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kannouo · 3 months ago

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Ticklish?

fandom: obey me pairing: demon brothers & dateables x gn!reader warnings: suggestive on asmo's part summary: in which they find out you are ticklish. prompt by anon: The brothers + dateables reaction to the MC being ticklish because ik most of them are menaces about it A/N: lol rest in peace. good fucking luck mc. also i swear to god i know there's more to satan's character than his love of cats it just fits guys pls forgive me

LUCIFER

• Lucifer likes to appear as this super-serious macho man figure who, although he has his moments of going along with his siblings' antics, isn't a very playful guy. He's unlikely to find this out because he was trying to tickle you. Rather, it'd be by complete coincidence.

• When he offered to teach you to dance in the privacy of his room as classical music played in the background, you weren't expecting his hand on your waist to bother you as much as it did. Try as you might, you can't hide from him how you're biting your lip and stifling a giggle.

• "Is something funny to you?" He asks, unamused. You shake your head.

• "No, sorry. It just... tickles a bit."

• The only reaction you get in the moment is a hum and a nod. You're admittedly a little suspicious, but mostly grateful the dance lesson continued normally until you were able to return to your room.

• He's so unbothered by this new information, in fact, that you may even dare to think he'd all but forgotten about it when a few weeks pass by. Little did you know, he remembered. He was just storing it away for later use.

• Even the student council's representative of the human world was not immune to falling into Satan and Belphie's schemes, it seemed. After a failed attempt to capture a pic of a sleeping Lucifer, you find yourself trapped between him and the wall as he looms over you. You desperately hope that, just maybe, Satan or Belphie would come to your rescue — but alas, you had been left abandoned in the lions' den.

• "Bold of you to attempt to sneak up on me in such a vulnerable state," he clicked his tongue, agitated. "I'd assume you would know better by now."

• "I'm sorry, I—"

• "'Sorry'? Yes, you will be." He closed in on you.

• The shrieks that emanated from Lucifer's room that night could only be described as unholy as he unleashed his brand-new punishment on you. Out of everyone in the House of Lamentation, you hadn't expected the mighty first-born to be the one to tickle you half to death, but it was effective. If that was what was waiting for you, you were more than willing to give Satan and Belphie the cold shoulder the next time they suggested a new, ingenious prank to play on Lucifer. Sorry guys. It's not worth it.

"Come on, MC, this'll be our best work yet," Satan trails after you you down the hallway, clearly not keen on letting the matter go. He had taken the liberty of convincing you of the Anti-Lucifer League's newest escapade, as Belphie apparently refuses to be of any help. "We've planned it all out. It won't go wrong this time. I swear." You turn to look at Satan, catching a glimpse of Lucifer a short distance away over the fourth-born's shoulder. All it took was a knowing smirk and a mildly threatening gesture with his hands for you to turn pale. "MC?" "...I'm good, Satan, thanks."

MAMMON

• Unlike his older brother — Mammon would absolutely find this out on purpose.

• He's the spiritual eldest when it comes to playing around with his siblings, so he's experienced in tickle-fighting. You, unfortunately, only realised this while wrestling with him, when he suddenly starts tickling your sides to gain the upper-hand. It works, and now you're flailing around beneath him.

• "Hah! Take that!" You hear him laugh triumphantly above you as you struggle to force his attacking hands away from you. "Ya give in?!"

• "Yeees! You win, you win!"

• After your rather humiliating fake-wrestling defeat, he only gets more annoying with abusing your weakness as the days go by. As he learns all of your worst spots, he gets more and more bold, until not one day can go by where you aren't tackled and tickled to tears by the Avatar of Greed.

• Eventually, you're going to have to set some ground rules with this guy, because he just will not stop. For weeks after that initial incident, you find yourself constantly on edge no matter where you are, because he could be anywhere. Just planning the next tickle.

• Sure, it can be fun at first, but he always manages to take his play-fighting just a little too far. You don't have the same tolerance as his brothers, being a human and all, and he needs to remember that.

• Being tickled by Mammon is nowhere as unfair and torturous as it is with Lucifer though, mostly because unlike his older brother, Mammon is ticklish too. This means you can fight back and potentially even gain the upper-hand. It's unlikely you'll win in a chase, however — no matter if you're the one running or if he is — he's just too damn fast.

• He's the definition of being unable to take what he dishes out. Not only does he cry 'uncle' as soon as you land on a weak spot, but he'll be super pouty and embarrassed afterwards too. As if he wasn't the one who initiated it.

"Mammooon..." You poke his cheek, trying to provoke any sort of response. He huffs and turns his head away, but still doesn't say a word. "Mams... Babe..." "That ain't fair," he finally speaks, his cheeks tinging with red. "Ya can't call me that when I'm tryin' to be mad at ya." You can't help but smile at the demon before you. "I'm sorry for tickling you, Mammon." "Yeah? Well... I think I'm owed some compensation for that. 5,000 Grimm, at least!"

LEVIATHAN

• Levi wouldn't find this out on purpose. Or, rather, at all. At least not on his own.

• He freaks out and backs away every time his hand manages to accidentally brush against yours when he hands you something. He apologises profusely and feels like the absolute perverted scum of the earth when he happens to bump into you in the hallway. He refuses to hold hands with you beyond intertwining your pinkie fingers together, because anything more than that is too lewd for him.

• So yeah. He's not going to tickle you. Not even accidentally.

• He only ends up finding out when he catches you and Mammon having a tickle fight in the living room one day, to which he promptly leaves before either of you can notice him. Both to quell the jealousy bubbling in his chest, and to avoid Mammon roping him into his shenanigans.

• After that, he... does nothing, really.

• See, here's an interesting fact about the Avatar of Envy: He's ticklish too. Very ticklish. And his siblings, especially Mammon, tease him for it all the time. He absolutely hates it and it's just not funny to him. So even if he was able to touch you without taking 6000 points of damage to his psyche, he still wouldn't tickle you, because he understands how it feels.

• Instead, you could say that you two form an alliance of sorts. You defend him when one of his brothers (MAMMON) starts chasing him — using your pact if you have to — and he allows you safe refuge in his room if somebody is after you. His door has a lock on it after all, and knowing the consequences of trying to force their way inside the resident hermit's safe abode, your pursuer is unlikely to look for you in there.

• He might make fun of you a little for it, but that's the most he'll do. He won't lay a finger on you. Good guy Leviathan.

You restlessly chap on Levi's door, moving back and forth on your toes as you desperately hope for him to let you in. The seconds count down before your attacker will find you, when finally... Click. The door unlocks and you grab the handle, swinging it open and nearly hitting Levi in the face in the process. "Sorry, sorry!" You profusely whisper-yell apologies as you shut the door behind you. He locks it, and you can finally breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you... You saved me..." Levi's cheeks burn red at your words. "Y—yeah, well... don't make a big deal out of it, normie. If you're staying in my room, then you're playing games with me too while you're here, okay? So... make yourself useful or I'll kick you back out!"

SATAN

• Maybe this is just me, but have you ever had a cat on your lap that just won't stop moving around and it sort of tickles? Yeah.

• A simple date to a cat café went from good, to better, then to worse in a very short span of time. Most of the kitties were awake and lively, wandering around and allowing you to pet them. So when one of the cats jumped up on your lap, both you and Satan were ecstatic, cooing endlessly at the little ball of fur that had made itself at home on your legs.

• The only problem was, the cat seemed to be unable to find a comfortable spot. You were trying to stay still, you really were, but the cat's paws constantly moving against your thighs made you really need to move around in your seat. Satan noticed how you had to force yourself to stay put by gripping onto the table in front of you, and he also noticed how you were biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling like an idiot, but he didn't say anything at first.

• The first time Satan tickles you, it comes completely out of nowhere. To you, at least. Some exams were coming up and you agreed to let him tutor you, but the material was just so boring, and Satan's delivery of it certainly wasn't helping to keep you engaged...

• You were abruptly brought back to reality by a sharp jab to your side. You jumped and looked around, as if searching for the culprit, only to see Satan, with his eyes narrowed at you. "Pay attention."

• "I was!"

• "No you weren't," he poked you once in the side for each word to enunciate his sentence, and then grabbed you by the waist to prevent you from escaping. "Are you going to listen to me now?"

• "Ye-ees!"

• "Are you sure?"

• Satan's kind of a dick about it, to be honest. He'll tickle you to convince you to do things with him. You don't want to partake in his newest prank against Lucifer? Uh... yes you do, remember?

• He's also a hypocrite. He is ticklish but he hates it just as much — if not more — than Levi. So if you do it back to him, he'll shove you off or yell at you.

"Fi—fine! Fine!" You yell, and Satan's attack on your sides ceases. He looks down at you with an eyebrow raised. "You'll do it?" "Yes!" You nod furiously. If getting him to stop meant agreeing to prank call Lucifer, you suppose you'll just have to do it. "Now get off!" "Good," he smiled and moved off of you from where he had you pinned. "Now, about the plan I had prepared..."

ASMODEUS

• ...You know the deal. There is going to be a struggle keeping these headcanons SFW.

• He can find out one of two ways: the first being that he was doing your makeup and somehow found out by brushing too close to your neck or jawline, the second being that you two were leading up to... other activites.

• We'll be going with the former for my own sake lol. He realises what your reaction was for after the first time you tilt your head away from him, and can't help but tease you for it right away.

• "Oh darling, how did I not know this before? Are you keeping secrets from me? ♡"

• Somehow, Asmo ends up being one of the worst for how he takes advantage of this. He will tickle you anywhere at any time and for any reason.

• If he thinks you're not paying enough attention to him, he'll tickle you so you're forced to focus on him. If he sees you using makeup wipes on your poor, delicate skin, he'll tickle you as a "warning" to never do that again. Eventually he just starts making up reasons.

• You can tickle him back, but he enjoys it and will try to use it to lead into sex. So, unfortunately, that won't work to dissuade him.

• Don't think for a moment he's embarrassed or ashamed of his behaviour in public settings, because he isn't. He has no qualms with tickling you in a restaurant with strangers around, and doesn't care how much attention you end up attracting. It's hell.

• He's another boy you're going to have to set boundaries with at some point just because of how frequent it is. The tipping point came when he squeezed your leg in the middle of a student council meeting and you hit your knee so hard on the table you were convinced you broke something.

• He'll back off if you tell him to. You just need to actually tell him to, otherwise he won't realise how much it bothers you.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry..." Asmo pouts as he gently rubs your aching knee. "I didn't realise you'd react like that." You huff and turn your head away from him. "Don't turn this on me." "I'm not!" He shakes his head and leans forward to look you in the eye. "I swear! I just didn't know that'd happen. Can you forgive me, honey? I promise you I won't do it again. I can't have you bruising that beautiful skin because of me..."

BEELZEBUB

• Beel, similar to Levi, isn't likely to find out on his own. For different reasons, though.

• Beel isn't afraid of physical touch, but he is scared of hurting you. He's so big and you're so small. He's fully aware of his strength, and even if he has good control over it, he tends to treat you like how one would handle a delicate China plate. It's not that he doesn't touch you at all, but he's so careful when he does that he probably won't even unintentionally find out that you're ticklish.

• The only way he'd find out is if he stumbled across you in the midst of a (usually very one-sided) tickle fight with one of his brothers. In which case, he will usually step in to save you.

• As the second-youngest, he's used to being teased in a similar manner by his older siblings. So if he sees you pinned down, he'll intervene so you can catch your breath and get away.

• If you run to him for protection, much like Levi, he'll take you back to his room and won't let anyone else except Belphie inside until it's safe to assume whoever was after you has given up. You don't have to, but if you thank him by bringing him a few snacks from the fridge later, he'll be happy.

• Such a sweetheart and probably won't ever tickle you. He really doesn't want to upset you.

• The only time I can see him tickling you is if you're having a bad day and he decides you need cheering up. He'll be sat next to you, staring intently at your frowning face as the gears turn in his head. He doesn't know what your day was like or why you're so peeved, but he knows he wants to see you smile again.

• He'll scoot closer, trap you in a hug with one arm and use his free hand to (very carefully) tickle you until you give in. He'll apologise, but as long as that smile is back on your face, he's satisfied.

• "Do you feel better?" He asks, a sweet smile on his face as he pats your head. And you have to admit, you do.

You could swear you saw Beel's eyes sparkle as you offered him the box of chocolates in your hands. You were saving them to eat yourself at some point, but... seeing as Beel valiantly defended you from Asmo earlier, you figure he at least deserves this. He manages to pry his eyes away from the chocolates to look at you. "...Why?" "Because you saved me from Asmo earlier," you explain and hold the box of chocolates closer to him, urging him to take them. "This is my 'thank you'." Finally, he takes the box from you. "...You didn't have to." Despite his words, he opens the lid and starts devouring the chocolates inside so quickly that you don't even have time to remind him to take the wrappers off.

BELPHEGOR

• There are a few scenes in-game where he tickles or tries to tickle the MC, so yes, he'd absolutely find out very quickly.

• Belphie is not only a little shit — he's also spoiled and likes getting his way. So, like Satan, he'll tickle you to convince you of things. Usually it's when he doesn't feel like doing dinner duty or cleaning his room, or if he can tell you're hiding something from him.

• The first time he tickles you, it's because he had an assignment due the next morning. One he had procrastinated on for weeks. You had reminded him time and time again to start working on it as the deadline approached, but he ignored you, and the situation he's in now is, quite frankly, his own fault. So even as he whines to you about how sleepy he is and tries to butter you up so you'll do it for him, you don't give in.

• That is, until he has an idea. With an exaggerated pout on his face, he moved up behind you and wrapped his arms around you in a hug, lazily slumping against your back. Just as you were about to scold him, you felt him start to ruthlessly tickle your sides.

• With his body weight on you, there was little you could do. And even as you fell to the ground, he simply followed you, taunting and teasing you the whole time. When he thinks you've had enough, he hovers above you with a smirk on his face.

• "So? Do you feel like doing it now?"

• Little fucker. He cuddles with you later to "thank" you, but you're still salty about it.

• Like most others on this list, you can get him back. He's the baby of the family so of course he's ticklish. Expect him to use dirty tricks to win any tickle fight you initiate, however. Like "giving in" only to immediately attack once you stop, or using the fluffy end of his tail to catch you by surprise.

• Beel tends to come to his rescue a lot as well, so beware of that.

"I—I give! I giiive!" You smirk in triumph as the youngest demon brother surrenders beneath you, and you let up your tickling assault. You roll off of him, fixing your ruffled hair. "See? That's what happens when you challenge me," with your back turned, you're too busy congratulating yourself to notice Belphie slowly sitting up behind you. "Anyway, you need to— AH—!" You shriek as you're tackled down to the bed again, cursing as Belphie grins down at you, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic light. "Belphie! That's cheatING—!!" And so, it starts again.

DIAVOLO

• Diavolo likely finds out in a similar fashion to Lucifer. Only it might be at a ball rather than in a secluded area.

• He's confused at first. He knows what tickling is, but being extremely sheltered, he's never received much affection like that in his life. As a result, it takes him a moment to put the pieces together. Once he does, he smiles fondly down at you and apologises, and that is that.

• ...For now.

• What he didn't show right away was just how giddy this discovery made him. What an adorable trait to have! And one he had to see more of. He'd missed out on tickle fights his whole life — he had to wonder what they were like?

• He made a mental note to experiment with this information the next time you came around to the palace. And that he did.

• Literally yells "tickle fight!" before pulling you close and going to town. You have to yell for him to be gentler, because inexperienced as he is, what should tickle actually kind of hurts at first.

• "Ah, I'm so, so sorry," he relaxes his fingers a little, no longer digging into your skin. "Is this any better? My sincere apologies."

• His apology would seem a lot more genuine if he didn't continue to tickle you while saying it.

• That, and he doesn't quite understand the concept of a tickle fight. What he's doing to you is more like a tickle beat-down. It's so one-sided it's almost comical. Unable to fight back or escape, Barbatos has to come and tell him to stop before you piss yourself.

• This was fun! He decides completely on his own. We should do this more often! He says, as you are gasping for breath on the fucking ground.

• After this first experience, he incorporates more minor tickling into your daily lives. Instead of trapping you like the first time, he'll sneakily poke you while walking by, and then look back at you with a wave and a completely innocent smile on his face.

"MC? Apologies, you seem to be in the middle of something. It won't take long," Diavolo smiles as he enters the empty student council hall. Indeed, you are in the middle of sorting some letters, but it isn't as if you can deny an audience to the Demon King. "I have a question for you. It appears... as if you've been avoiding me lately. Why is that?" You blink, trying to discern if he was serious. The look on his face said yes, he was. "...Diavolo, whenever we sit next to each other, you keep reaching over to tickle me." He meets you with a surprised expression as if this is somehow news to him. "I did not know it was such a problem," He confesses. "Very well, then. I'll stop. If I do, will you start sitting beside me again? I quite miss it."

BARBATOS

• He already knew. Lol.

• He officially "finds out" for the first time when he just happens to walk in on Diavolo tickling you half to death and saves you from his grasp. In reality, he already knew this was going to happen and planned to show up just in time to clean you off of the floor once Diavolo had his fun.

• You're thankful he showed up, though. If not for the fact he rescued you, then for the tea he served you afterwards to ensure you wouldn't have had an entirely terrible experience that day.

• As for what he does with this information? Well, not much. At least, it doesn't seem like it to you.

• Barbatos knows how to be sneaky with how he uses this to hear you laugh throughout the day. He'll brush his hand against your skin while reaching for something, "accidentally" touch your back and make you jump while walking by you, and it will always seem unintentional. At first, that is.

• Red flags start to raise when these accidents seem to happen multiple times, every single time you're around him. He knows when you're starting to get suspicious too, and that's around the point he stops even trying to pretend like it isn't intentional. He'll keep doing it, but flash you an infuriating, coy smile after each time.

• Now it's war.

• If this is the game he's playing, you might as well participate.

• The only problem being... it's Barbatos. He knows when you're planning something and exactly how you're going to execute it. You can't even land a hand on the bastard.

• And even if you did somehow manage to (AKA he lets you), you genuinely have no idea if he's even ticklish. He won't react to anything you do to him, but he also won't give you a straight answer if you bluntly ask him if he's ticklish or not. He just looks at you with that signature poker-faced smile. And with that, he turns and walks away. YOU NEED ANSWERS.

• Eventually you become convinced that he isn't actually ticklish at all, but he lets you think he could be because he enjoys seeing you so determined to catch him off-guard.

"B—Barbatos!" You jerk your body away as his hand "somehow" manages to pinch your side while reaching for the utensils drawer next to you. He smiles. "My apologies, it was an accident." He says, and you call bullshit right away. With a newfound desire for revenge, you latch onto his side and start to tickle, but frown when he doesn't react at all. In fact, he simply opens the drawer and takes out a few of the cutlery inside like he initially intended to do, as if you aren't even there. He meets your eye with another, slightly more amused smile, before turning and leaving the room. You stand there, dumbfounded. Though... you could've sworn you saw him flinch a little when you first touched him.

SIMEON

• Simeon is also ticklish and is another example of someone who knows how it feels. He's not likely to tickle you often.

• That's not to say he doesn't find it amusing or cute — he absolutely does — but his first thought when the back rubs he gave you with the intention of being soothing turned ticklish wasn't that he should take advantage of it, rather that it's just something new he now knows about you.

• Simeon won't ever intentionally tickle you because it's, well, mean. He'll only do it if he gets "permission", meaning if you do it to him first.

• He enjoys seeing you smile and laugh, but he doesn't ever want to go too far. Most of the tickle fights you initiate are won by him — don't let his appearance and sweetness fool you, he's still much stronger than you are — but they also don't last long. He'll stop, apologise, and offer to make up for it with anything you want.

• "Sorry, sorry," Simeon smiles as he helps you back to your feet, brushing your hair out of your face. "Are you alright? Come on, let's sit down together. No more tickling, though."

• He... tries to be a protector of sorts if Solomon or anyone else is after you. I can't say it works out well for him though, and whoever was after you just ends up with two victims instead of one.

• Bless him for trying. At least you're not suffering alone.

• When you come around to Purgatory Hall, depending on your friendship with Luke, you two may have playful tickle wars that go on. He won't interfere, but Luke does tend to use Simeon as a shield or claims that you're "bullying" him. Simeon never takes it too seriously and you can usually continue your playful tickle-attack uninhibited.

You lay, breathless and sweaty on the floor. You stare up at the ceiling as you pant for air and slowly sit up, wiping at your forehead. You turn to the man sprawled out on the floor right next to you, the both of you having just endured the same tickle-attack by Solomon. "...Are you alright?" Simeon slowly turns his head to look at you and meets you with an exhausted smile. "Yeah, I'm fine... you?" "...Yeah." You sigh. Silence fills the air for a moment, interrupted only by your heavy breathing. "...Wanna get him back?" As angelic as Simeon still is... even he can't refuse that offer.

SOLOMON

• This shady sorcerer absolutely finds out on purpose.

• After one too many times where you've outright banned him from the kitchen to prevent some kind of national tragedy, he decides he's owed some kind of penance. So the one time you allow him in the kitchen while you cook — under strict supervision — he sneaks up behind you and...

• "Solomon!" You squeal, nearly dropping the ingredients in your hands as he hugs you from behind and uses the position to start furiously tickling you.

• "What? Why are you laughing?" He asks cheekily. "You better be careful. You don't want to ruin dinner, right?"

• After the first incident, it gets much, much worse.

• He'll tickle you at any time, anywhere, whenever he feels like it. It doesn't matter how busy you are or how important what you're working on is, he will interrupt you out of nowhere to tickle you until he's satisfied. Prick.

• He thinks it's funny to tickle you in inconvenient or inappropriate settings, too. If you're sat in front of or next to him in class, you can expect him to start repeatedly poking you or enchanting a few items to tickle you as you desperately try to hold back any reactions because then you'll be the one embarrassing yourself.

• He's also ticklish, but will go to great lengths to avoid you ever figuring that out. Probably drinks some kind of potion that dulls his sensitivity before seeking you out to tickle you just in case you try to get revenge on him.

• Of course, you can still catch him when he's unprepared. And when you do, it's war.

• At least Purgatory Hall is never boring with you two around.

You stare down Solomon as you face one another at opposite ends of the dining table. He's grinning at you, and every now and again tries to rush over to where you are, at which point you circle the table to keep the distance. "You can't keep going forever." He taunts. "Watch me, motherfucker," you curse, but it's true. You're already out of breath. He tries to charge you again and you react quickly, hurrying back around to the other side of the table. Just as you do, however, he changes direction. You're unable to turn around in time and he catches you, damn near lifting you up into the air with how he grabs you. "Solomon! Stop it!" "You started it," he argues. "Now suffer the consequences."

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me! shall we date?#om! swd #omswd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon

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astra-ravana · 2 months ago

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Tips For Working With Demons

Here are some tips and general advice for working with demons and spirits. I'll probably add more to this list as things come to mind.

• These are individuals, people like you and me. Many of them have had human incarnations here on Earth. They understand your struggle and have their own issues and emotions as well. They have favorite things, best friends, family, and feelings. They are powerful, yes, but should also be treated with love and respect.

• They can and will speak to you. If you possess psychic abilities you may be able to channel some or all demons. People often ask how to tell the difference between the voice of a spirit, or an internal voice or hallucination. Spirit will never speak over you, interupt your ability to think freely, or control your mind. They simply speak, if you're willing to listen. They may also manifest physically, move objects, visit your dreams, send you signs, they have many ways to get their point across.

• Do not stress over time. If you haven't spoken to or left an offering to your patron demon in a few weeks because you've been depressed or busy, this is fine. Spirits do not experience time as we do and your absence is little more than a blink of an eye to them.

• Get creative with your offerings. King Paimon loves chocolate, Bune loves fancy perfume, Lucifer fancies himself some whiskey. You may wonder how offerings help demons, since they lack a mortal body. All physical beings possess a spirit and as such, all physical objects possess an essence. This essence can be absorbed by a spirit to allow them to taste/experience the offering. This gives them energy as well. Fun fact: once the essence of a consumable offering is taken it will be dull and tasteless. Try it sometime.

• Remember to say "thank you". Show appreciation and gratitude to any demons that lend their time and power to enhance your life. This is a team effort and no one likes to be used. Friendship and growth should be your top priorities when working with spiritual entities.

• Go ahead and draw that sigil badly. It's ok to only give a tiny drop of blood. Demons are far from perfect and do not expect perfection from you. Your effort and intention is what matters most.

• Stay away from Solomonic or Abrahamic methods that aim to control or trap demons. This is not likely to end well for you and it is a huge betrayal to the trust of a powerful cosmic being. If you are afraid of the interaction, there are many other forms of personal protection you can employ.

• Chances are there is a demon or spirit that resonates with you. Don't get discouraged if your first several attempts don't spark a connection. Read up on different entities and mediatate to find where you should try next.

• Let go of your preconceived expectations. Demons are not going to just make you rich, successful, or smart. These things are the result of forming strong bonds of power and raising one's consciousness. Often times you won't get what you want, but what you need instead. Spirits can see the bigger picture of who we are, our capabilities, and our soul's path. Trust their vision.

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hhmnya · 7 months ago

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PINING, when they like you.

gnreader⠀ ♡ㅤ fluffㅤ───ㅤ817wc

cw. death joke

lee heeseung refuses to let you carry anything. he’s made it a habit of grabbing anything that you’re holding and carrying it himself. whether it be shopping bags, your purse, a stuffed animal that he won for you, or groceries, he will be carrying it all. sure, it may be a little hard carrying 15 different bags of groceries up to your apartment but he doesn't mind. even as you complain, saying that you feel bad that he has to carry everything when you can help, he'll just laugh you off, asking you to let him do this for you. you do a lot for him (unbeknownst to you) and this is the least he can do.

park jongseong asks for your opinion on almost everything he does. he'll ask you if he should buy this shirt or that one, watch looks better, what he should eat. it’s like he lost all ability make choices for himself after he gained feelings for you, only trusting your opinion. maybe it's because he wants to have things that you like, who knows. what everyone does know is that the contanst buzzing coming from your phone? jay. he's most definitely texting you about whatever it is he feigns needing help choosing, but he can't help it if your opinion is the only one that matters to him.

sim jaeyun loves to go shopping with you; he literally begs to be able go even if you tell him that you're just going to window shop. not to mention the fact that he is so serious about shopping; he’ll put his phone on do not disturb, giving you his full attention. when you ask him was store he wants to go to he'll shake his head, claming that this trip is for you and if he reall needs something then he can go on his own time. he always ends up buying your stuff for you, waving you off as he gives the cashier his money.

park sunghoon calls you every single night just so that he can fall asleep to your voice. in the beginning he asks you about your day, listening intently and asking follow up questions. he wants to hear your voice for as long as possible, especially when he went the whole day without talking to you. when you ask about his day, though, he gives you the most basic answer possible and moves the conversation back to you. and every morning, without fail, he claims that he didn't mean to fall asleep but your voice is way too soothing for your own good. you figure that he's not telling the full truth after you hear him say goodnight and he doesn't hang up the phone.

kim seonwoo takes more pictures of you than he does of himself. you swear when you caught a glipse of his gallery you saw an album named 'yn' that featured over seven thousand photos of you. which yes, you saw correctly, he has a very full folder full of pictutes of you. most of them aren't even good but he would rather die than delete the ten, nearly identical, photos of you laughing or the blurry video he got while you were ugly crying because of some movie. he also uses them to tease you—laughing when you tell him to delete it. yeah.. he's almost all out of storage, at this point he's going to buy a burner phone just for photos of you.

yang jungwon loves to texts you updates about his day. if you think jay texts you a lot, oh man, jungwon beats him by twenty miles. he'll tell you his plans who they're with, what he's planning on eating, the cute cat family he saw on the street (pictures included). this man tells you everything, every thought he has it feels like. honestly, he only bothers going out so that he has an excuse to text you, it makes him smile brightly at his phone when he sees your responses. when you start sending him updates about your day? he gets so happy, it's his favorite part of the day to hear from you now, nothing else could ever compare.

nishimura riki does not know what personal space is. he's always touching you in some way, even if it's subtle, like your shoulders pressing together when you're sitting on the couch, watching a movie. when you walk somewhere together, you have to push him away multiple times because he's practically on top of you with how close he is. when you're hanging out with friends, he tends to wrao an arm around your shoulder or lean his head against yours. your friends tease him for it, saying that he's practically apart of you now. he glares at them playfully, gripping your hand in his as he pulls you away (he just really wants to be alone with you).

#ㅤ⠀ ૮꒰ ˊᗜˋ ꒱ა ♡ ㅤ⠀#enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen x y/n #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enha headcanons #enha x reader #enha x you #enha fluff #enhypen imagines #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #niki x reader #riki x reader

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remlionheart · 8 months ago

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NSFW Alphabet: Osamu Dazai Edition ♡

♡༊·˚ mdni. ((dedicating this to my pretty gf @bratbby333 since she's the dazai to my chuuya and some of these situations were in inspired by our unhinged 5 hour long facetimes calls, *cough cough* "blood-chilling" *cough cough* ♡)) this was honestly so much fun to write. dazai would be SUCH a diva in a relationship but he would also be so loving and protective ugh. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡༊·˚

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dazai's almost always the first one out of bed after the fact. He already has a shower running for when he comes back into the room to hand you a towel and a glass of water. You tell him that your legs are too tired to walk all the way to the bathroom so he scoops you up into his arms. The two of you laugh as he carries you into the steam-filled room. He lets you get under the water first, squirting a generous amount of shampoo into his palm as he instructs you to turn around. "Suppose your hands are too tired to wash your hair, hm?" You bite back a smile, giving him a pitiful nod in response. "My poor girl." He hums. His long fingers massaging into your scalp feel like heaven. He leaves light kisses along your shoulder, running a washcloth over your body while whispering sweet little nothings like "How'd I get so lucky?" into your skin as he cleans you off. It's hard to believe this was the same man who was making you beg on your knees for him just twenty minutes ago.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Aside from his body's infuriating aversion to death, there aren't a whole lot of things that Dazai doesn't like about his appearance. Aesthetically speaking, he finds himself fairly attractive so it's hard to narrow down one thing he likes best. If he had to though, he'd probably go with his hands. He's always gotten compliments on them, but after seeing what strong reactions they're able to coax out of you so easily, he's realized they're one of his most valuable assets. As cliche as it may be, your eyes are his favorite feature. He finds it adorable how they always tell him what he needs to know without you ever having to say a word. They tell him when you want more, when you want less, when you're about to hit your breaking point. They guide him in the right direction every single time. Plus, they're just so fucking pretty to look at.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The only thing more blissful to Dazai than hearing or seeing your orgasm is tasting it. His head is buried between your legs, his fingers pumping in and out of you deliriously as your thighs start to lock around him. You're spasming for him again, your voice breaking as you call out his name and your hips buck up towards him. "Dazai, I can't -" You whine. "'m so... sensitive -" "C'mon baby, please." he groans, "Just one more f’me." his tongue swirls against you with fervor, his digits still greedily plummeting into you. "Lemme taste it, lemme feel it. You’re sooo close." His fingers curl at just the right angle, his tongue faithfully lapping against you as you finally fall apart for him. He moans at the sweetness that spills down his chin. "You taste like fucking ecstasy, you know that?"

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It's not necessarily a secret because in his defense, if you were to bring it up or ask him about it, he'd tell you the truth. But Dazai can't help it that you've never inquired about his exes and he's certainly not going to offer up the fact that he knows every single person you've ever been with going all the way back to the boy you kissed on the playground when you were 4 years old. Or that he just so happens to know all of their current addresses and their moms’ maiden names and where they work and their social security numbers. I mean, does it even really matter anyway?? He just got a little curious, that’s all!!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dazai had been with his fair share of partners before meeting you. Sex wasn't something he was ever shy about. He did a lot of experimenting, especially when he was spending the majority of his time drinking. He's always felt comfortable in his body and never saw the big deal about sharing it with someone. It wasn't until the two of you started dating that he realized just how binding sex could be. That it could transcend well beyond the simplicity of skin against skin contact. Being inside of you was the closest thing he'd ever felt to a religious experience. It felt like coming home after a long day. No matter how many hookups he'd had in the past, there was nothing that could've prepared him for how good you'd feel.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes any position that allows him to see your face. His favorite is probably fucking you from the side though, both of you facing each other with his arm hooked under your thigh, letting him go as deep as he pleases. He gets lost in the way your pupils dilate when he plunges into you. The security of your arms wrapped around his neck as you whimper and wriggle against him. There's something so intimate about watching you come undone from this view. Feeling you drench him while he kisses you over and over. "Let it out, baby. I've got you. Doin' so good - fuck, baby you're doin' so good f'me."

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

As passionate as Dazai is when it comes to being inside of you, he's still able to find a level of a humor in just about anything. He's a Gemini, after all. If he's too serious for too long, he'll simply die. You're on top of him with your hands tangled into his for balance as you grind against him. Your hips are rocking back and forth at a pace that's making his breathing uneven. You feel proud, thinking his reaction is a sign of you doing a good job until you watch his head roll to the side, a stupid smile suddenly visible as he tries to bury his face into the pillow. You quickly realize it's not a moan that he's holding back, but a laugh. Your movements come to an abrupt pause. "Dazai." He tries his best to keep it together, but the scolding tone in your voice coupled with the stern look you're shooting him is only making it worse. “Wait, listen -" he tries to explain himself, but he's powerless to his own thoughts. A burst of suppressed laughter fills the room as he covers his face with his hands, still feeling the weight of your glare on him. "R - remember -" he struggles “Last week? When you were telling me about that book you were reading and...." he nearly snorts. "And you described it as -" Your lips press into a flat line, your eyes glazing over as you realize what he’s getting at. You knew the second you messed up that phrase, you'd never hear the end of it. "Are you seriously still laughing about the fact that I said 'blood-chilling' instead of 'bone-chilling?'" "BLOOD-CHILLING!" He repeats with the most obnoxious cackle, narrowly dodging the pillow you throw at him.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Dazai spends more time grooming himself than you do. Hours in front of the mirror looking at himself from every angle to make sure what he's done is up to his standards. He's subscribed to one of those manscaping services where they mail him out a surprise bundle each month of new products to try. When you go down on him one night, he asks "...Does it smell like teakwood?" Your head pops up immediately, unsure if you even want to know what he's hinting at. "What?" "Nothing... it's nothing."

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

In love, Dazai worships you. He has every inch of your frame memorized and knows exactly what each tiny movement and whimper mean. He's studied your body like it's his lifelong passion and he's learned how to make it respond so well for him. Your hips just barely buck up while he's on top of you and he smirks, his hair lightly brushing against your forehead. "You sure can handle the whole thing? Figured you'd still be sore after last night." You shake your head back at him with the poutiest expression, your core aching for more. "I can take it." you insist, "I can -" He challenges your sureness, giving you another inch only to see your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your hand gripping onto the sheet above you. He'd never deny you of anything you wanted, but especially not when you looked this gorgeous. He grabs your hand, tangling his fingers into yours before drawing back and burying himself into you. "That's my girl." he groans, reeling in the way your walls so eagerly swallow him. Your breathing is erratic, your composure completely gone as you writhe and clench around him. He knows you're right there. You start to close your eyes, but he stops you, bringing his free hand under your chin to redirect your attention back to him. "Let me see it, angel. Show me." He slams into you again, giving you every inch of him this time. "Show much you love this." And you do. You show him three times in 20 minutes how much you love it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Dazai's the first to admit that he has a high libido and if the mood strikes, he's going to do something about it. He gets bored easily, so he has a variety of different mediums to get the job done - the 'hidden' folder on his phone that's filled with pictures and videos of you, romance mangas, fleshlights, audio porn, hentai. He's not afraid to experiment even when he's alone.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dazai is a true switch and will really fall into either being dominant or submissive depending on the situation. There are nights he gets off work and starts throwing out demands like, "On the bed. Now. Legs apart f’me." as he strips out of his jacket and pushes you down further onto the mattress. But, the are other times where he's dying not to be in control anymore. Where he's had to make too many decisions and he revels in the way you take the reins. The way you climb on top of him and whisper "good boy" as he grows hard beneath you. The only thing he loves more than making you beg is begging for you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Dazai has a bit of a thing for voyeurism and recklessness so when Kunikida hires a driver to pick the two of you up to take you to a dinner for the ADA, Dazai has no hesitation on hiking up your dress in the back of the limo. Peeking up every so often to see if the driver has even noticed the way your tits are pressed up against the window for passing cars to see as your vehicle speeds down the highway. You arch your back perfectly for him, giving him full control as he plunges into you. Your walls are so snug and gushy, he knows he won't last long. But you're enjoying this just as much as he is, playing with your clit as he grabs your hair and pulls you up to kiss him. "You like knowing that people can see me fucking you?" he whispers, biting down on your bottom lip. "Your cunt’s drippin’ alllll over me.” "Fuck - yes.” You moan, feeling your legs beginning to shake as you let out a strained. “I’d let you fuck me anywhere.” His smirk deepens, his thrusts becoming more frantic. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep, angel.”

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Dazai's pretty easy to wind up in general, but he definitely has a thing for asphyxiation. Perhaps it stems from the lingering effects of suicidal ideation, but the feeling of something cutting off his airways makes him feral. When you're on top of him and you reach for his throat, he nearly fucking melts. If he could choose any way to die, he'd request for it to be at the mercy of your loving fingertips digging into the side of his neck.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There aren't many things that Dazai wouldn't do. Not just sexually, but in general. His curiosity almost always gets the better of him no matter the situation. The only time he's ever told you no was when you were being too hard on yourself. He walked in on you picking at your body in the mirror. Pulling your skin in different directions to see what you'd look like if your arms were thinner or what you'd look like if your nose leaned more to this way instead of that way. His heart sank. All of the post-work fantasies he had built up over the day disappeared the minute he saw how frustrated you were. "Hey," he whispered, coming up behind you and gently wrapping his arms around your waist as his chin rested on your shoulder. "Please stop being mean to my girlfriend. She doesn't deserve that." You tried to brush it off as a joke, leaning up to kiss him while he held you, but he pulled back. "I'm serious." he ran light fingers over your stomach, his eyes locked with yours in the reflection of the mirror. "We're not doing anything until I hear you say at least five things you like about yourself." He could see past almost any crime or murder, but he drew the line at you degrading yourself.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Dazai's all about both, but if he's being completely honest with himself, he loves the feeling of your mouth around his cock. How cute you look when you struggle to take the whole thing. The way your eyes widen when he thrusts into your throat. How thorough you are, turning the act of going down on him into a work of fucking art. Even though you’re the one submitting to him when you get on your knees, he still feels like he's at your grace. You feel so good, he'd do anything to keep your lips wrapped around him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Just like anything else, pacing could go one way or the other. The thing about Dazai, is he wants to do whatever you want to do. Even when he's in more of a dom role, your pleasure is still his main focus. There's no such thing as wrong time or wrong place as far as he’s concerned. If you wanted him to fuck you slow and sensually in the club bathroom, he would. He'd dim the lights, lock the door, lay his jacket down for you to sit on as he propped you up onto the sink and kissed you passionately. If you wanted fast, rough, filthy sex by candlelight on a bed of roses, he would. He'd wrap his hand around your pretty little throat, mocking the way you're struggling to breathe as he bullied himself into you while you’re surrounded by romantic ambiance. Whatever you want, he does too.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If there was a tornado approaching your house at a reasonable speed, Dazai would still find time to have a quickie with you. Especially if he thought it was the last thing he might ever do. He wants to feel you as much as he possibly can. The construct of time really means nothing to him. You have to log onto a work meeting in five minutes? "I can fit under the desk, baby :((( they won't even see me. Just spread your legs and keep a straight face, okay?" Your parents are on their way over? "They drive so slow anyway, angel and the door's locked. Promise we won't get caught." You're waiting for food to be delivered? "Bet I could make you cum twice before the doorbell even rings." Getting to spend five minutes in you is always better than spending five minutes out of you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Dazai isn't just willing to take a risk, he's usually the one pushing for it. Any time your phone rings, his hands are suddenly roaming along your body, his fingers dipping into the softness of your underwear as he starts to kiss your neck. He knows you're on the phone with your boss, that makes it even better. He wants to see how long you can keep your composure while he torments you. Your eyes are like daggers when you look back at him, but your cunt betrays you entirely, grinding against him needily while he smirks. He picks up the pace, reeling in the subtle way your thighs shake. You're trying so hard to sound so professional and coherent, but your thoughts are everywhere. You're having to hit the 'mute' button every few seconds just to let out a whimper. Dazai nips at the nape of your neck, slamming into you with an extra finger this time causing you to nearly drop your phone. "Ahh ~!" But there's no time to hit mute with how he's suddenly plunging into you. Your boss asks if you're okay and you have no choice but to hang up. "Dazai -" you try to keep your voice firm, but you can barely see straight the deeper he sinks into you. "What - the... fuck -" Each word is a moan, your hand grabbing desperately onto the collar of his shirt. "Dazai," "Somethin' wrong, baby?" "Dazai, you can't -" But he already is. He already is so bad. "Dazai, please." You're not even sure what you're pleading for anymore - if it's for him to stop or continue. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, your heart slamming into your chest as more uncontrollable whines fill the room. "Dazaaiii ~" you whimper again, soaking his hand as his thumb brushes across your clit. "Ohmygod, fuck. You can't keep doing that." "No promises." He smirks, carefully pulling out of you before bringing his fingers to his mouth. "It's not my fault you taste so good."

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

It all depends on the mood, Dazai's pretty versatile. Could he fuck you for hours? Yes. Has he? Many times. It's no secret that he loves watching you struggle to walk the next day after having your legs pinned against his shoulder. But he knows he can't do that every time. He generally tries to follow your lead and give your body what it wants - whether that's 20 minutes of gentle, deep, intimacy or an hour of a mating press followed by overstimulation. As long as you're getting off, so is he.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

His nightstand is filled with an assortment of silicone stimulants for the two of you. Cockrings and vibrators and bondage kits. Out of all of the subscription services he has, getting a bundle of mystery toys delivered to his house each month is by far his favorite. He always waits 'til you come over to open it. Pouring you both a glass of wine as you divvy them out and argue about decide on who gets to use what on who.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Osamu Dazai lives to tease you. As far as he's concerned, the only reason the sun rises each morning is so that he can find new and exciting ways to make you grovel for him. He'll tie your hands together above your head, slowly unzipping his pants in front of you. Forcing you to watch as he strokes himself above you, groaning out lewd little nothings like, "Oh fuck, 'feels soo good." while he smirks at your pouty little face and the way you begin to squirm underneath him impatiently. “See how hard I am? God, just imagine what it'd feel like inside you." His hand pumping uppp and doownnnn tortuously out of reach. "Tell me baby, would you want me to go hard and fast or reeaall slow and deep?" He fucking moans while you writhe helplessly against the mattress, your neglected cunt throbbing. "Dazai, please." "Poor thing." He mocks, still jerking himself to the sight of you looking up at him with pleading eyes. "You can do better than that though, can’t you angel? C'mon, make me believe you.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

There's no denying that Dazai's loud. You make him feel so fucking good and he wants you to know. He'll have a fistful of your hair, groaning out your name while your tongue swirls around his tip. "Fuuuck.” He whimpers. "Oh - my… god." Tiny hearts cloud his vision as he watches your throat fill with his length, the heavenly sounds of you gagging on him echoing across the room. Your eyes gloss over, spit pooling down your chin when you look back up at him, your tongue still pressed firmly against his base. "S'fucking gorgeous when you suck my cock." His praise only make you go faster, drawing out the prettiest whines from him. "Nnngh ~ don't stop, baby.” His grip tightens in your hair. "Don't. Fucking. Stop." His hips buck up with each syllable, his rhythm unrelenting as lecherous tears begin to spill down your cheeks. You keep going though, drowning in the noises he's making for you. "Right there, right there. 'm gonna - oh fuck. 'm -" You feel him twitch inside your mouth before a flood of warmth suddenly coats your throat. "Swallow f'me, angel." his voice is so heady and delirious, it comes out as more of a beg than a command, "Fuck... Yeah. Just like that, mmm, god, just like that." You take it all in, not letting one drop go to waste. "You're sucha good girl, you know that? Sucha good fucking girl."

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Dazai gives the illusion that he's not jealous. That it doesn't bother him in the slightest when you go out with your friends or when you stay at the gym longer than you said you would. He does trust you - completely, actually. He knows you'd never do anything to jeopardize your relationship with him. It’s the outside world he doesn't trust. When you're driving home from work, he's watching you through the location sharing on your phone. He stares at the screen intently until he hears you pull into the driveway. When you’re at the bar, he knows the importance of girls’ time and he’d never spoil that. He simply wants to make sure no one is bothering you. He shows up, stealthily lingering in the background, watching his pretty girl laugh with her friends and dance with a drink in her hand the way she should. He loves seeing you have fun, he doesn’t want to take that away from you. He just follows behind your Uber to make sure the driver gets you to where you're going safely. He's seen too many tragedies between working for the PM and ADA, he can't take the risk of letting anything happen to you. So, he doesn't. There's absolutely nothing off limits to you. The entire world is yours. You just... might see a man in a suspicious looking jacket that bears an eerie resemblance to your boyfriend trailing behind you from time to time while you're out. It's only because he loves you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Standing at a solid 5'11, Dazai's decently tall and slender - surprisingly muscular underneath all of those bandages. His waistline is so pretty and his hands? God, those long beautiful digits have brought you to your breaking point more than a few times. Besides excelling in dexterity, he's also packing. A perfect blend of length and girth that curves ever-so-slightly as if it was made for the sole purpose of hitting your g-spot.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Dazai would bend you over in in front of the Pope if you'd let him. He's unapologetically ready to go at any time. He can't help that you're just so gorgeous and that his eyes are always glued to the way your hips sway when you walk in front of him. He yearns for you constantly, even when you're not around. If he could have a 10-hour loop of you moaning his name that's what he'd use as white noise to fall asleep to each night. He can't help that his dick twitches at the thought of you. It's not his fault you're so pretty :((((

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Rest has never come easy for Dazai. He's tried every natural (and narcotic) sleep aide he could get his hands on. Put down multiple bottles of Pinot Grigio and still found himself up for days on end. Up until he met you, he didn't think it was possible for him to sleep for more than two hours at a time, but the first time you invited him over to your apartment changed everything. The two of you had been talking for hours - laughing and debating and sharing secrets over a bottle of cherry whiskey. He could've stayed up long past sunrise with you but when he noticed how tired your eyes were getting, he offered to take you to bed instead. Both of you stripped down into lazy pajamas. You, in an oversized t-shirt with nothing underneath. Dazai, in his boxers. You looked so peaceful when your head hit the pillow, he was sure that you'd be out soon, but to his surprise, your body had other plans. Your lips were soft against his, your hands gently roamed along his body as you pulled him on top of you. You smiled at the way his hair tickled your forehead. The sun was just barely creeping through your curtains, grazing your face as he slid into you, highlighting the pleasure that had taken over your features. It was all so hazy and comfortable. Your room filled with heady mid-morning noises while his body thrusted generously into yours. There was something so intimate about it that it nearly brought you to tears. You felt full in every sense of the word. When you were both good and spent, the two of you laid in the middle of your bed with your head nestled into his chest. He played with your hair, watching you fall asleep in his arms. He'd never felt more human than he did in that moment. His eyes closed, his mind turning off for what felt like the first time in years as he drifted off with you.

ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ

‎♡‧₊˚ here's chuuya's version if you're new here ‎♡‧₊˚

#rem writes #bsd dazai #dazai smut #dazai x fem reader #dazai osamu #soukoku #bsd smut #osamu x reader #dazai x reader #dazai headcanons #bsd headcanons #dazai fluff

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rizsu · 1 month ago

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ꪆ୧ ── HUSH-HUSH ┊ KEEP IT A SECRET ﹑ JJK ⤿ starring: g. satoru ◟ choso ◟ sukuna ◟ f. toji.

꒰ love simulation ﹢ headcanon-type · most to least likely to keep your relationship a secret!

𖧷 · love, ‘su: i have nothing to say here but I Need To have this here for layout purposes. it Bothers me if its not there.

most likely 𓂃 can hold themselves back. choso and somewhat toji.

( pda = public display affection. )

listen, CHOSO can keep a secret, but leave it up to him and he would've made it known you two were dating. he's only keeping it a secret because you said to. when it comes to you, everyone knows he never questions your words.

in terms of pda . . . he doesn't do it — actually, he does, but only you know the true meaning to his touch. it's a regular thing to have an arm wrapped around your friend's shoulder, standing close to them, blah blah blah. you get the point: he keeps it entirely friendly.

this doesn't mean he's not clinging onto you the moment your peers aren't around! once they're out of his view, choso will not waste time to satisfy the itch he's been feeling. either he buries his head in your shoulder, whining about not being able to touch you at least, or his hands are intertwined with yours.

in mr. TOJI FUSHIGURO's case, your words are law. he usually sits back and let you do as you please — obviously he'd go along with whatever scheme you planned. he doesn't mind keeping to himself at all; he's not one for much pda anyway.

there are times where he gets touchy, though. he tries to keep it at a minimum, but don't let him be near you during a dinner-out with friends or anything of the sort. if he's seated next to you, trust, his hand will find comfort sitting on your thigh, occasionally squeezing here and there.

sometimes — really rare times — his friends suspect him. they don't reach the “are you dating y/n?” conclusion, but do they reach the “you got a thing for y/n or what?” one. it's all due to the fact that he softens his language with you. he doesn't curse, tone lowers an octave, and has a slight smile. three things his friends will never experience. he doesn't deny it, but he also doesn't confirm; he simply shrugs at their questions and never satisfies their curiosity.

least likely 𓂃 sorry, he's a bit selfish. satoru and sukuna.

SATORU . . . yeah, no. there's no way he would've succeeded. that's like asking him to not breathe for a day. when you brought up the idea of keeping the relationship a secret, he tried talking you out of it. why are you denying publicizing his affection for you? you must hate him, or are you hiding the fact that you're taken? satoru's dramatic, and his favourite literary device is hyperbole. he will exaggerate.

at first he tries his best to keep it a secret, but old habits die hard. calling you names clearly reserved for someone's romantic partner, arm snaked around your waist all the time, glaring at anyone who tries to flirt, giving you quick kisses — yeah, no way.

but, satoru does apologize for failing to obey! if you're mad at him for outing the relationship, he'll spend days upon days begging for forgiveness in creative ways til you accept his apology.

SUKUNA does not give a fuck. he's lived long enough to not care about secrecy. it's cute that you want to keep it on the low, but he prefers letting it known. pair that with him disliking physical contact with anyone else and you've got yourself the perfect recipe for disaster.

whenever he's not with you and someone approaches him — no matter the reason — he's quick to ring up his favourite sentence: yeah no, i'm taken. either that, or he's holding his palm up to reject them. he does not wish to engage with strangers. even his own friends struggle to get him out.

when he's with you, however, he's clinging to you like a magnet. game night with friends/family? he's pulling you to lean on him, doesn't fetch drinks for anyone but you, gets revenge for you if you lost the game, demands that they “go easy on y/n.” the list goes on. it took everyone zero time to put the clues together and figure out sukuna and you are a thing. it's entirely out-of-character for him to be nice in the first place.

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daenysx · 4 months ago

Note

I can't stop thinking about modern!aemond with his pregnant wife or with the baby, like him caressing her little bump, or massaging her when she feels tired

i wrote a little drabble for this, i hope it's okay <33

modern!aemond targaryen x pregnant fem!reader , fluff

you wrap your fingers around the cup of herbal tea aemond made for you minutes ago.

he's not sitting here with you, because he needs to make calls and work in his room. you told him it's okay, never liked keeping him away from his job. working is something he needs to do to keep his mind occupied, otherwise you think he'll be worried for you or the baby. it happened before.

your other hand draws absent-minded shapes on your belly. it's grown huge, to the point where you can't see your feet when you're standing up. it feels unbelievable sometimes, the fact that you'll be able to see your baby girl in such a short time. you will hold her in your arms, feed her and kiss her. it's gonna feel like a miracle, you're not familiar with miracles.

you are curious about the details, of course. not the giving birth part, you try to keep your mind away from it these days. but what will she look like? doctors are saying she's healthy and everything's okay. will she have aemond's hair? maybe your eyes? will she read lots of books when she's grown like her dad, or will she like obsessing over fictional characters from tv shows just like you did years ago? she'll be perfect, you know that much. a mix of aemond and you. perfect.

you can't wait to meet her for many reasons but it would also be nice to stop being pregnant and get rid of the aches in your body. it's not easy to carry a baby, no matter how excited you are, physical aspects cannot be ignored for too long. you feel swollen everywhere, it's hard to leave the bed or couch by yourself, and sometimes even your face doesn't feel like your own. you think it's normal to feel that way most times, but- not always. not today.

the couch beneath you is usually comfy, not now, though. it feels like something's digging up your spine, you tilt your head back to the pillows with a low groan. baby girl moves, she's a bit restless today. you want to move your legs, maybe walk a little to relieve the numbness in them. well, you can't leave the couch by yourself. tough luck.

your hero steps in, and you manage to take a nice breath. aemond comes to you, his face is unreadable. he tries not to let work bother him, especially when he needs to be okay for the three of you now, but you sense him feeling stressed over it. it looks like today will be a small disaster for each member of his little targaryen family.

"what's wrong?" aemond asks, the moment he sees your discomfort. "are you hurting anywhere?"

you hand him the tea cup, only took a few sips from it before. "can you help me up, please?"

"of course, my love." he softens immediately. it's time to be a good husband, he's not gonna sulk over business deals just now. "here, let me hold you." he says, supporting your body to lift you up.

it's nice to feel your legs again. you hold aemond's hand, his other arm supports your waist to give you something to lean back. you look up to him to get a kiss. it's needed desperately, and he's quick to give you what you want. your belly gets in the way a bit, but aemond is tall enough to still tower over you, your lips meet just right.

"do you wanna walk with me?" aemond asks. "let's go to kitchen and find something to eat for you."

"a walk would be nice." you say, accepting his lead. "she's moving too much today. it's feels like she's angry at me or something."

"she's just impatient." he defends his girl. "she'll be here soon."

"yes." you say happily, stepping into the kitchen. "we still need to decide a name, though."

you lean against the kitchen counter as aemond takes out some fruits from the fridge. he starts preparing a whole plate of them, pineapples and strawberries. just what you like.

"i mean, at least we have options." he says. "we just decide what feels right when we get to see her."

"mm, okay." you say, not having enough energy to discuss the name thing over again. it's hard to pick it, even harder to stop yourself from thinking another option and trying to decide which will be better.

aemond is done with the fruits, he washes his hands and gets a towel to dry them before reaching for you. "you look like you need to get some sleep." he says with a little smile on his face. he cups your cheeks to kiss your chin.

"but you just made me snacks." you tell him. snacks are important.

"they'll be here when you wake up." aemond reminds you. "i'm done with work today. we can go to bed and wake up at dinner time if you want."

normally it's a shock to hear these words from your husband, he doesn't like spending hours on sleeping during the day. after you started getting more tired though, he tries to stay with you as much as he can. you like having him in bed even when you can't cuddle properly, it's the way he makes you feel safe. also, quality time for your tiny family.

you nod, holding his hand again to go to bed. walking seems a bit harder now, you wrap your free hand around your belly. you're thankful for having aemond's clothes on you, nothing feels restraining at least. you sit on bed and try to find a nice position to lay down.

you don't like having covers on you but aemond still pulls the thin blanket on your legs. he lays down after, keeping his body as close to yours as he can. his hand finds its usual spot on your belly. he's gentle with the way he rubs your skin. you close your eyes, your poor muscles give up.

"why is my girl so restless today, hmm?" he asks softly, leaning to your baby as he talks to her. "you need to give your mommy a break, little love, i don't like seeing her so exhausted."

aemond kisses where your baby's head must be and you feel a sudden comfort spreading all over your body. "keep talking to her, please." you say. you love how he manages to calm both you and your baby.

"you'll be here soon." he says, his fingers meet with her as she moves. "we'll get to choose you a name, and you'll wear your tiny clothes. we need to pick up a teddy bear for you, and decide your favorite color to get you nice dresses. you need to be here to do all that, okay?"

you reach for aemond's hand when you feel sleep taking over you. he keeps talking to your baby, and she finally settles down. he doesn't sleep, he doesn't need to. he can only watch you and stay with you just in case you need anything when you wake up. he gives both of you occasional kisses to remind you of his presence.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #modern!aemond #aemond x you #aemond x reader #hotd #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #modern!aemond targaryen #dad!aemond #aemond targaryen x fem!reader

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idkdudethisisntpermanent · 2 months ago

Text

Over the Limit

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

summary: In a town divided between two rival street racing crews, you’re caught between your cousin’s crew, the Sinners and Jenna, a mysterious girl from the Vipers who’s more than just a pretty face. Both of you need something from each other, but as the stakes rise, you’re left wondering: what makes your heart race more— the thrill of the competition or the girl who’s impossible to ignore?

word count: 6.7k

A very special thank you to @ortegalvr for giving me the very much needed nudge to start moving my work to Tumblr. And to @cobaltperun for being so patient and thoroughly answering all my questions, essentially giving me (a Tumblr noob) a dummies guide to Tumblr. Appreciate you both!

————

Why is it that some of the best feel goods in life can just as easily kill you if you indulge in it too much?

Alcohol, drugs, illegal driving... love?

Fortunately for you, you only indulge in only one of those.

There's just something so satisfying about watching your car pick up speed; watching the little arm on the speed gauge reach it's full potential. If cars are able to reach those speeds then they should, it's a fact of the matter. And when you're surrounded by cars all your life and the only reason you have a livelihood is because of those three thousand pounds of steel, you're bound to make some fun out of it.

You push down on the accelerator with more pressure, reaching speeds of almost 180 km/hour when you see the flashing blue and red lights in the rear view mirror.

The feds.

"Took them longer than usual." you thought out loud.

Now there could be two reasons they're after you. The obvious, speeding. But then there's also the fact that you stole the beauty you're driving from the town's richest neighbourhood, Summer Valley.

Of course stealing it is not enough for you, so you made some tweaks here and there in the garage so this ride could be even more illegal than it already is, and now you're selling it to an off the grid buyer.

Escaping the police wasn't something new, it's become routinely. You'd be more concerned if the cops weren't on your tail during a delivery.

You make a sharp turn right into a short alleyway marking the start of this high speed chase.

Being the exceptional mechanic that you are, your work on this car has given it a larger than usual turn radius which allowed the turn to be much smoother, giving you a good head start.

"Why are these fuckers in the middle of road!" You yelled panickily, upon seeing the herd of people in front of you.

You don't know when people decided to ditch the sidewalks and walk in the middle of the road, but clearly, you missed the memo. You were forced to sound the horn a few times, and luckily the pedestrians were responsive and didn't cause you to lose your lead on the cop, but it may have alerted them—if you were lucky enough to lose them in the first place.

Once you finally got out of the alleyway, your phone started ringing, stealing your focus from the dark road in front of you to glance down at your phone for a millisecond.

Anton. Your cousin.

Anton Y/l/n. Your older cousin of three years. He was an impulsive firecracker that has the tendency to rope you into his shenanigans, not deliberately of course. Despite his flaws he'd do anything for family. You like to joke around and call him Dom Toretto, and those jokes have only gotten worse after he buzzed his head after an unfortunate grease spillage accident that was entirely his and your fault.

That five letter name is the most anxiety inducing noun known to man in your books and everytime you answer the older guy's call, you feel as if your gambling your mental health. He could either be calling to tell you about a huge car gig that he scored for you both or that he owes a million dollar debt.

You legit never know.

You groan and answer the call, putting it on speaker and tossing the phone to the passenger seat.

"What now?" you yell over the sounds of acceleration and police sirens.

"Come to Chester and Dan's lane." He says straight to the point, not questioning the noises he hears on your end of the phone. "After your delivery of course." At this point he's used to his little cousin getting chased down by the cops too.

"What's happening at Chester and Dan?" You ask looking at the side view mirror, squinting at the piercing blue and red flashes.

"Sinners are doing a couple rounds before the big race tomorrow. Join us, it'll be fun."

You sigh at your cousin's billionth attempt to get you acquainted with the Sinners. He's been trying ever since he first started as a general member of the club to now, the leader of the street race club.

"We'll see, I'm kind of in the middle of something," you shout over the sound of the tires screeching from a sharp turn you just made.

"Ugh! I'm not gullible like the other fucks in your life. Don't 'we'll see' me thinking it'll keep me satisfied and off your back for a while."

"I'm busy."

"Just step on the gas you pussy, going past two hundred won't kill you."

With a roll of your eyes, you think that you've entertained Anton's wishes enough and hung up the phone with the determination to lose the cops and deliver the 1969 Ford Mustang you're driving in one piece.

Twenty minutes later, a handful full of sharp turns later and momentarily stopping to let a group of duckling cross the street, you were finally at your destination.

"Car looks good to me," the off the grid buyer who introduced himself as John said with an approving nod after surveying the vintage black vehicle for quite some time.

You let out a breath. You've made your fair share of deliveries over the years, and just like Anton's calls, you never know the type of customer you're gonna get.

Some customers complain about the price of parts, or a scratch on the car that doesn't exist or they go back on their word and attempt to haggle the price to something ridiculous.

"Nice work kid," John says handing you the promised amount you both settled on a couple weeks prior. You didn't have to count the stash of cash to know that all of it was there.

"Finally," you sigh, smiling at the wad of cash in your hands and running your thumb along the bills, walking towards the direction of home.

Suddenly a car pulls up. "Give me the cash or give me your life. Your choice." Before you can register the words, you're met with the barrel of a pistol pointed at you through an unrolled passenger side window.

You knew you weren't a fighter nor were you confrontational. Even though you grew up in the tougher parts of the town, your brain is what got you out of your predicaments. If you were a fighter you wouldn't be spending your life stealing, fixing and selling cars.

Laughter interrupted you from handing over the cash. Confused, you focus on the face holding the glock, and all previous thoughts disappeared and was now replaced with relief and anger.

"What the fuck Anton!" you angrily say, hopping into the passenger seat of the car next to your laughing cousin.

You knew better than to question the fact that your cousin had a gun. When you're the leader of a street race club, you need protection. Especially when all the other club owners own a gun, and fights always break out.

"You should've seen your face," he slips out in his fit of laughter, beginning to drive off as his cousin settles in his car.

"I thought you were street smart, you know better than to walk around this time flaunting your cash."

"I can handle myself, but yeah I should've been more careful. I was just a little excited finally getting paid," You admit, recalling the rut you've recently been in and the struggles you and your mother have recently been facing to make ends meet.

Anton acknowledges the response, "You know you could always ask me for help?

"My mom wouldn't take it."

Anton let's out a loud sigh, "No offense dude, but I don't get your mom's deal. She acts as if I'm the reason our dads are dead."

You wince at the mention of your dead fathers. Sometimes you wonder how Anton could talk about this stuff so easily. "You just resemble Uncle so much, and to be fair you are following the same path as him."

Anton's father and yours, who were brothers, founded the Sinner's Race Club. Anton's dad had always been your father's right-hand man in races, often riding in the passenger seat. During a high-stakes race meant to settle a territory dispute, the brakes on your father's car failed, and both men were pronounced dead at the scene.

Since then, your mom understandably kept you away from cars, Anton, and anything related to the race club. She forbade you from getting a driver's license and doesn't even know you have one. Hiding it wasn't difficult, though, given that your family has more pressing expenses than a car.

"Alright, we're here," Your cousin announces, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I still think you should show up tomorrow. Sleep on it."

You step out of the car, once Anton puts the money you made from your sale in a spare backpack he had. So your mom wouldn't ask questions.

"How was your shift?" your mom asks from the couch as you walk through the door.

"Fine, just sore from lifting all those boxes," you lie smoothly.

"Hmm, get to bed early tonight."

As you head toward your room, her voice calls out again. "Oh, and Y/n," she says, making you turn back. "That better not have been Anton dropping you off."

You stay silent and head to bed, unsure of what tomorrow will bring.

————

"How the hell does your mom not catch on? She really thinks some warehouse gig's got you pullin' in forty grand at a time?"

You wipe the sweat of your brow, while you grab a car wrench. "She doesn't know I make that much, I help pay the rent and get food on our table. The rest I save."

"Smart. So, what's the big plan? Get outta Brimstone? Buy yourself a mansion in Summer Valley?" Mason sneers condescendingly.

This morning, you woke up to a text from Anton that convinced you to at least help prep the cars for tonight's big race, even if you don't plan on showing up. Now, you find yourself at the Brimstone Sinner's garage, the garage where you do your car modifications which sits at the edge of Sinner territory.

The place is buzzing with other club members scattered around, working on various cars. You, Anton, and—unfortunately—Mason, a friend of Anton's, who somehow wormed his way into the conversation, are huddled by the main cars, making sure they're in prime condition for the race.

"Ay! Stop distracting my best mechanic!" Anton shouts over the hood of the car to Mason.

Before you knew it you were rolling under the car via the creeper to work on the underside of the car. As you were finishing up you suddenly heard the garage go dead silent, but you didn't know why since your view was limited.

You hear Anton break the silence, "You got some fucking nerve walking into my garage asshat."

As you were lying on your back you could see about one foot from the ground up. You couldn't see who it was, but you could tell where they were from. The grey Dior dunks paired with the most unfashionable pants ever told you everything you needed to know.

Someone from Summer Valley is here.

Then came the laugh. That short, arrogant chuckle, the kind that practically exhaled wealth. Privilege. The very thing you despised.

"Just wanted to see you pussies before you lose all your dignity—oh and your garage. I'm already imagining what I'm gonna do with the place," the voice laughs again.

The conversation around you fades as your mind fixates on a single phrase. Lose the garage? Your hand curls into a tight fist, knuckles turning white. Did your dumbass cousin actually gamble the garage for tonight's race?

You try to focus your hearing, trying to see if anyone else is upset by the fact. But it's silent, they're unfazed, indifferent to the fact that Anton—the club's supposed leader—might have just wagered the club's most valuable asset. Property. You let out a sharp exhale. This is exactly what you couldn't stand about racers. They're all thrill-seeking junkies who only care about going fast. Does no one else here realize the gravity of losing this garage?

Anton snaps you back to reality. "Percy you ain't riding tonight if you're dead. Now get the fuck out before you catch a bullet."

Percy.

Leader of the Summer Valley Vipers. Just another privileged trust fund brat, bored one summer, who saw that the kids on the wrong side of the tracks had a race club and wanted in. So formed his own club. For the Vipers, racing was a hobby. For anyone from Brimstone? It was survival.

Once the obnoxious figure in those ridiculous pants left the garage, you rolled out from under the car, wiping grease from your hands. A quick glance around told you that everyone had already returned to their tasks, like the tense exchange with the Viper hadn't even happened.

Jaw clenched, you stomped over to Anton and gave him a firm nudge—just hard enough to make your frustration clear. "What the hell, Ant?"

Anton, mid-conversation with Madison—one of the club's members—turned to face you, exhaling a cloud of smoke. His brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"What? Seriously?" you snap. "What was Pissy going on about, losing the garage?"

He let out a long, drawn-out sigh before flicking the ash off his cigarette. "Relax, Y/n. It's just to raise the stakes, nothing serious."

"Nothing serious?" you say, mirroring his words once again. "This is my fucking livelihood, I can't live without this garage Ant? Where else am I going to fix cars?!"

Anton calmy takes one last drag, puts out his cigarette, and gestures for you to follow him outside of the garage, away from the rest of the club members.

Once you were outside Anton wasted no time in getting to the point.

"I'm only gonna say this once, Y/n. Don't ever talk to me like that in front of my people again. I run this crew."

His gaze softened slightly as he added, "I know we're family, but out here, I gotta be their leader. You get me?"

You nod understanding the politics of running a club like this. It wasn't simple and it wasn't like Anton was being rude to you.

"Now kid, listen to me very closely." Anton starts, his eyes narrowing, words firm.

You hated when he called you "kid," and Anton damn well knew it. He was only three years older, but you decided to bite your tongue this time, sensing he had something important to say.

"You don't take risks," he said, his voice steady.

You opened your mouth to cut him off, but he quickly held up a hand, his words rushing out before you could get a word in. "—hold on, let me finish! I know you think stealing cars, making illegal mods, and dodging the feds is risky—and yeah, it is... for most people. But not for you. You're too good at it. It's not a risk when you know you're always gonna pull it off. You're in your comfort zone. You don't even flinch anymore."

You crossed your arms, shaking your head. "I don't need the gamble, Ant. Why would I put myself in a position to lose something—everything?"

"But why wouldn't you?" Anton fires back passionately.

For a moment neither of you say anything.

"That's the problem, Y/n," he said finally, his voice low. "You don't take real risks anymore because you're afraid to lose. But sometimes... you gotta lose something to really win. You know what I'm saying?"

You frowned, not fully understanding. "What's that even supposed to mean? I'm not trying to play some high-stakes game just for the thrill of it."

"That's not what I'm talking about, kid. I'm saying there's more to life than just getting by. You can't just keep doing the same shit because it's easy and familiar. You gotta challenge yourself, push yourself outta that comfort zone. That's where the real reward is."

You shifted uncomfortably, not liking where the conversation was headed. "So what, you want me to throw myself into danger for no reason? What are you really getting at, Ant?"

His gaze stayed steady, not backing down. "I'm talking about the garage. Everything we've built. If you keep playing it safe, we'll stay small. But if we take some risks? We could grow this into something huge, we could run the city, Y/n."

His words hung in the air, heavy. You hesitated, feeling the pressure. "And what's the catch?"

A slow smirk crept onto his face as he leaned in. "The catch is, we go all in, or we lose it all."

Your head shook slightly, confused and uneasy. Anton sounded insane right now, with all this talk of taking over the city. "I don't know," you muttered, your voice wavering.

"I'm not saying you have to. Maybe this," he said, gesturing around the garage and the cars. "...isn't your thing, and that's fine. But you've got to find what is. What's your purpose, your drive Y/n/n? What makes your heart race? What's worth risking everything for?"

————

"Just get home safe, and grab me a pack of cigarettes on your way," your mom says, her tone casual. You exhale, relieved she let you leave without too many questions.

After your talk with Anton, and spending hours tuning up cars for the race, you head home, but your mind lingers on what your cousin said earlier. His words hit deeper than you care to admit—he was right. You've been stuck in your comfort zone for far too long, and you can't even remember the last time you did something that pushed your boundaries.

So, here you are, lying to your mom about getting called in for a late night shift when in reality, you're on your way to the race between the Sinners and Vipers.

Anton was practically beaming when you told him you were finally coming to the race. He couldn't wait to give you a ride to the track.

"Took me, what—six years? Finally got you to show up," Anton shakes his head, laughing as you slide into the passenger seat.

You ignore his teasing, cutting straight to the point. "You nervous?"

"Nah, fuck no. Pussy's a trash driver—he's got nothing on me."

Your eyes widen. "Wait, this is a title race?"

You didn't realize the leaders of both clubs were squaring off tonight. A title race meant more than bragging rights—both sides were gambling big, this race could mean life or death for both clubs.

You were about to ask what else Anton had on the line besides the garage, but the car suddenly surged forward, the burst of speed nearly throwing you out of your seat.

"What the hell! Slow down!" you shout, gripping the armrest tightly.

"Relax, I'm not even hitting two hundred yet—"

The older driver begins to roll his windows up, a sign that he wants to go even faster. The world outside blurred as the engine roared, drowning out the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears.

"Anton. Stop." Your voice is steady, firmer than ever leaving no room for argument.

The driver sighs, gradually slowing the car down to legal road limits. "You need to get over it eventually Y/n."

Those were the last words said for the remainder of the ride, you didn't want to argue with your cousin before he has one of the biggest races of his life. He knew why you were antsy with the going beyond a certain speed limit. He knew. Of course, he knew. The crash. The speed. The helplessness you felt back then. You gritted your teeth, willing yourself not to dwell on it, not to bring it up again.

You finally pull into the track, and your eyes widen in awe. It's like you were stepping onto the movie set of Fast and Furious. The area is packed with custom cars, their paint jobs gleaming under the glow of neon lights and street lamps, unique to fit the personality of each driver. Engines roar and rev, filling the air with a pulse that matches the energy of the crowd. People are everywhere—leaning against cars, laughing, shouting over the music blasting from speakers.

The race course itself stretches down a wide, abandoned road, littered with warehouses and graffiti-covered walls. Smoke drifts in the air from burning rubber, and the smell of gasoline is thick. You can feel the intensity of the competition buzzing in the air. This wasn't just a race—it was a spectacle, alive with adrenaline and danger.

Anton slowly turns into beneath a large abandoned overpass that you've often heard was a hotspot for racers and ragers. You pan your eyes across the windshield and immediately spot the rival race crews: a sea of black jackets to the right and a wall of red to the left, each group eyeing each other with the tension only moments from snapping.

You were so caught up in the moment you didn't even notice Anton turn the volume up as he played I Don't Fuck with You by Big Sean while rolling past the Viper's crew. Typical Anton—always stirring the pot. The Vipers glared but didn't act, clearly aware of who you were. You both look at each other and laugh as you join the rest of your crew a bit further into the underpass.

As your cousin parks the car he grabs something from the back seat and tosses it onto your lap—a black leather jacket.

You stared at it for a moment. The design was unmistakable. A large, detailed skull with flames rising behind it, symbolizing both danger and speed. The club's name, Sinners, arched above the skull in bold gothic, tattoo-style font. The club your father founded. The legacy you never wanted.

Your chest tightened as you ran your fingers over the smooth leather. Putting it on would be more than just an outfit choice—it would be an open declaration of association. Your mom would kill you if she ever found out.

Sensing your hesitation, Anton laughed. "Relax, I can see the steam coming out of your head from here. You don't have to wear it, alright? Just throw it over your shoulder or something. People need to know who you're with, that's all."

With that, you both stepped out of the car, and the cheers erupted. They were loud, wild, and unmistakably for Anton—he was their leader. But as the energy surged through the crowd, you couldn't help but wonder if a few of those cheers were meant for you. After all, it was your first time showing up to a race.

As you slipped into the crowd, a few familiar faces greeted you with nods and casual grins, clearly surprised to see you here. You exchanged small talk with some of the members, their conversations a mix of race gossip, bets, and tales of past victories. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, but as the minutes ticked by, you felt the need to break away, the noise and energy overwhelming you.

Stepping out from the cluster of people, you wandered toward the edge of the underpass, taking in the scene. The place was massive—graffiti-streaked pillars towering above, just like the one you were leaning against.

You took this moment to observe the Vipers. You've always had the displeasure of seeing the odd one or two while you were out doing your runs, but this is the first time you've seen the entire crew together. Your eyes land on a certain member. Percy. The only one that had a leader patch on the right sleeve of his jacket, an absurd attempt to assert dominance. You laugh at how lame this guy is. Anton exudes leader, he didn't need a patch on his sleeve reminding everyone he is one.

As you continue making your observations about the Vipers, from the corner of your eye, you noticed movement—someone else seeking the same kind of quiet as you. You glanced over, and there she was, leaning against the opposite side of the same pillar as you. The roar of engines and the blaring music made it easy to miss each other until now.

She was alone, her red jacket slung casually over her arm, a cigarette between her fingers. The contrast of her dark hair against the dim lighting made her stand out even more, and for a moment, she hadn't noticed you.

You tried not to stare, but there was something magnetic about her presence—like the calm before a storm. She flicked her eyes in your direction and froze, her gaze locking onto yours as if she wasn't expecting company either.

She glanced up at the black jacket draped over your shoulder, then at her own red one, casually slung over her arm. With a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk, she broke the silence.

"Guess neither of us is feeling the uniform tonight, huh?" she said, flicking ash from her cigarette, her voice low and surprisingly soft.

Of course her voice had to be the sexiest thing you've ever heard. You remained silent, not because you wanted to, but you didn't know how to respond. This is the first time you've ever spoken to a Viper—a hot Viper at that. You didn't know how to interact with a pretty girl, let alone someone who should be your sworn rival.

"Didn't think anyone else would find this spot," she sighs, not sure if she was saying it to you or outloud to herself.

You pushed off the pillar slightly, offering a small shrug. "Needed a breather."

She smirked, exhaling smoke slowly. "Yeah? Thought you Sinners thrived on chaos."

You glanced at the jacket hanging over your shoulder, then back at her. "Guess I'm not like the others." You weren't going to explain to a stranger that you technically aren't a Sinner but you also are.

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Clearly." There was a pause, then she gave you a once-over, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "So, what's a Sinner doing hiding out here, away from the action?"

You crossed your arms, feeling the pull of the conversation. "Could ask you the same thing. Vipers don't usually stray from their pack."

She let out a soft laugh, the sound almost lost in the night air. "Maybe I needed a break from all the posturing. You know how it is."

Posturing. What an interesting way to put it you thought to yourself. She wasn't wrong, but it was an oddly honest thing to bring up barely thirty seconds into the conversation. As intrigued as you are, you're also cautious.

You glanced her over in return, taking in her outfit—black combat boots, short black shorts, and a plain white tee, almost identical to the one you were wearing. It was shocking to see a girl from Summer Valley dressed so simply. But the simplicity suited her. She didn't need to be extravagant to stand out, if it wasn't for the jacket on her arm, you would've totally mistaken her for a flag girl, the ones who countdown the race. You've always heard that they're the most beautiful girls on the track, but clearly it wasn't the case tonight.

Your eyes met again, and something unspoken hung in the air between you. Two people from rival crews, both stepping away from the world that defined them.

She held your gaze. You didn't know what it was behind those intense brown eyes. Hatred, curiosity, attraction, a cry for help? You couldn't tell, but you also didn't want to define it. Defining it may mean having to look away. And you didn't want that. Maybe she didn't either, you doubt she would force herself to stay here with you if she didn't want to.

The universe however, had other plans. The voice of one of the flag girls crackled through the megaphone, cutting through the tension. "The big day is finally here!" The rest of her corny speech faded into the background as your focus remained on the girl in front of you. She tore her eyes from yours, sighed, and glanced back at her club.

"I have to go. See you around, Greaser."

"Greaser?" you echoed, raising a brow.

She smirked, giving you a slow, deliberate once-over before turning away.

As much as you wanted to watch her walk away, curiosity tugged at you, pulling your gaze down. You glanced at yourself and chuckled softly—faded blue jeans, white tee, and a black leather jacket. Yeah, you did kind of look like a greaser tonight.

But then you saw it. A grease stain on your shirt. You chuckled softly. So that's why.

You decided it was time to head back to your group. You return a bit more upbeat than when you'd left. As you approached, you noticed Anton climbing into the car you'd been working on earlier with the crew gathered around, wishing him luck before the race. That's when he spotted you at the edge of the crowd and waved you over. The group parted, and soon you were standing face to face with Anton.

"You look happy. Having fun?" he shouted over the roar of his engine and Percy's nearby.

"It's been pretty cool," you replied with a shrug, nodding along—though it wasn't the race itself you were enjoying, but who it had brought here.

Anton hummed in approval before dapping you up and pulling you into a quick hug. "I'll see you in a bit," he grinned, hyping up his team one last time before sliding into the driver's seat, Mason settling into the passenger side.

As Anton shut his door, your eyes drifted to the car next to his. You watched Percy with his crew, their energy almost a mirror of your own. But then you saw something that left you utterly confused.

The mystery girl. She was on her tiptoes, arms wrapped around Percy's neck in a hug that felt way too intimate for your liking.

Is she his girl? Disgusting. More thoughts crept in, but you quickly shut it down. She was a Viper, and you'd only talked to her for ten minutes. You didn't get to feel some type of way about it. She was just...intriguing. Nothing more.

You shook your head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Focus on the race, focus on Anton. You told yourself.

You take a step back and settle in a spot between Madison and Hunter as the flag girls strutted to the front of the starting line, their boots clicking against the asphalt. One girl raised a checkered flag high, her red lips curled into a seductive smile as she glanced at both drivers. The other girl held the megaphone to her lips.

"Racers, are you ready?!" Her voice echoed across the lot, the engines revving in response.

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!" Time seemed to slow. The crowd held its breath, and for a split second all that existed was the hum of engines, the gleam of metal, and the flashing lights.

Then, with a flick of her wrist, the flag girl swung the checkered flag down, and the cars exploded off the line.

Anton's car launched forward, while Percy's stayed right on his tail, neck and neck. The crowd erupted into cheers, the sheer speed of the cars leaving only a blur of metal behind them as they tore down the street.

With the cars gone you had nothing left to distract you from your thoughts. What were you genuinely doing here, you ask yourself.

Your eyes wandered back to the spot where you had last seen her. That girl—the one who had slipped into your mind with just a few words and a lingering look. Now, with Percy racing down the track, she stood with another Viper. This one was taller, with short hair, and they were both laughing, completely at ease with each other.

You laugh in disbelief shaking your head. This didn't seem like posturing to you, she seemed like she had fit right in. But again you catch yourself thinking, why were you even upset? She never said she hated her crew, she never said anything that implied she was like you, and now you wonder if you interpreted your interaction with her to something you wanted it to be rather than what it actually was.

The thought crept in, unwelcome. Maybe you were projecting your own loneliness, your desire to feel seen, onto someone who didn't even feel the same way. Someone who was just passing time in a moment. She was a Viper, fully a part of this world, while you were just an outsider passing through.

You turned to Madison and Hunter. "I'm gonna grab a drink. You guys want anything?"

They shook their heads, and you made your way to one of the cars stocked with drinks in the trunk. You opted for a soda rather than a beer.

You leaned against the car, slowly sipping your soda and trying to clear your head. The night had taken a strange turn—what started as excitement was now muddy with emotions you weren't sure how to handle. The hum of conversation and the occasional laughter from nearby crews were the only sounds cutting through the noise in your mind.

Then, suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.

It was subtle at first, a ripple of unease passing through the crowd. You heard hushed whispers and saw people glancing toward the far end of the lot. Then, like a wave crashing down, the sound of sirens pierced the night.

"Cops!" someone yelled, and the panic spread like wildfire.

People scrambled in every direction, grabbing their things and sprinting for their cars. Engines roared to life, and tires screeched as racers and spectators alike tried to escape before the police descended on the scene.

You tossed your soda to the ground, adrenaline surging through you as you looked around for Madison and Hunter, but they were already sprinting towards the opposite direction with the rest of the crew. You turned to follow, but something made you stop.

She wasn't moving.

In the chaos, you spotted her standing in the middle of the lot, frozen, her eyes wide but not making any attempt to run. She wasn't panicked—she looked more...indifferent, like the flashing red and blue lights didn't mean anything to her.

Without thinking, you darted towards her. Your heart pounded in your chest as you weaved through the fleeing crowd, the sound of sirens growing louder by the second. When you reached her, you didn't hesitate—you grabbed her arm and pulled her.

"Come on!" you shouted over the noise, but she barely reacted, her feet stumbling as you dragged her away from the open lot.

You didn't stop until you reached the mouth of a narrow alleyway between two buildings. You pulled her into the shadows, pressing your back against the wall as you caught your breath. She was in front of you, calm in a way that made no sense considering the chaos unfolding behind you.

She gazed at you, a hint of amusement in her eyes as she was catching her breath. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

You shot her a look, exasperated. "You're welcome."

The distant sound of police radios crackled through the air as you both stood in silence, waiting for the madness to pass.

"You really should be more careful," you said, trying to break the silence. "It's not safe out there, especially with the cops around."

She shrugged, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I guess I'm just used to it. But I appreciate the concern."

You couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and curiosity. "So, what do you usually do in moments like this? Just... stand around?"

Her laughter was light, almost melodic. "Well, not exactly. Usually, I'd just blend in and keep my head down. But you've thrown a bit of a wrench in that plan."

"Is that a bad thing?" you asked, intrigued.

"Not necessarily," she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But it's definitely unexpected."

You took a step closer, feeling the distance between you narrow. "And here I thought I was just being a good Samaritan."

"Good Samaritan, huh?" She raised an eyebrow, playful yet cautious. "Seems like you might be getting in over your head, then."

"Maybe I like the thrill," you shot back, trying to keep the mood light. But beneath the banter, you both knew the stakes were higher than either of you wanted to admit.

"Well, be careful what you wish for," she said softly, her expression shifting momentarily to something more serious. "Not everything is as exciting as it seems."

You paused, trying to decipher her words. There was a depth to her that hinted at more than she was letting on. But before you could ask, she turned her gaze back to the alley,

Your phone suddenly dinged, breaking the tension. You glanced at it and saw a message from Mason.

"Seems like the cops cut the race short. Your crew lives to see another day."

You chuckled, but she didn't respond, just watching you with her doe eyes. You thought about what it would be like to give in.

But just then, the light caught her wrist, glinting off the expensive bracelet she wore. The sight of it sent a jolt through you—a stark reminder that she was from Summer Valley, a Viper, and probably a handful you couldn't handle.

The realization hit hard, and you felt a rush of uncertainty. She was part of a world you didn't want to dive into, no matter how intriguing she might be.

You decide to walk off, out of the alley.

"Hey! Where are you going?" she called out, jogging to catch up.

"Home. The cops seem to be gone," you replied, keeping your tone light, words short.

The brown-eyed girl looked confused, she thought you were building a connection. Now you were suddenly dismissive, leaving without a word, and you could see her trying to process it.

"...Wait, um..." she stammered, hesitating as if searching for the right words.

You turned back, sensing the moment hanging between you. You had a feeling you knew what she was going to say, and a knot formed in your stomach.

You took a step back, breaking the spell. "I really should go," you said, your voice firm, not giving her a chance to speak. You turned away, leaving her standing there, a mixture of confusion and disappointment on her face.

With that, you turned and walked deeper into the night. You could feel her watching you, but you kept moving, the weight of your decision heavy in your chest. But telling her your name would mean chaos.

As you navigated the alley, Anton's words echoed in your mind. "Maybe this isn't your thing, and that's fine. But you've got to find what is. What's your purpose, your drive? What makes your heart race? What's worth risking everything for?"

You were sure it wasn't her. As much as you felt a connection, you couldn't get further involved with the race world. She was just a pretty girl you met, and seemed to have some semblance of intellectuality. You know how this ends and its not pretty. You had responsibilities waiting at home—your mom counting on you, the weight of family expectations pressing down like a heavy fog. You had to figure things out on your own, even if it meant leaving her behind.

You can't just be the calculated person that you are and then immediately start taking risks because your cousin told you to. This was your nature. Careful.

Still, a part of you wondered if the real risk was not in chasing the girl but in denying yourself the chance to discover what could truly make your heart race.

next chapter

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imaginespazzi · 18 days ago

Text

Part 12: Fleeting Moments Of Forever

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

I let my guard down and you pulled the rug (I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved)

(In which a depressed by recent events author spreads her depression)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff if you squint really hard, Hurt with a little bit of comfort if you squint really hard again (basically just squint you guys!)

Words: 12.3K

TW: Swearing (as per usual), a man (ew), brief reference to parental abandonment

A/N: Good morning/night my lovelies <3 Not quite sure what to say when it's one in the morning and I'm slightly delirious but I'm only a couple of hours late with this. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm sure I will once again be spammed with asks calling me evil, but remember lovelies, it's for the plot! I will be editing this chapter at some point tomorrow because I just really don't have the energy to edit but I wanted to get this out for you guys by tonight. So if you're reading tonight and see mistakes, please feel free to point them out and I'll fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see in the future. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves!

May 2033

~ A few minutes ago ~

Azzi feels like shit as she runs up the stairs behind her daughter. She feels like a shit mother, she feels like a shit sister-in-law-sort-of-kinda-thing and most of all she feels like a shit ex-girlfriend-turned-complicated-current-situationship-or-whatever. And saying those complicated relationship titles in her head only makes her feel worse. Because really it should’ve been so simple; it had been so simple. And Azzi had chosen to make everything complicated and difficult instead.

Drew’s words had been like a shot going down wrong, an accusation she knew she deserved but one that stung all the same. Paige’s silence -the fact that she hadn’t been able to give Azzi the assurance that she’d forgiven her- had been like the terrible chaser after that only made her feel more nauseous. And the after effects of it had been Azzi exploding all her feelings on her baby girl who’d just wanted some damn soda.

Letting the guilt fester, Azzi pushes open the door to Paige’s bedroom to find Stephie cuddled up against lavender pillows, one of Paige’s few hoodies that hadn’t made it to the Fudd household draped around her tiny little body. Azzi’s heart constricts at the sound of her daughter’s hiccoughs, tightening even more when she notices the wet patch Stephie’s tears have created against the pillow.

“Stephie-bean,” she says softly as she climbs onto the bed, reaching out to brush a hand across the little girl’s curled up frame.

“Go away Mama. I’m mad at you,” Stephie’s petulant reply is immediate as she shrugs off Azzi’s hand, furling away further into herself.

“I know sweetheart-”

“You yelled at me,” Stephie continues, trying to keep her voice as firm as a five-year old’s can be but it’s too many emotions for such a little soul and Azzi can hear the telltale sign of a fresh new set of tears just waiting to fall.

She tries again, gently pulling Stephie’s back against her chest and this time, there’s little resistance as the little girl goes easily into her mother’s arms. Azzi tightens her arms around Stephie’s waist, pressing a litany of featherlight kisses into her hair in between apologies, “I’m sorry. Mama’s so sorry sweetheart. I shouldn’t’ve yelled like that baby-”

“No you shouldn’t’ve,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, as she turns her body around to face her mother’s and Azzi’s hands instinctively move to wipe away the tears tracks on her face, “you were so loud. I don’t like when you yell.”

“I know bean,” Azzi says, the tight grip of remorse squeezing her heart harder at the melancholy in her daughter’s words, “but Stephie baby you know soda’s bad for you-”

“But it’s Friday Mama and I only wanted a little,” the little girl whines immediately, “I swear Mama I would’ve only had a little bit and then I would brushed my teeth so hard and they’d be sparkling white like this,” she pulls her cheeks wide open so she can bare her pearly white teeth at her mother, “see!”

And despite that heavy pit in her stomach, Azzi can’t help the slight peal of laughter that rumbles throughout her and elicits a matching grin from her daughter. She ruffles the little girl’s hair before pulling her flush against herself, Stephie’s head burrowing itself into the crook of her neck and for the first time tonight, Azzi finally feels like she can breathe again. Because at the end of the day, what matters most is the child wrapped securely in her arms and as long as she has Stephie, Azzi thinks, no matter what, she’ll find a way to survive. For Stephie.

Something soft and fluffy brushes against her skin and Azzi reluctantly unfocuses from Stephie to find that the arm of the hoodie that had previously been draped over her daughter’s body, is now wrapped around both of them. Paige’s hoodie. She stares at the material, eyes blinking back tears as that wretched feeling of something’s missing whirls around her. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling; this secret craving that Azzi had often found herself hiding away from when she and Stephie were alone. A craving to have Paige there too, a craving for the two of them to be cradled in the blonde’s strong arms, a craving for this almost perfect picture to be complete. And now that she’s had a taste of what it’s like to have that - these past few weeks having felt like a tester of what it could be like to live in a dream that Azzi had thought she was no longer allowed to dream- Azzi wants nothing more than for it to be permanent.

Another wave of guilt crashes against her as her mind flickers back to the bitter note she’d ended the conversation down stairs on. The stinging emphasis she’d placed on my daughter echoes loudly in her ears and even though Azzi knows that technically she hadn’t said anything untrue, the image of Paige’s face falling -the sparkle in her eyes dimming at the reality of the younger woman’s words- makes Azzi’s heart stutter with regret. There’s a part of her that thinks it’s all happening too fast, a part of her that’s in a constant duel with the rest of herself that’s ready to call Stephie theirs. And she knows it’s only been a couple of weeks -knows that it’s a little insane to have already carved out a place for forever on a shelf that’s plagued with uncertainties- but the truth is that there’s always been an unfilled space in Azzi and Stephie’s world that’s just been waiting for Paige to step in and claim it. It’s always been hers; they’ve always been hers.

“Mama,” Stephie’s quiet voice mumbles against her chest and Azzi distractedly hums in return, “why does Miss Buecks have to learn to say no to me?”

“Because she likes to say yes a little too much and she definitely likes to say yes to you but if she keeps saying yes all the time, she’s gonna spoil you. Well more than you already are that is,” Azzi teases goodnaturedly, tugging at Stephie’s nose.

The little girl pouts loudly before indignantly refuting her mother’s statement, “I am not spoiled. I’m a good girl. A very good girl. A very, very, very, very, very-”

‘Okay, okay, okay,” Azzi says, hushing the little girl with a slight laugh before she can continue to repeat herself, “you’re my very good girl who’s just a little bit spoiled.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Stephie admits, scrunching her nose, “but how come you never make Aunty Leen or Aunty J or Aunty Tessie or any of your other teammates say no to me?”

“Because-well,” Azzi struggles to find the words, “Miss Buecks is- she’s just- it’s different and she’s around a lot more,” she’s around all the time, “and so she’s gotta learn to say no to you sometimes.”

“Like Pops had to learn to say no to me if he wanted to keep helping Nana babysit?” Stephie asks earnestly and Azzi laughs at the reminder of how she and Katie had basically had to force Tim into learning how to say no to his persuasive granddaughter.

“Yeah something like that,” she says with an amused grin.

“So Miss Buecks is like-” Stephie pauses, hesitating slightly before a soft smile -one that bears an uncanny resemblance to the one her mother sometimes has when thinking of the same woman- appears on her face, “she’s like family?”

Azzi’s breath hitches in her throat; the delicate mix of sincerity and innocence in her daughter’s voice makes her pause. Because Stephie says it like it’s the most simple yet most important truth in the word, that’s it’s common knowledge she’s known all her life. Paige is family.

“Yeah,” the brunette breathes out finally, the edges of her lips slightly upturning into a grin that matches her daughter’s, “I guess she is.”

Stephie nods quietly as she mulls over her mother’s answer and Azzi can practically see the cogs turning in her brain before her daughter’s dark brown thoughtful eyes look back up at her, “so does that mean we can keep Miss Buecks forever?”

“I-’

“I mean cause you said she’s family right?” Stephie babbles on, ignoring the way Azzi’s eyes have widened considerably, “and family- family is forever right Mama? That’s what they say? So- so if Miss Buecks is family that means she has to stay forever? We get to keep her forever?”

Azzi blinks rapidly at the onslaught of words falling from her daughter’s lips. Stephie makes it sound so simple; she makes a forever with the three of them sound like a given, like something that’s meant to be. And it makes her think of that night eight years ago, when Paige had made it sound just as simple.

Be mine forever.

It was Azzi who had made it complicated; obsolete even.

But, she thinks, she won’t this time. As she looks back down at her daughter, the hopeful smile on Stephie’s face as she awaits Azzi’s answer, feels a little bit like fate is giving her another chance; a clear sky to re-write her own destiny in the stars. This time, with Paige.

“Do you- do you want that,” Azzi asks slowly, “do you want to keep Miss Buecks forever?”

If possible Stephie’s smile grows even larger as she gives her mother what can only be described as a ‘duh’ look, “of course Mama. I want Miss Buecks forever and ever and ever. You want that too don’t you Mama?”

Azzi pauses for a second, letting herself be immersed in the idea.

“Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes suddenly misty. And she knows that there’s still so much left unresolved, that tonight had revealed a chiasm of problems they’d have to still build a bridge over to get back to each other. But for a chance at a forever Azzi had thought she’d long forsaken, Azzi’s willing to try, “yeah I think I’d like to keep Miss Buecks forever too.”

The squeal Stephie lets out practically bounces off the walls in tandem with the little girl springing off the bed and Azzi laughs as her daughter wraps her small hands around her mother’s much larger ones, trying to tug her along.

“Stephie wait sweetheart, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

Stephie sighs impatiently, “we’re going to Miss Buecks, Mama. We can’t just make this decision without her,” she continues matter-of-factly, “we have to tell her.”

“Tell her what Stephie?” Azzi laughs as she finally lets her daughter pull her off the bed and start dragging her out the door.

“We have to tell her that she’s family and we have to tell her that we want to keep her forever.”

***

They’re about halfway down the stairs when Azzi begins to hear the whispered hissing of an argument between Paige and Drew going on in the kitchen and she feels dread wrap itself around her whole body. It doesn’t take a genius to gauge that it’s likely about her -more specifically about her and Paige’s relationship- and suddenly it feels like something dark has been cast all over her, stomping out the brightness that she’d felt just mere moments ago.

Azzi hesitates on the last few steps, causing Stephie to impatiently look up at her as she contemplates whether or not to interrupt whatever altercation is going on in the kitchen. For as long as she’d known them, Paige and Drew had never seriously fought but then again, when Azzi had known them, Drew had been a child; a kid who would never have doubted his sister's decision, or Azzi’s for that matter. But the man that had walked into their lives tonight is one that had been witness -perhaps even a victim- to all the terrible decisions the two of them had made in the last eight years. It’s only natural, Azzi thinks, that he’d be wary of their relationship. He’d seen the burn marks that their relationship catching on fire had left on his sister’s skin and it was only natural that he’d blame the woman who’d held the matches.

“Mama,” Stephie presses as she tugs at Azzi’s hand, “come on,” she whines, “I wanna see Miss Buecks.”

“Steph-” Azzi tries to say, her instincts going haywire when she hears Paige’s voice more clearly now -stop it Drew- but then Stephie pulls hard and she’s practically tripping down the rest of the stairs, trying to keep balance as the little girl holding her hand continues to drag her towards the kitchen.

They’re still speaking too quietly for Azzi to pick up exactly what they’re saying but there’s a resigned urgency in Drew’s voice and a fearful sadness in Paige’s that makes bile rise at the back of her throat and suddenly Azzi’s very sure that whatever this conversation is, she really doesn’t want to hear it. But her feet keep moving, letting Stephie lead the way as the claws of it takes a second for everything to fall apart sink into her heart.

“-there’s a reason you only wanted to be here for this season,” Azzi hears Drew say as they finally reach the kitchen door and she forces Stephie to a halt. Every part of her is screaming to take her daughter and turn away, to not listen to wherever this conversation she clearly wasn’t meant to hear is going.

“I know,” Paige whispers and Azzi’s heart stutters as she takes in the blonde’s red-rimmed eyes as she leans against the table, “I know.”

Azzi opens her mouth, ready to alert the brother-sister duo of their presence but before she can say anything, Drew’s speaking again and as the words roll out of his mouth, Azzi feels her blood run cold.

“Stick to the plan Paige. Let the Liberty be the end goal. You’ll be in New York by the end of October.”

The plan. Liberty. New York. October.

The words run around in a frenzy through Azzi’s brain creating a mixture of confusion battling with the sense of an unwanted realization that makes her feel dizzy. It’s like someone pricking a needle against the bubble of forever she’d just let herself believe in and there’s a loud pop echoing in her head. The noise hurts. Azzi had known Paige’s contract with GSV was only for a year; she’d even considered -perhaps even expected- that when Paige had signed it, she probably wasn’t planning on staying forever.

But that was then.

Surely things would be different now.

“Miss Buecks,” Azzi’s dragged out of the cacophony of her mind by the sound of her daughter speaking. Stephie’s voice is wracked with fragility as she clings tightly onto her mother’s hand, her face morphed into a combination of betrayal and please tell me i’m wrong as she looks at Paige, whose face has gone ashen at the sight of the two of them standing by the doorway, “you’re moving to New York?”

“Stephie,” Paige whispers, eyes brimming with tears as she falls to her knees in front of the little girl, hand moving to grip her her shoulders, “sweetheart I-”

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie says again, her usually boisterous tone replaced by a meek, desperate one, “are you going to New York? Are you- are you,” her voice breaks and the next words come out in a barely there whisper, “are you leaving us?”

Say no, Azzi thinks, please say no, say you aren’t leaving, promise you’d never leave. But as she watches Paige open and close her mouth, choking on air as she tries to give an answer, she knows it’s wishful thinking, knows that it’s a promise Paige isn’t going to make.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie’s voice is shaking, holding back her tears as tight as she’s holding onto the hope that Paige will give her the answer she wants- the answer she needs, “are you leaving us?”

“I-” Paige bites her lip, hands running up and down Stephie’s shoulder and arms, almost like she’s trying to memorize what it feels like to be able to touch her, almost like, she’s not sure when she'll get the chance to have her this close again again, “I don’t- I don’t know sweetheart I-”

It’s the wrong answer and Azzi closes her eyes as Paige cuts herself off with a small gasp of air when Stephie rips herself out of the blonde's grasp

“No,” the little girl says harshly, pushing herself behind her mothers legs.

“Stephie-bean,” Paige says helplessly, looking from the little girl to Azzi.

“No, no, no, no,” Stephie says; each no is louder than the last, “how you don’t know? You’re an ‘dult. ‘Dults are big. They know everything so how you don't know Miss Buecks?”

“It’s not that simple bean-” Paige tries to say, her hands outstretched towards the little girl, fingers clenching and unclenching like they don’t know how to be still unless they’re clasping onto her.

“It is,” Stephie yells, “are you leaving us or not? Yes or no Miss Buecks?”

“I-” the blonde splutters, still unsure of what to say.

“Stephie,” it’s Azzi who cuts Paige off this time, opening her eyes as she bends down in front of her daughter, pulling the little girl into a hug, “baby it’s okay. It’s going to be okay-”

“No it’s not,” Stephie screams as she wrangles herself out of her mother’s grip, the force of it causing Azzi to stumble backwards and something like if you’re going to hold me, hold me forever catches in her throat when Paige instinctively reaches out an arm to wrap around the her waist to keep her steady. The contact makes Azzi shiver and she has to fight the urge to let her shoulders relax, the urge to let herself melt into the warmth that Paige has always exuded. They stare at each other for a second, Azzi trying to drown herself in the ocean blue of the blonde’s eyes as Paige tries to find some semblance of stability to hold onto in the brunette’s earthy ones.

“Azzi,” Paige breathes out, that one syllable coated in layers of emotions that Azzi thinks she’d be willing to spend an eternity peeling through if it would bring her one step closer to keeping the woman in front of her from leaving, from going to fucking New York.

“Mama I wanna go home,” Stephie’s adamant voice pierces through the silence and Azzi tears her gaze away from Paige -but not before she can catch a brief glance of the older woman’s face contorting in pain- to look up at her daughter's cloudy face.

“Stephie-bean,” Paige speaks before Azzi can, heartbreak laced in her tone as she practically pleads with the little girl, “sweetheart please-”

“You promised you’d try to stay” Stephie bursts out, big fat tears cascading down her small face, “do you even rem-ber? At Nana and Pops’s house when I was scared you left you promised you’d try. But you’re not- you’re not even trying to stay Miss Buecks,” the little girl accuses, “you- you- you lied to me Miss Buecks.”

“I didn’t Stephie- I didn’t lie-” Paige tries to explain between her own tears and they’re still pressed so close together that Azzi can feel every shake of the older woman’s body against her own, “I didn’t lie sweetheart. I’m still- I’m still trying-”

“You’re not-”

“I am. I am Stephie. It’s just-” Paige’s eyes flicker towards Azzi who flinches at the unspoken implication, “it’s complicated.”

“Then un-comp-icate it,” Stephie stomps her feet petulantly before a series of heavy sobs wracked her tiny body and she heaves loudly, clutching at her chest.

Concern floods through Azzi’s veins as she shuffles towards her daughter, still on her knees and Paige follows her lead, the two of them inching closer, “Stephie-”

Something shifts as Stephie looks at the two of them through tear-stained eyelashes; the anger and fight slowly dissolving into the air. And then, if possible, her face crumples even more before she’s falling into Paige’s lap, one arm tightly wrapping around the blonde’s neck as her other hand reaches out to grab onto Azzi’s bicep, binding the three of them together in a mess of limbs on the cold kitchen floor.

“Please don’t go Miss Buecks,” Stephie wails as Paige clutches the little girl firmly against her chest, her hands brushing through her dark curls as she tries to comfort her, “please, please, please Miss Buecks I don’t want you to go. Don’t go to New York. Please don’t go. Please stay- stay with me and Mama forever. Please Miss Buecks.”

“Stephie-”

“Please don’t leave us Miss Buecks,” Stephie cries, her breathing unnaturally heavy as she shakes in Paige’s arms and Azzi reaches out a hand to soothe her back, trying and failing to keep her own tears at bay. Azzi’s chest tightens as Stephie continues to babble, begging Paige to stay as the blonde continues to hold her, droplets of water streaming down her face as she gently rocks the little girl back and forth. Because despite the way Paige has practically melded Stephie’s little body into her own, Azzi can see the way that the older woman still can’t seem to say the words that the little girl wants to hear, can’t seem to bring herself to guarantee forever. And it feels like the threads of the dream she’d just started weaving, are slipping out of her fingertips.

Azzi doesn’t know how long they sit there -Stephie still pleading in Paige’s arms and Azzi stroking her back- but eventually her daughter’s words begin to turn into nonsense, her breathing slowly evening out until there’s nothing but silence; the gravity of her emotions having lulled her to sleep. The silence is deafening as Azzi tries to figure out what exactly she should do next, take her daughter and run or succumb to that part of herself that wants to follow Stephie’s lead and beg Paige to never leave them. She still doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, what sort of plan Paige has about moving to New York and if she’s honest with herself, there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to know; a part of her that wants to go back to ignorant bliss they’d been living in for the last few weeks. But as she stares at the dried tear tracks staining her daughter’s face -that familiar guilt of all we do is hurt the people around us reverberating between her and Paige- Azzi knows there’s no going back.

“We should talk,” Paige says finally, her voice small as she looks at Azzi, “please.”

Azzi swallows as she wipes at her tears, ignoring the way Paige’s eyes trace her fingers, like they wish it was her brushing them away instead. She ignores the part of heart that wants that too, wants Paige’s comfort, just wants Paige.

“Yeah, yeah I guess we should,” she says finally, “but um- I should- um,” she gestures towards Stephie’s sleeping body, “should uh- probably put her to bed first.”

“Right- yeah- yeah of course,” Paige nods awkwardly as Azzi reaches to pry Stephie off of her.

The little girl lets out a low sleepy whine, her hands tightening around Paige’s neck, “no Miss Buecks don’t let me go.”

“Stephie,” Azzi’s heart breaks at the fear etched on her daughter’s face, despite being fast asleep, at the idea of being taken away from her Miss Buecks.

“I’ve got you sweetheart,” Paige whispers softly against the little girl’s hair before looking back at Azzi, her eyes swimming with guilt, “I can- I can take her upstairs.”

A part of Azzi wants to say no, wants to start taking out stitches in the places where Stephie and Paige have already sewn themselves together. There’s a part of her that regrets having ever given them the needle in the first place, a part of her that wishes she’d never let her daughter get so attached, when there were so many uncertainties about the strength of the thread between them.

But instead she says, “fine,” as she follows Paige up the stairs, heart constricting at the softness with which the other woman holds her little girl.

“Put her in one of the guest rooms,” Azzi calls out quietly when Paigs starts to turn into her own room.

The blonde stops in her tracks, turning around to face Azzi and she has to look away when she sees the stricken expression on Paige’s face. They were meant to be having a sleepover. The night was supposed to end with the three of them curled in Paige’s bed, supposedly watching some random movie but in actuality, Stephie would have dosed off in the middle of it and Paige and Azzi, with their hands entwined over the little girl’s body, would have spent the rest of it talking about everything and nothing. That’s how it was meant to go; it was meant to have been just another night like any of the other ones they’d spent together the last couple of weeks. But now that normalcy seems like an out of reach fairytale.

“Az-” Paige tries to argue but there isn’t much fight in it and just the slight defeated shake of Azzi’s head is enough to have the older woman biting her lip and doing as she’s asked.

Azzi hangs back by the doorway as Paige gently places Stephie down on the bed, pulling up the moss green covers over the little girl’s body. It feels wrong, Azzi thinks, as her mind drifts back to a few moments ago when Stephie had been cuddled in Paige’s purple bedsheets; that had felt right, like a place her daughter could truly belong. She shuffles her feet nervously as she watches Paige caress Stephie’s cheeks before pressing her lips against the little girl’s forehead.

“I love you Miss Buecks,” Azzi hears Stephie mutter and she digs her fingernails into her palms.

Paige lets out a quiet whimper, shuddering slightly as she echoes the words back, “I love you more Stephie-bean.”

That should be enough, Azzi thinks, it should be enough that Stephie loves Paige and Paige loves Stephie to keep them together. And it’s not fair that it isn’t but if there’s anyone that knows that sometimes love isn’t quite enough to keep two people together, it’s Azzi. There’s too much there, too much history and she’d been naive to think the past wouldn’t cast a dark shadow on her present.

The walk back downstairs feels like it takes an eternity; like they’re climbing back down from a tall mountain. Azzi walks ahead of Paige and she can feel the blonde’s gaze lingering on her back, can practically feel the tension vibrating off of her body at the prospect of the talk they’re about to have. Drew stands at the bottom of the stairs, nervously pacing with his hands stuffed in his pocket. His eyes move up to meet Azzi’s when she finally reaches the last step and he looks a lot like the little boy who’d once accidentally spilled a glass of water all over one of her favorite books. He has that same guilty look he’d had back then when he’d apologized profusely, swearing he’d save up all his pocket money just to buy her another one.

“I’m sorry,” Drew says in a rush, “I didn’t know you guys were coming back down and I didn’t know Stephie was gonna hear that-any of that. I swear Azzi- you know I wouldn’t have said any of that shit if I knew she was gonna hear-”

“It’s fine Drew,” Azzi reassures him, hesitating slightly before reaching out a hand to gently pat his cheek and she’s relieved when he doesn’t immediately back away, “I know you didn’t mean to.”

Drew lets out a small sigh of relief, “okay good cause I really didn’t. I uh-” his gaze flutters between Paige and Azzi, “I’ll um- I’ll let you guys talk now,” he pauses in front of Paige, who looks about as miserable as Azzi feels, “love you no matter what Paigey,” he whispers before giving her a quick peck on her forehead and squeezing her shoulder.

And then it’s just the two of them and the heavy burden of everything they can no longer ignore.

***

April 2027

Azzi grips the armrest tightly, her eyes screwed shut as the plane shakes rapidly while preparing to land. For someone who’s pretty-well travelled and has dealt with her fair share of turbulent plane rides, Azzi still finds herself going ridgid every time an aircraft she’s on starts getting a little too bumpy. She can practically hear Paige’s teasing voice -even after all this time- calling her a big baby but the blonde would have laced their fingers together anyway, distracted her with some random story and she’d have held on to her hand -no matter how sweaty- until the plane stopped moving.

God, Azzi misses her so fucking much.

But hopefully she won’t have to for much longer. Azzi’s not quite sure what’ll happen after she lands in Dallas, hasn’t -in a very un-Azzi-like step- even really practiced what she wants to say. But, and she knows it’s a little dramatic but she thinks she can probably come up with a mix of apologizing, begging for forgiveness and declaring her undying love that would atleast get Paige to consider giving her another chance.

There’s this hollow ache in her chest that hasn’t gone away for the last two years. And Azzi had tried to ignore it, had tried to shift her focus to everything else -everything good- that was happening in her life. But even after she’d had an All-American last season at UConn, even after she’d let that team to a back-to-back national championship, even after she’d been the first pick of the 2026 draft to GSV, even after she’d won rookie of the year, there was a still lingering pain -a deep rooted sense of something she’d lost- etched through her whole body. The thing is that Azzi knows she can survive -can even succeed- without Paige- but she doesn’t want to. Not anymore.

The decision was a long-time coming, the inevitable leap of faith to chase after what she wanted most in the world. But it had all clicked into place at the most mundane of times. She’d been at the park on her regular morning run and she’d seen a family -two women who’d looked at each other like they’d stop breathing if they looked away and their beautiful baby girl who was happily swinging in between them- and suddenly everything else had felt so insignificant in comparison. She’d been forced to admit the truth she’d been trying so hard to run away from. That was the future Azzi wanted -perhaps not immediately but eventually- and she wanted it with Paige.

Azzi hadn’t let herself overthink it, knowing that if she gave herself enough time, she’d more than likely talk herself out of it. Instead, she’d booked the tickets from San Francisco to Dallas in a rush and then called Ice -the newly anointed Dallas Wing rookie- and it hadn’t taken much to convince her former teammate - who’d all but squealed at the idea of her ‘parents getting back together’- to pick her up from the airport and drive her straight to Paige’s.

“She’s gonna be so happy,” Ice had assured her, “I mean I’ve only been here like a week but I know for sure she misses you Az. Oh my god this is so exciting,” and Azzi had laughed as she’d listened to the sound of her friend giddily clapping, “I’m so excited for the two of you. You belong together.”

A serene smile crosses Azzi’s face, and she knows it must look a little ridiculous just smiling to herself like this, but all she can think about is that she’d be with Paige soon. And she’s not naive enough to think that everything would miraculously be okay; she knows just how deeply her rejection must have pierced into Paige’s soul. But if the other woman gives her the chance, Azzi’s ready to spend an eternity making it up to her.

She sucks in a deep breath as the wheels of the plane collide with the runway, her eyes crinkling slightly as she realizes the weather app had lied to her and instead of the ambient evening she’d expected, it’s torrential downpour outside. In hindsight, maybe that should have been her first sign. But for now, Azzi smiles at the raindrops trickling down the window, clichéd memories of kissing in the rain -”baby come on, it's romantic, who cares if we get sick”- flooding her brain.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Dallas Fort Worth International Airport. The time outside is currently 7 pm in the evening. We hope you had a good flight and on behalf of Delta Airlines, we wish you a pleasant stay,” the pilot’s voice croons throughout the speakers as Azzi fidgets with her necklace, her last Christmas gift from Paige.

Just a little while longer baby. I’m coming to you. Forever.

***

The nerves she’d kept at bay hit Azzi all at once as soon as she climbs into Ice’s car; the thoughts of everything that could possibly go wrong barrage into her mind as she watches the windshield wipers furiously fight against the rain. What if Paige doesn’t wanna see her? What if Paige isn’t willing to give her another chance? What if Paige hates her?

“Dude,” Ice groans, briefly looking away from the road to flick Azzi’s arm, “I can literally hear you thinking. Chill the fuck out!”

“I’m trying,” Azzi whines, leaning her head against the cool window, “Fuck, Ice what if this is the dumbest shit I’ve ever done in my life? What if she sees me and is like ‘what the fuck are you doing here,’ what if she tells me go home? Oh my god Ice why the fuck did you let me do this?”

“Let you?” Ice splutters indignantly, “oh no no no. You are not putting this on me. You didn’t even let me say anything when you called. It was literally ‘hey Ice, I’m coming to Dallas, make sure you pick me up in 6 hours okay thanks’ and next thing I know you’re in Dallas,” the younger girl mimics the phone-call as Azzi continues to groan.

“This is why I leave the spontaneous shit up to Paige,” she says, stressfully rubbing her face.

“Yeah but-” Ice gives her a lopsided grin, her tone softening considerably, “she’s gonna love that you did this for her Az. Trust me dude- the two of you- you’re meant to be. Everyone’s always known that. She’s gonna be so fucking happy to see you.”

“Thank Icey,” Azzi says softly, dragging in another deep breath, “I needed to hear that.”

“Any time Az, any time,” Ice reaches over to squeeze her hand and Azzi finally lets herself relax into her seat.

The rest of the car ride consists of reminiscing their time at UConn -it’s strange to think that they’re both alums now- and Ice telling Azzi stories about her move from Connecticut to Texas. Anticipation builds in Azzi’s stomach as she glances at the GSP, eyes fixating on the ‘3 minutes till your destination’ bubble on the bottom left corner.

Her destination.

Azzi thinks no matter how much she’d tried to fight, no matter how much she’d tried to turn and walk the other way, all roads were always meant to lead here. Paige was always meant to be her final destination. She’s not one for fairytales, doesn’t think life began with once upon a time, but as Ice’s car comes to halt opposite the blonde’s apartment, Azzi hopes that her life has a happily ever after where she and Paige get to write the ending of their stories together.

“We’re here,” Ice says slowly, smiling ear to ear as she turns towards Azzi, “go get your girl.”

“Okay, okay-” Azzi whispers to herself, “you’ve got this Azzi. Just fall to your knees and tell her you’re sorry and that you love her,” she shoves Ice when the younger girl snorts at her little pep talk and then breathes in deeply, “it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got this. I’ve got this!”

“You’ve got this,” Ice affirms, forever a supportive child.

Taking one more breath, Azzi’s just about to step outside, when she sees her. Paige is walking, almost running towards her apartment. Despite the rain, in typical Paige-fashion, the blonde doesn’t have an umbrella. Strands of wet hair are plastered against her forehead and little droplets of rain cascade down her face and neck. Her shirt sticks to her body so that Azzi can see the definition of her abs and the younger woman would love to take a moment to appreciate just how fucking hot Paige looks but instead, her eyes follow the bulge of the blonde’s biceps down to where her hands are interlocked with someone else’s. Someone else who’s not Azzi.

She gasps for air but she swears it’s carbon dioxide that settles in her lungs instead because god, does it burn.

Paige is laughing, eyes twinkling as she and a beautiful woman -a beautiful woman who isn’t Azzi- race to get out of the rain. She hears Ice curse behind her, sounding just as confused as she feels as the two of them watch the scene unfold in front of them, watching Paige and the woman come to halt right in front of the blonde’s apartment building.

“Az maybe we should-”

“Who is that?” Azzi cuts Ice off, her eyes still transfixed on the two smiling women.

Ice sighs, “her name’s Olivia. She’s a reporter for the Dallas Morning News-”

“And who is she to Paige?” Azzi asks bitterly, as if she doesn’t know the answer, as if the way Paige is wrapping an arm around that woman’s waist isn’t enough of an answer in itself.

“I don’t know. Azzi I swear I didn’t know she had a-” Ice hesitates, “she hasn’t told me anything about another woman.

Azzi doesn’t say anything, hand tightly gripping the car door she hadn’t even had a chance to open as she watches Paige brush a loose strand of hair out of the woman’s face.

The tip of the dagger pierces against her heart.

The woman smiles at Paige as she wraps her arms around the blonde’s neck and now they’re pressed flush against each other, barely any space between them.

The dagger digs deeper.

Paige caresses the woman’s cheeks.

The dagger twists.

It happens in slow motion; Paige moving ever so slowly as she presses her lips against the woman’s.

And the dagger lodges itself somewhere so deep inside Azzi, she thinks it might be permanently entrenched inside her soul.

It’s funny, Azzi thinks as she watches the two women break apart -their hands intertwining again as they start walking into the apartment- anyone else watching this scene would perhaps think of it as something straight out of a romantic comedy. But to Azzi, it feels like the climax scene of a tragedy.

“Can you take me back to the airport?” she says slowly, still watching Paige’s retreating back.

“What- no Azzi I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ice disagrees immediately, “c’mon we’ll go back to my place and I swear I have some good vodka left over from my housewarming party-”

“Ice please,” Azzi begs, her voice hoarse, “I just wanna go home. Please.”

“Okay, okay. Whatever you say Azzi,” Ice concedes softly, already starting to pull away from the curb.

“You can’t tell her about this, you know that right?”

“Az-”

“No Ice. She’s moved on and she’s allowed to move on,” the words feel like thorns on the tip of her tongue, “she looks happy. I won’t ruin that. You can’t tell her. You can’t ever tell her.”

“Fine,” Ice nods reluctantly, “I won’t say anything.”

Azzi allows herself one more look back at the apartment, allows herself one more second to dream of Paige running back outside, spotting her and telling her that all of this is just one big misunderstanding, telling her that she hasn’t found someone else, telling her that she’s still Azzi’s. But dreams aren’t reality. No, reality is the fact that Paige looked happy, looked happy with someone that wasn’t Azzi. And even if that damn fucking dagger -sharpened with the image of Paige and someone else- is making her bleed out, Azzi thinks that her heart will still a find way to keep beating, as long as she knows that Paige is happy.

***

The almost two thousand dollar last-minute flight back to San Francisco passes by in a blur. Azzi feels like she’s sleep-walking as she gets into the uber, pressing play on a voice message Ice had left her from after she’d gotten on the plane.

“Azzi please text or call me as soon as you land. I’m really worried about you dude. I’m so fucking sorry. I had no idea. I texted Adam after -he’s a team manager that’s really close with Paige- and I guess she and Olivia have been dating since the end of the season last year but Paige is keeping it highkey on the DL like the team barely knows and I swear Az- I didn’t know. Fuck please don’t do anything stupid Azzi. Text me as soon as you hear this and then just- just go home and sleep and call me tomorrow morning. I love you Az, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Since the end of the season, Azzi thinks slowly, her brain still a fuddled mess. That meant that Paige had been with someone for almost eight months. And Azzi knows she has no right to feel this hurt, let alone feel that tiny spark of betrayal that’s lingering underneath it. She’s the one that had let go; it’s only natural that Paige would eventually find someone else to hold on to.

“Where to Miss?” the uber driver asks as Azzi’s typing out a short ‘landed’ text to Ice.

It’s almost two in the morning and sleep prickles against Azzi’s eyes, her body feeling barely functional but the urge to just forget is stronger than the wave of tiredness washing over her body. And so she ignores every good instinct she has and instead of giving the cab drive her home address, Azzi tells him to drive to the nearest bar instead.

It’s a heat-of-the-moment decision -taken as sordid images of Paige wrapped around another woman cloud her ability to think- and she doesn’t know it’s about to change the trajectory of her whole life.

***

May 2033

The silence in the living room is deafening as Paige and Azzi find themselves sitting on opposite sides of the sofa. Azzi’s fingers tap against her thighs; resisting the impulse to reach over and touch the other girl, comfort her and be comforted in return. This night has felt like one of the longest in her life, all the hits falling like dominoes with the two of them at the end of the line. And perhaps it’s the way she’s starting to feel the bruises now as she absorbs everything that’s happened tonight that has her thinking fuck it and turning to Paige with a pleading look on her face.

“Can you just-” Azzi hesitates as she scooches just slightly closer to the other woman who regards the movement with wide eyes, “I know- I know we have to talk and we will but I just- it’s been a long night and I’m just so fucking tired and I just- I miss you-” she says and she’s not sure how it’s possible when Paige has been here the whole night but it’s the truth, “and I just- can you just hold me? Please?”

Paige is so still that for a moment Azzi thinks maybe she’s asked for too much but then the older woman is moving -so fast like she’s scared the brunette will change her mind- and Azzi feels herself being lifted sideways onto Paige’s lap. The blonde’s grip is iron tight as Azzi buries her head into the crevice of her neck, breathing in the smell of all things Paige. She reaches her hand out gently, placing it against the older woman’s chest, trying to stabilize the two of them to the steady beat of Paige’s heart as the other woman rubs her hand up and down Azzi’s back. They stay like that for god knows how long and Azzi wishes she could just keep them like this forever, in each other’s arms.

But they need to talk.

And Azzi reluctantly untangles herself Paige, closing her eyes when the blonde lets out a soft whimper. She doesn’t move all the way to the other end of the sofa this time; choosing instead to sit right next to Paige with their legs pressed togethers and it’s not nearly enough -too little when all she wants is to be consumed by Paige- but at least it’s something.

“I was going to tell you tonight,” Paige starts slowly, “you remember in the car when I said I would explain the whole Angie thing to you, well that- that’s part of this whole mess.”

Azzi furrows her eyebrows, “Angie? What does- what does she have to do with this?”

“I’ll get there okay- just- just let me start from the beginning,” Paige says nervously, “just listen okay.”

Biting her lip, Azzi nods, signaling for the older woman to continue.

“I didn’t want to come to GSV-”

“Because of me?”

Paige sighs, “yes. It- it just- it felt like such a bad idea at the time. You broke my heart Az,” she shoots Azzi an apologetic look when she flinches at the bluntness of it, “and coming here- being around you- I was scared it was gonna be a reminder of that all the time. Every time I’ve seen you these last couple of years Az- it’s hurt. And I just didn’t- I couldn’t live with that every day.”

It’s not something Azzi wants to here but she understands it; she’d felt the exact same way when Colleen had first told her about GSV being interested in Paige.

“But more than anything,” Paige continues, “I was scared that coming here meant giving you a chance to do it again. Because the two of us being together for more than just a fleeting moment- well it felt inevitable that something would happen and I was just so scared that it would be something bad. And so I fought Talia every step of the way until she forced me to come here and I met Stephie,” a soft smile flitters across the blonde’s face, “and she just- she said I’d look good in purple.”

Azzi laughs, “and that’s all it took huh?”

“You know me. A little bit of flattery will get you everywhere,” Paige grins, “but it wasn’t just her,” she nudges Azzi, “it was you. I was so sure you were gonna tell me to turn it down, tell me that there was no way this was gonna work. But you didn’t. You’re always surprising me I guess. Baby you said you wanted me on your team and that was it for me. No matter how much I said I needed time to think or whatever, as soon as you asked me to come here, I knew I was a Valkyrie.”

“I lied to Colleen that it was for the team,” Azzi admits, “think I even lied to myself about it that I wanted you here to help us win a championship. And yeah maybe that was a little bit of it but I just-” she looks down shyly at her lap, “I just wanted you. Here. With me.”

They’re quiet for a little bit, letting their confession dangle in the air until Azzi breaks it, her mind back to focusing on the revelation from before, “I don’t get it then Paige- what was Drew talking about then? What is this whole plan thing with the Liberty? Being in New York by October? I know your contract is for a year but I just-” she shrugs, “I just assumed you were gonna renew with us so where- where does New York even come into play in all of this? I’m just- I’m just so confused.”

Paige chews at her bottom lip and fidgets with her fingers, two tell-tale signs of her nerves as she keep her gaze firmly away from meeting Azzi’s, “I guess- I guess all my fighting against GSV got through to Talia and after I’d made up my mind to sign with the Valkyries, she- she figured out a verbal deal with the Liberty. They didn’t- they didn’t have the money for me this year but next year with Sabrina retiring- next year they will and GSV knew they were gonna get Angie to be their point guard of the future and it all just- it all made sense. I’d stay here for a year, mentor Angie so she could be my replacement for next year and then I’d-”

“Then you’d leave,” Azzi says bitterly and this time it’s Paige who flinches, “but you said- you said Stephie and I convinced you to come here- so- so what? We only convinced you to come for a year?” she asks, her tone sharper than she intended it to be.

“No it wasn’t- it wasn’t like that,” Paige tries to justify, “I just- it scared me how easy it was for me to be convinced. It was one moment with Stephie- one moment with you- and I was ready to make a decision for my future based just off of those two little moments. Do you know how scary that is? And I knew- I knew that coming here- being around the two of you would just- it would make me fall so fucking fast -and it has- and I was just so scared that I’d get my heart broken again and I just- I needed an escape plan.”

“You needed an excuse to leave us,” Azzi says venomously.

“That’s not fair Azzi,” Paige says quietly, “you have to understand how afraid I was of history repeat itself Az,” she reaches for the younger woman’s hand, enveloping it between her own, “when I lost you the first time, I was so fucking broken and it took me so long to fix myself- I- I don’t even know if I did ever fully fix me. You can’t blame me for being scared of having to go through it again.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second before she finally lets out a sigh because Paige is right and she can’t- she won’t hold whatever decision the other woman had made before they’d found their way back to each other, against her.

“Okay. Okay. I- I get it. I get why you were scared. I get why you had a whole backup plan and-,” she grins teasingly at the blonde, “and now I also get why you were such a bitch to Angie.”

Paige laughs a little, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s and closing her eyes, letting themselves melt into a comfortable silence as they bask in each other’s presence and for a moment’s Azzi feels floaty and free until Drew’s words replay themselves inside her head.

“Paige,” she says slowly, earning a little hum of acknowledgement from the other woman, “it’s over now though right? The deal- you- you’re gonna tell the Liberty that it’s off? No more New York right? Not even as an escape plan?”

The blonde stiffens, her eyes opening immediately.

“Paige,” Azzi presses, lifting her forehead so she can study the older woman’s face properly, the false comfort of a few seconds ago being replaced by a leaden pit in her stomach.

“I- I don’t know,” Paige whispers, so quietly that it takes a couple of seconds for Azzi’s ears to even pick it up. But when it does finally register -the repeat of what she’d said to Stephie- it feels like something’s slowly cracking inside Azzi, until the cracks get larger and larger and something shatters, the pieces of it lodging themselves in every organ of her body.

“You don’t-” Azzi swallows, pulling her hands out Paige’s, “you don’t know?”

“Az-”

“No,” Azzi holds her hand out in a stop sign as Paige tries to grab for her, “how- how can you not know,” she keeps speaking even when the blonde tries to reply, “Paige you- you were the one who pushed for this. You were the one who begged- who convinced me to try. Why- why would you do that? What have we been doing for the last few weeks Paige if you’re still thinking about leaving at the end of the season? God Paige- how can you even say that you don’t know?”

“I thought I did,” Paige bumbles out, “these past few weeks have been everything to me Azzi and I thought I knew but tonight- everything Drew said-” she stops suddenly and Azzi knows whatever the young man had said isn't something Paige wants to repeat back to her.

“What did Drew say?”

Paige hesitates, “he thinks you’re gonna break my heart and that I’ll lose you and that I’ll-” she clutches her throat like the next words are physically painful to say, “that I’ll lose Stephie.”

“And you- you think he’s right?”

There’s heartbreak etched all over Paige’s face as she shrugs helplessly, “you’ve done it before Az. You let me go. You- you said no-”

“And you’re one who left,” Azzi bursts out, tears cascading down her face as she rises to her feet.

Paige guffaws up at her, “what?”

“I know I said no but you left literally the next fucking day before I could say anything else. God Paige, I know I fucked up and I know that it’s mainly my fault. Trust me I’ve regretted it every single day,” Azzi sobs, “but you- you left Paige. I know I let you go but you didn’t hold on to me either. You just- you left.”

“Azzi-”

“I understand why you had an escape plan before,” Azzi says, wiping away her tears, “but I can’t be with you if you still have one now. Especially not when Stephie’s involved. She’s already so fucking attached and if you can’t promise not to leave her then I- I can’t let her get anymore attached. I can’t watch my baby girl cry like she did tonight- not again Paige.”

“Azzi,” Paige says again, like it's the only word she knows; the only word that matters.

Azzi falls to her knees in front of the other woman, wrapping her hands around Paige’s tightly wounded fists.

“I get that you’re scared and I’m so sorry baby, I’m so sorry that I’ve made you feel like heartbreak is inevitable with me,” she presses a kiss against the blonde’s knuckles, “but Paige I- I can’t- live like this, I can’t live knowing that you could leave me -leave us- any second. I need you to trust me, I need you to believe in us and I need you to tell me you’ll stay. And if you can’t do that then-”

“Please don’t say it,” Paige breathes out, her shoulders radiating with tension.

Azzi stands back up slowly, delicately placing her lips against the older woman’s forehead. She feels Paige shudder under her touch as she tries to put every little bit of emotion, every little bit of please choose me, please choose us, please choose to stay, into that kiss.

“Just- just think about it- sleep on it I guess. Take your time Paige but I- I need more than ‘I don’t know’ as an answer,” she says finally, the words lingering between them as she brushes away a couple of strands of the blonde’s hair before letting out a sigh as she puts some space between them, “I should go.”

Paige’s fingers immediately wrap around her wrist as the other woman blinks up at Azzi with pleading eyes, “don’t go-”

“Paige-”

“It’s late. Stephie’s asleep. Just- just stay.”

You stay, Azzi wants to scream because how can Paige ask her to do the one thing that the older woman herself is scared to do. But she’s exhausted and driving home -to a house that’s entrenched with the memories of the last few weeks but wouldn’t have Paige in it- sounds like something dreadful. And so she nods, shooting Paige another longing look before she heads towards the staircase.

“Az,” she hears the other woman call out just as she’s about to climb onto the first step, making her stop and turn her head over her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“You know right? You know that- that I-” Paige gulps, “you know that I lo-”

“No,” Azzi says immediately, shaking her head rapidly, “say it to me when you can tell me you’ll stay.”

***

May 2027

Azzi taps her foot incessantly against the hardwood floor as her gaze nervously flitters towards the front of the restaurant, where a man in a light blue polo shirt and dark jeans has just walked in, his own eyes scanning the premises in search of someone. She has the ridiculous urge to shrink in her seat, to hide away from his wandering eyesight as if he’s not the reason she’s here in the first place. Taking a deep breath and counting to ten Mississippis, Azzi finally raises her hand, trying to wave him over.

“Tristan,” she calls out, attempting to arrange her features into a smile to match his when the man in question finally spots her.

“Hey,” Tristan choruses, his eyes twinkling as he slips into the seat opposite Azzi, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda shocked you called. Not that I’m not happy- I mean, who wouldn’t be happy if a pretty girl called but I- I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Azzi tries to give him a humorous grin, “so you just gave me your number expecting nothing?”

She’s trying to make a joke but it comes out flat and she hopes he can’t read just how uncomfortable she is; won’t call her out for the uneasiness that she knows is radiating off of her.

“Expecting? No. Hoping? Definitely,” Tristan smirks and Azzi’s reminded of the charm he’d exuded that night in the bar.

The memory makes her want to throw up- well she supposes it’s probably not just the memory but also her little situation. She regards the man in front of her warily; he’s not bad to look at and at first glance he doesn’t exude any major red flags. And she’s almost ready to give her way-too-fucking-drunk past self a pat on the back because she'd made multiple dumb-as-fuck decisions that night -exhibit a: fucking a random stranger in a bar while mourning her ex- but at least she’d had the sense not to choose a complete psychopath.

“Well I called,” she announces awkwardly.

Tristan raises an eyebrow, “it’s been a whole month.”

Azzi bites her lip, “better late than never?”

The man in front of her snorts, “I suppose so but honestly I wasn’t expecting you to call at all. I mean- I figured you’d have gotten back together with your ex.”

That causes Azzi to suck in a sharp breath, her fingers digging crescent shaped scars into her palms.

“I mean,” Tristan continues, oblivious to the way his words cut into the woman in front of him, “you just- you sounded like you really loved her and the way you talked about your relationship- it just- it sounded so perfect and I know I don’t know her and I know- I know you mentioned she was seeing someone else but you just- your relationship like- that shit sounded unbeatable and so I just- I guess I just assumed that if you wanted her back- she’d want you back-”

“She’s engaged,” Azzi says loudly and it would be comical how quickly that shuts Tristan up if it wasn’t for the fact that saying those words out loud, feels like shooting an arrow into her own heart. She can still see the engagement announcement floating behind her eyes; can still so clearly see the pictures of Paige down on one knee for a woman who was beaming down at her, for someone who had said yes.

“Oh,” Tristan’s saved from having to say anything more when the waiter appears with a menu.

“What can I get you guys today?” the waitress asks cheerfully.

“Just the salmon for me please,” Azzi says, still a little lost in her thoughts.

“And for you sir?” the waitress turns to Tristan after jotting down Azzi’s order.

“I will have the chicken with a waldorf salad on the side but with no nuts please; I’m allergic to most nuts,” Tristan responds politely as the waitress nods and starts to walk away but it’s the last part that perks Azzi’s ears up.

“You’re allergic to nuts? Is that like- is that genetic?” she asks.

Tristan seems a little taken back by her curiosity of his allergy but he nods his head yeah and Azzi pencils that little fact into her brain, figuring it would be an important tidbit to share with her doctor.

“So your ex is engaged,” Tristan repeats, looking apologetic when his bluntness makes Azzi flinch but it’s replaced by a smirk as he lounges back in his seat, “so you called me for what? A rebound? I mean look Az, you’re a gorgeous girl but only being called for a rebound might just give a guy a complex.”

She knows he’s trying to be suave -charming even- but instead all it does is give her the ick and Azzi’s reminded of why she’d avoided men since her mistake of a boyfriend back in her senior year of high school. Hell, she’d only dated him because she and Paige had been trying their hands at another attempt of being just friends and the blonde was dating some pretty girl. But he’d been the first and last man she’d ever been with -which wasn’t surprising considering it had taken her and Paige only a year after to finally get together- until that night at the bar.

Azzi barely remembers anything about that night beyond flashes of memories but she remembers the morning after clearly, remembers the regret that had coiled itself around her ribs. She’d practically run out of the hotel room, barely managing to keep the tears at bay in the back of the uber. She hadn’t even made it to her bedroom, breaking down in the middle of her living room floor as everything that had happened the night before -seeing Paige with someone else, being with someone else- hit her like an avalanche. Azzi doesn’t know how long she’d sat in a sobbing mess on the floor but at some point she must have fallen asleep, because her next memory is Colleen towering over her, a look of pure concern on her bestfriend’s face as she shook her awake. And then she was crying again, this time wrapped in the comfort of Colleen’s arm as she let the regret of all her mistakes -from the past and the present- flow down her cheeks.

All she’d wanted after, was to just forget about the night -forget the image of Paige kissing a stranger, forget the image of herself walking up next to a stranger- and for a little while, the world had even granted her that wish. That was until a mandatory pre-season checkup had given her news that would make sure she’d never forget that night.

“Azzi?” Tristan clicks his fingers in front of her face to get her attention, “you still with me?”

Azzi shakes her head, trying to come back to reality instead of staying lost in her mind. Taking a deep breath, she finally puts into words the truth that has become the epicenter of her world.

“I’m pregnant.”

Tristan stares at her with a shell-shocked look on his face, his eyes unblinking and wide as his mouth slowly morphs into a ‘O’ shape, “you’re- you’re pregnant?”

“Yes,” Azzi nods, her tone shifting from nervous into something more businesslike, “and before you ask, yes it’s definitely yours. But you don’t have to feel pressured to be involved beyond whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m more than financially capable of taking care of a child by myself and I’m very lucky to have a great support system in my friends and family so I’m not depending on you for any-”

“You’re keeping it?” Tristan cuts her off, sounding almost disbelieving that, that was the choice she was making.

Azzi stops at his words, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She’d gone back and forth with the decision from the minute she’d found out. Most of the factors in Azzi’s life pointed towards an abortion being the best thing for her. She was an athlete at the beginning of the peak of her career and she was only 25 years old, a young adult who’d just started this journey of life. For all her responsibleness, Azzi was still figuring out how to take care of herself. How could she possibly take care of a baby?

She’d been just about to call Dr. Myers when instead her phone had opened to the instagram app; Paige’s engagement announcement the first thing on her feed.

There’d been a thousand and one emotions that burst through Azzi but she’d fixated specifically one of them; loneliness. It was a ridiculous thing to feel for a girl whose family had moved across the country for her; whose best friend had become her manager and followed her to a brand new state. But Azzi felt it every time she was alone, sometimes even when she was surrounded by hundreds of people. She was so fucking lonely.

And that’s when she’d decided she wanted this baby, a baby she could love and a baby who’d love her back, a baby who would fill this aching whole in her heart. A baby that would be hers.

Azzi would never be lonely again.

“Yes,” she answers Tristan’s question without a hint of hesitation, “I’m keeping the baby.”

“Wow- okay- this is- sorry,” Tristan shakes his head, his previous casual demeanour having changed to something far more rigid, “this is just- it’s a lot to process.”

“I understand,” Azzi says gently, “take your time.”

Tristant stares down at the table for what feels like an eternity and when he looks up, well, Azzi doesn’t really know the man in front of her at all- hasn’t even had the chance to ask him his last name, but she knows what the guilt in his eyes means. She remembers seeing it when she’d met her own biological father, only once, only for an hour and never again but a snapshot of it has been saved to her brain ever since.

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up from the table, “I can’t do this. I’m not ready to be a father. I can’t have a baby. Fuck me. I’m barely an adult. I can’t take care of a child. I’m sorry, I just- I can’t.”

“I understand,” Azzi replies clinically even though her stomach lurches a little at the rejection, at the realization that her child would grow up with the ever-present question of why didn’t he stay, just like she had.

Azzi hadn’t called Tristan for lunch with the intent of getting anything out of it. The plan had simply been to do her due diligence by telling the father of her child that she was pregnant. After that, the decision would be in his hands and she’d made peace with the fact this -what had just happened- could be one of the outcomes. She hadn’t come here under the guise of reconnecting, finding a husband or any of that, not when, even thinking of any of that -despite the fact that Paige is engaged to someone else- feels a little bit like cheating. But Tristan's response still stings.

Because he might not have been her first option to raise a child with-really she’d only ever wanted any of that with one person- but Azzi thinks if he’d wanted to try, she would’ve liked having a partner to watch her child grow up with

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really sorry,” Tristan repeats again as he starts to back away, “I wish you-” his eyes flicker down to her stomach, “I wish both of you the best.”

Azzi nods, “thank you,” and the words of gratitude are for a little more than just his best wishes.

Tristan pauses for one second, hesitating as he looks at Azzi's belly one more time with an indecipherable emotion in his eyes, something a little like regret. But it’s not enough to make him stay and Azzi watches, with a hand on her stomach, as he turns walks out of the restaurant. Through the window, she watches him walking down the street, getting smaller and smaller until he rounds the curb, disappearing out of sight. And Azzi lets out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.

“Oh,” her head snaps towards the waitress, who’s carrying two plates of food and looking awkwardly at Tristan’s abandoned seat, “your uh- your friend- where is he?”

“He’s gone,” Azzi says quietly.

“Is he coming back?”

“No,” Azzi shakes her head, “no, I don’t think he is.”

***

May 2033

The memory burns against the back of Azzi’s eyelids as she lies, wide awake, in Paige’s guest room with Stephie tightly snuggled against her chest. She’s not sure what exactly had triggered the memory because honestly, she doesn’t think about Stephie’s father -her sperm donor to be more accurate- that often. He’d existed for a mere second in the clock of her life, disappearing almost as fast as he’d appeared. But there’s a part of Azzi that will always be thankful to him, because he’s part of the reason she has this beautiful little girl who’s sleeping in her arms.

A little girl who she loves and who loves her back, a little girl who’d filled the aching hole in her heart. A little girl, that was hers.

And Azzi hasn’t been lonely ever since she’d been handed her little girl.

Until tonight.

Her eyes drift to the other side of the bed and she can’t help but focus on just how empty it looks, can help but be immersed in the feeling of something’s missing. It’s the first night in weeks that the other side of the bed isn’t filled and everything about it feels so fucking wrong. Azzi sighs, resting her cheek on Stephie’s head as she rubs her hand up and down the little girl’s shoulder. She can’t sleep and she knows -by the little telltale frown on her daughter’s face- that the little girl might be asleep, but it’s the kind that’s deeply troubled.

She’s just about to close her eyes for another unsuccessful attempt at letting her exhaustion lull her into a slumber, when she hears the sound of footsteps right outside her door. Azzi rises up slowly, gently disentangling herself from Stephie as she squints through the little gap between the door and the floor. It doesn’t take a genius to know who it is and Azzi’s heart thumps anticipation as she watches the shadow of feet pacing back and forth. Suddenly they disappear and disappointment -even it’s ridiculous to feel it after the events of the night- courses through Azzi. Sighing to herself again, she lays back down, closing her eyes.

A minute later they shoot open at the sound of the door being pushed and Azzi sits back up again, something like relief -something like i’m so glad you’re here, i'm so glad you came back please don’t ever go again- rushing into her veins. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the sight of the figure in the dark but once they do, Paige is practically illuminated by the moonlight streaking through the windows. The blonde looks at her, not a speckle of shock at the fact that she’s awake because Paige knows her, knows her the way Azzi had known Paige was awake too, knows that they’d never been particularly good at falling asleep after an argument.

“Can’t sleep,” Paige admits out loud in a whisper, nervously shuffling her feet by the doorway.

“Me neither,” Azzi confesses, her hands brushing through Stephie’s hair.

Their revelations -and the i can’t sleep because i can’t sleep without you hidden behind them- hang in the air, waiting for the two of them to say anything else as they stare at each other in the dark room.

Paige speaks first, stumbling towards the bed, “can I just-”

“Yes,” Azzi breathes out before the question’s even finished, “please.”

Despite the urgency in their words, Paige is slow, climbing into bed, like she’s waiting for Azzi to take it back. The blonde slips underneath the covers, her hands immediately moving to rub Stephie’s back where they collide against Azzi’s fingers and that lightest bit of contact elicits a breathy gasp from both of them. There’s so much still left to say, so much still left to fix, so much they’re not sure can be fixed, but as Azzi slowly lies back down, her fingers interlocking with Paige’s over Stephie’s tiny body, she thinks that she might not survive, if these fleeting moments don’t lead to forever.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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urfavleo777 · 1 year ago

Text

warnings: age gap, tattoo artist! colby x reader, alcohol

"Angel's wings!" your best friend exclaims, speaking completely seriously. Your other friend approves, clapping her hands eagerly. "Get them tattooed!"

You almost choke on your drink when you hear how seriously Katrina gives you a new idea for your first tattoo. If someone told you that friendship between three people doesn't exist, you would laugh at them. The three of you are living proof that it's not the number of people in the group that matters, but the love that exists between you. Each of you is different, but that is the most beautiful thing. There is nothing worse than boredom and monotony in friendship.

"Come on, you'll be eighteen in an hour. Do something that will make you happy, not your parents." Sophia, usually the voice of reason, tries to convince you.

You don't know if it's the alcohol you just drank, but in a split second you undergo an internal transformation. You'll be of age in an hour. No one will be able to lecture you. Even your parents who, instead of spending this birthday time with their daughter, decided to go to the mountains. At first you reacted with sadness, but over time you were glad that the situation had turned out this way because you could invite your two favorite girls over for the night.

Katrina and Sophia look at you with impatient eyes, encouraging you to make a quick decision. You take a deep breath, tilting your head back. As pathetic as it sounds, you try your hardest to get advice from the ceiling.

You look back at your waiting friends. They send drunken glances your way, which only reinforces the fact that you must probably look like one of them at this point. Sophia and Katarina's eyes widen. Something unexpected is about to happen; something that will change the course of history forever.

Katarina clenches her fists like a true boxing legend, preparing for the worst possible scenario. With each subsequent inhalation, you feel even more excitement and arousal wash over you. You open your mouth to announce the official verdict.

"If not now, never, right?"

After saying these words, you're crushed under the bodies of these two freaks. And, you swear to yourself that if your parents had been home, after all those squeals of happiness, you would have ended up under a bridge.

"The best decision you've ever made, Y/n! I'm so proud," Sophia squeals excitedly, and Katrina joins in. You realize that you still hold the glass in your hand. You hiss, knowing that you'll definitely need to change the sheets of your bed after tonight. "Don't worry about it! Let's go to the tattoo artist!"

"Now?" you keep mumbling under their bodies.

Katrina and Sophia step away from you, exchanging meaningful glances with each other. You are finally able to catch your breath, but you don't really understand what they're trying to tell you.

"Yes. Now." Sophia grins. "Katrina, are you thinking about the same person as me?"

The friend nods her head in response, also with a big grin on her face.

"Oh, yeah! The handsomest, hottest and most expensive tattoo artist in town," she starts counting and you wonder why you've never heard of him before. "Y/n, we guarantee you the best fucking fun."

"Let's fucking do this!" They both squeal, grabbing your hands and pulling you out of the bed.

***

"You guys didn't even give me a chance to change clothes!"

You are wearing a black body suit and really low rise jeans so people on the street can see a bit of skin, which makes you feel a little uncomfortable.

"You look great." Sophia assures you and Katrina nods to her. Well, they're wearing perfectly balanced sweaters compared to you. They decided to make you the main star without outshining you with clothes. You feel like standing out of the crowd, which you don't like very much.

"Do you think this tattoo artist will accept us without prior consultation?" you ask, genuinely curious. "Maybe we should call him? We'd better get back home..."

"Relax, Y/n," you turn into a street you've probably never been to. Katrina tries to convince you, but with each step you take, you become less and less sure. Even though your parents have well-paid jobs, they usually don't let you hang around the rich districts. They would be disappointed if they knew that while they were away their daughter was getting a tattoo, not really knowing where.

"You said he was an expensive tattoo artist. I don't think I want to spend money this way." You continue, feeling the alcohol drain from you. You regain consciousness and regret saying yes to your friends. "Maybe we should really turn back?"

"Y/n," you stop in front of a building emanating LED light. The girls move closer to you and one of them puts a hand on your shoulder. Sophia, the fucking voice of reason, says:

"He is my brother's friend. They have been friends since childhood. He practiced on my brother, making the first patterns. He would never take money from me or my friends. We are always out of line. Trust me, you're in good hands."

"He was the one who gave me that big tattoo you liked so much," finishes Katrina.

You sigh, trying to convince yourself first and foremost. Sophia pulls out her phone and brings it closer to your face.

The first thing that catches your eye are the huge white numbers on the screen. What's more, they don't seem blurry at all. You must be really sober. You take a deep breath, recalling the quote of your favorite teacher in your head.

12:00. Carpe diem.

"It's time to go fucking crazy, Y/n."

***

"Sophia? What's for today?" It’s a male voice. Raspy, yet soft. The sound of it makes you whip your head over to your friends, but you're trying to stay calm. He lets out a heavy sigh before humming to himself in thought. Only after a while he notices that Sophia is not alone. "And who is this?"

"Hello, Colby. Meet Y/n, your new client."

And the way he shakes your hand is firm but gentle, not as hard as you think it'd be given the size of his biceps probably are larger than your head. But then he softly grips your elbow and guides you into the chair with a hand on your back. "Don't worry, I don't bite."

"Well, I thought I would have to convince you.. longer."

You flush a little under his gaze because he's noticed how you're shaking like a leaf next to him. And the way he smiles indicates he might enjoy biting you anyways... and maybe you'd let him.

"I was just about to close, but you know perfectly well that I will always make an exception for you, Sophia." Your friend smiles at his words.

"So, what are we doing tonight?" he focuses all his attention on you. You swallow, not really knowing what to answer. Katrina decides to save your ass from total embarrassment.

"Angel's wings."

He looks like he's about to roll his eyes.

"Seriously, I can't count how many girls asked me for the exact same pattern. Try something more creative."

"I'd like to stick with the wings, please. In a place invisible to the eye."

"Getting a tattoo so you don't show it to anyone? How old are you anyway?"

"Eighteen." He doesn't look convinced. With one movement of your hand, you pull your ID from your back pocket. Colby, as you can guess, surprised by the concrete, grabs the ID in his hand and looks at it carefully.

"She's so young." When he talks about you in the third person, something happens to you. "Are you sure you want those fucking wings?"

"Come on, Colby. You did this to my brother many times." Sophia interjects. "Don't ruin her birthday."

"Ah, yes. Happy birthday or something." You can tell he’s in a good mood based on the playful amusement in his voice.

"Thanks," you hang your head.

"We have to do something about her shyness." he turns to your friends.

"Maybe wings between her tits? I bet no girl has ever asked for this," suggests Katrina. You almost choke on your saliva. You want to get up from that chair and run out.

"That sounds perfect." His voice is sweet with a touch of flirtiness, and you swear you can hear the smile in it. "What do you think, Y/n?"

"There's no way I'm going to show you my tits." You take courage. Colby laughs loudly. He clearly takes pleasure in your attitude and shakes his head, leaning in to watch you.

"It's your choice." You bite at your lip instead of answering him.

"Come on, Y/n. We won't look either." Katrina says and Sophia nods.

You've already succumbed to them once in a while. Nothing will stop you from doing it again.

The girls send you their last kisses. After a while, it's just you and your tattoo artist left in the room.

***

You're honestly glad when the uncomfortable silence is drowned out by the song "Ultraviolence" by Lana Del Rey. You asked to simply turn on the radio, but you were surprised when Colby asked you for the title. What was even weirder was when he used the fucking vinyl of one of your favorite albums instead of Spotify.

He hums to himself. "Those are nice."

You got rid of your bra. No one has ever complimented your boobs, but you smile slightly, burying your face in your hands.

He gives you a little wink before stenciling what you had in mind, his fingertips tracing the lines of the ink that leaves goosebumps across your skin.

There's a lingering feeling as he pulls his hand back. You think he's toying with you. Frightful little thing, you are and here he is wanting to play with his pretty little client. Next thing you know, his hand is around your throat.

You tense and realize that he has moved some of your hair to the other side to give more access to the space between your tits. It definitely could have been done easier and better, but the twinkle in his eyes said he did it on purpose. Oh yes, he was definitely having fun with you. The way his hand barely grazed your throat and the side of your neck before he would gently scratch your arm with his blunt nails and pull away.

He let's out a huff of quiet laughter and then gets his tools ready. "So, y/n, you have a safeword?"

And you're brought out of your thoughts about his large hands because... "Huh?"

"A safeword. It's big."

W..what's big? You can't stop your eyes from flitting down to his thighs and what may lie between them. He laughs and shifts so your eyes are instantly back up and staring at his eyes that glimmer in amusement.

"The tattoo, I mean. It's a big piece. Need to know if it'll be too much, yeah?"

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allbark-no-bite · 7 months ago

Text

don’t write checks you can’t cash.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 3.6k)

summary: jake seresin is under your skin. or maybe you’re under his. either way you’re going to eat each other alive. jake isn’t about to take the fall

warnings: mentioned age gap, heavy sexual tension (the smut is coming i promise)

author’s note: back on my topgun bullshit bitches (respectfully). i’m not usually one for multi part fics but i actually wrote something with plot for once so please just bear with me. loosely inspired by Zach Bryan’s ‘nineball’. please note this fic title is subject to change bc i hate it

(you can read part 2 here!)

————————————————————————

You don't believe in love at first sight. You think the whole concept is some foolish idea that people who have already fallen in love have the liberty of saying they believe in. Then people who have been through failed relationship after failed relationship are convinced that they're never going to fall in love because it just doesn't happen. The whole idea pretty much just sets the rest of the population up for failure from the start.

Even the concept of finding the right person one day and growing to love them is hard for you to grasp. Because how can you love someone that much? How do you know you love them enough?There are some days that you don't enjoy the presence of even your closest friends for very long, friends who you would do anything for. Even family, you only tolerated so much.

Your high school boyfriend hated that about you, the fact that you realistically needed so little of him—or anyone for that matter. You have always been violently independent, able to provide what you require, and therefore having to maintain a simplistic relationship became nothing but a monotonous task. Even most of your closest friendships faded with time.

Eventually, you prosed the question: what can someone else give me that I cannot give myself?

The answer was companionship. Because when you strip away everything from a person and all they have left to offer you is themself, you have to be willing to choose them. And sometimes that's not the most appealing quality.

Something did happen, the first time you made eye contact with Lt. Jake Seresin, but it was far from love. It was something terrible in your chest, like an aching. Like you knew in your gut that he was going to change your life. Good or bad, you didn't know, but it was certain to happen.

You don't even believe that you two were destined to meet — you just happened to, and in that moment, the damage was done, it was your fate to ruin each other.

——

You like the way he says your name. You like that he says your name on purpose, like he is intentionally seeking out reasons to say it. It's not as harsh sounding coming from his mouth.

"You from around here, [L/n]?"

You're wiping down the glass hatch of your F/A-18 when he approaches you from behind. You swivel your head to catch sight of him behind your back but he's already making a wide circle around you, his chin tipping up then down as he inspects your plane from behind his tinted aviators.

As you watch him scrutinize your aircraft, you regard him with a certain level of apprehension. Jake Seresin was nothing short of gorgeous. He was six feet of bronze skin and lean muscle, withbright green eyes, and a movie star smile. Not to mention the southern accent that had girls drooling over him.

"Austin," you correct him. "Austin, Texas."

You'd been transferred over to Miramar a little over a month ago, becoming the newest addition to the Dagger squad. California was a nice change of scenery, and everyone you had met so far had welcomed you with open arms. That is, everyone but Lt. Seresin— Hangman as they called him. You were still trying to find your footing with him.

You genuinely don't know what his problem is with you. The guy had hardly even given you a glance since the moment you'd arrived. Your first guess would have been that he was one of those dickheads who didn't like women working in the field, but his relationship with Phoenix disproved that theory.

Your answer seems to warrant his attention, and he looks up. His expression twitches at the correction but he doesn't say anything in response. For the first time since you arrived at Miramar, still, unsmiling green eyes catch yours from across the aircraft.

You hold his gaze. After a moment, your stomach twists in an unsettling way, like even it doesn't know what to do with itself. Your first instinct is to look away. Your brain is telling you that if you do, you can avoid any sort of confrontation that may happen as a result. But it's like you can't.

This is the first time he's looked at you, and now you don't dare to look away.

Even from behind the tint of his perfectly polished aviators, you can make out the distinct color of his green eyes. They're so distracting that you have to remind yourself to breathe.

After what feels like eons of uncomfortable staring, he breaks your gaze —surely it couldn't have been longer than a few seconds. Flustered, you glance around to see if anyone else has picked up on the affair. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you're not quite sure which, it's nearing 6pm and the base is on the better side of empty. It's a Friday evening and everyone is eager to head out for the weekend.

Someone clears their throat. Hangman is still standing there, hands shoved in his pockets like he doesn't have anywhere better to be. You want to say something but your gut is telling you that there's some sort of game going on here and you're not sure of the rules.

Finally, he faintly nods his head, as if to excuse himself, and turns to walk away. You watch his retreating back and relax a little, breathing a bit easier.

As you're turning back to your plane, relieved that the interaction is over, you hear him call back over his shoulder.

“The team is heading to the Hard Deck at nine. Don't be late."

And then he's gone, disappeared between one of the hangars.

——

For nine thirty on a Friday evening, the bar isn't nearly as busy as you'd expected it to be. You don't have to fight for a parking spot out front and there's not even a line at the bar. Other than a rowdy looking gaggle accumulating at the pool table, the atmosphere is pretty laid back. Looking around as you walk further in, there is a handful of people in civilians, but the majority of the crowd is composed of off duty aviators in their summer khakis.

You're about to head over to the bar top, where you were sure you had spotted Captain Mitchell, when someone shouts your name.

"Hawk!"

Your head swivels at the sound of your callsign, and you catch sight of Rooster beckoning to you over at the pool table. Immediately you recognize the familiar faces of the Dagger squad around him. You acknowledge him with a smile and head over to join them.

“And here we thought you were going to be a no-show," the brunette pilot chirps, his arm wrapping around your shoulder as soon as you're close enough. You lean into his embrace while touching his chest with a friendly pat of your hand. Bradley is by no means close to drunk but most definitely more than a little buzzed if you're going off of the smell of beer and lime on his breath and the occasional involuntary twitch of his mustache.

"I thought about it, but I can't keep letting you guys have all the fun," you laugh, holding out your other arm so that you can greet Natasha with a hug as Rooster releases you.

After hugging you, she presses a sweating bottle of beer into your hand. "Coyote bought everyone a round so I figured I'd save you one before the boys wiped them out. Sorry if it's a bit warm, you did show up fashionably late."

You playfully roll your eyes at her, taking the beer anyhow. "Thanks, Phe."

Payback places a large palm on the top of your head, diverting your attention towards him as he returns from the bar. "Don't let her fool you, we're just getting started over here. Rooster isn't even drunk enough to get on the piano yet."

Laughing, you glance over at the brunette aviator. "Now that I've been waiting to see. I hear you're quite the show, Bradshaw."

Since you transferred over to Miramar, you had been hounded nonstop to go out drinking with the team for weeks, and Rooster's infamous performance had been one of their key selling points. That and the fact that the owner, Penny, often gave them free drinks. Apparently she had a thing for Captain Mitchell.

Rooster grins, leaning against the pool stick in his hand as he waits for Fanboy to take his shot. "Let me get a couple more beers deep and I promise you won't be disappointed."

As you go about making your rounds to greet everyone else, you can't help but notice that there's someone missing. After you take a seat beside Bob to watch Rooster and Fanboy play, you glance around the bar a few times, convinced that you've somehow overlooked him despite the fact that the place isn't busy enough for that.

An almost disappointed feeling pulls at you despite how ridiculous the realization makes you feel.

After spending the better part of an half hour trying to push the feeling away, you finally spot a familiar head of blonde hair over at the dartboard. He's by himself, about three darts in and half a bottle of beer down. So much for the personal invitation, you think.

You watch as he throws a dart, practically without so much as aiming whilst contemplating whether or not you even have it in you to muster up the courage to face those green eyes again.

Without giving yourself the chance to back down, you swallow back the rest of your now warm beer and head over.

He tosses another dart just as you reach him, and it finds itself dead center with the previous three.

"With a hand like that, you should be kicking Rooster's ass over there in pool," you say as you come to a stop behind him.

Walking away from the dartboard, Jake turns to grab his bottle of beer from the table beside you.

"I'm not much of a betting man," he huffs, leaning back against the table. The muscles of his biceps bugle distractingly against the sleeves of his uniform.

You look back over your shoulder, watching from a distance as Fanboy's cue clips the eight ball and sends it ricocheting off the sidewall. He groans, and Rooster whoops triumphantly from behind him.

"It wouldn't be much of a bet. Even with his winning streak, I think you'd give him a run for his money."

Hangman takes a sip from his bottle, mouth lingering on the rim before he sets it back down and crosses his arms. "Rooster's all luck and no skill. The table's got a lean."

You raise your eyebrows at the confession, half laughing at his lax confidence. "Oh? And you would know this how?"

"C'mon, son. Fuckin' hit it in."

Body tense, his arm quivers ever so slightly and the pool stick bobs shakily in his hand. He closes his eyes and takes a breath in.

"I haven't got all day, kid."

He breathes out and breathes back in. The smell of cigar smoke and cheap beer swims in his head.

"What're you doin'?! Quit wastin' time."

He exhales, opens his eyes, and hits the pool stick forward. The white cue ball shoots out to the left, bounces against the eight ball, and sends it hurdling towards the side pocket. At the very last moment, it veers off to the left and falls into the back corner pocket instead.

The man standing on the other side of the table curses, his pool stick dropping to the ground, but Jake pays little mind to him. He straightens, looking around eagerly for the only set of eyes that matter. The grin falls from his face when he realizes the old man isn't even watching, too busy counting out his prize money and yanking out a ten to hand to the bartender.

Jake looks up at the clock on the wall over his shoulder.

12:57 am

"Dad, I wanna go home."

"Not yet, son. I've already got fifty put down on another round."

"Want me to show you?"

His offer makes you pause, and you can't help but cock your head a bit as you try to weigh out just where this is heading. For weeks he has acted as though you barely even existed and now you're engaged in the longest conversion the two of you have had since your arrival.

Jake finishes his drink and sets the bottle down whilst walking over to you. "Final offer. Take it or leave it."

You laugh a little before stepping back so that he can make his way to the pool table. "Lead the way then." But before you can make it too far, his palm finds the flat of your back, pressing you forward so that you're in front of him. You're glad he can't see you because your face flashes hot at the unexpected contact.

"I'm not the one playing, kid. I'm just going to show you the ropes."

"Oh, I didn't-"

Any objections you have about the situation are ignored as he pushes you firmly in the direction of the pool table and asks Payback for his cue. "Look alive, Bradshaw. Hawk is about to show you how this thing is done."

Straightening his wide shoulders, Bradley grins, smug and easy as you and Hangman approach the opposite side of the table. "And here I thought you were here to reclaim your throne now that I'm intoxicated."

Jake grins back. "You don't need to be drunk for me to do that."

Bradley's mustache twitches, but he's still smiling. "Sure."

Jake turns back to you, placing the pool stick in your hand. You can't help but think that his expression is all too confident for someone who has never even seen you play pool.

"Nervous?" he asks as you take the stick from him.

"Should I be?" you ask back, turning your head to watch as Rooster takes the liberty of breaking the rack.

He shakes his head, his green eyes glowing with a warmth that you've yet to see from him. "Not as long as you don't totally suck."

Seeing that it's your turn, you brush past him to stand at the table. "I guess I'll let you be the judge of that."

Thankfully you've played your fair share of pool and so you're able to hold your own for most of the game. Jake remains criminally silent as you play, arms once again crossed as he leans against a nearby stool, but you can feel his gaze burning into your back the entire time. It isn't until the end of the game and you've missed the same ball multiple times that he steps in.

"Shift left," he directs you. When you glance over at him, he nods his head as if to insinuate where you should move but doesn't move from where he's planted himself since the beginning of the game.

Hesitantly, you shuffle over a half step and take the shot. The ball comes closer than you have been but still hits the sidewall just short of the pocket. You huff in frustration, and Rooster steps forward to take his turn, sinking his second to last ball in the same pocket.

"I hope you're ready to buy the next round, Seresin. Looks like Hawk is losing her nerve," Bradley goads, unable to keep himself from boasting a little at your expense. When it comes to Hangman, he can't resist the chance to taunt him.

You roll your eyes at his comment, not bothered so much by it as compared to the fact that you're losing. When it's your turn again, you line up the ball and lean down to assume your position when Jake stops you.

All the sudden he's right beside you, palm pressing into your hip to scoot you to the side. "Move over." When you look at him like he's crazy, he huffs. "C'mon, do you want my help or not?"

It isn't so much of a question as it is a statement and the press of his hand against your side doesn't leave you much of an option and so you shuffle over to the far right side of the pool table.

Before you can even comprehend what's going on, he's leant over you, his impossibly tall frame pressed to your back so that he can reach around you and guide your hands. One wraps around your hand on the stick and the other cups your opposite elbow.

It takes everything in you not to jerk away, overwhelmed by his sudden proximity. Instead you try to focus on controlling your hammering heart and pray he can't tell how clammy your palms suddenly are.

"Hey, that's not allowed," Rooster complains. "Is that allowed?"

Coyote shrugs. "It's not not allowed."

Distracted by their bickering, his voice in your ear nearly makes you jump. "Hit the cue ball. Hard."

The lean press of his body is almost enough to distract you from the fact that he's done a god awful job of lining up the shot. There's not one alternate reality where you make this shot.

"You can't be serious."

He's so close that you feel him smile beside your ear. "Dead."

"Any day now," Rooster prompts, as if you aren't aware that Jake Seresin has been pressed against you for an uncomfortably long amount of time. And if Hangman has noticed the fact that your heart is fluttering erratically inside your chest or that your skin is flushed hot to the touch, he doesn't let on.

"I'm waiting," he reminds you, his voice placid in your ear.

Against your better judgement, you take the shot.

The white cue ball hurtles into the black eight ball with a hard clack and sends it flying across the table. It smashes against the sidewall, exactly as you had expected it to, and you release a breath of defeat. And then something unexpected happens. The ball slows, but instead of bouncing to a stop, it continues to roll left across the table. You all watch as it rolls directly into back corner pocket of the table.

"Well I'll be damned," Payback mutters aloud.

"Hell yeah, [L/n]!" Phoenix shouts, her loud and robust voice ringing out across the bar. "Shots are on Bradshaw!"

"Thanks buddy," Coyote laughs, teasingly grabbing the back of the brunette aviator's shoulders as he heads off for the bar.

Bradley waves them off, looking a bit miffed but still good naturedly accepting his defeat.

"How about it? You're a cold blooded killer."

Like a bucket of ice water being dumped over your head, the sound of Hangman's voice coming from behind you jerks you back to reality. You haven't even noticed that he'd stepped away. Something inside you twinges at the loss of his body pressed against yours.

You turn around to face him, your brain still trying to comprehend what just happened.

"How'd you do that?" you ask incredulously, your tone almost accusing. A deeper part of you wants to ask 'why did you do that' but the smile on his face stops you.

His top row of pearly white teeth that you glimpse is pristine, however brief, before his pink lips come back together in a more subdued smile. It's an expression that is so very genuine and carefree that it sends a spark straight through to your heart. You've never seen him actually smile before, and especially not at you.

"You're smiling," you accuse before you can stop the words from coming out of your mouth, half giddy at the discovery yourself.

Jake looks slightly away, turning his head briefly in order to suppress his smile before looking back to you. “Yeah? So?” His green eyes are twinkling as he says it, like he knows he’s been caught.

You jab the short end of the pool stick into the center of his chest, but he’s quick to grab it before it can find home.

“Up until yesterday, you could barely stand to even look at me,” you say.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “That’s not true.”

“So you’re saying that I’m seeing things.” You try to tug back on the pool stick but Hangman doesn’t release it.

“I’m saying you shouldn’t be seeing things.”

With that, a larger portion of the previous smile is gone from his face, a more sober look replacing it.

Just like that the spark fades. Even though you want to shut down, turn your back to his face and just walk away. You force yourself to keep talking, holding your voice steady. “I don’t think I’m following you.”

Inside you know exactly what he means.

His eyes flicker up over your shoulder but the Dagger squad has already moved on to crowd around Rooster at the piano.

You clamp your jaw together as he releases the pool cue and crosses his arms in front of his chest. It makes him look more relaxed than he is.

"Look, whatever this is—whatever you think I am, I'm not." He says this with the realistic conviction of someone who knows that even if it is, you can't. He says it like he’s trying to convince himself.

You’re not quite sure how old he is—barely thirty if you had to guess— but he’s older. Too old. Not to mention fraternization is deeply frowned upon.

"I know," you answer firmly. Because you do. Because even if it isn't, you want it, whatever it is.

He stares down at you with those green eyes, his pupils pinpoint sharp. After a moment he heaves a sigh and releases it, nodding his head. “So we’re in agreement?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “We’re in agreement.”

“Good.”

#top gun maverick #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin #topgun maverick #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick hangman #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman x y/n #hangman x you

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sanemistar · 1 month ago

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irreplaceable — kento nanami

contents ★ nanami x fem!reader, heavy angst, hurt no comfort, major character death, 0.6k+ wc. requested for my milestone event.

event m.list ★ jjk m.list

it had been well over a year since kento's death, and your life had turned upside down entirely. your days had become tasteless, your life had become dull and gloomy. you lost everything the moment he left, you lost your heart which was taken by him on the day of his funeral, you lost your cheerful, bright self and became nothing but an empty, hollow shell that was so lifeless as if it was dead. you went from someone who loved life to someone who barely lived, waiting for the day you die just so you could be reunited with kento once more. but most importantly, the biggest loss of all that you had ever experienced was the loss of the love of your life, the one and only man you’d ever loved.

to you, kento was a lover that comes only once in a lifetime, he was simply irreplaceable.

your tears began falling down like heavy rain as you sobbed uncontrollably, sorrow washed over your heart yet again. you leaned against the wall as you let your body fall down and collapse on the ground.

then you remembered the words of your friends who told you that time would heal, and that you’d eventually move on and find someone new. but neither time healed you nor did you find someone new.

you tried going on dates with multiple men, desperately trying to find someone who was as good as kento, you kept searching desperately but to no avail. how could you ever find someone like that? your heart only recognized kento, and it refused to give in to someone that was not him.

“i miss you ken..” you mourned his loss all over again as your heart clenched painfully.

“i honestly can’t tell what's more tragic: the fact that i keep looking for you wherever i go, or that you're never there anymore.” you spoke in between your heavy sobs.

"i'm desperately looking for you in everyone i meet, but none of them is you.” you proceeded. no matter how many men you met, and how hard you tried. this would remain the truth, no one else could ever come close to kento. none of them could ever be nearly as amazing and loving as him, he was basically the perfect man. but unfortunately, you lost him. and you had to try your hardest to survive without him, how awfully cruel life was.

you lifted yourself back up and headed to the nightstand next to the bed that you used to share with kento where a picture of you and him was neatly placed. you grabbed the picture and carefully held it in your hands, the moment you did you immediately chuckled. memories of that day vividly resurfaced in your mind as if they were only yesterday, it was a slightly blurry selfie that kento took when the two of you went on your first amusement park date together for your first anniversary celebration upon your insistence because his arm was longer than yours so it made more sense that he’d be the one taking it, but because he didn’t know how to take pictures it came out a bit shaky. regardless, you insisted that you keep it to remember that precious moment forever.

no matter how much time would pass, your grief would still remain. the part of you that was broken could never be fixed, but you would try your best to live on still. because you were so sure that was what he would’ve wanted. the many memories of you with kento that he left you with would make it a little less difficult, and would maybe be able to serve as the only condolence that would fill in the lonely void.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @sylusdoll @stunies @17020 @itoshivy

#nanami kento #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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cocoamide · 3 days ago

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YOU'RE MY WISHLIST! ♡

⟡ synopsis ─ gojo satoru's the man who seems to be everywhere you go, whether it be within the comfort of your own home or miles away from the place. well, guess what happens when you show up looking a little too fine at your college's annual christmas eve party?

꣑ৎ content ─ MDNI, brother'sbsf!satoru / collegesenior!satoru x afab!reader, reader is suguru's younger sister, no use of y/n, reader can't escape him, suggestive content, reader is in love w/ gojo (and vice versa), intentional use of lowercase, usage of pet names e.g baby, pretty, good girl, etc., smut in the form of fingering, and probably more idk

◖word count — 2.6k

☆ credits ─ live laugh love @anitalenia 4 the gorgeous divider <3 no specific inspiration for this fic, just felt like writing one fueled by my christmas spirit (i have never celebrated christmas in my life, so if u caught me lacking, no u didn't!)

꩜ author's note ─ first fic ever & ofc it's ft. my man !! i'm not v satisfied with this work and it was really rushed towards the end, so feedback is much appreciated :3 merry xmas to all those celebrating and happy holidays ♡ title's from "a nonsense christmas" by sabrina carpenter :3

when you left home for college, you were certain you’d outrun the real-life horrors of your past— your parents' scoldings, the shitty food served at your school's cafeteria, the fake people you were surrounded by, and most importantly, your brother's best friend, gojo satoru, who just seemed to get finer with every single passing day.

the man was, for some reason, genetically white-haired all over. yeah, he had albinism, but god, the sight of him was no less than breath-taking. his sparkling, cerulean orbs, which glowed mesmerizingly both under the moonlight and the sun, seemed more and more enchanting with each passing moment. as the years went by with him by your brother's side, you told yourself to look away, refusing to acknowledge the feelings that flickered inside whenever you saw him. you did whatever you could to let go of them— tried to distract yourself with the shittiest of boyfriends, avoided him at school, locked yourself up in your room whenever he came over to hang out with your brother, you name it.

however, it seemed that luck hated, no, despised your embrace no matter how much you yearned for it, considering how the menace was always hovering around, inserting himself into your life at the most inconvenient moments. you're rehearsing for a school play in an empty classroom? the next thing you know, he has an arm propped around your shoulder and smiling at you in the most stupidly handsome way ever with a lollipop in his mouth as he asks you to just... practice with him around. oh, you're trying to get him off of you now? he'll steal your script before you can escape him and raise his hand up as high in the air as possible so you can't reach it. "hey, give it back!" you exclaim, only to be met by a smug smirk on his face and the most annoying "nuh-uh." he completely refuses unless you promise to not kick him out until the practice session is over.

you're walking back home with your brother, suguru? oops, gojo is there too! he's ruffling your hair no matter how pissed you get and yell at him; he only finds joy and pleasure in seeing you in this enraged state. whether he was a sadist, masochist, or simply insane, you did not know.

so, starting college felt like stepping into freedom. no more conversations centered around satoru, no more being so pissed you lose your voice from screaming, and no more late-night sob sessions everytime he got a new girlfriend.

however, it seemed that you'd forgotten that the stars didn't quite align for you, and the universe had decided to remind you of that very fact by ensuring that satoru received enough distinctions to be able to transfer universities. oh, and of course, the one he'd chosen just had to be the one you'd decided to spend the next 4 years of your life in. it wasn't until after you’d moved into your dorm and started your classes that you found out.

the first time you saw him around campus, you were freaked the fuck out. nevertheless, you simply assumed he was visiting a friend or relative and dismissed the sight.

however, much to your dismay, you discovered that he was, in fact, a senior at your college—a 2nd year, to be exact. it wouldn't be an understatement to assume you nearly had a heart attack when you found out, considering how this was the same guy who used to have a 2.6 gpa back in high school. when did he even start taking his studies seriously and lock in hard enough to meet the criteria and eligibility for your university, one of the most prestigious in the entire country? instead of rooting for you, fate just had to be your biggest hater.

every single time you saw him around, gojo would come up to you to exchange greetings and obviously, tease you about the most embarrassing things from your past while his obnoxious fangirls stared you the fuck down, wondering why he's so close to you even though you're just a freshman who should have nothing to do with him.

what surprised you more, however, was that you sometimes shared the same sentiment as them because you were definitely never this close with satoru. not in all the years your brother used to hang out with him, or all the times you'd seen each other on family dinners. sure, he'd teased you plenty, but he had no real concern or curiosity towards you. you found him walking you to classes, treating you to coffee and meals, buying you all the snacks you could ever need during exam preparations and so much more that you could never even list down.

and worst of all, the feelings you'd so desperately pushed away in the past had now creeped their way back into your heart and embedded every inch of your soul even deeper.

it struck you then—satoru’s actions might not be out of pure obligation. that would’ve been far too simple, too detached for someone like satoru. maybe, just maybe, there was something more to it, something unspoken lingering beneath it all. you couldn’t say for sure if it was intentional or not, but whatever it was, it felt personal, like you mattered in a way that went beyond the promises he'd made to your elder brother and family.

but still, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all just in your head. satoru’s actions, the way he treated you—it didn’t necessarily mean what you thought it did. it could be nothing—satoru’s actions didn’t have to mean anything. maybe you were just fooling yourself, letting your feelings cloud your judgment. so, you buried them as deep as you could, pushing them aside, telling yourself that letting go was the only way to protect yourself from the uncertainty. it was easier to convince yourself that you were just being delusional instead of facing what could be very real.

although, you do seriously question your latter supposition at your annual college christmas eve party when satoru, dressed in the sexiest 3-piece navy blue pinstripe suit with a black tie, has you pinned against the door of the nearest bathroom. if haven't had the opportunity to pay enough attention to his luminous, cerulean eyes up until now, you do at this very moment when he's staring at you like a predator would at it's prey.

"satoru," you let out a breath you weren't aware of holding, "what are you doing?" gojo, whose gaze had shifted down to your lips, let out a chuckle. "oh, so it's satoru now," he murmured, his hand pushing your hair behind your ear. "fine, 'toru..," you pronounce, going back to the nickname you'd started calling him during the while you'd spent with him. "that's more like it." his eyes meet yours again, conveying the desire and thirst that stirred within him— for how long, nobody knows.

the air around you two was thicker than usual, laced with tension as well as something… else. "you still haven't answered my question." upon your words, the white-haired man's face broke out into a cupid-induced smile, the most beautiful you'd ever seen. "well," his right thumb traced the outline of your lips so light as if you'd break from further pressure, "i thought you looked beautiful." what he says renders you speechless, your throat gone dry and your cheeks turning the prettiest shade of rose (in his eyes, at least.) "you always do, but even more so today." and if you weren't already a flustered mess, you would most certainly be now.

your reaction only draws a smirk on his face, and he decides to tease you a little more. "so, on that note, what do you think i'm doing?," his voice lowers as his hand traces its way down to your neck. "i... uh- i don't know... you tell me." satoru grins, only wanting to push you further.

"yeah? how about i show you instead?" and a mere instant later, his lips come crashing down on yours— you couldn't say you hadn't been expecting or anticipating it, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the way his warm and impossibly soft lips felt against yours. initially, you froze, and you came to realise that all the possibilities you'd once ignored were now very much real.

it wasn't a bad thing— no, nowhere near it, maybe even one of the best that could ever happen to you. however, it did feel like too much of a development to be able to process in a matter of seconds.

upon the realisation that you hadn't responded to his advances, satoru pulled back from the kiss, seeming rather puzzled. "was i wrong?" he inquires, voice lower and deeper than it normally would be.

the melodic sound of his voice is what breaks your trance and serves as your call back to reality. you wanted to say no, reach for his collar, get on your tip-toes and lean in to kiss him, but you were stuck in place. you couldn't find your voice or your words, and it felt like your heels were superglued to the tiles of the bathroom floor.

if it hadn't already been obvious, you'd been yearning for this moment for god knows how long, and now that it was handed to you on a sliver platter, you couldn't simply pass up on it. being well aware of the fact that this encounter could change your and satoru's relationship for either the better or the worse, you took a deep breath, cupped the sides of his face, and tilted your head just enough to be able to kiss the man. your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer, if that was possible.

being the way he is, satoru smiled into the kiss and lowered his hands to your hips. he could tell you were pouring each and every emotion from both the past and the present, and of course, he was doing the same.

it was inevitable, really— now that you could feel his skin against yours, it wasn't too difficult to put the pieces together and figure out that this was all bound to happen, already having been inked into the wondrous book of fate.

and so, for the first time in all the years you'd spent alongside satoru, you could say that the universe was, in fact, rooting for you. the way gojo's lips moved against yours, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world when he pulled away, the way the both of you heavily panted but still chased each other's warmth again barely seconds later, are more than enough confirmation.

"no, you weren't," you reply, feeling giddier than you ever had. "i wasn't what?" his hands caress your cheek with a carefulness that was almost unlike him, and your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest (in the best way possible.) "you weren't wrong."

"and i'm still not wrong if i do this?" his large hand reached under your clothes and wandered up to your waist, resting over the skin of the region. "or this?" his mouth had reached your neck, leaving kisses-turned-bites all over, which were sure to transform into hickeys.

"no... no, you're not," you let out breathlessly, unable to escape the fire coursing through your veins at the slightest touch. you wanted more, so much more, and satoru was the only one who could fulfil your needs— not that you would have it any other way.

"you sure, pretty?" the corner of his mouth went up, resulting in a lopsided grin— he was obviously teasing you, that was just the way he was and always had been.

"uh-huh," you nod to reaffirm your statement. "good girl," he breathes out, only contributing to the echoes in the parts of your body which ached for him so badly.

his long fingers played and toyed with the hem of your dress, as if to test the waters. when you didn't resist, his hand sneaked up your thigh, gently fondling the skin.

despite the confidence in his actions, he observed every expression on your face cautiously, ensuring that nothing he did hurt you or made you uncomfortable in any way. when you show no signs on unease but instead only desire, he goes on to satisfy and soothe your needs.

his fingers traced their way up your inner thighs and lurked over the already soaked fabric of your underwear, bringing about a chuckle from satoru. "so needy for me already, hm?" he remarks, as if his own pants weren't tightening upon the observation.

"shut up, 'toru..." you're trying to regain your composure and keep up an attitude, but to no avail. the fact that he has you exactly where he wants you isn't helping, either. you're even trying to avoid his gaze, but the way you can feel his presence everywhere makes it impossible to do so— besides, he's making you face him again using his index finger and thumb to hold your chin in between, as he whispers out a "look at me, baby."

and when you do, you have to let out a gasp at the sight of him— his disheveled hair which was perfectly tamed at the start of the night, his half-lidded eyes as he looks at you like you're his entire world and his lips that are now slightly bruised and swollen from the kisses you've shared. it was beyond enough to get you all the more hot and bothered.

oh, but that's not the only factor contributing to the sounds you're making— it's also the way he's pulled your panties to the side and is currently tracing your slit ever so slowly. "want more, princess?" nearly mocking tone.

you hardly even manage to let out a hum before his slender fingers are running over the most sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a moan from you. your eyes roll all the way back when one of his digits slides inside you just a moment later— you'd never been this sensitive, but it seems that was going to be entirely different with satoru.

he added one after the other, and now, three of his freakishly large fingers were pumping in and out of you relentlessly— he was so good with them, you could practically taste your orgasm about to wash over you.

"'m close, satoru," you whimper out almost pathetically, and his fingers are going even deeper now, hitting the spots you'd never even dreamt of reaching on your own. "yeah? is my princess gonna cum for me?" his voice is rough and he's groaning as if he's the one receiving the pleasure.

you can only nod as your arousal overwhelms you, white ropes of cum spurting out from your throbbing hole with one final thrust of his fingers. his entire hand was covered in your fluids, which he brought up to his mouth to be able to savor the sweetness of your juices on his tongue. god, he was an obsessed freak when it came to you.

"ew, satoru! why would you do that?" you hold back a giggle, expressing faux disgust at his actions. he only kisses you in response instead of using his words, making sure you get to taste what he'd drawn out of you as well.

"you think suguru's gonna be mad?" he asks, obviously amused at the idea of your brother enraged when he finds out what you and satoru have done. "oh yeah, definitely." he sweetly presses yet another kiss to your lips.

"if it's at the expense of me getting everything i wished for, i don't care, babe."

@cuntphoric :33

#ash of the brightest flame ever burnt —✶⌒(ゝ。∂)#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #cocoamide

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pomefioredove · 8 months ago

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sorry if you dont do platonic/kid reader posts but could you do headcannons of the dormleaders with a younger teen yuu (13-14) who had a bad homelife before and they see him as their older brother? like they come to his room crying and asking him to hold them? sorry if this doesnt make sence!! thank you and i love your work!! ^_^ <3

I very gladly do platonic and familial requests <3 I myself feel more platonic towards most of the characters ^_^

summary: housewardens adopting you as their younger sibling type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, kalim, vil, idia, malleus additional info: platonic, yuu is gender neutral

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

believe it or not, Riddle is a pretty good brother

especially to someone from a home life similar to his

I suppose he recognizes it immediately; just sees pieces of himself in you

and I honestly believe he has a soft spot for younger people, even with his temperament

it's no secret that he favors you over everyone else

(even if he'd insist he treats everyone equally)

he lets you get away with things anyone else would be collared for

he pesters you about letting him help with your homework

you're invited to every Heartslabyul event

so on and so forth

and, much to everyone else's astonishment, he's always there for you to lean on

had bad day? failed an assignment? were being picked on? had a nightmare about your home?

well, that just can't do

he'll have you two freshly baked tarts and tea ready within minutes

and, of course, he'll gladly lend a hug if that's what you need

𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫

it's no secret that Leona's home life isn't exactly dreamy, either

and his relationship with his brother isn't ideal

in fact, the very idea of having another sibling- especially a younger one- used to make him cringe

but... okay, he'll admit that you're alright

what? he's not heartless

and he just can't stand to see you struggling like a prey animal

so, sure, he'll take you under his wing

just until you get on your feet, that is! don't expect any special treatment from him just because he was feeling generous today

he's basically no help with anything practical

homework to do? not his thing

boy/girl trouble? don't you have any friends you could ask?

he'll give out advice when you need it, but Leona's got this idea that you need to figure things out for yourself, too

it's his strange way of... raising you?

(don't ask him why. he'll just get annoyed)

but if there's one thing he's really good at, it's providing that much-needed physical comfort

in his eyes, all he has to do is lie there

and he'll gladly give you a hug or a cuddle if it'll wipe that mopey look off your face

(don't listen to him; he really does worry sometimes)

𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨

his first reaction to you and your closeness is "what do you want?"

not in a rude way, mind you; when you first meet, he sees you as an excellent business opportunity

after all, you're leagues behind everyone else in school matters; and he has a helping hand to offer.

at a price, of course

and then, as time goes on and it becomes more and more obvious that you're not looking for anything but company... well...

sure, you're all alone here

sure, you remind him way too much of himself at a younger age

but why is that his problem? haven't you heard what everyone else says about him? he's shady! untrustworthy!

and... oh, sevens. he just can't bring himself to turn you away

what was once a business venture turns into a friendship

best friend/brother Azul is insanely overprotective

even though he doesn't show it, he's constantly worrying; are the other students nice to you? are they including you? is everyone treating you fairly?

will send Jade and Floyd to keep an eye on you when he's extra anxious

it takes some time for him to adjust to the idea of you being able to take care of yourself

but, still...

he makes it clear that on those days, the ones where you feel like running and hiding from the world, his door is open

you can come hide with him, instead

free of charge, of course

𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐥-𝐀𝐬𝐢𝐦

he adopts you immediately

literally just can't help himself; he sees you looking lost on your first day of classes and immediately takes you under his wing

Kalim already has a lot of younger siblings, he's used to this

anything you need, he's got it

hungry? he's already had snacks prepared

feeling homesick? he'll find you something to remind you of home

struggling with school? well... Jamil can help with that!

once word gets back to his family, they basically adopt you, too

no need to worry about having a home to go back to over breaks; his family has multiple!

he will never shut up about how great you are; literally introduces you to everyone as his younger sibling

treasures everything you give him and keeps it forever

and on your worst days, he's there for you then, too

as stated, Kalim has lots of younger siblings, he knows how it goes- and he makes a surprisingly good comforter

his hugs are always the best, too

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

Vil already has a sort of motherly thing going on for him

he may be strict, but he's nurturing above all

and much like Kalim, he takes you under his care right away

you're still young, after all- and he knows you're not emotionally mature enough to handle all the chaos of NRC on your own

plus... well, he wants to leave an impression on you

after all, the sooner you start good habits, the likelier they'll stick

(he already has your skincare regimen ready)

it's the least he can do to help... you always seem very stressed, don't you? he wonders why that is

but he never pushes for answers, of course

he makes sure you're well acquainted with everyone from the dorm, too, so that everyone can keep an eye out for you

being Vil's favorite has its perks; soon, you're well-liked by anyone from Pomefiore

and friendly with most of them, too

(just don't let Epel influence you too much)

and Vil is always there; he makes plenty of time in his week just to speak to you

he wants to make sure you're adjusting well, after all

and any problems you have, he'll deal with personally

𝐈𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝

it's more likely that Ortho bonded with you and took you in first

after all, you're closer in age than anyone else at school

you may even share a few interests!

but, of course, Idia's initial reaction was No. "Ortho, you can't just pick up random kids off the side of the road,"

...so to speak.

but somehow, you keep ending up in his dorm room to hang out

he avoids you at first, but the longer you're around, the more accumulated he'll become

when it gets to the point where he's teaching you how to play all his favorite games, it's so over for him

he's fallen right into Ortho's trap

much like Azul, Idia is a liiiittle overprotective

he's had some less than ideal experiences with siblings, after all

so maybe he's a little bit of a helicopter mom

that is, constantly watching you because he's deathly worried something's going to happen to you

(it takes a lot of convincing from Ortho before he relaxes a little)

and, of course, his doors are always open

he'll even pause his game if you come in looking upset

he just can't focus when you're all sad like that, see? now come inside and tell him what's wrong before he starts overthinking and goes into anxiety mode

𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐚

Malleus has had enough experience with children. according to himself, anyway

he was somewhat of a brother to Silver, and holds Sebek in... a slightly similar regard

but somehow, you're completely different

for one; you're magicless, and thus can't defend yourself like everyone else can

for another; you come from a different world

and you seem very reluctant on sharing details about your past

which just confuses Malleus. are you worried he will judge you for not having any magical abilities? surely, you must trust him better than that?

it's really Lilia who's able to guess that you had a rough home life. just something about the way you conduct yourself- he's seen it before

he asks Malleus to be gentle with you, and not to pry too much

which he seems to accept

much like the aforementioned, he's a little overprotective

okay, a lot overprotective

he holds those he views as family very close to him, and you're no exception

you're invited to every Diasomnia event, Silver and Lilia pitch in on all your tutoring needs, and no one would dare mess with the beloved younger sibling of Malleus Draconia

although he still makes an effort to understand all of your emotional needs

he gladly accepts all hugs and cuddles, too

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #queued

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everythingisromant1c · 2 months ago

Text

p2: three reasons why you can't stand co-star!james potter

co-star!james potter x actress!reader

summary: you were finding the first days of shooting your new TV show to be absolutely amazing, aside from the fact that you absolutely could not stand your co-star James Potter. unfortunately for you, you spent enough time around him to narrow down his most irritating qualities to only three:

a/n: hey so this took waayyy longer than i would've hoped to release, but i promise this series is not going anywhere, so tysm for all the loveee and all ur guys' patience <33

also pls pls pls feel free to send in prompt requests for this series i am so all ears

full series: Trouble in Hollywood - masterlist

1. He was insufferably good at his job

You wished you could say working with James Potter was such a challenge because he was simply bad at his job. But the thing was: he wasn't. It turned out he was really the impeccably good actor that your director Minerva seemed to swear he was, as if the talent truly was seeping through his veins. Somehow, that only made working with him more frustrating to you.

"Aaron, you've got to believe me."

James had come to you during the middle of hair and makeup and asked you to rehearse lines with him even before official rehearsals for the day's shooting began, saying it would make him feel more prepared. And, as much as you hated it, you felt the same. Your only regret was thinking you'd be able to stand him and his arrogance before seven in the morning.

"Why should I, Cassidy?"

The brunette responded to you fully in character, leaning back against a nearby vanity with his long legs crossed in front of him as you sat in your cushioned chair. He apparently got out of hair and makeup in under a matter of minutes, looking effortlessly put together with his curls hanging perfectly over his forehead—you didn't have the same luck. Your lovely makeup artist Mary seemed to be unbothered by the interruptions, continuing on with your makeup as you rehearsed your lines, though you caught her amused smile every once in a while from her reflection in the mirror.

"Because..." you began, trying to stay in character as your brain scrambled for your next line.

"You're supposed to say," cut in James, "'-because we can only trust each other right now.'"

"Please stop telling me my lines, James." You repeated the irritated request you'd uttered all morning to him as you put a tired hand to the bridge of your nose, one that Mary moved away hurriedly.

"Watch your makeup," she pleaded with a powder-filled brush to your nose , and you winced apologetically.

"Did you just want me to stand here and wait for you to remember them?" James's voice poked at you irritatingly as you stared up at him from your seat.

"Yes, that's exactly what I want." You fought from rolling your eyes. "You could at least give me a second. I didn't even ask for my line."

He raised his brows with an acquiescent sigh. "Whatever the lady wants."

Ignoring him, a skill you were growing like a muscle, you cleared your throat in focus, trying not to move too much as Mary blended some product on your neck. "Because we can only trust each other right now."

James quickly jumped back into character, right on time. "That didn't mean anything to you the other night."

"I already told you I'm sorry for that. When I heard all the rumors, I ..." you cursed at yourself as your mind drew another painful, embarrassing blank.

"-I didn't know what to think." James looked anything but guilty as his voice met your ears once again, finishing your line for you without fail.

"James!" You glared at him, doing your best to stay out in your chair and not storm out of the trailer he'd so brazenly infiltrated. You shook your head to yourself through your reflection in the brightly lit mirrors . "You're impossible."

James shrugged innocently. "I don't get why you're mad at me for trying to help."

"I'm not."

He scoffed, putting a dramatic hand to his chest. "So is this what you look like when you're happy with me?" The corner of his aggravating lips lifted along with his shoulder in a small shrug, before turning away again. "Isn't very much like how I've pictured it."

You didn't miss the way Mary let out a small breath of laughter from her nose as she switched over to doting on your hair. You gritted your teeth.

"I mean, I'm not mad at you for helping. I'm mad at you because you're annoying."

He crossed his arms defensively, his lips still quirked up, and you fought against the urge within you that had your eyes following the movement of his biceps. "I'm annoying?"

The feigned disbelief in his voice snapped your back to your right mind.

"Yes," you answered plainly. "You and your posh accent."

Maybe you'd stopped making sense, but it was too early for you to care. James was watching your meltdown with what you could only identify as merriment, his unfortunately unignorable presence taking up too much space in the cramped makeup trailer.

Thankfully choosing to ignore the part about his accent, he put up his hands innocently. "Last time I checked, I wasn't the one who keeps forgetting their lines."

"We just got the updated script for this episode last night." You shifted in your chair to face him, and you heard Mary wince from behind you, probably getting fed up with how much you were moving around, though you were too annoyed to stop yourself. "How the hell are you already off-book?"

James shrugged smugly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he leaned forward. You squinted your eyes at him. "An actor never reveals his secrets, love."

You twisted your mouth in disgust at his words—because you definitely felt something as he said them, whether it was disgust or not you didn't want to think about—and probably only made him more satisfied. "Mary," you groaned, looking at her through the mirror in front of you. "I think I'm going to be sick."

She shook her head and gave your reflection a sharp look back. "Not in that freshly ironed shirt you're not."

You sighed, settling back into your chair and sparing another glance at the man to your right. He tipped his head at you, almost tauntingly, and you felt your jaw tighten. It was going to be a long day.

2. Everyone else seemed to love him

You'd been going about your Thursday innocently, filming scenes when called upon—finally having memorized all your lines properly—and somehow getting through the morning without any irritating interactions with your least favorite person on set at the moment. That good feeling, of course, could only last so long.

"What's this?"

Minerva, your director, had been walking around set with you until you both stopped at the sight of a crowd forming outside one of the sets. You followed her, making your way through the crowd of your fellow actors and crew members until you were met with a nauseating sight: James Potter.

At the sight of your director, his already proud smile grew to a beaming one, almost blinding, as he greeted her. "We've all been really busy with this week's filming schedule, Minnie, and you mentioned what a hassle it's been ordering enough food for everyone every day with our budget, so I pulled some strings and got my family's chef to cater our lunch."

Your jaw slacked as he nodded his head to his left, where a number of tables were set up with what looked like pizza ingredients, a moustached-man in a chef hat standing behind the scene proudly. You couldn't believe your eyes. Apparently, neither could the woman next to you.

"Oh my- James this is ... amazing!" Minerva—or Minnie, as James somehow had grown accustomed to calling her—turned to your co-star, expression as bright and beaming as James's crowd-pleasing smile was. "But you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble-"

"It was no trouble at all. Francis was more than happy to help."

He waved a hand at the chef, who you assumed was the 'Francis' in question, who nodded back at him happily with a pizza cutter in his hand. It was like something out of a movie, the way everyone clapped for James who stood at the front of the crowd like the beloved man he was. You felt sick to your stomach.

"What's wrong? Do you not like the pizza?"

You'd taken your lunch shamefully, making sure to hide your amazement at the endless selection of pizza toppings that James had arranged at the build-your-own-pizza station, and were sitting with Remus, who you'd met at auditions for the show and luckily got casted in a role other than one that'd gone to James, and Sirius, another one of your co-stars who you'd quickly become friends with since you spent practically all your time on set nowadays.

You looked up at Remus briefly before returning your gaze to the pizza in front of you, the perfect slice underneath the sun seeming to taunt you. "No," you grumbled. "The pizza's amazing."

Sirius chuckled. "You'd think you'd be happy about that."

"I would, aside from the fact that it was Potter who brought it in."

The black-haired man tipped his head at you curiously. "What's your problem with James again?"

You shook your head forebodingly. "Don't tell me he's brainwashed you both with his hundred-dollar pizza too."

"I doubt the pizza's that much money." Remus bit into the slice in his hand, talking through the bite. "But it is pretty delicious."

"It is," Sirius nodded. "It was pretty nice of him to cover lunch for the day. If anything, you'd think you'd like him more for this."

You groaned. "He brought in his family's private chef, for God's sake. It's not like he rescued a cat from a tree or something."

Sirius and Remus shared a look as you spoke. You knew you sounded ridiculous, but you currently lacked enough dignity to care as yet another slice of pizza sat on your plate, ready to be eaten.

"James is actually a really nice lad," reasoned Sirius. "Take it from us. We kind of grew up with him."

That fact had yet to escape you as soon as you'd met the two of them. According to the stories they'd relayed to you, Remus's mum had been an on-set tutor to James growing up when he was acting in some movie, while Sirius's parents had been producers for some of James's parents' films. Safe to say, the three of them certainly left you feeling inexperienced in the world of acting.

"James should be the least of your worries," urged Remus. "He's harmless."

"If he's so harmless, then why has he gone out of his way to be a pain in my ass since I met him?"

Sirius snorted. "We said he's harmless, not that he's not an idiot sometimes."

"But," Remus added, "whatever James has done, just know that it always comes from a good place. The man doesn't have a mean bone in his body."

You sighed inwardly. The James Potter you knew seemed to be very different from the one that everyone else seemed to be familiar with, and it was driving you crazy.

3. He was an obnoxious flirt

When you said 'flirt', you not only meant that he flirted with you—unfortunately—but that he seemed to flirt with anyone in sight, whether he realized it or not. In fact, you'd been forced to watch as he smooth-talked one of the hairstylists on set for the past ten minutes.

You couldn't hear everything they were saying, thank god, but you were sure she was probably more charmed by the fact that his last name was Potter than anything he could remotely come up with to win her over. You'd had enough conversations with him to know that the movie-star smiles he offered were enough to charm people before they realized just how insufferable he was.

After what felt like hours, he said something to the woman in parting and left her looking flushed and smiley as he strolled away. You sighed, happy to finally be rid of distractions, and looked back down at the script on your lap that you were trying to memorize but stopped almost immediately as you felt an unwelcome presence lingering from in front of you. You looked up and fought a groan.

James tipped his head at you innocently. "You wanted me?"

You tensed at his phrasing and did your best to go back to ignoring him as you focused back on your script. "I did not."

Not taking the hint, as usual, he stayed put, shoving his hands in his well-tailored pockets. "Well, you've been staring at me for the past ten minutes, so I just assumed you had something to say."

"Well, you assumed wrong." You gave him a tight-lipped smile from where you sat. "And I wasn't staring. I just miraculously found it hard to concentrate on memorizing lines when you were harassing that hairstylist right next to me."

He squinted at you quizzically before shaking his head, finding your banter more amusing than you probably were. "Admit it. You're obsessed with me."

You scoffed, blinking rapidly to truly portray your disbelief. "You wish. Reality is, Potter—I think I hate you."

James peered at you with a glint in his eye like he'd never heard anything more amusing, leaning back against the wall next to you. "You think?"

You shrugged tightly. "The jury hasn't come to a decision just yet." You thought back to the unfortunately delicious pizza he'd provided, and all the things that Remus and Sirius had said to you that stood in stark contrast to practically every other experience you'd had with him.

James grinned, finding teasing you the most entertaining part of his day, even on set for a TV show. "So I still have a chance?"

His eyes glistened and you reeled. "A chance to what? Did you not hear the 'hate' part?"

"Hate is a strong word, don't you think?"

You shook your head. "Strong, but appropriate."

"Ouch." He touched his hand to his chest in that dramatic way he always did, something you blamed on his actor roots. "Your words hurt, you know." You rolled your eyes, truly trying then to get back to memorizing your lines so James would have nothing over you during filming the next day, but he didn't seem to care. "Look, I get it. You said you hate me. But really, I don't think you do."

You sighed, setting your script aside as you looked up at him with finality. "And why is that, Potter?"

"Because," James began, and you didn't like the tease in his tone as he looked down at you. "A little birdie told me you had some say in whether or not they cast me in South Bay. And that you actually encouraged it."

Your lips parted, those words being the last ones you expected him to say after weeks had gone by since the chemistry read. You didn't know who'd ratted you out, but whoever did would be getting a stern talking to. Or a partially stern one, since they were more than likely your boss.

You shrugged weakly at him. "That ... that doesn't mean anything."

James's thick brow lifted effortlessly. "So you're not denying it?"

At his challenging look, you relented with a drop of your shoulders. "I'm not. It's true; I told Minerva I think they should choose you to play Aaron becuase you are good at your job, James. As much as it annoys me. I mean, you're clearly a great actor, you get all your lines memorized overnight, not to mention the entire crew is in love with you for some reason-"

"Oh, I see."

You paused, looking at the way James's slight grin turned into a shit-eating one. "What?"

He tipped his head at you tauntingly. "You're jealous."

You let out a laugh harsher than you meant it to be. "Please. There's nothing about you I could possibly waste my energy being jealous over."

The brunette tutted, and you hated the feeling it sent through you. "For such a great actress, you're not a very good liar."

You felt your breathing shallow for a moment, not knowing what to do with the compliment that flowed so easily from his lips like he hadn't given it a second thought. You pushed the thought aside, focusing on the insult part of his statement instead, and rolled your eyes.

"Look," James continued at your expression. "Jealous or not, we're going to have to work together on this show for God knows how many more months. Years even, if it gets renewed for a second season." The thought both filled you with excitement and dread as it came from James's lips. He looked down at you with an honest curiosity. "How much longer can you go on pretending to hate me?"

You noted that what he was saying was true, letting the words sit in your chest for a moment, but you also noted that you had more fun being petty. You tilted your chin up at him. "Funny that you think I'm pretending."

James put a hand on the table you were sitting at, leaning forward slightly and making you freeze up. "Funny that you're still not a good liar, love."

Your throat felt tight with something you wanted to again dismiss as disgust at both his proximity and the delicate word that fell from his lips. You let an unpleasant pinch form between your brows. "I thought I told you not to call me that."

James felt something warm, almost giddy, form in his chest, and it didn't matter that you looked like you were considering slapping him right then. He let the corner of his lips quirk up. "You're adorable when you're mad."

"Don't call me that either." You huffed, picking up your still un-memorized script and standing. "I'm going to my trailer."

James quirked a brow, following you with only his eyes. "Is that an invitation?"

You rolled your eyes, walking away and calling over your shoulder. "Absolutely not."

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