abs flex on purpose, is isagi yoichi, japan’s soccer golden boy, international heartthrob, and apparently, the newest face of calvin klein. 

in nothing but boxer briefs. 

you’re holding your camera like it might catch fire, blinking furiously as if that’ll reboot your brain. maybe if you hit yourself hard enough with the lens, you’ll stop staring at the way the light hits his chest. or the subtle line that dips down past his hips. or how the calvin kleins are hanging just an inch lower than necessary to make your job very, very difficult. 

“lighting okay?” he asks casually, running a hand through his already-messy hair. like this is any regular day. like he’s not the problem here. 

you attempt to sound composed, professional. “yeah. uh. yeah, lighting’s great. very… lighty.” 

lighty? 

just kill me, you think. let the studio lights crash down on my head. 

isagi’s lips twitch. “lighty, huh?” 

you don’t answer. instead, you bury your face behind the camera and pretend to fiddle with settings you already fixed twenty minutes ago. you don’t need him knowing he’s throwing you off. he probably already suspects it, but you don’t need to confirm it. 

but of course, he doesn’t let it go. 

he steps closer, slow and easy, like a predator in no rush. “you sure you’re good? you look kinda… flustered.” 

you scoff, stepping back with practiced nonchalance. “i’m not flustered. i’m just trying to work.” 

“you’re blushing.” 

“it’s hot in here.” 

“it’s a temperature-controlled studio. with AC.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. “isagi, can you please just go lean against the wall and look vaguely mysterious? brood. smolder. whatever it is models do.” 

he laughs, laughs, like this is all a joke to him. “i’m not a model.” 

“no, you’re worse,” you mutter under your breath. “you’re an athlete with no business being this good-looking.” 

his eyebrows shoot up. “what was that?” 

“nothing,” you say quickly, lifting your camera again. “pose, pretty boy.” 

he does, finally, pressing his back to the wall, gaze smoldering (probably on purpose), muscles tensing in a way that makes you want to look away and also never stop looking. it’s unfair. he’s not even trying. how is that fair? 

you adjust your angle, trying to stay in work mode. this is your job. you are here to take photos, not to mentally rank how kissable your subject’s lips look from this distance. 

“you know,” he says suddenly, tone light, “you’re the first photographer i’ve worked with who can’t look me in the eye.” 

you freeze, mid-shot. “… i can look you in the eye.” 

“can you?” 

you lower the camera slowly. meet his gaze. mistake. big mistake. 

his eyes are stupidly dark blue. bright and playful and cocky as hell. and there’s a glint in them that tells you he knows. he knows exactly the effect he has on you. 

you click your tongue, stepping back. “you’re distracting.” 

he grins. “is that a compliment?” 

“no. it’s a problem.” 

“is it the abs?” 

“it’s the ego.” 

he laughs again, and it sounds like victory. “okay, okay. serious mode. what do you want me to do next?” 

you inhale slowly, resisting the urge to throw your clipboard at him. “keep the shirt off. lean forward. hands behind your head.” 

he raises a brow but follows your direction. you focus the lens. try to ignore the way his muscles move as he shifts. he looks like a damn sculpture. and somehow, despite being practically half-naked, he still looks so clean-cut, so isagi yoichi. the boy-next-door who just happens to be on the cover of every major sports magazine and now, your camera roll. 

“so,” he says, voice low, “if this wasn’t a photoshoot, would you still be staring?” 

you nearly choke. 

“i– excuse me?” 

“just curious.” 

you lower the camera. “if this wasn’t a photoshoot, you’d be wearing a shirt.” 

“and that would make it easier for you, huh?” 

you blink. “you’re ridiculous.” 

“you’re the one blushing.” 

“you’re the one half-naked!” 

he grins, utterly shameless. “you’re the one who told me to pose like this.” 

you groan, covering your face with your hand. “this is the worst day of my professional career.” 

“nah,” he says, smug, “i think it’s the best.” 

you peek at him through your fingers. he winks. 

you’re so doomed. 

BONUS: 

the shoot finally wraps, and you’re desperately trying to look like a person who wasn’t just mentally derailed for two hours straight. the assistants are packing up, the stylist’s asking isagi about his next match, and you're pretending to be very interested in organizing your memory cards even though you’ve already labeled them. 

isagi walks over with that same relaxed confidence that’s been driving you insane since the moment he stepped on set. he’s dressed now, jeans and a hoodie, thank gosh, but somehow, that almost makes it worse. he looks too normal. too boyfriend-coded. the kind of guy you’d see in a café and immediately text your best friend about. 

“hey,” he says, hands tucked in his pockets. “thanks for today. you made it fun.” 

you glance up from your equipment, doing your best to keep it casual. “oh? you mean despite me almost combusting on the spot every five minutes?” 

he chuckles, leaning slightly toward you. “i thought it was charming.” 

you roll your eyes, lips twitching. “you would.” 

there’s a beat. a quiet moment between you, tucked in the noise of the studio tear-down. and then he scratches the back of his neck, almost shy for once. 

“listen… if you’re not already seeing someone, maybe you could text me some of the shots when they’re ready?” he says, almost too smoothly, then adds, “and maybe, like… something that’s not work-related too.” 

you stare at him, blinking. “are you seriously using the ‘send me the photos’ line to get my number?” 

he shrugs, grinning. “i figured i’d keep it on theme.” 

you hesitate… then pull your phone from your pocket and hand it to him. “fine. but if you send me shirtless mirror selfies, i’m blocking you.” 

“no promises,” he says, typing quickly before handing it back. “i’m more of a candid guy, anyway.” 

you glance at your screen. yoichi isagi ⚽📸 

he even added a little camera emoji. 

you groan. “you’re the worst.” 

“but i’m still getting a text, right?” 

“we’ll see,” you say, walking away. 

and you don’t see it, but he’s smiling the whole way out. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[fa1ryy-z1n]

Humans aren’t perfect. As long as you’re doing your best, it’s enough to just do that. I’m proud of anyone who’s trying their best because even existing is hard. I love y’all even if you fuck up so long as you work on it. Life isn’t about always succeeding, it’s about learning and you don’t learn if you don’t fuck up. Mistakes are just learning opportunities <3

We do talk a lot about how while your feelings are valid, your behaviour isn’t always valid. And that’s true. I say it a lot on this blog even.

But I just want to take a moment to say that you aren’t irredeemable if you’ve lashed out in pain. You aren’t a terrible person if you’ve made mistakes in how you handled things.

You can grow and do better. And you don’t deserve to punish yourself forever.

[cherrynpink]

just "friends"

pairing: situationship!dokyeom x f!reader

genre: situationship to lovers, slight angst, smut (with a bit of plot) MDNI!

warnings: cursing, oc is a bit mean to him in the start but it's ok, soft dom!dk, jealous oc, fingering, oral (f. receiving), mentions of giving head, multiple orgasms, a bit of overstimulation, down bad dk, needy oc, praise, ass smacking, protected sex but oc doesn't want to use a condom initially, hair pulling, mentions of creampie (wrap it before u tap it), doggy style, mention of hair pulling, big dick!dk, he is literally too big, slight strength kink, he is an idiot, dirty talk, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 4.2k

playlist: just "friends"

Note: aaah this is the first fic i'm writing on here so pls bear with me. if u find any mistakes, pls lmk! this was loosely inspired from the situationship i was in last year, except mine didn't end well unlike oc's. hope u like it n pls give me wtv feedback u feel so that i get better at this! hehe anyways go on

dokyeomie:3 : are u mad at me???

Your phone buzzes. It's 2 a.m. and your phone buzzes. You know there is only one person whose texts you would receive this time at night. You didn’t want to ignore dokyeom, you really do like him after all. You’ve been in, what you would call- a situationship? You’re not very sure. You met him through you mutual friends during a trip you all went to together. It’s funny how during your first year you never noticed him in campus despite him being in the same year as you, but as soon as you returned from the trip, he was everywhere. It was like a dokyeom plague all around.

Initially, you weren’t interested in him beyond being friends but fuck- how can a guy be this sweet? And this nice? And this hot. You can’t blame a girl for wanting more. When he texted you first right after returning from the trip asking for the pictures you had taken, you knew this was your chance to lock it DOWN. Only a fool would miss a chance to let a guy like him pass by. After that it was nonstop texting. All day. 24/7. Point of no return.

You’d give him random updates of your day, he would call you when he went to Sephora with his sister and ask which lip gloss you wanted to feed your manic lip gloss obsession, he would send you pictures of cats he saw on campus and say “us”, coffee dates, study dates (even though you had different majors), teaching him to play DTI at 3 a.m. while you laughed at him dates, but not an official “date” yet. Not a label beyond “friends” yet.

You wondered how can two people do all this and still be called friends. This is not what friends do, right? Or is it? Fuck- this is ruining you. It didn’t help seeing him get coffee with some other girl from his class while she laughed like he was the funniest guy ever. And like he probably was. But she’s not allowed to laugh. Only you. He does NOT need to be this funny with some other girl when he hasn’t even labelled what you are yet.

Leading you to ghosting him for the past 2 days. And trust, it was truly torture. How do you suddenly stop talking to the person you’ve shared everything about you to for the past 3 months? Everything reminded you of him no matter where you went. This is the most down bad you’ve ever been for a MAN. Your prime man hater era would be ashamed.

dokyeomie:3 : im really worried, im coming over, okay? I’m almost there >.< bringing some ice cream too!!! i know ur not asleep yet so pls let’s just talk okay :)

You hear your bell ring and thank god for the fact your roommate was at her parents’ place this weekend- well, not like anything’s going to happen anyway, what would it matter. He didn’t even give you time to change as you open the door in your short pyjama set, and what do you see but crinkly eyed dokyeom with his heart smile which almost makes you want to forget the hell he’s put you through the past 3 months and just kiss him.

“Hi” he says, coming in and setting the ice cream on the table, “let’s eat now before it melts.”

“I don’t feel like eating right now.” You take the plastic bag from his hands and put it in the freezer.

He steps closer to you, and closer, and closer, until there doesn’t seem to be any distance between you and you feel your surroundings closing in, as he towers over you, his sandalwood musk encapsulating you making your heart race, your breath turning erratic and your cheeks a crimson shade like a blushing bride. It truly is so easy for him.

He tucks your hair behind your ear- “y/n what happened, are you mad at me? Whatever it is you can tell me. Just please, talk to me.”

“I was just busy, it’s really nothing. Anyway, you had that girl from your class to keep you from getting bored.”

“Is that what this is about? I got assigned a project with her so we grabbed coffee to discuss how to go about it, it wasn’t anything more I swear.”

“That’s not it.” You turn your face away and head to the couch. Talking about what you feel has always been harder for you, which is why you’ve never had any proper relationships- only casual no strings attached arrangements or situationships.

“What is it then? Please y/n, you can’t just go radio silent for two days. I was so worried about you, talk to me, okay?” he says as he sits beside you on the couch.

“You never asked me out.” You blurt it out so fast its barely comprehensible to him.

“What?”

“You never asked me out. You flirt with me all the time, we text literally all day, and when we don’t its because we’re together at the coffee shop or the library or whatever. My friends call me an idiot, that you’re just toying with me, until you’re bored with me. You’ve never even defined what we are yet, because we sure as hell aren’t friends. Friends don’t act like this- right dokyeomie?”

You looked up to him, doe eyed on the brink of tears as you felt a lump in your throat, a heaviness on your shoulders. He felt horrible.

How was he supposed to know you liked him? He just thought you were being really friendly with him- just like you would be with anyone else, right? Here he was thinking he was the idiot being so hopelessly obsessed with you. He was literally so down bad for you it was kind of pathetic. Once when you had just started talking to him you mentioned you liked glasses, low and behold, he wore glasses every time you saw him. You can’t find the lip gloss you want anywhere? He’s dragging his poor sister with him to every makeup store in the city, trying to find that goddamn lip gloss that seems to be sold out everywhere. And now he feels like shit for making you think that he would just lead you on and leave you when he’s tired of you or something. Fuck. He’s messed up BIG time. And he does the only thing he can think of to make it up to you, FAST.

He leans into you, one hand gripping your jaw while the other brushes against your waist, his face so close you can feel his breathe as your eyes flicker down to his lips as he wets them. Your breath hitches and he can practically hear his heart racing the speed of a bullet train. And just like that, the next thing you know, his lips are against yours engulfing you in a whirlwind of a kiss. Your hand reaches for his chest as he holds you. He kisses you softly yet so messy and passionate it sweeps you off your feet. As you deepen your kiss, he slips his tongue in and a soft whimper leaves your throat. Impatient to gain control he pushes against you in an attempt for dominance and his quick shift in demeanor has you flooding in your pajama shorts. Good thing you sleep without your panties on. 

As your make out session continues to grow more aggressive, you feel him manhandle you over his lap onto his hardening length. Fuck. He feels big, you think as your hips give an experimental grind. He seems impatient as you make out, like he’s trying to make up for the lost time as he tightens his grip on your waist to get you closer to him, and you’re no different- tugging at the collar of his shirt so desperate to be with him.

“I really like you” he whispers between soft open-mouthed kisses. “I really like you I just wasn’t sure you felt the same about me, I’m sorry for making you wait so long baby, let me make it up to you?”

Oh. Your pussy likes the sound of that. It comes out of his mouth in a whisper, as he tries to catch his breath because you might not see it, but he is doing gymnastics to keep up with you and you’re driving him absolutely crazy. Its actually a little unbelievable for him to be making out with the girl he’s been in love with for the past year. He can feel a wet spot forming on his jeans as you leak onto him through your shorts.

“So needy baby, can feel you getting wet just from kissing a bit. You want it that bad?” he chuckles. God, you must look desperate to him but you need him right now because his hands gripping your thighs and yours in his hair drive you insane.

“You made me wait so so long kyeomie, need you, please. Need you to fuck me.” It leaves your throat like a whine making him twitch under you. You don’t care how desperate your pleas sound, because truth be told its all you’ve been picturing for the past 3 months. His hand makes its way to your tits as he cups them from over your thin top. From where he's sitting, you look pathetic and so pliant under his gaze, even though you’re sitting on him. If he knew you were this into him, he would’ve done this much sooner.

“Fuck, don’t worry baby I’ll take good care of you. Lift your arms for me.” He says as he takes off your top and god, he can’t take his eyes off your tits sitting right in front of him. He kisses down your neck and you just smell so fucking good he doesn't want to stop. He recognizes the scent, that vanilla bakery cupcake scent that always lingers on him after you hang out with him, the one he's just so obsessed with. He takes your hardened nipple into his mouth as his hand plays with the other. You moan softly as dokyeom focuses all his attention on your chest. Nibbling and biting and licking, as you keep grinding your hips on him, feeling him getting harder.

“So pretty baby, so pretty just for me.”

“I- I need- need you dokyeom, please? Please I’ll do whatever- whatever you want. Wanna suck you off. Make you feel good. Can I?” you say as you get down on your knees. And oh, it is a sight for him. Something in your eyes changes, he sees them full of lust and desperation, so drunk. This was new for him. Before this, you would always be so shy around him, or anyone for that matter. Never laughing fully at the suggestive jokes your friends made when you all hung out together, just giving a coy smile. Even when you and dokyeom talked, you never reacted to his advances, innocent or suggestive, never reacted to the innuendoes he made, just avoiding eye contact with him. But this new you, he liked her for sure. He would’ve teased you more, but fuck, some other time.

You unbutton his jeans as your hands flutter impatiently and fumble with his zipper, because you quite literally cannot wait a second more.

“Slow down y/n, wait.”

He groans as he lifts his hips to let you lower his jeans. He’s already half hard in his boxers and oh. You have no idea how he’s ever going to fit inside you. You mouth at his boxers and lick at him through them. But he knows, if he lets you do this, he'll come in your mouth in an instant, and he is but a gentleman, and would rather die than to not make you cum first.

“Y/n as much as I would love that, I’ll cum in my pants if you do that, and I’m not gonna let that happen.” He says as he tugs you by your hair to get you up. You pout at him, disappointed he won’t let his dick in your mouth.

“Don’t make that face princess, you can do it next time.” he says as he lifts you in his arms. You gasp as he begins to carry you to your room and throws you on your bed as you rebound on it.

“You like that? Like it when I pick you up and throw you around. I see you staring at my arms all the time baby, don’t think you’re subtle.”

He kisses you again as he pins your hands over your head as makes his way down your body, marking you as he goes along. He reaches you thighs and begins to kiss them softly as he drags his tongue to your tiny shorts and begins to pull them down. And imagine his surprise as he comes face to face with your glistening pretty pussy. He sucks his breath in as he seems to be stuck in a trance.

You’re obsessed with the way his eyes follow your cunt. He looks like a child seeing candy for the first time, and you’re totally here for it. His big hands hold your thighs apart as he lays down between them and looks at your pussy like it has the moon and stars hung in it for him.

“No panties y/n? Fuck didn’t know you were a slut baby, you always act so shy and naïve in front of me, no?” he says as his fingers run against your slit experimentally, circling your entrance teasingly, taking you by surprise causing you to let out a desperate moan.

“I’m- I’m not!” you whine but you sound like even you don’t believe your own words. He’s right after all, isn’t he? You are a slut for him. Why would you be ashamed of it.

“You’re not? Then why are you dripping over all your sheets y/n. Haven’t even done anything yet and you’re trying to hump the air. If you needed me that bad could’ve just asked. Would’ve given you everything. But you wanted to give me the silent treatment. So, I’ll have to punish you baby.”

He smirks as one hand tweaks your nipple while the other dips inside you barely before he pulls it out in an instant. He traces soft patterns on your inner thighs, but every time you buck your hips up, he just moves his hand further away from your center.

“Please kyeomie, touch me.”

“I’m already touching you y/n. You need to be more specific.”

This is torture. You’re literally about to cry.

“In- in me. Your hand- your finger, need it in me.” you say with your face in your hand red with embarrassment.

“No please this time? Where are your manners?”

“Please dokyeom, need your fingers in me!"

Finally, he puts you out of your misery. The finger that was teasing you enters you in one instant. And oh. You are so tight. You feel so full, and its just one finger yet. You don’t know how you’re going to take him in.

“Gripping me like crazy y/n fuck, so fucking tight.”

He slowly moves his hand in and out, curling it and watching it squeeze him, barely fitting him in you. You grip the sheets tightly as he curls his finger and hits your g-spot right where you need it.

“You can barely fit one baby, how are you going to take my cock? Maybe I should just eat you out and make you cum on your fingers and leave it at that.” he says mocking you.

He knows he’s being really cruel, but only because you can take it. Also, you did make him wait so long too, so he deserves to have fun with it.

“No! No, I can take it I- I- promise!”

He chuckles and inserts another finger in, increasing the pace until you’re left gasping for air, a moaning mess. He feels your body tensing up, and leans down to kiss your thighs and whilst driving his fingers in you, making you moan his name over and over again like a prayer. Finally, he presses his thumb against your clit, and makes 8 figures over and over again, agonizing you as the pit in your stomach grows bigger every time you feel his fingers hit your spot.

Suddenly he takes his finger out, making you whine at the loss of contact and your eyes fill with tears because you were just so, so close.

He dives in between your legs licking a long strip up your entrance, the moan you let out is music to his ears, and the way you taste is better than anything he’s ever had. His tongue enters you as he pushes it in and out, and oh the way his nose keeps hitting your clit repeatedly with each motion has you seeing stars. You entangle your hand into his hair pushing yourself into his mouth as he moans.

He makes out with your cunt like a man starved as you feel yourself getting closer and closer. And at this point you have no idea about the words coming out of your mouth, a combination of broken moans and desperate pleas. Your legs are trembling as his big hands hold them apart, tightening his grip on them like he’s chasing his own high because you keep trying to close them with every brush of his nose against your clit.

“Please dokyeom, please I- I’m gonna- oh my god, I need to cum!”

“Yeah? Can feel you clenching baby. It’s okay, you’ve been so good, you can cum.”

And that’s all it takes. You feel the pressure in your stomach building up and the knot finally snaps as he hums against you and you break with a loud cry, your back arching and your hands pulling his hair. A euphoric feeling takes over your body as your legs going numb, and your mind in a hazy state with your eyes going dark, your back covered in sweat and your face so hot. There is only pleasure running throughout you but dokyeom doesn’t stop even as your cum covers his mouth dragging his tongue against your core as you come down from your high, until you’re gasping his name like it’s the only thing you remember.

When he looks up, it’s a sight to see; hair all messy, lips glossy, chin dripping with you and a hunger in his eyes like you’ve never seen before. He comes up and captures you in a kiss so deep you taste yourself on him. You never thought a someone eating you out would be this hot, but dokyeom has a way to keep you guessing.

“You’ve made such a mess baby, and you say you’re not a slut. What will I do with you hmm?”

There is something so demeaning about you being completely bare and vulnerable, withering under him, while he stays clothed. It’s like a fucking power trip for him, makes him feel fully in control of you, and oh does that make him so hard. Now that he’s gotten a taste, he doesn’t think he can stop.

“Take off- take- take it off” you say tugging on the collar of his shirt. Even you have no idea what incomprehensible nonsense is coming out of your mouth at this point, you’re just so drunk on him. He sits up taking off shirt and pants and you keep yourself from moaning out loud when you look at him. He looks so big. Not just beneath his boxers but him entirely, he looks so big. He notices your eyes travelling from his chest to his arms, trying to take it all in at once as if you would never have this chance again.

He finally takes off his boxers and you think you’re in love. His dick looks so pretty, his tip a slightly dark shade of pink curved a bit and veiny, you just don’t know how to explain it. He spits on his hand and pumps it in his hand and now that he’s fully hard, you have no idea how he’s going to fit in you.

“Like what you see baby? But your pussy is so tiny, how’s is going to fit?” he says as he brings his hands to your sides, running his hands all over your body. He pouts but you know he’s talking shit to tease you.

You reach up desperate for a kiss but he just kisses your cheek instead, “please, I need you to fuck me so bad kyeom, I can take it! I promise, just give it to me.”

He chuckles darkly, and this is so embarrassing for you but fuck it, who cares. “You beg so well baby, makes me wanna give you everything you ask for.”

He grabs your waist and turns you on your stomach in an instant, raising your hips to meet his, and smacks your ass hard, making you almost jump in surprise. Him manoeuvring you into being on your arms and knees was honestly such a turn on, but you know if you let him know that, you’ll let go of the tiny piece of dignity that you hopefully have left, so you settle for pushing your ass back into him making him groan.

“Condom baby?”

“In my drawer but no! no condom just, want to feel you.” you beg.

Fuck. You’re going to be the death of him. You were going to let him hit raw? Now he truly regrets not doing this earlier, but you’re not thinking clearly and he can’t take the risk no matter how much you make him want to.

“Sorry princess, but we can’t take the risk, some other time, okay?”

You groan, you hate him actually. Who gives us the opportunity to get in raw, you think to yourself as you hand him the condom.

You hear him slide it on and pump himself, “you’re so wet y/n, I might just slide in.” he says as he taps his dick on your clit making you moan. He runs his tip up and down your slit collecting your wetness, and pushes it in just so he's barely stretching you.

“I’ll take it slow okay, I promise.” He says as he grabs you by your hair and pulls you near him to kiss you on your cheek. His hands find home on your hips as he grabs them tightly, pushing himself in one inch at a time, easing you on, making you almost scream. As he bottoms out, he lets out a moan and so do you, feeling so full of him, because oh my god the stretch is like you've never felt before.

“So warm baby, so soft, cunt gripping me so good it doesn’t want me to leave I think.”

“Fuck dokyeom feel so full, I love it, please move.” You say as you beg him for the hundredth time for the night. And apparently that was all he needed to hear as he begins to drill into you sliding in and out mercilessly, slapping your ass every now and then. He fills you so good because its such a tight fit, and god does he love it. You are now left a mess under him, no thoughts in your head, just a chant leaving your mouth as you scream his name over and over.

“It’s that good baby? Or are you just too cockdrunk to think? Fuck, pussy so good it’s gonna milk the fuck outta me.” He moans as he tries to keep up with the unbelievable pace he’s set. His hand moves down your stomach as he toys with your clit from behind, making you see stars.

“You look so good like this y/n, all spread out for me. Makes me want to remember this forever, you’re gonna let me record this ass next time baby?”

All you can do is nod since you have no energy left in you to respond to him.

“Such a pillow princess, can’t even answer a simple question, need me to do all the work for you, hmm? It’s okay though, you don’t have to do anything, just sit pretty for me and I’ll take care of you.”

His grip on your ass tightens and his hand’s movement at your clit fastens as you feel him approaching his high, his strokes getting deeper yet sloppier and you wish he wasn’t wearing a condom so that he could fill you to the brim. At this point he too, like you- was an incoherent mess, because your pussy just feels like heaven to him, and he doesn’t think he can hold out any longer.

“Fuck! I’m so close dokyeom! I- i- fuck right there! Right there! Wanna cum so bad, can I- can I cum? Please, oh!” you scream with all the strength you have left.

“Ah, me too baby, fuck good girl, always such a good girl, asking for permission. You can cum princess, cum for me.”

And that’s all it takes for you to crash into the bed with a loud moan as your arms give out, your pussy clenching around him as he fills the condom. Your chest heaving and a buzzing sound in your ear, you have no idea of your surroundings as dokyeom continues to twitch inside you, finally taking his dick out after what feels like eternity. You whine at the feeling of emptiness, feeling yourself gape due to the lack of him as he crashes besides you out of breath. You turn your face to him as he softly kisses your forehead and wraps his arms around you.

After you both clean up, you lay on your new clean sheets wrapped around him as he caresses your hair.

“I’m sorry I was an idiot for not making it clear I like you sooner, I’ll take you out on a proper date later this week, okay?”

“mhm okay, but just so you know kyeomie, I don’t put out on first dates.”

[rockspider556]

F1 Incorrect Quotes :)

Charles: I’m not saying I’m in love with Max.

Carlos: You texted me at 3am saying “his eyes look like war and I’d lose every battle.”

Charles: Okay poet, relax.

………….

Seb: I left you alone for five minutes.

Entire paddock on fire, Lewis riding a scooter through the chaos, Pierre shirtless for no reason: Heyyyy Seb!!! :)

………….

George: I made one mistake.

Alex: You caused a 12-car pile-up, a level 5 fire, flipped your own car, and still blamed the wind.

George: Yeah. One mistake.

………….

Daniel: I’m not in love with Max.

Checo: You called him “my little war crime” and smiled for ten minutes.

………….

Nico: If we die, I want you to know—

Lewis: That you forgive me?

Nico: That it was 100% your fault.

………….

Oscar: Why does your contact name for me have a heart?

Lando: It’s ironic.

Oscar: You also have me under “loml <3.”

Lando: Deeply ironic.

………….

Lance: So, what do you think of my driving?

Fernando: If I say it was “brave,” will you cry or try again?

………….

Liam: Stop treating me like a child.

Max: Then stop doing things like trying to bribe your race engineer with Cars trading cards.

Liam: They were RARE!

[musclesandhammering]

Don’t be sorry, I live for meta like this, lol.

You know, I didn’t even make the connection but what you said was so true about Odin forgiving Thor and Loki because they ultimately came around to protecting the kingdom whereas Hela ended up taking her anger out on Asgard.

I could analyse this family’s issues for hours but I think it’s really interesting how you could make a 3-circle venn diagram explaining the various comparisons and contrasts that each child has to the others in regard to Odin’s parenting of them.

Like, all three of them had an unhealthy dynamic with their dad. Thor was clearly the golden child- the one Odin was closest to and most proud of- while hela and Loki were kept at a metaphorical distance due to their rebellious history and reluctance to concede. On the other hand, Hela was set apart from the boys in that, as you mentioned, she never recovered from her wayward spiral and because of that, was never embraced by her father again. Finally, Loki is different from Thor and hela because, where they’re both (biologically and metaphorically) beneficiaries of his imperialism, Loki is a victim of it, and should have a completely different perspective on Odin’s warmongering than the other two.

All of that is to say that it’s fascinating how, despite them having mutual experiences as well, they also all have very individual grievances re: Odin’s treatment of them- and that lets us see Odin himself from three completely distinct angles. I’ve mentioned in the past that it’s like they all represent different era’s of his personal journey. Hela is his full-on conquerer days and all that baggage that came with it. Thor is his attempt to be better and leave those things behind him (even though, as we see with Thor, all is not perfect there. Despite his attempts at benevolence, the empire is still going strong, even if he’s not actively invading new realms). And Loki is the skeletons in his closet- Loki’s very origin is a reminder that Odin is still very much a coloniser and just like Loki’s heritage, his solution is not to deal with it in an atonement-seeking way, but rather try to cover it up).

That being said, none of this means Odin is a bad person or doesn’t care about his kids. In fact, I think it’s a very good parallel to real life boomer parents (lol) who love their children but are so tangled in their olden mindsets that they’re never fully able to love them in a healthy way. They may try to learn and get marginally better overtime, but unfortunately they don’t usually ever become model parents. Odin realises he’s made mistakes with his kids and the guilt over that haunts him, but he also doesn’t know the correct way to handle things. Even when he’s trying to improve, he’s still basing his self corrections on that same old warmongering king-before-father thought pattern and because of that, he just makes the same mistakes in a slightly less obvious way.

Anyway, I’m done yapping I guess. I love finding people who see Odin as a complex character instead of either “he’s an evil pos” or “stfu he was a great dad!” because, to me, the whole story is way more tragic if Odin and Frigga (and Laufey and Farbauti and Hela’s mom I guess) weren’t trying to mess their kids up but ended up doing it anyway.

brb just thinking about how Odin banished Hela a thousand years ago and then he banished Thor in 2011 and then his anger turned to Loki and Loki decided to banish him to a retirement home before Odin could get him

[christopherisfoive]

Terms and Conditions (Changbin one-shot)

Roommate AU | Changbin x Reader | Comedy + Sugesstive | College Setting

word count: 1.3 k

a/n: last one shot before the requests start coming out. also i feel so warm that so many of you actually sent me requests. I was only expecting one or two. T-T makes me so happy that you guys want more of my writing. <3

You and Changbin were never supposed to be roommates.

You were supposed to live with Mina—your quiet, soft-spoken friend from chem lab who baked banana bread and cried during Pixar movies. Not with her extremely built, extremely loud best friend who apparently thinks 3AM is a perfectly reasonable time to blast a gym playlist and deadlift in the living room.

But Mina bailed after getting into a study abroad program in Europe.

And Changbin, who “just needed a place for the semester,” slid into her spot with a duffel bag, ten tubs of protein powder, and a megawatt smile like this was some kind of blessing.

You told yourself you could handle it.

Two months later, your self-control is hanging on by a thread, and you’re convinced the universe is laughing at you.

Especially when he walks around shirtless. All. The. Time.

Now, here you are—sitting in the cramped kitchen of your shared apartment at 11:48PM, watching him absolutely obliterate a tub of protein powder like it insulted his ancestors.

"That is not one scoop," you mutter, staring as he shovels another mound into his shaker bottle.

Changbin doesn’t look up. “It’s leg day tomorrow.”

“It was leg day yesterday.”

“And?”

“And you sound like a blender when you breathe after the gym.”

He finally glances up from his protein apocalypse, one eyebrow raised. His hair is damp from a shower, sticking to his forehead. He’s shirtless, obviously, because why wouldn’t he be? And the gray sweatpants aren’t helping. You’re only human.

“You have no idea how much I hold back just to be a tolerable roommate,” he says, shaking the bottle like he’s challenging it to a fight. “I could be doing protein shots in the bathroom at 3AM. Be grateful.”

“Oh, I am. Especially when you moan while drinking it.”

“I do not moan—”

“You do. Yesterday? You drank it like it was your last request on death row.”

His mouth twitches. “Sorry I enjoy my supplements. Some of us are dedicated.”

You roll your eyes and toss a popcorn kernel at him. It bounces off his shoulder.

He picks it up. Eats it.

“You’re lucky I’m not territorial angel,” he says, mouth full. “You keep stealing my stuff.”

“I borrowed one scoop of pre-workout.”

“For what? Running your mouth?”

Your jaw drops. “Wow.”

“Wow what?” He grins. “Wanna fight about it?”

You stand. “I’ll win.”

“You’re like half my size.”

“I have rage strength.”

“You have cartoon character energy.”

You’re in each other’s faces now, barely six inches apart. You hadn’t meant to close the distance, but the smirk on his lips dared you to, and now neither of you is backing down.

His eyes flicker down—just once—to your lips.

And there it is.

That quiet shift.

The silence between a joke and a mistake.

You swallow. “This is a really bad idea.”

Changbin’s voice drops. “What is?”

“Whatever this is.”

“We’re just talking,” he says, tone too low, too easy. “Having a little midnight bonding.”

Your heart is hammering. You want to step back. You really do.

But then he leans in, just a fraction, breath warm against your cheek.

“You gonna take more of my protein powder, baby?” he murmurs.

You blink. “What the hell.”

“Sorry,” he says quickly, laughing. “Slipped out.”

“Yeah, okay. Keep it in your pants, gym boy.”

“Can’t promise anything if you keep staring at me like that.”

“I’m not staring.”

“You’re absolutely staring.”

There’s another beat of silence.

Your voice comes out quieter. “You’re not as annoying when you’re quiet like this.”

He tilts his head, eyes never leaving yours. “You’re not as mean when your voice goes all soft like that.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

It’s only a second.

But it lingers.

You finally clear your throat. “Goodnight, Changbin.”

You turn and walk off—quick, firm steps, refusing to let him see your expression.

You don’t see the smile tugging at his lips.

Or the way he whispers, “Yeah. Night, baby,” under his breath.

It’s 1:30AM, and you’re standing in the kitchen, hunting for something to snack on—because why not eat half your weight in chips when you're trying to avoid sleep?

The silence between you and Changbin has been stretched thin ever since your brief moment in the living room. It’s not that you’re avoiding each other—well, maybe you are—but it's mostly because you know if either of you opens your mouth, you're gonna say something ridiculous.

“Found them,” you mutter to yourself as you pull open a cupboard.

Suddenly, Changbin appears next to you, and you don’t even notice until your elbow accidentally jabs into his ribs.

“Ow—what the hell?” Changbin huffs, taking a step back, but in the process, his foot hits the trash can, sending it tumbling across the floor.

You panic. “No!” You scramble forward to catch it, but you’re too late—your hand shoots out, and in a clumsy attempt to steady yourself, you slam into him.

Changbin stumbles back, and you’re completely off balance now. His body collides with yours, and suddenly, your face is inches from his. Your hands fly to his chest, but he’s already got his arms around you to keep you from falling flat on your face.

And then—like the universe just decided to mess with you both—your lips land right on his.

It’s a full kiss. Not a light peck, not a brush of lips—no, you accidentally full-on kiss Changbin like it’s something you’ve been doing for years.

You freeze.

Changbin freezes.

The moment drags out for way too long, and you’re both too stunned to move.

You pull back first, but not before you notice the way his lips look swollen and the breath he’s holding in.

“Uh…” you clear your throat. “Sorry. That was—”

“Yeah, it was,” he says quickly, his voice rougher than usual.

“I didn’t mean to—”

He cuts you off with a smirk.

“Didn’t mean to kiss me like that?”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t mean to kiss you at all, okay?”

He grins wider. “Mhm. I’m pretty sure that’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“I swear to god—”

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” he adds, watching you closely as you try to compose yourself. He leans closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Now, I’m curious, Y/N. What’s it feel like?”

You blink. “What’s what feel like?”

“Kissing me.”

Your face goes hot.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, flustered and trying to get back to your bag of chips.

“Come on. You can’t just kiss me and not talk about it.” He steps in front of you, blocking the pantry. “You can’t get away with that.”

You shove at his chest lightly, but Changbin stays right there, a little too close for comfort.

“I wasn’t kissing you on purpose,” you protest, crossing your arms defensively.

Changbin grins, leaning in even closer, his voice dropping lower. “Really? Because it seemed pretty intentional to me. What’s it like to kiss someone this handsome?”

You’re about to smack him, but instead, you breathe out an exasperated laugh.

“I hate you sometimes.”

He smirks. “I know you don’t. You wouldn’t have kissed me if you did.”

You glare at him, trying to hide your smile, but it's impossible.

“You know,” he continues, eyes gleaming, “I think this whole ‘not being in a relationship’ thing is getting old.”

You narrow your eyes. “We live together. We’re basically in a relationship.”

“Hmm.” He raises an eyebrow. “So, when are you gonna kiss me again? Accidentally, of course.”

You groan. “I didn’t—”

He steps back, clearly satisfied. “Yeah, sure. Keep denying it.”

You walk past him to grab your chips, and Changbin calls after you.

“You know,” he says casually, “I’m just gonna say it. I think we should kiss again, but on purpose this time.”

You flip him off without turning around.

[prettydaisygirl]

OMG. I cant beleive I found a new writer who can feed my james potter delusion! Generally I'm a silent supporter but after reading your Aus, you literally have unlocked a new part of my brain. Your ideas are truly amazing ❤️ pls keep blessing us with your works🙏🏻

I feel like the au idea which I have in mind you can really express it.so may I pls request a college au with fratjames potter x reader.where they both are acquaintance and something happens.due to some misunderstanding reader is the receiving end of James wrath.after realising his mistake he makes a sweet apology gesture to reader and wants to get in her good books.

It's just a just my apology if you couldn't really get the idea( english is my 2nd language and I don't feel confident in it)

P.s pls feel free to ignore it ❤️Have a wonderful Day/Night💗

Hello, my love! Thank you so much for the request! This is my first request so I'm a little nervous haha, I hope this is what you were looking for :) Your words are so sweet, and you really made my day! Also, I'm kind of obsessed with frat!James now... Have a wonderful day/night yourself, lovely <3

frat!James Potter x fem!reader who was supposed to bring the beer ✿ 1.4k words

cw: fem reader, marauders as frat bros, alcohol (or lack thereof), armed store robbery with a gun (not described in detail), reader is James' lab partner

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James is having a bad night. It’s 8pm on a Friday and he hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol yet. This is unusual, especially given the music blaring through the frat house with enough bass to shake the foundation. There are dozens of people here. Most of them know James even if he doesn’t know them, which is great until it isn’t.

Another one approaches him, some guy by the name of Marty or something.

“Dude,” The guy raises his arms and James’ annoyance skyrockets. He already knows what this guy is about to say. “Where’s the beer?”

“I know,” James grunts at him. Barty, that’s it. “I’m working on it.”

Barty scoffs but James is already pushing past him. He pushes through the crowd, many of whom move quickly to get out of his way. His eyes scan through, looking for someone in particular.

Where the hell are you?

James makes his way to the kitchen, seeing the counters still bare and no sign of you anywhere. He curses under his breath and pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list. Just as he presses the call button, Sirius approaches him. James holds up a hand but Sirius speaks anyway.

“Prongs, where are the drinks? If one more Alpha Tau tells me my party sucks, I might go to prison.” James just glares at Sirius’ dramatics, the phone ringing endlessly in his ear. It goes to voicemail and he hangs up with a groan. 

“I thought you said you handled it!” Sirius stresses just as Remus walks into the kitchen, beelining for the two of them.

“I did!” James argues, running a hand through his already unruly hair with a huff. 

“What’s going on?” Remus asks, crossing his arms and looking between James and Sirius with a narrowed stare. “Is this about the beer?”

“Yes!” Sirius stresses again, and points at James, “It’s James’ week to get drinks. But here we are, at 8pm on Friday and…” Sirius gestures to the empty countertops. “No drinks!”

“You tell ‘em, Sirius!” James hears Barty shout from across the kitchen and James fears he and Sirius might both end up in prison together. 

“I thought I handled it.” James tells both of his frat brothers, shrugging a bit.

“What does that mean?” Remus asks, his brow furrowing. “Did you buy the drinks or not?”

James at least has the decency to look sheepish, running a hand over the back of his hair as he inhales through his teeth. “I may have… asked my lab partner to get it for me.”

Sirius gasps, raising a hand to his chest as though clutching his pearls, “I thought pawning drinks off on someone else was against the rules!”

“It is.” Remus tells Sirius, looking at James with an expectant stare. 

“I was using it as an excuse for us to meet up, you know? So the two of us can hang out…” James feels his stomach churn when Sirius’ face bends into a knowing smirk. 

“Oh, I understand…” Sirius winks at James, “To ‘hang out.’” His air quotes make Remus roll his eyes and James glare harshly.

“Someone needs to go get drinks.” Remus reminds the two of them. The party crowd is getting routier behind him. 

“James, it’s your week, so off you go.” Sirius nudges James toward the front door. “You never know, you might find your lover along the way!” 

“Oi, fuck off!” James calls back to him right as the door slams closed behind him. 

As he begins the trek to the store, he attempts to call you several times. Every attempt is met with voicemail. He texts you, and all of them are left unread. James finds frustration and anger building in his gut, not solely from the lack of alcohol but also from being stood up, apparently. James Potter has never been stood up in his life. 

On his seventh attempt to call you, it doesn’t even ring. It goes straight to voicemail. His jaw clenches and his fists ball up and he finds himself spewing words he shouldn’t say, airing his frustrations out to you. He calls you things like selfish and rude, and even a bad friend. 

By the time he turns onto the last street, his anger has mostly turned into disappointment. He’d really been looking forward to seeing you tonight, and though it hadn’t been to sleep with you like Sirius had suggested, he had been considering it your first date. 

James is lost in thought as he approaches the store, steps scraping gently across the pavement. He’s thinking about what he might say to you during your lab on Monday when he hears your voice. It catches his attention immediately and he looks up, eyes searching for you. 

There you are, just as pretty as always, but something’s wrong. You’re standing in front of the store, tear-stains evident on your cheeks as you speak to a police officer. James’ heart sinks into his stomach and he’s by your side before he can stop himself.

“Hey,” His voice is low and soothing, more comforting than he thought he could be but you look up at him like he’s saved your life and his heart pounds. “What’s going on?” 

James’ eyes dart nervously between you and the police officer, but the uniformed man shakes his head a bit. “I’ve got everything I need. You gon’ be okay?” James is a bit confused but he realizes the officer’s words are directed at you when he sees you nodding.

“Yes, sir. Thank you very much.” Your voice is a bit choked and you wipe at your cheeks before turning to him. He feels like he needs to scoop you up in his arms, to do something to help put you back together and get that look out of your eyes. 

“What happened?” James’ hands reach for your arms, settling on your elbows. His thumbs brush over your skin soothingly and you feel tears burning in your eyes again at his gentle movements.

“I was…” You swallow thickly when your voice cracks, “I was trying to get the drinks for your party and some guy came in and he was yelling at the cashier, and he… he had a gun, and I didn’t know what to do and you kept calling me and I was trying to answer but-”

James shushes you before you can continue spiraling, shaking his head. Guilt surges through him, knowing what his texts say. And that voicemail…

“Don’t worry about it.” He assures you, and his dark eyes meet yours. “Is it okay if I hug you?” As soon as you nod, he wraps you in a tight embrace, like he really is trying to put you back together. You both stand like that for a long moment until he feels your body relax, your soft sigh brushing his ear in a puff of warm air. 

James pulls back and moves to cup your face with one hand, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You tell him with a soft nod and an even softer smile. It’s one that gives James butterflies and he suddenly feels bad having you look at him like that when…

“Just… delete all of those texts from me.” He says, and your brow furrows, lips parting a bit to question him but he speaks again before you can. “And please don’t listen to that voicemail.”

You look to the side before your eyes meet his again, a confused smile on your lips. “What? Why, what did you say?” The smile fades when James doesn’t play off his words like he always does.

“Okay, I’ll delete them.” His face relaxes a bit at your words and he looks back up at the shop. He hears his text notification sound, but he ignores it, his eyes settling on your face again instead. 

“Do you… Are you still coming to the party?” He asks, and he hates the way desperation is plain in his tone. 

“I was hoping to, yeah.�� Your smile turns a bit shy and sweet now and James beams, his hands on your shoulders.

“Okay, great! So we’ll get drinks and then walk back together!” His smile falters and he hesitates then, looking back at the store. “Actually, you wait here. I’ll go get drinks. You don’t need to come back inside.” Your heart almost breaks at his consideration for your feelings. You move up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Okay,” You say, “I’ll be waiting right here.” 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[prototypesteve]

🌊

I absolutely agree that it’s impossible, right now. The obstacles feel bigger than anything on the other side might be worth,

Sometimes it’s not about what’s on the other side of the obstacle, it’s a about what’s on your side of the obstacle, with you.

The dumbass and the sea. A story.

⚠️🛟 CW: Thalassophobia. Skip to the next large title block to bypass this, if need be. 🛟⚠️

I once fucked up severely, and went on an 8 km kayaking trip (4 km out, 4 km back) while I had the kayaking the skills to go on a 3 or 4 km kayaking trip. Worse yet, I had very little experience kayaking in coastal waters (everything I’d done before then was on lakes). My mind wasn’t ready to process “range anxiety” in water that was home to large animals.

The last hour of my trip back was impossible. The waves were scary, the rocks on the side of the island I was kayaking alongside were big and there was no place to just stop and wait. The sun was going down. The weather was changing. I was stressed and anxious, it was impossible.

But there were sea lions and orcas in the water nearby. Now, statistically they’re absolutely harmless. These were “resident” orcas who only eat fish. BUT I knew if one even surfaced for a breath of air within 100 meters of me (sorry I grew up with metric I just can’t estimate feet) I would go into a panic attack.

So I now had two impossibles. It felt impossible to keep pushing myself to paddle back for that last hour, but it felt even more impossible to imagine what I’d do if I saw a big living thing swim by me.

So I picked the less impossible thing, and kept paddling, and got back, and screamed and hated myself for being an idiot, and I got over it.

🟢 End of thalassophibia content warning 🟢

Yeah? So? What the fuck does this have to do with Tumblr and having backup plans?

On April 2 of 2025, Tumblr’s parent company got rid of about 16% of its staff.

While their stock isn’t public, the price it’s privately traded at is published, and it’s a mess. Down almost 25% in just one quarter. (As of April 24, 2025.) Stock prices matter in these situations because they affect the owners’ wealth, and there can be the temptation to get out before your $10 million dream becomes $3 million. That’s how some platforms get sold.

Tumblr doesn’t even need someone like Trump to attack it. Tumblr is on the same life-support Automattic has put itself on, to try to get through a Trump recession.

What this means for you: Even IF it’s impossible, you have to ask what you’d do without Tumblr, and the answer can’t be that you’d die, or you’d fall apart, or you’d go insane.

When you spiral like that, you make mistakes. I spiralled like that last month while I was quitting Instagram and waiting for Meta to close my account. I almost accidentally outed myself to my family. I carelessly left a copy of Ace Voices out where someone would have found it. I was in a pissy back-and-forth conversation with someone because I was in a crap mood, and I made a small mistake that would have amounted to a big mistake.

Your mental well-being has a direct correlation with your safety. “If you feel fucked up, you will fuck up” as one instructor told me.

Also, yes, if you put this all together, I’m more afraid of explaining asexuality to my baby-boomer dad and/or my GenX sister than I am of being capsized in the ocean by an orca.

🪂

Do, at some point, make real queer friends. One, two, a dozen. Friends you can actually meet for a walk or whatever.

Online communities vanish. Platforms collapse, or turn awful, or get politically messy they can vanish out of your life overnight. Have someone to fall back on.

It’s hard. But what would be harder is if I lost Instagram (last month), Reddit (last year) , and Tumblr (if/when Trump goes nuts) without also having real live humans I could talk about it with, over lunch or whatever.

[sanasyndrome]

(3)—"LOVE ME LATER"

!MEN DNI!

pair: uchinaga aeri x f!reader

cw: nothing much just swearing. this is SMAU!

sypnosis: uchinaga aeri has been inlove with her best friend, y/n, for years. she was planning to confess until ning yizhou came in the picture and ruined her plan. now that they've broken up, will she gather enough courage to confess to y/n before they get back together, or will she keep quiet and lose her chance?

a/n: not proofread so forgive me if there are any mistakes. !!don't mind the timestamps!!

prev | next

“I’ll see you later,” aeri stated, tucking a stray strand of hair behind y/n's ear, earning a small, appreciative hum from the other girl, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“see you,” she replied, turning on her heel to face the half-filled classroom. muffled conversations surrounded her as she walked in, muttering under her breath about how draining mondays always seemed to be.

y/n sat in her usual seat, barely paying attention as the class progressed. the professor’s voice droned in the background as her mind wandered, absentmindedly doodling on her notebook’s margins. at the end of the lesson, seeing as they had more than enough time left, the professor cleared his throat, signaling that he had something important to share.

“alright class. since we still have some time, I figured this would be a good opportunity to announce our semester-long project.” y/n silently groaned. monday was already exhausting by itself and now there was an added burden.

“you'll be working in pairs for this one. collaboration is key, so get to know your partner and make a plan together soon. I don't want to hear any complaints,” he added, glancing around the room to make sure everyone was listening. y/n sighed, her mind beginning to drift again as he began to read through the list of pairs.

initially, y/n didn't think much of it and brushed it off. it was just some lousy project she'll be doing with a random person she'd never talk to or see again after the semester—right? WRONG. because her partner wasn't just a random person, no. it was ning, ning yizhou, her ex.

“l/n? y/n l/n, please raise your hand so your partner can see you.” the professor's voice snapped y/n back in reality. she hesitantly raised her hand, her gaze swept across the room—landing on her ex who was just a few seats away from her. she didn’t even know that ning took this class, let alone attended the same university as her. after a few seconds, she put her hand down as she slumped down on her seat.

after what felt like an eternity, the professor wrapped up the announcements just a second before the bell rang. y/n practically bolted from her seat and out the door—she hasn’t looked this determined to reach her next class before. she did not want to face the girl she spent(or maybe wasted) four years of her life with right now.