#like if it were a fic what should i call it

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or��crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

[landoughnut]

Kiss Me

♡ masterlist - request!

♡ pairing - oscar piastri x popstar!fem!reader (fc - tate mcrae)

♡ summary - oscar fancied the worlds current favorite popstar, but he won't give up until she notices him

♡ warnings - ooc oscar (very unshy), fluff, banter, suggestive(ish)

♡ w/c & a/n - smau | I have the SAT tmr but here I am writing fics instead 🫶🏻 yolo

oscarpiastri FIRST 😫 WOW

username damn he's here before me and I was here in like 2 seconds

username I respect the grind oscar 🙏

username I wonder if she'll ever notice him

oscarpiastri I'd like to believe she will 😔

username omg hi king never give up 🗣️

oscarpiastri I wish I was there 😿 I also wish I was that mic

username AYOO real

oscarpiastri erm actually you're not supposed to agree 👍

username I'm waiting for this grid to finally find her account

username lando !!!

username GORGEOUSSSS ♥︎ by author

username omg I was there best concert EVERRR ♥︎ by author

oscarpiastri #jealous

username it's alright race boy you were there in spirit 🙂

username oscarpiastri aren't you like a millionaire? why don't you just buy tickets

oscarpiastri username unfortunately I can't with traveling for racing, maybe I can sneak away though 😈

mclaren oscarpiastri no 🎀

mclaren playing your songs in our garage repeatedly 🧡 ♥︎ by author

username OOO SHE KNOWS MCLAREN EXISTS????

username username I think she's said in an interview she used to watch f1 sometimes !!

username OSCAR YOU HAVE A CHANCE ‼️

oscarpiastri chat I'm cooking up a plan 🫡

lando can I help?

oscarpiastri ehh no you suck at plans

lando meanie ☹️

username LMAOOOOO LLL

oscarpiastri is that 8 on your shirt for op81 👀😉

username you should send her some merch

oscarpiastri you've sparked an idea mate thanks 😼

username ur welcome

lando oscarpiastri help why are you spamming this poor girls comments on every post 😹

username lando be quiet let oscar be delusional

oscarpiastri OH MY 😮‍💨

username I almost thought that I was first

oscarpiastri never.

username mommy 🤤

oscarpiastri ew who even are you

username you tell em osc 📣

oscarpiastri #needthat

lando such a desperate boy tsk tsk

username desperate or determined?

maxverstappen1 desperate.

oscarpiastri HEY 😾

oscarpiastri the most beautiful girl ever

username aw a cute comment for once

lando keep it up osc compliments will surely work 💪

username date me pls 🧎‍♂️

oscarpiastri how about no 💕

oscarpiastri you guys laugh at me now but one day she'll write a song about me trust

lando have you hit your head during a race mate?

oscarpiastri australia is even better 😏 ♥︎ by author

username OH MY GOSH THIS IS NOT A DRILL

username NO WAY SHE ACTAULLY LIKED AN OSCAR COMMENT

lando LFGGGGGGGGG

lando guys do I call for an ambulance.. oscar let out this gasp that sounded like he was being strangled and then passed out

yourusername lando please do :) hope he's okay

lando yourusername well when he IS okay he'll pass out seeing your reply

username THIS IS CRAZYYYYY

username WHATTTTT

username NO WAY OMG

username AUSTRALIA??? AFTER OSCARS COMMENT ON HER LAST POST ⁉️

lando oscarpiastri TEXT ME NOW.

username guys do we think they met?

username 100%

username maybe mclaren invited her to the melbourne gp??

mclaren 👀 ♥︎ by author

username mclaren WHAT DO YOU KNOW

username mclaren LET ME INNNNNN

oscarpiastri nice picture 👍 ♥︎ by author

oscarpiastri nice location too 😁 ♥︎ by author

username OSCARIZZ

maxverstappen1 I know things

lando maxverstappen1 HOW HAS HE TOLD YOU BEFORE ME WTH

maxverstappen1 lando I'm just better 🤷🏼‍♂️

username remember when oscar first admitted that she's his celeb crush like four years ago

username ahhh look how far we've come 🙏

lando oscarpiastri I feel like a proud mum

oscarpiastri do you mean dad?

lando no :')

username 🔥🥵🔥

oscarpiastri 🧯🔫🧯

username is that a threat

oscarpiastri 🙃

oscarpiastri IS IT HOT IN HERE 😍

oscarpiastri PHEW WEE 😻

lando simp

maxverstappen1 simp

charles_leclerc simp

carlossainz55 simp

lewishamilton simp

pierregasly simp

yourusername simp

oscarpiastri go get a life losers 🙄

oscarpiastri yourusername except you of course 😊 ♥︎ by author

username I FEEL LEFT OUT SMHHH

oscarpiastri SMASHHHHH ♥︎ by author

yourusername time and place?

username WOAHHH HELLO?? SHES FLIRTING BACK NOW????

lando we did it brothers 🫡

oscarpiastri WE??

username DOES THIS MEAN THERE IS SOMETHING⁉️

charles_leclerc 🏃‍♀️

username charles_leclerc TELL ME NOW HO

charles_leclerc username not with that attitude 😒

username charles_leclerc NO WAY WAIT I'M SORRY COME BACK

oscarpiastri I'm putting this picture above my bed 😎🤤

lando oscarpiastri stop using that drooling emoji you look like a weirdo

oscarpiastri BARK BARK BARK 🐶

username he's lost it

username nurse it's this one over here

username she can run me over and I'll apologize

oscarpiastri I don't think you'll be able to apologize after I run you over with my race car🫢

username oscarpiastri oh.....

mclaren oscarpiastri oh thats not...

username WHAT WHAT WHAT

lando LFGGGGGGGGGGGG

mclaren on repeat 🧡 ♥︎ by author

username WHY ARE THEY SO CHILL ABOUT THIS⁉️

username HARD LAUNCH????!!!!!

username THEY ARE SOOOOOO DATING

username ORANGE SUIT AND CAR FOR MCLAREN AYEEE

lando it's papaya actually ☝️🤓

maxverstappen1 hehe 😸

charles_leclerc I still don't know how oscar managed to pull this off

charles_leclerc oscarpiastri proud of you son

lando charles_leclerc if hes your son and I'm his mom, are we married? 🥺

maxverstappen1 lando no

username LESTAPPEN NEVER DIES ✊

pierregasly AYEEE oscar finally got the girl 🥳 I was sick of hearing him dying to be noticed

username does this mean I have a chance with lando

lando username depends, do you have kinder chocolate?

username lando yes...

lando username then yes, u have a chance😁

username IM SO NOT NORMAL ABOUT THIS

username IM SO HAPPY FOR THEM UGH

username REMEMBER OSCAR SAID IN HER COMMENTS ONCE THAT SHE'D WRITE A SONG ABOUT HIM ONE DAY

username LMAOOO AND WE ALL POINTED AND LAUGHED

username I guess he proved us wrong 🧑‍🦯‍➡️

oscarpiastri 🧡 ♥︎ by author

yourusername 🧡

[science-hoes]

Angel Kisses

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: graphic medical descriptions, needles

A/N: I thought this fic would be a little less fluffy and more spicy but I just can’t help it. Plus I love Noah Wyle’s barely there freckles. I feel like this isn’t my best work because I had severe writers block. Hope it’s good enough for yall tho 💕

My Ko-Fi :)

—

The Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center was rumored to be the 9th level of Hell. So when it was time for you to begin your schedule for trauma surgery, you prayed for a different hospital. Literally any other hospital.

But there you were, in the depths of the Pitt, working your fifth 12 hour shift of the rotation. Only 1pm, but you felt like someone had changed the clocks because there was no way that the day was only halfway done. You were reading a pediatric patient’s CBC results, getting ready to tell your senior attending for the day, Dr. Jack Abbott, that the child is anemic. But Dana’s voice distracted you:

“You can’t even stay away on your day off. Do you have a life besides the Pitt?” She said to someone out of your view.

“Trust me. This is a last resort.” You heard a man respond, the voice slightly familiar.

You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, the senior attending from your first four days of working here. He didn’t look too different out of his scrubs and navy hoodie that he wore at work. Black joggers and gray long sleeve athletic shirt that hugged his waist…really nicely.

“Last resort for what?” Dr. Frank Langdon called out from where he sat at his desk, charting his patient case.

“I fell of a ladder and tore up my back on the fence in my backyard.” Answered Dr. Robinav- Dr. Robby, you had to remind yourself. “I need stitches, but I can’t reach the cut.”

Langdon winced and leaned back in his chair. “Need me to stitch you up?” He asked.

Dr. Abbott walked up to the desk near Langdon and laughed. “No, he wants his friend to stitch him up. Right, Robby?” He joked, referring to himself.

Robby laughed and crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of the athletic shirt. Damn. “Friend is a strong word. I don’t have friends.” He said with a smile.

Langdon scoffed. “We went fishing last weekend. What does that make me?” He asked.

“I prefer the term ‘coworker that I hang out with sometimes outside of work.’” Robby said, but you could see the teasing in the way his eyes crinkled.

Dana rolled her eyes. “You are all annoying me. Jack, go stitch him up so he can get out of here and rest.” She said before walking off to a patient room.

Robby shook his head. “No, no, just let a med student do it. Good learning opportunity.” He said.

“No med students today. Only interns.” Langdon mumbled as he continued typing on his computer.

Robby clasped his hands together and held them close to his chest. “Even better. I would love for my scar to be in a straight line.” He joked.

Abbott looked to you, who had been watching the group interact from a couple of desks over. Your face flushed slightly, realizing you probably look like an eavesdropper. He motioned with his head toward Robby. “Why don’t you take our patient to holding and fix him up? I’ll take the CBC results.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, almost a little too seriously. The Pitt was an intense environment, but these attendings did not have the same egos as the ones from your last several rotations.

Robby chuckled at your earnestness. “Hear that, Langdon? ‘Yes, sir.’ You should be taking notes.” He ordered facetiously, pointing his finger at the senior resident.

Langdon looked up from his desk as you began walking with Robby to the back of the Pitt where the holding rooms were. “You know, we tell all of our patients over 65 to be very careful when doing yard work.” He called out.

Robby shot him a bird without turning back around. You smiled at the banter, not used to the lax interactions between physicians of different ranks. Once you made it to the room, Robby sat on the bed, and you grabbed a standard suture kit.

“Is it on your back?” You asked, turned away from him.

“Yeah. I’d do it myself if I could reach it. I managed to cover it up though.” He said.

When you turned back around, his tight fitting shirt had been peeled off his upper body. Holy shit. In the last five days, you didn’t really give yourself time to fantasize about your attending. He was handsome for sure and charming when he wasn’t jumping down a resident’s throat (yet he still had the patience of a saint). His abdomen was well toned, and his chest was smooth. Not what you expected based off his hairy forearms and face.

You must have been staring too much because Robby’s shoulders hunched, as if trying to subtly cover his exposed body. “Let me just take a look at the cut.” You said, trying to come back to earth. You moved to the edge of the bed and removed the bandage that he had placed himself.

You could see the blood that had leaked through the dressing, but you were not prepared to see the extent of the cut stretch across the majority of his upper back. “Oh, shit.” You swore.

Robby chuckled. “That’s not a comforting thing to hear from your doctor.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air of the hospital struck the wound.

You shook your head in a panic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t say that to a normal patient.” You covered for yourself.

Robby shook his head. “No, no. Listen. You’re taking everything a little too seriously. Just relax. Roll with the punches. That’s the only way you’ll survive down here.” He explained.

You nodded, taking in a stiff breath anyway. You disposed of the bandaging and picked up the lidocaine syringe. “Okay. I’m about to start injecting lidocaine around the cut. You’ll feel the burning more than the needle.” You said. You placed one gloved hand on his back, giving yourself a guide while you held the syringe in the other.

“90 degrees or 45?” He asked, making you freeze in place.

You paused for a moment, almost afraid to say your answer in fear of being incorrect. “90.” You answered.

“Why?”

At this point, the needle was hovering just an inch above your first injection site. “Recent studies show that patients report less pain with a 90 degree angle.” You said, confident in your sources.

Robby smiled, but you didn’t see it. “Very good.” Was all he said.

You injected the first round of lidocaine, and he hissed at the burning around the open wound. You kept moving around the cut, injecting small doses. “You’re doing great, Dr. Robby.” You praised, just as you would with any patient.

“Fuck, I say that to patients all the time. No wonder it makes no difference.” He grumbled.

You smiled slightly and injected the final dose. “All done.”

Robby let out a heavy breath, hanging his head as the skin slowly numbed where you worked. You began to open the suture kit and sort out its contents on the metal tray near the bed.

“What stitch?” He asked.

You grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the drawer in the room before returning to his side. You cleaned the skin around the wound where the blood had dribbled down his back in a mix with sweat from working outside.

“Running stitch. The cut is long but not at risk of tension.” You answered. Robby nodded in approval. You carefully started on your first stitch, delicately inserting the curved needle into his skin. “So, you were on a ladder?” You asked.

Robby huffed in slight irritation. “Yeah. Trimming some branches that were reaching over the fence into the neighbors’ yard. I misstepped on the way down and lost my balance.” He explained.

You grimaced. “That sucks.” You said matter of factly.

“Yeah. Maybe Langdon is right. I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff.” He said with a chuckle.

Your hands carefully moved as they continued to sew. “You don’t look old.” You said.

Robby smiled to himself, not expecting you to respond at all. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” You said, glad he couldn’t see your involuntary blush. As you continued to stitch, you noticed all of the spots and marks that dusted his back and shoulders. “I like your freckles.” You noted.

Robby’s mind halted. It was a compliment he had never received. Your words went straight to his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt flustered.

“My freckles?” He repeated.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You got ‘em on your face too?” You asked.

Robby turned his head, not to present his face, but because he was still surprised and wanted to see if you were being genuine. And there they were. A light scattering of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose.

“Yep. They’re precious.” You said after inspecting and returning back to your stitching. Robby’s face flushed, and you could especially see it in his ears as you worked. “You know, my mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. Every time I got a new one, I thought an angel had kissed me. I went an embarrassingly long time into junior high before realizing it was just a tall tale.” You explained.

Robby smiled at the charming story, feeling an unusual feeling of comfort. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He said.

You grinned. “Looks like the angels couldn’t get enough of you then.” You teased.

Robby chuckled and ran a nervous hand across the back of his neck, careful not to pull against the skin as you worked. “How’s it looking back there?” He asked, trying to continue conversation.

“I need to run about five more stitches. Then you’ll be on your way.” You said.

He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you working tomorrow?” He asked.

You thought for a second, honestly not sure. “I don’t think so. My first off day since I started.” You replied. “Are you?”

“No. Seven on, seven off.” He said.

You pulled at the last suture and cut the remaining thread. “All right, Dr. Robby. You’re all cleaned up.” You announced.

“Great.” Robby hopped off the bed and stood up straight, popping a few kinks in his back from being hunched over. He towered above you, losing the intimacy that you temporarily had. “Take a picture and show me.” He said.

You pulled off your gloves slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Of the stitches?” You asked, afraid that he was going to grill you for sloppy suturing.

“Yeah, just to see the damage.” He responded.

You pulled your phone out and stood behind him. Fuck, even his back looked good. You snapped a picture and zoomed in to show him your work. Definitely saving that for later. “Does it look okay?” You asked timidly.

Robby nodded, impressed. “Actually yeah. Don’t think I could’ve done it better myself.” He complimented.

You laughed in relief. “Oh, good. I still need more practice on different suture patterns. I’m just lucky you were a simple case.” You said.

Robby looked down to you, letting his eyes linger as he watched you put your phone away. “If you aren’t busy tomorrow, maybe I can give you a masterclass. All ER docs have to know every suture.” He offered.

You looked up to him, suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless in front of you. You smirked and crossed your arms. “Sure. But only if you teach me just like this.” You said, looking him up and down. “You know, because you’ll need to let those stitches breathe.”

Robby grinned. “Wow. That was pretty smooth.” He admired.

You shrugged. “Just rolling with the punches.” You responded, repeating his quote from earlier. “Give me a call tomorrow.”

And you left. Robby stood there, smiling to himself. He pulled his shirt on and walked out to the desk hub. Langdon was still charting, but caught the attending before he snuck out. “What’s that goofy smile for?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

Robby shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to shake the smile off his face. “I don’t know.” He said before walking away to leave.

Abbott leaned against a desk near Langdon. “His ears are red.” He noted. “That motherfucker is in love.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Ugh, you have no idea how much I needed this,” you say as you plant the umbrella in the sand. 

“Isn’t that what you said about the old man?” Angelique scoffs and pinches your ass. 

You swat her away, “were you not just asking me to hook you up with one of his friends?” 

“Whatever. A girl’s gotta eat,” she giggles as she sits on the beach blanket and flips the lid of the cooler. “And drink.” 

She cracks open the ready-to-drink long island iced tea. You opt for a fruitier option as you settle onto the blanket across from her. You flip down your sun glasses and sigh. 

“What about the others? I know it’s an exclusive trip but I doubt it’s just us.” 

“They’re coming,” she catches a trickle along her chin with her tongue. “Now you’ve been baptized, maybe you might find a hottie around here. Let me tell you, young dick is something else.” 

“Oh and you would know,” you roll your eyes. “I mean, don’t all dicks feel the same once have so many.” 

“Shut up,” she throws sand at you. 

“Matching energy,” you hum and push in the tab of the can. 

“Did he fuck air into your head?” She chirps. “Jeez, you’re a fucking bitch now, aren’t you?” 

You just laugh at her. She’s salty over everything. She never liked not being the better of you two. You don’t think it’s really all that different than before, she just has less to tease you about. 

“Angel,” Colin’s voice ripples over the beach. Angelique sits up and squeals. You didn’t know she invited him. “Hey, baby, you look good.” 

She jumps up, leaving her can planted in the sand, and skips over to him. She sends more sand your way. You shield yourself as his entourage traipses up behind him. 

“So do you,” she pets his hairy chest as she stands on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Took you long enough.” 

“Had to get the party favours,” he gestures behind to the keg carried between two of his bros and the bluetooth speaker better suited to a night club. “Huh, is that who I think it is?” He glances over at you. 

“Colin,” you greet sardonically as you lean back on one arm. His eyes drift down your body. You cross your legs subtly. He’s never done that before. 

“That a new suit? Looks good on you.” 

You narrow your eyes behind the tinted lenses, “sure is.” 

“Yeah, her tits never stop. She snapped the last top like it was tooth floss,” Angelique snickers and shimmies her pert chest at him. 

“Hey, Ang,” Harley calls as she unfolds her beach towel, “who’d you fuck to get this beach house?” 

“Oh, shut up, slut,” Angelique snakes around Colin and punches Harley’s arm. The two of them could be twins; tall, slender, high tits, even the same pedicure. 

You bend your legs and sit up straight as company files in. You know them all. The typical crowd. Colin, Ryan, Trent, and Sterling, who prefers Steez. Either way, he sounds like a douche. Then Harley, her sister, Hazel, Tracy, and Kissie. 

You put aside your drink and distract yourself with the bottle sunscreen. You should put it on before the sun’s too high and you’re too tipsy. The voices garble around you as you rub the lotion into your legs. 

As you reach for the bottle, it’s scooped out of your grasp. You look up at Colin. 

“Can I get your back, kitten?” He winks. You furrow your brow and glance at Angelique. She’s groping Hazel’s tits. They look bigger, not that you took measurements. 

“Fine,” you turn and let him smear the lotion on your back. You can’t reach and trying will only have you pushing out your already oversized chest.  

His hands run up and down your back. Tendrils spread over you and you hold back a shudder. Calm down, girl. You’re not that thirsty. 

His hands slip around and suddenly scoop up your tits. You smack him and yelp as you spin away. 

“The fuck, guy?” You sneer at him. 

“I was checking if they’re real. Hazel’s aren’t.” He chuckles. 

You grimace, “Colin, you’re such a perv.” 

“Never said I wasn’t.” He stands and snaps the elastic on his trunks. “Finish that drink and I’ll be back.” 

You curl your lip and grab the can. You flip him the finger and search for your bag. You pull out your phone. Low bars. You shove it away and stare out at the water. 

“...some old guy. Grey hair and everything...” Angelique’s voice wafts over. 

“Oh,” Tracy struts up, “I heard you’re a slut now.” 

You look at her and take a drink. You shrug. “I have a lot to catch up with around you guys.” 

She giggles and sits on the end of the beach blanket, “tell us everything.” 

You look at Angelique and she smirks. She’s such a bitch. 

“It was just... you know. Whatever,” you shrug. 

Hazel and Harley sit beside Tracy and Kissie hovers behind them. 

“How old?” Harley asks. 

“I don’t know--” 

“Like fifty,” Angelique says. 

“He doesn’t look that old,” you counter. “Or fuck like it. It was like hours. I’m still tired.” 

“Hours? Sure.” Trent scoffs. “Old guy blew and rolled over to get his five o’clock nap.” 

“Fuck off,” you wave him off. Colin peers over as he turns his hat backwards. You sigh. “Here.” 

You take out your phone and search for the picture that was your background until that morning. The one of you and Bucky. You show the girls. 

“Shit, he’s fucking hot!” 

“And jacked, look, you can see his chest--” 

“Guess he worked out in prison,” you joke. 

The girls go quiet. Kissie speaks first, “prison?” 

You frown, “I don’t know. He’s got tattoos. He mentioned something. I mean who hasn’t done a night in jail?” 

“You,” Angelique accuses. 

“Drunk tank isn’t prison,” Ryan snorts. 

You shake your head, “well, he’s not in there now. And it was one night. Who the fuck cares?” 

“I didn’t know men his age came in that flavour,” Harley wiggles on her knees. 

“What are we? Chopped liver?” Colin snipes. 

“One pump chump,” Harley retorts. 

“Like you would fucking know,” he turns away. 

The girls laugh. It’s a bit ridiculous now it’s done and over with. It’s not that big of a deal. Fun, sure. Just the thought makes you want to moan but it’s not life-altering. Nope, you’re over it now. Now you can focus on more important things. 

Like getting fucking hammered and going swimming. You don’t want to think about work or your neighbour or your rent. You just want to have fun. 

👙

The sun adds to the effect of the vodka. There’s that haze around the edges of the vision, that looseness in your body. You feel good. Lighter. 

You run alongside Hazel into the tides and she squeals as the waves crash over you. You plunge under as you feel the top of your tankini slipping. You pop up over the surface and catch your chest as the straps hang down your arms. 

You giggle as you search for Hazel. She’s adjusting her bikini as she wades around. She grins at you. The other girls come crashing through. 

A shadow lands next to you. You look over as the frisbee floats on the water. You pull up the straps of your suit and fix the cups. Colin chuckles as he swipes up the disc and flings it. Trent hollers as it flies errantly through the air. 

“Hey, need some help with that,” he tugs on the straps and your chest bounces. 

You smack his stomach, “god, you’re the fucking worst.” 

“How long we’ve been dancing around each other, huh?” He plays with one strap and you nudge him away. 

“Colin, don’t start with me, alright? I’m not interested and until two hours ago, neither were you.” 

“What? I'm not ancient enough for you? How would you know if you try something... fresher?” 

“I know, okay?” You back up. “I didn’t come here for that. I’m on vacation.” 

“What else are you supposed to do on vacation?” He asks as he catches your arm. He pulls you closer. “We could find somewhere in the trees...” 

“Ew, okay, stop,” you push on his chest. 

He bends suddenly and picks you up. He plunges under with you and the water floods your throat. He brings you back up as you hack and cough, wriggling in his arms. 

“Ugh, you two, no one wants to see it so go somewhere else,” Kissie chides. 

“Yeah,” Angelique agrees and you glance over to find her glowering. 

“It’s not going to happen,” you shove on Colin until he lets you go. 

You splash down and his hand brushes your ass. You swipe him away again. You stomp through the water, fighting through the depths, and come up onto the beach. 

You need water. Three drinks was way too much. So much that you’re half-considering Colin. He’s a creep but you’re getting a bit antsy. You should’ve known vodka was a bad mix with half-naked hotties. 

You sit down on the blanket and untwist the cap of your water bottle. You chug about a quarter then wipe your mouth. Someone drops down beside you. You peer out at the water in confusion before you look over. 

Bucky sits on the other side of the blanket. The sun shines over the silver streaks in his hair as he wears all black; tee and jeans. He’s unbothered by the sweltering rays. 

“So why didn’t you mention you were going away?” He asks as he rests his elbows on his knees and rubs his hands together. 

“How-- what are you doing here?” 

“I don’t take too kindly to being ditched,” he looks at you, his jaw clicking. 

“Ditched? No, Bucky,” you look away. “I... I had this planned for a while, I just... forgot to say. I mean...” you pick at your lip. “Look, it was a lot of fun. You and I,” you smile at him. “But like, that’s it, right? I mean, we’re neighbours, we don’t want it to get weird. And I’m a bit young for you--” 

“I said that. I told you that,” he hisses as a lock of hair falls forward. His eyes swirl like the lake. “I begged you to back off and you said you wanted me.” 

“Bucky...” 

“No, you told me I was perfect for you.” 

“Perfect in the moment, but--” 

“This isn’t a fucking game. I’m too old for that. I spent enough time locked up that I’m well-past this bullshit,” he snarls and you wince. You’ve never seen him like this. And the mystery of how he even found you has you reeling. 

“I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear--” 

“You fucking started this. You,” his lips trembles. “I warned you. I told you to stop over and over. Don’t make me the bad guy.” He shakes his head as his eyes search the horizon. He brings his hands to his cheeks and drags them through his stubble. “Then I fucking see you out in there in the water with some fuckhead--” 

“Bucky--” 

“Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not over. Not fucking close,” he growls. He leans forward and pushes himself up. He stands over you, a blight against the bright blue sky. “I’ll be fucking watching. Understand. You have your fun but not too much.” He balls his tattooed fist. “And that boy touches you again, I’ll break every single fucking finger on his hands. Then I’ll slice his dick off.” 

You stare at him, stunned. You’re confused. Is this some hallucination? Is the sun playing tricks on you? 

“You’re fucking mine and I don’t mess around with my territory.” He grits down at you. “I’m your first, your last, your only.” He points at you. “Doll.” 

He marches away, unhindered by the sand in his thick-treaded boots. You turn to watch him and shudder. You look at the water. The rest are perfectly ignorant, splashing each other, tossing the frisbees, diving under. None of them have any idea that he’s there. You suspect if they find out, it won’t be good. 

[vroomingrussell]

Papaya Rules doesn’t Apply to the Heart 🧡

Part 1 of 5

Oscar Piastri is in love with Y/N Brown. Y/N has been and probably will be in love with Lando Norris, and Lando, is in love with the attention and the thrill of chasing his first championship.

Note: this will be part smau & partly written; all pics are from Pinterest and in this Y/N is Zac Browns daughter. The fic takes places over the course of the 2024 season.

Thanks for Reading!

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Y/NIntsa posted to story

Photo 1 caption: Ms Graduate

Photo 2 caption: time to join my dad in the world of cars go fast

Photo 3 caption: Hello from Monoco

F1paddocktalk posted to insta

F1paddocktalk: CEO of McLaren Zak Browns daughter @yninsta has been spotted entering the paddock of the Monoco GP with her father. F1 fans following Y/N now private Instagram account, has confirmed that Y/N is in Monoco and has been since she graduated college earlier this month, she is rumored to be joining her father at McLaren for the remaining race season.

Comments:

user15: finally my princess is HOME; Y/N the kids have missed you 😭😭

User1: Landoy/n rise one again? User2: @/user1 landoy/n? Im new here, what’s the lore!! User1: oh im so glad you asked @/user2 I’ve been WAITING to talk about this; okay so back in 2020/2021 Lando and Y/N were SOMETHING; relationship never confirmed but they were seen almost everywhere together during summer and winter breaks. Even when they weren’t together, they were constantly calling each other, Y/N use to post her daily FT screenshots with Lando, he mostly use to game while she did homework…. Then Christmas is 2021, they unfollowed each other, her page went private and we haven’t seen her since. Lando never mentioned her again even though he use to bring her up EVERY 5 minutes on his streams. But now she’s back, graduated collage and is gonna be at McLaren for the rest of the races, soooo this should be interesting!

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

You clutched your phone anxiously in your hand, you hadn’t been to a race in years, hadn’t seen him in person in years, of course you kept tabs, it was hard not to when he’s all your dad seems to ever want to talk about.

No one really knew what happened between the two of you, not that you did either. Years ago, you were something or almost something… more than friends but never defined.

Friends that kissed til your lungs burned for air, friends that touched so tenderly the moments between you felt like glass. And just like glass, your had heart shattered when you saw the photo of Lando and a beautiful blonde posted on a gossip page. He told you the blonde was a friend, and you wondered just how many friends like that he had, for you it was always him, no one sparked electricity through your body just by looking at you, no one made you smile the way he did, no one made you believe in love the way he did, but you were smart, smart enough to know that he didn’t return those feelings.

So, you did what you always did when emotional and feelings became too much, or got too complicated.

You detach, and shrink away until you weren’t in his life anymore, holiday plans canceled, too busy with school, projects and test and even pretend dates until he no longer called, no longer there, blocked and removed, nothing messy. Quiet disappearance.

But years have passed and you’ve both grown; the oceans of emotions in your heart was had stilled until today, where every wave of want and love lashed at your stomach.

“Y/N?”

“Mhm, what?”

“I said are you okay? You look a little sick”

“Sorry dad, I’m okay just nervous, I forgot how hectic race weekends are” i you smiled at your father “I know” you sighed at the look of concern on his face “if I feel overwhelmed I’ll find your office and take a break, promise”

“I’m happy you’re here Princess” Zak smiled and kissed the top of your head “I’ll see you okay”

“I’m happy to be here too”

As you parted ways and you began to walk around the hospital; it dawned on you that you knew no one, not really. A lot had changed in the couple of years you’d been away. You knew Alex and George, but they were getting prepared for free practice, none of the WAGs were your friends, Lilly was nice enough the few times you’d spoken to her and Alex but she wasn’t at the race.

You were consumed by your own thoughts that you weren’t paying attention to where you were walking until you felt strong arms gripping your shoulders, stopping you from colliding them with them.

“Hey- whoa be careful”

“Sorry” you quickly apologized, looking up to see a face you have become familiar with, even though he might not know you “Oscar, hey I’m Y/N, Zaks daughter”

“Yeah? It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about, feels like I know you already”

You playfully rolled your eyes “my dad never shuts up huh?”

“No um Lando, actually, he’s been pretty much singing your praises since he heard you were coming”

“Oh” you forced a polite smile “that’s nice of him”

“Osc!” You heard a familiar voice call out, your heart began to hammer against your rib cage, the closer he got, the louder it sounded in your ear.

“Found y/n for you”

And before you could make your escape, there you were, in his arms, it felt as familiar as ever, and every caution went to the wind, you wanted to stay there, buried in the scent of his perfume.

“I missed you”Lando said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Missed you too” you said, finally relaxing and hugging him back. It had been years, you were both grown, you were ready to let go of the hurt you felt in the past and move on, rekindle the friendship you lost, because, above everything you feel for Lando, his friendship, truly meant more to you, and you’d love nothing more than being his friend again.

Friend, defined and uncomplicated.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

F1paddocktalk posted to instagram

F1paddocktalk:

Spotted by one of our followers in the McLaren hospitality, Lando Norris and Y/N Brown. Rumor has this is the first time the pair has met or talked since Christmas 2021; they were previously linked but a relationship was never confirmed, could the old friends be rekindling their old flame?

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Comment if you’d like to be tagged in future parts

[binisainz]

does this feeling go both ways ? ⸻ lando norris x reader ⋮ part two .

“you were a dick last night.” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. i know.” “do you?” “i do.” he pauses. “i just—i don’t know. i was already in a shit mood, and i saw you, and i thought—” you raise an eyebrow. “you thought what?” he hesitates. and then, finally: “i thought you’d make me feel better.” or, the amylaurie au fic.

part  two  of  four.  (part  one) word  count.   4.9k a study on.   non-linear  storytelling,  even  more  egregious  little  women  references,  childhood  friends  to  strangers  to  friends  to  eventual  lovers,  stem  major!reader,  the  gifted  kid  burnout  trope, author pretending to know anything about mechanics / engineering . author's  note.   i  yapped  too  much  about  this  chapter  so  you  can  read  about  my  thoughts  HERE.  generally  treat  that  as  the  author's  notes  after  an  ao3  fic  I  LOVEEEE  talking  if  u  didn't  notice  !!   very  similar  disclaimer  that  i  put  in  my  previous  post,  though.  y/n  operates  from  a  result  of  gifted  kid  burnout,  which  is  very  much  explored  in  this  chapter,  so  i  guess  there's  a  content  warning  for  that.  that  being  said,  there's a lot of josie mention here... sorry streaks u can't tell an amylaurie story without the jo i fear !  i  promise  again  this  fic  has  a  happy  ending  we're  getting  there mixtape.   do  i  wanna  know?  cover  by  hozier,  the  bolter  by  taylor  swift,  orange  show  speedway  by  lizzy  mcalpine,  this  is  me  trying  by  taylor  swift,  chinese  satellite  by  phoebe  bridgers,  supercut  by  lorde.

THEN, 2014.

the day starts early— too early— the kind of early that feels like your body isn’t fully awake yet, your limbs heavy and your thoughts slow, swimming through freshly made molasses. your mum nudges you up from the cramped back seat of the car when you arrive, and you blearily take in the early morning light over hampshire, the sky still tinged with the last hints of dawn.

beverly is already sunburnt, despite the fact that the sun has barely been up for an hour. she’s got her earphones in, the wire tucked into the pocket of her shorts, and she doesn’t even react when josie calls her name. your mum sighs.

(bev hates the heat. hates racing, too. when you asked her why she even came, she just shrugged and said, "maggie said i should."

and, well. maggie is twenty-two and the oldest. she always knows best, so no one questions it.)

the drive to hampshire was long, sat all cramped between mags and bev, because josie called dibs on the third row all to herself, and while that would usually annoy you, you didn’t mind it much today. the whole ride, you kept turning over the ticket in your hand, running your fingers over the raised print, tracing the letters like they might disappear if you don’t.

lando’s family gave you tickets. they wanted you there.

you wonder if lando wanted you there.

you don’t know what to expect, because you’ve never seen a real racecar before. the first time you saw one up close, really up close, was probably in one of da’s magazines, glossy pages filled with detailed photos of engines and sleek bodies and captions that explained, in smaller words, what made them special. and they are special, because the way they move, the way they are built—everything is made to be the fastest, the most precise.

you know all this, but it’s different seeing them in person.

you aren’t meant to be loitering near the garages, but you keep sneaking glances, gaze darting over mechanics hunched over machinery, engineers discussing statistics on screens. this is what you love.

"you’re nosy.”

you turn so fast you nearly trip.

lando is grinning at you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his race suit, looking—well, kind of like he always does. but different, too. he’s taller now, lankier, his hair curling a little more wildly at the edges. he has that same teasing glint in his eyes, though.

"i just wanted to see," you say, a little defensive, but his grin doesn’t waver.

"want to take a proper look?"

your eyes widen. "i can?"

"i’m letting you, aren’t i?"

you nod, swallowing the excitement bubbling up in your throat. and then—

then you are inside, standing just a few feet away from a real, actual race car, and your heart is in your mouth.

“it’s a ginetta g40,” lando says, watching your expression carefully, like he’s waiting to see if you’re impressed. “junior spec. one-point-eight-liter engine, 100 brake horsepower.”

you stare at the car, at the fine lines of the chassis, at the way it sits, poised, elegant. “it’s light,” you murmur, running through the numbers in your head. “like, really light. that’s why the power-to-weight ratio makes it so—”

“fast?” lando grins.

“agile,” you correct. “fast is just a given. but if you were just fast, you wouldn’t be able to take corners well. you need the balance.”

lando blinks.

“what?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

he shakes his head, looking impressed. "you’re twelve. how do you know that?"

"i read," you mutter.

there’s a pause as he studies your face, and then: “you're scary smart, kit-kat.”

heat rises to your face, and you look away, embarrassed, unsure what to do with the compliment.

but lando keeps talking, and you keep listening, and for a while, you forget about everything else— about your too-tight shoes and your awkward limbs and the way you sometimes feel like you don’t fit into your own body anymore.

then the race starts.

you don’t know what lando is thinking when he climbs into the car, don’t know if he’s nervous or excited or both. but you know that when the lights go out and the cars launch forward, your breath catches, because there he is, in the thick of it, weaving through the chaos, pushing forward.

it’s fast, faster than you expected, and your fingers dig into your seat as you watch the laps tick by. you don’t remember what place he finishes. you only remember him crossing the line.

you only remember the way he jumps out of the car, the way he runs to his parents first, grinning so wide it could split his face in two, and then he turns and sees you and—

he hugs you.

it’s quick, barely a squeeze before he pulls back, excitement buzzing off him like static.

"did you see that?" he says, breathless.

"you absolutely obliterated that last turn!" you say, and his grin widens.

"i know!"

and then you are talking, rambling about the car, about the way he handled the braking zones, about how you could hear the engine struggling in the mid-corner but he still managed to keep it stable. and he listens, nodding along, eyes bright, because he knows you know what you’re talking about.

you are twelve years old, and you are in love—not with a person, not yet, but with the way things work. you love machines, love knowing how they fit together, how they break, how they can be fixed. you love understanding things, love seeing the world in bolts and gears and schematics.

lando laughs, bright and unrestrained, and for that moment, it’s just you and him and the machine between you.

NOW, 2024.

the first thing you feel when you wake up is nothing at all.

and then, slowly, something like sadness settles into the empty spaces.

it’s quiet in the flat, just the hum of the heater kicking in and the faint drip of last night’s rain off the eaves. the curtains are drawn, but you know it’s gray outside, that kind of dull, lifeless morning where time feels suspended, like the day hasn’t quite decided to begin yet. you shift under the covers, the fabric of your too-old pajama shirt soft against your skin, and exhale slowly, willing yourself to feel something else. anything else.

but there’s nothing pressing to do, nowhere urgent to be, and you are alone, which means there is nothing left but to sit with it. you grab your phone from the nightstand, half expecting— half hoping— for nothing, but there it is. a text from an unknown number, sent thirty minutes ago.

from: unknown number i’m sorry. can i make it up to you?

you don’t answer immediately. you get up instead, pad into the bathroom, brush your teeth, wash your face, stall as long as you can. when you check your phone again, the text is still there, staring back at you, insistent.  you don’t have his number saved. haven’t, for a long time. haven’t needed to. but the moment you open up the message again, your thumb hovers over the contact, and before you can stop yourself, you’re typing in his name.

no. nope. no. why do you do this to yourself?

why? you type. delete it. type it again. delete it again. stupid.

you lock your phone, breathe in deep through your nose, and then—before you can think too hard about it—type back:

to: lando n how?

the reply comes faster than you expected.

from: lando n coffee? pastries? i’d offer a full english, but i know you hate the fried tomatoes.

you hate how that makes something warm and stupid curl in your chest, hate even more how he remembers.

to: lando n woking park, one hour.

⸻ 𐙚 ⸻

the walk to woking park is cold, your breath curling in the air like smoke. it’s the kind of winter day where the sky is a uniform, dull grey, the kind that makes you feel small, like the world is pressing down on you. the streets are quiet, most people preferring the warmth of their homes, but you walk anyway, hands shoved deep in your pockets, jaw tight against the wind.

you don’t see him at first. you’re halfway down the path, watching the way the frost clings to the edges of the benches, when you catch a glimpse of him—hood up, head down, hands stuffed into the pockets of his puffer jacket.

you stop.

he sees you first. stands as you approach, a paper bag in one hand, two coffee cups balanced in the other.

the moment stretches between you, just long enough for you to wonder if this is a mistake, if you should turn around and go home, if you should put more distance between yourself and the boy who has always, always had a way of slipping through your fingers.

but then the corners of his lips curl upward as tilts his head slightly. “you look like you’re about to bolt.”

“i should.” you say, carefully, definitively. but you walk toward him anyway.

there’s coffee in his hands, a bag of croissants. "this supposed to be my compensation?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"trying to impress you," he says, offering you one of the cups. "not working, is it?"

"not even a little." you take the coffee anyway.

you walk. the park is quiet, just the sound of your footsteps on damp pavement, the occasional rustling of bare branches in the wind.

"i'm sorry," lando says after a while.

you glance at him. he's looking ahead, jaw tight, like he's bracing himself. "for what?" you ask, even though you already know.

he exhales, shaking his head. "for being a dick. for not picking you up last night."

you shrug, taking a sip of your coffee. "it's whatever."

"it’s not."

"it is."

lando shifts beside you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, like he’s waiting for you to say something. so you do.

“you were a dick last night.”

he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. i know.”

“do you?”

“i do.” he pauses. “i just—i don’t know. i was already in a shit mood, and i saw you, and i thought—”

you raise an eyebrow. “you thought what?”

he hesitates. and then, finally: “i thought you’d make me feel better.”

it’s honest. too honest. you wrap your hands tighter around your coffee, letting the heat seep into your palms.

“and did i?”

lando exhales, breath curling in the air. “no.”

there’s something about the way he says it, something raw and unguarded, that makes you press your lips together, eyes flicking away. because what the fuck does that even mean? he thought you’d make him feel better? is that all you are? some sort of safety net? some kind of comfort object? a childhood relic he pulls off the shelf whenever it’s convenient? you almost say something about it. almost. but then—

“josie would be a better conversationalist.” you say instead, because it’s easier. because it’s safer.

lando’s quiet for a beat, then, “why do you always do that?” he gestures semi-wildly at you, hands flailing slightly, drops of coffee spilling from his takeaway cup onto the gravel, seeping into the stone.

you frown. “do what?”

“deflect,” he says simply. “i asked you to meet me. you.”

that throws you off more than it should. you take another sip of your coffee to buy yourself time. “… she’s fine, you know.” you say after a moment. “busy. writing. she has a novel coming out in the summer, apparently it’s really good.”

lando nods, like he already knew that. maybe he did. maybe he still keeps tabs on her, in whatever distant, half-removed way he allows himself.  “and you?”

and you?

you hate that it feels like a loaded question.

because the thing is, josie is a better conversationalist. she always has been. she’s whip-smart and well-read and funny in a way that makes people want to listen. she has always known what to say, how to say it, when to say it. she’s the kind of person people orbit.

you don’t resent her for that. not really.

but when you were kids, when it was always lando and josie running ahead, and you— three years younger, three years too late, still catching up— when you were left behind more times than you can count, it had been impossible not to feel like you were somehow less than. not because of anything she did. your sister never made you feel small on purpose. she was always kind, always patient in the way that older sisters are, looping an arm around your shoulder, ruffling your hair, letting you tag along when she could. but you were the little sister.

not the best friend. never the best friend.

and lando— he had been different with you. not in a bad way, just in a way that had always made it so fucking clear where you stood.

because even if he talked to josie about everything— about school and friends and whatever cool thing they were obsessed with at the time— when it came to cars, to machinery, to racing, he had always turned to you. always sought you out. and maybe it was pathetic, but you’d lived for those moments, for the times he looked at you like you were worth paying attention to.

so maybe you aren’t jealous of josie. but there’s still something ugly curling in your chest, something that’s been there since you were six years old, always struggling to keep up. you swallow, push the feeling down.

lando is watching you now, eyes sharp, expression unreadable. like he’s waiting. "and you?" he repeats, like he actually gives a shit, like your answer is worth hearing. maybe he does. maybe it is.

you swallow. shift in your seat. “oxford’s good,” you say, finally. “stressful. but good.”

lando hums, not looking convinced. “you like it?”

you hesitate. “yeah.”

"liar."

you scowl, shoving him lightly. he laughs, a quiet huff of air, shaking his head.

"no, really," he says, more serious now. "i just—I dunno. i feel like you always wanted to be doing things, not just reading about them. i guess i just figured you'd be in a garage somewhere, fixing things, not stuck in a classroom."

you let out a dry laugh, more so a huff than anything else. "i'm getting the best of both worlds, aren't i?" you say. "i’m at oxford, and i’m at mclaren. probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me, if i’m honest.”

lando tilts his head, studying you. “you know, i always figured you’d end up there one way or another.”

that surprises you, eyes widening slightly, focusing then on your cup of coffee, not letting him see that you had a reaction to that. “figured?”

lando shrugs, like it’s obvious. "you were always gonna go, weren’t you? you were always brilliant, kit-kat."

there’s something about the way he says it that makes you pause. something that makes your chest tighten.

because, yeah. you were always gonna go. you were the little girl who thought she knew everything, who thought she was built for something bigger, smarter, greater. and now—

now you think about the days spent staring at coursework until your vision blurred, about the moments in the mclaren garage where you felt like an imposter, about the creeping, awful realization that maybe you were never as brilliant as you thought. maybe you’re just ordinary. maybe you’ve just always been good at faking it.

just another small fish in an impossibly large pond. swimming, sinking, drowning.

lando watches you carefully, like he can see the thoughts flickering across your face, and maybe he can. maybe he’s always been able to. “when are you gonna fix my car for me?” he asks suddenly, motioning for you both to sit on a nearby bench.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “fix it yourself.” you follow him, sitting down, making sure to keep a respectable distance.

“we made a deal when we were kids,” he reminds you, all mock-serious. “you were six, had that stupidly big toolkit, told me you were gonna be just like your dad. and i told you i was gonna be a driver.”

“and now you are,” you say, quiet.

his smile falters slightly, just for a second. then he shrugs, like shaking something off: “and now you’re gonna be an engineer. my engineer, by the way. don’t get any ideas about other teams poaching you.”

you don’t reply. neither of you acknowledge the soft blush blooming on your cheeks, though. perhaps it's just the cold. perhaps it's for the better you don't.

but still, it’s easy. sitting here, like this, eating croissants in the cold, talking about nothing and everything.

you forget, sometimes, that it can be like this. that you don’t have to keep your guard up all the time.

but then his phone buzzes. you glance over as he checks it, sees whatever’s on the screen, sighs. "what?"

"uh, my management team, actually," he says. "season starts in a little over a month. lots to do before that."

you nod, swallowing down the disappointment before it can settle. "right."

he looks up at you, something unreadable in his expression. "i’ll keep in touch."

you don’t say anything. not because you don’t believe him, but because you do. because you know he’ll try. he always tries. he’s not a bad friend, not intentionally. he’ll text when he remembers, when the world slows down just enough for him to think of home, of the people he leaves behind in it. and when he does, you’ll reply. you always reply. even when weeks pass, then months. even when the messages become sporadic, spaced further and further apart, when they turn into half-hearted apologies and late-night voice notes, you will still reply.

it’s pathetic. you are pathetic. you tell yourself you won’t fall for it again, won’t let yourself be swept up in the inevitable cycle of lando comes back, lando leaves, lando comes back, lando leaves— but you know better than anyone that you are a fucking liar.

you finish the last of your coffee, let the heat sear against your tongue, grounding yourself in the bitterness of it. he does the same, crumpling his cup in one hand before shoving it into his pocket, stretching his arms over his head in that loose, easy way of his. and then he shifts on his feet, rocking slightly, like he doesn’t quite know how to end this, like there is something else left to be said but neither of you know what.

"i should—"

“yeah,” you cut in, too quickly. too eager to get this over with before you do something impulsive. “yeah, me too.”

there’s a beat of hesitation. and then he moves, stepping into your space, and for one stupid, ridiculous, impossible second, you think—

but no. he doesn’t kiss you. he hugs you. it’s quick, fleeting, the kind of embrace that shouldn’t mean anything at all, except it does. his arms curl around you, solid and certain, his chest against yours for just long enough that your breath catches. long enough that your fingers tighten against the fabric of his jacket before you can stop yourself. long enough to make something in your chest ache.

and then he pulls away. smiles like nothing happened.

"see you around," he says, easy, casual. and then he’s gone.

THEN, 2014.

it starts with the laptop.

the one you and josie share, the one with the crack on the hinge and the spacebar that sticks when you press too hard. the one where she writes all her stories— half-finished, scattered across folders named new draft and new draft (2) and new draft (REAL ONE) because she never thinks anything is good enough. the one she guards with her life.

it isn’t your fault. not really. you just wanted to download a simulation— a mechanical software, a model of a car’s engine, something you read about in autosport and f1 racing, something you thought would be so freakin' cool. you should have been more careful. should have checked the source. should have seen the warning signs, but then the screen freezes, glitches, and the entire system crashes before you can stop it.

you try everything—restarting, booting in safe mode, pressing every key in frantic succession—but it’s too late. everything is gone.

including all of josie’s drafts. she doesn’t talk to you for a week.

⸻ 𐙚 ⸻

lando is home. sometimes. in flashes, in bursts, in stolen days between races, between tests, between whatever it is he has to do now that he’s growing more and more distant, quicker than you can keep up with. always on the move, always somewhere else. but sometimes he finds the time. when he does, he’s with josie.

you try not to let it sting. really, you don’t even know why it stings.

(it’s whatever, you’ve come to realize. your mum laughs and says it’s your new catchphrase. whatever. whatever! josie can hog up all his attention, for all you care.)

josie’s been mad before, but this time it’s bad. she won’t look at you, won’t say your name, won’t even respond when you tell her you’re sorry. you are sorry. but she doesn’t care.

and then lando shows up in a chauffeured car, leaning out the window with a lazy grin, calling josie’s name. “c’mon!” he says. “we’re going to the lake.”

there’s always an open invitation for you. always a space next to him, a do you wanna come? thrown in your direction. but josie is still mad, and when you turn to her, hesitant, she gives you the look.

“can i come?” you ask, anyway.

josie crosses her arms. “no.” it’s the way she says it. sharp. final. like she’s making sure you know you aren’t wanted.

“come on,” he says, lightly, like he’s trying to diffuse the tension. “don’t be mean.”

josie crosses her arms. “i’m not being mean, lan.” she doesn’t look at you when she says, “i just don’t want her to come. not today.”

lando had looked at you again, uncertain. but josie was already getting in the car, and he always follows josie. so he does.

you watch them go. and then you grab your bike.

you don’t know why you do it. maybe it’s the anger, all hot and stinging at the back of your throat. maybe it’s the way your hands shake, fingers tightening around the handlebars, pushing harder, faster. maybe it’s the way the car gets smaller and smaller, like you’re losing something, like something is slipping away from you before you even have the chance to hold onto it.

the wind is sharp against your face. your breath comes fast, too fast, and your legs burn with the effort, but you don’t stop.

not until the back tire wobbles. not until the bike tips. not until the ground is rushing up to meet you and you don’t have time to catch yourself.

the impact is instant.

pain spikes up your arm, all white-hot and blinding. water rushes over you, soaking through your clothes, seeping into your skin. the ditch is deeper than you thought. not enough to drown you, but enough that when you try to push yourself up, something sharp and wrong jolts through your wrist, and you can’t breathe, and you can’t move, and—

you think— no, you know— it’s josie.

the sound of her voice cuts through the haze, high and frantic, breaking against the dull roar of blood rushing in your ears. you can’t see her at first, only hear the way she stumbles over her own feet, the way she skids down the slope, half-falling, half-running. and then she’s there, crashing to her knees beside the ditch, hair coming loose from her braid, eyes wide and terrified.

“oh my god,” she gasps, breathless, voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. “oh my god, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry— i didn’t mean to— i—” she whips around, looking up, and then she’s yelling. “lando! get down here and help me!”

you want to tell her you’re fine. you want to tell her it’s okay, even though it’s not, even though your right arm is bent at a weird angle and your left ankle pulses in sharp, jagged bursts of pain. but your throat feels tight, squeezed shut by panic, and the words won’t come out.

there’s movement above you, fast and urgent. another voice, sharper— lando.

the world tilts. the water is cold, seeping through your clothes, clinging to your skin, but your head feels hot, dizzy. you blink hard, trying to focus, but everything is too much. too bright. too loud. the pain makes your breath hitch, coming out in shallow, uneven gasps.

and then—hands. steady. careful. a solid weight beneath you, lifting you up, pulling you out.

you look up. he calls your name. your vision swims. you don’t know if it’s from the pain or something else entirely.

⸻ 𐙚 ⸻

the hospital is white. sterile. too bright.

they say your arm is broken, your ankle twisted. one week of bedrest for the leg, and three weeks with the arm cast. nothing serious, but serious enough. the doctor smiles at you like that makes it better, like knowing the exact number of days you'll be stuck in a cast will ease the discomfort, the frustration, the humiliation of it all.

josie stays by your side that first night. she doesn’t say much—she doesn’t need to. she just sits there, curled into the old, soft lightning mcqueen-themed sleeping bag on the floor beside your bed, arms wrapped around herself, eyes trained on you even when you pretend not to notice. you tell her you’re fine, that she doesn’t have to stay, but she just shakes her head, brushing you off like it’s ridiculous to even suggest it.

a day passes, and then another. then lando is in your room, and it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, even worse than falling into a ditch— and that's how you got into this mess in the first place!

you’re in your pajamas, the ones with the stretched-out collar and the dumb little cartoon gears and cogs that felt soooo cool when your da got them for you last christmas but now feel like the most childish, humiliating thing ever. you think about changing, but your arm is stuck in a cast, and your ankle’s in a boot, and lando is already here, standing awkwardly at your door like you’re the one intruding.

“kit-kat,” he says, tilting his head at you, like he can sense the mortification rolling off you in waves. he grins. “you always go to bed looking like that?”

you grab the nearest pillow and chuck it at him.

he dodges, laughing, and then, because he’s so unbelievably annoying, he drops into your desk chair, spinning once before settling, all casual, like he doesn’t have better places to be. “i’ll take that as a thank you, lando, you’re so thoughtful.”

“shut up.” you cross your arms, sinking further under the covers. “what do you want?”

he scoffs. “you wound me.” but then he lifts the stack of magazines in his hands and plops them onto your bed. thick, glossy issues of f1 racing and racecar engineering and even a few autosport weeklys, their covers gleaming with high-speed shots of cars mid-corner, of engine cutaways and pit stop breakdowns. you skim lazily through the pages. “brought you these. figured you were losing brain cells just lying here doing nothing. you must be bored out of your mind.”

but then you catch sight of something— a technical deep dive into the new 2014 power unit regulations— and all at once, the irritation is gone.

“holy shit,” you say, forgetting everything else as you flip through the pages. “did you know the new energy recovery system increases efficiency by like, sixty percent? the hybrid system is so much better than kers— like, the thermal efficiency alone—”

lando raises an eyebrow, amused. “you really need to get out more.”

you ignore him. “and the turbo— look at this thing, it’s insane—” you tap the diagram of the split turbocharger, excitement spilling into your voice before you can stop it. “they moved the compressor away from the turbine to reduce turbo lag, and it’s so smart because now they can use a smaller intercooler and—”

lando leans back, watching you with that stupid grin. “you sound like a mechanic.”

you scoff. “i am a mechanic. or, i will be. one day.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t tease. just shrugs, like it’s obvious. “yeah. you will.”

you hesitate.

because lando, with his races and his big ambitions and his already being on the path— he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. your face feels hot. you look back at the magazine, trying to focus, but your brain won’t stop buzzing.

lando kicks his feet up on the edge of your bed. “so, what’s the verdict?”

you clear your throat, using your free, not-injured leg to push hit feet off the bed. “it’s… cool,” you say, because you refuse to let him know just how much you appreciate it.

but lando just rolls his eyes, grinning. “you’re welcome, kit-kat.”

your stomach flips. you hate him. you hate him so, so much.

⸻  𐙚  ⸻

lando doesn’t stay.

he has to leave again—more races, more training, more things pulling him away, just as they always do. he says he’ll keep in touch, promises, even, and maybe he really means it, but you know better. you know how this goes. he’s always going. always leaving. always slipping through your fingers like water, something impossible to hold onto no matter how tightly you try. in and out, in and out, like the tide, like clockwork, like something you should be used to by now.

but the entire summer, every week, without fail, a fresh stack of racing magazines appears at the door.

(you know your da doesn’t order them.)

[hereforuconnwbb]

Unexpected Halt - CHAPTER FOUR

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

~paige plays for uconn and azzi plays for stanford~

word count: 11.7k

warning: language, suggestive content

i was supposed to publish this a few hours ago but as i was going over it my dumbass wasnt rlly making any sense and there were some mistakes (i probs still forgot some in there😓) so i had to cut some bits and add more stuff so that its adding up properly (im hoping it adds up now... 🤞🏽) but yurrrr heres chapter 4 😏

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

Morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting lines across Azzi’s ceiling as she stared up, her mind stuck on last night. The teasing, the tension, the way Paige’s voice had dropped lower, her words making Azzi’s stomach flip. And then Caroline had walked in, snapping the moment in half before anything could actually happen.

Azzi groaned, throwing an arm over her face.

It wasn’t just what almost happened—it was how much she had wanted it to.

Her phone sat beside her on the bed, the screen dark, but she knew Paige usually texted her first thing in the morning. Normally, Azzi would check immediately, eager to see whatever dumb or teasing thing Paige had come up with. But this morning, she hesitated. She wasn’t sure where they stood after last night. Would it be weird? Would Paige brush past it like nothing happened?

Taking a slow breath, she finally grabbed her phone, unlocking it with her thumb. No messages.

Paige hadn’t texted.

Azzi exhaled, locking the screen and tossing it beside her. Maybe that was for the best.

—-----------------------

Across the country, Paige was lying in her dorm bed, staring at her phone. Still nothing from Azzi. She huffed, running a hand through her hair before rolling onto her stomach.

Was she supposed to say something first? Probably. But what? Good morning. Hope you slept well. By the way, you looked way too good in that tank top while teasing the hell out of me last night. Yeah, no.

She locked her phone and flipped onto her back, draping an arm over her eyes. The shift between them had been coming for a while, but now that it actually happened—now that they both knew—what were they supposed to do? Keep flirting until one of them finally cracked?

Minutes passed before she finally caved, unlocking her phone and typing out a message.

Paige: Morning.

She stared at the screen, waiting. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then nothing.

Azzi had seen it. She wasn’t answering.

Paige raised an eyebrow. Oh, so that’s how it was?

She smirked, settling against her pillows, fingers moving quickly.

Paige: Ignoring me already? That’s cold.

This time, the response was quick.

Azzi: I was thinking about responding, but I didn’t want to boost your ego first thing in the morning.

Paige grinned.

Paige: Too late. You already admitted you were thinking about me.

Azzi groaned, pressing her phone against her forehead before replying.

Azzi: Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Paige: Can’t help it.

Azzi hesitated, then typed:

Azzi: …Did you sleep well?

Paige paused. A simple question, but they both knew what it really meant.

Paige: Took me a while to fall asleep. Kept thinking.

Azzi’s heart skipped.

Azzi: About?

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then finally—

Paige: Take a wild guess.

Azzi stared at the message, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before she could respond, a loud knock on her door made her jolt.

“Azzi! We’re heading down for breakfast,” Caroline called.

Azzi exhaled, running a hand through her hair before quickly typing out a reply.

Azzi: I have a feeling we’re thinking about the same thing.

Paige’s response was immediate.

Paige: You should think about it more. I’ll be waiting. ;)

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the warmth creeping up her neck. Paige was impossible. She knew exactly what she was doing, and the worst part? It was working.

Caroline knocked again, more impatient this time. “Azzi, seriously, we’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Azzi muttered, pushing herself out of bed.

By the time she met up with her teammates in the hallway, she had forced her expression into something neutral. Caroline, of course, wasn’t fooled.

The second they stepped into the elevator, Caroline gave her a look. “You’ve been weird since last night.”

Azzi stiffened. “What?”

“You know what.” Caroline leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “You and Paige.”

Azzi nearly choked on air. “There is no ‘me and Paige.’”

Caroline just smirked. “Right. That’s why you’ve been checking your phone every two seconds.”

Azzi cursed internally. She should’ve known Caroline would notice. Trying to brush it off, she shrugged. “We were just talking.”

“Mhm.” Caroline clearly wasn’t buying it.

Azzi sighed, rubbing her temple. “Look, it’s—complicated.”

Caroline tilted her head. “Complicated how?”

Azzi hesitated. She and Paige hadn’t really defined whatever this was. Were they just flirting? Was it leading to something more? Did they even need to talk about it yet?

“I don’t know,” Azzi admitted.

Caroline nodded like she expected that answer. “Well, you better figure it out before one of you combusts.”

Azzi opened her mouth to argue, but the elevator doors slid open. Saved by breakfast.

—-----------------------

Across the country, Paige was stirring her cereal around her bowl, only half paying attention to the conversation around her. KK, sitting across from her, was watching her with narrowed eyes.

“You’re being weird,” KK finally said.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “How?”

KK pointed her spoon at her. “You’re distracted. You’ve barely said anything all morning.”

Paige shrugged. “Just tired.”

“Uh-huh.” KK wasn’t convinced. “You FaceTimed Azzi last night, didn’t you?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “What makes you think that?”

“Because every time you two talk at night, you act like this the next day.” KK smirked. “So what happened? More flirting? More almost moments?”

Paige huffed, shoving a spoonful of cereal in her mouth to avoid answering. KK just laughed.

“I swear, at this point, I should start taking bets on how long it’s gonna take for you two to finally do something.”

Paige nearly choked, coughing as she glared at KK. “Shut up.”

KK just grinned. “Oh, you definitely did something.”

Paige groaned, pushing her bowl away. She wasn’t going to survive this breakfast.

—-----------------------

Paige had a long morning of workouts, classes, and film study, but no matter how busy she kept herself, her mind always wandered back to the night before. The shift between her and Azzi was undeniable now. Their usual late-night calls had always carried a level of comfort, but last night had been different—charged. It had started with her checking in on Azzi, making sure she was okay after the loss, and somehow, by the end, they were toeing a line neither of them had explicitly crossed before.

Even now, sitting in the locker room before practice, Paige absentmindedly scrolled through their messages. The conversation had been light that morning, mostly filled with teasing over how Paige had “corrupted” their calls into something more suggestive, but she could tell that neither of them was ignoring what had happened. If anything, they were testing it, pushing at the edges to see where it would lead.

KK plopped down beside her, glancing at her phone. “You’ve been smiling at that screen for like five minutes. Wanna share with the class?”

Paige locked her phone immediately, shooting KK a glare. “Mind your business.”

“Oh, so that’s a yes.” KK grinned, nudging her. “Come on, I already know it’s Azzi.”

Paige rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. There was no point—KK had already pieced things together weeks ago. “You are actually the most annoying person I know.”

“And yet, you still love me.” KK smirked, dodging the half-hearted shove Paige sent her way. “So, when’s the next ‘accidental’ meet-up? Y’all are practically dating at this point.”

Paige opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. They weren’t dating—at least, they hadn’t talked about it—but the way they’d been acting lately…it was a fair assumption.

“Shut up,” Paige muttered, standing up before KK could keep digging. “I gotta go warm up.”

“Uh-huh, run away all you want. I know the truth,” KK called after her.

As practice started, Paige did her best to focus, but the thought of Azzi lingered in the back of her mind.

—-----------------------

Meanwhile, on the West Coast, Azzi was dealing with her own distractions.

She sat in the team lounge, half-listening to her teammates talk as she scrolled through her messages with Paige. The teasing was light, playful, but every now and then, a message made her stomach flip—like when Paige had casually dropped a “wish I could see you right now” in the middle of their back-and-forth.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to say something just as bold, when Caroline sat down beside her. “You look like you’re having a very serious internal debate.”

Azzi sighed, locking her phone. “Just…thinking.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Thinking about Paige?”

Azzi groaned. “Why does everyone know everything?”

Caroline laughed. “Because you’re bad at hiding things.” She leaned in. “So, what’s going on now?”

Azzi hesitated, unsure how to explain the shift between her and Paige. She didn’t even know how to define it herself. “We’ve just been…talking more. It’s different now.”

Caroline smirked. “Different how?”

Azzi bit her lip, debating how much to admit. “Just…more.”

Caroline hummed knowingly. “So, when are you seeing her next?”

That was the thing—Azzi didn’t know. Their teams were both in the thick of their seasons, traveling across the country. The distance was always there, but lately, it felt heavier.

“No clue,” Azzi admitted. “But I want to.”

She didn’t realize just how soon it would be.

—-----------------------

The exhaustion hit as soon as Paige flopped onto the couch in the team lounge after practice. The day had been brutal—scrimmages, drills, weight training—Geno wasn’t letting up, and neither were the assistant coaches. She let her head drop back, closing her eyes for a moment, only to hear someone collapse onto the seat next to her with a dramatic groan.

KK.

“I swear, my legs are gonna give out,” KK muttered, stretching out with a wince. “If we don’t get a break soon, I might actually cry.”

Paige huffed out a small laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

KK shot her a glare. “Am I? Or am I speaking facts?” She nudged Paige’s arm. “You’re just as dead as me, don’t even try to act tough.”

Paige smirked but didn’t deny it. Instead, she sighed. “Yeah, I’m tired as hell.”

KK was quiet for a second before she suddenly sat up. “Wait. Hold on. You do know we have a break coming up, right?”

Paige frowned, turning her head. “What?”

KK gave her a look like she was an idiot. “We literally get a few days off after the next game. How did you not know that?”

Paige blinked. She honestly hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Between practices, games, and keeping up with everything else, the idea of an actual break hadn’t even crossed her mind.

KK scoffed. “Wow. And you call yourself the leader of this team.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

But KK was already grinning, leaning toward her. “Sooo…what are you gonna do with your time off?”

Paige shrugged, grabbing her water bottle. “I don’t know. Probably just chill or go home.”

KK hummed. “You know…” She dragged the word out, her voice teasing. “A certain someone might have a game around then.”

Paige froze mid-sip.

KK smirked. “I checked. Stanford has a game.”

Paige slowly lowered her bottle, her mind already racing.

KK’s grin widened. “And I mean…you have all this free time. It’s kinda crazy how the universe works, huh?”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “Did you seriously just set me up for this whole conversation?”

KK laughed. “I literally just gave you the idea. The rest is on you.”

Paige shook her head, but she couldn’t fight the small smile forming. She had been thinking about how much she missed Azzi—this just gave her the perfect opportunity to do something about it.

Her fingers twitched against her phone, an idea forming.

“You should do it,” KK nudged her. “Surprise her. She’d lose her mind.”

Paige exhaled, already opening Instagram.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Maybe I will.”

She scrolled until she found Caroline’s profile and hesitated for only a second before typing out a message request.

Paige: Yo, I need your help with something. It’s about Azzi.

She hovered over the send button for a second before pressing it.

Now, she just had to wait. She set her phone down, trying not to stare at it like that would somehow make Caroline reply faster.

KK, of course, was watching her like a hawk. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”

Paige scoffed. “I’m fine.”

KK smirked. “Nah, you’re nervous.”

Paige just rolled her eyes, leaning back into the couch, arms crossed. She hated waiting. She’d much rather be taking action, but she also knew she needed Caroline on board for this to work. Azzi would probably kill her if she just showed up out of nowhere—okay, maybe not kill her, but she’d definitely be caught off guard.

Her phone buzzed.

Paige snatched it up immediately.

Caroline: ??? What did you do

Paige exhaled sharply, typing back.

Paige: Wtf?? Nothing. Chill lol. I just need your help with something.

It only took a few seconds for Caroline to reply.

Caroline: Mhm. Sure. What is it

Paige hesitated for a second before getting to the point.

Paige: I wanna surprise Azzi at her next game. But she can’t know.

The three little dots appeared, then disappeared. Then reappeared.

Finally, a message came through.

Caroline: LMAO. Oh, she’s gonna LOSE IT.

Paige smirked.

Paige: So you’re in?

Caroline: Absolutely.

Paige exhaled in relief. Step one—done.

Caroline: When’s your break again?

Paige: Right after our next game. That’s when I’d fly out.

Caroline: Alright. I’ll help you figure it out. But just saying, if you ignore her when you show up, she’s gonna be PISSED.

Paige grinned.

Paige: That’s kinda the point.

Caroline: You’re insane. I respect it.

Paige chuckled, already picturing how this would go. If there was one thing she knew about Azzi, it was that she hated being ignored. She’d get riled up, probably confront her about it, and—Paige wasn’t gonna lie—she kind of wanted to see that.

KK was still watching her. “Judging by your face, I’m guessing she’s in?”

Paige locked her phone. “Oh yeah.”

KK shook her head, laughing. “You’re really about to drive Azzi insane.”

Paige smirked. “That’s the plan.”

—-----------------------

It was the night after their blowout game against Xavier which also marked Paige’s last night before flying out to surprise Azzi. She barely slept—not because of nerves (she was sure Azzi would love the surprise once she got over being ignored), but because she had spent hours making sure every detail was planned perfectly.”

Her bags were packed and waiting by the door, her alarm set way too early, and her phone charged so she wouldn’t miss any updates. 

When morning came, she slipped out of her dorm before most of her teammates were even awake, grabbing an Uber to the airport.

Once she checked in, she sent Caroline a quick message.

Paige: Made it to the airport. Boarding in like an hour.

Caroline: Damn, you’re really doing this. Azzi’s gonna lose her mind lol.

Paige: That’s the plan 😉

Caroline: She’s already pouting that you haven’t answered her all morning btw.

Paige: Good.

Paige grinned to herself as she made her way through security, tossing her phone into the bin before stepping through the scanner. When she got to her gate, she grabbed a quick breakfast and found a seat away from the crowd. She kept her hood up, half-watching the news on one of the overhead screens while checking her texts.

Nothing from Azzi.

Not yet, at least.

It wasn’t surprising. Azzi had already messaged her a couple of times yesterday, and Paige had forced herself not to answer. She hated ignoring her, but it was part of the plan. If she kept Azzi waiting long enough, her reaction would be even better.

Her flight got called for boarding, and she sent Caroline another update.

Paige: Getting on the plane. Next stop: Cali.

Caroline: Lmfao you’re insane. Safe flight.

Paige: Always.

She settled into her seat, threw on her headphones, and let herself relax as the plane took off.

—-----------------------

Azzi had checked her phone at least ten times that morning.

Nothing.

Her texts to Paige still sat on read. Her last message—just a simple good morning, have a great day ❤️—hadn’t even been acknowledged. Paige never ignored her like this.

She knew she shouldn’t be upset. Maybe Paige was busy. Maybe she had a team meeting or classes. But it didn’t sit right with her.

Caroline had noticed, of course.

“You good?”

Azzi sighed, locking her phone and tossing it onto her bed. “Yeah.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow.

Azzi groaned, flopping back. “She’s just… ignoring me. Like completely.”

Caroline hummed, pretending to think. “That’s weird. Maybe she’s busy?”

Azzi turned her head to glare at her. “You’re the worst liar ever.”

Caroline laughed, throwing her hands up. “Hey, I’m just saying! Maybe she’s planning something.”

Azzi’s frown deepened.

If Paige was planning something, why would she be acting like this? Paige wasn’t the type to just cut her off with no explanation.

She sighed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe she was overthinking. Maybe���

Her phone buzzed.

Paige: Hey. Sorry, been busy. Talk later?

Azzi sat up instantly.

What the hell? That was it? No explanation? No usual warmth? Just talk later?

Her jaw clenched as she typed back.

Azzi: Oh. Okay.

She didn’t even wait for a response before locking her phone and setting it aside.

She was done thinking about it.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

—-----------------------

Paige leaned back in her seat as she landed, stretching after the long flight. She sent Caroline another update.

Paige: Landed. Heading to the hotel now.

Caroline: She’s so pissed btw lol. Good luck.

Paige: Perfect 😈

Paige grabbed her bags, pulled up her hood, and made her way out of the airport.

Azzi had no idea what was coming.

—-----------------------

Paige dropped her bags onto the hotel bed, stretching out her sore muscles from the flight. She had a few hours before the game, and she needed to figure out what to wear. If she was going to make an entrance, she had to do it right.

She flopped down and shot Caroline a message.

Paige: What should I wear to the game?

Caroline: Idk, look casual but hot.

Paige: Wow. Helpful.

Caroline: Fine, fine. What are you thinking?

Paige: Short cargos? Maybe a white top?

Caroline: Okay, that’s a start.

Paige stared at her suitcase, then glanced at her phone again, smirking as an idea popped into her head.

Paige: What if I wear Azzi’s jersey on top?

Caroline: Ohhhh. Oh, she’s gonna fold. DO IT.

Paige: Bet. Where do I get one?

Caroline sent back a quick location for the nearest store that sold Stanford gear. Paige was out of the hotel in minutes.

By the time she found the store, she was practically jogging inside. She scanned the racks, eyes landing on the bold Fudd #35 jerseys. Grabbing one in her size, she rushed to the counter, throwing down her card before the cashier could even finish their greeting.

Ten minutes later, she was back at the hotel, slipping into her outfit: white tank, short cargos, and Azzi’s jersey on top. She checked herself in the mirror, adjusting the fit.

Yeah. This was gonna wreck Azzi.

She smirked, snapped a quick selfie, and sent it to Caroline.

Paige: Fit check. You approve?

Caroline: Lmaooo. She’s done for.

Paige: Exactly.

Now, all she had to do was show up and make sure Azzi saw her.

—-----------------------

Azzi couldn’t focus. No matter how hard she tried to shake the feeling, something was off.

It had started the night before, a pit settling in her stomach when Paige didn’t text her like she usually did before bed. It was stupid—she knew that. Paige didn’t owe her constant conversation. But after weeks of late-night calls, teasing texts, and stolen moments despite the distance, the sudden silence hit her hard.

She had tried to brush it off, convincing herself that maybe Paige had just fallen asleep early. But when she woke up to nothing, that pit in her stomach deepened. No good morning message, no random meme or TikTok link, no teasing remark about her weird breakfast habits. It was a complete shutout, and Azzi had no idea why.

Now, standing in the tunnel as her team prepared to take the court, she clenched her jaw, shifting from foot to foot in frustration. She hated distractions before a game, and right now, Paige was the biggest one.

Caroline nudged her shoulder. “You good?”

Azzi exhaled sharply. “Yeah.”

Caroline arched her brow, unconvinced. “You sure? You’ve been weird all day.”

“I’m fine,” Azzi insisted, rolling her shoulders back in an attempt to physically shake the feeling away.

She couldn’t let Paige mess with her head.

She had a game to win.

—-----------------------

Paige, meanwhile, sat courtside, heart hammering in her chest as she adjusted Azzi’s jersey over her white top.

The arena was loud, fans buzzing with excitement as the Stanford team ran from the tunnel on to the court for warmup. Paige kept her head low, fingers gripping the edge of her shorts as she tried not to make it obvious she was watching one person in particular.

Azzi looked locked in—at least, on the surface. But Paige knew her too well.

The tightness in her movements, the way her brows furrowed just a little too deep—it was clear something was bothering her. Paige swallowed hard, knowing exactly what.

Azzi was pissed at her.

And if Paige was being honest, she kind of deserved it.

But the plan was already in motion. She just had to hold out a little longer.

Her grip tightened on the fabric of Azzi’s jersey.

She couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she noticed her.

As the team continued warming up, Caroline bounced on her toes, shaking out her arms while scanning the crowd. She wasn’t searching for anyone—just soaking in the energy of the arena—when her gaze landed on Paige. 

Blonde hair. Tied back into a perfect bun. 

Caroline smirked. Of course. 

She had already spotted Paige earlier, but seeing her now, sitting courtside like she owned the place, just made it funnier. Dressed in a plain white shirt with Azzi’s jersey pulled over it, Paige looked like she belonged in the Stanford fan section. 

She sat back in her seat with a manspread, one arm draped over the chair next to her—all confidence and ease, effortlessly blending in. But Caroline could spot that smugness a mile away.

It was such a Paige move.

A slow grin stretched across Caroline’s face. She immediately gave Paige a thumbs-up, silently hyping her up for the bold play. Paige simply smirked, tilting her chin up in acknowledgment.

Caroline had to give it to her. This plan was genius.

Quickly, she jogged over to the sidelines, making sure Azzi was still focused on her warm-up before slipping past the other players. Paige saw her coming and grinned, standing up just in time for Caroline to reach her.

“You are so messy for this,” Caroline whispered, but her tone was pure amusement.

Paige chuckled, eyes flickering toward Azzi for a second before landing back on Caroline. “Good, right?”

Caroline bit her lip to keep from laughing. “She’s so pissed at you right now.”

Paige ran a hand down her face dramatically. “I know. She’s probably plotting my murder.”

Caroline smirked, shaking her head. “Nah, she won’t be mad once she sees you. Well—maybe for a second. But then she’ll fold.”

Paige grinned. “That’s the plan.”

Without another word, they dapped each other up, the silent confirmation that this was about to be so worth it.

Caroline quickly jogged back to the court before Azzi could notice she was missing, but her excitement buzzed under her skin.

Paige had played this perfectly.

—-----------------------

The energy in the arena was electric, the kind that buzzed through every inch of the building and made every movement feel heavier, sharper. The Stanford crowd was loud, and Azzi was locked in—jaw tight, eyes sharp, moving with that calculated precision that made her so lethal. Paige knew that look. It was the same one Azzi had before every big game, the one that meant she was about to turn up.

Paige leaned forward in her seat, elbows resting on her knees, eyes never leaving Azzi. The game had barely tipped off, but Paige was already locked in like she was the one about to step onto the court. Every move Azzi made, every shot she took, every defensive stop—Paige watched like her life depended on it.

Stanford’s offense flowed smoothly, and Azzi was at the center of it. She started strong, knocking down a smooth pull-up jumper off a screen, then cutting backdoor on the next possession for an easy layup. Paige smirked, nodding her head. Yeah, that’s my girl.

Caroline, who was subbing in at the scorer’s table, stole a quick glance at Paige and let out a knowing chuckle. Paige was so obvious. The way she sat forward every time Azzi touched the ball, how she reacted to every shot like she was playing herself, the small fist clench whenever Azzi locked up on defense—Caroline had never seen Paige so animated during a game that wasn’t her own.

Stanford was holding a small lead when Azzi got really going. She drilled a deep three from the wing, nothing but net, and Paige shot up in her seat, clapping hard.

“Hell yeah, Azzi!” she yelled before remembering where she was and quickly sitting back down, glancing around to see if anyone noticed.

Caroline caught it and definitely noticed. She shook her head, grinning as she ran back onto the court. This was gonna be good.

—-----------------------

The game stayed tight, the opposing team making runs to keep it close. Azzi was Stanford’s rock, steady and composed even under pressure. But Paige could see how badly she wanted this. She knew the little things—the way Azzi’s shoulders tensed when she missed a shot she knew she should’ve hit, how she bit her lip when she was deep in thought during a timeout.

Paige could feel her own adrenaline spiking as the game reached the final minutes. Stanford was up by two, but the opposing team had possession. Azzi was locked in on defense, shadowing her player step for step. The girl tried to shake her with a crossover, but Azzi didn’t budge, staying in front of her.

Paige sat up straighter, gripping the edge of her seat.

The girl went up for a contested jumper, and Azzi blocked it.

The crowd exploded. Paige exploded. She jumped up, her hands flying to her head before she let out a yell. “LET’S FUCKING GO, AZZI!”

Caroline turned toward the sideline and caught Paige’s reaction again. She smirked, shaking her head slightly. Yeah, Azzi was about to lose it when she found out Paige was here.

Stanford secured the rebound, and after a few free throws, the win was locked in. The final buzzer sounded, and Azzi exhaled, letting the tension drain from her shoulders as she high-fived her teammates.

She had no idea.

Caroline jogged over to her during the post-game huddle, casually bumping her shoulder. “Good game.”

Azzi sighed. “Thanks. That was a battle.”

Caroline nodded, then tilted her head slightly, her smirk barely contained. “You had a pretty enthusiastic fan tonight.”

Azzi furrowed her brows. “Huh?”

Caroline just gave her a pointed look before subtly tilting her head toward the sideline. “Look over there.”

Azzi followed her gaze, and—

She froze.

Blonde hair tied up in a bun. Her jersey.

Paige.

Sitting courtside, her smirk smug as hell.

Azzi’s breath caught. Her heart skipped a beat.

No. No way.

Paige was here?

Everything suddenly clicked. The constant text messages that Paige suspiciously stopped sending an hour before the game. The way Caroline had been weirdly smirking all night.

Her jersey.

Paige planned this.

Azzi’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as the realization sank in. She had spent the last day annoyed as hell at Paige for ignoring her—only to find out Paige had flown out here to surprise her at her game?

Azzi’s whole body tensed as the realization settled in. She didn’t know whether she wanted to yell at her or kiss her. 

Paige had ignored her for the past day, leaving her annoyed, restless, and frustrated—just for this? A surprise that made Azzi’s stomach flip and her heart pound in ways she wasn’t prepared for?

She was still frozen in place when Paige—smug as hell—tilted her head slightly and shot her a teasing little wave. Azzi narrowed her eyes, her jaw clenching as Caroline barely held in her laughter beside her.

“Oh my God,” Azzi muttered, rubbing her temples. “She’s so annoying.”

Caroline grinned. “Annoying, but…”

Azzi exhaled sharply. “But this was… a lot.”

Caroline bumped her shoulder. “Just admit you love it.”

Azzi shot her a look, but her stomach was doing too many damn flips for her to deny it.

The rest of the team was still caught up in post-game talk, but Azzi’s attention was locked on Paige, who was casually leaning back in her seat like she hadn’t just driven Azzi up the wall for a full day.

She looked so satisfied with herself.

Azzi exhaled, running a hand over her face before mumbling, “I’m gonna kill her.”

Caroline just snickered. “Sure you are.”

Azzi shook her head, turning back to the rest of the team, trying to focus as they wrapped up post-game talks. But she could feel Paige’s gaze on her. She knew Paige was enjoying every second of this.

And worst of all? Azzi couldn’t even be mad.

She was supposed to be pissed—Paige had ignored her for a day and a half just for this—but instead, all she could think about was the fact that Paige had flown out here just to see her. Just to sit courtside in her jersey. Just to pull off a surprise that had Azzi’s whole mind spinning.

God, she was so whipped.

As the team started making their way toward the tunnel, Caroline leaned in and whispered, “So… you gonna talk to her, or are you gonna keep pretending you’re mad?”

Azzi shot her a look but didn’t answer.

Caroline grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

And then, before Azzi could say anything else, Caroline was jogging ahead—just as Paige, still radiating smugness, slipped past security and walked straight into the tunnel.

Azzi exhaled sharply. Of course she did.

Azzi took a deep breath as she walked toward the tunnel, trying to process the game she had just played. They had won, and everyone seemed to think she played well, but she knew she could’ve done better. Right now, all she wanted was to get back to the locker room and unwind.

But then she saw her.

Paige stood a few steps ahead, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with herself for someone who had been ignoring her for two days.

Azzi’s steps slowed, and despite everything, a warmth spread through her chest.

She almost thought she was imagining things. But no—Paige was actually there, standing in her jersey, paired with an almost unfairly good outfit. The white top underneath was just fitted enough, and the damn short cargo shorts had no business looking that good on her.

Azzi should have been mad.

She was mad.

Right?

Paige tilted her head, smirk deepening as she took in Azzi’s obvious reaction. “Hey, superstar.”

Azzi exhaled sharply through her nose, quickening her steps and stopping just inches away from Paige, eyes narrowed.

“You ignored me for this?” she demanded, voice low.

Paige didn’t flinch. If anything, she looked amused. “You mad?”

Azzi crossed her arms. “Yes.”

Paige’s smirk grew. “No, you’re not.”

Azzi clenched her jaw. “You ignored me for almost two days, Paige.”

Paige gave an easy shrug. “And?”

Azzi scoffed. “And I should be mad.”

Paige’s voice softened just slightly, teasing fading into something quieter. “But you’re not.”

Azzi bit her cheek, willing herself not to fold. But it was so hard when Paige was standing this close, looking at her like that.

Azzi sighed, the frustration melting into something much softer. “…You’re so annoying.”

Paige beamed. “And yet, here you are, melting for me.”

Azzi groaned. “I hate you.”

“Liar.” Paige’s voice dropped, her gaze flickering just slightly to Azzi’s lips before meeting her eyes again.

Azzi swallowed. Nope. She was not doing this here, in the middle of the tunnel, with the whole arena still buzzing outside.

Before she could step back, movement from the side caught her attention.

Caroline.

Azzi turned her head just as Caroline strolled up with a massive smirk, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“I knew something was up,” Caroline said, crossing her arms as she took in Paige’s outfit. “And you really thought wearing her jersey was subtle?”

Paige grinned, looking completely unbothered. “I mean… she noticed.”

Azzi hated how flustered she felt. She shot Caroline a glare. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Caroline ignored her, eyes gleaming as she leaned toward Paige. “So, when’s the wedding?”

Azzi groaned loudly. Paige just laughed.

Caroline held up her hands. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone… for now.” She winked at Paige and Azzi as she walked back.

Paige watched Caroline disappear into the locker room, shaking her head with a small laugh. When she turned back to Azzi, her teasing smirk softened into something warmer, more affectionate.

Azzi rolled her eyes. But her heart was still racing. Because as much as she wanted to be mad, all she could think about was the fact that Paige was here.

Azzi exhaled sharply. “I hate both of you.”

Paige just grinned. “Again… liar.”

They both let out a chuckle.

“C’mere”  Paige murmured, opening her arms.

Azzi didn’t hesitate.

She stepped forward, melting into Paige’s embrace, her arms looping around Paige’s shoulders and fingers brushing against the soft hairs at the nape of her neck. Paige’s own arms wrapped securely around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in close, her hands resting just above her lower back.

Azzi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, pressing herself deeper into the hug, her forehead resting against Paige’s collarbone. She could feel the steady rise and fall of Paige’s chest, the familiar scent of her perfume mixed with the faintest traces of laundry detergent and something so distinctly Paige. It made her relax in an instant.

Paige’s hands moved slowly, caressing Azzi’s back in soothing circles.

“You played so good, Az,” she murmured into her hair, her voice soft and full of admiration. “Seriously. You were locked in, making big shots, playing defense—key reason for that win.”

Azzi exhaled, sinking further into Paige’s warmth, letting herself enjoy the moment.

“You think so?” she mumbled against Paige’s shoulder.

Paige scoffed lightly. “Think so? Baby, I know so.”

Azzi felt her cheeks heat at the casual use of baby, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, she pressed closer. Paige chuckled softly at the reaction, her breath warm against Azzi’s temple before she placed a lingering kiss on the top of her head. Then another. And another.

Azzi closed her eyes, feeling the tension from the game finally dissipate.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice slightly muffled, “you look really good in my jersey.”

Paige smirked, her hands still caressing Azzi’s back. “Oh yeah?”

Azzi pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, lips twitching. “Yeah.”

Paige leaned in slightly, their faces mere inches apart, her voice teasing. “Should’ve worn it sooner, huh?”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the smile pulling at her lips. “Shut up.”

Paige just grinned.

Before either of them could say anything else, a loud voice interrupted.

“Alright, lovebirds, break it up,” Caroline called from the doorway, her arms crossed.

Paige sighed dramatically, her grip on Azzi tightening playfully for a second before she reluctantly pulled back. Azzi immediately missed the warmth.

“I gotta go before she starts really running her mouth,” Paige muttered, giving Azzi’s waist one last squeeze.

Caroline smirked. “Too late for that.”

Paige shot her a look before turning back to Azzi. “We’ll meet up after, yeah?”

Azzi nodded, then hesitated before quickly leaning in, pressing a soft kiss against Paige’s cheek. Paige’s eyes widened slightly, but she recovered fast, her smirk returning.

Azzi tilted her head. “Where are you staying?”

Paige blinked. “Oh, uh—hotel. Not far from here.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Which one? And what room?”

Paige chuckled. “You tryna rob me or something?”

Azzi gave her a look. “Paige.”

Paige bit back a smile. “Fine, fine. It’s—” she told her the hotel and room number.

Azzi nodded. “Okay. I’ll text you.”

Paige smirked. “Or you could just show up.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but fought back a smile as she stepped back toward the locker room.

Caroline, who had been watching the whole exchange with barely contained amusement, finally turned away.

And the second she did, Azzi took her chance—quickly leaning back in to steal another kiss, this time at the corner of Paige’s mouth before pulling away with a small smirk.

Paige blinked, momentarily stunned.

Azzi tilted her head. “See you later?”

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head in disbelief. “Yeah, Az. See you later.”

Azzi turned and walked off, leaving Paige standing there, staring after her like an absolute goner.

Had that just happened?

Her hand absentmindedly brushed against the spot where Azzi had kissed her, her brain trying to process the last few minutes. Azzi had been so soft with her, so quick to close the distance between them, so—bold.

Paige shook her head, a smirk pulling at her lips as she finally turned on her heel, heading out of the arena.

Caroline had been right. Azzi was folding.

—-----------------------

As she stepped outside into the cool night air, she pulled out her phone, quickly typing a message to Caroline.

Paige: solid W on the assist 👏🏻👏🏻

Caroline: I know. You owe me big time 😌

Paige: relax. All you did was tell me to wear the jersey

Caroline: yeah, and now she’s about to sneak off to your hotel later. You’re welcome.

Paige huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. Caroline wasn’t wrong.

She pocketed her phone and walked toward her hotel, feeling a little lighter with every step.

—-----------------------

Back at the locker room, Azzi was definitely not paying attention to whatever post-game speech her coach was giving.

Her mind was still stuck on Paige.

On the way Paige had pulled her close, on the way she smelled like something fresh and familiar, on the way her hands had traced slow circles against her back, on the way she had called her babe so easily.

On the way she had leaned in for that second kiss without even thinking about it.

Gosh.

Azzi clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus.

She just needed to shower, grab her things, and then—then she’d figure out what the hell she was going to do.

She wasn’t backing out now.

Not when she had already asked Paige for the address.

Not when Paige had told her to just show up.

And especially not when her entire body was already aching for another hug, another whispered compliment, another anything from Paige.

She just had to play it cool.

Easy.

Right?

—-----------------------

Back in the dorm, Azzi stood in front of her closet, eyes scanning over her options even though she already knew what she was going to wear.

She had told herself—really told herself—that she was just going to keep it casual. Paige had only invited her over to relax, nothing crazy. They were just going to hang out, maybe talk about the game, just be together.

But somehow, she still found herself reaching for a fitted pink cropped tank top, one that showed off just enough to make a statement without trying too hard. She paired it with short, ripped jeans, the kind that hugged her hips just right.

Her hair was the last thing she focused on, pulling it into a slicked-back bun, leaving the front curls out to frame her face.

She stared at herself in the mirror, lips pressing together. Okay, yeah. She looked good.

Too good for just a chill night?

Before she could overthink it, her door swung open, and Caroline strolled in like she owned the place.

“Wow,” Caroline drawled, crossing her arms as she took in Azzi’s outfit. “So this is your definition of ‘just hanging out,’ huh?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, pretending to adjust her top. “What are you talking about?”

Caroline smirked. “Don’t play dumb. You’re dressing way too nice for a casual hangout in Paige’s hotel room. You tryna make her pass out the second she opens the door?”

Azzi felt her face heat up. “Shut up.”

“I mean—” Caroline gestured at her. “This whole thing? The top, the shorts? Paige is gonna gush. Probably won’t even let you inside without standing there admiring you for ten minutes first.”

Azzi huffed, shaking her head as she grabbed her phone and her bag. “You’re so annoying.”

“I’m right though,” Caroline countered, grinning. “She already showed up to your game in your jersey. You might as well return the favor by making her speechless tonight.”

Azzi tried not to let the teasing get to her, but Caroline’s words settled somewhere deep inside her.

Was she doing too much?

Or—maybe—was she just finally letting herself do what she wanted to do?

Either way, there was no turning back now.

She was about to find out exactly how Paige was going to react.

Azzi took one last look at herself in the mirror, smoothing her hands down the front of her top before huffing out a breath. It’s just Paige. That thought should’ve calmed her, but instead, it only made her more nervous.

Her phone buzzed on the dresser.

Paige: Text me when you’re on your way.

Azzi smiled to herself, fingers hovering over the screen before she quickly typed out a reply.

Azzi: Leaving my dorm now.

She grabbed her pink jacket off the chair and slipped it on, zipping it up halfway. As much as she wanted to see Paige’s reaction when she took it off, she wasn’t about to freeze walking out of her dorm just for the sake of dramatics.

“Okay, okay,” Caroline said, watching her with an amused expression. “You’re already glowing. Relax.”

Azzi shot her a flat look. “I am relaxed.”

Caroline snorted. “Right. That’s why you’re fidgeting with your hoodie zipper like you’re about to walk down the aisle instead of, I don’t know, go see your not-girlfriend in her hotel room.”

Azzi sighed, shaking her head as she pulled the hood up slightly, if only to avoid giving Caroline the satisfaction of seeing how flustered she actually was.

“I’m leaving now before you make me rethink my entire life.”

Caroline held up her hands in surrender, but her teasing smirk never wavered. “Have fun. Or, you know, try not to combust when she inevitably loses her mind over you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, stepping out the door without another word.

But as she made her way outside, heart already racing at the thought of seeing Paige again—this time, with no game, no crowd, no distractions—she couldn’t help but think that maybe Caroline had a point.

Paige was going to lose her mind.

And Azzi?

She was so ready to see it.

—-----------------------

Azzi slid into the driver’s seat of her car, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before exhaling deeply. The night air was cool, but she could still feel the warmth on her skin from getting ready—whether it was nerves or excitement, she wasn’t sure. Probably both.

She started the engine and plugged in the hotel’s address, her phone screen illuminating her face as the navigation loaded. The drive wasn’t far, but it felt significant—like a shift in something she wasn’t quite ready to name.

The streets were quiet, the late hour making traffic almost nonexistent. With one hand on the wheel, she reached for her phone at the red light and shot Paige a quick text.

Azzi: Just got in the car. On my way.

A reply came almost instantly.

Paige: Bout time.

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto her lips. The light turned green, and she pressed down on the gas, heart picking up speed along with the car.

As she got closer to the hotel, her thoughts started racing. She wasn’t sure what to expect—actually, that was a lie. She knew exactly what to expect. Paige waiting for her with that signature smirk. Paige leaning back like she had all the time in the world. Paige probably being annoyingly smug about Azzi coming all this way just to see her.

—-----------------------

She pulled into the hotel parking lot, turning off the engine but staying seated for a second. Her fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel as she tried to calm the anticipation thrumming through her.

Then, her phone buzzed again.

Paige: You just gonna sit out there or you coming in?

Azzi huffed out a laugh. Of course, Paige was waiting for her.

She grabbed her phone, jacket still zipped up as she stepped out of the car and locked it behind her. Her sneakers barely made a sound against the pavement as she walked toward the entrance, pulse quickening with every step.

This wasn’t just a meet-up. Not after everything that had happened.

And she had a feeling tonight was going to change everything.

—-----------------------

Azzi stepped into the hotel lobby, the cool air conditioning hitting her skin as she scanned the quiet space. It was late, so there weren’t many people around—just the receptionist at the front desk and a few scattered guests lingering near the elevators.

Her phone buzzed again.

Paige: 5th level,  Room 535.

Azzi exhaled through her nose, a small smile tugging at her lips. She made her way across the polished floor, slipping into the elevator and pressing the button for the fifth floor. The doors slid shut, enclosing her in the soft hum of the moving lift.

As she leaned back against the wall, her reflection stared back at her in the mirrored interior. She looked… composed, but her fingers still fidgeted slightly with the zipper of her jacket. The pink tank top underneath clung to her just right, and she could already hear Caroline’s teasing in her head about how much effort she’d put into getting ready.

A quiet ding signaled her arrival, and the doors slid open. Azzi stepped out, the hallway stretching out ahead of her in warm, dim lighting. The carpet muffled her footsteps as she made her way toward Paige’s room, heart thudding in a steady rhythm.

She barely had a chance to knock before the door swung open.

Paige stood there, leaning against the doorframe, one hand gripping the edge of the door while the other rested lazily on her hip. She was wearing a plain black hoodie and shorts, the sweatshirt hanging loose over her frame—Azzi could tell she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. And somehow, that made it even worse.

The slow smirk Paige gave her wasn’t helping.

“Took you long enough.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but stepped inside, brushing past Paige as she did. She caught the faint scent of her body wash—something clean and slightly citrusy—lingering in the air.

Azzi stepped further into the room, scanning the space as Paige shut the door behind her. It was a standard hotel room—neutral tones, soft lighting, a single bed that looked inviting—but the only thing Azzi’s mind really registered was Paige.

Paige, who stretched her arms above her head with a satisfied sigh before flopping onto the bed like she owned the place.

Azzi barely had a second to process it before her eyes caught on the way Paige’s hoodie shifted, rising just enough to expose the toned expanse of her stomach. The fabric bunched up slightly, leaving her abs on full display, and Azzi’s brain short-circuited for a moment.

Her mouth felt dry. God.

Paige had changed out of the jersey, now in just a hoodie with no shirt underneath and a pair of shorts that did nothing to help Azzi’s situation. The way she was sprawled out so effortlessly, completely at ease, made it even worse.

Paige’s eyes flickered to her, a slow, knowing smile forming.

“You just gonna stand there?” she teased, patting the spot next to her. “C’mon.”

Azzi inhaled slowly, willing her face to stay neutral as she made her way over. She tried not to overthink it as she sat down beside Paige, her body instantly feeling warmer, too aware of how close they were.

Even the minimal space between them felt like too much.

Paige shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow, and Azzi could feel the weight of her gaze. It was impossible to ignore.

The warmth in her chest only grew hotter.

- She exhaled through her nose, suddenly feeling stifled. Without thinking, she reached for the zipper of her jacket, tugging it down slowly. The sound of the zipper filled the quiet room, dragging far longer than it should have.

Paige had stopped moving.

Azzi could feel her eyes locked on her as she slid the hoodie off her shoulders, revealing the fitted cropped pink tank top underneath. She wasn’t usually this bold, but something about the air between them, the way Paige’s gaze darkened slightly, sent a thrill through her.

Paige’s lips parted slightly, her eyes trailing over her like she wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“Damn,” Paige muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Azzi to hear.

Azzi felt her stomach flip, heat creeping up her neck, but she just raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What?”

Paige shook her head, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. “Nothing,” she murmured, her voice lower than before. “Just… you look really good.”

Azzi’s heartbeat stuttered.

The tension had shifted, thickened, like they were teetering on the edge of something neither of them could ignore.

Azzi swallowed, forcing herself to stay composed despite the way her heart pounded. She played it off with a small smile, tilting her head slightly.

“Thanks,” she murmured, feeling the warmth of Paige’s eyes still on her.

There was a beat of silence, thick and charged. Paige’s gaze lingered, and Azzi could feel it, feel the way it traced over her bare shoulders, her collarbone, down to where the fabric of her cropped tank top hugged her frame.

Then Paige shifted, leaning back against the pillows with a smirk tugging at her lips. “Damn,” she said, exaggeratedly fanning herself. “Is it just me, or is it getting kinda hot in here?”

Azzi’s breath caught.

Before she could even think of a response, Paige reached for the hem of her hoodie and tugged it over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Azzi’s brain short-circuited.

Paige was left in nothing but a black Nike sports bra and her shorts, her toned arms and defined abs completely exposed. The way the dim hotel lighting hit her skin only made it worse.

Azzi could not look away.

She felt warmth creep up her neck, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the edge of the bedspread as Paige stretched her arms above her head again, muscles flexing just enough to make Azzi’s throat go dry.

Paige shot her a knowing look, tilting her head. “Something wrong?”

Azzi blinked rapidly, trying to shake herself out of whatever daze she had just fallen into. “No,” she said, a little too quickly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Paige hummed, clearly amused, but didn’t push. Instead, she settled back against the pillows, arms folded behind her head, completely at ease—while Azzi was still trying to remember how to breathe.

The air between them was thick, heavier than before, like they were walking a fine line neither of them was ready to break just yet.

—-----------------------

Azzi could still feel the heat on her face, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the room. She needed to look anywhere else—the TV, the hotel lamp, the bland paintings on the wall.

But her eyes betrayed her.

Paige was lounging so effortlessly, arms still folded behind her head, her toned stomach fully on display, abs flexing slightly as she shifted. She looked completely unbothered, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi swallowed hard.

The confident smirk on Paige’s lips told her she knew exactly what she was doing.

Azzi tried to play it cool, leaning back on her hands, pretending like she wasn’t struggling to keep her breathing steady.

“You’re really out here getting too comfortable, huh?” she teased, hoping to steer herself back to safer ground.

Paige just shrugged, her smirk deepening. “It’s my hotel room. Might as well make myself at home.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, forcing herself to glance away. “Yeah, well…” Her voice trailed off, but before she could even think, the words slipped out under her breath.

“You look hot, though…”

The second the words left her mouth, her body froze.

Her eyes widened slightly, her breath catching in her throat as she realized what she had just said.

Paige definitely caught it.

The smirk on her lips turned into something sharper, more pleased, her blue eyes darkening with amusement as she lifted an eyebrow.

“What was that?”

Azzi wanted to die.

She cleared her throat, shaking her head quickly. “Nothing.”

Paige pushed herself up onto her elbows, her gaze locked onto Azzi’s like a challenge.

“Nah,” she said, biting her lip slightly. “I think I heard you say something.”

Azzi groaned, rubbing a hand over her face as she tried to recover, but her skin was burning. “Shut up.”

Paige chuckled, her voice lower, smug. “So you do think I look hot?”

Azzi refused to answer.

Paige leaned in slightly, tilting her head, her eyes practically twinkling. “Don’t worry, Az,” she murmured. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

The air between them shifted again, tension crackling like an unspoken challenge neither of them wanted to acknowledge just yet.

Azzi swallowed hard, pressing her lips together, but it was useless.

Paige noticed.

Of course she did.

That damn smirk was back, sharp and knowing, her blue eyes gleaming with something that made Azzi’s skin burn.

“You good?” Paige asked, her voice dipping into something lower, smoother.

Azzi blinked rapidly, snapping herself out of it. “Yeah—yeah, I’m fine.”

Paige hummed, clearly not convinced.

Then, without warning, she reached over, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s bare shoulder.

Azzi barely had time to react before she felt a gentle tug.

Paige’s fingers were playing with the strap of her tank top, toying with it slowly, dragging it between her fingers before letting it slide just slightly down Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi swore her breath got caught in her throat.

Paige leaned in a little, her eyes flickering up to meet hers, her lips curling into something dangerously playful.

“You know…” Paige murmured, her fingers still tracing the strap lazily. “This reminds me of something.”

Azzi felt a shiver crawl up her spine.

“…What?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Paige tilted her head, that knowing smirk deepening.

“That one night,” she said. “When we were on the phone. And you kept playing with your tank top strap.”

Azzi froze.

Her heart slammed against her chest as the memory rushed back—that night, when she had been teasing Paige, letting her tank top strap slip lower and lower just to get a reaction out of her.

And now Paige was flipping the script.

“I wasn’t—” Azzi started, but Paige cut her off with a soft chuckle.

“You so were,” she murmured, her fingers still tracing over Azzi’s shoulder, barely there, yet so much.

Azzi could barely breathe.

The air between them felt dangerous, charged with something unspoken, something they had been dancing around for so long.

And Paige? She knew it.

She let the strap slip just a little further, her fingers grazing Azzi’s collarbone, her touch featherlight, teasing.

Azzi felt hot. Everywhere.

The deliberate touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she barely registered Paige’s teasing voice.

“Didn’t think I’d forget about that little show you put on for me, did you?” Paige murmured, her voice smooth, edged with something unmistakable.

Azzi swallowed, heat pooling in her stomach. “I—I wasn’t putting on a show,” she tried to argue, but her voice betrayed her, breathy and uneven.

Paige smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. She let the strap go, her fingers trailing featherlight down Azzi’s arm before settling on her waist. The warmth of Paige’s hand burned through the thin fabric, and Azzi’s pulse thundered in her ears.

Azzi tried to focus—tried to keep her eyes locked on Paige’s face—but it was impossible when Paige was sitting there, toned stomach and defined abs on full display, looking so effortlessly confident, so effortlessly… hot.

The tension crackled between them, neither willing to break first, until Azzi couldn’t take it anymore. Her gaze flickered down to Paige’s lips, and before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in, closing the distance.

The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant—Paige’s lips molding against hers, soft and warm. But then Paige tilted her head, deepening it, and Azzi felt herself melt into her. Paige’s hands tightened on her waist, and in one smooth motion, she pulled Azzi fully onto her lap.

Azzi gasped against her lips, hands flying to Paige’s bare shoulders for balance. But Paige didn’t stop—didn’t give her a second to process. Instead, she kissed her again, harder this time, and Azzi responded in kind. Their lips moved in sync, breaths mingling, the room suddenly feeling much warmer.

Paige’s tongue swiped against Azzi’s bottom lip, teasing, asking for entrance, until Azzi parted her lips just enough to let her in. The moment their tongues met, a low sound rumbled from Paige’s throat, and Azzi felt it all the way down to her core. The kiss turned heated, tongues tangling in a slow, intoxicating rhythm, neither of them willing to pull away.

Azzi’s fingers curled into Paige’s shoulders, gripping tight as she lost herself in the sensation—Paige’s hands roaming up and down her back, Paige’s lips moving with a kind of confidence that made her dizzy. Paige kissed like she knew exactly what she was doing, like she’d been waiting for this as much as Azzi had.

Azzi barely noticed when Paige’s hands slid up, fingertips brushing just under the hem of her tank top, before retreating just as quickly. Teasing. Always teasing.

She pulled back, just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against Paige’s. Paige’s hands stayed firm on her waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles against her skin.

Azzi licked her lips, dazed. “Wow.”

Paige grinned, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded, still breathless. “Yeah.”

Paige chuckled, tilting her head back against the headboard. “Told you you’d fold.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile forming on her lips. “Shut up.”

Paige hummed, her grip on Azzi’s waist tightening ever so slightly. “Make me.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She crashed her lips back onto Paige’s, fingers tightening against her shoulders. Paige barely had a second to smirk before she was kissing her back, matching Azzi’s urgency with just as much intensity. Their lips moved in sync, the heat between them undeniable, impossible to ignore.

Paige’s hands slid up from Azzi’s waist, fingers ghosting over the exposed skin beneath her tank top, teasing but never pressing too much. It drove Azzi insane—the way Paige knew exactly how to make her want more without giving it right away.

Azzi sighed against Paige’s lips, and that was all it took for Paige to take control. Without warning, she flipped them, shifting their positions so that Azzi was suddenly beneath her, head hitting the pillows. Paige settled between her legs, pressing her weight down just enough to make Azzi breathless.

Paige’s lips curled into a smirk. “That’s better.”

Azzi blinked up at her, wide-eyed and stunned. “H-how did you—?”

Paige only grinned, lowering herself down until their lips met again. This time, she didn’t rush. She took her time, savoring every kiss, making sure Azzi felt each one. Her hands roamed, fingers tracing patterns along Azzi’s sides before slipping under the hem of her tank top again, pushing it up just a little.

Azzi gasped when Paige’s lips left hers, trailing downward, along her jaw, down the column of her neck. She tilted her head back instinctively, giving Paige more space, her fingers threading into soft blonde hair as she felt Paige’s lips press against her skin.

Then she felt it—Paige sucking lightly, her lips lingering, her tongue flicking over the spot right below her ear. A shiver ran through Azzi’s entire body.

“Paige,” she breathed, her grip tightening in blonde locks.

Paige hummed against her skin, pleased with the reaction. She continued her slow descent, placing open-mouthed kisses down Azzi’s neck, lingering long enough to leave faint marks. When she got to Azzi’s collarbone, she bit down lightly before soothing the spot with her tongue.

Azzi’s breathing grew unsteady, chest rising and falling beneath Paige, heat spreading through every inch of her skin. Paige wasn’t just teasing her now—she was claiming her, making sure Azzi would feel every single place she kissed.

When Paige pulled back, her eyes usually light blue now dark and full of mischief, Azzi was left dazed, her lips slightly parted as she tried to catch her breath.

Paige smirked. “I wish I was able to do this sooner.”

Azzi swallowed, her pulse still racing. “Same,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Paige leaned in again, lips brushing against Azzi’s jaw before moving back up to capture her lips once more. The kiss was slower this time, softer, but no less intense.

Azzi didn’t know how long they stayed like that, tangled in each other, Paige’s lips on hers, on her neck, on her collarbone. All she knew was that she didn’t want it to stop.

Paige pulled back slightly, just enough to admire her work, her fingers lightly tracing over the faint marks she had left behind. A satisfied smirk tugged at her lips as her gaze flickered up to Azzi’s flushed face.

“You’re so sensitive,” Paige murmured, dragging a thumb over one of the marks just to watch Azzi squirm beneath her. “Look at this…” She pressed another kiss just below Azzi’s jaw, lips lingering for a second. “I barely even tried.”

Azzi exhaled sharply, her hands gripping Paige’s arms as heat flared beneath her skin. Paige’s voice alone was enough to set her on fire, but the way she was looking at her right now—like she had all the time in the world to explore every inch of her—was almost too much.

Azzi wasn’t about to let Paige have all the control.

With a spark of determination, she shifted slightly beneath Paige, tilting her chin up with feigned innocence before letting her fingers ghost down Paige’s bare sides, her nails dragging lightly over the toned skin of her abdomen.

Paige inhaled sharply at the touch, her muscles tensing.

“Oh, you think you’re funny?” Paige challenged, her voice dropping lower.

Azzi hummed in response, letting her fingers continue their slow, teasing path over Paige’s stomach, deliberately pressing against the defined ridges of her abs. She was fully aware of how much Paige loved being touched like this—how much she craved it, even if she’d never admit it.

Paige’s smirk faltered for just a second before she moved, effortlessly capturing Azzi’s wrists and pinning them down beside her head, intertwining their fingers.

Azzi’s breath hitched.

Paige hovered over her, their noses nearly brushing, their lips close enough that Azzi could feel the warmth of Paige’s breath. The weight of Paige’s body pressing down against her, the strength in her grip—it made Azzi’s head spin.

“Not so bold now, huh?” Paige teased, her lips hovering just above Azzi’s, taunting, waiting.

Azzi swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs. She could feel every inch of Paige against her, feel the heat radiating between them, feel the tension wrapping around them like a thread pulled too tight.

Paige squeezed her hands gently, her thumbs brushing over Azzi’s knuckles. “What’s wrong?” she murmured, eyes flickering between Azzi’s parted lips and the flushed skin of her cheeks. “You were real confident a second ago.”

Azzi wasn’t sure if she wanted to push back or pull Paige down completely. Either way, she wasn’t backing down. She could feel the weight of Paige’s body pressing against hers, and the heat radiating between them was almost too much to ignore.

Paige seemed to sense the moment too, her grip loosening just slightly around Azzi’s wrists. She gave her a brief, teasing smile before flipping them over in one swift move. Now, Paige was leaning back against the headboard of the bed, with Azzi straddling her lap. The change in position was electric, and Azzi’s heart raced as she looked down at Paige, feeling the weight of the moment.

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s back, pulling her closer until they were pressed flush against each other, like an embrace that somehow felt more intense than anything they had shared before. Paige buried her head in the crook of Azzi’s neck, her breath hot against her skin. The gentle rhythm of Paige’s exhales made Azzi shiver, and she let out a small breath as she leaned into the comfort of the embrace.

“I need you to message Caroline,” Paige said softly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s skin as she spoke. “Let her know you’re spending the night with me. Tell her you’ll be back tomorrow so she doesn’t worry.”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, but she nodded, the gentle pressure of Paige’s arms around her easing any lingering uncertainty. She reached for her phone, fingers tapping out the message quickly. As soon as she hit send, her phone buzzed with Caroline’s response: “Well, look at you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do… ;)”

Paige grinned, pulling back slightly to look at the marks she’d left on Azzi’s skin. A soft smile tugged at her lips as she traced her fingertips gently over them, her touch lingering with a possessive tenderness that sent warmth through Azzi’s chest. Then, without a word, Paige placed several soft, lingering kisses over the marks, her lips gentle and warm against Azzi’s skin.

Once Azzi finished texting Caroline back, she raised an eyebrow and let out a playful laugh. “It’s not fair,” she said with a teasing smile, “I’m the only one with marks.” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned down, brushing her lips against Paige’s neck and leaving a few marks of her own.

The heat between them seemed to rise again as they met each other’s gaze, and in that moment, it was clear: things had shifted. The playful teasing, the laughter, the soft touches—all of it had led them here. The connection between them had deepened in ways neither of them could fully explain, but neither of them wanted to pull away, either.

As they kissed again, it was slower this time—gentle but full of meaning. Azzi could feel every sensation as their lips met, the warmth, the sweetness, the promise of something more. The kiss lingered, not rushed, but full of a quiet intensity. But eventually, they pulled back, both of them breathing a little heavier, the air between them felt thick with unspoken tension. Paige’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her hand lingering close to Azzi’s, unsure whether to close the distance again or pull away.

Paige’s voice broke the silence, hesitant, almost stuttering. “Azzi… I— I really need you. But, if… if you don’t want this, we can stop, okay? I don’t want to rush you or—”

Azzi’s heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat. The hesitation in Paige’s voice, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes—it made something deep inside her ache. She couldn’t stand the thought of Paige doubting this, doubting them.

She cupped Paige’s cheek, her touch both soft and certain, her thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “Paige,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the wildfire in her chest. “You don’t have to worry. I want this. I want you… so bad.”

The words carried more weight than she expected, wrapping around them, filling the space between them. For a moment, Paige just stared at her, something vulnerable flashing behind those blue eyes before she let out a shaky breath. The tension that had held them so tightly for so long seemed to break, melting away as Paige turned her face into Azzi’s palm, pressing a lingering kiss there before threading their fingers together.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She closed the space between them, her lips meeting Paige’s in a kiss that was slow, deep, and unrelenting—full of every unspoken word, every bottled-up feeling, every ounce of longing they had been too afraid to voice. Paige responded just as desperately, her fingers tightening around Azzi’s like she never wanted to let go.

Their lips moved together with a newfound certainty, each touch infused with trust and desire, as if they were finally allowing themselves to embrace what had always been there. The hesitation that once lingered between them was gone, replaced by the undeniable pull drawing them closer. In this moment, nothing else mattered—not the world outside, not the doubts they’d once wrestled with—just the quiet, electric connection between them.

Paige’s hands found the hem of Azzi’s cropped tank top, her fingers brushing against warm skin as she slowly pushed it upward. She hesitated for half a second—giving Azzi the chance to stop her, to pull away—but Azzi only leaned in closer, her breath hitching as Paige tugged the fabric over her head and tossed it aside. The sudden cool air against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, but Paige’s hands were quick to chase the warmth, palms skimming over her back, pulling her in like she never wanted to let go.

Azzi barely registered anything else—the soft rustle of sheets as they shifted, the way Paige murmured something against her lips, or the way her own hands instinctively found their way to Paige’s bare skin. All she knew was the heat between them, the slow, intoxicating press of Paige’s body against hers, and the unspoken promise lingering in every touch.

The rest of the world faded away, leaving only them.

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

[pookietv]

nausea | arthur tv

hey guys! i have been MIA for crazy amounts of time but here is a little self indulgent fluff fic to satiate your fanfiction needs :P

the ache in your lower stomach had plagued you for far too long now, a sick kind of dull ache that just completely ruined your mood. you had always struggled with periods - the nausea which led you to gripping the toilet bowl and praying for the gagging to end, or the lower back pain which was enough to make you want to pull your spine from your back just for some relief.

so that's what your day had consisted of: curled up in your soft floral bedsheets, trashy TV playing from your laptop which lay next to you, brightness turned all the way down to avoid offending your migraine, though it was being half ignored, curtains pulled closed even though sunlight was still leaking through.

you had become content with the fact that this is how your day would be spent, with even slightly moving hurting, and had reduced yourself to bed-dwelling.

well, at least until you got a text from arthur.

"hey babe, should be at yours in about 15 mins, you almost ready?"

fuck. your self pity party had made you completely forget that you and arthur had plans today - some new spot for food had opened and arthur had been so excited to take you.

not bearing being able to look at the bright screen, you quickly clicked call so you didn't have to text out your whole apology and explanation.

he picked up quickly, "hi you, everything good?" his voice rang down the phone, as soft and lovely as usual.

"arthur, 'm so sorry... i really don't think i'm gonna make it out today, i've got the worst pain," you said, voice slightly quiet cause you felt so bad ruining the nice day you had planned.

"huh? you didn't tell me you were getting sick, are you okay?"

you hummed for a second, "not sick, just period - y'know, cramps and migraines and aches, but i'm really sorry i'm just cancelling on you now, i feel dreadful,"

"you don't need to feel bad, not your fault at all babe," he said, voice gentle and laced with concern, "i'll come round, look after you hm?"

you felt a small smile of flattery creep onto your face, "oh, arthur you don't have to do that, feel bad you being stuck in the house with a miserable me,"

"oh hush, told you i wanted to see you today, even if it is a grumpy you," he said, and you could hear his grin down the phone.

"mkay, well, uh, feel free to come round whenever, you've got a spare key," you said softly, face still half smushed in the pillow.

"see you soon, darling," he said gently, and the phone clicked.

you hadn't been planning on falling asleep, but the sheets that wrapped around you like a cocoon and the dull throbbing of your headache became a lullabye, eyes closing before you even realised you were falling asleep.

it was only when you heard soft thudding footsteps when you began to stir, eyes slightly fluttering open to the touch of a hand stroking your hair, and arthur in front of you, small smile lingering on his face.

"hey, you. sorry, didn't mean to wake you, you just looked so peaceful. you wanna go back to sleep?"

your arms stretched slightly above your head, still laid down and looking at arthur crouched on the ground, level with your bed.

"mmm, no. 'm awake now," you smiled, pulling yourself up from the cosy bed, now sat upright.

"you look warm," arthur murmured, hand pressing against your cheek lightly.

"really? feel like i've been freezing all day," you said softly.

he frowned a little, and stood himself up offering you his hand.

"outta bed so soon?" you pouted mockingly, and arthur shook his head jokingly in response.

"well, if you don't wanna come see the surprise be my guest..." he teased, and despite your throbbing head, that was enough to rouse you out of your pile of blankets.

your feet padded across the carpet, following him to your front room that had been temporarily converted into what looked like somewhere to hibernate for winter - each inch of sofa covered in fluffy blanket or pillows, and enough snacks on the coffee table to comfortably provide for a family of four for at least two weeks.

the curtains were drawn, despite it being daytime, and instead your small lamps were turned on around the room, but the main source of light came from the TV, which had your switch loaded up and connected to it.

"i figured since your head was hurting we could keep it dark in here, and i got all your favourite foods, at least all the ones i could find - and i figured you've been so busy recently and you always talk about how you wanna finish playing portal with me so i figured if you're not feeling too sleepy or ill that maybe today would be a good day to just chill and play, but if you'd rather not or don't like the idea we can totally-" arthur rambled on, until you cut him off.

"arthur, you're so sweet. i'd love to have a chill day and play portal with you." you said softly, hugging his side with a wide grin on your face.

"okay, good. i just didn't want you to be alone if you weren't feeling well." he said softly, hand resting lightly on your back, thumb gently smoothing over the fabric of your shirt.

"i also got peppermint tea, which is apparently supposed to be good for period pain, who knew? it's apparently supposed to be an anti-inflammatory, which means it can reduce cramps and nausea, so,"

"arthur, i love you but could we maybe go into the science of peppermint tea after we start playing?" you teased lightly.

he grinned, "yeah, of course. whatever you want."

[buddiecanon8x11]

I wish more than ever that I had finished the fic I planned for the hiatus between s7 and s8 because LITERALYYYYY look at this:

“I thought you understood.” Misery chokes his voice.

“Well, I think I’m starting to.”

The resignation in Tommy’s voice puts Buck on the defensive. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that for you, he’s always going to come first,” Tommy says. “Kid, look, I get it. We’ve all been there. It’s practically a right of passage.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Gay—or bi, in your case—guy falls in unrequited love with his straight best friend?” Tommy says. “It’s a classic for a reason. Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us.”

Tommy’s tone is mild, sympathetic, even. Buck feels like he’s been slapped. “That’s not what this is at all.”

Tommy snorts. Snorts. Like Buck is some kind of joke.

“Evan,” he says, that way he always does—that makes him feel just like a child again, acting up and getting reprimanded for it. “Come on. I clocked you from the very beginning, and then you said it was my attention you were after, and hell, I was flattered. Of course I was. But, well. It’s clear that whoever’s attention you were trying to get, your attention is very much elsewhere.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Buck says in a low, grinding voice. “Eddie’s my best friend, of course I’d do anything for him. Just because I’m bi doesn’t mean I’m in love with every male friend I have.”

“I’m telling you this for your own good, Evan,” Tommy says. “The sooner you’re honest with yourself about what you want from him, the better off you’ll both be. Otherwise, it’s just going to be this—you running to his every beck and call and hoping that one day he’ll see all that you’ve done for him, how devoted you are to him, and somehow it will make him want you back. Well, let me tell you right now, Evan. It won’t. It never does.”

Tommy is twisting everything about his relationship with Eddie, turning it ugly. I dragged his bleeding body to safety, he wants to scream. I held his shaking fists in the wreckage of his grief. I watched him pick up the pieces. 

He gave me something to live for. 

“You don’t know a thing about him,” Buck hisses, his fury like a live wire in his chest. “And you don’t know a thing about me, either. I think you should leave.”

Tommy puts up his hands. “Fine. At least I warned you.”

[moody-alcoholic]

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 8 - Nothing Is Okay

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: CPR, cardiac arrest, medical drama, medical inacurrices, PTSD, flashbacks.

AN: Writers block is still here which is why this part is a little shorter.

Previous parts - masterlist- next AO3

Enjoy <3

You’re not sure how long you’ve been laid out on the floor for. Enough time for your eyes to start stinging and your arm to go numb. 

“Remember that training we once did where Soap had to pretend to be injured?” Kyle asks. It makes you smile, you do remember that day. He was only supposed to roleplay his hand being blown off. Instead he threw everything at you and didn’t once break character. 

He pretended to have everything from internal bleeding to cardiac arrest and seizures. At first you were mad at him, you thought he was messing with you but your stubbornness got the better of you and you were both riding it out to the bitter end. Eventually John had to step in and tell you both to stop.

To this day you still joke about who did a better job. 

“I remember.” You say, Kyle’s hand comes up to stroke your cheek. 

“He’s a terrible patient.” Kyle says, chuckling. 

“I heard he’s been keeping Ghost on his toes.” You say, Kyle rolls his eyes. 

“You have no idea.” You both end up laughing as Kyle pulls you back into his arms. You lay there just breathing into his chest, he has a familiar scent, gunpowder and something woody, mellow and inviting. 

It’s not long before Kyle is encouraging you to slowly get up off the floor. “You should get some sleep, you’ll feel better tomorrow. You’ve been working everyday since you were discharged.” Kyle says. You don’t bother fighting him, you could use some sleep, when you’re sleeping at least you don’t need to worry about the guilt. 

When you leave the room you see John standing at the end of the hall. Your eyes linger on him as he smiles at you quickly before you let Kyle lead you away. You let them all down. Not only that you let the medical staff down, especally the doctor. He trusted you took your bullshit psych evaluation at face value, and you ran, instead of helping innocent people you ran.

You don't deserve their kindness.

...

“Captain Price?” He turns to see a doctor walk up behind him. “I’m sorry I had no idea there were civilians coming.”

“It’s okay. It’s no one’s fault.” Price sighs.

“Is she going to be okay? The nurses- we all like her. She’s a good person. We’re willing to vouch for her.” The doctor says, Price smiles. 

“It’s okay, she’s resting.” Price says.

“Captain.” He calls as John turns away. It stops him in his tracks and he raises an eyebrow looking back at the doctor. “I think I have a way to help her. With your permission of course.” 

Price presses his lips together looking back down the hall where you and Gaz turned down a few minutes ago. He looks back at the doctor. “What do you have in mind?” 

…

“I think it’s a bad idea.” Ghost says. 

“I’ll be there the whole time. The moment I think it’s too much I will step in.” The doctor says.

“That could kill her confidence even more.” Price says.

“It could but it could also be the biggest confidence boost in the world. I avoided giving her cat 1 patients. I thought she needed to be eased back into work, she’s an adrenaline junkie like all CMT’s, she needs something she can just close her mind off to.” 

“Last time there was a mass trauma she panicked.” Ghost says.

“This isn’t a mass trauma, it’s running a code.” The doctor replies. 

“Last time there was a civilian airstrike she was almost executed over it. It makes sense she panicked.” John says. He picks up the radio from the center of the table. He looks at the red tape wrapped around it. 

“Okay. We want to be there too.” Price says. The doctor smiles and nods. 

“I would expect nothing less.” 

…

You wake to an ear piercing screech. You know that sound, you reach over feeling for the emergency radio. You must have forgotten you’re on call. You feel Kyle move next to you.

“I can get it.” He says trying to reach over you. 

“I got it.” You say opening your eyes and seeing the red taped radio. 

“Send traffic.” You say half asleep. 

“Code blue-” You're already jumping out the bed reaching round for your jacket. “-Med bay, resus code blue.” 

“Wait!” Kyle calls. 

“I can’t wait. I have to go.” You say. Your heart is pounding in your chest.

“Copy, on route.” You say into the radio as you pull your boots on quickly tying the laces. 

“Are you sure you can do this?” Kyle asks as you open the door. You can, you have to, you’re not going to let anyone else die. 

“I can do this.” You say clipping the belt on your waist and running out the room. You feel the adrenaline pulse through you as you rush over to the resus bay. You can hear the beeping of machines as you squirt sanitizer on your hands, rubbing them together as you walk in. 

There are multiple nurses running around, another medic at the person's head. One of the nurses is doing CPR while the medic is manually pumping the bag by his head.

“Abdominal GSW, intubated en-route, GCS 5, BP 180 over 100.” The nurse next to you says. You look back up at the person on the bed, your eyes flick to the monitor. He’s in VF, you can have a defib, you can save him.

“Get him connected to the auto pump, is there blood on the way?” You ask. 

“Yes,” the nurse next to you says. 

“Has he had any adrenaline yet?” You ask going over to the crash cart.

“Negative.” The medic at his head says. You pull gloves on watching him, he looks nervous, there is blood all over his uniform. He’s going to panic, you can already see the shaking in his hands. He’s missing beats while pumping the bag.

Your head feels so clear as you pull the crash cart over watching the monitor and counting the beeps in your head. You can do this, you can save him.

“Let's push adrenaline and charge to 200.” You say holding your hands out for the defib pads to be handed to you. You hear the nurse squirt gell on the pads, you rub them together waiting until the other nurse has moved. 

“Clear.” You call pressing the pads on his chest. His body jolts, you look over at the monitor. 

“Restart CPR.” You call as a nurse pumps on his chest again. Still VF. You can save him, you look down at another nurse pushing more gauze into his stomach.

You can save him, you’re not going to let anyone else die. You can see the patches on his shirt, American, lieutenant. This could easily be Simon laid on the table. You look up at the worried medic by his head, short brown hair, a worried look on his face. 

That could be Johnny. “Let's push epi again, charge 200.” You shout, you see nods, you hear beeping of the machine behind you. 

“Charged.” You press the paddles on the chest. 

You’re not dying today. “Clear!” You shout. His body jolts under your hands. You look over at the monitor. You see the gentle beats of sinus, you can count it on the monitor. He’s safe, he’s safe.

You stand up turning to put the pads back on the crash cart. You see the doctor walk into the room

“Let’s prep him to move to CT. Central line and blood.” You say. The doctor picks his folder up, looking at it.

“Good job, I can take it from here.” He says as the nurses push the bed out the room. You start pulling your gloves off looking round the room. The only person left is the medic. He’s looking down wide eyed at his open palms. 

One thing is for sure Johnny would never leave Simon's side. You would never leave any of their sides, you feel guilt build up in you as you look down at the blood soaked gauze on the floor. You left Johnny's side though, he never deserved that.

You can hear the medic's breathless pants, you step over to him placing your hand on his shoulder. His head shoots up looking at you. 

“First trauma?” You ask, he nods, you can see his hands shaking. 

“It gets easier. He was your mate right?” He nods again. 

“Go.” You nod at the door. “He’s going to need you. He needs you, your work is not done yet.” He still looks like a rabbit in headlights, you reach over gripping his other shoulder and shake him. 

“Hey! Move, you’re a medic, people rely on you, your squad mate? He’s going to need you. You got that sergeant? Move your fucking ass.” You snap. He stands up straight and nods pushing past you out the room.  

You let out a breath, your hand coming up to press on your chest. The adrenaline is waning, you can feel your heart thumping rapidly. You squeeze your eyes closed. You can smell the blood in the room.

The vision of Johnny being tied up, bloody and beaten flashes in your head. You should have worked harder. You should have saved him. You open your eyes, turning in the room you walk over to the exit. You need to see Johnny, you need to be by his side. 

You’ve been selfish, ignoring him, you let him down. You walk up to a computer and type his name in. As soon as you see what room he’s in you leave. The corridors are empty, it’s way past midnight. There are only limited staff around. 

You come to his room, you can see him through the thin window, the lights are on low and he looks like he’s sleeping. You open the door slowly trying not to disturb him. You go to stand at the end of the bed looking down over him. He is asleep, rolled on his side with a hand under his pillow. You pick up his chart and flick it open. 

GSW to the stomach, he had a bullet lodged in his liver. Blood transfusion, he coded in surgery. You look over at him, he looks fine, he looks peaceful. You put the folder down walking round the bed over to his head. His hair looks longer, there’s stubble on his face. You reach over to stroke his cheek feeling tears form in your eyes. 

You lower the bed guard bending down by his head. “I’m sorry I let you down.” You say reaching out to cup his face. The moment your hand lands on his skin his eyes open. You freeze your hand resting on his face, your thumb brushes his cheek. He smiles blinking at you, he turns his head kissing your palm. 

“Hey.” He smiles. 

“Hey.” You sniffle, you can’t stop the tears now. He props himself up in bed as you throw your arms around him. 

“I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry you got hurt.” You sob. He presses his nose into your neck holding you tight.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He says, you pull back pressing your lips to his, you don’t want to break from the kiss but you're straining over to hug him.

“Get up here.” He says pushing you off him, his hands gripping your shoulders. You look over at him as he scoots back in the bed pulling the blanket up leaving you room to slide in next to him. 

You kick your boots off and throw your jacket and trousers over the chair before climbing into bed with him. He pulls you against his chest, you wrap your arms around him as he pulls you against him and you rest your head against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, he's alive, he's safe and he's alive. 

“Johnny.” You whisper.

“Yeah?” 

“If you ever pull that shit again it’s not Ghost you need to be worried about.” You say, he chuckles and you look up at him seeing the glint in his eyes. You sigh, you know he would do it again, he would do it again in a heartbeat. 

You reach up to kiss him, he kisses you back, squeezing you against him, running his hands around your body like it's the first time he’s touched you in months. You don’t mind though, you’re glad he’s alive you thought he was going to die, instead here he is holding you. 

“I love you Johnny.” You breath relaxing into his arms as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

“Yeah, well I love you more.”

You relax against him letting the guilt eat you away. You have to make peace with your choices especally the ones that will hurt them the most. You think back to the medic in the resus room, you will never let yourself be like him. You will never let them down again, even if that means them being without you.  

Banners by plum98

[whiskeyandwant]

Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader| | 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist} {last chapter}

Chapter 5: Sweat & Sin | wordcount | 4.7k {TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!}

| a/n | Buckle in because chapter 6 is long. This is where it really starts to all burn down. We're hungover, horny and done with Joels b.s. dbf! lines don’t just blur, they shatter. It's smutty, messy, and fucked up in all the right ways. hope it leaves you wrecked. Tell me if you’re feral for it, ‘cause I sure am. xoxo

" “I—I wasn't—” you stammer, but he steps closer, boots heavy on the hardwood, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Heard my name, sweetheart. Don’t stop now.” His voice is molasses-thick, commanding but warm, like he’s daring you. “Show me what you were doin’.” You know what, fuck it. I don’t even care anymore. "

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, SMUT, pussy pronouns, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, Alcohol aftermath, intoxication,unprotected PIV, m/f masturbation, size kink, penetrative sex, cum play, sexual tension, strong language, emotional vulnerability, age gap dynamics, smoking references, dbf undertones, possessive sex, guilt, mentions of grief. series warnings after the fic. reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory.

You wake to a skull-splitting throb ripping through your temples. Joel was right. You’re feeling it today. Sunlight slices through the curtains, white-hot and sharp. You roll over and bury your face in your pillow, It smells like smoke and shame; a faint echo of last night. Joel’s kiss burns through your head, rough hands and a growl daring you to forget. His “Go to bed, Bird” rings in your ears.

Fuck.

You groan, hauling yourself upright, stumbling downstairs. You’re half-hoping he’s there, half-dreading facing him—gonna be hard pretending nothing happened. But he’s not here, because he left you last night feeling like a mistake, leaving you feeling stupid for thinking he felt it too.

You walk into the living room. Your dad sits on the couch happy as ever, totally oblivious reading the newspaper. Your eyes drag to the coffee table and Joel’s whiskey glass still sits there, another reminder. The Cypress Hill t-shirt you’re in is wrinkled with sleep, pooling over your body, you haven’t looked in the mirror, unsure if you want to face yourself yet.

“Hey, Bird, you look like shit,” he says, eyeing you up and down.

Thanks.

“I feel worse than I look,” you reply, flopping onto the couch beside him. “Tequila’s never a good idea.” Your stomach churns at the thought, mouth-watering like you’re about to puke. You squint toward the kitchen, and the clock reads 10:38, at least you got decent sleep.

“You hungry?” your dad asks, brow arched, peering over the paper.

“Maybe. Probably should eat something, definitely need water.”

He folds the newspaper, tosses it on the table, and grunts as he stands. “I got called down to Dallas, some job’s fucked up. You know it was possible to install gutters fuckin’ backward?” He  huffs out half a laugh,” Oh, and the airs busted again—Joel’s gonna be here on his lunch break.”

You blink, relief creeping in, the coast is clear. “Wait,” you say, panicked, “Joel’s coming over?” You slow your voice, hiding the mix of dread and thrill. “Yeah, why? Probably be here soon. You cool with that?” He lifts a brow, probing your unease, but his phone rings before he can dig.

“Yup,” he answers, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door. “Love you, Tweety. See ya Wednesday-ish.” Then he’s out, leaving you alone with the heat and Joel’s looming shadow.

Cool… I guess?

You grab your phone, and tap the screen, anxious for what’s there.

Three new texts.

(9:04 AM)

Karlie: Girl are you good??? Did that dilf kidnap you? Give me the tea ☕

You’d rather not. She’ll escalate to 911 if you don’t reply.

(10:40 AM)

You: Hey, sorry, I’m good. Hungover as fuck, I’ll call later xox

(9:08 AM)

T-Mills: You okay bird? We’re ok right? I didn’t mean to make u uncomfortable. don’t leave me on read

You’d hoped Tommy would let it go, how did you tangle yourself with both Millers in one night? At least you didn’t kiss Tommy. You just let him grind on your ass in public, then you know, ended up on his older brother’s lap. You replay last night again. The bar, Brett? Brad? Ben—the kid Tommy nearly decked. The truck, Joel taking care of you. The dream, somehow ending better than reality. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this,” Joel's mouth claiming yours, then “Go to bed, Bird,” like a punishment, like you were a bad dog.

Fuck him.

You tap Tommy’s name and shoot off a response without thinking. It’s probably the only way you’ll do it.

(10:42 AM)You: It’s fine Tom, must have opened my phone half asleep last night. I feel like shit!!! Remind me to stay away from tequila next time

He replies instantly like he’s been waiting.

(10:42 AM)

T-Mills: Next time huh? Round two tomorrow??? 🎉

Fuck Joel. Let Tommy fix this.

You know what, fuck it. Maybe more booze and Tommy’s attention will soothe this ache.

(10:43)

You: 9pm, pick me up???

You check the last text.

(10:30 AM)

Joel: Is the a/c rlly broken or??

You laugh out loud.

What a piece of work.

Does Joel think you’d lie to get him over? You don’t even want to face him today. Shame washes over you like cold water, maybe last night was just a big fuckin’ mistake.

(10:45 AM)

You: ???? i just woke up, don’t know what you’re talking about lol 🤷

A text bubble pops up, vanishes, pops up, vanishes. You laugh again. Joel’s got his foot in his mouth, and can’t muster a reply.

(10:46 AM)

Joel: k.

K? Really?

Oh, fuck that guy.

You get off the couch, and head for the bathroom to scrub last night off. The image of Joel’s face before he said “Go to bed, Bird” feels permanently burned into your head. His eyes scared, like he fucked up, angry at himself, disgusted. Rejection stings your eyes, but it turns to anger the longer you stew.

If he wants games, you can play too.

You hop out with a plan. Black denim shorts, barely covering your ass, paired with a cropped Rangers shirt from your high school slut phase. The one with the neck cut out, it hugs your curves, makes your boobs look fantastic. You throw on a cropped flannel, put on mascara, and lip gloss, tying your hair into space buns to finish the look. You head downstairs, the silence is loud, not even the hum of the A/C, just you and your thoughts.

You try to eat the sandwich Dad left, but your mouth’s dry—it goes down like sand, Gatorade helps. Boots drag and a knock hits the door, you’re even sweatier knowing Joel’s there, alone now. You ditch the flannel, wrap it around your waist, and let him in.

Fucking get a grip.

It only takes a minute for your facade to crack. He looks gorgeous, toolbox in hand, curls tucked under a Rangers cap, in work pants with a toolbelt sitting low on his hips. He barely acknowledges you, only giving you half a smile as he walks in. You catch his eyes flick to your chest as he passes by you on the couch though.

Small victories.

He heads to the thermostat, fiddling with wires, ignoring you like you’re air. Anger jolts through you, tingling from your toes to your shoulders, but that toolbelt pulls it back to your core. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Dallas. Work trip,” you deadpan. Yes girl, give him nothing!

Joel hums, shakes his head, and then gets back to it.

You try to ignore him, but your competency kink wins. He mumbles about circuits and fuses, cursing under his breath and groaning as he works. You half-watch true crime on TV, but it’s no use.

“So,” you start, eyes on the screen, voice calm, bored, flipping to MTV, “why did you do it?”

Joel sighs, long and low. “Ain’t got words for it, kid. Shouldn’t’ve happened, was a mistake, end of.”

You laugh, bitter, leaning over the couch arm. “Cool, and now you’re gonna make it my fault? My problem? You started it, Joel.”

You stand up from the couch, legs moving toward him, face flushed with anger.

He stops, drops the pliers, and pinches his nose bridge, squinting. He locks his eyes on you—something unreadable in them, “See, this is why it never should’ve happened. You think I want this, Bird?” His jaw clenches, voice rough. “Think I’m happy fuckin’ everything up? For what? This?” You can hear grief crack through his voice.

“So answer my damn question. Why’d you kiss me?” you repeat, firm, smooth, the anger outweighing the anxiety in your words. 

“I don’t know, kid” he sighs, pain clear. “Because I’m weak. I’m fuckin’ weak and you…” He stops, eyes raking you, shaking his head, fists balled.

“You what?” you press, voice low and cutting, walking closer. “Just say it. You wanted it, Joel. Don’t blame me.”

“Wanted it? I’m fuckin’ haunted by it, Bird, by you.” It comes out as a snarl, his eyes glazed with shouldn’t and can’t.

You’re in his face now, “Then why’d you come here? You could’ve just said no to him.”

He grabs your shoulders and spins you, your back hits against the wall. His voice is a jagged whisper, “Because you’re a goddamn curse. I hate you for this. I hate me, but I can’t fuckin stop.” His mouth crashes down, rough, hungry, swallowing your gasp. His free hand finds your shirt hem, fingers searing your skin.

You lean in, tangling into him, hands grasping fabric, pulling closer. You’d crawl into his ribcage if he’d let you. He pushes back, caging you against the wall. Your head spins. You buck your hips, desperation met with metal and leather. You unbuckle his toolbelt mid-kiss. It crashes, tools scattering, narrowly missing your feet.

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me,” Joel groans into your throat, panting. His mouth bruises your jaw, and trails fire down your neck, boot forcing your feet apart. “Tell me no,” he rasps, voice breaking, shifting his body weight to the knee that’s flush against you. His fingers hit your shorts’ waistband.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t, you can’t. You’ve never wanted something so badly before in your damn life. Your breath hitches as his hand slips under, grazing your skin, teasing the edge of your underwear, slow and deliberate, heat pooling low. He’s relentless, his teeth on your collarbone, one hand pinning your hips, the other circling where you’re soaked until your legs tremble.

“Joel,” you choke, arching into him.

“Fuckin’ say it, Bird,” he growls against your chest.

His touch intensifies, fingers teasing your entrance, barely dipping in. You gasp, “please” slipping out, hips bucking involuntarily this time. “I can’t do this,” he mutters, faltering, at war with himself; he doesn’t stop, he just keeps working you to the edge.

You manage to whisper, “I want this, Joel—you, I need you” your pulse hammers.

“You think you can handle that, little Bird?” He drawls, “Huh? You know what you’re signin’ up fo?”

His voice is sending you over the edge, a whine breaking free when a truck rumbles outside. Keys rattle, Joel freezes, “Fuck.” He pulls back slowly, eyes wild, hands leaving you just as the door bangs open.

“Birdie, forgot my damn wallet!” Dad booms, stomping in.

You shove your shorts straight, heart slamming. Joel steps aside, grabs his toolbox, jaw tight, muttering, “Gotta fix this damn thing.”

Dad strides through, tossing his keys on the table, squinting—Joel by the thermostat, you flushed, leaning against the wall trying desperately to look chill. “Still hot as hell,” he grunts, eyes narrowing. “Thought you said you were on it?” He snags his wallet from the counter, oblivious but sharp.

Joel clears his throat. “Fuse issue, takin’ longer than I thought.” He dives back into the unit, tools clanking, avoiding Dad’s stare.

Dad hums, skeptical, he glances down to the toolbelt. “Right. Looked like somethin’ else was goin’ on when I walked in.”

Shit.

Your stomach drops, but he doesn’t linger, just shrugs. “Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.” He grabs your half empty Gatorade, “Love you Bird— bye Joel.” and heads out again, door slamming behind him.

Joel mutters, “Fuckin’ close,” twisting a wire, glancing at you—gaze loaded—then back to the A/C. It hums to life, cool air trickling out, tension thick as ever.

“Done,” he says, flat, packing his tools slowly, stalling. He straightens, toolbox in hand, but doesn’t move for the door. You’re alone again, the hum of the A/C doing nothing to cut the heat between you. His stare lingers, heavy, like he’s waiting for something.

“Why’d you stay?” you snap, voice sharp, stepping closer. “Could’ve bolted when he left.”

Joel’s jaw ticks, eyes flicking to the floor, then back to you. “Shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, rough. “Shouldn’t’ve come at all.”

“Then why did you?” you press, anger flaring. “You’re so full of shit—sayin'’ it’s a mistake, then pullin’ that?”

He steps toward you, close enough you feel his breath, warm and unsteady. “You don’t get it, Bird. I can’t—” He cuts off, shaking his head, fists clenching. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“Get what?” you bite back, staring him down. “That you’re a coward? Say it or leave.”

His eyes flare, guilt and want warring there, but he doesn’t answer. The silence stretches, taut, your pulse pounding in your ears. You’re inches apart, teetering, his hand twitching like he might reach out. Then he steps back, and turns, a low “Fuckin’ trouble” slipping out as he heads for the door. His gaze burns into you one last time, loaded with everything he won’t say, and he’s gone.

What the actual fuck?

You’re left reeling, his “ruinin’ me” echoes. The air cools, but the weight stays heavy. You slump down on the couch, staring at the whiskey glass, twirling the stupid necklace, even after that it still manages to ground you. Your skin still buzzes where he touched you, jaw to hips. The anger keeps churning, with something else now—want, raw, and fucking unshakable. Joel’s a coward, sure, but you’re not innocent. You pushed. You wanted it too. You sit back down on the couch, flipping through channels, trying to keep yourself distracted from the way you feel. You try reading and end up scrolling through your camera roll. Oh, fuck my life. You find an old picture, of Joel, Sarah, and Tommy. All of them wearing lifejackets, from a camping trip probably 5 years ago, Sarah had sent you it then, but it feels like this is the first time you’re really looking at it. Joel looks hot, Tommy, oh shit Tommy looks hot too actually, “goddamnit” you mutter to yourself.

Heat pools low again, unignorable now, he left you high and dry earlier—bastard. Guess you’re going to have to finish what he started yourself. You climb upstairs, shedding your shirt off halfway, it’s too hot, and you’re too pissed. You click your bedroom door shut, shorts sticking to your thighs as you sprawl on the bed, the curtains are half open, letting a warm glow in. You put your earbuds in your ears, and let your hands start to travel, letting the quiet of the hose settle while you drown it out with Pheobe Bridgers, Motion Sickness blaring loud. You slip the shorts off, leaving you in just your panties, and your fingers hover. You place the pointer and middle finger of your left hand on either side of your folds, scissoring them back and forth—slowly. Teasing your lips, barely grazing your clit. You’re already sensitive, you were so close to coming undone earlier, you know diving right would overstimulate you too quickly to enjoy. You want to take it slow, and draw out your pleasure for as long as possible.

You can’t stop thinking about the way Joel was looking at you downstairs, the way his brown eyes turned black, staring down at you like you were prey. The grip he had on your jaw, squeezing your cheeks, craining your neck towards him. You clench your thighs around your hand as the warmth at the bottom of your belly intensifies, you take your hand away, edging yourself.  You repeat this over and over until you’re practically soaking through to the mattress—desperate, your walls clenching around nothing.

You hear his rough, baritone voice in your head now, repeating over and over, “Think you can handle that, little Bird?” Your breathing grows erratic. Finally, you give in, sliding two fingers down, spreading your slick around the sensitive bud at the top of your pussy. You roll your fingertips over and over, teasing your entrance. You’re not sure if you’ve ever worked yourself up like this—it's agonizing, but feels so fuckin’ good.

You close your eyes tight, imagining your hands being replaced by Joel’s, his fingers fubbing merciless circles over your throbbing clit. A loud broken whine escapes your lips—”Oh fuck, yes, Joel”—as you plunge your middle finger in, curving it to reach your g-spot. You add another finger, then a third—stretching yourself out, picturing Joel fucking you with his fingers instead. The warmth simmering in your belly gets red-hot, pussy squeezing desperately around your fingers. You buck your hips into your hand, gasping every time your cupped palm creates a vacuum against you. Shockwaves jolt through your clit. You’re not being mindful now, no more teasing, you’re chasing your high, holding back sobs, biting your lip so hard you taste copper, right on the edge. A low rap hits your door. What the fuck? No. Who the fuck? You pull your earbuds out, “Hello? Who’s there?” you manage to choke out, trying to sound normal, but you don’t, and you know the answer. “ It’s me.” comes that low, gravelly voice through the door. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. I'm never wearing both headphones again. You snap your head towards the door and start to pull up your panties and the covers over yourself—not that it would help you at this point, you’re screwed, fuckin’ naked and afraid. “Thought I heard someone whimperin’ my name,” he says, as the doorknob turns. The hinge creaks as the door pushes open. “Need a hand?” You conjure up the courage to look up to him, adrenaline courses through your veins; it feels like your whole body is on fucking fire. There he stands, broad and rugged in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on you. His flannel’s unbuttoned at the collar, work pants slung low, and his thick cock, the one you’ve been dreaming about strains against them—girthy, solid, the outline making your mouth dry. You freeze.

“I—I wasn't—” you stammer, but he steps closer, boots heavy on the hardwood, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Heard my name, sweetheart. Don’t stop now.” His voice is molasses-thick, commanding but warm, like he’s daring you. “Show me what you were doin’.” You know what, fuck it. I don’t even care anymore.

Heat floods your face, and your pussy clenches at his words. Shaky, you spread your legs, tugging the blanket down, letting him see the mess. Your fingers were still slippery, panties soaked and needy, pulsing under his gaze. “Joel, I… I was just—” you whine, sliding them in your panties again, bringing a finger to your entrance.

He looms closer, eyes dark and hungry, his breath hitching as he watches. “Atta’ girl Show me how bad she’s been needin’ me. You wet like that just sayin’ my name?” Joel’s body weight shifts the mattress beside you before he rolls over to cage your body beneath his. Your heart is beating fucking erratically. His arms rest on either side of your head, completely silent as he moves one arm and trails a hand down from your collar, inching lower and lower. His fingers trace over your hardened nipples, carving an invisible line down your belly before stopping between your thighs. He places his hand over yours, like he’s the master to your marionette. “Oh, poor girl,” he coos—round puppy-dog eyes on yours again. “ Soakin’ fuckin wet. S’that all for me?” You want to speak but you can’t, you only nod. He guides a finger over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties lightly massaging your swollen lips. You’re still frozen, unable to form a sentence. You exhale a shaky breath that you hadn't realized you were holding—the faintest “please” escapes your lips. He keeps rubbing, harder now, dipping into the elastic of your underwear. “Left her cryin’ out for me earlier huh? Need me to fix her up?” his voice is low, drawl smooth—like honey. He lists his hand to cup your cheek in his big hand, making direct eye contact, searching your face for an answer. He drags his thumb across your cracked bottom lip, tugging it down, like he's trying to pull the words out. “Asked you a question, use your words darlin’,” his lips are ghosting your earlobe, whispering. “Tell me what you need, Birdie, I’ll make it all better.” You turn your head to face him, staring up through half-lidded eyes for a moment, before finding your voice again. ‘J-Joel, I need you,” breath hitching on every syllable. He slides his hand down between your thighs again, slowly moving your hand away now. Hand searching for the hem, hooking his thumb in, pulling your underwear off. He slides a finger down into the pool of slick between your legs, spreading it all over before he pulls his hand back. He brings it up and holds it between your faces. “I can tell, baby. She’s droolin' f’me. See that?” He rotates his hand, you watch as his finger glistens in the afternoon sun, and your jaw goes slack. Joel drags that same finger along his bottom lip and then sucks it clean. “Wanna taste?” He grabs your chin, tilting your head to give himself more access, and presses his mouth onto yours, gentle—swirling his tongue, exploring every inch he can reach. He lets out a little, strangled whimper. Did Joel Miller just whimper into my mouth? Holy fuck, he sure did.He pulls back off of your lips, you’re both collecting your panting breaths. He dips his head back down to the column of your throat, kissing along it, murmuring into your chest, “Sweet ain't she?” The room fills with stifled moans, labored breathing, and the creaking of weight under the bed frame. Joel is everywhere, taking up every thought, filling all of the space around you. Your head swims, hunger and lust flip-flopping in your belly. Nothing has ever felt so electric, so perfect. You’re impatient, painfully worked up, and you can’t take it anymore. “More, I need more, Joel,” you chant between gasps. “Please, make me come.”

“Say it again,” He says, pumping his fingers in and out, languid—slow.

“I need you to make me come.” You’re practically in tears now, his fingers circle your clit.

“So close. Try again, Bird.”

“Please, Joel, I’ll beg—I’m begging, don’t fuck around—you owe me.”

“Keep beggin’ for it, baby,” he says, voice low and rough. “You sound so pretty when you’re desperate.” He growls, shifting, and then he looks at you, all gentle. “Shouldn’t have left you like that downstairs,” apology soft, eyes guilty. His hands tug at his belt, pulling the work pants off, you see the outline straining against his briefs. You face him, grabbing at the waistband, tugging them down, you watch his cock spring free, thick and heavy against you. You pull him in closer to you, lips brushing against his ear. “Then make it up to me, cowboy.” His cock is even bigger than you expected it to be, It’s thick, heavy—girthy, and solid. Flushed pink and slightly curved, thank god you’ve been stretching yourself out for a while, because if not you’d be worried it would never fit. He groans, low and broken, ripping his shirt off, and throwing the blanket off of you, both fully naked now. He lets his eyes move down your body, “fuckin’ so pretty, been dreamin’ bout’ this for too long.” You whine and grab his cock, giving it a few slow strokes before moving even closer and lining him up to your entrance, sliding him up and down, through your folds, rubbing your clit with the leaking head, moaning. He grabs your hands and puts them above your head, rolling over on top of you, he leans down pressing at your entrance. “Sorry I left you like that earlier, baby,” he murmurs, voice filled with want. He pushes in, just the tip, allowing you to get used to the stretch before he slides in more. You moan into each other's mouths as he fills you up completely, inch by inch, slowly, It feels intimate, careful—like he's trying not to break you. He starts moving, deep and steady, dragging through slick walls, hitting that spot that makes everything throb. You're trying to match the rolling of his hips, hands move from above your head to his back, raking red lines down it. You wrap your legs tight around his torso, warmth coiling in your core, his hand is on your jaw again forcing you to look up at him. “You’re mine, Bird,” he whispers, breath hot on your skin. You shudder, breathing out his name. Your walls clench around him, squeezing his cock, every little sound you pull from him brings you closer to the edge, your pussy dripping as he thrusts, deeper, not rushed, building you up. His forehead presses against yours, sweat beading off of both of you, he picks up the pace. You bring one of your hands down between the two of you, rubbing circles. His thrusts get sloppier, he's staring down where you’re connected, watching you massage your clit, jaw slack, like he's hypnotized. He leans down to you, crashing his mouth to yours, all teeth and need. “You’re close, I can feel it. I’ve got you baby—let go for me,” That's all you needed, a tightness snaps low in your belly, and you come hard, soaking him. Your body is shivering as waves hit, you're squeezing around his cock, juices messy and hot down his shaft. Tears fill your eyes as you hold back a sob, you’ve never felt anything like this before. The intensity of the orgasm makes you raw, and emotional; your head spins. Joel groans, rough and low, “Fuck, darlin’—so messy,” his breath ragged, eyes dark with want.

But he’s close too. His thrusts turn sharp, urgent, cock pulsing. He pulls out fast, shaft slick and gleaming from you. He grips it, hand pumping once, twice—and he comes, thick ropes spilling across your mound, hot and messy over your trembling skin. He moans, head tipping back, cock throbbing in his fist as he rides it out, breath heaving.

Joel’s breath steadies, thick cock softening in his hand, cum streaked across your stomach. Guilt flickers in his eyes, but he grabs his flannel, wiping you gently. “Made a mess, huh, darlin’?” he murmurs, voice low. He fetches a warm washcloth, cleaning you with careful swipes—stomach, then between your thighs where you’re still slick. “Feel okay?” he asks, tucking the blanket around you, hand lingering on your arm.

“Yeah, Joel… I’m good,” you mumble, voice sleepy but warm. “You don’t have to go unless you want to."

He freezes, eyes darkening—guilt floods in fast, jaw tightening like he’s swallowing a blade. “I can’t stay, Bird,” he says, rough, standing up, grabbing his jeans off the floor. “Sarah’s callin’ tonight—said she’s got some news ‘bout school. I can’t be here, fuckin’ you, when she’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’ big.”

Your chest tightens—Sarah, still his anchor across the miles. “She’s in Boston, Joel,” you say, sitting up, voice sharp. “It’s not like she’s waitin’ by the phone—you’re just runnin’ again.”

He pulls his shirt on, belt clinking as he buckles it, eyes dodging yours. “Don’t matter,” he mutters, low, pained. “She’s countin’ on me.” He keeps talking, like he’s spiraling and can’t keep the words in, “Every second I’m with you, I’m lyin’ to her, to Kev. I’m here, balls deep in you, and she thinks I’m the dad she can trust. That’s what’s killin’ me.” His voice cracks, boots scuffing the floor as he turns for the door. “Lock up after me,” he says, quieter like it’s all he’s got left—then he’s gone.

You’re alone, body buzzing, sheets a mess. “We’ll Never Have Sex” by Leith Ross hums faintly from the forgotten earbuds on the floor. Too soon Leith, too fuckin soon, too fuckin late. Your phone buzzes It’s Tommy again.

(7:25PM) T-Mills: We’re still on for 2morrowr? 🐦🍺 Anger simmers beneath the afterglow. Honestly, fuck it. You decide to go. You text back,

(7:27PM) You: Yeah, dont be late! 😛 You toss the phone aside. Your fingers automatically reach for the necklace, “Seek the light” feeling heavier now.

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, possessive/rough sex, praise, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12 @orodaeh @jokesonthem

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

The sengoku au is so cool! You are literally THE blue lock writer on tumblr.

If I could request something, could you write some short headcanons on how the reader would encounter the sengoku au boys?

Love your work! <3

awww ty!!! and WHAT ok you’re flattering me🤭 and yes ofc u can request❤️

meet and greet

ft; isagi yoichi itoshi rin

a/n: i made a fic on sengoku!karasu a few weeks ago, linked here! also, now that im rereading and editing, these aren’t entirely first encounters…i hope you don’t mind!

isagi yoichi

your parents weren’t wealthy. from your clothes to the food you ate, it didn’t need to be explained to four-year-old you that your parents were in desperate need of money.

you just never expected it to be in the form of shipping you to the emperor’s palace as a servant.

the day you turned fourteen, you were to be taken to the palace to serve there and become a potential lady-in-waiting. in the end, money was still more important than you. after all, they could just have another child.

wearing your best clothes, you took a stroll around the neighborhood, the one you had grown up in. but as you reached your home once more after your walk, an all too familiar voice called out to you.

“(y/n)?”

you spun around, isagi’s familiar indigo eyes meeting your vision. “yocchan?” he’s been your next door neighbor and best friend ever since you were three, and you had quite the crush on him.

before you could even realize it, tears began to leak from the corner of your eyes, sniffles beginning to escape your nose. “yocchan—god, i just—!” you wiped your tears away. why? and at such a random time too? isagi hurried towards you, cradling your face in his hands.

“what’s wrong?” he was the son of a merchant and would soon become one, and perhaps you would never see him again after today. you swallowed, looking up at him with wide, teary eyes.

“my parents…they’re taking me to become a servant at the palace.”

isagi’s eyes widened before they narrowed quickly, his hand falling from your face. “i…i see.” he whispered. “well, i do hope that you’ll be able to increase your ranking soon and live a long and happy life. you deserve it. but i just want you to know that i—“

before he could finish, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, exhaling shakily into his shoulder. “you don’t need to elaborate anymore. it’s okay, i get it.”

you left a few hours later, and for the next five years, you never saw isagi. at sixteen, you became the lady-in-waiting of a consort anri, and three years later, you still are. you should be grateful; your family was now rich and you were living a happy and fulfilling life with the potential to marry a loving nobleman.

but you were lonely, unbelievably so.

you missed isagi.

“hey, (y/n), have you heard of the newly appointed court official?” anri asked you one day as you brushed her hair. you raised an eyebrow, setting down the comb onto the mahogany table and kneeling next to her. “apparently he’s just a simple merchant, but he managed to expose the daimyo kira for scamming and assault. now he’s become a noble.”

you hummed. “well, i don’t particularly care for this stuff, but good for him, i guess. i never liked daimyo kira much anyways.”

anri glanced at you through the corner of her eye. “would you like to escort him to the emperor’s office? he is still just newly appointed and surely doesn’t know the locations of the offices here in the palace. and perhaps you could catch his eye and become his w—“

“please, anri, you know im perfectly fine with staying as your lady-in-waiting. but sure, i’ll go. is he outside of the palace right now?” you asked, standing up and walking to the shoji door.

“yep!”

you walked towards the front of the palace, humming to yourself. a few yards away from you was a standing figure, and as you got closer, indigo clouded your vision, and you came to a halt.

you stiffened, your jaw going slack.

“yocchan?”

itoshi rin

the bright, moonlit street of kyoto illuminated rin’s bloodstained katana gleamingly, his swift yet cautious steps charming in itself. his right hand resting on the hilt of his blade, his eyes darted around, watching for enemies.

suddenly, he heard a rustle behind him, and he turned, pointing the sharp katana to the figure’s neck. “who’s there?”

you stiffened, nearly jumping up and raising your hands. “hey, im innocent! i mean no harm.” you rapidly spoke, blinking a multitude of times.

rin’s eyes narrowed, slowly taking his blade away from your neck. “a lady like you should know better than to wander the streets of kyoto alone at such a time of the night. but you—“ his eyes widened a fraction. “aren’t you that one geisha from yoshiwara? the one everyone adores?”

you cringed. “and you must be itoshi rin, the notorious assassin. you’ve only ever visited us once and left without talking to any of our women. and if you can’t tell, im trying to escape.”

he raised an eyebrow. “you’re no pleasure woman, only a geisha. all you have to do is dance and smile. it’s not like you have to do any…activities with the visitors.” he was right; all geishas had to do was entertain, not have sex with the customers like pleasure girls.

“yes, but im sure that the owners of my brothel will soon force me to become a pleasure girl.” your lips pursed as you fiddled with your fingers. “they want the money.”

“well, a you problem is a you problem.” rin replied, turning on his heel. “whatever, i don’t visit pleasure houses much anyways.

“wait!” you exclaimed, gripping his shoulder. he raised the katana to your neck once more, eyes like ice.

“stop bothering me. i need to leave.”

“no, please! you’re a wandering assassin, right? im sure you can smuggle me out! please, i’ll do anything, i just don’t want to become a pleasure woman!” you latched onto him, almost screaming underneath the moonlight.

“shut up.”

“i’ll do anything! i’ll be your cook or your maid or your assistant or your manager or your wife or—!” finally, Rin shook you off.

“alright, just stop fucking latching onto me.” rin muttered, a blood vessel popping out of his neck. “from now on, you’re my property. do whatever i say.”

your ears perked up. “holy shit—! thank you so much!”

sorry this took so long! i needed to properly map out my tropes and AUs first…

[kiwiikimi]

HELLOOOOO!!! js saw you needed reqs and i NEED a pt2 of rin with shidou's sis if it's okay but it's a fic wherein she goes to visit the bllk facility to see rin and shidou just barges in on em 😘😘 THANK YOUUUUU MWAH MWAH

︶︶　 ୨୧　 ︶︶　 ︶︶ ︶︶ ︶︶ ︶︶︶︶ ୨୧

८ 𐔌 . ⋮ RIN ITOSHI .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ !! summary : you decide to surprise Rin at the facility and he misses you and like your brother then crashes out bcz you’re dating his teammate.. ꔫა ♡ !! > mini series <

𝜗𝜚 ➜ 𐔌 author note : sorry for the late response I just woke up, I put this as fluff cuz yeah, also erm this is the layout for fluff. Also erm I gave Rin roommates because it makes it more interesting and I don’t remember what happened before they got their official teams. Thank you for the request, love you^^!!﹒ 大好き　だよ　 ౨ৎ

( .ᐟ ୨୧) ── cw : swearing, shidou crashing out,violence, brainrotted

╰┈➤.“𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 🎧” KIWII 𓈒 ﾉ⠀NAVIGATION ★M.LIST

➤ 𝜗𝜚 AUTHORS’ + 2ND POV

“And you think this is going to work?” You could hear the utter disbelief in your friend’s voice, the doubt surrounding and filling both your minds. “Like, bestie, literally what if you get caught or whatever? They literally have one more day before they get their break. Can’t you just wait?”

“Hell no, I need to see Rin, like me personally, I already checked with Anri, I don’t think that one tall man is going to agree but I mean who cares?” Your friend immediately smacked her head, no way you were planning to do this, and there were so many what ifs racing.

“Fine, go ahead, but you should bring your stuff, what if you decide to stay longer?” You then nodded your head in agreement, it was you of course, no way the nonchalant Rin could ever agree to let you go that quick.

As you decided to bring extra stuff listening to your friend, you had started the heist. Packing extra clothes, food, and even games. You knew Rin was locked in a facility for so long without human interaction that he enjoyed so for sure he needed this.

︶︶　 ୨୧　 ︶︶　 ︶︶ ︶︶ ︶︶ ︶︶︶︶ ୨୧

Sneaking in during the daylight was the stupidest thing Anri let you do but you were Shidou’s sister, literally stupidity is genetic. Sneaking into Rin’s shared room with his teammates was the hardest part, because they didn’t have separate rooms which sucked the most. You had made the most noise, kid you not, one of your best friends, Charles, literally helped you. It was so bad you had knocked on the door. Yeah, to be fair you can’t heist in the middle of the day.

As you knocked on the door, you had hoped that you wouldn’t get caught by his teammates. After like three knocks you gave up and opened the door cause no one responded. “Ok I give up, I’m coming in!” You saw who was sitting on the floor, it was none other than Rin stretching. “I had told you that you could come in a while ago.” He then had looked at your face, realizing it was you, and not just his random ugly ass teammates.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming.” He immediately rose up to inspect you. Noticing that you had a backpack most likely carrying your stuff, and that you looked tired and restless as fuck. “To surprise you of course!” He then cupped your cheek, lightly rubbing it, it’s been months since he’s last seen you. It was like an eternal nightmare to be separated from each other. He wasn’t dependent on you but being around you fuels him to keep going. You supported his dreams when no one in his life could.

“I’m glad you’re here, but please, next time don’t just come randomly.” You then leeched onto him, hugging him feeling his warm embrace. He then leaned into your touch, feeling how cold you were. The cold was absence of warmth, he was your warmth. Feeling every bit of his enduring love that couldn’t be broken. Hugging each other again will always beat texting and calling each other. Feeling one another’s feelings through touch. He would never admit it aloud but you mattered to him in ways he couldn’t explain.

As you both pulled away, you looked at Rin, and he looked at you. “Do you want to play? I brought a lot.” He always yearned for your attention, for your love. Doing anything with you made him happy. “Sure.” At that moment you had set up your sailor moon monopoly board and started playing. This was going to be one hell of a long night that’s for sure.

Taking turns, switching games, positioning everything correctly, having fun with Rin is something you missed and something you now have. Lucky you, nobody had disturbed you two, which is oddly weird. “And are you sure you want to stay the night? It gets pretty loud.” He always wanted to make sure you felt comfortable and safe around a bunch of nobodies.

You nodded your head, you both had taken a break from playing board games and just laid in each other’s presence. Currently you were tracing the veins and marks on his fingers, the tiny moles and bruises he had there. As you were leaning in to kiss Rin, eyes on each other, the heat and tension rising, you heard the door creak open. Uh oh. It was none other than your brother, Shidou Ryusei.

“WHYYYY, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” He then took a deep breath, sighing, to mainly calm and prepare you for the major loud ass screaming he’s about to do. Lowkey being honest he doesn’t care who you’re with, but to him he didn’t want to see you get hurt by someone who he’s friends with. As you stood up he started shaking you back and forth yelling all kinds of things, literally half of it was irrelevant. “You’re my baby sister, you aren’t supposed to find your alpha.” This was going to be one hell of a long night, “if I can’t have Sae you can’t have Rin, you know what, Rin you can’t date my sister anymore…” at this point he was overreacting, and probably didn’t mean anything he said, it’s just him being in a state of shock.

“You know when I heard Anri say you were coming I thought you came to see your dear brother, but nooo.” At this point you were dizzy from how much he kept shaking you back and forth. Rin had to put a stop to his madness of course, “Shidou.” He then stopped realizing that you were quite tired and faint. Shidou had muttered swears under his breath. “I might have overreacted.” You then looked at him as if he had said the most insane thing in the entire world, “might have overreacted? Bro you did more than that..”

You then started chasing him around the room, him screaming in terror and yelling loudly. Rin would just have to stand there irked and pissed off at how much ruckus you two were making. But being completely honest he enjoyed you and your brother getting along, or whatever this is.

︶︶　 ୨୧　 ︶︶　 ︶︶ ︶︶ ︶︶ ︶︶︶︶ ୨୧

Bonus scene!!

“Apologize to each other.” You looked at Shidou and he looked at you. “Sorry.” In unison you both said it at the same time, sharing matching bruises and scars from the fight you two had.

୨୧ — I will for sure fix this, I hate how this turned out due to the fact that I know for sure shidou would never crash out but yk it is what is.

[ladykailitha]

Murder in the Heartland Part 3

Welcome to the permanent home of this fic! Every Tuesday until it's finished, this story will come out at 10am EDT.

I'm starting to wonder if I'm shadow banned or something because there has been a sharp decline in people seeing my stuff. Even if I tag them. So if I tag you and you get the notification, let me know, because when a story goes from 122 notes on chapter 1 to only 77 notes on chapter 2, I have to wonder if people who asked to be tagged are getting the notifications.

But hopefully with this story have a forever home, I can get the number back up.

Also I realized I spent an ungodly amount of time hunting for Billy. It won't always be that way and we'll get to the meat of the story soon. I promise.

In this we Eddie doing some legwork before meeting Susan and Max and the meeting itself.

Part 1 Part 2

~

Interviewer: That really doesn’t answer the question. What do you say to the rumors that you’re a serial killer?

Steve’s eyes go wide and his jaw drops: People are saying what now? That’s ridiculous! No one accused Agatha Christie or John Grissom of being serial killers. Should we make Dick Wolf go to jail because he takes real life crimes for his TV shows? This fascination with thought crimes is borderline insane and I’m not going to even deign to even entertain the idea.

Interviewer: It’s interesting you bring up Dick Wolf. Are you say that you take inspiration from true crime as well?

Steve: there is a long history of mystery writers using current events to help flesh out their works and to say that I’m continuing that long tradition I thought would have been a given at this point.

~

The first thing Eddie did after getting off the phone with Max was make his way to the high school to get Billy’s school records.

But he did not come empty handed.

“Linda!” he greeted the school secretary brightly. “I know you’ve missed me, because I missed our lovely chats.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “I miss those beers and chocolates more than I missed you. I still don’t know where you get them because no one else seems to carry them.”

Eddie batted his eyelashes sweetly. “But if I told you that, then what would I bribe you with?”

“You could always not do that,” Linda said wearily. “Like not bribe me at all. You can leave me alone with my chocolate and my beer.”

“I could...” Eddie said all syrupy, leaning on the counter on his fists. “Or you could get me Billy Hargrove’s school records.”

Linda paused in reaching out for her goodies and tilted her head. “Now what do you want that for? He graduated the year before you did.”

“That he did, light of my life,” Eddie said, oozing charm. “But his dear, sweet step-sister who is a sophomore here, is looking for him because he never came home. The police won’t look for him because he’s an adult.”

Linda sighed and then pushed herself to her feet. She went over to the row of filing cabinets and went straight to H for Hargrove. About a minute or so later she returned with the file to see the chocolates and beer on her desk.

She quietly handed over the file and tucked her treasures away in her drawers. “You’ll copy those and return it to me within fifteen minutes or I call the cops for theft.”

Eddie grinned and then saluted. “You’ve got it!”

Even with a minor paper jam, Eddie had the whole file copied and returned to Linda in under ten minutes.

“Until next time, sweetheart!” he crowed with a jaunty salute.

Linda just shook her head and pulled out the chocolates to snack on.

Eddie went to a nearby cafe and opened up the file. A lot of it he already knew. Like the fights and the underaged drinking. But some of it was. Like that he had beaten Steve for the captain position based on actual merit. Out in California he had led his team to two championships on the junior varsity team and should have done the same out here.

There were all sorts of behavioral problems. Like enough to make Eddie’s own school record look clean as a whistle in comparison. Accusations of doping and steroids. Stuff he certainly didn’t get from Eddie. He stayed clear of that stuff. Roided athletes were no fucking joke and the last thing he needed was his brains smashed out because he didn’t have the right amount or some shit. Near constant rage issues, which would track with the steroids.

Eddie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He wondered if he could see if he had a criminal record. Like anything before he was eighteen would be sealed. But the dude was almost nineteen when he went missing, so maybe he had run afoul of the law and had gone on the run.

The more he dug through the file though, the more concerned Eddie got. He had been talking to the school counselor about nightmares and Miss Kelly had written that she feared he was being abused by his father.

Eddie winced. He knew what that was like. If he hadn’t had Wayne to run to maybe he would have turned out like Billy instead of the geek he was today. Being forced to look and act a certain way, and being beaten for not being good enough.

When he reached the end of the file, he closed it and then his eyes, too. Shit. Nothing in that file was good in terms of an sense of morality or whatever, but it was good in giving him some leads on where Billy could have absconded to.

First stop was back to the office to talk to Murray about the criminal file and then on the phone to see if he could get into contact with any of his friends out in California.

Well, technically first stop was to Le Creme’s French bakery for their eclairs and raspberry cream horns. If he was going to get Murray to do his dirty work with the cops, he was going to need to come bearing gifts.

He strolled into the shop, prizes held high, “Hey, Murrrr, how’s it shaking?”

~

Eddie wasn’t sure what to expect when he went over to the Mayfields, but the two ladies were not it. Susan Mayfield was a petite blonde woman with a softness Eddie associated with being a mom. Max was everything hard and sharp and bitter. She had been dealt a shit hand and was angry at the world.

Conspicuously absent was Neil Hargrove. Eddie had assumed that the man would have wanted his son hunted down and brought back so that he could continue to have control over him. But he wasn’t there.

Eddie looked around the home and there was a distinct lack of male presence to be felt anywhere in the small house. He didn’t mean stuff ‘associated’ with men, like sports stuff and beer bottles everywhere either. He knew the kind of man Neil was, and there was none of the ironclad control of Susan and Max’s stuff hidden from view. It looked homey and lived in.

“Excuse me,” he said gently. “I was assuming Billy’s dad would be here, considering that it is his son who went missing.”

Max snorted and Susan shushed her. “Neil left after Billy vanished.”

“But not like immediately after,” Max clarified. “Like after a few days of not knowing where he was.”

Susan offered Eddie a seat and then sat down on the sofa. “You have to understand. Things weren’t good with Neil before Billy left for cigarettes and never came home.”

Eddie snorted and Max’s face twisted in a sardonic smile; she knew that stupid trope, same as him.

“So tell me everything you can remember about the day he left,” he said, pulling out a small leather bound notebook and pen.

They went through everything they could remember and Eddie wrote it all down. “Did he have any friends out in California that he might have gone to?”

Susan and Max shared a glance. But Susan shook her head. “We’ve already called his closest friends. They don’t know where he is.”

Eddie tapped his pen on the paper. “That’s fine. It won’t hurt to touch base with them again to see if he’s been in contact since, okay?”

They rattled off the names and phones numbers of Billy’s closest friends in San Diego and his favorite haunts.

“Are there any places in Hawkins or the surrounding area that he might have gone to if he got in trouble?” he asked, and then looked up at them expectantly.

Max shook her head. “He really hated Hawkins. He blamed everyone for us coming out here. Everyone but himself.”

“And why was that if you don’t mind me asking?” Eddie said tilting his head to the side as regarded them. Susan looked uncomfortable as she shifted in her seat, while Max was clearly upset about whatever went down.

“He broke of friend of mine’s arm,” Max admitted, looking between Susan and Eddie. “Because he put it around my shoulders jokingly.”

“Woof,” Eddie said with a grimace. “That’s some really nasty anger issues. He had been violent before that?”

“He was just trying to be a protective older brother,” Susan explained, gripping her knees tightly.

“Like hell he was,” Max scoffed, rolling her eyes at her mother. “I think he had started taking steroids around that time, because he hadn’t been like that before.”

“Max!” Susan protested. “You can’t just accusing people of doing drugs like that!” She turned to Eddie. “There was no proof that he was on drugs at all. He just had a temper like his dad, is all.”

Max bit her tongue but Eddie could see that she was holding back a scathing retort. It looked to him that he was going to have to get her away from her mom to get a real picture of the guy. Besides, he knew all too well that what Susan said was a blatant lie. Eddie had sold him those drugs himself. All but the ‘roids anyway.

Susan turned back to him. “Is there anything else you need?”

Eddie tapped his pen on the paper a couple of times as he regarded her. Her knees were pressed together and her hands had a white knuckle grip on them. Her jaw was firmly set and her lips her pursed. She did not want him here, that much was clear.

He got to his feet. “Nope. That’s enough to start with. If I need anything more, I’ll be in touch. These type of jobs can take time, but I promise weekly updates, whether or not I have anything, all right?”

Max was on her feet shaking his hand in an instant.

He smiled and winked at her. “Since you’re the one signing my checks, I assume I have to defer to you?”

“Damn straight,” she said grinning back.

He nodded once and then walked out the door. He really didn’t have much more information then he did before, but he did know one thing. And that was Billy Hargrove was the favorite and Max was that weird kid that parents struggled to understand and then ultimately gave up on around the time the hit puberty. He knew, because he was one.

Eddie walked out to his van and looked back up at the house bought with literal blood money and saw Max watching out the window. He gave her a salute and then got into his van.

He knew who Billy’s friends were in town, he just wondered how many of them stuck around after high school. Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, and Heather Holloway.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he drove back to the office. Susan didn’t want to believe Billy was into drugs, but there were just far too many signs that pointed otherwise. Maybe it was time to call in his favor with Rick.

Because if Billy wasn’t getting his ‘roids from Eddie, he was getting them from somewhere else and he really doubted it was a Cali contact. So it must have been someone in town and the only person who would know would be good ole Reefer Rick, Rick Lipton. The man who controlled all the drugs in Hawkins.

~

Reposted so that everyone can see the correct post. The other will be deleted!

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @steddieislife @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale @stripey82 @kroymu09 @chaotic-waffle

10- @tartarusknight @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff

[asheepinfrance]

I think you would write сute/comfort fic patrick× pregnant reader 🎀

ACKKKK thank you this is so. im so. i dont know when the last time i got a request was. thank you, deeply, for trusting me with making something you imagined come to fruition in some way. i hope this is something you can enjoy. im calling this one aubrey

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

The words ‘Patrick Zweig’ and ‘commitment’ had essentially never been spoken in the same sentence. Of course, he wasn’t entirely a lost cause when it came to settling down, finding a comfortable life for himself with all the amenities a trust fund and pro-tennis money can buy, but he never, ever wanted to settle. When he looked himself in the mirror, saw himself getting older, a beard growing in that he was reluctant to shave and slightly more dull of a shine to his skin, he still never quite saw himself stepping into traditional adulthood. A 9 to 5 in a cubicle, answering calls on a landline and typing away at a too-slow desktop, carefully adjusting an old picture frame of the wife and kids on the corner of his desk? Not his speed. He preferred freedom with the occasional presence of femininity. He liked that he only had to clean should someone be coming over, that he could hog as much of the duvet of his bed as he so pleased. Hookups were frequent, spontaneous, and usually fairly good. There was an unspoken contract each time: We fuck, you can stay the night but not the morning after, we never speak again. Always kept up, never broken. Sure, you’d been one of his favorites, someone he’d actually spoken to for a decent bit prior to inviting you back to his. Someone he laughed at not to ease them into things, but because they were actually funny. He noticed a lot about you that he didn’t see in most people, from the shape of your teeth to the way the light bounced off your skin when you slept beneath his covers. He could almost feel something, and it made him sick, both to know you’d be gone the next time his eyes were open, and that he was still capable of doing so. 

And then you showed up again, positive test in hand. Precautions had been taken, of course, you weren’t both stupid, and yet, here he was, and here you are, standing on his front porch and asking for him to do something. What it is exactly, he’s not sure. Responsibility, maybe? A promise to pay some kind of child support? Be a father? How was he meant to do that when he hardly had one? He sure as hell couldn’t raise someone from childhood through adolescence up to the big eighteenth birthday, the precipice of mortgages and the reminder that holding onto life is as futile as trying to avoid its reality. Now this was his. And, still, you were one of his favorites. He would figure something out. 

Figuring something out, apparently, had meant calling his parents up for the first time in a few months. After the exasperated greetings, the dreadful small talk, and the false promises of an incoming marriage, he announced there would be a new (probably more suitable) heir to the Zweig estate, there was no question of if he was to receive some financial assistance, maybe even a small job here and there. Anything for the family image, of course. The proliferation of the Zweig family continues with Patrick, apparently. The least proper, least Zweig of all the people in his family to have ever bore the last name. Thank God for rich parents, he thinks each time he sees you. The woman he’s managed to start letting himself feel for, despite his initial resistance. He hasn’t seen you since he woke you up with a kiss this morning, pulling away just in time to see your eyes softly flutter open and your lips open like the red velvet curtains of a stage to see teeth. He pressed a kiss to your stomach afterwards, which was finally starting to show signs of the intense changes your body was undergoing, and you’d let out something between a scoff and a laugh, mumbling something about looking fat. He hadn’t stopped until you’d pushed at his forehead, and when he looked down at the swell of where the life you’d made together was resting, he saw the shining, wet outline of where his lips had been. 

Even if you’d only just begun to show, the differences between the woman at his door holding the most important piece of plastic he’d ever seen to the one now making a space in his home are striking. He’d been the one to hold back your hair the first time you’d been wracked by morning sickness, and each of the subsequent times. He never minded, really. He’d spent many nights emptying his guts into toilet bowls with a friend’s assistance for stupider reasons. He’d been woken up at odd hours of the night to fetch cravings (lately, it’d been butter chicken) or to rub away any aches and pains which had developed. It was a little unpleasant, sure, at times, but he wasn’t experiencing half of it, and he found himself just wanting to make things easier where he could, lost sleep and spicy smelling kitchen be damned. 

He can remember the exact date and time he’d felt his child kick for the first time, mostly because it had nauseated him to no end upon first impact. The idea of a living, breathing human being nestling itself inside walls of muscle and tissue, kicking around amongst the insides of you, made him feel horrendous until he felt it a second time. A living, breathing, just-about human being was doing the best it could at touching him back, and it was one he’d made. When he heard you laughing, most likely at the expression which had pulled over his face like a veil, he joined you. Wonderful. How absolutely wonderful all of it was. Your skin had changed recently. Glowy in a way his hadn’t been since his teen years. It suited you. Made you look almost like a goddess in your softness. He wanted to kiss you until your knees gave out. He wanted to hold you until he began to rot. He wanted to start the process of becoming a father all over again. 

On the way back from one of your appointments, poking and prodding at the taped down gauze in the soft, flat crook of your elbow, feet resting on the dash, he watched the road just a little less than he should. He can’t fault himself. The sun was setting orange, and it gave you the halo he’s sure was hidden behind carbon dioxide and thick, palpable adoration that surrounded you in his presence. He’d let you choose the music, the way he always did. He liked knowing what the inside of your head might sound like. A song he didn’t quite recognize on the strum of guitar strings and the vibration of vocal chords alone struck him. 

“Aubrey… that’s a pretty name, don’t you think?”

He hummed a bit, looking at the display screen to note the name. Aubrey. A not so very ordinary girl or name. 

“I don’t wanna name our daughter after a song by a band named Bread.”

Besides, if you hadn’t gotten your current name, or the slew of pet names he’d placed upon your shoulders, he thinks Aubrey would suit you best. At least, if the lyrics meant anything. He’d do it, though. Maybe if Aubrey was her name, then it’d place just a little bit of your spirit into her. He hoped he hardly had a trace of himself within her. He hoped she had your kind eyes and soft hands, your matter of fact way of approaching things, but the gentleness to comfort. He was too rough, he thought, even if you relentlessly insisted he’d only ever been soft with you. Maybe he liked thinking there was still a bit of toughness left to him outside of his professional life. Life with you wasn’t about winning anything, so he let himself relax. 

He thinks Audrey’s not so bad.

[alexanderlightweight]

I'm glad you're doing better and I hope it continues! If you're still up for a prompt, something in Elysium's Tears or anything in the story (can't remember the name of it) where the Circle members' children are forced/arranged marriage to downworlders and Alec marries Magnus but then helps him with the antidote to a poison one of his fellow arranged marriage shadowhunters took.

thank you! i had a pretty painful procedure yesterday and slept a lot to recover and am now cackling at my bf's chromebook because I love plotting this fic and poor Magnus is having a Time with his shadowhunters spouse.

the verse you're talking about with the arranged marriage is the bitter trap of truth and is a fairly intense universe because Shadowhunters/nephilim marry downworlders in accordance to a treaty but really for the sole purpose of sowing discord and killing themselves and Alec is just like.... 'uhm no one said my spouse would be a husband? and that he would be this magical so i'm disrespectfully resigning from the clave and can no longer complete my mission to die. i need to live so I can be the best lair-husband ever.'

in the meantime, Magnus is keeping his gorgeous, shadowhunter husband if he has to fight the clave, death and etc to do it. he also (very understandably) has a hard time trusting Alec, his actions and motivations because what if this is an elaborate plot. Magnus would be devastated and while he'll keep Alec either way he also just doesn't want to do anything that will put him in a position of Alec betraying him.

i hope you enjoy <3

Lumine

-

tw suicide/murder mentions/idealation (specifically in service to the clave)

the bitter trap of truth

“Magnus, I can just stay here. I don’t actually need to go with you.”

Alexander’s voice breaks through the dark turn Magnus thoughts have taken and he looks over to see his husband lounging on the window seat. The book he is reading lies lax, threatening to slip from his fingertips as his attention focuses on Magnus.

The weight of Alexander’s gaze is nearly as delicious as the thrum of Magnus’ blood claiming Alexander from within. It flows through his body with a possessive fervor that often leaves Magnus greedily reaching to caress the imprint of Alexander’s being upon his senses.

Alexander continues to break every possible expectation Magnus dares to have of him, even in matters like this.  Alexander should want to go, he should be pleading and cajoling and manipulating Magnus into taking him as this evening will be one of the rare places he’ll be around and allowed to interact with other nephilim.  Magnus has heard horror stories of just the kind of arguments and cold wars refusing to bring a nephil spouse to these banquets can incur.

Yet, since the invitation first arrived in a flare of fire Alexander has been downright docile about the topic. The first moment Magnus showed hesitancy in taking him, he’d seemed more pleased than upset, more interested in finding a new book to read than finding out who he could connect with.

“If it were that simple, we’d both stay here.” Magnus sighs and reaches out to feel the pulse of his own blood in Alexander’s veins. “And yet the Elder’s have requested I bring you,” he explains as he studies Alexander. “I think they expect me to make you something of a statement or a possible moral booster.”

It goes without saying that Alexander is the highest ranking shadowhunter who married out and is still alive.

Alexander is quiet, soft amusement in his eyes as he follows Magnus’ every movement.

“Despite how often you like to dress me up, you rarely have me meet anyone besides those closest to you.” It’s not a question but Magnus hums in agreement, it would be ridiculous and disappointing if Alec pretended he wasn’t aware. “You can tease that it’s because of how much you want to hide me away, but we both know the target I’ve had on my back since we married.  Events like these are almost always when a nephilim dies. By their own hand or the so-called mercy of another nephilim. I know why you’re worried, Magnus.”

Every time Alexander speaks so openly, Magnus is stunned all over again, his heart racing with freshly piqued interest even as the thought of death claiming Alexander from him chills his blood. 

“You think I’ll let you die?” Magnus asks, voice low and harsh with the surge of anger that overtakes the fear filling him at the thought. He closes the space between them and reaches out, cupping Alexander’s jaw and tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “Do you think, Alexander, that you are allowed to die without my permission?”

“No.” And Alexander turns into his grip, lips pressing in a soft, reverent kiss to his palm. “But I think it’s what everyone else expects and something that you have a right to be concerned about. Regardless of my own wishes, it wouldn’t be surprising for an attending nephilim to try and offer me mercy. Either by orders of the Clave or their own misguided sense of kinship.”

Alexander is both soothing Magnus’ ire while simultaneously fanning the flames of his rage.  

“If I have to go, then you should do whatever you need to do to feel confident and secure in my safety. In the fact that I won’t leave your side or willingly place myself in danger. That I won’t go anywhere you can’t follow or watch over me.” 

“Oh? Whatever I want?” Magnus asks, curving his tongue around the delicacy of the offer, the knowledge that Alexander will simply let Magnus do as he wishes.

“Anything, Magnus. Whatever will help, I’m already yours aren’t I? Do you think I mind that being proven to the world? That I’ll mind the entirety of the Shadowworld understanding where I stand? My position in this relationship was made clear the moment I survived both our wedding night and the month that followed.  The Clave has figured out by now now that I want to survive, that I want to live as long as it’s with you.”

-

alec: more than happy to stay home and read up on how to clean a magical lair and feed your incredibly handsome warlock husband

magnus: one: I don't want to leave you alone for longer than ten minutes and two: i'm supposed to show you off. the problem is showing you off while letting everyone know 'do not approach, do not look at, don't talk to, don't breathe near etc...'

alec: sounds more than reasonable. so why don't you just do whatever you need to feel better about my safety

magnus: .... whatever?

alec: yeah, anything that you'd like

magnus: ... no take backs!