#well i got this thought and just had to write it down

[pbaz7]

FINDING PEACE IN YOU: PART 9

paige x azzi

word count: 11.8k

A/N: This one was fun to write. I tried to include a couple of requests that a few people wanted to see but I couldn’t include everything in one chapter of course. Please let me know what you think and leave comments if you can!

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Paige had never thought she'd see the day where Jasmine was sitting in her living room, legs crossed on her couch. The same couch her and Azzi had just—well, no. Paige shook the thought from her head, jaw tightening as she pulled her focus back.

Still, the fact remained. Jasmine. In her house. Sitting on that couch.

It had been two weeks since Paige returned from the road, and Jasmine had already tried twice before today to wedge herself back into Paige’s orbit.

The first time, Paige had been home alone. She hadn’t even been surprised when she opened the door and saw Jasmine standing there. It ended the way it did the first time: with raised voices, insensitive words, and Paige muttering “You’re pathetic,” before walking back inside and slamming the door shut behind her.

The second time, it was a Saturday morning. Lukas was at the counter scrolling on his iPad, Paige was on the couch stretching out her sore legs, and Azzi—barefoot in one of Paige’s oversized UConn shirts, curls in a bun—was flipping pancakes in the kitchen.

They were expecting Drew to stop by for breakfast, which was why Azzi didn’t even think to ask who was at the door when the knock came. She just opened it.

Azzi had blinked, confused at first, her free hand still holding the spatula. Paige had called out for Azzi asking who it was and when Azzi didn’t respond Paige grew confused.

Paige could still picture it when she rounded the corner—how tight Azzi’s posture was. She walked up, gave Azzi a soft kiss on the cheek and gently nudged her back to the kitchen. “I got it baby.”

Azzi hesitated but Paige gave her another soft nudge and Azzi nodded, retreating back into the kitchen without a word.

That time, the argument had been quieter. The tension still lingered between them but Paige had kept her voice low, mindful that Lukas was inside and could probably hear every word if she let herself yell.

Jasmine hadn’t gotten what she wanted. Again.

After that day Azzi sat Paige down. No tension, no arguing—just calmly. Just the two of them on the couch as Azzi told Paige she needed to talk to Jasmine. No arguing, no yelling, just talk.

And now here they were.

Jasmine in her living room. In her home. In the middle of the space Paige had rebuilt with care, with time—now with Azzi.

Paige stood in the archway for a second longer before walking in and sitting across from her, lowering herself slowly into the armchair.

Paige didn’t want Jasmine in her home.

Every part of her tensed at the idea, her space was sacred. Shared only with people she trusted, people she loved. Not the woman who had shown up unannounced—again and again—trying to dig through closed chapters like they were still being written.

But Paige also wasn’t about to be seen with her in public. She knew how the media worked. How one photo, one poorly timed encounter, could spark a dozen headlines and speculation.

So here they were.

Paige cut straight to the point. “Can you just be honest about why you’re here so we can get this over with?”

Jasmine gave that same look she always did—part soft, part rehearsed—as she leaned back, one arm stretched along the back cushion of the couch. “I miss you, Paige.”

Paige let out a sound, something between a scoff and a laugh. “This ain’t gonna be productive if you start off with lying Jasmine.”

Jasmine’s expression didn’t change. She just crossed her legs the other way and met Paige’s eyes. “You say that like it’s impossible for me to miss you. I was in love with you at one point, Paige. It’s not the craziest thing in the world for me to say.”

Paige shook her head slowly, a dry bitterness in her voice. “You weren’t in love with me.”

Jasmine straightened a little, her tone sharpening. “We were literally engaged, Paige. Before everything, before I—” Jasmine paused for a second not wanting to finish the sentence. “We had something good.”

Paige let the silence hang for a moment, her eyes settling on the corner of the room before returning to Jasmine. She spoke with the certainty of someone who had spent nights unraveling the truth from memory.

“We got engaged because you agreed to have my child and my mom said it made no sense for me to have a kid with someone I didn’t see myself marrying,” she said simply. “We were toxic from the jump, it was just fun because we were in college.”

Jasmine didn’t have an answer for this right away.

Paige let the silence settle again, but this time it wasn’t bitter—it was contemplative. Tired. Her arms folded across her chest, her gaze resting somewhere past Jasmine’s shoulder as she asked, quietly, “You remember how we met?”

Jasmine smiled nostalgically like the memory held something tender. “Yeah,” she said, almost like she was reliving it. “Of course I do.”

And that’s exactly how Paige knew Jasmine hadn’t grown. Still holding on to a story that never deserved to be romanticized.

Summer 2022

The night was hazy and hot, typical of Storrs in late July. Ted’s was packed—sweaty bodies moving between the tent and bar, drinks spilling, athletes from every sport clinging to the high of having nothing to do but party at this time of year. It was the kind of summer lull where routine blurred and everyone was just looking for a little excitement.

Paige was drunk, but coherent. The kind of buzz she could still control. She was slouched in a booth with Nika, Aubrey, and Ice—one of the incoming freshmen who already had a bit of a mouth on her.

Paige was half-listening to whatever nonsense was being said, her gaze drifting around the bar, distracted.

“Yo, twin,” Nika nudged her with an elbow, “you good?”

Paige blinked and looked up. “Yeah. Just bored as hell, man.”

Nika laughed. “Go get laid or something, damn.”

Paige rolled her eyes but still grinned. “That’s all I been doing since the season ended.”

“Aye,” Aubrey shrugged. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

“Plus she been eyein’ you all night,” Ice chimed in, nodding her head toward the corner of the bar.

Paige followed the movement, her buzz slow and warm in her veins, every beat of the music vibrating in her chest. That’s when she saw who Ice was talking about.

A girl sitting across the bar, leaned back in her stool with a kind of lazy confidence that only came when someone knew they were attractive. 5’8", maybe 5’9", with small goddess braids that cascaded down her back, brushing against the curve of her ass. Her skin was a golden tan that glowed under the bar lights, and her lips were full, glossed, just slightly parted—wrapped around the small straw in her glass. Her nails tapped against the glass with a soft rhythm, and Paige could see the faint shimmer of a chrome finish.

She had on a cropped, long-sleeve shirt that showed off just enough: the subtle cut of her stomach muscles, a sliver of underboob every time she moved. Her high-waisted pants hugged her just right. And her eyes—hazel, but nearly hidden behind her long natural lashes were locked on Paige like they’d been waiting for her.

Paige’s diamond earrings caught the light as she tilted her head, lips curling into a smirk. The small cross hanging from her chain swayed as she downed the rest of her drink in one go, the burn grounding her in the moment.

“Imma see y’all later,” she mumbled to the table, already rising to her feet before they could get a word in.

She walked straight to the girl, cutting through the crowd easily. She didn’t stop until she was right in front of her—close enough to smell her perfume, something warm with a hint of amber.

“I heard you been looking at me all night,” Paige said, her voice low, leaning in just enough to make it intimate.

The girl looked up through her lashes, lips tugging into a smirk. “I have.”

Paige licked her lips, letting her eyes drag over her slowly. “You always stare at people like that? Or am I special?”

The girl tilted her head slightly, taking her time with the answer. “Only when they’re fine like you.”

Paige grinned. “Mm. So I’m fine now?”

The girl’s smile deepened as she played with the straw in her glass, taking a long sip before setting it back down. Her voice was smooth as she said, “Something gives me the impression you already know that.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle, tongue brushing across her bottom lip again. “Maybe. But it hit different when somebody like you point it out.”

The girl raised her eyebrow, her hazel eyes flickering with interest. “Someone like me?”

“Bad as hell,” Paige said, eyes dragging down and back up again with no shame. She mumbled something low under her breath before saying, “Yeah. I’d say you fit the bill.”

The girl smiled. “You flirt like you’ve been practicing. Like you got a lot of experience.”

“I’m a fast learner,” Paige quipped. “But you talking like you’ve got me figured out already.”

“Maybe I do.”

Paige leaned in a little closer, the scent of tequila and her cologne dancing between them. “That so? What’d you figure out?”

“That you’re not over here for small talk.”

Paige’s grin spread across her face, heat blooming behind her blue eyes. “You’re right.”

She let her hand settle on the edge of the girl’s stool, fingers brushing the denim of her ripped jeans. “I’mma be honest with you though—I’m just tryna see what you like tonight. If that’s cool with you.”

The girl didn’t flinch, her eyes lighting up with something hungry. “That’s all you’re tryna do?”

Paige cocked her head slightly, like she was thinking. “You tryna make it more than that?”

“I’m tryna make it loud,” the girl said as she reached for her drink again. She sipped slowly, letting the silence stretch just enough before adding, “That okay with you?”

Paige laughed at that, her fingers trailing just a little higher on the girl’s thigh. “Loud, huh?” she echoed, leaning in so close her breath danced across the girl’s cheek. “You tryna tell me you moan pretty or somethin’?”

The girl turned her head, lips brushing dangerously close to Paige’s. “I’m tryna say if we end up in my car we might wanna keep the windows up.”

Paige grinned as she leaned back just slightly, looking the girl over again—cropped tee riding up just enough, those lips still curved like they knew something she didn’t, hazel eyes laced with intention.

“Mmm,” Paige hummed, dragging her gaze slow. “So it’s like that?”

The girl nodded. “It’s exactly like that.”

Paige took a beat, then licked her lips and pushed off the stool. “Say less,” she said, already walking backwards with a smirk. “Lemme see how loud I can get you.”

The girl didn’t hesitate. She finished her drink and followed Paige out like she already knew she wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight.

They didn’t say a word until they reached her car. When they opened the tinted back door, Paige looked over her shoulder, eyes locked on the girl. “You sure?”

The girl stepped right up behind her, pressed close, and whispered near her ear, “You’re the one who said say less.”

Paige laughed, heart already racing. “Bet.”

And they disappeared into the car windows fogging before they’d even figured out who was in control, before they even figured out each other’s name. They’d learn that later on the drive back to Paige’s dorm to continue what they’d already started.

Present

Jasmine laughed softly, her eyes dancing with the memory. “I mean…sure, it wasn’t the best way to meet,” she said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, “but it was us.”

Paige stared at her, unmoved. The contrast between them was keen. The smile on Jasmine’s face. The confusion Paige carried looking at her.

It wasn’t cute. It wasn’t romantic.

“We met because I was bored and you looked good enough,” Paige said, not meant to be cruel—just honest.

Jasmine’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Okay,” she said, tilting her head, “But it turned into something after that.”

Paige studied her. “You don’t think we were toxic?”

Jasmine shook her head. “No. Not like that. I’ve seen worse.”

Then Paige was reminding Jasmine about another time.

Spring 2023

Campus was alive again. April in Storrs meant warmer days, later nights, and students lingering outside every chance they got now that it wasn’t freezing. The season was over, and Paige hadn’t played a single game. Her body had been healing, but her mind was restless. She was tired of rehab, tired of being asked how she was doing, tired of not being seen the way she used to be.

So she was at Ted’s.

Drunk.

The music was loud, the bar barely lit and packed, and Paige was leaning against a wall when a random girl sauntered up.

“I feel like you've been watching me,” she whispered, a smile tugging at her glossed lips.

Paige blinked slowly, knowing full well she hadn’t been watching anyone but played into it for the hell of it. “Maybe. You complaining?”

“Not yet,” the girl said, stepping in close—close enough that Paige couldn’t process anything else around her. “But I’m just curious if you're going to keep looking or actually do something for me?”

Paige let out a quiet laugh, gaze dropping briefly to the girl's lips. “I got a bum knee, not a bum mouth.”

That earned her a soft laugh, and then the girl was lightly tugging the front of Paige’s hoodie, pulling her in. Their mouths met in a messy kiss. Paige’s hand slid to the girl's waist, fingers brushing the bare skin of her back as she deepened the kiss.

The girl pulled back just enough to whisper, against Paige’s jaw, “You kiss like you’re trying to prove something.”

Paige smirked. “Promise you I don’t got nothing to prove. Just ask around.”

Their mouths met again, more urgent this time, the girl’s hand sliding under the hem of Paige’s hoodie, fingertips tracing warm lines against her stomach. Paige groaned softly, tugging her even closer.

“You always this reckless with strangers?” the girl whispered against her lips.

Paige hummed, lips brushing hers.

And then—Acrylics twisted into her hoodie, jerking her back as the girl stumbled slightly, blinking in confusion. Paige’s body swayed, eyes still adjusting to the light as she turned around.

“The fuck?” she said, irritation flaring in her chest as she turned to see Jasmine standing there clearly pissed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jasmine hissed, glaring at the random girl who was now backing away from the situation.

Paige scoffed, adjusting her hoodie. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“No—don’t flip this shit on me right now.”

“I’m not flipping shit. You’re not my girlfriend,” Paige snapped. “You be fucking around with other people too. So what’s the issue?”

Jasmine blinked, caught off guard. “Are you seriously sitting in my face comparing what I do to this?” she gestured toward the direction of the girl Paige had just been all over.

“I’m comparing exactly that,” Paige said back. “You don’t answer your phone, you ghost for days, then pop up pissy when I’m doing me.”

“It’s not the same,” Jasmine said, voice shaking just a little. “You text me every time you’re drunk. You call me when you’re lonely. You crawl back in my bed like I’m the only one you want—”

Paige cut her off. “And you let me.”

Jasmine flinched. Paige didn’t stop.

“You talk like I’m the problem, but you’ve always been down for it. Every time. You do the same shit half the time so why you acting like this now?”

“I did that because I love you,” Jasmine snapped, her voice slightly raised now. “Even if you don’t love me back the same.”

Paige stared at her for a long moment, the alcohol making her slower to filter her thoughts.

“You don’t love me,” she said, quieter. “You’re obsessed with not being alone and you like my money.”

Jasmine’s face fell. She staggered a step back, the words slicing through something soft inside her chest. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

And then she turned.

Started walking away.

Paige blinked, sobering just a little, like the weight of her own voice finally registered.

“Aye—” she reached out, grabbing Jasmine’s arm gently, pulling her back. “I’m sorry, ma. I ain’t mean that. I’m sorry I swear.”

Jasmine didn’t look at her. Her jaw was tight, eyes still fighting wetness. “You don’t get to say shit like that and then apologize like it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Paige said quickly, her hand sliding down to Jasmine’s wrist. “You know it’s not. I was mad. I’m drunk. I just—”

“What?” Jasmine said, bitter now. “You want me to forget it? Act like you didn’t just call me pathetic?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t fucking have to.”

There was a long pause.

Paige exhaled, frustration melting into guilt as her eyes dropped to the ground. When she looked back up at Jasmine, her voice was soft.

"I'm sorry, Jas. What I gotta do to make it up to you, baby?”

Jasmine shook her head slowly, like her heart hadn’t caught up with the moment. “You think saying sorry fixes it?” she asked, not looking at Paige. “You think I’m just supposed to un-hear that shit?”

“I don’t,” Paige said quickly, her voice barely loud enough to hear. “I don’t think that. I just...I fucked up. I know I did.”

Jasmine turned her face toward her, eyes rimmed red. “You always say that after the damage is already done.”

“I know,” Paige whispered. “And I hate that I keep doing it. I hate that I hurt you. I’m not trying to I’m just—I’m so messed up all the time.”

There was a silence between them. Jasmine looked at her for a long second, studying her like she was trying to decide what Paige even was to her anymore. A regret? A habit? A maybe? Trying to figure out if she was ultimately worth the trouble. There were other athletes in the world, other people she could attach herself to.

Then she sighed and took a step forward.

Her hand lifted slowly, fingers threading through Paige’s hair, long nails grazing her scalp. “What’s going on with you?” she asked, quieter now.

Paige’s eyes closed, just for a moment, like the touch cracked something open in her.

“My team just lost in the Sweet 16 Jas. Because I have a bum knee and couldn’t step on the floor once this season,” she said.

Jasmine didn’t have any words of encouragement so she stayed silent. Running her hands through Paige’s long hair.

“I feel useless,” Paige added. “Like I’m not even the same person anymore. Basketball was the one thing I could count on, and now it’s like...slipping.”

Jasmine’s expression shifted—still guarded, but gentler. “You should’ve told me.”

“I don’t know how to talk about shit like this,” Paige admitted looking down.

Jasmine hesitated. She didn’t know how to deal with this kind of heavy—these kinds of emotions. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. So instead, she said, “I can help.”

Paige looked up at her, those blue eyes clear and fragile. Jasmine's gaze locked with hers.

“First,” Jasmine said, “you’re going to tell me you’ll stop fucking around with other girls. I want to know I’m the only one that can have you.”

A beat passed.

Then Paige smiled, it was soft and crooked, that kind of smile that always made Jasmine’s anger crumble. The kind that reminded her just how sweet this girl was in a world that wasn’t going to be sweet to her.

“I can do that,” Paige said.

Jasmine’s eyebrows rose, just slightly. “You promise?”

Paige nodded.

“Now,” Jasmine murmured, stepping in closer, “you’re going take me home. And you’re going to do whatever the hell you want with me. However you want. For however long you want and I’ll take all of it.”

And just like that — Jasmine leaned in, their mouths finding each other like nothing had happened.

The kiss was deep. Familiar-ish. Like something they both wanted to believe still fit.

But then Jasmine pulled back, her nose scrunching as she whispered, “You taste like another bitch.”

Paige barely flinched. She just whispered against Jasmine’s lips, “Lemme take you home then…so I can taste like you instead.”

And Jasmine let her.

But Paige would think about what she said later — not the sweet words, but the harsh ones. The truth she hadn’t meant to spit out loud. Because deep down, she knew she meant them. Even if neither of them would admit it.

Present

Paige sat back, her voice level as she looked across the living room at Jasmine—older now, but still wearing that same look she always did when she wanted to pretend something was more romantic than it was. Like if she smiled soft enough, maybe the ugly parts wouldn’t matter.

“What I said that night was true,” Paige said. “You didn’t love me.”

For a second, Jasmine didn’t say anything. Her eyes dropped, then lifted again. They were defiant, like she wanted to deny it, rewrite the memories. But instead she said, “You didn’t love me either, Paige.”

A moment passed.

Paige sighed, and this time, there was no fight left in her. Just a quiet acknowledgment. “I know.” She paused for a second before continuing, “We were just what the other needed at the time. I was young, had money, and suddenly had all this attention on me. I knew I couldn’t keep sleeping around without something getting out eventually—some story, some headline. So it made sense to have someone next to me who looked good, who would play the part.”

Her voice didn’t hold malice, just a quiet resignation.

“You made it easy, Jas. I knew you weren’t gonna do anything to mess it up. Honestly at one point you probably worked harder than I did to keep my image clean.”

Jasmine didn’t interrupt.

“But you didn’t do that for me. You did it because of what it meant for you. You never had to work. You got to enjoy what I had—just for being with me. The events, the people, the gifts…the money.”

She exhaled, her eyebrows creasing slightly as she tried to find the right words.

“I don’t know how else to explain it, but…we weren’t in love. We were just…a nice arrangement. It worked perfectly. Until it didn’t.”

Jasmine’s voice was quieter now too, but there was a small nod, like she was starting to see it too. “It was a nice arrangement.”

Paige let out a soft laugh, not bitter—just reflective. “Yeah…maybe for a little bit.”

Jasmine looked down for a moment, then back up at Paige. “You act like none of it was real. Like I didn’t care about you at all. Like we didn’t care about each other.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She just stared at Jasmine for a long moment before finally speaking, her voice lower now—almost more to herself than to Jasmine.

“You remember that night it rained?” she whispered. “Like—poured. Lights all out in the dorms. Whole campus blacked out.”

Jasmine nodded slowly, eyes searching Paige’s face.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Paige said. “My knee was killing me, and I was pissed at everyone and everything because I could barely shower on my own let alone step on a court. I had been ignoring the world for days. You showed up with that candle…the one that smelled like peaches or something.”

Jasmine exhaled softly, smiling despite herself. “Peach Prosecco. You hated it.”

Paige’s lips twitched. “Still lit it though. You made me tea. Sat next to me all night. Didn’t say much. Just… sat there, brushing your fingers over my wrist ‘til I fell asleep.”

The memory made her chest ache slightly—warm, familiar, soft in the way very few moments between them ever were. Jasmine had actually looked at her that night like she was worth a damn. Like she mattered outside of a box score or rehab schedule. Like someone worth staying up with in the dark.

But even as the warmth curled in her chest, Paige remembered the next morning. She’d woken up groggy, disoriented, the scent of peaches still clinging to the air. Jasmine was gone—no big deal, Paige thought at first. Probably just ran to the dining hall or back to her own room for a charger or something. But when she shifted in bed, the ache in her knee flaring up as usual, in an attempt to grab her phone her hand brushed something on the nightstand.

It was Paige’s wallet. Open. One of the bills she knew for sure she’d had—gone. Not a huge amount, maybe a twenty, but enough that she noticed.

She hadn’t thought much of it then. Had told herself she was overthinking when little things like this happened. Jasmine was just casual with boundaries, not malicious. She knew the girl was struggling a little bit. Paige had wanted to be someone Jasmine could lean on. She’d even liked it, in a backwards way—being needed.

Paige blinked, her gaze hardening just slightly as she brought herself out of the memory. “But then you disappeared. Again. Like always.”

The softness in Jasmine’s eyes faltered, her jaw tensing.

“That’s why I act like none of it was real,” Paige said. “Because the realest parts never lasted.”

Jasmine opened her mouth to respond, but Paige cut her off gently.

“I’m not saying all this to make it sound like I was miserable the whole time, or that I didn’t care about you,” she said, her voice calm but direct. “I’m not tryna hurt you, Jas. I’m just trying to be real about what it was. And it wasn’t love. Not the unconditional kind that feels weightless, not the kind I want for myself. That I want for you.”

Jasmine scoffed lightly. “That doesn’t exist Paige.”

Paige smiled faintly, almost involuntarily. She didn’t even have to think long. “It does, Jas,” she said softly. Her eyes softened, mind flickering to Azzi…to Lukas. “I promise it really does.”

And almost as if the universe heard her—maybe even agreed—her phone buzzed on the table. Azzi’s contact photo lit up the screen. Paige reached for it and she answered, smiling. “Wassup, man?”

Lukas’ voice crackled through the speaker excitedly. “How’d you know it was me, ma?”

Paige laughed, sinking a little deeper into the chair. “’Cause I know Azzi’s on a call with a client right now, big head.”

“Hm,” Lukas hummed, like that hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“How’d you figure out how to call me with her phone anyway?”

There was a pause, then Lukas proudly said, “Well Uncle Drew showed me how to find emergency numbers on the phone, and then I saw your picture and clicked it. Boom.”

Paige let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Genius. So, what’s the big emergency?”

Lukas exhaled way too dramatically. “Azzi said you told her I need to get a haircut today.”

Paige simply said. “You are getting a haircut today.”

“Whyyyy?” Lukas groaned, dragging the word out like it physically pained him.

Paige grinned. “Because we got dinner tonight.”

“With who?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to Jasmine, who was watching her silently now, taking it all in. Paige hesitated, not wanting to hurt her more than she already had. So instead, she said, “I’ll tell you later.”

Lukas groaned again. Paige laughed before saying, “Look, I’m a little busy right now, but I’ll see you soon, alright? I’ll bring lunch—ask Azzi what she wants after she’s done.”

She heard the raucous of him getting up on the other end.

“After she’s done, Lukas,” Paige added quickly, laughing again.

“Oh…okay. Right.”

Paige shook her head with a smile, even though he couldn’t see her. “I’ll see you soon ight. I love you.”

“I love you, ma.”

Just before she hung up, she added, “And hey—leave Azzi’s phone alone. There's too much important stuff on there for you to play with it.”

Lukas laughed loudly. “Okayyy.”

Paige ended the call and set the phone back down, her smile slowly fading as her eyes met Jasmine’s again—two people in the same room, but now clearly living very different lives.

Jasmine looked at her, voice quiet, barely traveling across the room enough for Paige to hear it. “Do you really love her?”

“I do.”

Jasmine blinked fast, trying to stop the tears welling in her eyes. Her voice cracked as she asked, “So there’s no chance of us trying again? Being a family?”

Paige’s eyes softened at the question—at the flicker of that younger Jasmine peeking through, the one who was there in the soft moments. The one who used to bullshit around with her in the gym until all hours of the night, laughed with her like they had all the time in the world. “No, Jas. I’m sorry.”

She took a breath before adding, “And I’m sorry for putting expectations on you that were never part of our…silent arrangement. You didn’t sign up for a kid. But you still showed up when I said I needed one. You still did that, carried him, for me. Despite what you may or may not have wanted at the time. And I want you to know I’ll always thank you for it. I’ll always appreciate you for bringing him into this world for me.”

Jasmine’s eyes shimmered, her lip trembling slightly as she looked down. “I think about him. About you. All the time. And I don’t know…everything else just seems so shallow now. I hate that I was so caught up in the lifestyle—so materialistic—that I messed up something that could’ve been…at least good.”

Paige smiled sadly. “We were young. We didn’t know what we were doing.”

There was silence again, but this time, it wasn’t tense. It was full of understanding for once.

Jasmine asked, “How do you know you love her?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her eyes dropped to her lap, fingers lightly tracing the seam of her pants. “Because I’m completely selfless when it comes to her.”

She glanced up at Jasmine, who waited in silence, needing more than that. So Paige gave her everything without fully meaning to.

“When I’m with Azzi…everything slows down. Like the world feels easier to carry. Even on the days when my body’s shot, when I’m sore and just want to sleep for a week—I still get up. I’ll drive her to work and pick her up after, just because of how much she hates driving. Doesn’t matter how tired I am.”

She laughed a little. “And when I’m not with her, I’m still thinking about her. Like, what kind of coffee will make her smile that morning, because different moods call for different coffee orders, or if she remembered to eat. I know her weird ass Cava order by heart. I know when she’s had a long day ‘cause she gets quiet, but her eyes still track me like she’s trying to pull energy from me.”

Paige exhaled, her lips twitching into a smile without her permission. “She hums when she’s folding laundry. Always slightly off-key. I swear it drives me crazy.” Her eyes softened more. “Still I love hearing it.”

She paused for a second, then kept going.

“She’s patient with me, with my emotions. Doesn’t push, doesn’t guilt me. Just…holds space, even when I don't know what I need yet. And she’s real. She calls me out when I’m slipping, if I’m not being who she needs me to be, she holds me accountable, but never makes me feel small.”

Her voice cracked slightly as she let out all the thoughts she’s been holding in. “The way she looks at me—like she sees the whole version of who I am, not just the parts I let the world see…and somehow she still chooses me everyday. Still wants to come home to me after a long day.”

Her voice is more intimate, like she wasn’t even talking to anyone anymore. Just…remembering.

“When I’m on the court, the second that buzzer goes off, I’m scanning the crowd for her and Lukas. Every damn time. Doesn't feel like a win unless they’re there. Doesn’t feel worth it if I can’t share the moment with her.”

She smiled softly, still lost in it.

“She makes me want to be better in every aspect of life. Makes me want to give her the best version of me. I want her to feel safe with me. I want her to know she’ll never have to carry anything alone—not while I’m breathing.”

Paige’s thumb stilled against the fabric of her pants, her eyes glazing over—not out of detachment, but from sinking too deep into the memory of Azzi.

“She’s so beautiful it hurts sometimes,” Paige whispered, like it slipped out. “Not just surface-level pretty. Even though, God, she is—the kind of beautiful that makes you forget your name for a second when you look at her. Her smile? It kills me every time. She has these dimples, one of them only shows up when she’s really laughing, and when she’s sleepy? Her eyes get all soft and warm, like honey damn near I don’t know.”

She let out a breath, not a laugh really, more like an exhale of awe.

“Don’t even get me started on her voice. It kind of just wraps around me. Makes me feel safe. Even when she’s teasing me—and she always is—there’s never any seriousness to it. Just softness.”

Her fingers messed with the seam again.

“But it’s what’s inside her that messes me up really. The way she’s so loyal, so good to the people she loves. She doesn’t always say a lot when you first get to know her, but when she does? It’s never empty. It’s thoughtful. Like she wants every word to mean something when you’re just meeting her. And it always means something.”

She paused again, catching her breath a little.

“She has a quiet strength. The kind that doesn’t beg for attention. She shows up for people, over and over, even when she’s tired. Even if she’s hurting. And I get to be someone she shows up for.” Her voice dipped lower, almost in disbelief the more she talked. “She shows up for me.”

Paige blinked, her eyes wet but not crying.

“And when I look at her, I see the rest of my life,” she whispered. “Not just the highlight reel—the real stuff. The long nights and the early mornings, the mundane, the messy. The stuff most people get tired of—I want all of it with her, everyday. I want to sit next to her on the porch when we’re old, watching the sun go down. I want to fight over what groceries we forgot and yell at her for putting too much food on my plate. I want to take care of her when she’s sick, and hold her when she’s scared. I want to wake up to her, every day, until I can’t wake up anymore.”

She bit her lip, realization crashing over her again in quiet waves. “I want to marry her.”

The words felt heavier saying them out loud. Like they’d always been there—she just hadn’t dared say them out loud considering how soon it was.

“I really do,” she said again, softer. “God, I want to marry her so bad.”

Paige blinked like she was snapping out of a trance, and that’s when she noticed Jasmine. Eyes glassy, cheeks damp with tears…but actually smiling.

She had a deep wistful kind of smile. Like she’d finally seen the thing she never got to see when she had Paige: unburdened by the weight of the world, fully present, in love with someone—loved by someone.

“I’m so happy for you, P.”

Paige swallowed hard, guilt flickering across her features. “Shit I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

But Jasmine cut her off gently, her voice calm for once. “Don’t apologize.”

And for the first time in a long time, the silence that followed between them didn’t feel heavy. It felt mutual. Like they’d finally stepped out of the fog they’d been trapped in for years. Two people sitting with a shared truth, neither better nor worse than the other—just human.

Paige leaned back slightly, her voice quiet. “What do you need?”

Jasmine hesitated for a moment, the tension in her jaw softening as another tear slipped out. “My mom is sick P.”

Paige’s expression folded with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Jas.”

Jasmine shook her head quickly, wiping at her cheek with the edge of her sleeve. “I swear I didn’t come here for money or for…whatever you think I came for.”

Her voice cracked, and she let out a shaky laugh through her tears. “It’s just—you know, you and my mom were all I really had. And with her being sick, I don’t know, I just started thinking about you a lot. About how it used to feel…having someone.”

She laughed again through the tears, feeling a little ridiculous now. “I missed you. And I wanted a family so bad I came back to fucking Dallas.” She took a long breath, gathering herself. “I don’t know what I thought would happen. I just feel like an idiot now.”

Paige didn’t say anything right away—because what was there to say? But she looked at Jasmine with gentleness as she said, “I can’t give you what you’re looking for, Jas.”

Jasmine’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, like she was bracing herself for the answer she already knew was coming. But then she opened them again, her voice raw. “Can I meet him?”

The question hung in the air. Paige didn’t answer right away. She turned her gaze toward the window, her jaw tight as she swallowed down the storm of thoughts brewing inside her. Jasmine leaned forward slightly, her tone more desperate now.

“Please. I just—I feel so fucking empty. And every time I see him—even in pictures—it’s like something’s missing. Like there’s this whole piece of me that never fully formed. I heard his laugh in the kitchen when I was here last time and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

She exhaled shakily. “I know I don’t have the right to ask. I know I have no rights to him. It’s completely your decision. But I have to ask.”

Paige didn’t turn her gaze from the window, but her voice came back. “I gotta talk to Azzi.”

Jasmine furrowed her eyebrows, confused. As far as she knew, Azzi hadn’t done anything legal with Lukas—wasn’t listed on anything official.

“Why? I mean…she’s not—” she started, but the words trailed off before they could turn harsh. She caught herself.

Paige finally looked back at her. “We make decisions together,” she said gently. “I can’t give you an answer without talking to her first.”

For a moment, Jasmine looked like she might protest—her lips parted, and heat welled in her chest—but she saw the emotions swirling in Paige’s eyes. Not cold, not harsh. Just protective.

So instead, she sat back, biting her tongue, nodding once. “Okay, that’s fair,” she whispered.

The two women stand. Paige reaches for her phone on the coffee table, sliding it unlocked with her thumb. Jasmine’s eyes drift downward and she has to stop herself from outwardly reacting when she sees Paige’s homescreen: Azzi and Lukas, both of them mid-laugh, seemingly at the ice cream on Lukas’ nose. Sun casting a glow across their faces. It punches something hollow in her chest, but she says nothing.

Paige opens her contacts and holds the phone out toward her. “Put your number in. Not tryna talk to you through Instagram about this.”

Jasmine takes the phone with a nod, tapping quietly before turning it back toward Paige. She doesn't add a name—just the number. Paige glances down, locks it, then slides the phone into her pocket.

They walk together toward the door, and Paige reaches to open it but Jasmine lingers, like she wants to say something else.

Before she can overthink it, Paige gently reaches out, her fingers brushing Jasmine’s wrist before pulling her in. Jasmine falls into the embrace easily, like her body still knows the way. Paige wraps her arms around her, resting her cheek on the crown of Jasmine’s head, eyes fluttering closed for just a second.

Neither of them says anything. But the silence speaks.

Paige’s hand slides slowly up Jasmine’s back, fingers tracing a small pattern over the material of her shirt. Jasmine exhales against her collarbone, soft and shaky, her hands clutching the back of Paige’s sweatshirt a little tighter than she means to.

It’s not rushed. It’s not stiff. It’s the kind of hug that lingers just long enough to say all the things neither of them had the language for when they were younger.

Eventually, Paige pulls back just slightly, her hands still resting on Jasmine’s waist. Her voice is quieter now, softer as she looks down at the hazel eyed girl.

“You’re gonna be okay, Jas.”

Jasmine nods, but her eyes are glossy and Paige can see it. The way she’s holding herself together by the thinnest thread. So she lifts one hand, fingers curling gently around Jasmine’s jaw, guiding her gaze upward.

Blue eyes meet hazel for the first time in years.

Paige holds her there and says it again—barely above a whisper this time.

“I promise. You’re gonna be okay.”

There’s a pause. A breath.

Jasmine’s eyes flick to Paige’s lips and for the briefest moment, something shifts in her gaze.

Paige sees it and she immediately steps back—not coldly, just enough to put an appropriate amount of space between them. She gives a tight smile before opening the door. “Bye, Jasmine.”

“Bye, P.”

Then she quietly closes the door behind her.

…

Later that day, Paige stepped into Azzi’s office, nodding a quick thanks to Kelly as she buzzed her into the back. The familiar softness of music echoed through the hallway, and it only took a few steps before Paige caught sight of them through the glass.

Azzi stood behind Lukas, both hands carefully on his hips as she guided him toward the pull-up bar. His legs lifting with determination, chin scrunched in focus as he tried to lift himself.

Paige couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “I feel like y’all are always up to something,” she teased from the doorway.

Azzi looked over her shoulder, flashing that grin Paige would recognize anywhere. Lukas immediately twisted in Azzi’s grip, spotting his mom. “Ma!” he squealed.

Before Paige could brace herself, Lukas launched out of Azzi’s hands and into her body, she barely caught him—a food bag in one hand, the other now wrapped tight around a squirming, excited Lukas. She laughed, adjusting him on her side as he wrapped his arms around her neck to hug her.

Azzi walked over, her eyes flicking over Paige—down to her hands. She laughed softly before saying, Let me help you,” her fingers brushing Paige’s as she took the bag.

Then she leaned in, close enough that her breath tickled Paige’s cheek. She gave her a quick kiss, barely more than a brush of lips, but enough to make Paige’s heart stutter a little as she grinned like an idiot.

“Hi, beautiful,” Azzi whispered after the kiss.

Paige adjusted Lukas on her hip as they followed Azzi down the hall and into her office. As soon as they were inside, Lukas jumped free, dropping to the floor sprawling across a large piece of paper already filled with drawings like he had a masterpiece to finish.

“So anyway ma,” he began rambling, “I needed to do pull ups cause I told Uncle Drew that if I get big muscles like you, then I can pick up the car and—”

Paige and Azzi both laughed as they began pulling containers from the bag and unwrapping Lukas’ food. “You’re gonna be a superhero, huh?” Paige grinned, handing Lukas a small apple juice.

“No,” he said seriously, not even glancing up from his drawing. “A trainer superhero.”

“Ah, my bad,” Paige chuckled. Once Azzi placed his food in front of him, Lukas shifted focus, as he weighed his options. Ultimately, coloring and chicken nuggets won out over conversation, and he faded into his own world.

Azzi leaned down and kissed the top of his head before giving Paige a glance. Without saying anything she nodded toward the door.

Paige followed Azzi out into one of the nearby training rooms shutting the door behind them. Azzi turned around and gently pulled Paige into her arms to connect their lips.

“I love you,” Azzi whispered against her lips, her thumb brushing Paige’s jaw.

Paige smiled into the kiss, her voice soft. “I love you, baby.”

They stayed like that for a moment—held in the quiet, in the peace of one another—before Azzi slowly pulled back, her eyes searching Paige’s face.

“You wanna tell me how it went?”

Paige let out a quiet hum as she settled onto the training table. Azzi tapped the edge lightly, a silent request that Paige had learned meant lay down for me. Paige listened, letting her head rest back as Azzi moved to the end of the table and slipped her shoes off.

Azzi started at her ankle, rolling it gently in slow circles, loosening the joints and coaxing the tension out of Paige’s muscles.

“It wasn’t bad,” Paige said.

“Hmm?” Azzi hummed, moving up to Paige’s calf, using her things to work through the tightness.

“Seeing her,” Paige clarified. “I had to explain to her how…what we had wasn’t healthy, wasn’t what we should’ve settled for. A silent arrangement, really.”

Azzi didn’t speak, just moved higher up, pressing into the muscle with just enough pressure to make Paige close her eyes and sigh.

“Talked about how I was young and had all this attention and money and pressure—and she helped me keep a clean image. She was never gonna risk messing it up, so it was easy to choose her. And she got to benefit from everything that came with me.” Paige let out a dry breath at a particular muscle.

Azzi’ made a silent note of that portion of Paiges leg before her hands found Paige’s knee, gently rotating it, still listening.

“We talked a lot about the past,” Paige continued. “Just tryna give her examples of why we didn’t work long term.”

Azzi moved up to Paige’s thigh.

“Told her I wasn’t tryna hurt her. That I wasn’t miserable the whole time. Just…that it wasn’t real. That we didn’t love each other.”

Azzi’s touch paused for a moment at that, like her body was reacting even if her mouth didn’t. Paige glanced up at her.

“She said unconditional love doesn’t exist,” Paige said. “But I told her it does.”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up to hers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Paige smiled faintly. “Right after that, Lukas called from your phone. It was like the universe chiming in to prove my point. It was actually crazy.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, a proud smile tugging at her mouth as she kept working her way up Paige’s other leg.

“She asked if I loved you.”

“What’d you say?” Azzi teased, already knowing the answer.

“I said I did. And then I started rambling like an idiot and told her all the ways I knew it.”

Azzi smiled at this as she pushed Paige’s knee up gently, her hand behind it as she leaned in, body folding over hers until their faces were inches apart. Paige’s smirk was immediate, her free hand brushing against Azzi’s hip.

“Stop being horny and finish the story so we can eat,” Azzi mumbled, trying to keep her composure as her eyes flicked between Paige’s mouth and her eyes.

Paige grinned, leaning up just enough to steal a quick kiss before saying, “She wants to meet Lukas.”

Azzi blinked, pulling back, her hands still resting on Paige’s leg. “She does?”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded. “I didn’t give her an answer though. Told her I needed to talk to you first.”

There was a pause before Azzi said,“You did?”Her voice is quieter than usual.

“Mhm.” Paige hummed again, relaxed beneath her touch.

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek at that, clearly trying to hide the way her lips wanted to curl into a smile.

Paige squinted at her. “Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

Azzi tried to play innocent. “See what?”

“You biting your cheek to hide that cute lil grin.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t grinning.”

“You so were,” Paige teased, reaching up to push some of Azzi’s curls out of her face. “You love when I say shit like that. Admit it.”

Azzi leaned in close again, their foreheads nearly touching as she dropped her voice. “I love when you do a lot of things, but I’m still waiting for us to finish the conversation, superstar.”

Paige laughed, tugging her closer. “Alright, alright, just thought it was cute that you smiled when I said that.”

“Finish the story, then maybe I’ll give you something else to smile about.”

This only made Paige smirk more, now wiggling her eyebrows a few times.

Azzi rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself as she tried to shift away, but Paige’s grip on her waist tightened to hold her in place.

“So what you think?” Paige asked.

Azzi blinked. “About?”

Paige laughed quietly, shaking her head. “About what I just said, angel. Jasmine. Lukas.”

Azzi quieted for a second, her fingers playing with the fabric of Paige’s pants, anchoring herself. But her eyes didn’t leave Paige’s.

“I think…” she started slowly, clearly weighing each word. “I think it’s complicated. And it can be something that gets messy quickly.”

Paige nodded, her thumb tracing soft circles over Azzi’s wrist.

“But I do trust you,” Azzi continued. “If you feel like it’s the right thing to do for him, then I’ll support it. But I think you need to be sure he’s ready, if that’s something you’re considering.”

Paige looked at her for a long moment, taking her in—her patient perceptive eyes, her posture, the soft eyelash resting on her cheek. Paige reached up gently to remove it then, softer than before, “I wanna know how you’d feel about it though, Azzi. For real.”

Azzi took a slow breath, and this time her answer didn’t come easy. Her gaze dipped for half a second, before returning.

“I think Jasmine is…” She hesitated, her jaw tightening slightly. “From the small bursts I’ve seen—very immature. I don’t think she can be consistent with him, if that’s what you’re thinking about.”

Paige nodded as she listened.

“If we’re speaking personally?” Azzi said, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face. “I wouldn’t enjoy being around someone you were involved with, wouldn’t enjoy you being around here either. I’d be lying if I said I would. But I’m not insecure, and I’m an adult. So I’d be fine.”

She paused for a second before adding, “You know me. I’ll deal. I always do. I just need to know you’re thinking about the whole picture whenever you decide..”

Paige’s hand slid up to Azzi’s waist, fingers slipping under her shirt just enough to feel skin. “I am that’s why I’m talkin to you,” she whispered. “You’re my whole picture.”

Azzi’s eyes softened and that quiet smile returned. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to Paige’s forehead, letting it linger. Then she pulled back just enough to whisper against her skin, “You better mean that Madison.”

Paige tilted her head up, nose brushing Azzi’s, a smirk playing at her lips. “I promise.”

Azzi’s eyes drifted to Paige’s lips before meeting her gaze again. The kiss was soft—barely more than a brush at first. Familiar. She sighed into it the moment Paige’s hand cupped her jaw, thumb grazing just under her ear.

Then Paige, never patient when it comes to being closer to Azzi, lets her tongue trace the curve of Azzi’s bottom lip, asking for entrance.

Azzi’s lips parted slightly as she moved closer, about to give in and deepen the kiss when—

“Azziiiiii!”

A small blur of energy came running through the door and directly into Azzi’s legs, nearly knocking her off balance if it wasn’t for Paige holding her up. She stumbled, arms wrapping around Lukas as he clung to her waist.

“Please tell Ma I don’t need a haircut,” Lukas whined, burying his face against her. “Please please please.”

Azzi blinked, then let out a breathless laugh, resting a hand on the back of his head, pushing some of his hair back. Paige groaned softly behind her, flopping back onto the table.

“Bro, your timing is actually horrendous,” Paige mumbled, one arm flung over her eyes.

Lukas, completely oblivious, looked up at Azzi with wide, pleading eyes. “You’ll tell her, right? That I don’t need one? You said I looked handsome!”

Azzi laughed again, crouching down to his level and smoothing a hand over his messy curls. “I did say that,” she admitted. “But your mom wants you to get a haircut.”

Lukas turned immediately, big blue eyes locking on Paige. “Why?” he asked, clearly hoping for a solid loophole.

Paige laughed at his attempt at pouting. “'Cause we’re having dinner with Azzi’s family tonight, remember?”

That perked him right up. “Jon?” he asked hopefully, eyes brightening.

Azzi couldn’t help the snort that slipped out. “Yes, Jon,” she confirmed, shaking her head as she stood back up. “Why is it always Jon with you?”

Paige grinned adding, “You know Jose gets mad that he’s not your favorite right?”

“I don’t care,” Lukas said with a shrug, already mentally committed. “Jon talks about dinosaurs with me on FaceTime.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow. “So that’s all it takes huh?”

Lukas nodded, as if this was just the way of the world.

“Alright then can we agree on a haircut now?” Paige chimed in.

Lukas gasped. “Can I get a design ma?”

Paige blinked. “A design?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Like stars or flames—ohhh or a dragon!”

Azzi looked like she was trying not to laugh as she nudged Paige. “C’mon, let the boy dream.”

Paige pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know about allat, but...we’ll see.”

“Yesss,” Lukas yelled, pumping a fist in the air before darting off toward Azzi’s office again to do who knows what.

Azzi leaned against the table with a smile. “You’re in trouble when he starts asking for tattoos.”

Paige groaned. “Don’t even put that energy in the air.”

As the room quieted again, Paige laid back on the training table, propped up on her elbows, eyes following Azzi’s every move like she was the only thing in focus.

“I tell you how good you look today mama?” she asked, a little slower now, eyes sweeping over Azzi as she bent to grab something from the floor. “Feel like you wore that knowing I’d be in here, huh?”

Azzi turned around arching her eyebrow, clearly unimpressed but amused. “You’d think you were sixteen and not twenty-nine the way you speak sometimes.”

Paige smirked, unfazed. She swung her legs off the side of the table, motioning for Azzi to come closer. “Whatever. You love it.”

Azzi didn’t move at first—just folded her arms and tilted her head like she was daring her to keep going.

Paige reached out, catching Azzi by the hand and tugging her in. She leaned forward just enough to nuzzle her face into the crook of Azzi’s neck, her voice muffled. “You know you love it,” she whispered, her lips brushing against her skin. “Don’t act brand new.”

Azzi shivered, her hand reflexively landing on Paige’s thigh. “God, you’re annoying,” she mumbled with a smile—then pushed Paige back playfully, breaking the moment.

“I’m going to eat my food, hornball,” she teased, turning toward her office with a shake of her head.

Paige fell back onto the table dramatically, still grinning. “You can’t say stuff like that after letting me whisper in your neck!”

Azzi looked back, smiling. “I’m calling HR.”

Paige sat up. “You are HR!”

Azzi disappeared into her office, laughter trailing behind her. Paige stayed where she was for a second longer, cheesing so hard it hurt her cheeks, before sliding off the table to follow her in.

…

Later that night, Paige’s house was filled with the kind of noise that made it feel like a home rather than a house—laughter echoing from the backyard and overlapping conversations from the living room.

Azzi’s entire family had made the trip. Her mom, dad, both brothers, and even her grandparents—who were currently on the couch, swapping old stories with Paige’s mom like they’d known each other for years.

Dinner had ended a while ago and Lukas was outside “playing,” which mostly meant running around in circles yelling nonsense while Azzi’s brothers let him think he was winning.

In the kitchen, Paige and Azzi stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink, hands submerged in sudsy water. Azzi handed her a rinsed glass, their fingers brushing.

“This your sneaky little plan all along?” Paige asked, glancing at her with a sideways smile. “Bringing your whole family out here to trap me into a commitment?”

Azzi snorted. “Oh, for sure. My grandma already asked if you were the one, so…”

Paige blinked. “Wait—seriously?”

“Dead serious,” Azzi said, laughing softly. “She said if you weren’t, she’d have to pray for me extra tonight and knock some sense into me.”

Paige snorted. “That’s crazy,” she said, setting a plate on the drying rack. Then added, “...but also kind of sweet. M’glad she likes me.”

Azzi looked over at her, the light catching her features just right. “My entire family adores you even if my dad won’t admit it yet, so you can’t really get rid of me.”

Paige smirked at this. “You talk like you tryna marry me or somethin’. Don’t let me get the wrong idea.”

Azzi leaned in, “And what if I am? Might taste a little different with a ring on my finger.”

Paige’s jaw tightened as she shook her head. “I swear, you be sayin’ shit like that like I won’t take you upstairs right now.”

Azzi smiled innocently. “I do?”

“You do,” Paige mumbled, dipping her head to press a soft kiss to Azzi’s neck, her voice muffled against her skin. “You like when I act like this cause you get to show out.”

Azzi bit her lip but playfully elbowed her away. “We are not doing this while my grandma is twenty feet away.”

Paige leaned against the counter, still grinning. “She can pray for me too, if it helps.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, walking to put something away. “You’re an idiot.”

Paige laughed, her heart stupidly full as she turned back to the dishes, already thinking about how she’d get Azzi alone later.

Azzi was still teasing from the other side of the kitchen when they heard the sound of someone walking into the kitchen. Katie appeared in the doorway smiling.

“Sweetheart,” Katie said, addressing Paige as she folded her arms. “You’ve done more than enough in here. Go mingle a little. Talk to the family.”

Paige started to protest, hands still in the sink. “I’m good, really. It’s my place, I don’t mind cleaning up—”

But before she could finish, Tim stepped into the kitchen behind his wife, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Actually, I was hoping to grab a minute with you anyway, Paige. If you don’t mind.”

The plate in Paige’s hand slipped just a little before she caught it, and she swallowed—hard. Her expression didn’t shift much, but Azzi, standing a few feet away, noticed the slight flex in her jaw. Tim was one of the few people in Azzi’s family that was still slightly standoffish with Paige. Not that he didn’t like her, he just hadn’t had a one on one with her yet.

Azzi couldn’t help the chuckle she let out, clearly entertained by the rare sight of Paige Bueckers suddenly tense at the thought of a one-on-one with her teddy bear of a dad.

To smooth things over, Azzi dried her hands on a dishtowel, grabbing a drink from the fridge. She walked up to Paige, sliding it into her hand, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to her cheek.

“You’ll be fine, baby,” she whispered, her lips brushing Paige’s skin. “Just relax.”

Paige gave her a look, half-playful and half-betrayed. “You enjoying this aren’t you?”

Azzi smiled. “Absolutely.”

Tim got their attention again. “You coming, or do I gotta start my talk here in the kitchen?”

Paige smiled at Tim shaking her head. “No sir,” she said, giving Azzi a kiss on the cheek before she followed him outside.

The Dallas night air was comfortable—not too hot, not too cold. The sound of Lukas’s laughter filled the backyard, mixed with the occasional shout from Azzi’s brothers or Drew. They settled in two chairs near the edge of the backyard, far enough from the house to feel separate, private.

Tim leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed. “Azzi told me you like to get straight to the point. Like her.”

Paige nodded once, her fingers lightly tapping against the condensation on her glass. “Yes, sir. Always.”

“So let me ask you something, Paige. You’re young, one of the biggest athletes in the world, you’re rich, you travel…by all means you got it all kid.”

He turned his head slightly,talking to her directly now. “Why should I trust you with my daughter?”

The question hit harder than Paige expected for some reason. She took a breath and looked out toward the backyard before answering carefully but truthfully.

“Because I know what it feels like to be seen as an accomplishment before a person,” she said simply. “To be loved for what you do instead of who you are. And I know she feels like that sometimes. Sometimes she feels like without her clinic she doesn’t have much to offer but that couldn’t be further from the truth. And I wake up every day trying to make sure she doesn’t feel like I feel and I go to bed evernight telling her how much light she brings into the world.”

Tim stayed quiet, listening.

“She’s brilliant. She’s steady. She grounds me in ways no one else can,” Paige laughed for a second before saying, “And if you can believe it this is the second time today I’ve gone on about how amazing your daughter is.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts so she didn’t ramble, “So I guess what I’m trying to say is I just wanna be there for her every day. And if I can make her feel even a fraction of what she makes me feel I know I can make her the happiest woman in the world.”

Tim didn’t speak right away. He just watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.

“You love her?” he asked simply.

Paige met his eyes without hesitation. “Yes. I do.”

Tim looked away for a moment, toward the house, his eyes settling on the garage. “Two cars tucked in there. Big house. Little bit of a flashy life, Paige.”

Paige followed his gaze.

“I’m not judging,” he continued, still calm but direct. “But I gotta ask—are you managing it? All of this? Because I know Azzi’s got more than enough money to stop working today and live comfortably the rest of her life. She didn’t choose you for that. But if she’s building a life with someone, I want to make sure she’s joining something equal. Someone just as smart, not an athlete who's going to run out of money the moment they stop dribbling the ball.”

Paige nodded, no hint of offense in her face—only understanding. “That’s fair,” she said, taking another sip of her drink before setting it down. “The cars, the house—it might look like I spend crazy, but I don’t.”

She shifted in her seat slightly, spreading her legs a little to become more comfortable. “I have endorsement money I don’t even touch, equity in Unrivaled that I don’t even think about. After the CBA I make more than enough to just live off my salary and honestly I don’t even use my full salary. Lukas has a trust that’s already growing interest, and I keep that locked away too. I’ve got a financial advisor, investments and shares, savings plans…” She pauses for a second before saying, “I guess what I’m trying to say is I know how to handle my business. How to manage money.”

She tilted her head back toward the house. “The big ass house? That’s for stuff like this. Dinners. Holidays. My kid having room to run. His friends staying over. My people always having a place to land.”

Then she looked back at Tim. “I’m a family person at the end of the day. I want stability. I want roots in Dallas. I want all of that with Azzi and I’ll be able to give it to her without question if she wants it too.”

Tim’s expression didn’t shift too much, just a small smile—but there was something behind his eyes. Not just acceptance, but a trace of respect.

“You sound like someone who’s smart enough to mean what she says,” he murmured after a pause.

“I am,” Paige said simply.

Tim gave a slow nod, then leaned back in his chair again. “Alright then,” he said, a bigger smile breaking through. “I’m glad we had this talk. I can stop acting all tough now.”

Before Paige could respond to Tim’s last remark, the back patio slid open, laughter spilling out ahead of the people pouring through it. Azzi’s brothers came back out, talking trash about coinhole and calling dibs on teams. Their mothers followed, chatting with her grandparents, while Lukas trailed behind with a juice box in hand and a ball under his arm. Azzi stepped out last with a drink in one hand, a huge smile on her face as her eyes settled onto Paige.

Tim got up after hearing the talk of coinhole and walked to the other side of the backyard after patting Paige’s shoulder.

Azzi smiled at the interaction before saying, “I brought you a refill,” holding it out as she made her way over to Paige.

Paige smiled, thanking her softly, but Azzi didn’t stop there—she sat in Paige’s lap like she’d done a thousand times, tucking her head against Paige’s chest as she settled in sideways. It was natural. Like she belonged there.

The rest of their family migrated toward the court and the coin hole boards, their voices growing louder in the background, Lukas yelling in protest when his uncle Ryan walked into the backyard and “joined” Drew’s team after greeting everyone.

Azzi leaned down, lips brushing the corner of Paige’s mouth, but Paige dodged her—just slightly, but enough.

Azzi froze and pulled back, giving her an incredulous look considering Paige had never in her life dodged a kiss from her. “What?”

Paige chuckled, trying not to look at the ten sets of eyes within range. “Your family’s right there, baby.”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard it made Paige laugh harder. “I’m a grown woman,” she said, her tone dry as she set her drink down, then reached up, fingers curling under Paige’s jaw so she couldn’t dodge her again.

Paige didn’t resist this time.

Azzi kissed her slowly, humming when she tasted the sweet mix of cocktail on her lips. When she pulled back, her eyes were a little dazed.

“I’m their favorite anyway,” she whispered.

Paige snorted. “I think Lukas is their favorite now.”

“Okay, second favorite,” Azzi conceded, brushing a loose strand of hair from Paige’s forehead. “But I’m definitely your favorite.”

Paige kissed her again, just once this time. “Not even a question.”

Across the yard, Lukas’s voice rang out loud and clear.

“Ma! Come be on my team, they’re cheating!”

Paige turned her head toward him, already grinning. “Alright!” she called back, laughing as she gave Azzi one more kiss, then patted her hip gently. “Gotta go be great real quick sexy.”

She was about to slide off the chair when Azzi caught her by the wrist.

“Wait. Take off those slides. I don’t want you to twist your ankle or mess up your metrics without your sole monitor.”

Paige paused, looked down at her feet, and let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “God, your brain never turns off when it comes to me. That shit so sexy.”

Azzi just shrugged, her eyes twinkling a little. “Someone’s gotta keep you together.”

That made Paige melt. She leaned back in, cupping Azzi’s cheek with one hand as she kissed her slowly, sliding her tongue in her mouth, right in the middle of the buzz of family around them.

“You’re so sweet, mama,” she whispered, forehead pressed against Azzi’s for a beat longer. “I love you.”

Azzi’s smile was soft. “I love you back.”

Then—

“MA!” Lukas yelled again, this time more impatient, and both women laughed.

Paige kicked off her slides, calling out, “I’m coming!” over her shoulder, and jogged in her socks across the backyard.

Azzi cupped her hands around her mouth and called out with a grin, “Don’t embarrass me in front of my family, Madison!”

Paige turned just before reaching the court, walking backward as she grinned back. “Embarrass you? Watch this.”

She clapped for the ball and once she had it she took one dribble before the ball arched through the air and smoothly through the net. Cheers erupted, Lukas throwing his hands up in celebration while Azzi just smiled and rolled her eyes at her.

Lukas launched into calling plays like he knew what he was talking about, tugging on Paige’s arm and telling her to guard Uncle Drew. Katie stood off to the side with Azzi’s grandmother and Paige’s mom, laughing at the chaos, while Tim, Azzi’s grandpa and her brothers hollered from the coin hole boards about made-up rules and cheating accusations.

The backyard was filled with a kind of quiet chaos—basketball bouncing, music faint from a speaker that Jose brought outside, laughter spilling from every direction. Warm string lights blinked to life overhead as the sun began to dip low, casting everything in gold. Azzi leaned back against the chair, watching her world play barefoot, a soft smile playing on her lips as she finished Paige’s drink.

It wasn’t perfect. Paige’s sister Lauren and her dad hadn’t been able to make it tonight.

But this was everything.

And Paige—glancing back at Azzi as she high-fived Lukas—felt it in her chest. This was the life she let herself dream about for so long.

And now she couldn’t imagine not having it.

[p1astr81]

could I please request oscar and a quiet night in monaco. sort of like walking around at night, watching a movie and cuddling etc (if you've already done this I'm sorry and don't feel pressured to write this ❤️ )

Idk how this got SO angsty sorrryyyyy 🙈

“Where are you going?” Oscar asked, seeing your shoes laced up on your feet. He could see your exhaustion in the way your shoulders slumped.

“Going for a walk.” You gave him a soft, pained smile. “need to clear my head.” You explained.

He understood. He knew you weren’t adjusting well after having moved to Monaco from England. You missed the quiet countryside and the acres of space that came with it. Everything was so loud here. Busy. Cramped. “I can come with you if you want.” He offered, hoping you’d agree.

Sighing, you turned your gaze to the floor. “I don’t want to bother you. I know you’re working.” She gestured to where he sat on the sim.

The headphones were torn off his head quickly as he stood. “No, it’s no bother. I wanna go.” He could see the conflict behind your eyes.

“Okay.”

The streets weren’t exactly quiet at night. Expensive cars still roared. Drunk travelers laughing into the air as they exited the casinos. but it was certainly calmer compared to the daytime.

Oscar held your hand in his. He’d been feeling guilty for dragging you to Monaco with him. No matter how many times you tried to tell him this was your choice to come with, he couldn’t buy it. “You could always go back. I won’t be upset.” He told you, breaking your comforting silence.

There was no stutter in your step. No visible indicator that you had even heard him. After awhile you spoke. “No. I want to be with you. I’ll get used to it eventually.” It broke his heart to hear how reserved your voice was. How you didn’t even look up at him to spare him a glance.

The silence prologued, quiet steps in sync. You continued to stare at the pavement while he stared at the top of your head. His thumb brushed against the back of your hand.

“I want you to be happy.” He spoke finally.

You raised your head, and for a moment he thought you might meet his eyes. “I am happy. Being with you makes me happy. I’m just not… comfortable.” Still, your eyes didn’t meet his. They took in the sights of the city instead.

He squeezed your hand. “I’m sorry.” He muttered.

“Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.” You shook your head. “I just need time.”

When you got back to the flat, Oscar led you to the couch. “Stay there. I’ll get the snacks.” His smile was soft, inviting like a warm hug.

He came back with his arms full of your favorite candies and cans of your favorite sodas. You laughed lightly. “Thank you.”

You curled up into his side as he joined you, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. When he selected your favorite movie, you giggled and held him tighter.

It had been four months since you guys moved in. And while you still weren’t fully adjusted, you were back to your regular cheery self.

His lips split into a toothy smile when he saw you practically skip to where he stood in the kitchen. “Heyyy,” you dragged out the word. “I’m gonna go get some ice cream from the parlor down the street if you wanna come with?” You grinned, placing your head on his shoulder. You knew he couldn’t say no to you.

“Can I have a taste of yours?” You asked, beaming at him.

He didn’t respond with words, just held the spoon out towards you. He was boring, ordering his ice cream in a bowl instead of in a cone. You both paused on the pavement as you took the spoon from his hand.

The frozen treat slid from the plastic ware onto your tongue. The sweet flavor hit your tastebuds, and you responded with a delighted hum. “Ooh, it’s good!”

Then your gaze went to the cone in your hand, looking guilty with a little frown.

“Do you want to switch?” He asked the question for you, seeing it already etched on your face. But he knew you’d never ask it yourself.

And you looked up at him, your smile brighter than the sun. “Yeah,” you said sheepishly.

He chuckled, taking the cone from your hand and giving you his bowl.

He didn’t want a cone. He thought they were too messy, and he hated when the ice cream would drip onto his hand and make it all sticky.

But it made you happy, and he’d do just about anything to see you happy.

You continued your walk back to the flat, standing so close to each other that your arms kept brushing. The brush of his skin against yours was comforting.

And you realized that it didn’t matter where you were, whether it be Monaco or England. You felt at home as long as you were with him. He was home.

[cherrygirlfriend]

idk what u are planning but could u write something about fragilefawn!reader remembering rafe? like she just knows him while he tries to understand her? pretty pls 🫨 and tyyy

can you tell me your name?

rafe goes to visit fragile fawn’s house and properly meets her for the first time.

thank you for the request!! i’m loving my fawn girl <3

rafe knew that it was stupid to worry about some girl he didn’t even know the name of; but after driving through the road you’d taken every day for that one week at the exact same time and not seeing you anywhere, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered to just drive by the house he’d followed you to that one night.

rafe had considered it to the point where he didn’t even register the moment he got into his car, or starting to drive, or even going down the road. he only realized it when he arrived right outside the house, when he saw a familiar figure standing at the front porch, sweeping leaves away. even though the house was hidden by surrounding trees, far and isolated from all the other people on the island, it was large, and based on the flowers planted around it, well taken care of.

rafe got out of the car, his loafers crunching on the gravel as he walked towards the entrance to the building, while you didn’t even seem to notice him, your head ducked low as you continued cleaning. as he got closer, he noticed just how different you looked when you weren’t in the long nightgown matted with dirt. right now, you had on a short-sleeved white ruffle-collared button-up, as well as a pair of dark brown shorts, your feet once again bare. as he got closer, he could see your lips moving and hear mumbled words, just unable to make them out, but even as he stood right in front of your house, it was as if he was a ghost.

the boy cleared his throat, and you looked up from the floor with furrowed brows, “yes?” you asked softly, “is there something i can help you with?”

“it’s me.” rafe said, but when your brows remained furrowed, he scratched the back of his head, “the shoe guy?”

“oh. oh! yes, that. your shoes were very comfortable.” you smiled warmly, “would you like them back? they’re right inside.” you leaned the broom against the wall. “no, ‘s not it.” rafe cleared his throat, “just wondered how come you weren’t doing it anymore. y’know, walking and shit.”

“oh.” you chuckled softly, clapping all the dirt off your hands as you sat down on the highest step, while the boy looked to the step right next to you, narrowing his eyes as he thought about whether or not you’d want him to join you. in the end, he ended up doing it, his longer legs reaching the lowest step. “it’s a thing i do.” you shrugged, “a full moon walk. for the three days before the full moon, i do a night walk, as well as on the full moon, and three days afterwards. i feel like it helps me connect with myself, and the world.”

rafe raised his brows and snorted, “you’re fuckin’ with me, right?” but your face remained passive, “you’re… serious?”

“don’t worry, i didn’t think you’d understand.” you chuckled softly, looking down at your feet. “i’ve always felt connected to nature in a way most people don’t. the world… speaks to me, in a way it doesn’t speak to others.”

“you sound insane.” rafe said bluntly, but you simply let out a chuckle, making the boy furrow his brows, “you not offended?”

“no.” you shrug your shoulders and look up at the sky, “when i tell most people about what my thoughts are like, what my brain is like, they just start avoiding me like the plague or say those things about me, just behind my back.” you look at him with a genuine smile, your eyes crinkling from the way you smiled, “honesty is refreshing. what’s your name?��� you asked, telling him yours.

rafe narrowed his eyes and sized you up; what you were saying sounded like pretentious hippie shit to him, but the kindness in your eyes, the way the sunlight reflected in them, showing every last detail in them, just… made him trust you. “i’m rafe.”

“that’s funny.” you chuckled under your breath, making rafe furrow his brows. but just as he was about to ask what you meant by that, he could hear someone call out your name from inside the house. “duty calls.” you got onto your feet. rafe watched as you walked to the door and pulled it open before turning around to face him one more time. “it was nice to see you again, rafe. you should come see me again sometime.”

and then you disappeared like you were never there.

thank you for reading! send a request & check out my masterlist <3

taglist + some moots <3: @rcsbabydoll @inbred-eater @littlelamy @dollyfiles @nemesyaaa @filthyrafe @drewsephrry @houseofblve @jjslaybank @soldiersgirl

[dawngyu]

AHHHH i feel excited reading the second from this series ahdgjbdgdhsg

spoilers under the cut

got instant whiplash from being thrown right into the middle of her breakdown over the positive test—like ugh, imagine that. i know i’ve said it before, but you seriously nail inner monologues every single time. i’m a fan, a big one!! asdhdhjsk

Jake. His name crashes through your thoughts, and a fresh wave of nausea rises up in your throat. Oh my god. There’s only one person it could be. Jake.

WHAT A FCKING WAY TO INTRODUCE HIM TO ME????? HELLO???

Your stomach lurches. You press a hand to it instinctively, but it’s still just you. Just your body, your life—except it’s not just yours anymore, is it? A shuddering breath leaves you, and suddenly, you feel so, so small. What are you supposed to do? You’re in your second year of college. You have plans, dreams, a future that doesn’t include cribs and lullabies and tiny fingers clutching at yours. You can’t be a mother. Not now. Maybe not ever. And Jake?

what a paragraph. like, i felt that. why am i nervous now too?? i could never do the whole fwb thing, i’d get emotionally ill in 0.2 seconds fr.

The house was packed. Bodies pressed together, the air thick with heat and sweat and the sharp bite of liquor. Music pounded through the speakers, rattling the walls, the bass thrumming through your chest. The whole hockey team was celebrating their win, and Jake was at the center of it all, grinning like he owned the night. Heeseung had won it all, again. Except he was too busy pulling his girlfriend into a random room to really celebrate much.

GIRLFRIEND???? IS THIS A COLLIDE READER MENTION???? OMG ILYSM TOO i’m so glad they’re doing well like ugh my heart is full rn 🥹

“It’s fine,” you whispered. You’re on the pill. It’s just one time.

RUN

A sob rips through your chest, raw and unrestrained. You fold in on yourself, pressing a hand over your mouth to smother the sounds, but it doesn’t stop the tears from coming. They fall in hot, messy streaks, slipping down your cheeks, soaking into your shirt. Your whole body shakes with it, shoulders curled forward, knees pulled up as if making yourself smaller might make this moment disappear. But nothing disappears. Nothing changes. You’re still here. Still alone in this room. Still pregnant.

ugh yeah it’s so scary. even the tiniest shift in life can mess us up emotionally and pregnancy? that’s a major change. you wrote it so beautifully, it’s haunting. like i’m actually scared now, for her and what’s coming next.

You can’t be pregnant. You can’t be a mom. You can’t tell Jake. A fresh wave of nausea churns in your stomach at the thought of him. Of his reaction. Of what this will do to him. To you. Jake, with his whole future mapped out in skates and ice and championships. Jake, who has never even hinted at wanting something serious with you—because this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Because it never has. And now, you’re carrying something that means everything. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your hands against them. If you don’t see the test, if you don’t look at it, maybe���maybe—No.

if i was emotional before, this paragraph straight up brought tears. like, i’d be so fucking scared too, and you’re making me feel every inch of it. ughhh you write so good it hurts.

He pauses. “Why not?” Because in less than two hours, I’ll be staring at an ultrasound screen, listening to a doctor tell me how many weeks pregnant I am. Because I don’t know how to look you in the eye, knowing that inside me—inside us—something is changing, something we never planned for, never wanted. “I'm sick,” you say instead. It’s a rushed excuse, flimsy and weak. “I think I caught something.”

idk why but this absolutely wrecked me. the way she’s thinking one thing but saying something totally different out loud?? women.

Your throat is too tight to answer. You don’t know what you expected, but not this. Not something so small, so fragile, so real. You nod. And then—sound. A rapid, steady rhythm, impossibly fast but undeniably there. Your vision blurs, and it takes you a second to realize you’re crying.

:(((( i'm unwell

now i’m scared. like genuinely. we haven’t seen her and jake interact in the present yet and it’s driving me insane bc i can’t tell if he really likes her or not—and i’ll die if he doesn’t. i’ll probably spill more thoughts later but omg everything’s written so beautifully, i had to force myself to slow down bc this deserves a live read, moment by moment.

oh and also?? i’m loving this so much more. i don’t even know if it’s just that i love this more or if you just keep outdoing yourself every damn time you write something. :( like how is that even fair.

Jake: Practice just ended. Thinking about you.

maybe i’m just a simple-minded woman too but i squealed. like imagine being stressed out of your mind and then seeing this?? hasgdhagd i’d combust.

You suck in a sharp breath, a lump forming in your throat so quickly it nearly chokes you. Thinking about you. He doesn’t even realize what those words do to you right now, how they cut straight through your ribs, cracking something open inside you. You can picture him perfectly—his damp hair, his flushed cheeks, the easy way he leans against his locker while texting you, probably half-distracted, expecting you to reply with something simple.

girl is so in love. and the mental gymnastics she’s doing trying to figure out how to tell him??? it’s destroying me. i love yuna so bad btw :(((

“If I tell him this, he’ll—” You stop, choking on the words.

He’ll what? Walk away? Shut down? Look at you like you’ve just ruined his entire world? You don’t even know. That’s the problem.

I SCREAMED.

“Listen, whatever happens, you won’t be alone in this, okay? You have me. And when you tell Jake, you’ll have him too. And even if—even if he’s an idiot about it at first, I’ll kick his ass into shape.” That actually makes you let out a weak, teary laugh.

GIVE YUNA EVERYTHING. THE UNIVERSE, THE WORLD.

You spend most of your day in the dorm, curled up on the couch with the TV playing some random show you’re not even paying attention to. The volume is low, just background noise to fill the silence, but it doesn’t stop your mind from racing. Jake has been calling all day. Text after text, call after call—his name keeps flashing on your screen, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. You know you should. You know avoiding him won’t make this easier. But every time you reach for your phone, your stomach twists, and your fingers freeze, and the weight of what you have to tell him slams into you all over again. So you do nothing.

this is seriously making me so nervous ahhhhhhh

He shifts his weight, tilting his head. “…What’s going on with you?” You grip the edge of the door tighter. Your throat closes. Jake exhales, his expression softening as he reaches up, brushing his fingers over the side of your face like he’s trying to pull you back to him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

it’s been literally one day and he shows up like that??? i’m actually stomping my feet fr. men written by women… it’s just ughhhh peak fiction every time

“Because if I did, just—tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” His jaw clenches. “I just—fuck, I don’t know—I miss you.” Your heart stutters. You stare at him, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs, making it even harder to breathe. “I’ve wanted to run here to you all week, tell you about my game, watch movies with you. Anything, but you're shutting me out.” This is Jake. You’re jake. And suddenly all of it feels so much worse.

ahhhh i told you earlier i wasn’t sure yet but yeah… this?? this is a full-on slap to my face. i love it so much i’m actually losing itttt

So you just say it. “I’m pregnant.”

I DONT KNOW HOW MANY TIMES IVE SAID OMAYGOD

You bite your lip, blinking back the burn in your eyes. When you finally speak again, your voice is quieter. Sharper. “This is your only chance to take the out.” Jake’s brows pull together slightly, but he still says nothing. You swallow the lump in your throat. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want to be responsible for a baby, you can walk away. Right now.” Your voice shakes. “No one would blame you. I won’t blame you.”

OMYFCKINGGOD

i love how the reader laid it all out for him, clear and firm. it’s her body, her choice. she gets to decide, she gets to set the rules. period. YES.

“You’re in?” You ask with a strained voice.

“I’m in.”

tears. actual tears. i love that he started driving her around, like?? the care?? the softness?? and those little notes he leaves?? all of it. every single thing. i’m losing my mind sdhgjasgdghs

“You’ve been slow all practice. Missing passes, losing pucks—you’re a vital part of this team, Sim. You don’t get to check out like this.” His voice drops slightly, but it only makes the words hit harder. “Get it together. Now.” Jake nods stiffly. He doesn’t say anything. Because what the hell is he supposed to say? That he can’t focus because his whole life changed forever? That there’s a baby now—a real, growing baby—and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that? That every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is that ultrasound?

i’ve been wondering how you’d take this story ever since jake said yes to it all and now i see it unfolding and i’m begging… please don’t break my heart T^T i’m hanging by a thread here </3

Or at least, he tries to. It comes out more like a broken, choked sound. His throat feels tight, his chest squeezed so hard it physically hurts. “She’s pregnant,” he says again, voice cracking. And then, before he can even stop it — He’s crying. Right there, in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by his teammates, Jake fucking breaks.

I JUST SAID DONT BREAK MY HEART

I love the bond you gave to the boys. :((((9

A takeout bag. Your throat tightens. “I, uh…” Jake shifts on his feet, glancing down at the bag like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with it. “I remembered you said you were craving this, so I thought—” He hesitates, clears his throat, then lifts the bag slightly. “I figured I’d bring you some.” Something cracks inside you. Because it’s such a small thing—just food, just a meal—but the fact that he remembered that he went out of his way after practice when he was probably exhausted, when he could have avoided all of this — You swallow hard and step aside, voice softer than you mean for it to be. “Come in.”

this song started playing when i got to this part, btw. and yeah, i'm crying over this little thing. or is it really little? if someone’s stuck in their head, overwhelmed, caught in that hazy kind of day… but still remembers what you said you were craving, what you liked and brings it to you anyway, despite everything; if that’s not love, then i’ve been lied to my whole life.

rain, i love your brain sm. :(((

For a few minutes, it’s like things are the way they used to be. Like there’s no giant, life-changing revelation hanging over your heads. Like it’s just you and him. Like it’s always been. But that’s the thing about pretending. Eventually, reality always catches up.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, you realize, You’re not the only one whose world is changing.

OH GOD.

I LOVE THEIR CONVO. I LOVE HOW EASY IT WAS, AND IM FLOORED WHEN JAKE DIDNT WANT HER PREGNANCY TO BE CALLED CONSEQUENSES. I MELTED.

Jake is always moving, always carrying some kind of restless energy on the ice, at parties, even just sitting next to you. But right now, he’s still. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles, his lips parted slightly as he sleeps. You can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the subtle weight of his arm over you, and for a brief, fragile moment, you let yourself just exist here. In this sliver of morning where nothing has to be said. Where nothing has to change. But eventually, Jake stirs.

MY HEART I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE

For a second, you think about pretending you’re not home. But then his voice comes through, firm but edged with something else. Something raw. “Open the door, please.”

ARE U KILLING ME. I CAN'T EVEN STOP READING BECAUSE I GOT SUCKED IN. HIS CARE, THE DIFFERENCES FROM BEFORE, HEESEUNGS GF ONCE AGAIN, HER GUILT.

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping closer. “Tell me why you suddenly don’t want me around. Why are you acting like I’m already failing at something I haven’t even gotten the chance to do yet.”

i just inserted that because WHAT A LINE.

“Baby,” he says, his voice low but steady, cutting through the tension that’s been hanging between you for days. “I used to think hockey was the world, that I lived for it, breathed for it. that it was my life. That hockey was the reason I woke up in the morning. I love hockey, hockey will always be my passion and it will always be what I want to do, and who i want to be. But it’s not my life. you are. you two are my life, you and this baby and I wouldn't want it any other way.”

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he murmurs. “I’m staying. I’m gonna be here for you, for the baby… for us.”

MOM I WANT HIM

“Win or lose,” he whispers, echoing the words he had said to you weeks ago. “I’ll always come home to you.”

wow. just… wow. i think it’s safe to say this is the one i’ve loved the most so far. it’s so simple, so gentle, laid back in the most beautiful, real way. you wrote it like life itself. and that last scene… when everyone’s gathered for the baby shower, for the baby, but jake? he’s focused on her. asking what she needs, reassuring her. and it hit me, he’s there for her. not the moment, not the crowd. just her. like it’s still just the two of them.

and that gave me such a sense of closure. maybe they didn’t begin like a “normal” couple; no long dates or fairy-tale start, but i know they’re going to hold on to this little window of time. their last chapter as just two. falling in love in a new way. preparing not just for a baby, but for a life. as a whole. together.

they're gonna be okay.

OFF THE ICE s.jy

synopsis ⤑ You were having fun. That’s all. You were young, in college, readying yourself for true adulthood. You didn’t know adulthood would come so quick, in the form of a baby you didn’t plan for. With a man who was more in love with Hockey than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to happen, and it definitely wasn’t supposed to happen with him.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!Jake x pregnant!reader word count ⤑ 18k

warnings ⤑ pregnancy trope, smut, friends with benefits, angst , depictions of hockey injuries , probably more

crossing the line series.

read heeseung's story here.

Two pink lines. 

They stare back at you, unwavering. Bold. Permanent. 

Your breath catches in your throat. A dull roaring fills your ears, like the moment before a crash, when you see the impact coming but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You blink once, twice, waiting for the second line to disappear, for reality to snap back into place. It doesn’t. It stays. Pregnant. A hollow, sinking feeling settles in your stomach. No. No, no, no. This can’t be real. Your fingers tighten around the plastic stick, your knuckles aching from the grip. You were careful. You were always careful. Birth control, condoms, every precaution. You did everything right. So how the hell did this happen? 

You shake your head, your breathing ragged. Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe the test is faulty. They mess up sometimes, right? You should take another one. Five more. Ten. You should drive to the store right now and buy every test on the shelf, because this? This can’t be happening. Your legs feel unsteady beneath you as you sink onto the closed toilet lid, one hand gripping the edge of the sink to ground yourself. 

Jake. His name crashes through your thoughts, and a fresh wave of nausea rises up in your throat. Oh my god. There’s only one person it could be. Jake. Your friend. Your friend with benefits. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your palms against them. Your mind flickers through the memories—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered jokes between kisses, the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was fun. Easy. No strings attached. Except now, there are strings. Big, life-altering, impossible-to-ignore strings. 

Your stomach lurches. You press a hand to it instinctively, but it’s still just you. Just your body, your life—except it’s not just yours anymore, is it? A shuddering breath leaves you, and suddenly, you feel so, so small. What are you supposed to do? You’re in your second year of college. You have plans, dreams, a future that doesn’t include cribs and lullabies and tiny fingers clutching at yours. You can’t be a mother. Not now. Maybe not ever. And Jake? 

Jake has hockey. The game is his whole world—the early-morning practices, the late-night workouts, the way his eyes light up when he steps onto the ice. He has a career to chase, a future that doesn’t include this. 

This will ruin everything. Tears burn at the edges of your vision, but you blink them away. You can’t cry. Not yet. Not until you’re sure, not until you go to the doctor and they tell you this is all some cruel mistake. Because if it’s not… You swallow hard, gripping the test so tightly it feels like it might snap in half. You can’t tell him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. If you don’t say it out loud, if you don’t give it weight, maybe it won’t be real. Maybe you can find a way to make this all go away. But deep down, beneath the panic, beneath the sheer, suffocating terror— You already know. This is real. And there’s no undoing it. 

Your breath shudders as you stare at the test, the past clawing its way back to you. You’re racking your brain trying to find when the two of you went wrong, when you stopped being careful. You know exactly how. The memory slams into you, sharp and unforgiving—that night. 

Two months ago. 

The house was packed. Bodies pressed together, the air thick with heat and sweat and the sharp bite of liquor. Music pounded through the speakers, rattling the walls, the bass thrumming through your chest. The whole hockey team was celebrating their win, and Jake was at the center of it all, grinning like he owned the night. Heeseung had won it all, again. Except he was too busy pulling his girlfriend into a random room to really celebrate much. 

You weren’t even supposed to be here—you had a paper due, an exam creeping up—but when Jake texted “Where are you? We won. Get your ass over here,” you rolled your eyes, threw on something half-decent, and showed up anyway. And now you were here. Back pressed against a bathroom door, your fingers tangled in Jake’s hoodie, his mouth hot against yours. A breathless laugh escaped you between kisses, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your veins. “I just came to say congrats.” 

Jake grinned against your lips. “This is how you say congrats?” You smirked. “I was gonna buy you a beer, but—” 

His hands slid down your sides, rough and familiar, pulling you flush against him. “This is better.” And god, it was. You had always liked this about Jake—how easy it was, how uncomplicated. No messy feelings, no awkward expectations. Just heat, just want, just the press of his body against yours as he backed you up against the bathroom sink. Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging it up, your mouths moving together in that frantic, greedy way they always did when neither of you could be bothered to make it back to one of your apartments. 

“Quickie?” you breathed against his lips, teasing. Jake groaned, already fumbling with your jeans. “Fuck, yeah.” It was fast. Dizzying. His hands were everywhere, pushing, pulling, unzipping. Your back hit the counter, your fingers in his hair, his mouth tracing fire along your throat. Your skin was hot, your pulse erratic, and nothing else mattered—not the party raging outside the door, not the alcohol humming through your system, not the fact that you weren’t exactly thinking. 

It wasn’t until he was pressed against you, skin to skin, that something in the back of your mind lurched. You blinked up at him, breathless. “Wait—do you have a—” 

Jake cursed under his breath. “Shit. No. I didn’t—” He moved like he was about to pull back, but god, you wanted him. The ache was unbearable, your body screaming at you to just— “It’s fine,” you whispered. You’re on the pill. It’s just one time. Jake hesitated, his hands gripping your waist like he was giving himself a second to think, but then your mouth was on his again, and whatever sliver of self-restraint he had vanished. 

With one delicious roll of his hips against yours he was a goner. “Holy- f-fuck.” Jake hissed, his mouth agape and eyes heavy lidded as he looked down at where the two of you were perfectly intertwined. “Fuck. Fuck.” 

“How’s that feeling, champion?” You purred in his ear, your hands playing in his hair as he continued his assault on your pussy. 

“Such a pretty pussy..” Jake groaned. His grip on your thighs was almost bruising but you didn't care, you welcomed the pain. Your head leaned back, hitting the mirror as moans fell from your lips like a mantra. Jake’s lips found the column of your neck sucking and biting at the skin. “You like that, baby?” 

“Uh-huh” You nodded your head finding it hard to find the ability to speak when Jake was doing unspeakable things to you. Jake’s thrusts were starting to become frantic, his moans higher and more frequent as it became apparent he was closer and closer to the edge. The music outside the door thumped, sounds of muffled voices passing by the door fell on deaf ears. You were too wrapped up in the way Jake was making you feel, coupled with the buzz of alcohol flowing through your veins. It was almost euphoric when your orgasm hit. Your legs shaking in Jake’s grip. 

“God-” Jake breathed. Your orgasm served as a catalyst for his own. His hips slamming against yours with finality. It was reckless. It was careless. It was just once. Except once was enough. 

Present day. 

Your stomach lurches. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the memory away, willing yourself back into the safety of denial. But it’s useless. The test is still in your hands. The two pink lines are still staring back at you. And no matter how much you wish you could undo it— You can’t. 

Your hands are still trembling. Your fingers ache from how hard you’re clutching the test, but you can’t let go. If you set it down, if you let it slip from your grasp, that means you’re accepting it. That means this is real.A choked sound slips past your lips before you can stop it. Your vision blurs. Then it happens—you break. 

A sob rips through your chest, raw and unrestrained. You fold in on yourself, pressing a hand over your mouth to smother the sounds, but it doesn’t stop the tears from coming. They fall in hot, messy streaks, slipping down your cheeks, soaking into your shirt. Your whole body shakes with it, shoulders curled forward, knees pulled up as if making yourself smaller might make this moment disappear. But nothing disappears. Nothing changes. You’re still here. Still alone in this room. Still pregnant. 

The word echoes inside your skull, over and over, until it drowns out everything else. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. The panic tightens around your ribs like a vice, and suddenly, you can’t breathe. You gasp, swallowing down air, trying to steady yourself, but it’s like you’re stuck underwater. Like you’re drowning. You don’t know how long you sit there—minutes? Hours? Time blurs, slipping through your fingers like sand. All you know is that you can’t do this. 

You can’t be pregnant. You can’t be a mom. You can’t tell Jake. A fresh wave of nausea churns in your stomach at the thought of him. Of his reaction. Of what this will do to him. To you. Jake, with his whole future mapped out in skates and ice and championships. Jake, who has never even hinted at wanting something serious with you—because this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Because it never has. And now, you’re carrying something that means everything. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your hands against them. If you don’t see the test, if you don’t look at it, maybe—maybe—No.

You inhale sharply, forcing your mind through the fog of panic. There’s only one thing you can do right now. Only one thing that makes sense. Before you tell Jake—before you even let yourself fully believe this—you need to be sure. A pregnancy test is just plastic and dye. It could be wrong. It could be wrong. A doctor. You need a doctor. 

The thought latches onto you like a lifeline. If you go to the doctor and they tell you this is a mistake—if they tell you that somehow, someway, those pink lines don’t mean what you think they mean—then you can pretend this moment never happened. You can wipe it from existence. You have to know. Your phone is on your nightstand, facedown, dark. You force yourself to move, to function. Your limbs feel heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and fear and the sheer impossibility of what’s happening, but somehow, you grab it. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull up the campus clinic’s number. 

You hesitate. Your thumb hovers over the call button, the moment stretching out in front of you. Because if you make this appointment—if you hear a doctor say the words out loud— Then it’s real. And once it’s real, you can never go back. A single tear drips onto the phone screen, smudging the numbers. You close your eyes. And you press call. 

The next day feels like a fever dream. You go through the motions, pretending your world hasn’t tilted off its axis. But every breath, every step, every blink reminds you that something is different. That there’s something inside you—growing, forming, changing everything. You haven’t said a word to anyone. 

Yuna had texted this morning to let you know she was crashing at her friend’s place again. You almost told her. You almost begged her to come home, to sit with you, to make you feel like you weren’t completely alone in this—but you couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not until the doctor confirms what you already know deep in your bones. So, you’ve spent the entire day in silence. Sitting with this information like a stone in your gut, waiting for the inevitable unraveling. 

You didn’t sleep last night. Every time you closed your eyes, the thoughts crept in—images of Jake, of your future, of what this means for the rest of your life. Of every possibility, every terrible outcome. You’ve always thought of pregnancy as some far-off, abstract concept—something that happened to other people, to people who were ready, to people who wanted it. But not you. Never you. 

And now, in just a few hours, you’ll be lying on an exam table, hearing a doctor tell you how far along you are. How long ago your life changed without you even knowing. The thought makes your stomach twist, nausea curling in your throat. You’re so lost in your thoughts that when your phone rings, the sudden sound makes you jump. It’s Jake. Your heart stops. His name flashes on the screen, bold and unmistakable, and for a second, you consider letting it ring. But that’s suspicious. You never ignore Jake’s calls. That would only make him ask questions.

So, you force yourself to breathe, force yourself to steady your voice, and answer. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” he echoes, his voice easy, warm. There’s the faint sound of voices and clattering sticks in the background, and you picture him in the locker room, probably shoving his gear into his bag while talking to you. The image is so painfully normal that it makes your chest ache. “What are you up to tonight?” he asks, casual, unaware of the chaos inside you. “Practice should be done around eight. You wanna come over?” 

Your grip tightens around the phone. It’s a simple question. A question you’ve answered a hundred times before with some variation of yeah, sure or your place or mine? But tonight, everything is different, and Jake has no idea. You swallow hard, throat dry. “I—I can’t.” 

He pauses. “Why not?” Because in less than two hours, I’ll be staring at an ultrasound screen, listening to a doctor tell me how many weeks pregnant I am. Because I don’t know how to look you in the eye, knowing that inside me—inside us—something is changing, something we never planned for, never wanted. “I'm sick,” you say instead. It’s a rushed excuse, flimsy and weak. “I think I caught something.” 

Jake hums, like he doesn’t quite buy it but isn’t ready to push. “You okay?” No. Not even close. 

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just tired. I think I just need to sleep it off.” Another pause. You know Jake well enough to know he’s debating whether or not to call you out. But finally, he just sighs. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.” 

His voice is so normal. So Jake. And for a moment, you almost break. You almost say, Actually, there is something I need. I need you to know. I need you to tell me what the hell we’re supposed to do now. I need you to promise that I’m not in this alone. But the words don’t come. Instead, you rush out, “I gotta go,” before he can say anything else. You don’t wait for his response. You hang up, your hand shaking as you set your phone facedown beside you. 

The room is too quiet again. Your heart is pounding, adrenaline making your whole body feel light and untethered. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when everything inside you is breaking apart. And yet, that’s exactly what you do. You wipe at your face, stand up, and grab your coat. The appointment is waiting. And whether you’re ready or not— You’re about to find out exactly how much time you have left before you have to tell Jake the truth. 

The air outside is sharp, biting against your skin as you step out of your dorm. It’s early evening, but the sky is already dark, winter pressing its cold fingers into everything it touches. Streetlights flicker to life, their glow hazy against the fog of your breath as you exhale, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. The clinic isn’t far. Just a short walk across campus. Still, every step feels heavier than the last. 

Your stomach churns with nerves, your hands stuffed deep in your pockets to hide their trembling. The closer you get, the more the reality of what you’re about to do sinks in. There’s no turning back after this. Once the doctor confirms it—once they tell you exactly how far along you are—you’ll have no choice but to face this head-on. No more pretending. No more hoping the test was wrong. You wish Yuna were here. You wish someone was here. 

But instead, you walk into the clinic alone, head ducked, shoulders curled in like you can make yourself disappear. The receptionist barely looks up as you check in, only nodding before motioning toward the chairs in the waiting area. You sit. The room smells like antiseptic and old magazines, too-bright lights buzzing overhead. Your legs bounce restlessly, fingers twisting in your lap. The other people waiting don’t even spare you a glance, but you still feel exposed, like someone could look at you and just know. Your name is called. 

Your body moves on autopilot, following the nurse down the hall, into a room. She asks questions. You answer without really hearing yourself, your voice robotic, like you’re reciting lines for a role you never wanted. Then the real part begins. You lie back on the table, cold gel spread across your stomach. The machine hums to life, and your heart pounds. You don’t know if you want to look. You don’t know if you can. But then the doctor says, “There it is.” And you do. You look. 

The screen is grainy, shifting black and white, impossible to make sense of at first. Then she moves the wand, adjusting the angle, and— Your breath catches. A tiny flicker. Your whole body freezes. “That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor says softly. “Would you like to hear it?” 

Your throat is too tight to answer. You don’t know what you expected, but not this. Not something so small, so fragile, so real. You nod. And then—sound. A rapid, steady rhythm, impossibly fast but undeniably there. Your vision blurs, and it takes you a second to realize you’re crying. 

Because this isn’t just a concept anymore. This isn’t just two pink lines or a mistake or a problem you don’t know how to solve. This is real. And whether you’re ready or not, this is happening. The doctor speaks again, gentle but firm. “You’re about seven weeks along.” 

Seven weeks. You squeeze your eyes shut. Because now there’s a heartbeat. Now there’s a timeline. Now there’s no way out of this moment, no way to pretend it hasn’t already changed you. You leave the clinic with a small printout in your hands, the black-and-white ultrasound photo pressed between your fingers. You don’t even know why you took it. Maybe because part of you knows that after tonight, everything is going to change. And Jake still has no idea. 

Back in the dorm you're still alone, Yuna not having come back yet. You were grateful for that as you just needed the time alone to process. Your phone buzzes. You flinch at the sudden vibration, your fingers tightening around the ultrasound printout still resting in your lap. It takes a second for you to move, to blink, to tear your gaze away from the tiny, grainy image on the paper. Another buzz. Your stomach twists. 

Slowly, like you already know what you’ll see, you reach for your phone and tilt the screen toward you. 

Jake: You feeling any better? 

You stare at the message, your pulse hammering in your throat. A third buzz. 

Jake: Practice just ended. Thinking about you. 

You suck in a sharp breath, a lump forming in your throat so quickly it nearly chokes you. Thinking about you. He doesn’t even realize what those words do to you right now, how they cut straight through your ribs, cracking something open inside you. You can picture him perfectly—his damp hair, his flushed cheeks, the easy way he leans against his locker while texting you, probably half-distracted, expecting you to reply with something simple. Something normal. But nothing is normal. Not anymore. The screen glares up at you, demanding an answer, but your fingers won’t move. 

What could you even say? Actually, I’m in my dorm having just left the doctor, staring at an ultrasound of the baby I never meant to have with you. But don’t worry, I’ll get back to you when I figure out how the hell to tell you. Another buzz. This time, it’s a call and you panic. Your heart slams against your ribs, and before you can stop yourself, you flip the phone over, screen-down, silencing it. The call cuts off. A few seconds later, another text comes through. 

Jake: You good? 

Your breathing is uneven. Your hands are shaking. You can’t do this. Not right now. You toss your phone away on the bed, like that will somehow make it all go away. Like that will somehow delay the inevitable. But you know it won’t you have to tell him soon, or it will eat you alive. 

For the next few hours you sit in silence, still not having left the dorm. The room is quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock above your desk.  You’re curled up beneath your blankets, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep after getting back from the clinic, but your body had other plans. It wasn’t restful, though. Even in sleep, your mind wouldn’t stop spinning, replaying the sound of that tiny heartbeat over and over and over again. 

Suddenly a soft click of the door was heard. You stir, blinking blearily as the light flicks on. “Hey, are you awake?” Yuna’s voice is gentle, cautious. You push yourself up, rubbing at your eyes as you watch her drop her bag by the door. She looks guilty. “I’m sorry for being gone so long,” she says, brushing a hand through her dark hair. “Our study session ran late, and we figured, why not just turn it into a sleepover? I should’ve texted you more. I feel bad.” 

You shake your head, forcing a small, tired smile. “It’s fine. You don’t have to check in with me every second.” Yuna eyes you for a beat, like she’s trying to gauge if you really mean it. Then she sighs, kicking off her shoes before flopping onto the bed beside you. “I missed anything exciting?” Yes. No. everything. 

You swallow, shaking your head again. “Not really.” Yuna shifts, turning onto her side to face you. Then, her brows furrow. Her eyes scan your face, tracing the dark circles beneath your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way you keep fidgeting with the edge of your blanket. “Okay, what’s wrong?” she asks, blunt as ever. 

Your heart stutters. “What? Nothing’s wrong.” 

Yuna doesn’t buy it for a second. She gives you a look, her sharp, knowing gaze cutting right through your weak attempt at indifference. “Don’t lie to me.” You open your mouth—ready to deny, to deflect, to do anything but tell the truth—but something inside you breaks. The weight of it all, the sheer impossibility of holding it in any longer, crushes you. You don’t say a word. You just reach under your pillow, where the crumpled ultrasound printout is still hidden, and pull it out with trembling fingers. 

Then, without looking at her, you hold it out. Yuna blinks, confused for a second—until she takes the paper from your hand and sees. Her entire body goes still. Silence. She stares down at the black-and-white image, her lips parting slightly. Her throat works like she wants to say something, but no words come out. Seconds stretch, heavy and suffocating. 

Finally, she looks at you. Her voice is quiet, but sharp with shock. “Is this…?” You nod, your chest tight. Yuna inhales sharply. “Holy shit.” She sits up straighter, like the weight of the moment is finally hitting her. She looks at the ultrasound again, like if she stares long enough, it’ll make sense. Then, eyes wide—voice barely above a whisper—she asks, “…It’s Jake’s? Right?” You let out a dry, humorless laugh, wiping at your face. “Of course, it is.” 

She looks up at you, eyes still wide with shock. “He’s the only one I’ve been with in a year,” you add quietly, voice almost getting lost in the space between you. Yuna swallows, nodding slowly, like she’s just now processing how real this is. Like she’s flipping through all the memories she has of you and Jake—of the nights you’d leave your dorm with a smirk and come back in one of his hoodies, of the way you never quite called him your boyfriend, of the way he was always just there. Her gaze sharpens. “How did he take it?” 

Your stomach twists. You hesitate just a second too long. Yuna’s face drops. “Oh my god.” She leans forward. “You didn’t tell him?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before shaking your head. Yuna groans, throwing her head back against the headboard. “You have got to be kidding me.” 

“Yuna—” 

“No.” She sits up straight again, looking at you with something between exasperation and concern. “You have to tell him.” 

“I know,” you say, voice tight. “I just—” 

“No,” she interrupts. “Not later, not eventually—you need to tell him now.” You shake your head quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your whole body feels cold, like the weight of this conversation is seeping into your bones. “You don’t get it,” you say, your voice almost breaking. “Jake loves hockey. More than anything. More than school, more than his own goddamn life sometimes.” You sniffle, shaking your head again. “If I tell him this, he’ll—” You stop, choking on the words. 

He’ll what? Walk away? Shut down? Look at you like you’ve just ruined his entire world? You don’t even know. That’s the problem. Yuna softens. She reaches out, placing a warm hand over yours. “Jake is a good guy,” she says gently. “He would never do that to you.” You stare down at your lap, at your fingers twisting in your hoodie sleeves. She says it like it's a fact. Like there’s no question, no possibility of anything else. But she doesn’t know what you know. 

She doesn’t know how much Jake lives for the game, how hockey is the thing that keeps his blood pumping, how he lights up when he talks about it in a way he never has about anything—or anyone—else. She doesn’t know that you’re terrified. Because if you tell Jake, if you say the words out loud— it’s real and it’s scary. 

The tears come fast. Faster than you expect. One second, you’re staring at your lap, chest too tight to breathe. The next, your vision is blurring, and your shoulders shake, and a broken sound rips from your throat before you can stop it. Yuna reacts instantly. “Hey—hey, no, don’t cry,” she says, shifting closer. Her arms wrap around you before you even realize what’s happening, pulling you into the warmth of her embrace. “I got you. It’s okay.” but it’s not okay. Nothing about this is okay. You bury your face into her shoulder, gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to the earth. She doesn’t let go, just rubs circles into your back as you fall apart. 

“I—I don’t know what to do,” you admit, voice muffled. “I’m so scared, Yuna.” She sighs, resting her chin atop your head. “I know.” A fresh wave of tears spills over. You wish you didn’t feel like this. Wish you could be stronger, steadier, more in control. But right now, you’re none of those things. Right now, you’re just a girl who made a mistake and is staring down the consequences. Yuna squeezes you a little tighter. “Listen, whatever happens, you won’t be alone in this, okay? You have me. And when you tell Jake, you’ll have him too. And even if—even if he’s an idiot about it at first, I’ll kick his ass into shape.” That actually makes you let out a weak, teary laugh. 

Yuna gasps, dramatic as always. “Did you just laugh? Oh my god, it’s a miracle.” You sniffle. “Shut up.” She pulls back just enough to grin at you, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m serious, though. If worst comes to worst, you and I will just get married and raise the baby together. Two badass moms against the world.” 

A laugh bubbles out of you, real this time. “You’d hate being married to me.” 

“Yeah, but I’d do it out of love. I’d be the hot, rich, wine-drunk mom. You’d be the stressed one who has to actually parent.” You roll your eyes, but the weight in your chest feels just a little bit lighter. Yuna smiles. “See? You’re gonna be okay.” and you think, maybe she’s right, maybe you will be okay. 

The next day feels like a blur. Again. Like you’re going through the motions of life with no real end goal. You know you have to get up, do something. Tell Jake that he’s going to be a fucking father because the longer you keep this a secret the more its eating you up inside out. 

You spend most of your day in the dorm, curled up on the couch with the TV playing some random show you’re not even paying attention to. The volume is low, just background noise to fill the silence, but it doesn’t stop your mind from racing. Jake has been calling all day. Text after text, call after call—his name keeps flashing on your screen, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. You know you should. You know avoiding him won’t make this easier. But every time you reach for your phone, your stomach twists, and your fingers freeze, and the weight of what you have to tell him slams into you all over again. So you do nothing. 

You let the calls go to voicemail. You leave the texts unread. And now, as the sun sets and the room is cast in a dim, golden glow, you’re still here—still stuck, still waiting, still pretending for just a little longer that none of this is happening. But then there's a knock on your door. And you're scared shitless because you think you know who it is. For a second, you don’t move, barely even breathe. Then another knock—firmer this time. 

Slowly, legs unsteady beneath you, you rise from the couch. Your hands feel cold as you grip the doorknob, pulse hammering in your ears as you turn it and pull the door open. And there he is. Jake. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, his hair still damp from a shower, his brows drawn together in confusion and concern. His eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—scan over you, taking in your messy hair, the exhaustion written all over your face, the way you’re not meeting his gaze. 

He shifts his weight, tilting his head. “…What’s going on with you?” You grip the edge of the door tighter. Your throat closes. Jake exhales, his expression softening as he reaches up, brushing his fingers over the side of your face like he’s trying to pull you back to him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” 

His voice is quieter now, tinged with something almost like worry. You swallow hard and your chest tightens, because this is it. There's no more running because Jake is right here in front of you. Jake doesn’t wait for permission. The second you hesitate, the second you shift like you might try to close the door on him, he pushes inside. 

The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you both in. He stands there, shoulders tense, his eyes scanning over you like he’s trying to read your mind. His brows are furrowed, frustration flickering behind his gaze. “What the hell is going on with you?” he demands. 

Your stomach knots. “Jake—” 

“No, seriously,” he cuts in, voice sharp. “Why the hell have you been ignoring me all day? You haven’t answered a single one of my texts, didn’t pick up any of my calls. I had to come here just to get you to look at me.” You take a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself. The room feels too small, the air too thick. “I told you. I’m sick.” 

Jake scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “That’s bullshit.” Your breath catches. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing as he watches you. “You don’t just disappear like that. You don’t just cut me off without a reason.” He exhales sharply, like he’s trying to keep his temper in check. “Did I… do something?” His voice is quieter now, more cautious. 

“Because if I did, just—tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” His jaw clenches. “I just—fuck, I don’t know—I miss you.” Your heart stutters. You stare at him, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs, making it even harder to breathe. “I’ve wanted to run here to you all week, tell you about my game, watch movies with you. Anything, but you're shutting me out.” This is Jake. You’re jake. And suddenly all of it feels so much worse. 

Your voice is small when you finally speak. “You didn’t do anything.” Jake takes a step closer, searching your face. “Then what is it?” You inhale shakily. Your hands tremble at your sides. Your throat burns. It’s time. There’s no easy way to do this. No way to soften it. 

So you just say it. “I’m pregnant.” 

Silence. It crashes over the room like a tidal wave. Jake doesn’t move, for a moment it looks like he doesn’t even breathe. Completely still. His face goes blank, his lips parting slightly like the words haven’t fully registered. His fingers twitch at his sides, his whole body stiff with shock. You stare at him, heart pounding, waiting—waiting for something. Some kind of reaction. Some kind of response. But he doesn’t say a word. Your stomach twists. He just keeps standing there, frozen, staring at you like you’ve just rewritten his entire reality. And maybe you had. 

You bite your lip, blinking back the burn in your eyes. When you finally speak again, your voice is quieter. Sharper. “This is your only chance to take the out.” Jake’s brows pull together slightly, but he still says nothing. You swallow the lump in your throat. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want to be responsible for a baby, you can walk away. Right now.” Your voice shakes. “No one would blame you. I won’t blame you.” Jake blinks. Still silent. Still motionless. Your heart slams against your ribs. You hate this. Hate this. Hate that you don’t know what’s going through his head. Hate that you feel this vulnerable, this exposed, this small. 

You force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I know hockey is your life..” You trail. “ I know that’s what you’re thinking about right now. You forget that before..this, we were friends. good friends. I know what hockey means to you and I would never in a million years ask for you to choose. So I'm giving you a choice. be a dad or walk away. Neither of those involve not playing hockey. but i’m telling you right now. if you choose this, if you’re all in you better be all in because this is your only time to tap out. don’t get my hopes up then crush them when it gets too hard because i’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Jake just stands there. Still silent. Still unreadable. 

“Why are you not saying anything?” You whispered brokenly, the silence almost too much to bear. “Please say something.” 

Finally, Jake’s mouth opens but then it shuts again like he’s trying to find the ability to speak. Like a failing fish out of water. It’s nerve wracking, your body feels like it's on fire. “Please Jake.” You beg, at your wits end. 

“You’re giving me an out..” He trailed off, and your heart sank at the words. Was he really going to walk away and leave you to raise a baby alone? The thought terrified you to no end. “You’re giving me an out and a very big part of me is screaming at me to take it. it would be the smart thing, the easy thing and maybe the best thing for my career. My brain is ticking, yelling over and over ‘take the out, take the out. but there is a small part of me that outways the rest, a part that won’t let me be like the man who didn’t have the guts to raise me. that refuses to leave this kid, my kid, without a father. so, yes I'm quiet and yes I'm not saying anything. because my mind is going to war trying to think of a way to be a dad and a damn good hockey player at the sametime.” 

“Okay.” You said simply. And for a while you both sat in silence, neither of you finding the right words to say. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Did you figure it out?” You asked him. Jake’s eyes closed, a deep breath falling from his lips. 

“No.” He said simply, “but I will.” Your head shot up in surprise, your eyes wide and glassy with tears threatening to spill. 

“You’re in?” You ask with a strained voice. 

“I’m in.” 

Jake and yourself had a lot more that you had to talk about, that was for sure. But the confirmation of him staying and raising this baby with you had definitely lifted a large weight off your shoulders and although you were less terrified it didn’t mean you were prepared. You were having a baby for god's sake. That scared you to death. And you weren't sure if you were entirely ready for it. 

Over the next few weeks Jake does things that prove he's all in. The first time Jake shows up, you don’t expect it. You step out of the campus doors, arms wrapped around yourself, still shaken from your last appointment. The air is crisp, biting at your skin as you take a deep breath, trying to center yourself. And then you hear it. The sound of footsteps. The rustling of fabric. And then - “Hey.” Your head snaps up. Jake is there, leaning against the side of his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it all day, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder like he just came from practice. 

Your stomach flips. “What are you doing here?” you ask. Jake shrugs, pushing off the car. “Thought you might need a ride.” 

​​You hesitate, tightening your grip on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I can take the bus,” you say, voice quiet. Jake raises a brow. “You could. Or you could let me drive you home.” You don’t have the energy to argue. Not today. So you nod. Jake doesn’t say much on the ride back. He keeps his eyes on the road, hands gripping the wheel, but every so often, his gaze flickers toward you — like he’s checking to make sure you’re still there. 

It keeps happening. 

A few days later, a jersey appears on the back of your desk chair. One of Jake’s, the fabric worn in places, his last name sprawled across the back in bold letters. You pick it up, running your fingers over the lettering. There’s a note tucked into the sleeve. "Just in case you need something warm." Your breath catches. 

The next time you see him, you don’t bring it up. But when you wear the jersey around your dorm, you pretend not to notice the way Yuna raises a knowing brow. Jake keeps showing up. Not in the obvious ways, not in ways that force anything. But in the background. In the small things. A decaf coffee left on your desk when you step out of class. A text asking if you’ve eaten. A moment at the rink where he catches your eyes before disappearing into the locker room. He doesn’t say anything about the pregnancy. Not yet. But he’s there. And that terrifies you just as much as it comforts you. 

Jake isn’t there. Not really. His body is on the ice, his skates cutting across the surface, his hands gripping his stick, but his mind—his mind is still sitting in that sterile doctor’s office, staring at a screen where a tiny, flickering heartbeat had filled the room. "There’s your baby."  He can still hear the doctor’s voice, still feel the way his stomach had plummeted as the reality of it settled in, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. "Your baby."  Jake clenches his jaw, gripping his stick tighter. 

“Jake!” The sharp bark of his name barely registers before — CRACK. The puck flies past him, a blur of black and white as it slams into the boards. “Jesus Christ, Sim!” Jake blinks, snapping back into focus just in time to see his coach skating toward him, fuming. His teammates shift uncomfortably, casting wary glances between them as Coach Bennet stops in front of Jake, eyes blazing. 

​​“You wanna tell me where the hell your head is at today?” Coach snaps. “Because it sure as hell isn’t here.” Jake swallows hard. His grip on his stick tightens, knuckles going white. “I—” Coach doesn’t let him finish. 

“You’ve been slow all practice. Missing passes, losing pucks—you’re a vital part of this team, Sim. You don’t get to check out like this.” His voice drops slightly, but it only makes the words hit harder. “Get it together. Now.” Jake nods stiffly.  He doesn’t say anything. Because what the hell is he supposed to say? That he can’t focus because his whole life changed forever? That there’s a baby now—a real, growing baby—and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that? That every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is that ultrasound? 

Coach exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Take five.” Jake doesn’t argue. He skates off the ice, his heart pounding. He needs to get his head straight. Now. Because if he doesn’t — He might just lose everything. 

Jake barely makes it through the rest of practice. He’s off. Way off. His passes are sloppy. His shots lack power. He’s slow to react, too caught up in his head to play the way he’s supposed to. By the time Coach blows the final whistle, Jake is drenched in sweat and running on empty. His entire body feels tense, like his muscles are wound so tight they might snap. He just needs to get out of here. 

He needs to shower, grab his stuff, and go check on you. But before he can make it out of the locker room — “Yo, Sim!” Jake glances up, spotting Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon making their way toward him. Jay slings an arm over his shoulders, still dripping wet from his shower. “We’re heading to a party tonight. You coming?” 

Jake doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” 

Jay pulls back slightly, raising a brow. “No?” 

“Dude,” Sunghoon snorts. “It’s a Friday night, and you’re passing up a party? Who are you?” Jake exhales, shaking his head as he shoves his gear into his bag. “I just—” He hesitates. “I have somewhere to be.” 

Heeseung leans against the lockers, crossing his arms. “You’ve been weird as hell all day, man.” Jay nods. “Yeah, what’s going on with you?” 

Jake grips the strap of his duffel so tight it hurts. He could make something up. Should make something up. But instead — it just spills out, before Jake could stop it. “She’s pregnant.” The words hang heavy in the air. None of them move. None of them speak. Jay blinks. “Wait. What?” and Jake laughs.

Or at least, he tries to. It comes out more like a broken, choked sound. His throat feels tight, his chest squeezed so hard it physically hurts. “She’s pregnant,” he says again, voice cracking. And then, before he can even stop it — He’s crying. Right there, in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by his teammates, Jake fucking breaks. 

His head falls into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he lets it out. Because he’s scared. Because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Because this isn’t part of the plan. And for the first time in his entire life, he doesn’t know how to fix it. “Fuck, man,” Heeseung breathes. Jay is the first to move, stepping closer and clamping a firm hand on Jake’s back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Jake shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” His voice is raw, shaky. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” 

Sunghoon exhales through his nose. “Okay, first? Breathe.” Jake tries. And fails. He sucks in a breath, but it feels like nothing is getting in. His heart is racing, his mind spinning, and everything is just — “Jake.” Jay squeezes his shoulder. “You’re not alone in this.” Jake lifts his head, eyes red, glassy. 

“We got you, man,” Heeseung says quietly. “No matter what.” Sunghoon nods. “Yeah. And, I mean—” He gestures around. “This isn’t exactly news you should be dealing with alone.” 

Jay nudges him lightly. “Have you told her how you feel?” Jake wipes at his face, sniffing. “I don’t even know how I feel.” His voice wobbles. “I just—I need to see her.” Jay exchanges a glance with Heeseung before looking back at him. “Then go” 

Jake doesn’t wait. He grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and leaves. 

The knock at your door startles you. You freeze mid-reach for your phone, heart suddenly hammering in your chest. You already know who it is. For a second, you consider ignoring it. Pretending you’re asleep. Pretending you’re busy. You’re not sure you want any company. But you can’t do that forever. 

So you force yourself up, smoothing down the front of your sweater as you cross the room. You take a steadying breath, gripping the doorknob with fingers that tremble just slightly, and pull it open. Jake stands there. The first thing you notice is the hoodie—dark gray, pulled up over his head, casting a shadow over his face. His duffel bag is slung over one shoulder, his hockey gear probably stuffed inside. His posture is a little tense, like he had to talk himself into coming here. But the real thing that catches your attention is what he’s holding. 

A takeout bag. Your throat tightens. “I, uh…” Jake shifts on his feet, glancing down at the bag like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with it. “I remembered you said you were craving this, so I thought—” He hesitates, clears his throat, then lifts the bag slightly. “I figured I’d bring you some.” Something cracks inside you. Because it’s such a small thing—just food, just a meal—but the fact that he remembered that he went out of his way after practice when he was probably exhausted, when he could have avoided all of this — You swallow hard and step aside, voice softer than you mean for it to be. “Come in.” 

Jake hesitates for just a second before stepping inside. The door clicks shut behind him. He doesn’t look around, doesn’t hesitate, just walks straight over to your desk and sets the bag down before collapsing onto your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is normal. Like nothing between you has changed. He stretches out slightly, fingers drumming against his thigh before he looks at you. 

“So,” he says, voice easy, like he’s not breaking some invisible barrier by being here. “How was your day?” You blink. It’s such a simple question, but it feels heavier than it should. Because what does he want to hear? That you spent most of it overthinking? That you barely slept last night, kept up by the thought of everything crashing down around you? That every time you close your eyes, you see your own future in a way you never imagined it before? Instead, you inhale deeply and say, “It was fine.” Jake gives you a look. You fidget slightly under his gaze before sighing and elaborating. 

“I had class this morning,” you start, perching on the edge of your chair. “Yuna and I grabbed coffee after, but the barista completely messed up my order, so I ended up drinking the strongest espresso of my life. I swear I could hear colors after that.” Jake snorts, shaking his head. “Then I came back to my room, tried to take a nap, but the guys across the hall decided to have a full-on garage band session at, like, peak volume.” You groan, rubbing your temples. “It sounded like someone was murdering an electric guitar.” 

Jake tilts his head. “Were they at least good?” 

You deadpan. “No.” He chuckles, the sound low and familiar, something that almost makes you feel lighter. So you keep talking. You tell him about your classes, about how Yuna dragged you into watching some new drama that she’s absolutely obsessed with. About how you got sucked into a rabbit hole of cat videos on your phone, and one was so funny that you laughed until you cried. And the whole time, Jake listens. Not just in the polite, half-distracted way people sometimes do. No—he really listens. He nods at the right moments. Asks questions. Throws in sarcastic comments that make you roll your eyes but also bite back a smile. And it’s so… easy. 

For a few minutes, it’s like things are the way they used to be. Like there’s no giant, life-changing revelation hanging over your heads. Like it’s just you and him. Like it’s always been. But that’s the thing about pretending. Eventually, reality always catches up. 

You shouldn’t be staring at Jake. But you are. It’s not your fault, really. He’s sitting on your bed like he belongs there, hoodie still pulled up, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on your blanket. The room is dim, just your bedside lamp casting a soft glow, making everything feel warmer. Closer. And maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s here, but — he looks good. Really, good. You could blame it on the hormones but you know that’s not entirely true, you were attracted to Jake enough to fuck him on the regular. 

Which is so not what you should be thinking about right now. Especially when everything between you is so much bigger than it used to be. Still, you can’t help but glance at him as you chew your food, watching the way his jaw tenses like he’s caught up in his own head. So, to fill the silence, you ask, “What about you? What did you do today?” 

Jake blinks, like you’ve just pulled him out of a thought he wasn’t ready to leave. Then he sighs. “Practice.” You raise a brow. “That’s it?” He huffs out a soft laugh. “That’s pretty much all I do.” 

You roll your eyes, leaning back against your pillows. “Yeah, yeah. Hockey is life.” Jake smirks. “Glad you’re finally getting it.” You nudge him lightly with your foot, and for the first time in days, something feels normal. But then you see the way his smirk fades slightly, the way his fingers keep fidgeting. 

“How was practice?” you ask. Jake hesitates. And you can tell — whatever it is, he doesn’t want to say it. But after a moment, he sighs. “It sucked.” That makes you pause. Jake never complains about practice. Even when he’s exhausted, even when he’s been chewed out by his coach, even when he’s sore and bruised—he always shrugs it off. It’s just part of the game. So the fact that he’s saying it now means something. 

“Why?” you ask, setting your food down. Jake drags a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I don’t know. I couldn’t focus. Coach was on my ass all day. Kept telling me to get my head in the game.” He shakes his head, voice quieter now. “I just… couldn’t.” Your chest tightens. Because you know. You know why he couldn’t focus. And it hits you, suddenly — Jake is scared. Maybe not in the same way you are. Maybe not in the overwhelming, spiraling, how-will-I-ever-handle-this way that’s been sitting heavy in your chest since you saw that test. 

But still—Jake is scared. And for the first time since this whole thing started, you realize, You’re not the only one whose world is changing. Jake won’t look at you. His eyes stay fixed on some invisible point in the room, his jaw tense, fingers still picking at the frayed thread on your blanket. He looks like he wants to say something, like there’s too much sitting on his tongue, but he doesn’t know where to start. And for some reason, that makes your chest ache. 

“Jake…” you start carefully. His head tilts slightly, but he still doesn’t meet your gaze. You swallow. “Is it because of—”

“You,” Jake says suddenly. The word is soft. Quiet. But it still punches the air right out of your lungs. Your breath catches. “Me?” Jake finally lifts his eyes to yours, and god, they’re unreadable. Dark, searching—like he’s trying to figure out what the hell to do with everything inside him.

“Yeah,” he mutters. His voice is rough, like he’s only just now admitting it to himself. “It’s you. It’s… this.” He gestures vaguely, and you know he means all of it. The pregnancy. The secret you held onto for weeks. The way everything between you is shifting, unsteady, the ground cracking beneath both of you in real time. And it’s weird. Because part of you has spent so long thinking about how this will change your life—how everything is unraveling for you—that it didn’t even occur to you that Jake is unraveling too.

That he’s scared. Just like you. The thought makes something twist deep in your stomach. You exhale, shifting slightly so you’re facing him completely. “I didn’t mean to mess everything up for you.” Jake’s brows knit together immediately. “What?” You glance down at your hands. “I know hockey is your whole life, Jake. I know you’ve got… plans, and dreams, and this wasn’t supposed to happen. And now it’s just—” You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek before whispering, “I don’t want you to hate me for it.”

Jake stiffens. The room is silent for a long, painful moment. Then, suddenly, he shifts—pushing himself off the bed and moving toward you so fast that your breath stumbles. He doesn’t touch you, but he’s closer now. Close enough that you can see the way his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping his hoodie sleeves.

“Don’t say that,” he says, voice low. “Don’t ever say that.” You blink up at him, startled by the sudden intensity in his eyes. Jake shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I could never hate you.” Your throat tightens. “But I—”

“You didn’t do this alone.” His voice is firm, certain. “You didn’t just wake up one day and decide to flip my life upside down. I was there, too.” You let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m the one carrying it.” Jake flinches slightly at the word carrying, but he doesn’t look away.

“I know,” he says. His voice is softer now. “And I know it’s different for you. I know I’ll never fully get what that feels like.” He swallows hard. “But this isn’t just on you, okay? I’m scared too.” Your heart stutters. Because this is Jake. The Jake who’s always been so steady. So sure of himself. Who skates like nothing in the world could shake him. And now he’s sitting in front of you, looking like he’s the one who can’t find his footing.

You don’t know what to say. So you just nod. Jake exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before falling back onto your bed. He stares at the ceiling for a long second, letting the silence settle between you again. Then, with a small, almost bitter laugh, he says, “God, no wonder Coach was on my ass all day.”

That startles a laugh out of you. It’s small, barely there, but Jake notices. His lips twitch. “Oh, so now it’s funny?”

You sniffle, shaking your head. “I mean… kinda.” Jake groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Glad you’re enjoying my suffering.” You roll your eyes, nudging his foot lightly with yours. “It’s not suffering, it’s called consequences.” Jake drops his arm, lifting his head to give you a flat look. “I don’t like that word.”

You smirk. “Well, get used to it.” For a moment, you just sit there, looking at each other. And something settles. The air is still heavy, the weight of everything still pressing down on both of you. But… It doesn’t feel so suffocating anymore. 

The rest of the night kept going just like that, sat next together watching reruns, laughing about everything. You’re trying to focus on the show playing in front of you. Really, you are. But it’s hard—and not just because Jake keeps making little comments about the plot, half-serious, half to mess with you. It’s because you can’t stop thinking about it. Something that has been plaguing you these past few weeks. The feeling has been creeping up on you for weeks now, an itch under your skin that only seems to get worse. At first, you thought it was just stress, or maybe a weird symptom of everything your body was going through. But now, sitting here next to Jake, your legs tucked up under you, his thigh warm where it brushes against yours — 

You know exactly what it is. And god, it’s humiliating. Because there’s no good way to say it. Hey, Jake, I know our lives are changing forever, but by the way, I’m really, really horny. You press your lips together, eyes flickering toward him. He looks relaxed, his arm slung lazily over the back of your bed, fingers occasionally tapping against the blanket. His hoodie has shifted slightly, revealing a strip of skin above the waistband of his sweats, and why are you even looking at that? 

You force yourself to look back at the screen, gripping your blanket like it might physically restrain you from saying something stupid. But then Jake shifts, turning toward you slightly. “You good?” You freeze. “What?” 

Jake gives you a look. “You keep making weird faces.” Shit. You clear your throat, shaking your head quickly. “I’m fine.” Jake raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You sure?” 

No. “Yeah.” but he doesn’t look away, god can he just look away. “Because if something’s wrong—” 

“I said I’m fine,” you blurt, a little too quickly, a little too defensive. Jake blinks. You clamp your mouth shut. Then, slowly, his expression shifts. Like he’s figuring something out. Like he’s putting a puzzle together, piece by piece. And suddenly, you regret everything. Because this is Jake.

Jake, who knows your body better than anyone. Jake, who has spent the last year reading your little shifts and signals, knowing exactly when you wanted him—when you needed him—even before you ever said a word. And now he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. Your stomach flips. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something — But you panic, snatching the remote and turning the volume up way too high.

Jake flinches at the sudden blare of noise. “Jesus—”

“Sorry!” You fumble with the remote, lowering it again. “My hand slipped.” Jake stares at you. Then—slowly—he smirks. Your stomach plummets. “Your hand slipped?” he repeats, amusement dripping from his tone. You nod quickly. “Yep.” Jake tilts his head, still watching you. Your heart is pounding. And you realize, with absolute horror, that there is no way you’re getting out of this.

Jake is still watching you. And you can tell by the glint in his eyes, the way his smirk is growing, that he knows something’s up. So, before he can start teasing you, you blurt out the first thing on your mind. “Are you gonna sleep with other girls?”

Jake stills. His smirk drops instantly. His whole expression shifts from amused to completely caught off guard. “What?” You don’t back down. You cross your arms, looking straight at him. “Now that I’m, you know…” You gesture vaguely toward your stomach. “Are you still gonna sleep with other people?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No.” Just that. No. No hesitation, no confusion, just a simple, matter-of-fact no. And that does something to you. Because you weren’t even sure why you asked it. Maybe because you never really talked about exclusivity before. Maybe because things between you have felt so different lately, and you needed to know. Or maybe because part of you was scared that nothing was different for Jake  that he’d still be going out, still be with other girls, while you were here, pregnant with his child.

But now, sitting here, watching the way his brows are still pulled together like he can’t believe you even asked  Something inside you loosens. You exhale. “Good.” Then, before you can overthink it, before Jake can even process what’s happening You lean in and kiss him.

Jake freezes. It’s so different from the way things used to be. Before, your kisses were quick, hungry, never filled with anything but need. But this is slow. This is intentional. And it’s Jake who responds first.

He melts into you, his hand reaching up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just right as he deepens the kiss. His lips are warm, familiar, but there’s something new in the way he kisses you now, something softer, something that lingers. And god, you need him. Every built-up thought, every moment of tension from the last few weeks, crashes into you all at once. You press closer, hands fisting into his hoodie, pulling him in.

Jake makes a low sound in his throat, his grip tightening slightly, his other hand sliding down to your waist. His fingers skim the hem of your shirt, hesitate — Then he pulls away just slightly, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard. “Are you—” His voice is hoarse, strained. “Are you sure?” You nod. Jake studies you for a moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when he finds none, his lips crash into yours again. And this time  Neither of you stop. Jake kisses you like he’s making up for lost time.

Like he’s been waiting for this, just as much as you have. His hands slide up your sides, slow and careful, like he’s still giving you a chance to change your mind but you don’t. You can’t. You press closer, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie, and that’s all it takes. A low curse slips from his lips as he pulls the hoodie over his head, tossing it aside. The sight of him, his flushed skin, his rapid breathing sends a shiver through you. He’s so warm, and when his hands find your hips, you let him guide you back against the pillows, your body reacting on instinct.

Everything feels different. Not in a bad way. Not in a way that makes you hesitate. Just in a way that makes you aware of the weight of his body, the way he touches you, the way he looks at you. Because for the first time, it’s not just mindless. For the first time, Jake is looking at you like he actually sees you. And god, you want him.

His lips trail down, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your neck, your shoulder everywhere. His hands are careful, slower than usual, like he’s savoring the moment instead of rushing through it. And that’s the thing there’s no rush. Because tonight isn’t about just getting lost in each other. Tonight is something else. Something neither of you have had before. And as Jake’s lips find yours again, breathless, desperate, needing you let yourself fall. 

He took his time peeling off every layer of clothing that stood in your way, his sensual kisses leaving butterfly like feelings in his wake as he moved them up and down the expanse of your neck. It was more romantic than you had ever experienced. He was taking his time with you, cherishing your body as he helped you, cradled you. There was beauty in the way the two of you were finally joined, again. 

You are on top of him, your knees on either side of his hips, lifting yourself up than crashing down to the tune of your own heartbeat in your ears. Jake drank in the sight of you, his hands running up and down your body, squeezing at your breasts like a vice. They were noticeably bigger and it was apparent that Jake loved it. 

Your moans and groans grew in tandem as Jake whispered dirty things into your ear. The gasps he let out everytime your hips slapped against yours served as a catalyst to your already awaiting orgasm. It hit you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in its wake. Jake followed not long after. His body is shaking along with yours. And when it was over, you sat atop him with him still nestled deep inside of you and fell asleep. Feeling more peaceful than you have in weeks. 

The next morning, the first thing you register is warmth. It’s different from the usual comfort of your blankets or the lingering haze of sleep. It’s heavier, grounding, and when you blink your eyes open, it takes you a second to realize why. Jake is still next to you. He’s lying on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, one arm stretched lazily across your waist. His breathing is slow, deep, even, and in the soft morning light filtering through your curtains, he looks so peaceful. So different.

Jake is always moving, always carrying some kind of restless energy on the ice, at parties, even just sitting next to you. But right now, he’s still. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles, his lips parted slightly as he sleeps. You can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the subtle weight of his arm over you, and for a brief, fragile moment, you let yourself just exist here. In this sliver of morning where nothing has to be said. Where nothing has to change. But eventually, Jake stirs.

He shifts against the pillow, letting out a low hum as his lashes flutter open, still heavy with sleep. His grip on you tightens for a second before he pulls away, rubbing at his face. You watch as he blinks a few times, clearly still waking up, before his gaze finally settles on you. A small, lazy smile.

"Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice low, hoarse. You swallow, forcing yourself to look away from the mess of his hair, the sleep-drunk warmth in his eyes. "Morning." Jake shifts onto his side, his movements slower than usual, more relaxed. His eyes flicker toward the bedside table, where his phone buzzes quietly, before he turns back to you.

"The frat’s having a thing tonight," he says, voice still rough from sleep. "Not a party, just a small get-together. You should come." You hesitate. "A get-together?"

Jake nods, stretching one arm above his head before letting it drop back onto the pillow. "Yeah. Just the guys, Yunjin, Yuna, Heeseung’s girl. No crazy shit." He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “It might be good for you.” There’s something careful in the way he says it. Like he’s watching for your reaction. And the truth is, you don’t know how to feel. You haven’t really been out since everything happened. The idea of being around everyone again of feeling like things are normal when they’re so clearly not makes something twist in your chest.

Jake notices. "You don’t have to," he says, quieter now. “I just thought—" He stops, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just thought you might wanna get out for a bit. Clear your head.” And the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker to your stomach for the briefest second before meeting yours again.  You know what he means. He’s giving you an out. If you don’t want to go, he won’t push. If you say no, he won’t mention it again. But the idea lingers.

Because part of you does miss it. Misses laughing with Yuna and Yunjin, miss sitting around and watching Heeseung get bullied by the guys, miss feeling like yourself. Even if things aren’t the same anymore. You exhale slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “…Okay.” Jake blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually agree. Then slowly, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah?” You nod, and something inside you eases. This could be fun and god knows you need that in your life right about now. 

That night, air is crisp as you step outside, carrying the first whispers of winter on its breath. You tug your coat tighter around you, relishing in the warmth as you walk alongside Jake. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, the fabric pulled over his head, but you can still see the easy grin playing at his lips. There’s something light about tonight, something you hadn’t expected. It’s been weeks of suffocating thoughts, of holding your breath, of feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on your chest. But tonight, for the first time, that pressure isn’t there. Maybe it’s because you’re choosing this. Or maybe it’s because Jake's here with you. 

Jake glances at you as you walk. “You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“You sure?” He nudges your arm lightly with his elbow, playful, teasing. “Because I don’t wanna show up and have you ditch me two minutes in. That’d be kinda embarrassing.” You roll your eyes but can’t fight the small laugh that escapes you. “I’m not gonna ditch you.” Jake hums, side-eyeing you like he doesn’t quite believe you. “I dunno. You’ve been real unpredictable lately.”  You nudge him back, a little harder this time, and he lets out a soft chuckle.

The sidewalk stretches ahead, illuminated by the golden glow of streetlights. It’s late enough that campus is quiet, the usual bustle of students reduced to only the occasional passing group, muffled laughter carrying through the air. The night feels calm. Jake walks beside you in that familiar, effortless way—like being near you is second nature. And maybe it is. Maybe, despite everything, it always has been You glance over at him. “So, what exactly is this get-together?”

Jake shrugs. “Just a small thing. Heeseung and Jay wanted to do something before our next away game. No crazy party, just hanging out.”

“And you’re sure about that?”

“Swear on my life.” He presses a hand over his heart. “No surprise kegs, no random strangers passing out in the hall. Just us.” It sounds… nice. Like the kind of normalcy you hadn’t realized you missed until now. The thought makes you exhale softly, your steps slowing just a fraction. You hadn’t expected to feel good tonight. Hadn’t expected to look forward to anything, let alone this. Jake notices your pause and turns slightly, walking backward now so he can face you. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head, “we can still turn around, you know. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” But you do.

So you shake your head. “I wanna go.” Jake studies you for a second, like he’s searching for any hesitation. But there isn’t any. Not tonight. Eventually, he nods. “Okay,” he says. Then, his lips twitch into something softer. “Good.” And as you near the house, the sound of laughter spilling out onto the porch, the glow of string lights hanging from the windows, You realize you’re glad you came. 

The warmth of the frat house greets you the moment you step inside, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The air is thick with the scent of garlic bread and pasta, something home-cooked and rich, filling the space with a kind of comfort you hadn’t expected. Laughter hums in the background, the low murmur of conversation weaving between the sound of utensils clinking against plates. It’s not the kind of party you’d grown used to at this house. No booming music rattling the walls, no overwhelming crush of bodies moving in tandem, no spilled drinks coating the floor in sticky regret. Instead, it feels warm, familiar. Like a gathering of people who actually care about each other. Jake’s friends greet him instantly, throwing easy nods and teasing jabs his way. Jay claps him on the shoulder, Heeseung tosses some offhand comment about how “Wow, Sim, you actually showed up for once?” but then their attention shifts to you.

“Hey!” Yunjin grins, pulling you into a quick hug. “We were wondering if you’d come.” You smile. “Yeah, Jake convinced me.”

“Good. You needed to get out,” Yuna says, appearing at your side with her usual knowing smirk. “You can’t just sit in the dorm watching Netflix and eating fruit snacks for the next few months.”

You narrow your eyes. “That was one time.”

Yunjin snickers. “Sure, babe.”

There’s no judgment in their words, though, just familiarity. That easy friendship that makes your chest loosen. Everyone settles into a comfortable rhythm as the night unfolds, plates passed around, laughter spilling over casual conversation, Jake leaning back into the couch beside you, his arm draped along the back of it, close but not quite touching. And then, at some point, the conversation shifts.

“So,” Yunjin says, sitting forward, her eyes flickering between you and Jake. “We have to talk about something important.” You blink. “Uh… okay?”

Yuna grins. “A baby shower.” You choke on your drink. “A what?”

“A baby shower!” Heeseung’s girlfriend nods eagerly. “Come on, you have to have one! It’ll be so cute!” You stare at them. “I mean, I—”

“It’s not really up to you,” Yunjin interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ve already decided. We’re throwing one.” Jake huffs a small laugh beside you, shaking his head. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“You’re having a baby, dude. This is happening.” Jay gestures between the two of you. “You might as well have a party for it.” You glance at Jake, unsure what to say. The idea of a baby shower hadn’t even crossed your mind yet. There’s been so much to think about. doctor’s appointments, your classes, the slow, terrifying reality of your life shifting that something as normal as a baby shower hadn’t even made it onto the list. But the way everyone is looking at you excited, hopeful, like they genuinely want to do this for you makes something warm settle in your chest.

Jake’s knee bumps against yours as he shifts beside you. “What do you think?” he asks, voice low enough that it’s meant just for you. You hesitate for only a second before nodding. “I think…” You exhale, looking back at your friends. “I think it sounds exciting.” The girls cheer. Heeseung claps Jake on the back. “Guess you better start making a registry, man.” Jake groans, but there’s something soft in his expression, something light. Something you’d love to see over and over again until you die. 

The conversation drifts naturally, flowing from one topic to the next like the rise and fall of a tide. The laughter still lingers in the air, the warmth of it curling around you like a blanket, but then the topic shifts. Jay leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “Man, this schedule is gonna kill me.”

Heeseung snorts. “You say that every year.”

“Yeah, and I mean it every year.” Jay groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Back-to-back away games? We barely get time to breathe.” Jake lets out a low chuckle beside you. “You’re so dramatic.”

Jay lifts his head just enough to glare at him. “Shut up, Sim. You love this shit.” Jake shrugs, unbothered. “I mean, yeah. It’s hockey. What’s not to love?” And just like that, the floodgates open. The guys dive into a conversation that feels almost foreign to you, play schedules, practice drills, strategies for upcoming games. They speak in a language that’s second nature to them, that thrives in their bones, their voices animated, hands gesturing wildly as they argue over stats and game plans. And at first, it’s nothing. At first, you just sit there, listening. But then — Then it starts to settle.

Jake does love this. It’s not just a hobby, not just a college sport—it’s his life. The hours, the dedication, the grueling schedule—it doesn’t seem to weigh on him the way it does the others. He thrives in it. He needs it. And this is just college. If he’s this busy now…

The thought creeps in, slow but merciless. If this is what his schedule looks like now—morning practices, late-night workouts, weekend-long away games—what the hell is it going to look like when he goes pro? Because he will. You know it as sure as you know the sun will rise in the morning. Jake was built for this. It’s what he’s worked for, what he’s bled for. Hockey isn’t just something he loves. It’s his future. And where the hell do you fit into that?

You blink, barely registering that the conversation is still going, that the guys are still talking and laughing and teasing each other, that the warmth of the room hasn’t faded—but suddenly, it feels distant. A dull, steady ache starts in your chest, creeping up your throat, tightening around your ribs. You stare at the flickering candle on the table, at the way the wax pools and hardens, melting and reforming in an endless cycle. They keep talking. And you go quiet.

You don’t even realize how still you’ve gone until Jake nudges your knee with his own. “Hey.” His voice is softer now, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. You look up, meeting his gaze, and there’s a slight furrow between his brows, that subtle shift that tells you he notices. “You okay?” he murmurs, low enough that the others don’t hear. You should say yes. Should push down the thoughts clawing at your chest, the creeping fear that tells you this is a mistake, that you’re deluding yourself into thinking this can work, that you won’t get left behind in the wake of his future.

But your throat is tight. So you just force a smile, nodding once. Jake doesn’t buy it. His gaze lingers, sharp and searching, like he’s trying to figure you out. But before he can press, someone calls his name, dragging him back into the conversation, and you take the out for what it is. You breathe. And the doubt lingers. The room is still alive with conversation, laughter curling at the edges of words, but your mind is somewhere else. Distant. Tangled.

Jake is talking again something about next week’s game, about how they need to tighten their defense but the words barely reach you. They swirl around the room, carried by voices that belong in this world, that fit. And then there’s you. Sitting here, stomach heavy with something that feels like lead, pressing against your ribs, against your lungs. Because how does this work? How do you fit?

You glance at Jake from the corner of your eye. He’s leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees, brows furrowed as he listens to Heeseung explain something about their last game. He’s so focused. So in his element, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. And then there’s the baby. And you. Where do you fit in all of this? It was easy, easier when the thought of being pregnant was still something distant, something you were still getting used to. But now it’s real. You’ve seen the ultrasound. Heard the heartbeat. There’s something inside you, someone that’s growing, changing, becoming more real every single day. And Jake..

Jake is here. He’s showing up. He’s bringing you food and taking you to appointments and rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous way every time he catches himself looking at you for too long. But for how long? Because this is just college. This is before the contracts, before the NHL scouts come knocking, before his entire life shifts into something so much bigger than campus arenas and team dinners. You bite your lip, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. Jake loves hockey. It’s the one thing he’s never wavered on, the one thing that’s been steady, unwavering, untouchable.

And you, You’re just a detour. A pause in his story. A moment in time that he never planned for. He’s already stretched so thin. His schedule is already brutal. Morning practices, games, travel, training when would he even have time for you? For a baby? For late-night feedings and diaper changes and God, what were you thinking? This isn’t sustainable. This isn’t something that fits neatly into his world.

The realization crashes into you all at once, so heavy you almost feel sick. You need to talk to him. But then Jake laughs beside you, head thrown back, voice warm and unbothered, and when he looks at you, his smile is easy, soft. And for a second, just a second you wonder if maybe you’re wrong. Maybe he’s trying. Maybe he wants this. Maybe…

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, meant only for you. “You’re quiet.” You blink, jolted from your thoughts, your heart hammering against your ribs. You force a small smile. “Just tired.” Jake’s eyes linger for a second longer, like he doesn’t quite believe you. But then Jay nudges him, pulling him back into the conversation, and the moment is gone. And you, You’re still stuck wondering.

The night air is crisp when Jake pulls up in front of your dorm, the distant hum of campus life still lingering in the background, laughter from passing students, the occasional roar of a car engine down the street, the muffled bass of music from a party somewhere nearby. But inside the car, it’s just you and him.

The warmth of the heater hums softly, filling the silence that has stretched between you since you left the frat house. Jake’s hands are still wrapped loosely around the steering wheel, but he’s not in any rush to move. His eyes flick to you as you shift in your seat, your fingers curling and uncurling in your lap. “You want me to come in?” His voice is careful. Not forceful, not overbearing gentle. An offer. A quiet attempt to be there, to be with you.

You shake your head almost immediately. “No, it’s okay. I think I just wanna sleep.” The words leave your lips too quickly, too practiced, and you can tell by the way Jake’s brows furrow slightly that he catches it. That he knows you’re lying. He doesn’t call you out on it. He just exhales slowly, watching you for a long moment before nodding once. “Alright.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel, a restless little rhythm, like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how.

You push the car door open before he can change his mind and insist, before he can see through you too much. The cold air bites at your skin as you step out, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. You feel Jake’s gaze on you as you turn back toward the car, gripping the edge of the door. “Thanks for the ride.” Jake gives a small nod, his lips pressing together. “Yeah. Of course.”

You linger. For some reason, you linger. Your fingers tighten around the door, the weight in your chest heavy and pulling.Like there’s something that wants to slip out, some small confession that’s buried too deep for you to name just yet. But then Jake shifts in his seat, glancing toward the windshield, and the moment shatters. You clear your throat, forcing a small smile. “Night, Jake.”

His lips twitch slightly, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Night.” You shut the door and walk away before the doubt in your head can make you turn back.

Inside your dorm, it’s quiet. Too quiet. The air is still, untouched by Yuna’s usual presence—her music, her laughter, her constant, grounding presence that keeps you from feeling like you’re alone with your thoughts. But tonight, you are alone. You toe off your shoes and drop your bag by the door, shrugging off your jacket and letting it slip from your fingers onto the chair nearby. The room feels colder than usual, or maybe that’s just you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, fingers threading through your hair as you stare at the floor. The doubt is back. That creeping, suffocating feeling that has latched onto you ever since the conversation about hockey at dinner. How does this work? You feel like you’re standing at the edge of something. A reality you’re not prepared for, a future that you don’t know how to step into. Jake is here now. But what about when the season gets more intense? What about when the scouts come, when contracts are on the table, when suddenly he’s got offers from teams that are miles and miles away?

What about when the NHL swallows him whole and you and this baby become nothing more than a footnote in his history? Your fingers tremble slightly as you rest them against your stomach. It’s still flat, still unchanged, but you know you know something is growing, shifting, taking root inside you. And yet, you still don’t know where you fit in Jake’s life. Maybe he’s showing up now. Maybe he’s trying. But what if this, this thing between you was never meant to last? You press your lips together, blinking rapidly against the sting behind your eyes. You’re exhausted, your body heavy with the weight of your thoughts, but sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

It’s been a week. Seven days of silence. Seven days of unanswered texts, of ignored calls, of messages left on read. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, that eventually, Jake would force his way in. That he’d demand answers, refuse to let you keep pushing him away. But still, when the knock comes; sharp and insistent against your dorm door and  your stomach drops.

For a second, you think about pretending you’re not home. But then his voice comes through, firm but edged with something else. Something raw. “Open the door, please.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers curling against the fabric of your hoodie. There’s no running from this. No delaying the inevitable. So you inhale, force your hands to stop shaking, and pull the door open. Jake is standing there, still in his practice gear, sweat dampening the strands of hair curling against his forehead, his hockey duffel slung over one shoulder. He must’ve come straight from the rink, must’ve been thinking about this the entire time because his eyes are already burning with frustration. “What the hell is going on?” he demands.

You cross your arms over your chest, stepping back just enough for him to push past you into the dorm. He does, kicking the door shut behind him, and suddenly the room feels too small. Too full of him. He turns to you, brows furrowed, jaw tight. “You’ve been ignoring me.” You scoff, arms tightening around yourself. “Yeah, well. Maybe that’s because I needed some space.”

Jake shakes his head, running a hand down his face. “Space from what? Me? The baby? This whole situation?” He exhales, something heavy behind it. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t know when something’s wrong with you?” You look away, fixing your gaze on the floor. “Jake—”

“No.” His voice cuts through the room, not loud, but firm. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.” Your throat tightens. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping closer. “Tell me why you suddenly don’t want me around. Why are you acting like I’m already failing at something I haven’t even gotten the chance to do yet.” The words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You don’t mean to let it slip out, but suddenly, it’s there.The fear that’s been clawing at you, the doubt that’s been growing like a weed. “Because I don’t know if you can do it, Jake.” Silence.

His expression shifts, the frustration flickering into something else—hurt. You swallow hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “You might think you can handle it, but… this isn’t just a game, Jake. This isn’t a season, or a practice, or something you can walk away from if it gets too hard.” Your voice shakes, but you push forward. “This is a baby. A whole life. And you’re already stretched so thin. Your schedule is insane, your life is already moving in a direction that—” You shake your head, looking away. “What if I’m just setting myself up for disappointment?”

Jake exhales sharply, stepping closer again, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are stormy, filled with something desperate, something pleading. “I don’t know how to convince you,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t know how to make you believe me when I tell you that I want this. That I want to be here.” Your lip trembles, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “You can’t just say it, Jake. You have to prove it.” Jake flinches like the words sting, like they land somewhere deep inside him. He presses his lips together, dragging a hand through his hair. “And how am I supposed to do that if you won’t even let me try?” The words linger between you, thick and heavy, suffocating the space between breaths. You don’t have an answer.

So you just whisper, “I need space.” Jake’s shoulders rise and fall with a slow, controlled breath, like he’s forcing himself to accept it. He nods once, lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine.” But then his voice softens, just barely. “I have an away game this weekend. I’ll be gone until Monday.” His eyes search yours, like he’s looking for something, anything to tell him you’re not slipping too far away. “But I’ll be back. And when I am, we’re talking about this.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Okay.” Jake lingers for a moment, like there’s something else he wants to say. But instead, he just exhales, shoulders still tight with tension as he steps back toward the door. And then he’s gone. And the second the door clicks shut behind him, the weight in your chest pulls you under. 

The dorm is cloaked in darkness, save for the faint blue light spilling from the television screen. The glow flickers across the walls, illuminating the mess of blankets you’ve curled yourself into on the couch. The volume isn’t high, but it doesn’t need to be. The sound of the game filters in clearly, the scrape of skates on ice, the sharp whistles, the distant roar of the crowd.

You’d told yourself you wouldn’t watch. That you’d let the game pass without so much as checking the score. But now you’re here, heart hammering against your ribs, watching him. Jake. The camera zooms in as he weaves through the defense, his body moving like something fluid, something effortless. His hair is damp with sweat beneath his helmet, strands sticking to his forehead as he skates into position. He’s good. He’s so good.

You can see it in the way he moves, in the way the opposing team struggles to keep up. They’re aggressive, irritated because they know they can’t outplay him, so they’ll try to beat him down instead. And that’s exactly what they do. The hits tonight have been brutal. More than usual. It’s a grueling, ruthless game, bodies slamming against the boards with resounding cracks. The referees aren’t calling much, letting things slide, letting them play too rough.

And then, Sunghoon goes down. Your breath stutters as you watch him crash against the ice, his body crumpling on impact. He tries to get up, his gloved hands pressing against the rink, but something is wrong. His leg. You can tell immediately. The way he winces, the way his teammates circle him in concern, the way the trainer rushes onto the ice. The cameras cut in close. His face is tight with pain.

It takes two people to help him off the ice. Your stomach is twisted in knots, your hands clenched into fists. You hate this. You hate watching them get hurt like this. And then, Jake. He’s too fast, moving up the rink, his stick handling the puck with precision. The opposing team is trailing behind him, trying to keep up, trying to stop him.

They can’t. So one of them doesn’t even try. The moment it happens, you feel it, the wrongness. The guy comes in too fast. The check is too high, too hard, too reckless. And Jake never sees it coming. Your breath stops. Jake’s body is airborne before he crashes into the boards with a force that shakes the glass. The sound of it is sickening,a violent collision of bone, plexiglass, ice. His head snaps back. His helmet slams against the wall with a brutal crack. And then he slumps. He doesn’t move.

Your vision blurs. The game fades into the background, the commentators talking too calm, too casual as Jake remains still. His limbs are tangled awkwardly beneath him, his hand curled slightly over his side, his helmet tilted askew. He still hasn’t moved. Oh God. Move, Jake. Your stomach is in your throat, a sharp, rising panic clawing up your chest. Your hands are shaking. Your breath is coming too fast, too shallow, and you feel like you might be sick.

Then, slowly, he stirs. Not much, just a twitch of his fingers, a subtle shift in his shoulders. But it’s enough for the trainer to rush onto the ice, teammates circling him as he tries to push himself up. The camera zooms in, his face is twisted, his brows drawn together in pain.

His hand is gripping his ribs. Your throat tightens. You can see it, he’s hurting. Even as he shakes his head at the trainer, even as he tries to play it off. He’s trying to act fine, trying to prove he can keep going, but you know him. You can see through it. Jake’s not okay. Tears burn at your eyes, and you don’t even try to fight them. You don’t care that you’ve spent the last week avoiding him, don’t care that you’ve been drowning in doubts, don’t care that you still don’t have all the answers. Because none of it matters right now. Jake is hurt. You just want to be with him, you need to be with him. You have to get to him, and fast. 

You barely remember how you got there, your feet pounding the pavement in a haze, the world a blur of motion as you rushed toward the hospital. You’re too frantic to think, too scared to process anything more than the fact that Jake was hurt, hurt in a way you couldn’t ignore, couldn’t pretend didn’t matter. The lights from the hospital sign flicker above you as you stumble through the entrance, the sterile scent of antiseptic and disinfectant hitting you like a wall. Your heart is hammering, the fear sitting heavy in your chest as you make your way to the front desk, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

"I—I’m looking for Jake Sim," you stutter, your voice shaky, too soft as you try to push past the thick knot of panic that clings to your throat. The receptionist eyes you, takes a moment to type something into her computer. “Room 214,” she says flatly, barely glancing up. “He’s being kept for observation.”

Room 214.

The number echoes in your head as you make your way down the hallway, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly. You can hear your pulse pounding in your ears, a steady thrum as you walk faster, too fast, the air around you seeming to constrict with every step. You reach the door. For a moment, you just stand there. Your hand is trembling as you push the door open, the sight of Jake in the bed almost too much to bear. His face is pale, too pale, and his eyes are closed, though he’s awake. He’s hooked up to an IV, his forehead glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

He looks - fragile. Your breath catches in your throat as you step into the room, and it takes everything in you to swallow the rising lump of emotion that threatens to spill out. You’ve seen Jake take hits, seen him get back up from injury after injury. But this feels different. His head turns when he hears the door, his eyes opening slowly, a small smile curling on his lips when he sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough but warm, like he’s trying to ease the tension in the air. His smile is weak, his usual confidence stripped away by the injury, but it’s still there. It’s still him.

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you whisper, your throat tight. You move to his side, hovering for a second before reaching out to touch his hand, your fingers trembling against his. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, the solid reassurance you’ve been craving, yet his grip feels fragile in a way you can’t quite shake.

“I didn’t mean to freak out like I did,” you murmur, your voice cracking. “I know you love the baby, and I know you’ll be there for them. I—I know you’ll be a good dad.” He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes softening as he looks at you. There’s a faint wince on his face as he shifts his weight, but the way his lips curl into something resembling a smile makes your heart ache.

“Baby,” he says, his voice low but steady, cutting through the tension that’s been hanging between you for days. “I used to think hockey was the world, that I lived for it, breathed for it. that it was my life. That hockey was the reason I woke up in the morning. I love hockey, hockey will always be my passion and it will always be what I want to do, and who i want to be. But it’s not my life. you are. you two are my life, you and this baby and I wouldn't want it any other way.” 

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t even realize you’ve been holding your breath until the air rushes out in one long, shaky exhale. Jake’s hand reaches up, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the pain he’s in. “I’ve been an idiot,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so focused on everything else, and I didn’t stop to think about what you needed. What we needed.”

Tears sting your eyes, a sudden rush of emotion overwhelming you. You hadn’t known how badly you needed to hear those words until they were out in the open. “Jake—” But he’s not letting you finish. He pulls you closer, gently, not forcefully, as though he’s afraid you might break. And when his lips meet yours, it’s soft, soft in a way that makes the world feel like it’s finally falling into place.

You close your eyes, the weight of everything you’ve been carrying melting away in an instant. His kiss is tentative at first, just the brush of his lips against yours, a delicate reassurance that he’s here. That he’s not going anywhere. But then, as if the words he’s spoken have unlocked something inside both of you, the kiss deepens, slow and aching, full of the longing that’s been building between you for weeks. The warmth of his lips against yours is the grounding force you needed to remind yourself that everything was going to be okay. You were going to be okay. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze full of tenderness, full of something real.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he murmurs. “I’m staying. I’m gonna be here for you, for the baby… for us.” The words resonate deep inside you, a wave of warmth flooding your chest. You don’t know what the future holds, but in this moment, you believe him. You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the world seems to slow down. The hurt, the uncertainty, all of it seems to fade into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync.

“I love you,” you whisper. And this time, it’s not a question. It’s not something you’re trying to convince yourself of. It’s just the truth. He smiles, the familiar glint of something unbreakable in his eyes. “I love you, too.” In that moment, you realize that everything’s been leading to this, a moment of vulnerability, of surrender, of knowing that no matter what comes next, you’ve got each other. And maybe that’s all you really need.

AFTER. 

The baby shower is a blur of light and warmth, laughter, and the soft hum of happy conversations filling the air. The room is decorated with soft blues and yellows, little stuffed animals and pastel balloons drifting lazily overhead. It’s a cozy, intimate gathering. more like a family get-together than a grand celebration, and everything feels perfect. The air smells faintly of sweet pastries and flowers, and there’s an undeniable sense of anticipation hanging in the air, as if everyone is waiting for the moment when you and Jake’s little one will finally arrive.

Yuna is by your side, her bright smile radiating as she hands you a piece of cake, teasing you about cravings you’d been indulging in the past few months. You laugh along with her, feeling lighter than you have in ages. There’s a sense of peace in this room — a fleeting, magical calmness that you don’t want to end. Every now and then, your hand drifts to your swollen belly, gently pressing against the soft curve of it, as if the little life inside is dancing along to the rhythm of the moment.

Jake, ever the protective figure, is right by your side, his hand resting on the small of your back, his gaze never straying too far from you. His face, always so expressive, is filled with an emotion you can’t quite name, something soft, something cherishing. It’s hard to imagine a time when things were uncertain, when you wondered if he could be the father you needed, the partner you dreamed of. Because now, standing here with him, you know the truth. He’s already there. Already doing everything he can to show you he’s in this for the long haul.

“Do you need anything?” Jake asks, his voice low, full of the kind of care that only someone who loves you like he does can muster. You shake your head, the warmth from his touch making your heart swell. It’s moments like these, quiet, simple moments that remind you how far you’ve come from the uncertainty you once felt. How far you’ve both come.

“Just you,” you smile up at him, the words coming out without a second thought, and he grins at you like it’s the best compliment he could ever receive.

The guests are all mingling now, with the occasional burst of laughter ringing out as the game ideas you and Yuna came up with take full effect. Everyone is gathered around, exchanging baby gifts, newborn clothes, soft blankets, bottles, stuffed animals. Your friends and family are here, laughing and celebrating this new chapter of your life. The people you love most are sharing this with you. And even though there’s a bittersweet ache in your chest, because Sunghoon is absent, recovering from that god-awful injury, there’s a deep sense of thankfulness that wraps around you like a warm blanket.

“Hey,” Jake says, breaking you from your thoughts. His voice is so gentle, his hand finding yours in the crowd. “I need to step outside for a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod, watching as he slips through the door. You know he’s been feeling the weight of everything lately, the pressure of balancing his career, school, and this new role as a soon-to-be father. You trust him to make it all work, to prove to you that he can handle the responsibilities. But there’s a piece of you, a vulnerable part, that still worries. The doubts always seem to rise like whispers in the back of your mind.

“Win or lose; I want to come home to you,” Jake had said to you not long ago, those words echoing in your memory like a melody. They settle in your heart like a promise, something real, something that matters. The door opens softly, and you look up to see Jake reentering the room, his eyes catching yours immediately. His smile, though small, is genuine, and you feel your breath catch in your chest. The way he looks at you, the way his hand rests against your back once more as he steps closer. it’s as if he’s still trying to wrap his mind around the miracle of everything that’s happening.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” he asks, his voice full of tenderness, vulnerability slipping in beneath the surface. You nod slowly, your hand resting over your belly as you meet his gaze. “We already are, Jake. I already know we are.” The words settle between you both, and for a brief moment, the noise of the party fades into the background. All that matters is this. this feeling of being connected, being here, in this moment, together. The baby, the future, it’s all a little clearer now.

Jake’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you just a little closer as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. The room seems to hum around you, the laughter and chatter distant, but in this small space between the two of you, the world feels as if it’s standing still. Everything has changed. The uncertainty, the doubts, the fear. it’s all been replaced by the certainty of one truth: You’re in this together. And when you see Jake’s face soften with that same familiar warmth, you know it’s true. He’s here. He’s home. “Win or lose,” he whispers, echoing the words he had said to you weeks ago. “I’ll always come home to you.”

Your heart swells in your chest, the weight of his promise settling deep inside you. And in that moment, you know it’s all going to be okay.

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @chwesun , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @ghstzzn @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

@strayy-kidz @wolfhardbby @kwiwin @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @starfallia @mariegalea @adoredbyjay @strxwbloody @lovingvoidgoatee @beeboobeebss @zyvlxqht @weyukinluv @flwwon

@guapgoddees @demigodmahash @cloud-lyy @heesky @ikaw-at-ikaw @shuichi-sama @shawnyle @kwhluv @iarainha @ikeuwoniee @mora134340

[moonstruckme]

Hi,

I love your writing and your ideas.I was worried if you could write sth about remus as a detectiv. Maby he and reader meet on the job or they are partners.Do whatever you want. Hope this inspires you💗

Hi back! I love this idea and I lowkey thought I was gonna do better with it (I'm less thrilled with the results, sorry) but I hope you like it <3

cw: mention (and some vague flashback) of robbery

detective!Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Thunder booms, and you flinch. The detective’s eyebrows lift a millimeter. You pull his jacket closer over your wet clothes, embarrassed. 

“Can I make you some tea?” he offers. 

“No, thank you.” 

You sit in silence for a few heartbeats. The detective seems comfortable with it, but you squirm, his gaze too discerning for your liking. The rain you’ve both come in from has slicked a few tendrils of hair to his forehead, the rest fighting valiantly to curl at the ends. His face is scattered with scars you’d expect more from a hardened military type than a cop, and the circles under his eyes hint at more than one long night spent at the station. Nights probably not unlike this one, only a smattering of police around as he interviews you at his desk.

“Officer—” 

“Remus,” he reminds you gently. 

“Right, sorry.” Your voice quiets. Remus’ expression softens, going tender like he wants to reject your apology, but he doesn’t speak. “Don’t you have questions for me?” 

“I do,” he says, “but—I hope you’ll excuse me for saying—you seem rather shaken up.” 

A laugh, short and humorless, puffs out of you. 

“I’m not saying I don’t understand why.” His calm gaze doesn’t leave yours. “Witnesses are generally more reliable once they’ve had a chance to get comfortable, though. Process what they’ve seen.” 

Your fingers twist in the material of his jacket. You wonder if he takes your trembling for a traumatic response. It might be, you don’t know; your heart is hammering, but it’s also just cold in here. 

“How am I supposed to do that?” you ask. 

“Just like this.” One corner of Remus’ mouth lifts, just a little. You think of the classic good-cop-bad-cop routine from TV shows. You doubt they bother doing that with witnesses, but Remus seems so approachable you’re half wondering when his worse half will come in. “Chatting. Coming down from the adrenaline. Letting me get you tea.” 

“I’m really okay,” you say, doing your best to return his small smile. 

Remus’ warms in response. “As you like. Let’s start from the beginning, yeah? We can take breaks whenever you want.” 

You nod, preparing yourself. 

“What were you doing at the supermarket?” 

“I was…shopping?” Your response seems so obvious you turn it into a question unintentionally. Remus’ expression conveys understanding. He leans forward, setting his elbows on the desk casually. 

“I know it seems unimportant,” he says, “but I’m trying to get a full picture. What were you shopping for?” 

“Oh. Um, I was out of peanut butter.” 

“Was it raining when you went in?” 

You frown. He has to know the answer to that; it’s been raining all evening. “Yes.” 

“What did you do once you got there?” 

“I went to find the peanut butter. I was just barely going to the till when I…when the robbery happened.” 

You don’t realize you’ve mirrored Remus’ posture until his finger touches yours. You’re sitting with your elbows on the desk also, your hands millimeters from his. 

“How did you know it was happening?” Remus asks gently. “Did you see it, or was there a sound?” 

“A sound,” you confirm, your voice wavering a bit. The tip of his forefinger brushes against yours again. “The woman at the till shouted.” 

“What made her shout?” 

“I guess because he showed her the knife.” 

“Did you see that as well?” 

“Yeah. But not right then. She’d already opened the till by the time I got there.” 

The images in your head are already hazing over, memory fading into fiction. The way the employee’s short, frightened cry had made you look up from your phone, freezing you in your tracks just outside the refuge of an aisle. The man hadn’t known there was anyone else in the store. That was clear by the way his eyes widened above his surgical mask, swiveling impulsively to point the knife at you, wavering between two targets. The three of you caught together in a mess of panic. 

You don’t remember doing it, but later you found you’d set your jar of peanut butter down on a random shelf, as though that simple offering would appease the robber and save you any further trouble. 

“What was the person with the knife wearing?” Remus asks. 

“He had a blue jacket, like a windbreaker.” You put your chin to your shoulder, feeling the slick material of the jacket draped over your shoulders. A thoughtless, sleepy movement. “Sort of like this one. Without the police logo, obviously.” 

“About how tall would you say he was?” 

You shrug. “Taller than me. He wasn’t huge, but he was…I don’t know, he had a knife.” 

Remus hums, his finger stroking across your knuckle. He must have moved his hand closer without you noticing. “That must have been frightening.” 

You shrug again. 

He lets you stew in another long, heavy silence. Your face begins to feel hot. 

“Are you alright?” he finally asks, softly. 

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “Sorry. Just, you’re right, it was scary.” 

“You don’t have to apologize.” Remus’ gaze is warm. Compassionate. “I’m sure you’re tired, I don’t mean to keep you here any longer than necessary. You’ve been a big help. If it makes you feel any better, we’ve been following a robber matching this description for a while, and he doesn’t tend to repeat within the same neighborhood. So you shouldn’t worry.” 

Oh, he’s so kind. He thinks you’re all quiet and shy because you need comfort. And of course, you are rattled still, but it’s got a thing or two to do with that low voice, with those lovely, deep hazel eyes that seem soldered to yours. If Remus wants to improve your memory, he should probably stop touching your hand like a Victorian gentleman testing the bounds of propriety. 

“Do you have any more questions for me?” you ask. 

“A few,” he says, apology in his tone. “Are you sure you wouldn't like anything warm to drink? You’re shivering terribly.” 

You feel very warm, actually, but when his finger moves to your second knuckle the shivers worsen. “Um, sure. I’d have a cup of tea.”

[smutcentralx]

HAII ^-^ saw your intro post tagged under invincible!! Do you have anything for the mark variants? Just headcanons or something would do fine.

Specifically viltrumite or lenseless mark but honestly any work! - 🫀

you ask and you shall receive ;)

PRETTY PLEASE | lensless! mark x gn reader

MASTERLIST

warnings: smut, smut, and more smut

a/n: i was so excited when i saw this hehe i chose lensless mark but i will gladly write one for viltrumite mark. this was supposed to be a headcanon but i got carried away :p

You stared at the tv screen in horror as a bunch of marks destroyed several cities and even countries.

You wondered how this would affect you since you knew mark. You and your mark were close friends and neighbors. You two basically grew up together and you knew all his secrets. You knew he always looked at you as a sister.

It always did bug you since your bottled up feelings weren’t really reciprocated. You never know what he’s thinking so it’s hard to tell how he really thinks of you.

All you knew was that you were very important in his life and he cared for you a lot and vice versa. The friend-zone sucks but you’d never want to mess up your friendship over something so silly. It hit you though…

An awful feeling seeped deep into your gut.

Without wasting time you stood up abruptly and shut off the tv. “Fuck fuck fuck what the fuck do i do” you whispered biting your lip as you paced back and forth.

If you were that important to your mark you realized they may know a you from their universe. However the marks you saw on tv were nothing like your mark they were evil. You decided that you had to avoid making contact with any of them.

You decided you should hop in your car and leave. You grabbed your car keys and ran swiftly towards the door trying to stay calm. Your was chest rising up and down at a fast pace as you still had that bad feeling seep even deeper into your bones.

You opened the door but before you could make one more step outside you saw a shadow figure above your head. Alarms went off in your head and you stood frozen in fear not daring to look up.

You knew that silhouette to well it be your mark but at this point better safe than sorry. Your brain immediately went into fight or flight mode.

You won’t get very far but you obviously chose flight.

Without thinking you turned around and attempted to slam the door shut.

A hand stoped you and swung the door wide open with so much force the door should’ve broke off.

“No way you’re really here! I thought i would never see you again!”

There stood a mark that looked just like your mark. However this was not the mark from you universe. The first thing you noticed was that he had no lenses. Your eyes trailed over his body. He looked identical to your mark. Maybe even better lookin- wait no what am i thinking.

He stepped closer with his arms wide open and a smug grin over his face. “Wow this just awesome, in my universe you hated me so much i had to kill you!”

Chills ran through your body and you froze in place.

“Please don’t hurt me” you whispered loud enough for him to hear. You were so scared you didn’t know what do to do. There wasn’t anything you could do.

You knew marks power and he could kill you if he wanted to in an instant.

“Babe I would never kill you?” he frowned closing in the distance as you walked backwards and hit the wall behind you.

“Please mark” you were begging at this point. This mark was oozing a dangerous persona.

He palmed himself when he heard you begging. “Forgot how good it was to hear you beg”.

“I wonder if your mark ever got a taste of you!”

“Tell me, has he? Or is he just to much of a pussy?”

He laughed holding his stomach. You glared at him starting to grow annoyed at his annoying attitude. He knew he was close to hitting a nerve.

“Aw don’t give me that look- wait you got the hots for your mark but..he doesn’t want you back!” He laughs even more falling to the ground and holding his stomach.

He was taunting you. He knew what he was doing even though he seemed like an airhead.

“S-shut up it isn’t like that we’re just friends”.

He stepped closer ignoring you til he was inches away towering over you. He tiled his head in confusion with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You sure about that? I can smell you, your arousal for me, i can hear your heartbeat. I know you want me”.

You cursed at yourself. You felt so defeated you couldn’t form a sentence due to the humiliation. Your face grew red and he saw right through you.

“There we go, this will be fun! I’ll give it to you real good since your mark won’t!”. “Wait, please!” You tried to push him back but it was like pushing a wall.

He grabbed both of your wrists and held them above your head against the wall. “Oh this is gonna be fun relax, I’ll take good care of you!”. He cooed sweetly but his tone still scared you.

He let go of your hands and began to roam your body touching every corner like he memorized it. His hands landed on your ass and he squeezed it.

Your hands flew to his shoulders and a soft moan slipped from your mouth. You bit your lip trying to conceal your soft sweet sounds. “I know you like that, we’re just getting started.” He was dripping with confidence.

He removed his head from your neck and yanked down your shorts and underwear with no warning. You gasped in surprise as he picked you up with ease.

You were now cradling him just inches away from his face. He smirked and crashed his lips into yours and you couldn’t help but kiss him back. You moaned deeply into the kiss.

You didn’t even notice you were moving at all till he threw you harshly onto your bed.

In a flash your top and bra was gone and he was in between your legs naked and my god his dick was huge. Reality and fear hit you as you saw how big he was. You scoot back trying to make a run for it.

He just ranked your legs even closer gripping your thighs hard enough to leave a bruise. “Where are you going? The fun part is about to begin!”

“Mark it’s not going to fit your to big”. He took in the sight of your body and his dick twitched slightly jumping from excitement. “Oh i’ll make it fit, you’ve taken it before and you will again”.

Before you could argue back he sunk in the fingers into your dripping wet core. You moaned at the sudden intrusion. You could hear the arousal and it turned you on way more than it should have.

Marks fingers felt amazing he took note of the way you twitched and shook trying to find that little sweet spot he knows so well.

“Fuck mark right there”. You whimpered when you felt him hitting that spongy soft spot. “Yea you like that? I found it within seconds this is awesome!” he picked up the pace continuously abusing that soft spot.

You felt your orgasm creeping up fast and your eyes rolled back due to the immense pleasure. His fingers were going at a rapid pace that you didn’t even know was possible.

“God fuck mark i’m gonna-“. You gasped and your breath hitched. “Mhm come on give it to me pretty girl”. The way he spoke to you made you snap and u fold instantly.

Your back arched “Fuck” you whimpered softy. Your body froze up and your hole tightened. Your orgasm hitting you in waves, you felt like you could pass out instantly. You never knew you could feel so good cumming off just his fingers.

He watched you unravel and he knew all it took was his fingers to break you. “Fuck those sweet sounds could put me sleep” he laughed while watching the way how you twitched under his touch.

You whined at the removal of his fingers. As you propped yourself up on your elbows. The sight alone could make you cum all over again.

Mark was softly pumping his already hard cock. While looking at your face and body. His eyes met yours. “Go on, say it tell me what you want.” He stroked it slowly with a smirk on his face waiting for you.

You bit your lip and looked away. “Ah ah eyes on me” he gripped your chin harshly and forced you to look at him.

He rubbed soft taunting circles on your clit. You moaned softly but you were also frustrated. He kept changing the pace teasing you until you had enough.

“Fuck, mark please just fuck me.”

He smiled wide in victory. “See that wasn’t so hard you just needed a push!” his eyes darkened as he planted both hands next besides your head.

His tip at your entrance just begging to come in. As you prepared for him to just shove it in. He instead slowly fucked you with the tip. “What are you-“ he finally shoved his dick into your wet hole.

You moaned his name so loud your neighbors could probably hear it. “Fuck you feel soo good i could just cum inside right now”. His brows furrowed since you were so tight for him.

He began thrusting in and out roughly and didn’t even let you adjust to his size. You screamed out in pain and pleasure. The pain of the stretch felt so good, no one could give you this feeling.

His calculated thrusts were ruthlessly pounding into you barely giving you enough time to catch your breath. He leaned down and kissed you roughly but also passionately. You moaned and whimpered into the kiss.

You screamed out when you felt him abusing that spot in your tight little hole. “Right there mark oh god”. Mark took note and moved both of his hand on your thighs and pushed you down into a mating press position.

“Yeah you like it right there don’t you? I can feel you squeezing my dick off.” His thrust were pounding into you at a relentless pace. You felt your second orgasm building up quickly.

He knew you were about to cum and he didn’t plan on stopping. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, the burn of your hips as he held you down. His thrust were getting sloppier and his breath stuttered at the sight.

“Fuck cum for me s’good i’m gonna cum inside you.” He mumbled out while drowning in his own pleasure. That was enough to break you alone.

You screamed his name as your second wave of your orgasm hit or maybe it was your third. You didn’t even know anymore. You brain was foggy and you poor hole was so overwhelmed.

You pushed against his chest as he kept going fucking you through your orgasm. You felt a third one creeping up on you fast. “Mark wait i’m-“. He ignored you and kept pounding into you his hips stuttering as he poured into you. Your orgasm washing over you at the same time.

He released your thighs as you shook and trembled. He licked his lips at the sight of you growing hard again.

In a flash he was sitting against the head board legs straightened out in front of him. You were sitting on top of him with half lidded eyes. You looked him shocked.

“Oh you thought that was it? Babe like i said we’re just getting started!”

[pearl-is-cool]

Soo uhm hiiii!!

my first writing post!!! I'm excited!! I've been in the community a while now but I've never written before so I hope you like it!!! I just got this thought one day so here yah are!

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Baker!Reader (who is kinda just like him)

2000+ words and vague mentions of self harm + a hard past.

xx pearl xx

You're a Baker by trade.

Well, you have a bakery, but you serve coffee and things as well. Nothing fancy, and your speciality is still baking, but it can't hurt.

It's nice work. Tucked away in a little English village, where everyone knows everyone and everything. Community had been something you'd craved for a while, and even if it means practically everyone knows your business, it's worth it. Sweet and peaceful.

When you told your parents about the small shop + flat you'd bought near the coast, they'd almost kicked you out right then. You zoned out a little while they went on, but you caught 'a waste of potential!' And 'that's all you're doing with your life!'

So yes. All in all, it had been a very good investment.

You bake, and you heal, and you go down to the beach. It's always cloudy around here, your nearer Scotland, after all. Even the scars on your arms fade from pink to something tanner.

It's calming. You make friends with the woman who runs the local pub (there's another a bit down left sides road but you wrote off that man when he told you about his podcast.) Her name is Ester and she's in the middle of her 2nd trimester her stomach slightly round. She lets you feel the baby kick one time, and you almost burst into tears right there.

You never thought you'd have this. Peace and quiet and community and friends. Esters husband teaches you how to fix the sink in your flat and gives you a belly laugh when you ring him up to tell them both about how you fixed it on your own.

You keep your flat cleaner (though dishes still occasionally pile up in the sink. You always get to them before it becomes too much though.) You make small talk with the villagers (some of them are still learning to trust you but things are going well!) And make people who drive through on their way to somewhere else coffee and tell them fake stories you make up for fun.

It's quiet and repetitive, and you've never been happier.

...

You have regulars a lot. Most people in the village like a pastry or a quick coffee or tea in the morning before they start work. There's an engine company a few miles back, and sometimes the employees come in for something to eat on a lunch break.

Then you get a new regular.

You've never seen him before, but the other villagers setting down don't turn to look or even glance up. Which is strange because he's wearing goddamn combat boots in the middle of spring for Christ's sake.

You give him a strange look out the corner of your eye, but go on with this random man's coffee he is impatiently tapping his foot on the ground for. You're taking extra long because he said, "Do it quick. I need to be somewhere more important soon." When you asked what he wanted to order.

Ester asks how you stay in business at least twice a month.

Finally you give the man his coffee (it's almost cold) and accept his money. Then next is the man.

You glance up and frown again at the mask covering his face. At the hoodie covering his hair. For a second, you almost wamt to ask why, but then you decide it's none of your business.

"What do you want to order?" You ask politely.

"Coffee. Black." He replies gruffly and slightly muffed from behind the mask.

"Alright. That will be £3:50." Oh, thank God you don't have to chat to this man. You don't hate chatting to the villagers because you know that in the end, it will have a payout (them trusting you), but the people who work at the engine place are... inconvenient.

He hands over 3 pound coins and a 50 pence they clatter onto the counter, and you pour them into the cash register.

He moves away to go sit down at one of the arm chairs in the corner. It's one of Esters spares its brown fake leather, slightly worn but comfy.

You get to making the man's coffee. It's a simple procedure that you've done thousands of times, and you let your mind drift away as you push onto the counter.

He comes up to collect his coffee cup and leaves the shop, and that's the last thiught you give to him for the rest of the day.

...

He comes in the next day and orders the same thing and sits in the same chair as he waits for it.

Exact same interaction

You forget all about him again.

...

He comes in the next day.

...

And the next.

...

And the next.

...

For a full week, he comes in orders, coffee waits, then leaves.

Then he's gone.

You don't think much of it.

...

He comes back again now. For two weeks, he comes in to get a black coffee and then leaves.

By the second week, you see him walking in (unless you're talking to someone, but most of the time, he comes in at what? Like 8? No one can be bothered to get a pastry or something at 8 unless they work at the engine place.) You've already got the coffee going. You think his eyes crinkle slightly when he sees you do it.

Maybe you're imagining it.

...

He doesn't come in on the Monday after.

It's weird you didn't really pay much attention to the hulk of black in the corner, but when he's gone, you feel it like someone left a window open that you can't find to close. A cold wind making you shiver.

Again, you ignore it. Your life here is good right now. You don't need another man to come in, make everything confusing, and mess all of it up again!

...

He's back two months later.

You raise an eyebrow as he walks through the door, limping slightly.

"Should get a crutch for that." You say automatically, turning to start the coffee machine. He visibly starts at you talking to him but relaxes into it.

"Hm." He grunts. "Make me look a bit dumb I think. Too small."

You hum in assent peering up at him. How actually did you not notice how absolutely fucking massive he was? Christ you have been in your own head. You should go for a long walk, try to focus on everything bit your thoughts. That's what got you here in the first place.

You slide the coffee onto the counter and he takes it hesitating for a second before he sits down in the armchair and stays to finish it.

...

This goes on for another week before he dissappears again.

...

You wake up panting at 3 in the morning. Bad dreams are the worst these days. You were probably dumb for thinking they would go away if you'd moved but a girls gotta hope right!?

You rise, shower shove some porridge down your throat state at the dishes and sigh. You have the time and we don't want a repeat of what happened back in the city.

After you've gotten most things sorted around the apartment you decend the stairs and start probably the best time of your day.

You knead bread and zone out lost in the simplicity of it all. The desserts are harder but you've done most of these things so much that it's just muscle memory at this point. It's calming and you feel almost out of your body whilst you do it. But in a good way. In a better way.

It's seven by the time your finished and since you always open at 8 you try out something you've been thinking about for far too long.

Black coffee cake.

Pure coincidence of course.

You don't even think about him once while you do it.

...

He starts coming in 5 months later and now since it's a pattern you've gotten used to it. You see him rounding the corner onto he other side of the street and you make his coffee.

He comes in and you slide it into his palm. He freezes for a second and your lips twitch up.

"Made you one of them every day you were gone." You say as a joke. "Have to pay me back loads."

He blinks and you think he smiles for a second before he ask if he can have a to go box for the cake.

...

He asks your name one day a faint twitch behind the mask as you say it.

He tells you his. Simon. You hadn't considered it for his name before (when did you get this curious about a strangers life? Christ you need to go for a walk) but when you repeate it back to him it slides off your tounge like honey. Like you should have been saying it the whole time before.

Later you bake honey cupcakes with lemon buttercream.

Not a coincidence.

None at all.

...

He comes in again and you hand him his cake to go and the coffee you think you could make in your sleep by now.

"M goin' away for a while now."

"Huh are you? Don't forget me." You say deadpan. Talking with Simon has become less of a chore and more of something you look forward to everyday.

"As if I could." He snorts slightly and your lips twitch.

"Well," you conclude handing him some change. For once he doesn't have the exact amount of money. "Have fun while your gone I suppose."

"Eh. I'll try."

He walks out there the bell ringing clearly and your chest squeezes painfully-

Ah. Well. That's not convenient.

...

While he's gone (you really should have asked him how long he was going away for.) You hire Alices girl from down the road, Sammy. She sweet and serves people with a smile and a swish of her shiny blonde hair. Ester tuts when she comes in and tell hers to eat more.

"Christ's sake girl I can see your collarbones!" She laughs and smiles

"Its all good Ester I'll be fine pinkie promise!"

Ester rolls her eyes and gives you a tub fulled with mashed potatoes and sausages to sneak into her locker.

You melt into it smiling at Ester faintly until she snaps her fingers in front of your face and tell you to get on with it.

...

Esters stomach is rounder now. She says she thinks the baby will come early.

"Just a turn in the wind I think. Little bugger really wants out don't he?" She says one day while you help her shift the furniture in the pub. (She's insistent on the baby being a boy and she is rarley wrong so you accept it. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue the grass is green Ester Green is always right.)

She had refused to go on break while she was pregnant even at her husbands insistence. He was practically crying when she told him she could push some chairs around. She got you in to help though so fairs fair.

She grins at you one day tilting her head slightly.

"How would you feel about bein' Godmother?" She asks out of the blue when your finished.

"Huh?" She shrugs

"Your the closest person here so he wouldn't be brought out his home town and my mams in a nursing home. I know I haven't known you long and you don't have to say yes I know your cramped for space but," She looks at you sharp and attentive. "You've gotten through shit. I don't know what shit and I hope you'll tell me when your ready but I feel you'd teach him things. Good things. How to bake bread and how to get through life even if its a pain in the bloody neck. I trust you."

"Your gonna have to stop swearing so much when you baby arrives." You manage to wheeze out your eyes glazed over choked up.

...

He comes back in February. The eyebrow you raise when he comes back in, you be engraved in stone for its majesty.

"Look what the cat dragged in, eh? Old Simon."

He huffs out a laugh. "Leaves hard to get." Ah, military. That makes more sense.

You used to be good at flirting, you think. Well, at least the boys you tried it on used to fall for it. But you're scared that if you try it again, it might come too easy, and if that's comes too easy, how easy will the rest of it be to pick up again? And you have responsibility now. Don't pick the wrong guys they always tend to stick around longer.

Your a godmother now.

"Hmh. We've got toffees now."

"Alright. Hand it over then." You give him the coffee and drop the toffee into his outstretched palm.

"How much?"

"Free." He narrows his eyes, and you shrug. Sammy brings her little sister here sometimes when they fight too much at home, and you've gradually gathered a collection of sweets to grab and go for free.

Ester stared you dead in the eye for a good minute before sighing and muttering under breath. "Better person than me. Better person than me."

...

"I'm a godmother now." You say one day as an opening

"Huh." He pauses for a few seconds. "You'll make a good one."

You don't talk again, afraid he'll hear the crack in your voice.

...

He comes in every day as normal to make conversation. Whenever he steps through the door and the bell jingles, your heart starts skipping into your chest. You know what it means, of course, and it's really rather annoying. You didn't come here to get a crush you came there to recover for Christ's sake.

You chat at the counter for longer and longer every day until sometimes a customer comes in, and you have to shoo him away or before his coffee gets cold.

On Wednesday, he comes in, and while you're talking about something meaningless, he passes and says.

"Uhm. Thanks. For not yknow. Commenting on the mask and all." You blink at him as he shifts clearly uncomfortable.

You shrug. "Eh. I just don't care." He huffs, and his eyes definitely crinkle this time.

"Glad for it."

"Sure you are. Now go away and drink your coffee before it gets cold. Christ sake." You mutter warmth prickling in your cheeks.

He chuckles (an actual laugh now you're getting somewhere) and slopes off out the door.

...

He comes in on Friday.

"I gotta go away again."

"Do you know? Huh."

"Yep. 3 months this time. Back on May 7th."

"Hmh. I'm glad I won't be wasting my time making your coffee every morning now."

"Cause you've got people linin' at the door for this coffee." Your lips twitch slightly.

"Course. Can't you see them all?"

He rolls his eyes slightly. When he's turning to leave, you manage to choke out a soft "Goodbye."

He falters slightly the only indication he heard you before he leaves not looking back as he does so.

...

May 7th creeps up on you, and before you know it, it's April 30th, and you're arguing with Lottie (Sammys sister). "We can't turn this into a sweet shop." You say for the millionth time. "I don't know how to make sweets."

"You can learn!" She retorts pouting. You run a tongue over your cheek. God, you're soft.

"Tell you what. Since it's your birthday tomorrow, I'll set up a sweet corner. It stays for the day, then it's gone, okay?"

She grins now sweet and gap-toothed and skips away smugly.

...

It does not stay for the day.

In your defence, Lottie has really good puppy eyes!

Ester stares daggers at you.

"You are..." she cuts herself off.

...

May 7th is here, and here comes Simon. Whatever his last name is (you should really ask him that) followed by several too-tall military men. A man with a beard one with a mohawk (God Betty is going to bug him about that) and a pretty one with a moustache.

The pretty one with the moustache comes up to order. Flashing you a smile and asking for 4 black coffees (all of them?! Christ on a stick. Do they forbid having taste in the military or what?!), a slice of carrot cake, coffee cake, caramel shortbread, and a croissant. (Maybe they don't.)

You look for Sammy, but she's balancing plates on her arms, trying to gather all of them up from the group that ate here later.

You huff. God, you need more staff. You hate talking to people, and Simons friends look exactly like they like a chat. You breathe in a sigh and gather the coffee cups, cakes, and the pastry onto a large tray.

You feel nervous all of a sudden. It's just Simon. You try to remind yourself. Just Simon. He tells you dad jokes and complains about people leaving litter on the walking paths.

You pick the tray up and carry it over, settling it down on the table as the men glance up at you with far too much interest.

"So," the one with the mohawk says. "You're the future, Miss Riley, huh?"

[waynes-multiverse]

Follow up 🤓👇

If you like this vibe, you're gonna LOVE the eventually Colter x reader series I do 😂

Oh, this is exactly my vibe! 😂👏

Ngl, The Tortured Poets Society played on repeat A LOT during writing on this one 😂 He's My Man actually comes from "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)" as a little play on how Russell doesn't fit with normal people but perhaps with the reader, she could be that person that clicks with him.

Hahaha I love that you listened to the album while writing this! It’s honestly a very inspiring album in general (aren’t they all lol). But I can totally see I Can Fix Him now!!! Especially since she was a fixer as well and “fixed” him both physically and emotionally. So clever!!! 😍

And agree to them slowing down! That was an adrenaline rush for both of them. Let those hearts calm down a little lol. But I love to see them mature and how their relationship will bloom 💕☺️

And her bonding with Colter was honestly precious

Nah, we love that energy around here. See Exhibit A, my lovely little serial killer!Dean x reader story (and series) 😂 Owen honestly got off easy for how fucked up he was.

Ooooh, I have to add that one to my reading list! 👀🖤

That scene in the books is one of my favorites and does a very good job of showing that kind, sensitive side to these boys that the show misses out on sometimes. Like especially how that book ends. Gah, it tugs on my heartstrings.

Same!!! I loved that scene and was so sad at the end 😭 Something there actually inspired The Exit Strategy back then (You may like this one – it’s a CIA agent reader, and I’m currently writing a prequel where they met in Iraq). But it was when Mary Dove asked Colter if Russell had a family, and Colter told her he didn’t due to his job. My mind instantly went, “Hold my beer! I’ll fix that and find a loophole.” 😂

I think show Dory went with the aunt and uncle as well? I think? I'd love to see more of show Dory and see if she's like book Dory cause damn, that girl is just living her normal ass life until her brothers call. Then it's all go bags and super spy crap and it all happens OFF PAGE. 😂

Oh, same! I still wonder what her husband thought of all of that. How the hell do you explain that and still live completely normal? 😆 And I can’t remember what the show narrative was on her. I’ve honestly only seen her episode once. I should do a rewatch soon 🤔

And PS: Absolutely no hurry on TAT (or feeling forced to leave extensive comments)! Those chapters are lengthy lol. I’ve apparently entered my tumblr era of not giving a fuck and decided to always go with the story I wanna tell, no matter what. I love that books have 3 page chapters and 80 page chapters, so why not do it in fanfic as well? 😂🤷‍♀️ (But seriously, no pressure. Real life is exhaustive some weeks, so I totally get it. Same boat, friend 😘🩵)

He's My Man (Part 5)

Summary: Russell's taken care of the reader's problem but things take a turn and the happy couple may not be so happy after all...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 6,300ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury/past drugging/brief mention of attempted assault (not shown) mention, angst, fluff, smut, stalker, murder, self-worth issues

A/N: Thank you all for taking this journey with me with writing this new character! I might return to this world someday but until then, please enjoy the finale!

__________

When you pulled up to the dark house, you noticed Russell’s car had been pulled into the garage and covered with a tarp. You swallowed as you pulled in beside it, biting back bile when Owen parked right behind you, preventing any escape if it came to that. You’d given Russell nearly thirty minutes notice to prepare. You really hoped whatever he had planned was going to be over with fast.

“Fuck,” said Owen, dashing from his car in the downpour to inside the garage. He shook himself off like a dog and pulled off his baseball cap. You’d seen the gash on his forehead before but from the overhead light, a skull fracture was very visible. The dried blood had matted into his thick hair and, along with the other injuries, made him look half-dead. 

“Why don’t you go relax inside, honey?” you forced out when you exited, slamming the door shut loudly, hoping Russell picked up on the fact you were here. “I’ll get the bags and then I’ll take a look at those cuts.”

“Thanks, baby. Don’t take too long.” You didn’t like how he kept saying that. He’d hung off of you at the store. Even if he wasn’t a raging psycho, personal space was still a thing.

You pretended to fuss about at the trunk as he went in the door from the garage to the house. It was quiet for a beat, your gaze locked on the open door in the corner.

Two quick shots rang out and you hit the cement floor hard. Nothing could be heard over the rain, your heart hammering away in your chest. Russell wouldn’t have shot Owen, would he? No, Russell would have snuck up on him, taken him out before he knew what hit him.

So had Owen been shooting? Was Russell hurt? You slowly sat up on your hands and knees, crawling along the side of the car until you reached the hood. You peaked your head around the corner and saw a pair of legs lying on the ground through the open door. It looked like Owen so you carefully rose, flinching when Russell came bounding in from behind you.

He held up his hands, your eyes widening at the blood staining his crisp white tee. 

“What-”

“My stitches tore,” he said, turning his bicep towards you, the blood staining underneath the bandage. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, glancing back inside to where the body lay motionless. “Did you kill him?”

“Not yet,” said Russell, inching past you towards a work bench. “Although he did shoot my fucking front door. Do you have any idea how much a custom mahogany door costs? I might kill him for that alone.”

Russell opened a drawer, taking out duct tape and zip ties. He slammed it shut, pausing with his back to you.

“He’s not going to leave you alone if I let him live.” 

“I know. He’s been following me for awhile I guess,” you said. 

“I can frame him for Elpine’s murder if you don’t want me to kill him.” You leaned back against your car, Russell setting the items on the bench and joining you. “I don’t have to…you know.”

“How are you going to kill him?” you asked after a moment.

“Bag over the head. He’s passed out. He wouldn’t even feel it. Are you sure that’s what-” You went to his workbench and ripped off a garbage bag from the roll, Russell closing his eyes. “Y/N, you should stay out here. Let me do this.”

“Owen started slipping roofies into my drinks when I was fifteen.” His head snapped up as you sighed. “He drugged me twice but nothing happened because my dad was around. I had to be more careful once dad started to lose it. Owen’s a good decade older than me I’m sure you noticed. I’ve been scared of this guy for too long. I’m not asking you to kill him. I’m asking you to show me how to do this myself.”

“I appreciate how strong you are but I’m doing it,” he said, taking the bag from you. You dropped your hand, frowning up at him. He sighed, stroking your cheek with his clean hand. “Your soul has enough scars for a lifetime. Don’t add more.”

“You don’t have to kill someone for me, Russell. You don’t need that on you either. Look what you’ve already done.”

“I won’t lose any sleep over him. You can do something for me though.” You sighed, nodding once. “Go back to the store and buy some extra large garbage bags and some duct tape, got it?”

“Um, yeah. Are you-”

“Y/N. We’re on the clock. We’ll talk later,” he said, kissing your temple. “Now go.”

Three Hours Later

“To be perfectly clear, I’m doing this for Y/N, not you,” said Colter with a coldness you didn’t love. You knew Russell’s relationship with his little brother was strained but you’d thought it had gotten better over the past few days.

“Yeah, well it don’t take a genius to see you like her better,” said Russell, Colter rolling his eyes, an uncharacteristic move. “I’ll never ask you for a thing again. You never even have to speak to me. Think what you want about me. Just please do this for Y/N’s sake.”

“I already…” huffed Colter when you side eyed him with narrowed eyes. He let out a slow exhale. “Fine. You owe me, Russell. Big.”

“Colter,” you said, nodding towards his truck. You left Russell as he went back to taping the large cooler in the garage shut. You assumed he’d put Owen inside and cleaned up while you were gone at the store. The rain had paused momentarily but there was another batch of storms coming through soon. You sighed as you stopped next to the younger Shaw, Colter crossing his arms. “I’m not letting you do this. I know Russell asked but I can’t let you move a body for me.”

He narrowed his eyes, face turning into a scowl. 

“I’m not moving…Russell!” Russ’ head popped up, Colter becoming increasingly annoyed. “Tell me what is going on right now or I swear you and me are done. Forever.”

Russell sighed, throwing his head back. “I may have lied about the Y/N wanting to tag along with you so she can tidy up her place in Virginia.”

“You what?” you asked, storming over to him. “You were trying to pawn me off on Colter again? For what! Owen’s dead, there’s no one left to bother me.”

“Sweetie,” said Russell, closing his eyes. “Owen should not have made it out alive and the fact he did isn’t good.” 

Slowly Russell met your gaze, ignoring Colter behind you. “So is this how it’s going to be? Any time everything’s not perfect you’re going to drop me on your brothers doorstep at the drop of a hat? News flash, Colter isn’t my babysitter. I’m a grown woman who has seen and handled more crap than you know. I thought you didn’t think of me as a damsel.”

“I don’t but-”

“But you don’t want me around for the hard stuff. I got the message.” 

“Y/N, someone else could still be left. They could kill you-” You held up your hand, Colter heading back to his truck to give you some space.

“I think I finally understand how you’re so perfect but alone. You live this life like you’re this happy go lucky guy but it’s a mask. All you actually see is the dark side of it. Of everything. You are more than happy to step into my dark side but you won’t let me see yours? You wouldn’t let me kill Owen. You won’t let me help clean it up. Even when it’s because of me. You have to always be the hero. Honestly, thinking about it, it’s been all my shit we’ve talked about. All you say is your got a dark past but you haven’t shared diddly squat. Is this how it’s going to be Russell? Because frankly, I want more than that. I told you I don’t need you to do things for me, I just need you to help me do them.”

Russell swallowed, face going stoic. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

Your heart dropped like a rock into the pit of your stomach, Russell’s jaw clenching. “You should pack up your stuff here and go with Colter. Go back to Virginia. You’re probably right. This was just attraction, plain and simple.”

“Russell, that’s not what I was saying-” 

“Yeah, it was. Just go. Please. I’ll deal with Owen. Just go back to Virginia and start your life over away from people like us.” With that he brushed past you for Colter, ignoring his repeated calls. 

“Asshole,” you mumbled as you went inside and shoved the few belongings that weren’t in the trunk of your car into a bag. You very purposefully left every pair of underwear, bra and pajamas he’d bought you behind. The cheap sports bra and cotton underwear you’d bought earlier would get you through until you were home.

If that’s how Russell wanted to end things, fine. You were free of the mafia. Free of guys with fucked up pasts. Your options were limitless.

And thank god Colter was smart enough to not ask about your red rimmed eyes by the time you were on the road.

Five Days Later

You gave Colter a wave from your front step as he drove off down the street. It’d taken only two days to drive cross country this time. Apparently you drove faster when you were upset. Or you didn’t sleep as much. Either way, Colter didn’t ask and was happy to get to Virginia where he had a missing accountant to find.

He used your kitchen as a base of operations and you let him crash in the guest room. In exchange, Colter got you hooked up with the basics of reward work. There were some extra perils to the job being a woman but also advantages that Colter didn’t have. He went over finding jobs, finding a team, learning how to get access to tools and databases. You didn’t have a lot of confidence in going after a full fledged disappearance yet but Colter mentioned it wasn’t always people that were what was missing.

By the end of his short stay, you had information overload but were grateful for the chance to start doing something good for once in your life.

Meanwhile, Russell hadn’t reached out once. You had to assume he’d disposed of Owen. You weren’t sure why you were still waiting for a text or a call. It was pretty clear things were over. Russell was too protective and you weren’t going to let another man tell you what to do again. 

Yet, you knew you were at fault too. Russell had just killed a guy in his house for you and he knew a hell lot more about getting away with a murder than you did. Russell had points for not wanting to involve you. And you had to be an asshole and pressure him for more when there was literally a dead body at your feet.

“I’m an idiot,” you groaned, leaning against the kitchen island with your head lowered. “Why did I do that?”

The doorbell rang, your head slowly rising. You sighed as you went to it, pulling it open quickly. 

“Did you forget-” You cut yourself off when you didn’t see Colter standing there. No, instead stood Russell in a trim black suit, his hair slicked back and a bouquet of orange and red flowers in his hands. “Russ? What-”

“Let me get this out and then I’ll get out of your life forever if that’s what you want,” he said. You leaned against the door jam, Russell taking a deep breath. “Y/N, I like you. A lot. Too much probably for how long we’ve known each other. Everything you said was right. I avoid my problems because it’s a hell of a lot easier to fix someone else’s in my experience.”

He swallowed, glancing at his feet. “Owen could have hurt you at that store. He could have taken you, shown up at the house and killed you. I fucked up and you don’t seem to understand that Owen’s obsession and how fucking smart you are is the only reason we’re still here and he’s not. I told you I took care of it and I didn’t. I was angry at myself and wanted you somewhere safer than with me so I pushed your buttons on purpose. I lied on purpose so you’d get mad and leave with Colter. You deserve a good man and I’m not him. I kill people. I use sex as a way to be close to women but then never let myself be in a relationship because I don’t want them to see beneath the surface and see the shit that’s in there. I want better for you than me.”

Russell looked up, a tiny smile forming on his face. “Can we try being friends again and maybe I can become that man that deserves you along the way?”

“Russell,” you sighed. You stepped forward, cupping his cheeks, green eyes full of caution. “We can be friends. I’d like it if we were more than that, though.” 

He slowly smiled, his lip ticking up when you stroked his cheek. 

“I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. You do not have to share your deepest darkest secrets with me, never mind the first day we’re actually together. That was unfair of me. I just want you to know you can share them with me if you want to.” 

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Y/N,” he said softly. “Dozens. Some of them, most of them, I never gave two shits about. No nightmares. No trauma. That’s not normal. It’s been years since I’ve felt all that bad about killing.”

“You don’t need to feel bad about killing monsters,” you said. He closed his eyes and you leaned in, kissing his forehead. “S’that why you didn’t want me to kill Owen?”

“Moral and practical reasons,” he whispered. “I don’t kill out of revenge. I don’t think I ever have. It always has another purpose. Protect someone, protect a group or the general public from a threat. Some psych told me once that’s why I don’t struggle as much with what I’ve done as some other folks. The way I grew up helped me with that. But I do struggle with it still and you’ve struggled enough. You don’t need that on you.”

“I understand. I’m so used to being controlled and told what to do…I can never go back to that.”

“You never will,” he said, opening his eyes. You tilted your head, Russell turned into your touch to match. “I’m sure I’ll fuck things up again. We can be friends if that’s all you ever want.”

“I don’t want to be just friends. So what if we fight? That’s what couples do.” You took his hand in yours and the flowers in the other, leading him inside behind you. 

“I quit my job a few days ago.” You froze, spinning around on your heels. He shrugged, still holding your hand. “I can’t change my life without making some changes.”

“You still want to do that home brew for a career?” 

“Yeah. I’d like to give it a shot.” He spotted the stacks of papers on your kitchen table and open computer. “Colter offer you a spot on his team?”

“He did at first but I want to try doing it my way, stop patching up the bad guys and doing something good. He warned me it can be dangerous work though, especially as a woman flying solo.”

“He makes very good points,” said Russell, thumbing at your lip when you smiled. “What’s that look for?”

“Maybe you could be on my team sometimes, show me a few moves from the expert.” You started to walk backwards towards your bedroom, Russell’s eyebrows raising. “If you want to.”

“I’ll show you any kind of moves you’d like, qark.” He held his ground though, stopping you in place. You waited for the but to come, for him to push back on getting back together. Instead, he took the flowers from your hand and went into your kitchen, finding a tall glass and filling it with water. He set the flowers on the island before rejoining you, resting his hands on your hips. “I like the idea of working together as partners.”

“But…” you said, Russell kissing the top of your head.

“But you are far too kind, my queen of darkness. I was expecting to get told to get lost tonight and I have plans I can’t get out of with my friends very shortly.”

“Oh,” you said, Russell’s finger tips finding the ends of your hair and playing with a few strands. “If you have plans, we can meet up another-”

“You want to know my dark side?” Your eyes flicked to meet his, your head nodding once. “You can’t unknow what kind of man I am once you do. I don’t blame you if you change your mind about me.”

“I want to know you. All of you.” He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Go change into something discreet. Dark clothes. Leave your phone home. If at any point you want to leave, say so and I bring you right back here, understand?” You nodded, Russell backing away. “Mind if I change in your bathroom?”

“You can change in the bedroom with me.” He smirked but backed away.

“Another time. We have an appointment to keep.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, Russell glancing away.

“Don’t be mad but we need to pay Owen a visit.”

Twenty minutes later you quietly followed Russell into what looked like a decommission warehouse that should have been torn down a decade ago. The building was pitch black apart from the single light coming from the end of a hallway. You stuck behind Russell as you entered the room, stopping when you found six different men and a woman inside, most carrying a weapon on their hip or tucked into their jeans from what you could tell.

And smack in the center of the room tied to a chair was Owen very much still alive. Although…alive was being generous. He didn’t look more injured than when you’d last seen him but his color was off and his eyes were red and puffy. He wasn’t even angry when he saw you, just…scared.

“He behave while I was gone?” asked Russell to a man and woman nearby.

“Tried bribing Doug and then all of us to let him go,” said the woman. She gave Owen a nasty look before turning gentle as she looked towards Russell. “I think you scared the poor boy, Shaw.”

“Oh, who’s afraid of little old me?” said Russell, giving Owen a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So. Owen, my friends. Friends, Owen. You’re already acquainted with Y/N.”

Owen’s gaze flickered to you when Russell grabbed a chair from the wall and sat it a few feet away from Owen, facing him. Russell sat down slowly, nodding when you moved closer so you could see both their faces.

“Why’s he still alive?” you asked quietly. Owen’s eyes widened, Russell tsking him.

“On me, big guy,” said Russell, snapping his fingers, Owen reluctantly looking at him. “You got some options. Prison. You die very quickly. Or…me and my friends can make sure you die very slowly. Your choice.”

“Why didn’t you kill him yet?” you asked again. Russell sighed, glancing down. “Russell.”

“There were some things that never sat right with me that I wanted answers to. The stuff with your family’s accident and your dad’s paranoia, him attacking you. I had a paranoid father too. I know the signs, know that they want to protect us in their own way. The coincidence of meeting someone just like me was too high so I started to dig. You mentioned Owen’s drugged you a few times in the past and tried to hurt you.”

“Yeah…I’m not following,” you said. Russell stood slowly, staring down Owen like a predator with it’s prey firmly caught in a trap.

“I figured if he drugged you, who else had he slipped something to? What good man, good doctor, could a prescription drug running family slip into his drinks? The more I researched, the more my friends helped, the more we found.” Russell clenched his fists by his side, knuckles turning white. “Should I tell her Owen? Or do you have the balls to tell her yourself?”

Russell ripped off the tape over his mouth, Owen wincing as he breathed deeply. Russell was on him like that, grabbing his throat, not squeezing but adding enough pressure that it was going to be uncomfortable. “I told you to talk, you sack of shit.”

“Y/N, this guys is lying. I never did anything to you!” Russell’s jaw clenched and you watched him squeeze, only backing off when you laid a gentle hand on Russell’s shoulder. 

“He’s psycho!” said Owen, Russell backing up a step. You looked up to him, Russell’s face unreadable. “Y/N, baby-”

“Shut the fuck up before I stab you in your spine,” you said. Owen’s jaw snapped shut, a flicker of something in Russell’s eyes. Pride? Amusement? It quickly flittered away, replaced with worry when you held out a hand. “Can I have your knife?”

Russell slowly took it out of his pocket, handing the engraved handle out to you. You flicked it open and took a seat in the chair, holding it pointed down at the concrete floor.

“Owen. Tell me the truth and I won’t kill you. I swear. But I can get the answers from you if you don’t cooperate. Don’t make me get my boyfriend’s knife bloody.”

You heard a muttered damn from someone behind you, your focus on Owen. He sagged in his seat and closed his eyes.

“Our old fixer wanted out, wanted to go to the feds so my dad had him killed. I was eighteen and he told me to start earning my place as successor. He told me to find a new fixer. Your dad was one of the best doctors in the city. Things were…arranged. Two weeks later we-” 

Russell smacked the back of his head. Hard. Owen grunted, shaking it out.

“Two weeks later I…put a hit on your family. Your mom and brother specifically. We only needed one kid to survive and I thought a girl would be easier to control. I started drugging your father that night with antipsychotics to create paranoia,” said Owen, his head hanging low. “I orchestrated the whole thing. We fed him the drugs for years, it made him stay close if not a little extreme. It kept taking more though.”

“Do. Not. Skip. Ahead,” growled Russell, grabbing a fistful of Owen’s shirt.

“O-okay. I-I…I started thinking about how to get your dad to stick around once you grew up and you were pretty and smart and I thought you’d be happy with me.”

“How old was she when you decided this?” barked Russell. Owen whimpered, trying to curl in on himself. “Fifteen you disgusting waste of space.”

“You started drugging me then,” you said. Owen shook his head.

“Not with that stuff. Just roofies. But not enough for you to be completely out of it. Your dad started keeping a closer eye on you and I tried waiting for you to come around on your own but it was so hard when you went away to college. I knew I couldn’t let you run off like that again so…” Owen’s shoulders shook, mouth snapping shut.

“So you roofied her, attacked her and she fought back. Her father protected her and you fucking killed him for it. Your dear old daddy found what you’d done and wasn’t happy, was he? He covered up your murder and blamed her father knowing Y/N wouldn’t remember a thing. Y/N was forced to go to med school and learn crap she didn’t want to all while daddy had you banished away from her. You tried to keep tabs on her but it wasn’t until dad died that you could finally take Y/N like you wanted. It’s pure fucking luck I showed up when I did to make sure that didn’t happen. Would you like to tell Y/N about the fucking padded door locks and bars on the window in her old room back at the house? About your plans for her?”

Russell grabbed Owen’s hair, forcing his head up. Owen was trembling, whispering apologies and saying how he didn’t mean it, over and over.

“So…you killed my family…and tried to assault me more than once over the years…and were planning on keeping me as a…pet in the house until I magically fell in love with you. I think that sums it up,” you said. You stood up, handing Russell his knife. “I’m not going to kill him.”

“Thank you,” sighed Owen in relief. “Thank you. I-I knew you’d be able to forgive me-”

“Oh, I don’t forgive you and I wouldn’t be thanking me,” you said, smiling up at Russell. ““Papa Elpine and a few guys made it out I heard. Bobby was his favorite son, right?”

“Y/N! I killed Bobby! They’ll-” Russell shoved some tape over his mouth and hummed.

You crossed your arms, Russell tilting his head at you. “You know they’re going to torture Owen to death.”

“I said I wouldn’t hurt him and I’m keeping my word,” you said, Owen shouting under the tape. “I’d tell you to confess but Elpine’s connected. He’d just have you killed in prison. So. Elpine it is.”

“You sure?” asked Russell. You pursed your lips, Owen pleading with his eyes. Everything in you wanted to say yes, let him get what he had coming. 

So why couldn’t you say it? 

You looked to Russell, nodding. “Get rid of him, please,” you mouthed.

“Look away,” said Russell. You turned around, Owen panting hard before there was a loud crack and the room was still. Russell’s hand found your shoulder, rubbing it softly. “We took care of Elpine’s guys. You know that.”

“I just wanted him to be as scared as I’ve been. I-I just…why’d it have to be my family?” You found his face, Russell smiling sadly.

“I’ve asked myself that question a lot over the years. Best I came up with is you got to try and let it go. The world’s good and bad and that’s all there is to it.” He wrapped his arm over your shoulder, walking you towards the door. You nearly looked back but he blocked you with his body. “No. He’s gone for good, you don’t need to give him anything more. I’m sorry for not killing him back in Washington. I just thought you deserved the truth. Your dad was a good man.”

“Thank you,” you said, closing your eyes. “I wish I realized that sooner.”

“Come on,” he said, walking you out to the hallway. “Let’s get you home.”

One Month Later

You smiled from your chair when Russell let out a single tiny snore from the couch across from you. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few days and honestly, it was kind of adorable the way this incredibly dangerous man made the cutest cooing noises while he slept.

“You’re staring at me,” he mumbled without opening his eyes a few minutes later. You looked around, holding up a finger. “I can feel you watching, like a creeper.”

“Well, you make these cute sounds when you sleep,” you said. He smirked, slowly flicking his lazy eyes open.

“And who’s fault is it that I haven’t been sleeping, hm?” You shrugged and slid down in your chair with your book, grinning behind the pages. “I can see that smile, you know that?”

“Don’t blame me for the amazing orgasms you give,” you said, flicking your eyes over the top of the book, Russell propping himself up on his elbows with a predatory gaze. “Down boy. Later.”

“You better,” he said, plopping back with a huff. “Remind me to never help Frank with a favor ever again.”

“Frank helped you with Owen,” you reminded him. Russell scoffed.

“All he did with Owen was stand there and look scary. I didn’t make him build a fucking deck in the pacific northwest in forty degree weather.”

“Aw, is baby boy cranky?” you teased. He growled, playfully tossing his pillow at you. “You guys should wrap up tomorrow, right?”

“That’s the plan. Then I’m going back to waking up at a humane hour,” he said, forcing himself to sit up and stretch out with a few grunts. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour and a half. You needed it,” you said, flipping a page. Russell glanced over to the dining table, taking in the decorated spread. 

“You set a place for Colter?” he asked. 

“Yes…right next to Dory’s,” you said, closing your book and setting it aside. “You still think he won’t come?”

“He’s not the kind of guy to come to a housewarming party. Especially his brother’s housewarming party. We still haven’t talked since…” 

“I know,” you said, standing and pulling him to his feet. He was still sleepy as you ruffled his hair, Russell turning into the touch. “I’m excited to meet your friends and family properly.”

“They want to know all about you, that’s for sure,” he chuckled. “You can’t imagine the amount of shit they’ve given me after I said I’d never settle down.”

“I moved in a week ago. We’re a ways from settling down,” you said. He titled his head, smiling at you. “Don’t give me that face.”

“What face?” he teased, leaning in close, dipping his head, kissing under your jaw.

“Shaw! Do not give me a hickey! I do not want them seeing-” You sucked in a breath, brain going fuzzy when he nipped at the soft flesh. 

“Too bad, qark. If I have to have hickeys all over my neck then so do you,” he said, suckling the skin. A buzzer went off in the kitchen and he groaned when you slipped away so the rolls wouldn’t burn. “Y/N…”

“Saved by the bell,” you said, taking out the pan and leaving them to cool off. Russell was by your side quickly, hands on your hips so you couldn’t escape. “Okay. How about you can give me as many hickeys as you want later if you’re a good boy this afternoon?”

“Hm, I do like being your good boy,” he said, squeezing your hips. “Deal.”

“Good. Where do you keep-“

The doorbell trilled, your heads turning towards the front windows. A familiar pickup truck was out front, Russell raising his eyebrows. You nodded for the door, Russell cautious as he answered. Colter stood on the front porch with an awkward forced smile and a pink box.

“I uh, picked up some dessert for dinner later,” he said offering the box. Russell took it, setting it aside on the front table. “You going to invite me in?”

“I thought you…” Russell shook his head and opened the door wider, letting his younger brother inside. Colter gave you a brief smile before clearing his throat.

“I uh, can help you get ready or cook. I just…last time we talked Russell…”

You smiled to yourself when Russell closed the gap between them, giving Colter a strong embrace. “Let's leave that shit behind us. Thanks for coming, Colt.”

“Yeah,” said Colter, returning it for a moment before the boys broke apart. “How’s the girlfriend situation working out for you?”

“I’m telling you man, find the right girl, you’ll never want to go back to being a loner,” said Russell, giving you a smirk. “They do come with a lot of rules though, fair warning.”

“I asked you to put the toilet seat down, Shaw,” you chided. 

“Like I said, rules,” teased Russell. You picked up a knife by your cutting board, narrowing your eyes. “We should help before she starts using that on us.”

“Yes you should,” you said, Colter shrugging out of his jacket and boots, joining your side after washing up. “Can you cut up the veggies into strips?”

“Can do,” he said, swapping places with you. You smiled when Russell took the dessert box and started to arrange the treats on a platter over on the dinning table. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior the last time we were all here.”

You frowned as you peeled a bag of potatoes into a bowl. “You mean when I lost my cool on Russell? You have nothing to apologize for Colter. We were asking you for a favor. Again. I’m honestly surprised you don’t hate me. I know you value your alone time.”

Colter was quiet, chopping neatly and pushing the scraps into a discard bowl. “Did Russell ever tell you how he got that gunshot he went to you for in the first place?”

“Someone kidnapped Doug. He went to save him.”

“Did you know I helped him with that?” You shook your head, setting the peeler down. Colter had stopped dicing, a barely there smile crossing his face. “If it weren’t for my brother asking for my help with his friends, I’m not sure we ever would have spoke again.”

“I know there’s a complicated history there.” He hummed, watching Russell across the room. “It means a lot to him that you’re trying too.”

“S’all we can do is try, right?” he said, going back to his cutting. “So. My brother is clearly head over heels. What about you? Should I expect a wedding invitation soon?”

“Uh, no,” you said, laughing to yourself. “We’re certainly not traditional but we’re nowhere near ready for that. We’ll see how living together goes for awhile before we talk about anything like long term plans.”

“Yet you moved in already.” You rolled your eyes. “Just an observation.”

“For convenience sake. Russ is looking into land for the brewery around here since he left his job and apartments in town are limited.”

“Right. I’m sure that’s it. Silly me,” he said. You held up your peeler to him, Colter raising his hands. “Russ, I think I broke one of your girlfriend’s rules.”

“It was nice knowing ya,” said Russell with a chuckle. “Give him a swift death for me, qark.”

“Qark?” asked Colter as you turned your attention to the potatoes. 

“Queen of darkness. Now hurry up with those so you and Russ can have some alone time before dinner.”

Six Hours Later

“This is going well,” said Russell to you in the kitchen as laughed and a smoky scent filtered in from the back porch. “Everyone really likes you.”

“I suppose I have met them all before, except for Dory. She’s such a sweetheart. I don’t know what I was expecting but-”

“She was much younger than us when our dad died. After she went to live with our aunt and uncle. She’s tough but normal in a way Colter and I won’t ever…” You rubbed his back, his strong arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close. “Did you like, drug him? Or bribe him? I seriously can’t believe he’s still here let alone came.”

“Of course he came. No matter what’s happened in the past, he loves his big brother.” Russell tucked you into his side, smiling when you rested your head on his shoulder. “I found a job in Wyoming. Missing prized show dog. I was going to head out in the morning, see if I’m any good at this.”

“You’ll be wonderful,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Be safe though.”

“I will be.” You turned in his hold to face him, wrapping your arms around his back in a hug. “It’s been a long time since anyone cared if I was safe. It’s nice. This weird little family you have is…I’m jealous to be honest.”

“You shouldn’t be. It’s yours too.” You raised your eyebrows, Russell raising his own, eyes going wide. “No! No, I don’t mean like, officially yours. Like metaphorically. I’m not ready for anything official. Someday but so not right now.”

“Me either,” you said, the tension running out of his face. “I want to know who we are without our old jobs, how to be a happy queen of darkness.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” he said. “Speaking of which, I got you a present for helping organize all of this and cooking for ten people after literally just moving cross country. I know it was stressful so I wanted to make it up to you.”

“I don’t need a present, Russ,” you said, a sneaky smile forming on his face. “Oh. This is a present for the both of us.”

“I got you a new pair of jammies, the lilac set this time,” he said. Russell’s smile grew as yours did, his arms lifting you off the ground, bringing you to eye level. “You deserve all the good things in life, qark.”

“I think we got something pretty good starting right here,” you said, kissing him once, Russell humming.

“I couldn’t agree more, baby. Couldn’t agree more.”

__________

[nitewrighter]

Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part Three: I Got Better

Part One

Part Two

Hey thanks for getting the next round, man. 'Preciate you.

I've tried writing this part down, you know. Every couple decades or so I get the urge, say "I'm gonna do it right," get a journal or typewriter or laptop or whatever they're using, try it out for a couple pages... then I drop off. Then I get guilty for dropping off because... I mean Snow taught me to read, right? So if there's anything I should be doing to repay that then...

But I mean--Trolls, look, we're an oral-tradition based culture anyway, okay? The closest thing we had to a writing system is this... kind of Ogham-ish tally language that doesn't distinguish the alphabetical from numerical very strongly that was mostly used for outlining lineages and territories. And we can read rocks, obviously. We can look at a rock and we can tell you where that rock has been or how it used to be a much bigger rock or how it's actually a lot of little rocks mashed together but that's not really a language.

I'm getting sidetracked. Where was I? Snow and the Prince.

Okay. Bloody nose. Probably broken nose. Snow's leading the Prince through the castle, and this is the part where, if Snow were telling this, she would throw in something flowery about the way he gripped her hand or the way the light from the windows passed over his face, or the way her own brain was a scramble of 'You can't trust this guy, this is the queen's cup-bearer, he's done fuck all to try and connect with you before this, why would he try now? This has to be a ploy from the Queen." But then that thought gets interrupted by overwhelming pity for the guy, but then that pity gets interrupted by feeling bad for pitying him, because he's a whole-ass person with dignity or whatever. It all sounds very exhausting, this pure-of-heart thing. She brings him down to this spooky-ass alchemy lab and he's like, "Are we... allowed here??"

And she goes, "Sure, the Queen taught me all kinds of stuff down here when I was younger."

And this is when the Prince makes an 'Oh shit' face and she catches herself saying, "Oh, nothing bad! Like, we did great with the basics, but then we moved on to poisons, but then everything I made kept... burning or percolating into medicines, and she screamed at me over and over again every time my poisons turned into... the opposite of poison... and eventually she just gave up. Anyway, I've got a leopard's bane compound around here for the swelling....Should probably also find something for the pain--how's the pain?"

"It's... there?" Prince Damp Kingdom says awkwardly, "You know, you haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why you're on edge?"

"Oh. Well, Queen wants to kill me."

"Wh--"

Snow plucks a vial from a crowded shelf, uncorks and sniffs it. "Oh, this'll work," she holds the vial toward him, "Put this under your tongue?"

"W-what is it?"

"It's... kind of complicated. It's rotten sugar and ground up seashells and this one herb that's been steeped in vinegar for a week and a bunch of other little things."

The prince makes a face again but Snow---and this is another part of Snow that to this day scares the shit out of me--Snow just flutters her eyelashes and goes, "If you don't want it, though..."

And knee-jerk the prince takes the vial from her and goes, "No, thank you--I mean, yes. I'll..." he glances at the vial and then back at her, "Thank you."

And yeah, you could argue that the prince is the kind of guy who would let his Bushwick girlfriend cut his hair and then pretend it looks great when it looks like shit for like three weeks after. But Snow is not a girlfriend from Bushwick. Snow is a Fae Weapon Forged in a Human Womb. Snow is the heart of the Evil Queen wrapped in new flesh and made pure. Snow is holiness and magic. Snow is a Miracle and a Curse. Again, Princess-Messiah.

So like, if you're hearing this from my perspective, you're probably wondering why she's spending so much time with a dude who doesn't have a lot going for him beyond being pretty and harp-playing. But y'know, I've already told you that Fae have complex and have esoteric notions of attraction, and that Snow knew things and saw things that both fae and human couldn't. She's just also... crazy convincing over the stupidest, smallest stuff, which is how the Prince found himself putting something that he didn't even know what the hell it was under his tongue and immediately making a face at this horrible honey-bitter-chemical taste before squinting for a few seconds and feeling his shoulders relax along with a slight tingling buzz relieving the ache of swelling in his face.

"Why do you think the queen's going to kill you?" it's possible Snow's medicine loosened his tongue as well as his shoulders.

"I didn't say she's going to kill me, I said she wants to kill me. If she could kill me, she would have done it already."

"So you can't... die?"

"I can die. Why wouldn't I be able to die?"

"I don't know. This is a lot right now. We don't talk much."

"Why is that?" Snow tilts her head.

The Prince gulps, already higher for this than he wants to be. "It... hurts to look at you, sometimes," he mutters, not meeting her eyes. Her thick black lashes squint and those red lips of hers hitch off to one side and he tries to clarify himself, "Not that you're not pretty--I didn't mean that in a 'You're not pretty' way, because you are... t-terrifyingly pretty, but when I look at you, all I can think of is... how... I've never done anything."

"I think you're selling yourself a bit short," Snow says kindly.

"But that's the other terrifying thing. I'm--I'm also scared of what kind of person I'd become just by being close to you. The world changes for you, I mean even right now, I'm saying so much more than I would ever normally, sanely say and--and what did you give me? What did I just put in my mouth just now?"

"Rotten sugar, ground up seashells, leopard's bane soaked in vinegar for a week--" Snow is counting on her fingers.

"But what does it do?!"

"It's for your nose--which I am still very sorry for, by the way."

"And I'm trying to find out something about you--I want to help you, but you just-just-- shimmer out of it! Why does the Queen want to kill you? This is the third time I've asked you that!"

"That's not the third time you've asked me that. First you asked why I'm on edge, then you asked why I think the Queen's going to kill me, which basically implied that you don't believe--"

"Princess," he bites the word between his teeth with frustration and she blinks, wondering if she's finally managed to find whatever iron is in him, before those thick black lashes lower.

"I think... because of what you just said. Because the world changes for me," she pauses for a few moments and her shoulders sink, "It scares me too. The changing. You stayed away because you thought I'd change you?"

"You can't tell that you're changing me now?"

"We don't talk much," Snow smiles sadly.

There's an awkward pause, then, and they both look away from each other. Fucking teenagers, yeesh. But then Snow seems to remember herself and says, "You really shouldn't be standing this long--with both the drug and the blood loss you could get dizzy so--"

They both flinch at the sound of a voice bouncing off the stone from the turret staircase. From the castle undercroft. They both recognize the powerful, elegant timbre. The Evil Queen.

"We should go," Prince Damp Kingdom says on reflex, all of the truth drawn up out of him shriveling up and dying like velella washed up on a beach, before saying, "Princess--Snow!"

But Snow's already pacing forward, shoulders stiff, gripping her skirts with white knuckles and the prince hopes she's going upstairs, but nope! Downstairs. And he curses in a very unprincely way under his breath before hustling after her, head now swimming from whatever the hell she dosed him with and his own movement.

He follows her down the turret stairs and into the castle undercroft, which is lit by some extremely unsettling purple-teal flames in the approximate spots where torch sconces should be, and they can hear the Evil Queen speaking, her voice echoing through the undercroft, though they can't make out the exact words. The prince gets a shudder at the back of his neck because there was this same draw, this same hook as when he was following the sound of Snow's voice when she sang at the well. Something something air and darkness, that was all the prince could make out, before Snow abruptly turns (maybe she could hear more sharply than him), and both find themselves looking into what may have been some kind of... mini-chapel for when the castle was under siege and human christians had to do human christian shit on account of the siege and everyone was probably going to die or something. Except there was definitely no Christian god for what was going on in that space now, I'll tell you that much. Instead, you have the queen standing in front of a circular plane of glass, as wide as both her arms spread out to her sides--and they can tell that because her arms are fully spread out, and she's saying,

"Mirror mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

And like, this is the horror movie part where any sensible person would be saying, "I should get the fuck out of here, that's what I should do" but again, we are dealing with FUCKING TEENAGERS so of course Snow and the Prince are both hiding behind a column watching the Evil Queen commune with some cosmic horror shit.

And like, the thing is, at first the Queen is just talking to her own reflection.

But then her reflection suddenly digs its fingers to its hairline and peels its whole front off, peels the goddamn image off the queen off like one of those Korean beauty masks, but in that same motion, it's like a layer of the glass itself is being peeled off as well, and before the evil queen stands a roughly her-shaped figure of green flames.

"Our dearest betrayer, our loveliest entertainment," the figure in green flames coos, "Must you call us on such tedious matters?"

And the Evil Queen just says again, more insistently this time,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

"You ask and ask and ask, beloved," the Mirror answers back, "What have you done to change things this time, hmm? Some new potion? Another felled king?"

The evil queen's breath hitches, but she steels herself before saying once more,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

The green flame figure huffs. "Ugh, so BORING--though know we're only answering because your reaction is the most entertaining part of these little chats." The green flame figure seizes and abruptly gets swallowed up by shadowed dampness, revealing itself as Mosscloak.

"You, my queen, are fair; it is true. But Snow-White is a thousand times fairer than you."

But suddenly two green flame eyes burn in the shadows of Mosscloak's hood.

"You act as if she is a weapon against you by her own will,

That she is not the product of your actions.

That she is not your heart. "

The Queen doesn't seem to react, but Snow suddenly winces next to the Prince, her head bowing, her features scrunching as if holding back a sob.

"Snow?" his name leaves him barely audible as a puff of breath.

"You need to go," Snow is suppressing the whimper in her own voice, like there's a tidal wave of grief inside her surging up, fingernails scraping against the stone of the column.

"Not without you--" the Prince starts.

"Now," she flicks those dark eyes to him and before he can even comprehend his own free will in the situation, he's zipping up the stairs, and she can feel his will screaming against her. He's supposed to be scooping her up in his arms and taking her with him, or sprinting toward the Queen screaming with a dagger, or something, but no, Snow is sending him away because he's safest if he doesn't have the Queen's attention.

"Show her to me," the Queen says, her voice thick.

The mirror abruptly morphs to show a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet-black hair. This mass of hair is facing a mirror, which is showing a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet black hair, looking at a mirror at the far end of the rom. The mirror in the mirror in the mirror is displaying a mess of black hair studded with pearls facing a mirror--

Snow realizes she's looking at the back of her own head in the Magic Mirror, and because she is looking at the mirror, the mirror is looking at itself. Her head swings around to see... nothing. There's nothing there and yet it can see her. Her jaw opens and quivers with unspoken, terrified words before she finally manages to force her brain signals down to her legs again. She hauls up her skirts in bunches and sprints up the turret stairs after the prince.

...Oh look at that. I finished this pint. Now, I could go home, or... I could tell the next part of the story if someone got me another pint of 'Literally Just Wet Hops' IPA. Decisions, decisions.

[monstersflashlight]

( Hi, I'm @mama-magpies-fantasies :3 )

Sharing because I'm too tired to write more about it, but incase you or any other followers get inspired.

Thinking about two dragons fighting for the same princess/human. They've established themselves in the same region but have always been at a stalemate when it comes to their strength and territory; never agreeing on a proper border.

I could see Y/N having caught the eyes of both independently, that is until one of them becomes bold enough to abduct them. By then starts the competition between both wyverns; getting abducted every other day to go from one nest to the other. They both try to woo you everyday, bringing in gifts, showing off their strength and skills, and doing little dances to show their body to their potential mate.

Honestly, it can be funny sometimes, their little fight can be endearing, maybe before you never thought you would have two people fighting over you of all people. And sometimes it can be annoying... You've come to appreciate the both of them and their differences, and the pressure to only choose one is getting on your nerves.

So why not play a little game into it? Get them to see each other more as equals than rivals. To compare them both, you have them share you equally in the same space; letting you have your own nest which can fit the both of them. Ground rules will make sure that they do not start any fights unless they want to be punished and shown as immature compared to their competitor. :3

In the end, I'm sure even in bed both would be quite competitive; after all they want to be the first and only to have you bare their eggs. You can't pass a day without being filled to the brim by either of them as most of the time, one filling you with their seed will cause the other to want a turn as well; creating a feedback loop of breeding until you pass out for the day.

A/N: That was very fun to read, I took it to my field with this one and wrote a lil something. Hope you like it! <3

Both? Both.

Dragon x dragon x fem!reader || sharing is caring, size kink, (light) breeding, eggpreg, (light) dom/sub dynamics (femdom)

You watched them fight and struggle with the realization that they were both important to you. They wanted to fight each other constantly, but you weren’t having any of that. You liked them both too much to let them destroy each other for a chance with you, when they both could get what they wanted. And if that meant you got two amazing dragons with incredible dicks… Well, that was a plus.

So, when you decided you were tired of watching them fight the other to gain your hand, you made them kneel in front of you, looking down to the floor until you had enough of it. Did it last three days? Possibly. Did you spend those three days sitting in front of them as they struggled not to look up at you? Definitely. Did you enjoy it? Greatly.

But after that everything turned out for the better. They stopped fighting, or at least they stopped in front of you. You still knew about their “secret” fights, but those were just stupid banter and a few scratches, you knew deep down that they really wanted to take it out on each other, but you said nothing. You just needed to wait enough to see how much it took for them to figure out they wanted to fuck each other senseless.

And even if you hated when they fought… You loved when it was to choose who got to fuck you first, who got to put their eggs in you… Poor dragons didn’t know nobody did anything if you didn’t order it first. But they looked so pretty fighting and growling at each other, pushing each other down until one of them overpowered the other and they were both panting and hard… It was totally worth it to let them fight it out. Especially when you got their dicks as a reward.

You got them on their backs, wings pinned down as you bounced on one dick and then the other, both of them staring adoringly at you as you took your pleasure on them. They were your pretty dragons, your protectors… and your toys. You loved to play with them like this, you loved when one of them lost control and filled you with his eggs, just for the other to growl and push him away just to fill you with another one. By the end of it you were a mess of come and your stomach was distended with their eggs… But you wouldn’t do anything differently. Especially when you told them you had enough and they took it on each other as you watched. Two powerful dragons fighting to see who was on top, just to end up rutting their cocks together until their bellies were a mess and you could lick it off them.

They thought they were two strong dragons protecting you, but when the time came, you were the one bringing them to their knees. Either to eat you out or just because you enjoyed having such big beast completely submissive to you. It was a good power trip, and made you wetter than anything. Outside the bedroom they could be the protectors, but inside… Inside, they had nothing to argue, nothing to fight for… Because you ordered them.

[bueckersleftbraid]

”—The Weight of Staying

WC: 5.9k

singer/songwriter!azzi x nylibertyplayer!paige

warnings: none? this is pretty much just fluff

Some people are bad at letting go. Others are even worse at walking away for good. Paige and Azzi have always been a little bit of both.

authors note —> hi loves, I’m finally uploading again. I am absolutely in love with this storyline, so I hope that all of you love it too! I’m not sure if I will be adding to this, but let me know if you would like that.

A cool breeze blew through the open window in Azzi’s apartment, which was 5 floors up but the noice of the city was still evident from below. She sat at her desk, the blank page of her song writing book glaring at her. She had tried everything. Rhyming— which Azzi always thought sounded a bit childish anyway—, listening to other artists, just writing out her thoughts. But nothing seemed to work. Everything just felt like it was missing something. And honestly, Azzi felt like a part of her was missing too. She hadn’t spoken to Paige in weeks. Despite Paige having a strand of home games, so she would be in the city for a while, Azzi hadn’t gotten up the courage to text her. It had always been a cycle with them. Almost lovers, almost enemies, always something. 

Their last fight had been, well, stupid to say the least. It always ended in Azzi wanting more and Paige not being able to give her that. Paige had to travel all the time for games or brand deals or whatever event she had going on that week, which left Azzi alone in a city that was supposed to be for them. Despite this, Azzi always found herself being dragged back to the blonde. And tonight was just the same. Azzi felt alone and the only one who could make her feel better was Paige. The only one she wanted to even try. Finally, Azzi decided to pull out her phone, clicking on Paige’s contact.

Are you home?

She hit send, before locking her phone and exhaling. She looked around. God, her apartment was a mess. Cluttered with clothes and suitcases from her recent trip to Los Angeles for a pop-up concert. The only shelf that looked perfect— as it always did— was her vinyl collection. One that held so many memories. Late nights in summer when she would curl up with Paige and listen to music together. 

Suddenly, a buzz. That was quick. 

Home now. Need something?

Azzi smiled at the message. Despite the lack of contact between the two in recent times, Paige still offered to help. Because it was Azzi. How could she not?

A hug maybe. Trying to write and nothings working.

Azzi exhaled as she typed the message. She never felt like she had to hide with Paige, like she needed to feel shame for her emotions.

Want me to come pick you up?

A small smile immediately blossomed on Azzi’s face. They were back. It had always been a routine that Azzi wouldn’t call an Uber. Paige thought they were sketchy. She always said, “You never know who’s driving. Could be a creep,” which Azzi would always agree. The blonde would insist on driving Azzi herself to anywhere she needed.

Yes please, see you in 10?

Text you when I’m outside 

Once she got the message, Azzi packed a small bag. Only intending on one night at most— she had most of her stuff already at Paige’s place anyway. She slipped makeup wipes, a pair of pajamas and some clothes for her meeting in the morning, a small bag of makeup— only the necessities; blush, mascara, and a light coverage concealer— a comb so she could at least part her curls in the morning. Everything else Paige had.  

Soon enough her phone buzzed.

Outside the lobby to the left, my normal spot

Azzi smiled softly at her phone before slinging her bag over her shoulder and slipping on a pair of uggs—her black tasmans that she had matching with Paige. They were a random gift one day. The blonde had said, “I thought they suited us,” which of course made Azzi’s heart flutter— and grabbing her keys. She slipped out of her and walked down the empty hallway of her floor, relishing in the comforting silence of the moment as she waited for the elevator. 

As she exited the lobby, the chill of the midnight air hitting her and sending shivers through her body. Maybe a T-shirt wasn’t the best choice of clothing. The brunette wrapped her arms around herself as she made her way down the block to the black Jeep Grand Cherokee, a large car considering that Paige barely ever drove people around. 

“Hi Az,” Paige spoke, voice smooth as ever, as Azzi slipped into the passenger seat, the brunettes ears immediately being filled with the faint sound of Daniel Caesar.

Azzi leaned back into the seat, letting the city blur past them in streaks of gold and blue. The heat in the car was just starting to kick in, making the windows slightly fogged around the edges. The warmth felt good—comfortable, familiar. But Paige wasn’t acting like herself.

Her left hand gripped the steering wheel tighter than usual, and Azzi noticed the subtle way she leaned her body away from the driver’s side door, favoring her right. It was something only someone who knew her—really knew her—would’ve picked up on.

“You okay?” Azzi asked, glancing over, her voice light but tinged with concern.

“Mhm,” Paige responded quickly, too quickly. She didn’t meet Azzi’s eyes. “Just… sore. Took a fall during the game the other night.”

Azzi turned slightly, folding one leg beneath her in the seat. “Your shoulder?”

Paige sighed, her jaw tightening. “Yeah. Landed weird on it. It’s fine. Just bruised or something.”

There was a pause, the silence settling between them like fog. Azzi could feel it. The thing they always did—this dance of pretending nothing hurt until it did.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, not accusing, just tired in that way that only comes from missing someone who’s still technically there.

Paige shrugged with her good shoulder. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

Azzi didn’t respond at first. The music in the background shifted to something low and piano-heavy—Daniel Caesar bleeding into H.E.R.—and the ache in her chest bloomed a little bigger.

“You’re not a bother,” she said softly. “Not to me.”

Paige didn’t say anything. But she reached across the console, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s until the brunette laced them together.

The rest of the drive passed quietly, just the warmth of Paige’s hand and the soft hum of music holding them together.

They pull up to Paige’s apartment.

The elevator ride up was quiet. Not awkward—just sleepy. Azzi leaned slightly against the wall, her head tilted to the side as Paige fished her keys out of her jacket pocket. The blonde was clearly favoring her right arm now, movements slow and calculated.

“You need help?” Azzi asked, watching her struggle with the key in the door.

Paige gave a dry chuckle. “Don’t insult me.”

Azzi smirked but didn’t respond. She just stepped inside when the door opened, greeted by the soft scent of vanilla and clean linen. Paige always kept the place minimalist, a reflection of how she liked to keep her life—orderly, neat, controlled. Azzi’s own chaotic energy was always a bit of a contrast, but it had blended into the space over time. A pair of her shoes still by the door. Her favorite mug on the drying rack. A sweatshirt draped over the back of the couch.

“I was gonna clean up,” Paige said as she dropped her bag by the door. “But, you know, bruised ego. Sore arm.”

“You think I care if your throw pillows are fluffed?” Azzi replied, dropping her own bag gently onto the couch.

Paige gave her a small smile, something fond flickering across her face. But then she winced again, subtle but noticeable, as she moved to take off her jacket.

“Okay, nope,” Azzi said, stepping forward. “Let me.”

She helped Paige out of the coat gently, the fabric sliding off her shoulders with effort. The blonde hissed a little as her injured shoulder twisted, and Azzi’s hands immediately stilled.

“You’re sure it’s just bruised?”

“I didn’t go to the trainer.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Of course you didn’t.”

Paige shrugged with her good shoulder. “Didn’t want them to bench me.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. Instead, she reached for the hoodie Paige had been wearing beneath the coat.

“You’re gonna have to take this off too,” she said quietly. “Let me see.”

Paige hesitated, and for a second, Azzi wondered if she’d resist. But then the blonde raised her arms—slowly, painfully—and let Azzi peel the hoodie off like a second skin. Beneath it, she wore a loose tank top, and Azzi’s eyes immediately caught the faint purpling bruise blooming across her shoulder and collarbone.

“Jesus, Paige,” she breathed. “This isn’t nothing.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point.”

Azzi carefully guided her to sit on the couch, then disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments later with a heating pad and a bottle of ibuprofen she knew was always tucked in the medicine cabinet. She handed Paige the pills and plugged in the heating pad, sitting beside her as it warmed up.

They sat in silence for a while, the glow of the living room lamps casting soft shadows against the walls. The pad began to hum gently, heat spreading over Paige’s shoulder. Azzi pressed a blanket into her lap, then curled her knees up on the couch, her head resting lightly against Paige’s good shoulder.

“I missed you,” Azzi said eventually, voice quiet.

Paige looked down at her, eyes soft. “I missed you too.”

They stayed like that for a while. No words. Just warmth. Paige with the heating pad pressed gently against her shoulder and Azzi tucked beside her, legs curled up beneath her, body angled just slightly toward the blonde like she couldn’t help it. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty but full. Of unspoken things. Of things they hadn’t let themselves say for months.

Azzi’s thumb moved idly against the soft material of the blanket, mind tracing memories she wasn’t sure she had permission to keep anymore. She could feel Paige breathing—slow, steady—and she closed her eyes for a second, willing herself not to get swept back into whatever this always was between them. Almost something. Always something.

“You can stay, you know,” Paige murmured, voice low, rough around the edges.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open. “I planned to.”

“No, I mean…” Paige turned slightly, wincing again. “Stay tonight. But like—not just sleep and go. Just… stay. For a while.”

Azzi tilted her head up, surprised. Paige never asked. Not for time. Not for company. She gave it when she had it, and then she was gone again—training, flying, media, whatever. But not this. Not her asking Azzi to stay.

“What’s that mean?” Azzi asked, soft but not tentative.

Paige looked away, lips pressing into a thin line before she answered.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Just… the apartment’s been quiet lately. And everything feels louder when it’s just me. But when you’re here, it’s… I don’t know. Easier.”

Azzi’s chest tightened. She wanted to be angry—because hadn’t she always been the one who stayed, while Paige let her? But then Paige shifted again, just slightly, and her fingers found Azzi’s beneath the blanket. Their hands slid together like puzzle pieces worn soft with time.

“I’ll stay,” Azzi said. “But I’m taking the good pillow.”

Paige let out a quiet laugh—more air than sound. “Deal.”

They ended up on the bed—not in the way they used to be, not tangled in each other or chasing heat in the dark—but side by side, Azzi having changed into her sleep shirt, Paige in a new hoodie that didn’t pull at her shoulder. The lamp on the nightstand cast a dull amber glow across the room, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, low and lazy against the late-night streets.

Azzi lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Paige mirrored her, though her eyes were on Azzi.

“Do you ever think we’re just… bad at timing?” Paige asked quietly.

Azzi blinked, surprised. “All the time.”

“And do you ever think…” She trailed off, her voice catching. “That maybe we’re only like this—when it’s broken. When we’re hurting.”

Azzi turned her head, their eyes meeting in the low light.

“No,” she said, firm but quiet. “I think that’s when we remember we need each other. That’s not the same thing.”

Paige didn’t respond right away, but her gaze didn’t drop. Eventually, she nodded, more to herself than anything else.

“Good,” she whispered. “’Cause I don’t want to forget.”

Azzi reached over and turned off the lamp. The room darkened, and the silence wrapped around them again.

This time, Paige was the one to move first—her good arm draping gently across Azzi’s waist, tentative, like she wasn’t sure she still had the right. Azzi didn’t say anything. She just scooted a little closer and laid her palm over Paige’s hand, grounding them there.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, they both fell asleep easily.

Together.

____

Azzi woke to sunlight.

It poured through the gaps in the curtains, soft and golden, casting faint lines across the white sheets and the wall beyond. For a second, she didn’t remember where she was. Then she shifted slightly, felt the gentle weight of an arm draped across her waist, and everything came rushing back.

Paige. The night. The way they’d just been—no performance, no boundaries, just bodies breathing in sync for the first time in too long.

Azzi blinked against the light, turning slightly to look at her.

Paige was still asleep. Her hair was mussed, falling softly over her forehead, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other looped around Azzi like it belonged there. Her expression was unguarded in sleep—lips parted slightly, brows soft, lashes casting little shadows against her cheeks.

Azzi didn’t move.

She didn’t want to.

Instead, she let herself study the woman she had loved in a thousand almosts. Paige always looked so invincible—on the court, in press photos, even just walking down the street in oversized sunglasses and a hoodie like she owned the sidewalk. But like this? With her body curled in the quiet of morning, shoulder still bruised beneath the fabric of her sweatshirt, hand twitching slightly in sleep—she looked real. And Azzi felt something twist in her chest because God, she was still so far gone.

Eventually, Paige stirred. Her fingers flexed gently against Azzi’s waist before her eyes blinked open, hazy and slow.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep.

Azzi smiled. “Hey.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world hadn’t cracked open yet. No game plans. No studio deadlines. No red-eyes or sponsorship deals. Just the bed. The blankets. The echo of the night before lingering between them.

But then Paige’s phone buzzed.

Once. Twice. Then a third time—longer, insistent. Paige let out a groan, reaching out with her good arm to grab it from the nightstand.

Azzi rolled onto her back, letting her eyes fall to the ceiling as Paige squinted at the screen. There was a pause, and then—

“Hey,” Paige said, already sliding off the bed. “Gimme a sec. I just have to take this. It's my agent.”

Azzi’s stomach dropped, just a little.

She listened as Paige padded out of the bedroom, her socked feet quiet against the hardwood floor. The door stayed open—just enough that Azzi could hear her voice from the living room.

“Yeah, I know… No, I’m fine, just a small thing with the shoulder. I’ll be good by next week... Yeah, I can make it to LA for the shoot... That soon?”

Azzi closed her eyes.

Of course.

The bubble had to pop eventually. It always did.

She sat up slowly, running a hand through her curls, already matted from sleep. Her chest felt tight—not because Paige had done anything wrong, not really. But because it had been so easy, for just a moment, to believe they were building something new. Something that wouldn’t crack under distance or time zones or priorities that never seemed to align.

Paige's voice carried again, muffled but clear.

“I’ll talk to Azzi, yeah. I think we’re... figuring stuff out.”

Azzi froze.

That phrase—figuring stuff out—hit her in the gut more than it should’ve. She knew Paige meant well. She always did. But that was the problem. Paige always hovered in that middle ground. Never let herself name it. Never jumped in all the way.

Azzi wasn’t sure how many more almosts she could take.

She pulled her legs up onto the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to quiet the storm that had started brewing again. It was always like this—sweetness followed by the inevitable sting. Paige was a safe place until she wasn’t.

A few minutes later, Paige walked back in. Her face looked slightly flushed, like she knew the spell had broken too.

“Hey,” she said again, softer this time. “Sorry. It was about the Nike thing. They want to reshoot in LA next week.”

Azzi nodded but didn’t look at her.

“Cool,” she said, voice carefully neutral.

Paige hesitated by the doorway. “I didn’t know they’d move it up. I didn’t say yes yet.”

Azzi gave a tight smile. “You will.”

Another pause. Another silence that said more than either of them were ready to.

“I don’t want to leave things like they were before,” Paige said finally. “I want to figure this out. For real.”

Azzi looked up at her. Her eyes were tired, but steady.

“I need you to stop figuring,” she said gently. “And start choosing.”

Azzi left Paige’s apartment just after nine.

She didn’t say much when she slipped on her coat and gathered her things—just pressed a kiss to Paige’s cheek, lingering for a second longer than necessary. Paige had offered to drive her, but Azzi had gently declined. She said she needed air. What she didn’t say was that she needed space to think. To feel whatever it was she had been pushing down since the second Paige picked her up last night.

The morning was crisp, cool enough that the wind stung slightly when it hit her face. She clutched her small bag to her chest as she walked, head tucked low, letting the hum of the city wrap around her. Car horns. Distant sirens. A bike bell. A dog barking from somewhere nearby. All of it layered over itself like some gritty, living song.

She arrived at the small downtown office space she sometimes used with her creative team—a shared suite lined with plants and windows and half-finished lyrics taped to the walls. Azzi was the only one there this early, which she preferred. It was easier to be honest when no one was watching.

She dropped her bag onto the couch and made herself a coffee from the old French press someone had left behind months ago. The smell filled the room—warm, earthy, grounding.

Her laptop was already on the desk. Her notebook beside it. Pages dog-eared and ink-stained, full of scraps of songs that never quite found their endings.

She stared at the blank page in front of her.

For weeks, the words hadn’t come. Everything had felt too forced, too shallow. Every verse had read like she was trying to trick herself into caring. But this morning, something felt different. Not lighter, exactly—but sharper. Like everything was suddenly in focus. The way Paige had held her. The bruise across her shoulder. The way she had said “I think we’re figuring stuff out” like that was enough.

Azzi reached for her pen before she even realized what she was doing.

She didn’t start with a melody. Not even a verse. Just a single line, scrawled in her messy, looping handwriting:

“You only hold me when you’re aching.”

She paused, staring at it.

Then she kept writing.

“You only call when the silence hurts. I only answer when I’m breaking— we don’t love, we just revert.”

The words came like a slow tide, not a flood—but enough. Enough to feel like something inside her had loosened. Like maybe she didn’t have to wait around for Paige to choose her to start choosing herself.

The door creaked open softly about twenty minutes later, and her manager, Cam, poked his head in. “Hey. Didn’t expect you this early.”

Azzi didn’t look up. “Had a weird night.”

“Productive at least?” he asked, nodding at the notebook.

Azzi finally glanced up at him, a quiet fire in her eyes. “Starting to be.”

Cam gave a small, knowing smile. “That’s all we need.”

____ 

The hours blurred.

Azzi stayed hunched over her notebook, the coffee long gone cold on the desk beside her. She filled two pages before she even noticed her hand cramping slightly from how tightly she was gripping the pen. The words weren't perfect. Hell, some of the lines didn’t even rhyme. But they meant something. For the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like she was trying to squeeze a feeling out of herself that wasn’t there.

It was already early afternoon by the time she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her wrist absently. She stared at the mess of her handwriting and felt… heavy, but clear. Like she was finally starting to tell the truth. Even if it hurt.

Her phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced at it, expecting some promo email or a spam call, but her stomach dropped when she saw the name:

Paige.

She hesitated.

Last night had been easy. Easier than it should’ve been. But this morning—watching Paige slip back into the life that had always pulled her away—it was like a cold hand wrapping around her chest again.

Still, Azzi picked up.

"Hey," she said, trying to sound casual.

“Hey, Az,” Paige's voice came through, a little breathless, a little uncertain. “Uh... what are you doing right now?”

Azzi glanced around the empty studio space—the sunlight slanting in through the high windows, the echoes of her own restless heart.

"Working," she said simply.

A beat of silence.

“Can I come by?”

Azzi closed her eyes for a second, pressing her fingers to her temple. Paige didn’t usually ask. She just showed up. Like she belonged in every version of Azzi’s life, no matter what.

“Yeah,” Azzi said after a long moment. “I’m downtown, same spot.”

Another pause.

“Okay. Be there in twenty.”

The call ended before Azzi could change her mind.

Twenty minutes later, the studio door creaked open again, and Paige stood there, looking strangely out of place in her sweats and scuffed sneakers, a black baseball cap tugged low over her brow. She had one of those giant iced coffees in hand, the condensation dripping down her fingers.

Azzi didn’t get up. She just raised an eyebrow.

Paige lingered in the doorway, like she wasn’t sure she was invited in after all.

“I brought you one too,” she said lamely, holding out a second drink.

Azzi took it but set it down on the table without tasting it.

Paige shuffled in a few steps, balancing against the table across the small room from Azzi. She looked hesitant, like she was ready to bolt at any second.

"I didn’t mean to make this morning weird," Paige said quietly.

Azzi just looked at her, the silence stretching thick between them.

"I just... I get scared," Paige continued, voice low. “Every time it feels good between us, I get scared. That I’m gonna mess it up. That I’ll choose wrong again. And then I do mess it up, because I’m thinking about it too much instead of just—" she broke off, dragging a hand through her hair. "Instead of just holding onto you."

Azzi swallowed hard, her throat thick.

"You always think you have time," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Paige blinked at her.

"You think you can figure it out later. After the season. After the shoot. After the next flight. But every time you leave, it’s harder for me to believe you’ll come back different."

Paige’s jaw tensed. Her hand twitched like she wanted to reach out, but she didn’t.

“I don’t know how to be good at this,” she said finally, brokenly. “But I don’t want to be good at it with anyone else.”

The rawness of it hit Azzi square in the chest.

She stood up, pushing her chair back with a small scrape of wood on concrete. Paige flinched, but Azzi didn’t move toward the door. She walked over to her guitar case instead, pulling it out of the corner of the room where it leaned, forgotten.

“I wrote something this morning,” Azzi said, adjusting the strap over her shoulder.

Paige straightened a little, hopeful, nervous.

Azzi sat on the edge of the couch and let her fingers fall naturally into the opening chords she’d started sketching out hours ago. The music was simple. Honest. A little rough. She hadn’t planned on sharing it with anyone yet.

But this? This was the only way she knew how to explain.

Her voice cracked slightly on the first line, but she kept going:

“You only hold me when you’re aching, you only call when the silence hurts… I only answer when I’m breaking, we don’t love, we just revert…”

When she finished, the room was so quiet she could hear the faint buzz of the old overhead lights.

Paige’s eyes were shining, but she didn’t say anything right away. She just crossed the space between them, slow and careful, and sat on the floor in front of Azzi, knees brushing hers.

“I don’t want to just revert anymore,” Paige said finally, voice raw. “I want to choose you.”

Azzi stared at her for a long moment, guitar still cradled against her ribs like armor. She wanted so badly to believe her. To fall into her the way she always had.

But this time, she needed Paige to prove it.

Not just say it.

Azzi set the guitar down carefully on the couch beside her.

For a second, she didn’t speak. She just let the silence settle between them, heavy but not unbearable. She studied Paige—really studied her. The way her cap was slightly crooked. The way she sat with her hands open on her knees, like she was offering something invisible, something fragile.

"I don't want to be the thing you run to when you're lonely," Azzi said finally, her voice soft but unflinching. "I want to be the thing you stay for."

Paige's lips parted slightly, like she was going to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she just nodded—small, almost imperceptible, but real.

"I can't..." Azzi exhaled, pressing the heels of her palms against her thighs. "I can't keep doing this half-way. The almosts. The almost home, almost love, almost enough." Her voice shook, just a little, but she kept going. "If you want me... reallywant me... you have to show up. Not when it's easy. Not when you miss me. Every day. Even when it's hard."

Paige’s throat worked as she swallowed.

"I can," she said, so quietly Azzi almost missed it. "I will."

Azzi stared at her, searching her face for any flicker of doubt. She found none. Just that raw, terrified honesty that Paige always tried to cover up with jokes and casual shrugs.

It hit Azzi then—how hard it must have been for her. To admit she didn’t know how to stay. To admit she was scared. Not of Azzi—never of her—but of what it meant to need someone so much.

Paige shifted closer on her knees, so their legs touched fully now.

"I’m scared," she whispered, eyes never leaving Azzi's. "But I’m more scared of losing you."

Azzi felt something crack wide open inside her.

Slowly, she reached out, letting her fingers brush along the edge of Paige’s jaw. Paige leaned into the touch immediately, her breath hitching.

"You’re not gonna lose me," Azzi murmured. "You just have to meet me here."

Paige closed her eyes like the words physically hurt. When she opened them again, they were glassy, full of something deep and endless.

"I love you," she said, voice trembling. "I love you, Az. I think I always have."

The world seemed to tilt around them. The studio, the city outside, the entire universe, all shrinking down to this—this tiny, infinite space between them.

Azzi’s breath caught. She didn’t say anything at first. She just leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Paige’s, their noses brushing.

And then, when she was sure her heart wouldn’t explode from how full it was, she whispered it back.

"I love you too."

It wasn’t a grand declaration. It wasn’t shouted from rooftops or stitched into a song yet. It was a promise made in the quiet, in the space between heartbreak and hope.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

Paige let out a shaky breath, her hands finding Azzi’s and gripping tight.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. No more half-way.”

Azzi smiled, small but real.

“No more half-way.”

They stayed like that for a long moment—knees pressed together, hands locked, breathing the same air—before Azzi pulled Paige up onto the couch beside her. They sat tangled up in each other, the half-finished song still humming in the background of the day, like a promise they could finally start believing in.

____

For the first time in what felt like months, there was no rush between them. No ticking clock, no unspoken countdown to goodbye.

Paige stayed.

Not just physically, but really stayed.

After the weight of their confessions, Azzi expected a kind of awkwardness to set in—the kind that usually came after they said too much, after vulnerability cracked them open. But it didn’t. Instead, there was a lightness. A kind of tentative peace.

Azzi leaned back against the worn arm of the couch, legs stretched out over Paige’s lap. Paige didn’t seem to mind; she just absently traced small, lazy patterns along Azzi’s calf with her fingertips, like her hands needed to be touching her at all times now, just to make sure she was still there.

Azzi picked up her notebook again, thumbing through the pages. She wasn’t writing anymore, not really. Just letting herself exist in the space she and Paige had built here—messy, bruised, but somehow still standing.

Paige glanced around after a while, taking in the studio with fresh eyes. "You live here or something?" she teased gently, bumping Azzi’s leg with her knee.

Azzi smiled without looking up. "Feels like it sometimes."

"You should eat," Paige said after a beat, voice soft but a little firm in that way she got when she was pretending not to be worried. "You get weird when you don't eat."

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide her amusement. "I’m fine."

"Nope. Not buying it. Come on."

Before Azzi could protest, Paige was shifting her legs carefully off her lap and standing. She stretched—arms overhead, shirt riding up slightly to reveal a flash of tan skin—and then offered Azzi her hand.

Azzi hesitated for just a second before taking it.

They walked a few blocks to a tiny corner deli Azzi liked, one that Paige always pretended was “too sketchy” but secretly loved because they made the best egg sandwiches in the city.

Inside, it smelled like bacon grease and fresh bagels. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Azzi ordered a sandwich with avocado and turkey bacon; Paige got a greasy, overstuffed BLT and a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

They sat by the window, the city sprawling out in front of them, afternoon sun glinting off car roofs and apartment windows.

Paige unwrapped her sandwich sloppily and took a huge bite. Azzi laughed under her breath as the blonde tried—and failed—to keep tomato from sliding out the side.

"You’re a mess," Azzi said, shaking her head.

Paige just grinned, mouth full. "You love it."

Azzi ducked her head, blushing. "Unfortunately."

They ate in easy silence for a while, trading bites, stealing sips from each other’s iced coffees without asking. Paige doodled on a napkin with a blue pen she pulled from her pocket—terrible little stick figures of the two of them, complete with what she claimed were guitars and basketballs.

Azzi snorted when she saw the final product. "You’re artistically challenged."

"Hey," Paige protested, mock-offended. "That’s our album cover right there."

Azzi smiled so hard her cheeks hurt.

She couldn’t remember the last time it had been this easy. The last time she hadn’t been waiting for Paige to look at her phone or check the time or make some excuse to leave.

Paige was just... here. With her.

Choosing her.

When they finished eating, Paige reached across the table, her thumb brushing a crumb from the corner of Azzi’s mouth. It was such a small thing, such a nothing thing—and yet it made Azzi’s heart stutter painfully in her chest.

Paige’s hand lingered, fingers sliding lightly along Azzi’s jaw, like she couldn’t help herself.

"I meant it," she said, voice low, almost shy. "What I said before."

Azzi caught her hand, holding it there against her cheek.

"I know," she whispered.

And for the first time in a long, long while—Azzi let herself believe it.

____

By the time they made it to Azzi’s apartment, choosing the brunettes place tonight for a change of scenery, the sky had deepened into a soft purple, city lights starting to flicker awake.

Paige kicked off her sneakers by the door without thinking, like it was second nature, and Azzi trailed behind her, dropping her bag with a muted thud.

The apartment still smelled faintly of vanilla candles and Azzi’s floral shampoo—the comforts of home—but the energy was different now. Calmer. More theirs somehow, not just Azzi’s.

Paige wandered into the living room, picking up one of Azzi’s records from the perfectly neat vinyl shelf. She turned it over in her hands, then shot Azzi a soft smile over her shoulder.

"Want me to put something on?"

Azzi nodded, already toeing off her Uggs and tugging her oversized sweatshirt over her head, leaving her in a simple ribbed tank top underneath. She plopped down onto the couch, curling her legs underneath her, watching as Paige carefully slid a record onto the player.

Soft, crackling acoustic guitar filled the room—the kind of music that made everything slow down, even time.

Paige dropped down onto the couch beside her, not bothering with any distance this time. Their thighs pressed together naturally, warmly. Paige let out a quiet sigh, her body relaxing into the cushions.

They sat there for a few minutes, just breathing, the music wrapping around them like a blanket. Azzi leaned her head against Paige’s shoulder without thinking about it, and Paige turned slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of her head.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate or tinged with fear like it used to be. It was steady. Sure.

Azzi closed her eyes, letting herself melt into the feeling.

"I miss this," she murmured into Paige’s sweatshirt. "I miss us."

Paige's hand found hers, fingers intertwining with a kind of quiet reverence.

"We’re right here," Paige whispered back.

After a while, Azzi shifted so she was tucked completely against Paige's side, her hand splayed over Paige’s heart. She could feel the steady thud beneath her palm, grounding her.

"You know," Paige said after a long stretch of silence, her voice low and a little sheepish, "I still have that stupid necklace you gave me before my rookie season."

Azzi pulled back just enough to look up at her. "The one with the little A on it?"

Paige flushed a little, nodding. "Yeah. I keep it in my bag. Even when I'm traveling. Even when... when we weren't really talking. It just—felt wrong to leave it behind."

Azzi's heart clenched so painfully she thought she might cry.

"You're such a sap," she whispered, blinking quickly.

Paige smiled, slow and crooked and full of everything she never used to say out loud.

"For you? Always."

Azzi ducked her head again, letting her forehead rest against Paige’s collarbone. They stayed like that, breathing each other in, the record turning lazily in the background.

At some point, Azzi must have drifted off because when she blinked her eyes open again, the room was darker, the only light coming from the window where the city glittered beyond the glass.

Paige had adjusted them at some point, laying them down properly along the couch. Azzi was half on top of her, one arm thrown across Paige’s middle, their legs tangled together. Paige’s hand was still rubbing slow, lazy circles against Azzi’s back, her breathing even and steady.

Azzi shifted a little, burying her face deeper into Paige’s sweatshirt.

“Stay,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Paige pressed another soft kiss to her hair, whispering against her curls, "Always."

Azzi smiled into Paige’s chest, her whole body sinking into the kind of peace she hadn’t felt in what felt like a lifetime.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

[boopiemadz]

wanted to do a quick write about Travis's biceps 💪 (so hot) so here it is. legit got flustered writing the last one 🤭 lmk if u like this.

WARNINGS!

Suggestive themes, Injury

[Four times Travis’s biceps made you lose your train of thought]

---

The hut you and Travis stayed in was originally built for one, you used to share with Mari but ever since your relationship with Travis started to blossom you slowly transitioned into his hut. This wasn't a problem as his hut was already pretty spacious, but there were a few casualties when it came to sharing the hut. 

Last night was… steamy. Let's just say you didn't get much sleep. Travis had gone out to the lake in the morning which left you at the camp. Unfortunately his hut wasn't the most structurally sound, all the… movement last night kinda caused the doorway to come loose. So in the morning after checking on the garden you'd set up you grabbed some sticks and twine to attempt to fix the sagging doorway. 

Standing on your tippy toes holding up the sagging sticks while trying to tie them together with only one hand wasn't working very well, just as you were about to just give up and toss everything to the floor you felt a warm body approach you. 

“Need a little help?” Breathed Travis towering over you. His hair wet as he reached his hand up to hold the askew sticks in place. 

“Oh your back” You smile, “Yeah don't think construction is my strong suit” As you step to the side he gives you a quick peck on the cheek before telling you “Don't worry I got it”

As you stepped back to watch you couldn't take your eyes off him. The way his short sleeve perfectly fell down to display his biceps as he reached up and tied the sticks together. You Can't lie, the way he moved and the way his muscles were perfectly displayed, his wet hair falling into his face and him wiping his hair away from his face oh so perfectly giving you a display of his muscles. 

Little did you know you had been, staring. Staring hard. Once he finished his work you still stood right there, eyes glued to his upper arms almost without blinking. 

“You okay there?” He crosses his arms and giggles 

“Oh yeah..” You snap out of your trace to him approaching you wiping off his dirt covered hands with a cloth. He gives you a smirk and walks up to you tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear and saying “You know, if you ever need me to fix anything again, let me know and I'll give you a seat so you can observe.”

---

The second time you noticed his biceps starting to become a fixation was when he returned from a hunting trip having an injury on his upper arm.

“What happened” You say running up to him and Nat seeing Travis grip his arm like his life depended on it. “He ran into a branch and got a pretty nasty gash on his arm” Nat says, wincing as Travis takes his hand off of the wound. “Oh my gosh Trav, what were you running with your eyes closed?” You say in a serious yet half sarcastic tone.

You sat beside him in the dim light of the hut, your hands working carefully, fingertips grazing over his bicep pressing old cloth onto his wound to stop the bleeding. He barely flinched, just watched you with those dark, unreadable eyes. His arm was warm under your touch, solid and strong even injured, and your hands lingered longer than necessary.

"You're staring," he muttered, voice low and rough."You’re doing that on purpose," Travis said, a half-smirk tugging at his mouth. His voice was low, teasing, but you caught the little edge of breathlessness in it too.

You smiled, pretending innocence. "Doing what?"

You swallowed thickly, finishing the last loop of the bandage. "I'm just making sure it's tight enough," 

"You’re doing that on purpose," Travis said, a half-smirk tugging at his mouth. His voice was low, teasing, but you caught the little edge of breathlessness in it too.

He gave you a look, that classic unimpressed Travis look that only made you want to grin wider.

"If you wanted an excuse to feel me up," he said, voice dropping, "you could've just asked."

You huffed out a laugh, finishing the bandage and patting it, maybe a little too firmly. "Shut up. I’m taking care of you."

"Yeah," he murmured, catching your wrist before you could pull away. His fingers were gentle, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist in slow, lazy circles. "You always do."

And just like that, the teasing softened into something deeper. Travis wasn’t always good with words, but he didn’t have to be. You felt everything he meant in the way he looked at you.

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, then another to his cheek. "Always," you whispered back.

He smiled, a real, soft, unguarded smile, and pulled you into his arms, bad bicep and all.

---

The third moment started as a joke.

The group was bored sitting around the fire, throwing rocks at a tin can someone had found, when someone decided they should have an arm-wrestling tournament.You were half-paying attention, curled up against Travis's side, until you heard your name get thrown into the mix.

"I bet Travis lets her win," Van teased, grinning wide. "He’s whipped."

Travis just smirked, cocky and quiet like he always got when he was about to stir up trouble. 

You knew that look. You knew exactly what he was doing. And you were powerless to resist.

Grinning, you pushed yourself up and planted your elbow on the rough wood of the table, palm open. "You’re on, Martinez."

Everyone hooted and hollered, pounding the table as Travis shifted to face you. He grabbed your hand , warm, calloused , and you barely had time to register how smug he looked before he said, just loud enough for only you to hear:

"Try not to get too distracted, babe."

He flexed, just a little, when you tightened your grip ,and holy hell ,his bicep practically bulged under the firelight, cords of muscle shifting beneath tanned skin, the veins along his forearm popping out in a way that made your stomach flip over itself.

You knew he was doing it on purpose. And you hated (loved) how easily it worked.

"Go!" someone shouted.

You tried , really tried , but the second he leaned in, eyebrows raised like he was barely breaking a sweat, your whole body short-circuited.

He was unfair. Unfairly strong, unfairly hot.

In less than ten seconds, he pinned your hand down, grinning lazily the whole time.

The group roared with laughter, but it barely registered , because Travis didn’t let go right away. He kept your fingers tangled with his, tugging you across the table until you were practically nose-to-nose.

"Good effort," he murmured, voice rough and so smug.

You narrowed your eyes, but the stupid smile tugging at your mouth gave you away. "You’re such a show-off."

"Only for you," he said, brushing his nose against yours, his biceps flexing again as he pulled you fully into his lap, firelight catching the proud glint in his eyes.

---

It had been weeks of Travis shamelessly flexing, teasing you, and generally acting like the most irritating, and the most beautiful, human being on the planet.

You thought you were doing a good job pretending to be unaffected. You thought you were being subtle.

Until the final straw.

It was late, the fire crackled low, most of the others either asleep or pretending not to listen. You and Travis were tucked in your hut, close enough that you could feel the heat from his body.

Travis, of course, took full advantage of the moment. He stretched out, arms above his head, his biceps flexing effortlessly. His stupid, perfect muscles shifted under tanned skin, and you tried to ignore it. You tried to keep your eyes focused on the fire, but you couldn’t help it.

For half a second, just half a second, your eyes drifted to his arm. You didn’t even mean to. It just... happened.

And of course, he caught you.

Travis grinned like a cat who’d just gotten the cream, leaning over to nudge you with his shoulder. "You know," he murmured, voice low and teasing, "it’s okay to admit you’re obsessed with me."

You groaned, trying to brush him off, but he wasn’t having it. He caught your hand midair when you shoved him lightly, holding it firmly in his. His laughter rumbled in his chest, and you couldn’t help but notice how his arm felt under your hand.

"You know," he went on, completely unbothered, "some people like puppies. Some people like sunsets. You? You just happen to be in love with these bad boys." He flexed his bicep, just enough to make it impossible for you to ignore.

Your resolve cracked, and you let out a laugh, not a cute little chuckle, but a full-on, unabashed laugh that had you leaning your head against his shoulder in defeat. You were so caught.

"I hate you," you muttered into his chest, trying to hide your smile.

He laughed even harder, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his arm slipping around you to pull you even closer. "No you don’t," he said, voice thick with affection. "You love me."

You sighed dramatically, snuggling into his side because, well, he was right.

But then, and this was your fault, your hand snuck up, just a little, and rested on his bicep again, absentmindedly squeezing it.

Travis immediately shot you a smirk, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "Oh, now you’re just making it too easy."

Before you could even react, he launched himself at you, his hands going straight for your sides, tickling you mercilessly. You gasped, wriggling in his grip, trying to push him away, but he was relentless, his laughter echoing in the small space.

"Travis, no! Stop!" you squealed between giggles, but it only made him laugh harder.

"You think you can just squeeze my biceps like that and get away with it?" he teased, pinning your wrists to the ground with one hand, his other fingers digging into your sides.

Your body jerked from the tickling, and you barely had a chance to catch your breath before you managed to twist and plant a playful bite on his arm.

He froze. "Did you just bite me?"

You grinned, still out of breath from the laughter. "Maybe."

"That’s it."

With a triumphant laugh, Travis pinned you even harder, his face hovering above yours. His eyes were sparkling with a mix of playful mischief and something a little deeper. "You’re asking for it now."

You both burst into laughter again, too tangled in each other to do anything but laugh and tease and enjoy the moment, and, just maybe, admit, you were already way past the point of no return.

———-

idea/inspo from - @s0u1-su3k3r

hope u enjoy!

[just-zy]

I chose you

pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem Reader!

summary: When Wednesday transferred to Nevermore, the school lacked the fiery hostile attitude Y/N always spat out, perhaps a change of heart. But frankly, it never left in the first place. Wednesday frequently hears of the comments about your temper all around nevermore—it's like living hell, they said. Well, she thinks otherwise.

A/N: okay hi, long ass "summary" but short ass oneshot, sorry, so readers ability? ignition touch, anything the reader touches can be ignited on command. Mhmm makes this less boring lmao, dk if the story still needed it tho. (w and r are dating!)

warnings!: reader's a big ass bully (but an absolute baby) to basically everyone LOL (idk this js sounded so fun to write, dk if others would agree), use of curse words (ton of them), arrogant reader idk

Masterlist

One way to make Y/N's blood boil was simply looking at her wrong, asking her stupid questions that held no common sense whatsoever, and definitely bumping into her, accidentally or not. You're in for one hell of a ride, you'd think she's kept that attitude bottled up all night, but the thing is, that temper doesn't die down easily. First thing in the morning, once you see her passing by the hallway, even just a glance, she surely wouldn't notice, right? Well you'd be entirely wrong.

Because after that glance, she'd be all up on you, no matter what.

"The fucks with you, huh? Got something to say, stoner?"

"Look at me like that again and I'll fuck you up, one on one, mermaid."

"I'm not entitled to control my anger because I don't care, you mutt!"

You were ignorant, an absolute arrogant jerk who looks down on everyone, literally. You may have been a high-achiever, sure but you were boastful about that too, you were better than everyone in the school premises, even Bianca Barclay has presumed you are.

Egoistic and all, you were top of the class, every class you took you outstood, even the teachers took accountability of the mistakes you mentioned about the way they educate.

Weems wasn't all too scared of you, she didn't have any reason to be, obviously, you basically saw her as a mother-figure, and you respect her too much to actually do something rebellious in the school. You've always said empty threats, from the very beginning, you claimed it as being bored all the time, so you rile up the students just for the hell of it. Hopefully that was why you were constantly high up your ass, although you've always wondered how Weems don't nag your ear off about your behaviour.

Then the goth gore girl came, you didn't think much of it, more so even glanced at the name of the introduction of the girl. However, it took you by surprise how the new girl stood out from the others, not that she tried, she just did. You had wanted to take a harmless nap in the middle of the class, but then you heard it, a question from the teacher that was quite tricky to answer. Plainly you wanted to show off, not like anybody expected less, it just runs to your veins like a satisfying clink of glass wine to brag about your brains.

Then, a beat. Before you could lift your head, you heard an unfamiliar voice that belonged to none other than Wednesday Addams herself.

Even after she got the answer correct, you'd still wonder how deep thought her response was, it wasn't indifferent to yours, but it definitely was something else. And that's all it took to get you hooked by the raven-haired beauty.

—

When Wednesday met you, you weren't uptight, you weren't intense nor did you act like a hardheaded maniac that all inside them was fined with anger complaints.

You were chivalrous, courtly and noble, totally the opposite of what people imagined you were to be in a relationship. Shocking.

But, you were committed, of course you were, and that felt like a stroke of luck for the Nevermore students, satisfaction. No more angry mob of knuckles so early in the morning welcoming violence, no more flaming wide arms trying to wager students with fist fights, or in a more unbalanced and prejudiced way—a lit of fists with the opponent stuck with non-magical hands, and definitely no more sharp tense stares that can bury you six feet under in under a second.

There wasn't a day where Wednesday had to question anything with you, she's now too smitten to care less about you. Today's just the start of a trial in understanding you better.

—

Wednesday was reluctant on following a panting Enid, tho the pup insisted that it was important, her hand hovering over Wednesday's while she had her brows scrunched, clearly annoyed.

"Touch me again and I'll have your limbs fed to your fellow pack of werewolves."

"Okay! Chill out! I can't breath- Y/N's.. well she's okay but these students were interrogating her and–"

Well that was all it took to have the goth girl stride all the way to her beloved who was apparently in some type of crisis.

"Quad!"

And she was full on sprinting, all the thoughts in her head were full of you, all of you. If you were okay, if you were still breathing fine, god forbid Wednesday gets none historical days.

"Y/N."

The way she says your name was like capturing you with cuffs that were too tight on your wrists, her voice so evident it made you halt.

There you were, standing with rage and destruction. The way she sees your eye twitching, your ball of fury hung in the air ready to strike another punch, the other hand of yours scooped on the collar of the student who obviously had the guts to say anything in the first place.

The image itself was disturbing enough to make someone run away and sob. Honestly, a random student passing by would probably do that.

"Wednesday..I– I'm.. Look I—!"

You stumble on your words. You never do.

Wednesday didn't need to say anything, she just huffs and turns but doesn't move until she hears your boots drawing near.

She doesn't wait for you to say anything else tho, that's when you knew you were in a tough spot.

Wednesday wasted no time, after you both got into your dorm, she immediately tends to your wounds that would soon make bruises all over. Your bloody knuckles, your busted lip. Of course she mildly thought you looked sophisticated, but you didn't need to know that. She's supposed to be upset with you.

"I didn't... start the fight."

Wednesday let out a hum, urging for you to proceed while she gently nurtures your injuries.

"They said something about you.", your voice wavers, on the public's eye it probably wouldn't have been anything serious, but to Wednesday? It was every feeling that she felt when she heard your voice that way, the ache in her chest was undeniable. It was everything she's ever loathed.

"That you were only with me now because.. you've never really seen me so pissed off. And well, it got to me, I know it shouldn't have but what if it were true?"

Oh, how Wednesday's cold heart ached.

Wednesday gave out a light sigh while still caring for your wounds, the way her fingers suddenly twitched every time she heard your voice quiver, the way she just wants to embrace you till everything feels better, till her everything feels better.

And that's just what she did.

Her light touches meant so much to you that if someone were to ask you what your weakness was? It would be Wednesday Addams.

"Ever since I've been held captive in this hellhole, trying to get out of this place, then I saw you, yet I didn't care. You saw me and thought it would be easy waltzing your way into my life."

It wasn't supposed to be funny, but it was. Well, to you. Your ego was so high up, her barrier broke just for you.

"Allowing you in my life may not have been a conscious decision at first, but choosing you to stand by my side was a deliberate and genuine one."

You sobbed into your lover's arms, pulling her impossibly closer to you, afraid if you let go, she'll vanish on thin air.

"And I will remain by your side, not out of obligation, but simply because I choose to, because I chose you."

She was never planning to let you slip away—not now, not ever.

______+______

A/N: short and bad ik ugh i need to be on my A game next time, but anyway.. hope u enjoyed

[lara4eclipze]

𝓢tart a war

— ( 🎴 ) I'm gon' try for you I'll fight for you, go off for you I'll start a war.

lara raj x fem!reader, angst, fluff, rivalry, swearing, cyberbullying, crying(?), comfort, wc [?], tags listed below

dream academy had it's up's and down's, for you and lara though? it was all down, i mean imagine this katseye is at the peak of their career, with touch and debut charting so high - well until hybe decided to drop the documentary

most received praise and got attention for the way they handled training, but fans had a different reaction towards you and lara — during dream academy you and lara were never close

yes you all lived in one house but unlike the rest, you never got along with the older girl — it wasn't anything personal, but it was just something you couldn't pinpoint

episode 7, the very episode where you got confronted about being "lazy", you knew some of the girls didn't feel like you deserved to compete — thinking you should've gone before the other girls

you thought the same, and during that confrontation you apologized and moved on with the rest — after debuting you and lara got closer than ever

maybe it was the fact you two discovered how similar you both are, lara loved music just as much as you did — you enjoyed writing lyrics and so did lara

but that day the documentary dropped numerous comments, videos, and posts made about you, titles such as "lazy queen" or "undeserving" were thrown at you, lara received hate too for her reaction to you not greeting her — getting dubbed as a bully

during this time katseye was on their asia tour, specifically the next stop was manila, backstage a few hours before the peformance you were reading comments even though sophia already told you it meant nothing

you wanted to stop — yet you couldn't, the more you read the more you start to think you did not deserve to be in this group

it wasn't like you were untalented but seeing how people thought and spoke about your lack of stage presence even comparing you to past contestants, hurt and it slowly gnawed at you, maybe you did not deserve this, did you steal someone's chance?

you lock the comfort room door, hunched over the toilet seat as you keep scrolling on your phone, endless reading — everything was silent to you at this point — your eyes got watery seeing the hate you got, you wanted this right? then why can't you handle it?

you try to quiet your sobs, looking down as you wipe profusely yet tears keep flowing like it was a waterfall, what hurt you the most was the hate lara got, she didn't deserve it at least not as much as you do

"y/n? are you there hun?" lara carefully asks through the door, you unlock it quickly covering your face with your hands, "yes! l-lara" you stutter as you force to stop sobbing

the desi girl quickly ran up to you, cupping your face as she asks concerned as to why you were crying, "baby why??, you know i hate to see you cry" lara frowns as you just stutter over every thing you said

the older girl looks down at your hand seeing the phone open — you were reading some comments, she quickly swipes the phone off your hand closing and deleting every comment under your post

lara wanted to scold you — to tell you it didn't matter, but seeing you so affected by these statements stabbed her — it was like someone twisted the knife

"i should've not just done that" you sob as lara held your head to her chest "i should've greeted you but i was so fucking stupid" you mutter

"we had our problems but we overcome it together — you do not need to shoulder all this hate, I'm always here for you" lara's soft voice a lullaby to you

"love it holds responsibility, my responsibility is to make sure you feel loved by me, no one else matters y/n — you don't need to read those" lara mutters as she kisses the top of your head

"it's just that you dont deserve it too" you whisper — lara seem to not budge and only kept comforting you "we both don't, that doesn't mean it'll stop" she responds

its fucked up, fucked up that lara had to experience this, fucked up that she has to stay strong through it cause its obvious you can't

"i want it to" you respond as she craddles you, slowly calming you down, "we can't make it stop, but I'll be here through all that with you — okay y/n?" lara says, and you nod

you two walk back into the dressing room, wearing the set performance clothing and testing the mics and ear fittings, lara held your hand squeezing it every now and then to make sure your okay

the place was loud and bright — people shouted and chanted katseye and member names — finally walking out cheers erupted — the mall was much fuller than you expected which only lightened up your mood

after performing three songs it was finally time to leave, you felt so successful that you couldn't help but cry, daniela noticed and hugged you right away as the rest of the katz bowed and hugged eachother

"thank you everyone!" sophia says as you all walk back to the backstage

maybe you weren't meant to be the greatest artist there is, that doesnt mean that you should always let others put yourself down

and whatever the problem is, lara will always be there for you, no matter what happens

also pic taken by me!! i miss katseye sm bru :((

[wandaslittlelove]

hii!! could I please ask for a jealous agatha harkness x gf! reader — like, reader is young and has a seductive aura and angelic beauty, because of that everyone turns their heads when she enters anywhere, however, agatha begins to notice the not-so-so-discreet looks and even compliments of men and women and becomes insecure and a little uncomfortable with that new feeling. even in the coven, alice and jen have heart eyes when they look at the reader, but she is oblivious to all this, since she has always received compliments since she was a child. but one day, things escalate and agatha starts a fight, but the reader starts to get more and more nervous that turns in a panic attack, afraid that agatha will break up with her. In the end agatha assumes her jealousy and her insecurity of being left behind by someone of the same age as reader. angst with comfort.

thank you so much, I’ll adore anything you write, I know that 🫶 stay well

When Your Grey

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader Warnings: Angst/fluff, panic attacks, insecurity

It started out small. The weird feeling in Agatha’s chest. It first started at a cafe. The cashier had looked at you with a blush on their face as they rang up your order. At that Agatha had simply put a possessive hand on your back. She thought nothing of it. She knew you loved her. She knew you wanted only her.

The next time was in a bar. You, Agatha, Jen, Alice, and Lilia all sat at a table. You pressed into Agatha’s side as you laughed at something Alice had said. Agatha’s hands made small soothing movements on your thigh under the table as she smiled. Suddenly a man that couldn’t be older than the legal drinking age came up to the table. His posture was confident and he had a smug look on his face as he approached. You all turned to look at him but he only acknowledged you. Agatha’s grip on your thigh tightened and she could feel that feeling in her chest again as he asked you if he could buy you a drink. She watched as you politely declined but the feeling in her chest remained. She hardly spoke to you for the rest of the night and wouldn’t engage with any of the other coven members.

After that the feeling only got worse. Her possessiveness turned into doubt. Why would you be with her when you could have someone younger? Someone your age. It was no secret that Agatha was older than you. No secret that you were on the younger side and everyone around could see. Agatha kept telling herself that it was fine. That you loved her but doubt is like a parasit. It worms its way into your brain until it takes over. Until it’s all you can think about. It controls every thought. Every action. The day that the feeling grew too big was a normal coven meeting.

You all sat in the living room. Everyone tells stories. In Front of you all sat numerous books that had been abandoned about an hour ago when you decided to take a break from teaching each other. Agatha sat in her chair and you sat on the floor in between her legs. It was one of your favorite places to sit. Not because it made her feel superior but because she would run her hands through her hair and you could still take notes. Agatha tapped your shoulder and you looked up at her. Without words she motioned for you to move and you did. Standing Agatha made her way to the kitchen to get everyone some more drinks. While she did that you decided to head to the restroom. One Agatha’s way back she froze in the doorway as she heard Jen talking.

“I mean I really don’t understand it. She’s so young and Agatha…well Agatha’s older. Plus she’s definitely way too pretty for Agatha. I would have loved to get my hands on her first.” Agatha’s fist clenched around the drinks. Setting them down she made her way back into the living room and kicked everyone out. They looked at her confused but left nonetheless. For a moment Agatha just stood there. Her hands clenched at her sides as the feeling in her chest grew. The doubt in her mind screams. When you come back you look around the room confused.

“Did they leave already?” Your question was curious as you moved to pick up the books left on the floor. “Jen was supposed to teach me that healing potion” Agatha stood silent for a moment before scoffing.

“Maybe you should go with her then.” She says coldly. She doesn’t move from her spot. Not as you look up at her with a furrow in your brows.

“What? Why would I go with her?” Agatha’s hands clench harder. Her nails are digging into her skin and starting to leave marks.

“Oh don’t pretend you don’t know. You would just love to go to her huh? Just love to be hers. Or maybe you’d like to be the cafe’’s cashier. Or the guys and girls at the bars. How about someone your own age?” Agatha’s voice raises. You can almost see steam rising from her. She refuses to meet your eyes. Instead glaring at the ground like it personally offended her.

“Agatha what are you even talking about” You try to step towards her but she steps away. Hurt blooms in your chest. You don’t understand what’s happening. “Did something happen?”

“You know what better yet I’ll just go give them your number. Tell them how happy you would be with someone your age.” You frown at Agatha’s words. You go to speak but she beats you to it. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? To not be with some old hag.” You look at her in shock. The hurt bubbling up more. You push it down though. You know Agatha. While she can be mean she would never intentionally be mean to you. She loves you. Plus you know her signs. You can see the way her hands dig into her skin. The way her shoulders are stiff. The way she tries to hold back tears. You step towards her again. Holding your hands out. Something you did when she got overwhelmed. This time she doesn’t move away but still refuses to look at you.

Your hands softly rest on her cheeks as you pull her eyes up to yours. Her hands tremble as she slowly unclenches them and rests them on your waist. She holds onto you as if you’d disappear. Like if she let go you’d walk away.

“Agatha, tell me what's going on. Why are you saying all of this? You know I love you. Only you.” Her grip tightens slightly.

“It's just. It seems like everyone wants you. Jen was saying you should be with someone younger. That i'm too old” Your jaw clenches at her words. Jen had always not been a fan of Agatha. Always trying to one up her as if everything was a competition. You place a small kiss on Agatha’s lips. You don’t comment on the way she whimpers as you pull away. You pull her to her chair and sit her down. Once she’s seated you get on your knees on the floor and press kisses to her thighs. It wasn’t anything sexual. Just something that helped calm her when she was insecure.

“My love. No one else matters. I don’t want them. I don’t want someone younger. I want you. My beautiful witch wife. You could be grey and wrinkled and I'd still want you.” She says nothing and the silence starts to get to you. She hasn’t moved.Hasn’t spoken. Instead she just stares. You don’t know when it happens but eventually you're the one pulling away. Your breath grows uneven as she refuses to reach for you. Tears gather in your eyes as she stands. You start to think the worst. Was she breaking up with you? Was she leaving?

Your breathing becomes more panicked and you start shaking. Agatha doesn’t notice until a choked sob escapes your lips. The second it does her eyes are on you immediately. She kneels in front of you and calls your name but you can’t hear it. Everything sounds fuzzy. The room is blurring as tears cloud your vision. She was going to leave. She doesn’t want you anymore.

Agatha reaches out towards you and pulls you into her lap. She rocks you gently as tears of her own fall from her eyes.

“Breath Baby. Deep breaths. I'm here. I'm here. I'm so sorry” She continues to whisper reassurances until your breathing has calmed and your sobs turn into soft hiccups. “I love you. Im sorry” Her hands run through your hair as her tears soak into your shirt. You both grip onto each other. Trying to anchor on another. Eventually you pull away to look at her.

“I only want you” You hiccup and she nods.

“I know, baby. I know” She pulls your face back into her neck as she continues to rock you. You both stay like that for a while until she eventually lifts you and carries you to bed. She tucks you into her side and holds you tightly. You both had a lot to talk about in the morning. But you knew everything would be okay.

[lonely-ey3s]

Heartlines | Chapter Three

pairing: harry castillo (materialists) x f!reader

chapter summary : After you take lunch to his work, Harry asks you to be his date to his work masquerade party. However, he takes you shopping for the event beforehand, showing you how important you are and how serious he is about being with you.

chapter warnings: fluff, slow burn, angst, Harry speaks Spanish (translations will be there), switched POV's, drinking, thoughts of smut (18+ MDNI), flirting, if I missed anything, lmk!!

word count: 10.6k

a/n: i am super proud of this chapter. i hope you all enjoy it as much as i loved writing it. something about watching episode 2 just made me want to write anything but what i was feeling and it just poured into this chapter for harry and the reader.

also just a reminder! chapters will be every other sunday alternating ride or die !! enjoy 💗

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

You were called into the office early the next morning, another hiccup.

After everything calmed down and everyone from the wedding party had left for the airport or checked out, you had the rest of the day to yourself. 

After talking with Lila last night, and how well the conversation went with Harry, you wanted to return the favor to him. 

You ran to a classic sandwich shop down the street from the hotel, then took a cab to the address Lila provided you for where Harry worked. 

You got out of the taxi, and a tall building stood in front of you.

You'd lived in New York most of your life and the skyscrapers in the city weren't anything new, but they still overwhelmed you when you got this close.

You looked up and estimated it had over 100 floors, easily.

You took a deep breath as a wave of anxiety washed over you. Your heart started to pound — you felt like you were going to be sick. Something inside of you was trying to pull you back and away– put the walls back up. 

You shook your head and swallowed it all down, you weren't going to let it control you anymore. Not when you had a chance at being happy.

With that you put one foot in front of the other and made your way inside. 

Lila told you to go to the elevators and go to the 64th floor, so that’s what you did. 

The bellboy smiled at you as you entered. “I’ve not seen you here before…” he said, looking down at the bag you were holding. “Bringing someone lunch?” 

You nodded and looked down at the bag, smiling softly. 

“64th floor is all those investors… your friend rich?” he asked, trying to make small talk.

You chuckled as you tilted your head upward, watching the numbers slowly rise. “He does well for himself…” 

He scoffed and turned to look at the doors, back to assuming his position, “That’s just a nice way of saying he’s loaded,” he teased.

You shrugged, letting out a small chuckle, then looked at the doors as you approached the 64th floor. “I guess it is...”

The bell dinged, and the doors opened.

You looked over at him and nodded politely, “Thank you.” Then you stepped out and began walking down the hallway toward the large glass doors with the company logo on it. 

The moment you stepped inside, the air shifted.

It was colder than you expected — not in temperature, but in tone. Sleek, polished, professional. The kind of place where every inch had been carefully curated to project power without ever needing to say it aloud.

You swallowed at the scale; the complete change of environment from where you worked was overwhelming.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along one wall, letting in the hard, clear light of the city. Every desk gleamed like it had been buffed ten minutes ago. Dark wood, glass, leather chairs—everything was uniform, clean cut.

The soft hum of voices and muted clicks of keyboards filled the air — no shouting, no chaos — just the efficient, almost clinical buzz of money moving from one place to another.

Men and women in sharp suits moved through the space with purpose, their watches catching the light, their gazes focused and far too busy to notice you lingering near the front.

Behind a massive desk, a receptionist with a headset gave you a tight, polite smile. Her nails tapped against the keyboard like she was marking time until the next meeting.

You noticed the voice coming from the other side of the desk and immediately felt relieved at the first sign of someone interacting with you instead of ignoring you. "Delivery?"

You came over and shook your head shyly, “I’m uh, not delivering, I'm actually here to have lunch with a uhm, someone who works here? Harry Castillo?” you looked at her with an eyebrow raised, hoping you were in the right place.

She smiled brightly, “Oh, Mr. Castillo! Let me page his assistant!” She touched a button on the desk phone. 

“No!” you shouted, making her jump. “Sorry, no… I uh, I’m surprising him,” you chuckled nervously. 

“Oh!” she softly giggled, nodding. “Let me take you to where his office is. You can wait for him in there,” she smiled softly and stood to walk around the reception desk, “He’s just in a meeting for maybe another 15 minutes or so…” 

You nodded and smiled politely as you trailed closely behind her. 

She started to walk through the office, smiling and nodding at a few people here and there. You looked around and got a sense of what Harry might do for work, picking up on small details. 

You heard your name being called from across the office floor and turned to follow where the call was coming from. 

Ben smiled and waved to you. “What the heck are you doing here?” he said as he started to come over to you. 

You smiled and chuckled lightly, holding up the bag you had in your hand, “I was going to surprise Harry with lunch…” You nodded towards the receptionist, who stopped walking as you did. 

Ben waved her off, “I’ll take her the rest of the way, Lucy, thank you for helping,” he smiled. 

She nodded and walked back to her desk, leaving you and Ben alone. 

“So... you and Harry?” he grinned and offered his arm for you to hold while you two continued to walk. 

You chuckled as you took it, “Nothin’ is… we uhm, we aren’t exclusive.” You shyly scrambled over your response. 

Ben huffed out a small chuckle, “Not exclusive? He’s head over heels for you! And I think, based on how Lila came home last night, gossiping about your little phone call– you are feeling the same way,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes and nudged him playfully. 

There was a small pause before you spoke again, “I’m not sure how to feel. We haven’t gone out on an official date yet. Just flirting, you know... getting to know each other…” You glanced up at him. 

“Ah, I see…” he nodded, softly tutting. He then opened a door that had Harry’s name on a placard by it. “Can I offer some advice then?” 

You stepped in and let go of his arm. “Advice for me or him?” you joked. 

He chuckled at your jab but then sighed softly and smiled somewhat sadly, “I’ve known Harry for a long time. He’s been hurt just as much as you have.” He looked down for a moment and then back up at you. “He’s someone who puts everything into someone…” he nodded towards his desk, “If you can… find a way to reciprocate it? Give each other a chance. Let him take care of you, but also... take care of him…” 

Your eyes scanned over his desk. Of all the other desks you saw, Harry's had a warmth to it. There were framed photos and even a small Lego Batman figure you assumed was from one of his nephews or nieces. A flashback from the wedding make you chuckle as you thought about the joke you two had walking down the aisle.

You then looked back at Ben, understanding what he meant. “I’ll do my best,” you smiled softly. 

He nodded and gently patted the door frame. “I know you will,”

You both heard his name being called from another part of the office. He cleared his throat and sighed. “I’m being summoned,” he said, chuckling. 

You nodded and came over, gently kissing his cheek, “It’s good to see you. I’ll come say goodbye before I leave.” 

He nodded and returned the gentle kiss on your cheek, “You better…” 

You chuckled softly and nodded, then walked back to sit in a chair that sat in front of Harry’s desk before he closed the door and left. 

Harry’s POV

He had been in this meeting for almost an hour now, and Kent’s monotone voice was almost lulling him to sleep. 

Slide 28 of 35.

‘God help us all.’ he thought as he looked at his watch to see the time, eager to get on with his day.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting back to the slideshow in front of him and the rest of the executives as they attentively watched. 

Another chart. Another bullet point. Another pointless deep dive into data he’d already skimmed three days ago, processed, and moved on from.

He glanced at his phone, barely visible in his lap under the glass table. He’d been itching to give you a call back since this morning. Especially after last night's phone call was cut short by his own fatigue. 

He sat there and wondered what you were doing right now. God, how he wanted nothing more than to spend 20 minutes in your presence.

Ever since the wedding, it seemed like the two of you couldn’t catch a break. You both are constantly being pulled away from each other. The mere thought of having a whole evening with you, dinner or something, where the two of you can just be… it was all he could think about. 

“…and now we’ll open it up for thoughts on how we might approach portfolio diversification in Q3,” Kent’s voice at the end of the table cut through his thoughts. “Harry, any thoughts?”

He looked up sharply, blinking once as the room’s attention shifted toward him.

He softly cleared his throat, put his phone into his pocket, and straightened his tie. He leaned forward just enough to appear engaged, not like he had mentally disconnected from the meeting 10 slides ago.

“Well,” he began smoothly, “given the volatility we’ve seen in international equities and the Fed’s latest posture, I’d say it’s less about diversification and more abou–” he stopped. 

For a moment, he thought his eyes were playing a sick joke on him as he saw you, smiling, walking through the office. His office. 

He blinked to refocus his vision, but you were still there. Arm in arm with Ben, both of you heading towards his office.

His heart stuttered, then picked up speed like it was trying to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. A warmth flooded his chest—not the soft kind, but the kind that made him feel a little dizzy. It made him feel alive.

The only thing he could focus on was you— how the light caught your eyes, how your smile lit up the room. 

A small smile cracked through onto his lips. 

Another executive cleared his throat, which snapped his attention back to the group. 

He cleared his throat and turned a soft shade of red. “Excuse me. As I was saying, uh…” He chuckled softly, feeling a bit nervous from his sudden distraction. 

He looked at you once more before turning his attention to the table, “It’s less about diversification and more about precision. Risk-adjusted returns only mean something if you’re holding the right risk.” 

He watched as a few heads nodded in agreement. One guy scribbled something down on his pad as if it were gospel. No one questioned it. They rarely did with Harry.

He leaned back in his seat and anxiously tapped his thumb against the file folder in front of him, creating a soft thumping. 

He wasn’t eager for this meeting to end due to its boredom now; he was keen for it to end so he could go to you.

He watched your location from the corner of his vision. After a few minutes, Ben left and closed his door, meaning only one thing: you were in his office alone, and he could have you all to himself. 

About 10 minutes later, Mr. Clarkson, the CEO, stood up and started gathering his belongings. “Thanks so much for your time today, everyone. As a reminder, Ruby will send you all the formal invitations for our dinner party this Friday, involving Tets Investments closing with us.”

His ears perked to the announcement. He'd completely forgotten about it. 'That's it. I'll ask her to be my date...'

Everyone else stood and collected their bearings, nodding in acknowledgment. 

A young man opened the glass door and headed towards Harry.

It was his assistant Peter. He had a tablet and a few folders in his arm along with a wireless headset in his ear. “Ok, so you’ve got a meeting with Angela and Bryan from accounting in about 30 minutes. This is the paperwork you need to look over,” he handed Harry the file folder, exchanging it for the one he had from the meeting. 

Harry started walking out of the conference room, buttoning his suit jacket up as he strolled, “I need to reschedule that.” He held the folder for Peter to take back.

Peter scoffed, letting out a bewildered chuckle, “What, why?” He took the folder back and began scrolling through Harry’s calendar on the tablet, trying to see what openings were in their schedules to rebook. 

“Something came up. Just make it happen please...” he smiled as he straightened his tie and huffed his breath into his palm to check if it smelled decent. 

Peter turned his head to observe everything he was doing, confused for a moment but continued. “Uhm, do you need me to reschedule your 3 pm meeting with Elsie from marketing then?” 

“Let’s keep that, but I’ll let you know if that needs to be changed.” He went to reach for the handle, but Peter beat him to it out of habit and opened it. 

“Of course. Just let me kn—” he stopped, seeing you in the middle of Harry’s office. “Oh…” 

You quickly stood and smiled, putting your hands in front of you shyly, “Surprise…” you beamed. 

Harry’s head quickly snapped from looking at Peter to you and smiled brightly, playing along with your surprise, “You’re here…” he chuckled and squeezed through the door that Peter was standing gobsmacked in front of.

He came over and gently touched your hand, leaning down to kiss your cheek.  

You held up the bag of food in between you, “I uhm, I brought lunch… do you have some time?” your cheeks turned rosy red as he looked down at you. 

Peter cleared his throat softly and grinned sinfully, "I’ll see if Elsie can reschedule for tomorrow. I'll tell her something came up...” he teased.

Harry looked back at him and shook his head, smiled softly at the jab, “This is my assistant, Peter.” he looked back at you. 

You smiled and held out your hand as you walked over to him, “Peter, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m Y/N.” 

He took your hand and grinned wider, “Wait... Y/N as in Y/N from the wedding?” he looked at Harry, jaw slacked dramatically. 

You chuckled and looked back at him, “Have you been talkin’ about me around the office now?” you teased. 

Peter smirked, “Oh, he’s not shut up since… he won’t—” 

Harry interjected quickly, turning red, “Is that the phone I hear?” he nodded towards Peter’s desk. 

There was no phone ringing. 

You bit your lip, trying to hide a giggle, and looked down shyly. 

Peter cleared his throat softly, getting the memo Harry was trying to send. “It’s lovely to meet you again,” he said, touching your arm gently. “Enjoy your lunch.” 

You smiled softly and thanked him before he closed the door softly. 

After a moment of silence, Harry softly cleared his throat and looked over at you, “I uhm… I’ve been meanin’ to call you since last night…” He took off his jacket, placing it on the back of the chair where he stood, and started to roll up his sleeves. 

You turned around and tucked some loose hairs behind your ears. “I’ve been meaning to do the same.” You walked over slowly, the tension suddenly felt high. 

Another small moment of silence. 

“I had things end a little earlier than we planned at the hotel, so I thought I’d… you know… return the favor and come surprise you.” You softly smiled at him. 

The act of you matching the level of interest he'd been displaying since the wedding was heartwarming to him. He was getting what he put in, put out towards him. It was something he hadn't had in a partner in a very long time. It was all he wanted, someone to match his love language, or at least appreciate it.

He had a sweet and warm smile across his lips as he watched you, “I’ve missed you…” 

You looked down into the bag shyly, “I’ve missed you too…” You started pulling the food out and setting it on the table. 

Harry watched for a moment from where he was standing and then moved to stand behind you, putting his hand on the small of your back. “Can I help?” 

It was just a touch—barely anything. His hand was barely on your back, light as a whisper.

But it hit like a lightning strike.

A wave of warmth flooded your chest, spreading out like someone had turned on a light from the inside.

Your cheeks burned instantly, that unmistakable flush that crept up your neck no matter how hard you had tried to will it away. Your heart skipped a beat, the one that made your mind short-circuit. 

Butterflies? More like a full-blown riot in your stomach. 

You turned your head to look at him and nodded but then got lost in his gaze momentarily. 

He said your name softly, his eyes flickering to your lips. 

You inhaled a shaky, nervous breath before blurting out. “N-Napkins…” 

His gaze flickered up to your eyes, grinning like he knew what he was doing to you. 

“Do you have any napkins?” you grinned sheepishly. 

He nodded. “Yeah, they're in my desk…” He walked around to the other side to retrieve them. 

You looked down at the food you’d laid out and tried to settle yourself– taking in a small deep breath. 

Harry tutted, “So– I may have figured out a first date for us if you’re up for it?” He looked up from his drawer.

You glanced at him and softly chuckled, “Oh? What would that be?” 

He came back around his desk with a small pile of napkins, smiling warmly. He sat down on his desk before taking his sandwich, then patting the area beside him for you to sit. “I have a work dinner party on Friday. It’s a masquerade-type thing…” he kept his gaze on the sandwich as he spoke. 

You sat down and looked at him as he spoke, unwrapping your sandwich, “Are you asking me to be your date, Mr. Castillo?” you teased, lightly nudging his side with your elbow. 

He let out a light chuckle and looked at you, a twinkle in his big brown eyes had become clearer now that you were closer. “I’m askin’ you to be my date, sweetheart…” 

You hummed, and your eyes danced across his features, then you looked down at your sandwich. “In that case, I need to go shopping for a mask…” You smiled as you bit your bottom lip. 

“Is that a yes?” he kept his gaze on you, his smile slowly grew. 

You looked back up at him and your smile became softer, “That’s a yes…” 

He looked back at his sandwich and took a bite, saying with his mouth somewhat full, making you giggle, “Good. Then that means I get to take you dress shopping…” 

You also took a bite and then paused, covering your mouth with your hand. “Wait, what?” You thought you misheard him. 

He chewed and swallowed, turning to look at you. “I’m taking you dress shopping,” he shrugged, smiling to himself as if it were no big deal. 

You chortled, now thinking he was joking. 

“What’s so funny?” he smiled innocently. 

You tilted your head to the side to gauge him out and scooted away from him to see him better, “Harry, you’re kidding, right?” 

His smile didn’t waver as he shook his head, “Why would I joke about that?” he snickered softly. 

You stuttered, “I just… like you want to go with me when I shop? Help me pick out something?” You set your sandwich down. This now needing your full, undivided attention.

He set his sandwich down as well and turned slightly, finding you amusing, “I want to buy you a dress, accessories, shoes… the mask… anything you might want for the event.” He reached forward and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want to take care of you.” 

You looked down shyly at your hand sitting flat on the desk. You didn’t know what to say. You felt like words weren’t computing inside your brain. It was like you were short-circuiting again.

“Will you let me do that?” he asked. 

Ben’s words echoed in your head, ‘Let him take care of you.’

You looked up and did the only thing you could. You nodded while a shy smile slipped onto your lips. 

“Good.” He leaned forward and softly kissed your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. It was as if he were savoring the tender contact, the intimate gesture. He pulled away and smiled warmly, “Do you have time to go this evening?” 

“Yeah… I’ve got time,” you croaked out, your voice cracking slightly. You cleared your throat and lightly let out a chuckle, for which he joined in.

You readjusted to sit back as you were before and picked up your sandwich.

You sat there for a moment, then scooted closer and leaned your head on his shoulder. “So tell me, how was your meeting?” You took a bite, then slid your hand into his. 

He couldn’t help the idiot grin he had on his face but couldn’t give a shit.

He hummed softly, contentedly, and took his sandwich with his free hand and sighed softly, “Long version or short version, hermosa?”  

You nuzzled your head in softly, “Long version…” 

After you left Harry’s work and went back to yours, he told you that he’d pick you up from the hotel to go shopping around 5 pm. 

In true Harry Castillo fashion, he was 10 minutes early, standing outside his car with a new bouquet. This time, it was of peonies. 

You clocked out a few minutes early and walked out to find him leaning against the all black SUV, his eyes on the flowers. He was now dressed in a tan button-down and dark-wash jeans.

You smiled at the sight, “Do you ever not look dashing?” you teased. 

His eyes snapped up to you and instantly had a smile on his face, “Hey there, beautiful…” 

You came up and gently kissed his cheek. “What do we have this time?” you looked down at the flowers, your cheeks pink. 

He leaned down and kissed your cheek back, then held up the flowers a little to present them, “Peonies…” 

You took them from him gently and took a small sniff, “Ooh, I like the smell of those…” you glanced up at him. 

He smiled wider, excited, “Oh? Have we found a favorite?” He had his hand gently on yours, his thumb rubbing the outside of your wrist. 

You blushed at the tenderness, “I think we have a contender, but let’s still run through other flowers. You know, just to be sure…” You winked. 

He chuckled, “Noted.” He then leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Shall we?”  

You nodded and went to get into the front passenger seat out of habit. 

Meanwhile, he opened the back door for you and waited for you to notice.

You turned around to him, confused about why you'd be sitting in the backseat. But then you saw there was a driver in the front seat and tutted. “Should have known better,” you giggled and came back, getting in the back seat.  

Ted, Harry’s driver, took you both to a shopping plaza in SoHo. 

The moment Harry opened your door and you stepped out, you saw places like Chanel, Dior, and Louis Vuitton. 

You chuckled and shook your head, backing up towards the car, not knowing how to react. “Harry, we are not shopping at places like this… It’s too expensive… I…” You looked up at the pretty neon signs above the store's doors. “This is…” You scoffed, not able to find the words. 

You didn’t feel worth it. 

You didn’t feel that him spending this much money on you was something you deserved. 

It felt wrong. But there it was again, Ben’s words, ‘Let him take care of you,’ and for Harry, this was his way of doing just that. 

He chuckled at your reaction and looked at Ted. “Meet us back here in a few hours.” 

Ted nodded and drove off, leaving you looking at Harry with a bewildered smile on your face, to which he just smiled adoringly at you. 

“What?” you giggled. 

He held out his hand and sighed. “Just trust me?” he said, smiling warmly. 

You bit your lip and shook your head, but then sighed playfully, “Alright… fine…” You slid your hand into his. 

He led you into the first store, Chanel, where a shopping attendant greeted you both at the door, eager to make a nice commission. 

She looked lavish and expensive, dressed head to toe in 'completely out of your budget' attire—even the air she was exhaling made you feel poor. “Welcome in! My name is Genevieve. Is there anything I can help you find?” 

You looked up to Harry, unsure of what to do or say. Everything about this seemed like an out-of-body experience to you. 

He smiled and looked at her, letting go of your hand, setting his on the small of your back. “Genevieve, we have a masquerade ball this weekend, and she needs a new dress, new shoes… she needs it all,” he grinned.

You smiled shyly at her, “Maybe we can just start with a dress? I have stuff at home, I’m sure I can use…” You looked up at Harry for a moment, then back at her. 

You didn’t want to be like every other girl Harry had been with; you didn’t want to feel like a gold digger. 

He mouthed to her, ‘Everything’, then winked and grinned. 

She chuckled and nodded at him, understanding completely. “Well, that sounds like fun!” She looked at you and said, “Let's start with what colors you have in mind?” 

She started to walk through the store, heading towards the dresses, and you both followed close behind. 

You looked around, eyes scanning over everything. It was all so immaculate, gleaming, and expensive. You’d never even thought you’d own anything like this, let alone be walking through one of the stores. “Well, I usually go towards darker colors, but I’ve been told I look good in red?” you glanced at her.  

She nodded and started skimming through some of the selections, grabbing some options, humming as she did so. 

Harry walked to another section with you, pulling out a dark red dress, one with a slit up the thigh, but it was just what you liked or would have picked out yourself. “Thoughts?” He glanced at you. 

You nodded and smiled, barely running your fingers over the silky fabric, “I like it.” 

Genevieve gasped, coming over, seeing his selection, “Good choice!” She smiled and took it from him, putting it in the small pile she’d gathered over her arm. “Why don’t we try these on? And then we can narrow down what we do and don’t like– and if we need to go from there.” 

You nodded and smiled. 

“Perfect. If you’d follow me… and then Mr. Castillo, if you’ll take a seat, we’ll get started.” She nodded for you to follow her.

Harry softly rubbed your back, “I’ll just be out here,” then kissed your cheek gently. 

You nodded and smiled up at him.

You walked away and followed her into the dressing room, your hands shyly behind your back. 

You entered the dressing room and changed into a dark brown dress with a very deep bust and dangerously high slit up the thigh. It felt a little too inappropriate for the party you were attending. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror and shook your head, then looked at Genevieve, “I think this is too much…” You looked down at the plunge that opened up your cleavage, blushing at what Harry might think. 

“Do you want to go out and show your boyfriend? Just to get a feel for it?” She smiled and tilted her head, “You know, give him a show?” She giggled playfully. 

“Oh, um, he’s not my— well not yet… I mean, I hope eventually he– Fuck sorry...” You were stumbling over your words. 

She grinned and tilted her head mischievously, “Even more reason to then…” 

You chuckled lightly and looked back at yourself in the mirror. You had to admit, you looked good. No. You looked fucking amazing. The dress accentuated your curves, complemented your skin tone, it made you radiant. “Alright…” you looked at her. “What’s the harm?” you smirked and picked up the front to walk out. 

She cleared her throat and began walking to the main floor to catch Harry's attention. 

Harry was sitting back on the couch, but then immediately straightened up and turned a light shade of red the moment he saw you. He quietly cleared his throat and mumbled under his breath, “Fuck me…” 

You stepped onto the platform and turned to look in the mirrors, watching Harry’s reaction from behind you with a slight smirk. 

“You’re wearing one of our vintage evening gowns from 1987…” She began straightening some parts as she continued, “This is typically worn with black velvet gloves, which would go quite nicely with your masquerade theme…” She began to adjust the train of the dress to present it. 

Harry was speechless. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, off your body.

His mouth went dry. His mind—usually so sharp, so calculated—was suddenly fogged with one thought, one need, one echo pounding in time with his pulse:

Want.

His pulse thundered in his ears. The slit in the dress climbed like a secret up your thigh, and the way your eyes flicked to him in the mirror—slow, knowing—sent fire curling in his gut.

His thoughts? Completely undone. Replaced by vivid flashes: your back against a wall, lips crashing into his, fingers in his hair, that dress tangled somewhere on the floor.

Genevieve clocked his reaction in the mirror and glanced at you, giving you a knowing wink and a slight smirk. 

You turned around and smiled innocently his way, “Thoughts?” 

His eyes continued to drink you in, eyes trailing down your body— not hearing a word you said. 

You let out a soft giggle, “Harry?”

His gaze snapped up to yours, and he cleared his throat, turning a darker shade of red.

“Sorry, sweetheart, did you say something? I…” he ran his thumb over his bottom lip and looked back down your body, “You look…" he exhaled, "Wow…” he said lowly, sitting forward a bit. 

You blushed and turned back to look at yourself in the mirror. “I feel it might be too much for a work party, you know?” You slid your hands down your body to smooth out the dress. Not knowing it was doing something to him, giving him a little show. 

He chuckled nervously as he adjusted his hips from the unwelcome bulge starting to form.  “I… look, you’re hearin’ no complaints from me…” He swallowed, trying to calm himself down.

You looked back at him and bit your bottom lip, “So, you like this one?” 

His eyes snapped back up to yours and he grinned, “Darlin’, you make anythin’ look good… Of course I like it.” he nodded towards the dressing rooms, “But let’s try on some more, get a feel for what you like, not what I like...” he raised his eyebrow, being supportive of you dressing for you, not for him. 

Genevieve spoke up, “I like what he said. This is about what you like.” She offered her hand. “Plus, we can always return to this one and see if our minds change…” She looked up at you and smiled politely. 

You looked down at Genevieve, taking her hand, stepping off the platform, and smiled back, “I agree…” 

She nodded and then led you back to the dressing room, where she had you put on a few more dresses. 

You walked out and showed Harry each time, but they didn’t have the same reaction as the first—for you or him. 

However, there was one last dress.

It was the one that Harry had found.

And once it was on you, it fit like a glove. 

It was everything— elegant, sexy, tasteful, but allowed for slight teasing. 

It had a high slit up the thigh and had a somewhat lower cut in the bust. However, it was more tasteful than the first as it highlighted your collarbones and shoulders beautifully. 

You couldn’t help but beam when you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You looked radiant. 

You walked out to see Harry on his phone texting, but the second he heard Genevieve’s high heels hit the floor, his attention snapped up.

It was like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs the way his breath caught as he saw you. 

You bit your bottom lip and blushed at the clear reaction. You knew this one was it with how his eyes drank every inch of you in. 

The first was fun—something to wear to a more intimate and casual event. However, this one was tasteful and had the exact same effect on him, leaving him speechless. 

You stepped up and looked into the mirrors. You now were able to see how it hugged every curve of you beautifully. Every line— highlighted. 

You worked your angles, making sure everything fit perfectly, and then looked at Harry in the mirror, “Thoughts?” 

He took a moment to absorb how beautiful you looked.

He was thinking about how much he’d been waiting for so long to feel this way for someone, and now here you are— right in front of him. He wasn’t going to let you go or let you down. As he looked at you in this moment, not only was the dress the one, but so are you. 

He smiled adoringly and nodded at you, “I’m going to be the luckiest man at the party with how beautiful you look in that dress, querida…” He leaned forward, giving you his fullest attention. 

You blushed and found his eyes in the mirror. You took a deep breath and nodded at him, "Ok, this is the one."

Genevieve giggled, which pulled your focus to her. She clapped her hands together a couple times, “Ah! I love it! This dress was made for you…” 

She took a step back and hummed, “However, it’s missing something…” She tapped her fingers on her lips as she began thinking for a few seconds, then she lit up and held up a finger, “I’ve got it! Wait here…” She then disappeared into the store on the hunt. 

You looked back over your shoulder and chuckled, “What could possibly be missing?” 

Harry looked behind his shoulder to see where she had gone, but couldn’t find her.

He looked back at you, and both of you smiled shyly at each other. 

He stood from the couch and made his way over to you. The closer he got, the more his eyes ran over every part of you. You shyly looked back at the mirror and watched his movements.

He hummed before offering his hand for you to step off the platform, “Well… it may not be what she’s thinking… but I do have something in mind that I’ve been thinking might make it better…” 

You took his hand and stepped off the platform, slightly confused but intrigued. You looked up at him and smiled softly, “Oh? What would that be?” you teased, feeling shy under his gaze. 

He swallowed down his nerves, then found your eyes, “Just my opinion, but…” He slowly reached up and cupped your cheek before leaning in, his voice a hushed whisper lost between the beats of your heart. His thumb brushed gently along your cheekbone, eyes searching yours like he needed to be sure this moment was real.

The world seemed to blur around you—no more noise, no more people, just the closeness between you and him. You could feel the warmth of his breath as the space narrowed, your lips a breath apart.

Your hands—unsure at first—found their way to the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling lightly near his chest. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palms, quick like yours. One hand slid up almost instinctively, fingertips grazing the side of his neck, drawn to the way he leaned into your touch.

“…this,” he finished, his words trembling on the edge of a kiss.

Your thoughts became rushed—Is this really happening? Can he feel how nervous I am? God, please don’t mess this up. But beneath all that noise was something quieter, something softer: I want this. I want him.

And then he closed the distance.

It was gentle and deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize the shape of your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, all those thoughts dissolved. There was only the feeling—the warmth, the closeness, the way the world melted away until it was just him.

Your fingers tightened slightly in his shirt as the kiss deepened, just a little, and you tilted your head to meet him more fully. You felt seen. Wanted. Safe.

When he pulled back, barely an inch, his forehead rested against yours. His breath mingled with yours, both of you smiling in the quiet.

Your eyes flutter open, and you let out a soft chuckle, whispering, “I um, I think to add that to the outfit, there’s an added fee…” you joked, gently caressing his jawline with your fingertips, studying his features, memorizing everything about this moment. 

His eyes remained closed, forehead still against yours as he chuckled, low and warm in his chest, before he leaned back in and murmured against your lips, “Whatever the price… I’ll pay millions if it means I get to kiss you like that, querida…”

You barely had time to smile before his lips were on yours again—this time slower, deeper, like he had all the time in the world and no intention of rushing any second of it.

His hand slid from your cheek down to your waist, fingers splaying there as he gently pulled you in, closing the last bit of distance between your bodies. The warmth of his touch burned through the thin fabric, and the feeling of his body pressed against yours sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hands moved instinctively, trailing up his chest—feeling the steady beat of his heart — before loosely wrapping around his neck, fingertips threading into his hair. You tilted your head slightly, leaning into him, meeting the kiss with just as much quiet urgency.

It was deep, but not desperate—tender in its intensity. He kissed you like he needed you to feel what he couldn’t quite say out loud yet. Like he wanted you to know this wasn’t just a moment. It was the moment.

Your breaths mingled, uneven now, but neither of you seemed to care. The world outside your embrace didn’t exist anymore—not when his thumb was drawing slow circles against your waist, not when you felt him smile slightly against your lips like kissing you was the best decision he'd ever made.

Genevieve’s voice cut through the haze you two were in, making you both slowly pull away and look at each other, both smiling like idiots.  

“I found thi—” she saw what she’d interrupted and shyly chuckled, “Oh, pardon me, umm…” she turned away, attempting to give you both privacy.

Harry lightly chuckled and kissed your forehead. “No, no… pardon me...” He let go of your waist and looked at Genevieve as she turned back around, his lips somewhat red and cheeks rosy. “What did you find for her?” he nodded to her as he went and sat back down. 

You let out a slow exhale, and tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear as she came over and had some jewelry and handbags to show you. 

You looked away first, cheeks warming all over again as Genevieve continued talking, holding up a clutch with little gold details. You nodded along, barely catching half of what she said—your heart still somewhere between his hands and that kiss.

You caught him glancing at you again from the corner of your eye.

Not in a way that demanded anything, just… there. Warm, steady, a little breathless—like he was still replaying that kiss in his head the same way you were.

Your lips curved into a shy smile before you could stop it. You no longer tried to hide it. Not when the air still hummed between you. Not when he looked at you like that kiss opened up that part in his heart deep down like it did for you.

He tilted his head just slightly, like he was memorizing the way you looked when you were trying not to smile. Like this was his new favorite view.

Genevieve didn’t seem to notice—or if she did, she was kind enough to pretend. She kept chatting as she turned to the mirror, holding up one of the necklaces to your neckline.

And in the quiet moment that followed, your eyes met his again.

This time, you held the look.

Long enough for it to say everything,

I liked that. I want more. We’re not done.

And when he gave you that barely-there smile again—the one that said I know, me too—your heart skipped, flipped, and practically melted into your chest.

Friday 

You managed to get off work around 4 pm, as you were panicking about being ready on time. 

Harry told you last night that he’d pick you up at seven. With that being said, that would give you 3 hours to run around your place like a madwoman while Lila chased you around, trying to help put you together.

As expected, he knocked right on time, 7 pm sharp. 

Lila was still there unexpectedly, as there was a last-minute makeup snafu. 

You whispered hearing the door, “Fuck! You aren’t supposed to be here!” 

She quietly giggled and shoved you towards the door. 

You turned back and chuckled, pointing behind the couch, “Hide! Quickly!” 

She ran and hid behind the couch, peeking around so she could see the front door.  

You let out a breath and shook your hands shaking out all the nerves. 

You hadn’t seen Harry since that day he took you shopping. Afterwards, both your schedules picked up again– his taking him out of town for the last couple of days. 

All the nervousness and tension had been building up from the calls and texts you two shared over the last couple of days. You both were very eager to see each other. 

Lila popped out and loudly whispered, “Oh for Christ sake, open the door!” 

You turned around and waved her off, shushing her, giggling. 

She popped back down, and you opened the door— and there he was. 

He looked absolutely devastating in a dark, subtly patterned suit that hugged his frame perfectly, the crisp white of his shirt peeking through just enough to make him seem both dangerous and heartbreakingly polite. His hair was tousled back, like he’d run his hands through it a few too many times in nervous excitement. He had a little smirk across his lips — the one that made his deep-set eyes soften — aimed straight at you.

‘God damn it, how was I supposed to survive tonight when he looks like that?’ 

He was holding a bouquet that was wrapped in brown paper, tied sweetly with a dark red bow, one to match your dress. 

The moment he laid eyes on you, for a second — maybe longer — he forgot how to breathe.

He dragged his eyes back up to yours, trying (and failing) not to look too awestruck. His heart was pounding like he’d just run a mile.

"Wow..." he breathed out, voice a little rougher than he intended. He chuckled low, shaking his head as he stepped closer, the world around him narrowing down to nothing but you.

"You’re... you're going to ruin me tonight, aren’t you?" he smirked.

Before you could even tease him back with a response, he was already moving, drawn in like gravity had decided you were the center of the universe.

He cupped your face gently, and then he kissed you — slow at first, like he wanted to savor the moment, then a little deeper when he felt you lean into him.

It wasn't rushed, wasn't messy — it was the kind of kiss that promised a night neither of you would forget, filled with heat, laughter, and something dangerously close to falling head over heels.

When he finally pulled back, barely an inch, his forehead rested against yours, and he whispered, a little breathless, "You have no idea what you’re doing to me..."

You breathlessly whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek, “I’ve missed you…” 

He smiled like he’d never smiled before hearing that. His arm moved down to wrap around your waist and pull you close to him, “God, I’ve missed you too…” 

You giggled and leaned back in, forgetting about Lila completely– who was watching from behind the couch with a shit eating grin on her face trying not to make a peep.

This time, you kissed him deeper.

You melted into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, needing something to hold onto as the kiss grew hotter, messier — the kind that made time stutter and your heart pound in your ears.

He tilted his head, deepening it even more, a low sound escaping from the back of his throat that made your knees threaten to give out. It wasn’t just desire in the kiss — it was something hungry, something that said he’d been waiting for this without even realizing it.

When you finally broke apart, both of you felt a little dizzy. He kept his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in like you were oxygen.

"If we don't leave right now..." he murmured, his voice thick with desire, "... I’m not sure we ever will." He gently squeezed your waist, pulling you close to him.

You swallowed and nodded, your eyes staying closed for a moment while you centered yourself. 

Your eyes opened, and slowly, reluctantly pulled away from him, blushing, “I uhm, I need to grab my mask and purse.” 

You nodded to your living room, “Make yourself at home.” 

You went to turn away when he gasped and pulled you back, “Shit, I uhm, I got these for you…” he held up the bouquet between the two of you, smiling down at you. 

You leaned down and sniffed them, blushing as he watched. 

“Chocolate ranunculus…” he softly said. 

“I like them. They match my dress…” You smiled sweetly up at him. 

He tutted and tilted his head, biting his lip, “That may have been intentional, hermosa…”

You hummed and took them from him softly, “Well, I’m going to go put these in a vase before we leave… I’ll be quick.” You reached up on your toes and pecked his lips, leaving him smiling like a fool as you disappeared down the hall.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, still feeling the ghost of your lips, and began casually pacing your living room — taking in the framed photos, souvenirs, and small touches that felt undeniably you. 

His smile widened when he spotted a photo of you and Lila on your wall at the beach, arms wrapped around each other, laughing mid-splash. 

That’s when he heard it — the soft creak of movement behind the couch.

He tilted his head slowly. “You know,” he said, loud enough to be heard but still casual, “if you’re gonna spy on your sister’s love life, Lila, you should at least bring popcorn to enjoy the show.”

Lila popped up like a guilty meerkat, her expression caught somewhere between sheepish and exasperated. “I knew I should’ve hid in the coat closet,” she muttered.

He crossed his arms, grinning smugly. “That would’ve made it so much less suspicious...” He chuckled.

“Don’t look so proud of yourself, okay?” she grumbled. “I wasn’t spying. I was... waiting for my moment to escape when you two left.”

“By hiding behind a piece of furniture like a sitcom character?” he teased.

“You were early!” she snapped, pointing an accusatory finger. 

He just laughed. “I was on time!”

Just then, you reappeared, carrying a vase of freshly arranged flowers — and immediately froze.

“Oh my God.” You stared at the two of them, eyes wide. “Lila you didn’t just see—”

“She did,” he said, without missing a beat.

“She didn’t,” Lila cut in at the same time, trying to sidestep around him with her dignity barely intact.

“You did, you saw…” you groaned, half-laughing, half-mortified.

Lila chuckled, feeling your embarrassment, “I’m sorry… but for the record... you guys are adorable... all love sick and needy!” she teased.

You waved a hand at the door. “Just go. Get out. Shoo. Go. Vanish...”

Lila muttered something under her breath that made Harry chuckle, then finally slipped out, leaving the door swinging shut behind her.

He looked at you, still smiling. “You two really are sisters.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your clutch and mask. “Oh, stop it...” Your cheeks are still red with embarrassment. 

He chuckled lowly. “You’re cute when you’re like this…” he said, offering you his arm. “Ready?”

You looped your arm through his, still grinning as the two of you stepped out into the night — leaving behind the flowers, the laughter, and the sister-shaped chaos.

Ted drove the two of you to the Cipriani 25 Broadway venue.

When the two of you got inside, the hall was packed.

His hand was warm against the small of your back as the heavy doors creaked open before the two of you. For a moment, you both just stood there, the world inside the ballroom spilling out, enchanting you.

The hall was bathed in gold and shadow, candlelight flickering off marble columns — soaring, painted ceilings.

Nearly two hundred masked figures swirled and laughed, their movements weaving an intricate and glowing motion.

You could hear music coming from a hidden quartet, which made the atmosphere feel delicate and rich. 

You felt his breath hitch– you glanced up to find him already looking down at you. His dark suit caught the light just right. It was enough to hint at its texture — and the sharp line of his jaw was only partly hidden by the black Venetian mask he wore. He looked deliciously handsome, and you could instantly tell he was the envy of the room — as most of the women’s heads turned towards him. 

"You’re breathtaking," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear, his voice rough around the edges. His fingers squeezed gently at your waist to reassure himself that you were real and his.

You smiled behind your delicate, dark red mask and reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his with easy, intimate familiarity. “I feel quite lucky tonight…” 

He let out a soft chuckle as the two of you began strolling further inside to find a table. “Why’s that?” 

Sharp eyes behind jeweled masks raked over his tall frame, his dark suit cut to perfection, as he strode with quiet confidence.

And then they looked at you. At his hand, which you held. How close the two of you walked. At how his attention — his energy — and how it was wholly yours.

It felt electric. Intoxicating.

You lifted your chin slightly as you moved past them, feeling bold beneath your lace mask. Their stares didn’t shake you once. In fact, you felt emboldened by them. Let them look. Let them wonder who you were, and what you’d done to make him look at you the way he did.

“You seem to have been the goal for all the single ladies tonight, and I’m afraid I may have stepped on some toes... burst some bubbles…” You nodded towards a group of women — their eyes not so subtly watching the two of you, drinking champagne, surely gossiping about who you were and why you’re with him. 

Harry looked that way, then he stopped and slowly pulled you close, “Then why don’t we give them somethin’ better to stare and gossip about?” he grinned sinfully.

You barely had time to process the mischievous gleam in his eye before he slid his hand along your jaw, tilting your chin up toward him. The music, the crowd, the glittering spectacle of the ballroom — all of it blurred into nothing the second he leaned in.

His mouth captured yours in a slow, almost teasing kiss. His thumb brushed along your cheek as if he was savoring the moment, deepening it little by little until you felt yourself melting into him.

Gasps rippled through the nearby crowd that you’d just pointed out. You could feel the stares on you like a thousand tiny sparks, but you didn’t care. Not when his arms wrapped fully around you, drawing you so tightly against him that there was no mistaking it — no mistaking the claim he was making by doing this.

The kiss grew deeper, hungrier, his hand sliding down your spine in a way that made you arch instinctively closer. When he finally pulled back — reluctantly, slowly — he stayed close enough that you could still feel the brush of his breath against your mouth.

He grinned, all wickedness and charm.

“Think they got the message?” he murmured, softly nudging his nose against yours.

You barely found your voice. “Loud and clear.”

He chuckled low, stealing one more soft, lingering kiss before slipping his arm firmly around your waist and leading you further into the glittering masquerade, leaving behind a trail of envious stares and whispered speculation in your wake.

And you couldn’t help the smile that curved your lips.

If they weren’t watching before, they sure as hell were now.

The night went on with dinner and the importance of this event was discussed around you — closing the deal with Tets Investments. 

When the two of you sat down to eat dinner a few of his coworkers attempted to talk shop. However, he constantly shifted the conversation to topics you could be included in as well as the other plus ones. 

You admired how he spoke to others — he was confident but not arrogant. He made everyone feel welcome, included, and supported. It wasn’t a shock that there were so many people who came to say hello. Each time he’d hold you close, introduce you, and keep you involved in whatever was being discussed. 

Close to 9 o'clock, the rhythm slowed down, and the two of you stood in the back of the ballroom, sipping champagne, watching those on the dance floor.

Harry stood with his arm around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. He whispered little facts or stories about certain people to you he'd pointed out, fully opening up his world — his life to you. 

You had never felt so welcomed into someone’s life. Everyone you’d been with in the last couple of years was always so shut off. They always had something to hide. They feared letting you get too close, or maybe you didn’t want to get that close deep down. But, things with Harry felt different. At some points, it's all too good to be true. You’ve thought he deserves better, but there he is, every time those thoughts come up, reassuring he wants nothing — nobody but you. 

—

The music shifted at one point—a slow, pulsing waltz began. Without a word, he moved from behind you and tugged gently at your hand, his other settling possessively at your waist. Your breath caught as he pulled you close, chest to chest, the heat of him sinking through the silk of your dress.

"You owe me a dance," he said, voice a low tease against the shell of my ear.

You smiled, tilting your head up toward him. "I don’t remember agreeing to that, handsome."

His mouth curved into a lazy, wicked grin. "You didn’t. I’m cashing it in anyway."

Before you could say another word, he guided you onto the floor, folding you into him so naturally it felt like both of you had danced this way a hundred times before. 

He pulled you closer, his hand sliding low on your back as you moved together, bodies swaying in time with the slow, sultry music. The candlelight flickered across his mask, but you could still see the warmth in his brown eyes — the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire room.

He leaned in, his mouth brushing just beside your ear as he whispered, voice rich and teasing, "You know, I think you might just be my favorite view tonight."

Your breath caught, a smile curving your lips as a delicious shiver ran down your spine.

You tilted your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze — playful, daring.

"Just tonight?" you teased.

He laughed under his breath, the sound low and intimate, and tightened his hold ever so slightly, pulling you even closer.

"Darlin', you've been my favorite view every night since that wedding..."

Your heart skipped wildly in your chest, the world around you fading even further away as you let yourself fall a little deeper into him.

The music slowed down as it wrapped around you both. His fingers tightened gently on yours, and without warning, he spun you out — just a step, just far enough that you caught a few eyes, those still envious of you and their stares aimed at you. 

You laughed, the sound light and breathless, and the moment your hand found his again, he pulled you right back in — closer than before.

The smile he wore was adoring and charming — he looked at you as if you were the moon and stars. 

Then, before you could catch your breath, he slid his hand down your back and dipped you low, his arm strong and sure behind you, the beautiful painted ceiling above you with the skylight creating a halo around his head. 

The world spun, tilted, and all you could do was cling to him, laughing, and breathless as you stared up into his smiling eyes.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered, just for you.

He brought you up slowly, holding you so close your masks brushed, your noses almost touching, your breaths shared in the tiny space between you.

You clutched at his lapel, heart hammering in your chest, completely lost in the moment — but completely his.

You tilted your chin up and closed the distance between the two of you.

The kiss started slow, achingly slow — the two of you memorizing it all, the feeling of each other in one another's arms. 

But then he groaned low in his throat, a sound that went straight through you, causing an ache to stir deep below, between your legs. 

You deepened the kiss — heated, hungry, losing every bit of restraint you had pretended to have all night.

His hand slid higher, threading into the hair at the back of your head, anchoring you to him. 

When he finally pulled back after the song ended and started into a new one, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard, smiling without meaning to.

"God help me…" he muttered against your lips, "... you’re going to be the death of me tonight if you keep kissin’ me like that."

Before either of you could speak again — still breathless, still clinging to the high of that kiss, a deep, rich voice cut clean through the haze.

“There you are.”

You both turned slightly, still tangled together. A tall man in a navy velvet jacket stood a few feet away. He exuded the unmistakable air of people around him beckoning to his call.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he added with a cheeky smile that said otherwise, “but I need a quick word with you before the Tets people get too deep into the champagne.” he nodded towards a group of people across the room, all enjoying the party. He turned to Harry, touching his shoulder, starting to pull him to join him, completely ignoring you. 

You felt Harry shift, his posture subtly straightening, and just like that, the man you’d been dancing with, the one who’d whispered things that still buzzed in your veins — slipping into something more polished, more composed. But his hand didn’t leave your waist, he didn’t let himself be pulled away towards the gentleman. 

“Of course, sir,” he said, then paused — just long enough to turn to you and place a steadying hand on the small of your back. “But before I disappear—” he looked back at the man, his voice smooth, but warm, “—I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend.”

‘Girlfriend? Did he really just say that?’

The word hung in the air for half a second longer than it should have, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your heart pound excitedly. 

Your eyes fluttered up at him, but he didn’t flinch — just gave you the softest, quickest squeeze at your side. His eyes flicked down, as if to say yes, I meant that, and I hope you’re okay with this, all at once.

A blush flared beneath my mask, but you managed a graceful and polite smile as the gentleman held out his hand for you to shake. 

You gently took it and quickly ran through your head at who he may be. He was someone higher than Harry who commanded respect. From conversations with him, the only person you could think of that he could be was the CEO, so you took a blind shot. “You must be Mr. Clarkson, it’s lovely to meet you, sir.” 

“Pleasure is all mine, sweetheart,” he said, gently shaking your hand.

'Bullseye. Thank god'

He offered a short soft smile. “Glad he’s not here alone — man needs someone to keep him grounded.”

You shook his hand and offered some polite response that you barely remembered the second it left your mouth, because your brain was still short-circuiting around that one word.

Girlfriend.

Mr. Clarkson nodded at Harry to follow him before walking away.

Harry leaned down again, his voice lower, private, “I’ll make this fast. Don’t run off too far.” he joked and gave you a quick wink. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it” You whispered back, still trying to keep the smile in your voice as your thoughts were running wild.

He brushed his lips against your cheek ever so softly.

Before you knew it, he turned to follow his boss toward the edge of the ballroom, already murmuring numbers and terms as they walked away — leaving you on cloud nine.

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