#yeah maybe this should have been a fic on its own

[akaakeis]

us without me — hinata s.

synopsis :: it's been 4 months since you and shoyo broke up. of course, being the kind person that he is, you ended up still being friends. it just doesn't feel right, having this kind of relationship with him now. his new significant other? that should be you.

wc :: 1.5k

hinata shoyo x gn!reader(?) (2nd person)

cw//notes :: yeah idk if this counts as x reader cause spoiler yall do NOT get together... anyway,, this is my first solid angst fic be kind please and thank u,, angst angst angst,, crying,, occasional cursing,, based off of us without me by grentperez

"hey..." the voice fades out, "... good?" the voice tunes its way in and out of your hearing.

"...hey, you're zoning out, are you okay?"

tears are welled up in your eyes as you snap your head upwards to see two concerned faces looking back at you. shoyo's bright eyes are narrowed as his brows furrow at you. he's worried. the face next to his mirrors his own, looking at you with concern.

"you look out of it. do you wanna use the restroom?" they ask, looking at you tentatively. your eyes drift downwards to their hand, which rests intertwined with shoyo's on the table. right. they're with him now. you offer a hesitant nod, pushing your chair away from the dining table and standing up.

shoyo watches as you and his partner walk off to the restroom. he doesn't know what's going on, and frankly, he's not sure he would fully get it if it was explained to him. in his mind, it had already been 4 months; surely that meant you were completely over him. he doesn't have anything but kindness and platonic love for you— it just wasn't working out, the japan and brazil thing. it was hard to make the time difference work. and the distance.

meanwhile, in the restroom, you start crying. shoyo's partner— hell, you can't even remember their name— panics as you start to cry, frantically trying to comfort you. in frustration, you let out a huff.

"look, i'm fine. you don't need to hang around me and comfort me right now, thanks," you choke out. you gesture to the door of the restroom. maybe you're being mean, but honestly, you can't be bothered to consider that right now. what you would give to be them. for your relationship with shoyo to have never changed. the amount is insurmountable.

they nod slightly, gently patting your shoulder. "sorry, i hope you feel better." with those last words muttered, they exit the restroom, leaving you alone. all the memories have come rushing back to you. 

2 years ago.

"i'm home!" his voice echoes through the apartment. he looks past the entryway, seeing you laying on the couch and watching tv. he kicks off his shoes and joins you on the couch.

1 year ago.

"good morning," he says, his voice still raspy from sleep. his arms find their way around your waist as you stand in front of the stove, making pancakes.

"morning," you reply, smiling at how evident his contentment is in his tone of voice. "you slept late."

he hums. "...yeah, but i'm up now." he laughs softly, lightly squeezing your waist as he hugs you tighter. "let's eat!"

you agree, turning around and handing him a plate of pancakes. "yep, let's go!"

...and then after that,

4 months ago.

"brazil?" you echo him.

he nods excitedly.

"but what about us..?" you ask, looking at him in confusion.

he freezes for a moment, his smile faltering.

"well..." he starts, "i don't know if we would work out if we tried to stay together."

did he really think that your love for him was that shallow? you would go to the ends of the earth for shoyo. you loved him deeply. distance and time zones wouldn't stop you from doing so.

"...you don't even want to try?" your voice breaks, tears welling up in your eyes. "we can make it through this, sho, i know we can," you continue, your voice shaky as you sniffle.

he frowns, taking a step towards you and wiping the tears off of your face with the sleeve of his hoodie. "hey. i just don't want you to feel neglected. we can still be friends... you know i love you, right?"

you pull away from him, quietly nodding. it hurts, knowing that he's doing this because he loves you. what could you even say in response to all of that? you'll always love him, he's your best friend and boyfriend. 

"yeah," you clear your throat, "let's stay friends. when you're in brazil, make sure you call me and tell me what it's like, okay?" you say, forcing a smile onto your face. "i'll help you pack for the flight."

fuck. 

why did you have to remember all of this now? when you're visiting brazil to see shoyo? you're out to dinner with him and his partner— now you remember, their name is eden. even their name is pretty. you can understand why shoyo would like them. they have the aura of the sun— attractive, pretty, kind. what was left to be desired? they looked so good together. they complimented one another perfectly.

was that what you guys looked like?

with a look in the mirror and a quick wiping of your face, you head out of the bathroom. you make your way back to the table, feeling two pairs of eyes on you as you sit back down. you place down a couple bills to pay for your food and then gather your things, getting back up. you put your bag over your shoulder and step to the side of the table.

"sorry, i'm not feeling well. i hope you guys enjoy the rest of dinner. i'm gonna head back to my hotel, if that's okay," you mumble, waving as you walk off to your car.

"wait, wait, are you okay?" shoyo asks, looking at you and frowning.

you smile slightly. "yeah, i'm fine, sho. don't worry. i'm okay."

with that, you leave the restaurant, speeding back to your hotel. the music in your car blares as you whiz past the traffic going in the other direction. you want to go back home, but you're stuck here for two more days.

two more days of this. shit.

you enter the hotel, go up to your floor via the elevator, and go straight to your room. the keycard makes the scanner on your door beep, and the room unlocks. entering the room, you toss your bag onto the small desk by your bed and fall face first onto the mattress. a loud groan can be heard as you lay motionless on top of the comforter. 

the room feels much too quiet without shoyo there. there's no casual chatter of his day, no laughter, no humming. it's dead silent. maybe you made the wrong decision, going back to the hotel to be alone.

the silence is broken by the buzz of your phone: a message from shoyo. it reads hey, are you feeling better now? you left so suddenly :( eden and i are worried about you

you don't bother opening the message, tossing your phone across the room and burying your face back into the bed. oh, to be eden. 

shoyo fell hard and fast for them. you would know, since you were the first person he told. their aura was captivating. they were sweet to everyone they met. and they were so, so pretty. it felt unfair, having to see them and shoyo be so happy together while you were still stuck in the past.

you didn't get it. why would he say you could still be friends? he didn't need you, and this is only keeping you from moving on. you love him, but god was this hard.

as you spiral into these thoughts, tears flow. why did you go to brazil? 

even though you wanted to be in eden's position, it was next to impossible to imagine it. they looked so good with him.

your phone, laying on the other side of the hotel room, rings. sliding off the bed and grabbing it, you lay on the floor and answer the phone, only to hear shoyo's voice come over the line.

"hey, you weren't replying to my messages. i just wanted to make sure you're okay. are you sick?" he asks quickly, his voice laced with concern for you.

you probably should've checked who was calling before picking up, damn it. you let out a soft sigh and reply, "yeah, sorry, sho. i'm fine, thanks for checking on me. i think i may fly home early, though."

"wait what? why?" you can practically feel him frowning through the phone.

"cause... i don't know. i'm feeling homesick," you lie.

"oh," he remarks, his tone sad, "well i hope you have a safe trip back then." he follows this sentence with an old nickname he had for you, making you pause. the memories rush back again, making your eyes brim with tears.

"...thanks, sho. i'll see you some other time."

with that, you end the phone call and buy tickets back home. within 30 minutes, you're all packed and ready to leave for the airport. you drive yourself there, letting the music blast through your car on the way. 

getting through security is shockingly quick, and none of your bags get flagged for inspection. your gate was an easy walk, the terminal being right next to security. you were of the first group to get called onto the plane, too. this was a nice change of pace.

as you sit on the plane, you look out the window at the ground below. you haven't taken off yet. coming to brazil definitely wasn't a good idea, but it was an experience for you... which is good, you guess. maybe one day, you'll be content with only having a friendship with shoyo. for now, though, you needed distance to get over your feelings for him. at least the romantic ones, anyway.

notes ::

⟡ if you're reading this, you are so gorgeous!! don't compare yourself to other people like i wrote for the purpose of this work

⟡ i actually enjoyed writing this it was pretty relaxing for me :)

⟡ tried my best but idk if im the best at writing angst...

⟡ if you wanna read more of my work, check out my masterlist <3

🏷️ :: @chososcamgirl ,, @anqelfries ,, @cheriisae ,, @bakery-anon + @bokukos <3

© akaakeis 2024 all rights reserved. please do not repost, edit, or translate my works on any platform.

[lesbiradshaw]

i wish nonlesbians could be Normal about lesbian headcanons or characters

[meejijis]

"Why are all SK fans proshippers" Silence fetus

[rafeandonlyrafe]

the beginning

words: 1.4k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, pretty fluffy and cute tho, male masturbation, kinda creeping on reader by masturbating to pics of her?, p in v sex, brief male receiving handjob, unprotected sex, a bunch of different scenes with time gaps this isnt one continuous fic if that makes sense?

“your bikini is so cute.” you tell your friend, looking at your own swimsuit in the mirror.

“i have another one in a different color, you wanna borrow it?” julie offers.

“girl, yes!” you squeal as she digs through her closet before tossing the small material to you. you were invited on rafe camerons boat, and while you chose your best swimsuit, you just moved to the outer banks from new york city and don’t have a ton of options.

you put the swimsuit on before standing next to your friend. “we look good.” you nod.

“damn girl, the boys are gonna be all over you.” “hopefully including rafe.” you say, a slight blush coming to your cheeks. it didn’t take you long to learn that rafe was the it boy of the outer banks, the kook prince, and that all the girls wanted him. you didn’t get the hype until you met him at a party and instantly became attracted.

“there’s no way he’s gonna be able to keep his eye of you.” julie encourages you, before glancing at her phone. “we better get going.”

you nod, looking one last time in the mirror before putting your coverup on and following julie out of her room.

--

“hey rafe.” you smile at him, letting him sling his arm around your shoulder. you’ve been flirting a lot, its how you got invited onto his boat along with a few other friends, but you haven’t progressed past just talking.

“hey.” rafe tugs you into him, making you press against his shirtless torso, in just his swim shorts. “wanna come up and drive with me?”

“yeah.” you nod, briefly looking to julie to make sure she was good, but she's already twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes at kelce.

you follow rafe up to the stairs to the second story of the yacht where the captains helm is. you sit next to him on the bench as he steers the boat out of the marina. 

“this is a really nice boat.” you comment. “maybe you should give some advice to my parents on what to buy, my dad is looking but has no clue what is good.” you say without thinking, before cringing at your words, worrying rafe might mistake your small talk as wanting him to meet your parents.

“ah yeah, didn’t have much opportunities to own a yacht in new york, huh?” rafes says as his arms move the wheel, making your attention shift to his muscles.

“nope.” you shake your head. “but i’m glad we moved, i love the city but its really nice to be somewhere… calmer.”

“i’m glad you moved too.” rafe says with a smile, making you blush as you nod at him. you manage to make the small talk not overly awkward as he drives the boat out towards the ocean before finding a place to drop anchor and hang out for a bit.

“wanna swim?” rafe asks as you both head down the stairs, rejoining the group.

“yeah.” you nod, pulling your coverup off over your head. you toss it onto a soft before turning to rafe, who is staring down at your body, blatantly checking you out as he pulls his lower lip between his teeth.

he doesn’t snap out of it until topper claps him on the shoulder. “i got the ladder in for us, man.”

“yeah, yeah thanks.” rafe nods, eyes finally flicking up to meet yours.

“y/n! jump in with me!” julie calls.

“lets go?” you tilt your head, looking to rafe.

“wait before you jump in i want to get a picture of everyone.” rafe shouts out, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to topper. “you'll take it?”

“yeah, sure.” topper says, looking at his friend a little strangely.

you all group together on the front deck, rafe moving so you’re in the center, his arm around your waist as you smile at the camera. you change your pose a couple times as topper continues to snap pictures, including turning towards rafe and placing your hand on his abs, still grinning as you pose.

rafe eyes up topper as he leans and picks you up, topper getting the message to record as you let out a shriek, wrapping your arms around rafes shoulder as he hurdles towards the water before jumping off the back deck, sending a spray of water as you let go of him and swim towards the surface.

you push the hair out of your face before sending a splash in rafes direction, scrunching your brows to show your anger at getting tossed in, but you can’t help the smile that stretches over your cheeks.

--

rafe gives you a tight hug, not caring that your hair is still wet and smelling of salt water. “i had fun today.”

“i did too.” you nod, getting on your tip toes to press your lips to his cheek. 

“what are you doing tomorrow?” rafe questions.

“why, wanna take me on a date?” you ask, biting your lip as your eyes glance between his eyes and his lips.

“and what if i do?” rafe smirks.

“then i’m definitely free.” 

“pick you up at 6:30 then.” rafe says, pulling you against him again before letting you go, watching you get into julies car.

--

“fuck.” rafe groans, hips thrusting forward as he fucks his fist, phone pulled open to the pictures he had topper took. he doesn’t give a shit about anyone else, he cropped everyone out but you, in your tiny lilac bikini.

rafe groans, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut as he squeezes the head of his dick, imagining it was you instead, either your mouth on him or you spread out below him, moaning as he fucks into your cunt.

rafe thinks about texting you, about begging you to come over, but he remembers your date tomorrow, knows what is going to happen after if things go well. he doesn’t want to seem too desperate, but you’re too pretty, too enticing as he swipes to the next photo, the photo of you turned to the side, hand on his bare abdomen.

he looks at the curve of your ass, the way the bikini hugs your hips. rafe strokes faster, imagining his hand making impact with your bum, watching the skin ripple.

“y/n.” rafe groans out your name as he cums, releasing over his stomach as he squeezes himself until he’s satisfied, smiling as he swipes again, this time to the video of him picking you up and running into the water.

--

“this is easily the best first date i’ve ever had.” you say as rafe drives you home. it was surprisingly simple, a picnic on the beach all set up by rafe, and then some live music on the pier.

“mine too.” rafe says, placing a cautious hand on your thigh, relieved when you smile at him.

“you know…” you begin as rafe pulls up to your door. “my parents are back in new york this weekend.”

“really?” rafe hums, bringing the car up the driveway.

“if you’d like to come in for some… tea.” 

“tea, sure.” rafe nods, turning his truck off.

you move quickly inside. while you made up the tea excuse to get him in, you both know what the intentions are as rafe presses you against the wall of the entrance as soon as the door swings shut behind you, his lips meeting yours.

--

“good morning.” you mumble, turning over in rafes arms, both still naked from the night before.

“morning.” rafe says, his voice gruff from just waking. he moves a hand to your hair, brushing it out of your face. “you look beautiful.”

“not too bad yourself.” you smile, pressing your lips against rafes.

the kiss instantly wakes him up as his hand moves to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as he turns so he’s over top of your body, your hair flared out on the pillow.

you smirk into the kiss when you can feel rafe growing against your stomach. you reach down with one hand, grasping his shoulder to keep him close and kissing you with the other while you stroke his cock, getting it to full hardness quickly.

“when are your parents home?” rafe asks suddenly when he pulls away.

“um-” your brain briefly doesn’t work at the randomness of the question. “monday evening.” “i say-” rafe says, reaching down and grasping his cock, pushing your hand out of the way as he rubs the head of his cock through your pussy. “we spent the entire weekend in bed then.”

you gasp as rafe thrusts into you, filling your cunt in one swoop. “sounds good to me.” you say, before pulling him back into a kiss.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary

[saerins]

°୨୧ INEVICABLY, UNDENIABLY

+ gojo satoru x f!reader | wc 3.3k | content: fluff, modern au, friends to roommates to lovers, timeskip thing; from high school -> adulthood, alcohol, implied sex, children, marriage, gojo is mostly clingy and annoying and we love him for it, the years and age correspond to his actual birthdate, take this as my birthday fic for him <3

summary: despite seemingly having it all, gojo satoru’s goal has always been the same all these years you’ve known him—all he wants in life is you, and only you. during his birthday this year, gojo counts his blessings.

2006; seventeen.

the day you agreed to be satoru’s partner in homeroom class is the day you signed away your sanity. not because satoru’s hard to get along with or that he’s rude or slacks off, but because it’s hard not to fall for a boy with such pretty eyes and even prettier lips who likes to say the most beautiful things.

getting to know satoru is like taking a deep in the clearest, coldest ocean after an entire lifetime of being dipped in molten lava. he’s annoying, refreshing and eye-opening all in one.

satoru shows promise in the first lesson, doing fairly well at cooking and sowing, although afterwards he just falls off because you end up having to teach him how to properly use alcohol in his cooking so he doesn’t burn himself or that you’d end up patching his fingers up since he accidentally pokes himself a lot more than the average human would.

still, it’s not his fault he isn’t naturally talented in the home economics department. he is in sports, you find out, after a few months of being in the same class as him.

“hey, y/n.” he’s leaning back on his chair, depending on its hind two legs for support. it’s become his habit during class to bother you whenever the teachers aren’t in.

you were assigned the seat diagonally behind him, and it’s become a habit for you to ignore him—mostly because most of the time, it’s nonsense that falls out of those lips, especially after you’d gotten close. it’s his sign of affection, you realise.

“hey y/n, i’m being serious this time, i need to talk to you,” satoru whines, pouting and sighing in that over dramatic way that only he can.

that’s also not the first time he’s tricked you into acknowledging him so all you do is look at him, a smile appearing that you failed to suppress, and bring a finger to your lips, signalling for him to hush.

unperturbed, satoru smirks and gets to scribbling on a piece of paper, folding it (annoyingly and quickly) into a swan before handing it to you. he winks at you, and you’re immediately driven not to give him satisfaction by reading it. instead, you bow slightly and stuff it in your pencil case, making satoru pout again and giving yourself the sweet taste of victory.

the rest of your sophomore year in high school, you find yourself growing closer to satoru, an unfamiliar feeling growing inside of you. you find that you like knowing what makes him tick, and even the way he says your name, or even watching him ace every kind of sport and then having him blow a teasing kiss to you after each win.

“y/n, i’m so jealous of you, how’d you manage to get gojo satoru of all people?” one of your classmates whine, swooning endlessly over him.

you only laugh it off, deigning to think too much of it.

it’s weird; he’s most of the schoolgirls’ crushes, but you’ve never considered him to be yours. maybe it’s just a fleeting feeling that will go away with the test of time.

yeah, that should be all that is.

2007; eighteen.

“why not? we’re practically going to the same college.”

with time, you thought that maybe satoru would become a little more sane. like how growing into adults, you slowly shed the ridiculous dreams you had as a child. but he’s not, if not—he’s even more insane.

“we haven’t got the results yet, satoru.”

“i’m pretty sure we’ll get in though.”

“and what’s your basis for that?”

“i’m never wrong about these.”

as always, satoru lives in his own little bubble and you can’t help but to sigh. in his head, both of you will get into that same college you applied for and he has it all planned out: “we get into college, sign up for whatever classes, and then rent an apartment together—genius right?”

that was satoru just moments ago, elbows leaned over the grocery cart as he grins at you, beaming like a dog waiting for their owner’s approval. now he’s still doing the same, except you’ve flicked him on the forehead before turning your attention to the aisles because apparently, he says he hates the food at home and would rather have what you’re cooking.

he’s made it his life mission to invade your meals over the weekend, squeezing himself into your family, bonding with your sibling and your parents and only then did you realise what you forgot in the first place: satoru is one of the most charming people to ever walk the earth. your siblings constantly ask about the next time he’s coming over, and your parents are just waiting for you to announce that he’s your boyfriend—which he’s not, but he sure likes to make it seem that way.

another thing you notice about satoru thanks to your now-weekly grocery runs: he likes to wander around way too much, and complains afterwards when he finds you after losing you.

“y/n!”

it’s like routine by now; the way satoru rushes over to you, putting his arm around your shoulder and sticking his cheek against yours, telling you how he almost died because he thought he lost you—like the drama queen he is. by now, all you can offer him is a ruffle of his hair before you carry on like normal, as though your heart isn’t beating right out of your chest from that simple proximity.

because satoru, despite his generally icy look, is always warm; his body heat, his cheeks, the way he looks into your eyes all the time, even his fingertips when they brush against you.

you think he’s especially warm when he falls asleep beside you after watching a late night movie, his head nuzzled in your neck, hands somehow rested over your own. your favourite thing about the friendship, though, try as you might to deny it, is how satoru’s hands always find yours when he walks you home, fingers lacing around your own as if it’s second nature.

ever since then, these routines have become a staple, and perhaps even does your growing feelings. the inexplicable one.

2008; nineteen.

satoru was right.

both of you did get into the same university, and the same course, with different minors so at least there’s some differences. so of course, satoru did not let the shared apartment idea go. though, of course, thanks to your initial hesitance on the matter, the only available apartment is a 4-bedroom, entirely too big and hence you’d convinced satoru to just rent the other bedrooms out for extra change.

and no, satoru does not need extra change because his family’s loaded (which you realised you didn’t even know before this) but at least this would allow you to not dwell on whatever you’re feeling too much. university is going to be stressful enough without the added consideration of your possible feelings towards satoru.

then enters geto suguru—your new roommate who, thankfully, steals enough of satoru’s attention so you have some breathing room. turns out, they’re like two peas in a pod. but while you and satoru major in business, suguru majors in psych. so that still means satoru’s around just you most of the time.

some routines change; like how movie nights are shared amongst the three of you in the living room instead of just you and satoru in your room. or how during grocery runs satoru still runs up to you when he finds you again except this time, an exasperated suguru is beside you sighing at him, always a “how do you stand this guy?” rolling off his tongue. the most surprising one for you might be how meals include suguru now and satoru’s the one who does the cooking now, and funnily enough, he’s absolutely great at it. no ounce of hesitation as he flips the pancakes, or stirs the fried rice—no whining about how it’s too hard because he’ll get burns on his fingertips and has to ask you to tend to his wounds.

but some change in a different way. they leave no room for someone else, like how satoru always finds your hands to hold on to, keeping you within a reach too close to pass as just friends but both of you refusing to label it anything else anyways. it leaves no room for other people to butt in and whisk either of you away.

and for now, at least, both of you are okay with just that.

2009; twenty.

participating in different activities and clubs inevitably mean that you and satoru wouldn’t be attached at the hip most of the time. and of course, while that leads to satoru becoming even clingier when you’re both home (not that you’re complaining when it’s nice to feel wanted from the very guy you’re completely not having a crush on), both of you are in separate social circles.

satoru occasionally has his friends over, the ones you don’t really know that well. the one where you can only remember names like haibara because he’s extra friendly and yuki because she’s one of the prettiest people you’d ever seen and nori because she’s a mix of the two. you’re nice, and cordial to all of them, although you can’t really say the same for satoru.

occasionally you and suguru invite your friends over, because nicely enough, you both have the same interests. it’s mostly shoko and nanami, a med student and law student respectively, but both of which satoru loves to annoy to no end. lucky for you, shoko is strangely naturally tolerant of his antics and nanami shrugs it off as white noise.

“y/n, surely you’d rather spend time with me rather than that blondie?” satoru always asks, pouting as he looks at you over his shoulder during breakfast—a constant whenever you have plans that involve nanami.

it’s kind of cute.

“mmm, that’s a secret,” you’d always tell him, knowing that satoru’s pouts won’t last all day anyway. it’ll relegate to an excited grin whenever you’re back after that.

you’d never really had to face your feelings, then, until all of you gather one night, before the holidays officially start. you should’ve known that something would be different this time, especially when there’s alcohol involved. naturally, in the circle you sit in, satoru asks people to scoot over, purposely sitting beside you, as close as he can, close enough that your arms and knees practically brush.

it’s just for a simple game of truth or dare, and it’s innocent enough until someone asks nanami and he says truth, and his truth is that out of everyone he knows, he’d most likely date you. beside you, while everyone else is whooping at the declaration, satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance, though he says nothing about it. and you’re not really emphatic about it until someone dares nori to kiss the guy she wants to date the most and she kisses satoru, deep and slow, in front of you, haibara letting slip that she’s had a crush on satoru for a while now.

satoru’s five shots in and tipsy and he was imagining that was you and maybe that’s why it lasted for five seconds before he pulls away.

and when it comes to satoru?

as though noticing his dilemma, suguru gives an amused smile as he states his dare, “kiss the girl you most wanna marry.”

he doesn’t waste a single second in pulling you close and kissing you, his alcohol-tainted lips pressing against yours, daring tongue teasingly prying open your lips, chuckling as he feels you kiss him back.

“not most,” satoru corrects right as the both of you pull away, his forehead still pressed against yours and both of your half-lidded pair of eyes still staring at each other.

“what?” you’re almost breathless, forgetting that everyone else is watching.

“the only girl i wanna marry.” and you think he’s never looked more handsome, genuine smile plastered on his face and pretty blue eyes threatening to pull you in.

while everyone moves on, satoru doesn’t—he keeps you there with him, telling you for the first time in four years since he’s known you, “i love you.”

the next week, after you get home for the holidays, the first time being away from satoru in a while, you manage to find your old pencil case, the folded paper swan satoru folded for you all those years ago still inside, somehow forgotten.

curious, you finally open it, finding his message enclosed inside, bringing a smile to your face.

i’m gonna marry you one day.

2010; twenty-one.

dating satoru is like finding a new hobby that you’re effortlessly good at.

despite living under the same roof, instead of finding out the ugly, you find the good in each other. even with suguru in the mix, you all live harmoniously like you have been since the start. except now, satoru likes to sleep in your room, both of you fooling around and occasionally forcing suguru to tell you to pipe down.

satoru is still full of surprises, sometimes pulling up with his car as though both of you don’t sleep under the same roof, telling you that he planned a date and to dress nice. he buys you flowers even if you’re not particularly fancy of them and surprises you by buying things that simply reminded him of you.

dating satoru is like finding out that the right person for you will always think of you and your feelings, no matter the circumstance. the way he makes sure to tell you if he has to hang around nori, or the way he asks if you need anything when he passes by the grocery store alone, or going so far as to memorise your cycle so he knows exactly what to show up back home with.

by the time it’s your one-year anniversary and his birthday comes and you ask him what he wants, all he can answer is “you” and for the first time, you can tell he isn’t trying to be annoying or cheeky or flirty—satoru is surprisingly simple and his answer always has been and somehow always will be just you.

2013; twenty-four.

you still remember the day satoru got down on one knee, his handsome smile even more radiant under the golden hour glow, those still-beautiful blue eyes gleaming even from beneath his bangs.

just an intimate proposal with your closest friends, both shoko and suguru helping to distract you in order to create a successful surprise, while nanami and haibara helped with the decorations and photography.

thanks to them, you’re laughing now, at your wedding reception, looking at all the ways you nearly found them out that day, exactly one year ago, in the form of pictures. and thanks to the best man’s toast, you find out that suguru’s always known about satoru’s feelings, and just how deep his emotions for you ran.

“i won’t forget how much he whined about y/n getting close to nanami. that was probably the one time his whining got so out of control that i wanted to stuff a pillow over his face,” suguru divulges, garnering laughs around the hall, including from you, as your new husband pouts and squeezes your hand.

thanks to that, nanami finds the need to disclose during his speech, “i have never intended to date nor had such thoughts about y/n. my truth during that game of truth or dare was simply the result of a process of elimination—” and haibara cuts him off to give a more fitting speech, fits of laughter all across the room.

that day, you steal glances at satoru, wondering how you got so lucky to be with someone who loves you so much and continuously proves so with every passing day.

“satoru?” you call to him softly that night, as you both find yourselves completely bare in the bedroom of your new apartment, one to yourselves.

his piercing blue eyes flick up to meet yours, relishing how it feels like inside of you, every time as though it’s the first. “yeah?” it’s breathy, because he’s about to lose himself.

“i love you, satoru, and only you, forever and ever,” you tell him, finally knowing that in this life, it will always be gojo satoru for you, and that it’s the same for him too.

he only chuckles, pulling you close, “forever me and you, baby, only us.”

2023; present day.

“wow, more than ten years, i think i need to give you a trophy for that, y/n.”

satoru groans, rolling his eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

beside him, suguru laughs at shoko’s comment. this time, the six of you find yourselves at a round table in a seafood restaurant during satoru’s birthday, talking about how it’s you and satoru’s tenth year together too.

“i’m not too much, am i?” satoru teasingly asks you, although you only shrug in amusement before drinking your glass of water as an excuse not to answer.

you’ve always been like that, but it’s part of what satoru likes about you. scratch that, he’s loved every part of you since he met you. it’s like it was meant to be; or so he likes to think. there’s an undeniable pull that always lulls him back to you. to satoru, there’s never been question that you’re the only one for him, maybe that’s why it’s so clear-cut.

“you’re just so head over heels for me, huh?” you ask him, a smug grin on your face, the conversational context something he’s missing since he’s been zoning out in his thoughts.

since the first time he saw you, he’s been drawn to you every second of every day. maybe that’s why he did all those stupid stuff like pretending not to be able to cook and ‘accidentally’ burning himself to get you to tend to him, or purposely pricking himself with the needle and asking you to put a plaster over it just to feel you close. even those times at the supermarket when he purposely loses you so he can find you again and see your helpless smile and feel the way you rub his head affectionately afterwards.

maybe it’s stupid too, how he had to silently admit he knows how to cook all too well because he didn’t want suguru to taste your cooking when he first moved in. it was something satoru felt he wanted to himself, something he wanted to keep between him and his future wife. or how a wordless stare between him and suguru during that game of truth or dare was all suguru needed to know that satoru wanted to make you his at that very second, afraid that kiss between him and nori would make you hesitant.

he shouldn’t have underestimated you though, because you know him better than most people do. there were never any pointless arguments or unrecoverable friction.

as they sing happy birthday annoyingly loud like best friends do, chanting for him to make a wish—his hands find yours again as they always did, he can honestly say that there’s no other way he’d rather live his life. you’re made for him and he has you and the little mini yous at home so really, there’s nothing that he has to wish for.

except, maybe, one thing, if he could be selfish.

in this life, and every other life, he’ll want to be with you and only you, forever.

[strang3lov3]

Jet Stream

Joel has his fun with you after learning his shower head has a jet stream setting.

Part two of my miniseries for @noxturnalpascal Can be read as standalone but check out the first part Lather ! Thank you @merz-8 @noxturnalpascal and @tightjeansjavi for all their brainstorming on this fic!

tags-soft dom!joel, maybe not so soft dom! joel, overstimulation station, pet name (good girl, sweetheart, honey, darling) crying, fingering, multiple orgasms both clitoral and vaginal, smoochin’, praise, blowjobs, snuggles

notes- thank you for your patience with me! Hope you’re all having a lovely start to your February, please harass me and spank me to get part 3 and my Valentine’s Day one shot out by next week ❤️💖

Kindly edited by @papipascalispunk ❤️❤️❤️

Masterlist

Joel wakes up early, even on Saturdays. Taking advantage of the little pleasures in life, he watches squirrels and chipmunks run up and down the trees in his backyard, listening to the birds chirp while the sun rises. When the sun rises, he’ll take his morning shower and sigh in relaxation under the hot water. Let it wash over him for a little too long before he scrubs his body. 

But not this Saturday. Today, that steady pelting of water on his back and chest feels like a trickle compared to what it’s usually like. Joel’s been noticing this for a while, maybe you have too. He stands in the shower, annoyed at the glacial pace of the suds sliding off his body. After what feels like an eternity passes, he shuts off the water and examines the shower head closely. Yeah, that’ll do it, he thinks. Limescale. It’s built up around the shower head, into all the grooves. This commonly happens when hard water runs through a house. It’s an easy fix. 

Joel unscrews the shower head from its fixture then dries off. He goes downstairs and grabs a bucket and a jug of vinegar from his cleaning supply closet. He soaks the shower head in the vinegar-filled bucket for about an hour before taking the shower head out, using an old toothbrush to scrub the grooves and holes in the shower head. Joel hears a creak upstairs and quickens his scrubbing, he doesn’t need you coming downstairs and scolding him for over-exerting himself. Yeah, yeah – he should be asking you for your help and all that, but you’re too pretty for a chore like this, he thinks. Besides, his shoulder is getting better. Not quite as tender as it was a week ago. As Joel wraps up the finishing touches of cleaning the shower head, he notices some etched words that were previously covered by the limescale – Rain, Shower, Jet Stream.

Well, would ya look at that. A mischievous grin forms on Joel’s lips. His brain has been fucking addled thinking about you. You, and the way you came on your own fingers, whimpering his name. How after, you pushed your fingers past his lips, how sweet your arousal tasted on his tongue. How he’s been yearning to touch you, fuck you, but his stupid goddamn shoulder is still hurting. Hurting, but healing nonetheless. God, is he addled. But now, with this nifty little jet stream setting, he can have you melting in his hands in no time. It can do all the work for him, leaving his shoulder unharmed and without disruption to its healing process. He wonders, how many times will he make you come?

–

The day goes by as normal. It’s evening, Ellie’s not home. You’re on the couch with Joel after eating pasta for dinner. You’re knitting a blanket using mismatched yarn, just trying to find some use for the odds and ends. Joel’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch and bouncing his leg, twiddling his fingers. He looks bored, anxious. Seinfeld is on TV, Joel loves this show. He rented the series DVDs from the library in Jackson and claimed to have scratched them when they were past due. “Joel, quit,” you scold him. He’s bouncing the couch. 

“My bad,” Joel says. You can feel him staring at you. He’s touching his hair. You turn your face to look at him, raising your eyebrows expectantly. Joel wears an anticipatory look, but stays quiet. You turn your attention back to the TV and he’s now combing his fingers through his hair, sighing loudly. “Hmmm…” he hums, “What’s a guy to do…”

You drop your knitting needles in your lap. “What, Joel?”

“Oh, nothin’,” he says. Joel kind of just gestures to his hair and shrugs, like you’re supposed to know what he’s asking for. You do, of course, but he can use his words. “Ahem,” Joel clears his throat, now twirling a finger around one of his curls cheekily, making a real big show out of it. He’s smiling now.  

“Do you need me to wash your hair again, Joel?”

“If you’d be so kind, darlin’,” he grins. 

You finish the row you’re currently knitting before wrapping up your work and putting it into a basket and under the end table next to the couch. After pausing the TV, you stand up and Joel outstretches his left hand to you, which you take in your own. He groans loudly as you pull him to his feet where he stands in front of you. There’s something about him today. When you washed his hair last week, he was bashful and awkward. Today, he’s confident with his sly grin, that teasing look in his eye like he’s working an angle. Maybe he’s just excited for another shower blow job, which you’ll happily provide again. You smile too, he’ll be 0 for 2. 

When you and Joel arrive at the bathroom, he locks the door just like last time. He’s unbuttoning his jeans, not bothering to hide the bulge in his boxers. You don’t bother with the formalities of your partnered shower as you and Joel undress yourselves. It’s unnecessary at this point, after the fortuitous, amatory events of your last one. Joel notices your smirk before he turns on the hot water. He can tell you think you’re gonna pull one over on him again. That’s fine, you can believe whatever you’d like.

Joel opens the shower curtain. “After you,” he purrs, offering his hand to you as you step into the tub. You stand underneath the stream of water, wetting your hair and letting the hot water warm your skin. It feels stronger today for some reason. “Pressure’s different,” you tell Joel. 

“Is it now?” Joel asks, feigning ignorance as he joins you in the tub, cock already half mast. You step closer to him, reaching for it, feeling him grow harder in your hand. Massaging his cock, tracing your fingertips around his thick head and along the veins of his shaft, you bite down on your smile. “Yeah, that’s nice, trouble,” he sighs in pleasure, “Aren’t you something?” 

“Feel good, Joel?” you murmur. 

“Mhm,” Joel hums, “Feels just wonderful, sweetheart. You’re too good t’me.” 

Shampoo and conditioner can wait. You take the time to massage his cock a while longer as you wrap your free hand around Joel’s neck, toying with the curls at the back of his head. They’re not quite wet yet as you’ve been hogging all the hot water, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He lets you stroke his member as he holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, leaning in to kiss you softly. As you deepen the kiss, gently biting his plump bottom lip, Joel pulls away, removing your hand from his member.

“You done yet?” he asks you. 

You’re almost offended. Asshole. You were enjoying that kiss. “Not quite,” you reply, leaning forward to kiss him, touch him some more. 

Joel pulls away from you as he blocks your hand. He grips your wrist  and holds it behind your back as he spins you around, your back now facing him. “Well you’re gonna have to be,” he says. “The lady’s ’sposed to come first. That’s how we’re doing things from now on.”

“Yeah, right Joel. You can’t touch me, your shoulder is still fucked up.” you squirm away from him, but he keeps his hold on you. Gentle, firm. 

“Worry about yourself,” he warns in a tone much less teasing than before. He winces as he uses his bad arm to reach for the shower head, “Y’think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

“I…” you trail off as he hovers the shower head above your torso, peering over your shoulder as he watches the water fall down your curves. He hums softly as he focuses the stream over your breasts, feeling you begin to twitch as the water teases your nipples. 

“My shoulder is healing, actually. But yeah, it is still a little fucked up,” Joel continues, “Don’t need to touch ya anyhow.”

Ohh, you’re getting it now. Joel thinks he cracked the code. “I appreciate the thought, Joel,” you chuckle. “But if you’re planning on using the shower head to make me come, just go ahead and put it back where it belongs. I’ve tried that already.”

“Figures,” he teases. “You wanna know somethin’?”

“What’s that, Joel?”

“Water pressure on this thing sucked lately, so I was cleanin’ this thing out this morning,” he begins. He keeps your arm behind your back as he sits both you and himself down on the shower bench, keeping your back pressed firmly against his torso. “Does this hurt?” he whispers before continuing. You shake your head no. “Good,” Joel says. “Anyway, wouldn’t ya know it, there’s a jet stream setting on this thing.” Joel nudges a foot between your legs and taps you. “Open ‘em. You stay like this for me.”

He’s speaking with such authority, such a commanding tone. You’re almost nervous. You could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice last week just how severely you pissed him off with the way you touched yourself in front of him, knowing he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. How you further taunted him when you pushed your fingers past his lips, dangling the premise of tasting your sweet cunt over his head. You should have known he’d retaliate.

“Was not a fan of how you got yourself off without me, pretty rudely, might I add. Told you I wanted to help, you fuckin’ deviant.”

Yup, you’re correct. He’s still fucking pissed. He did a good job keeping a lid on it until now. “Joel,” you breathe. 

“So yes, you’re right. I can’t touch ya yet,” he continues in a low voice, “S’why we’re gonna see what this does to ya, sweetheart.”

Joel keeps the shower head on the rain setting for this part. With his free hand, he cups the back of your knee and has you set your foot on the bench where you and Joel sit. This way, you’re nice and open for him to do as he pleases. He brings the shower head lower, hovering it over your torso, down your tummy, then your pussy. It’s a nice sensation, warm and gentle. When you lean your head back on his shoulder and sigh softly, he ups the ante. Momentarily, he futzes with the showerhead and switches it to the jet stream setting before bringing it back to your center. He starts the stream at your inner thighs first, working his way inward until the stream is massaging your lips, first one side and then the other. Slowly, he twists his wrist, getting your pussy used to the new sensation. He can’t see much from this angle, can’t feel anything either. He’s waiting for you to jolt and moan to know when he’s struck gold. “Shhh…” Joel quiets you when you do just that. “Oh yeah, this’ll do just fine, hm?”

Fuck, it’s intense. It’s very intense, almost too much. “Joel, fuck,” you cry. You should not have fucked with him. 

“Just relax,” he instructs, “You’ll get used to it.” But you’re not getting used to it, not even close. It’s a powerful, nearly electric sort of feeling that takes you wholly as you jerk and stutter in his hold. “Mm-mm, you stay here. Quit your squirmin’.”

“S’too much Joel,” you whine. 

“S’kinda the point,” he mumbles, “But you’re doin’ good, sweetheart. Jus’ let it happen.”

Joel rotates his wrist, directing the stream of water in tight, steady circles on your clit. The striking, uncomfortable and intense feeling is beginning to dissipate as your pleasure begins to build. Joel’s hot breath is on your neck, his torso rising and falling steadily. You can feel his warm, stiff package pressing against your lower back. “Joel, it feels so good,” you breathe. “Please don’t stop.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t dream of that,” he replies.  The movement of Joel’s wrists never falters, though he knows it’ll be sore in the morning. You move your hips in tune with his movement, eyes squeezed shut and moaning quietly, your open mouth pressed against his neck. He wonders if maybe you haven’t quite realized the circumstance you’re in, what he plans to do to you. “Your wish is my command, sweetheart,” he mumbles, wearing a smug grin.

Joel lets go of his hold on your leg to touch your breasts with his free hand, kneading your flesh. When he teases your nipples, the sensation of it all is heightened. Within moments, you’ve reached your peak. It’s intense and the feeling lasts long as Joel, with the help of the shower head, helps you ride out your high. Joel gives you a moment to catch your breath as he points the shower head at the floor, letting you relax against him. After a minute passes, you try to lean forward to get up, but Joel stops you by wrapping his strong arm around your torso and keeping you pressed tightly against him. “Ohh, you’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not done yet,” he coos as he kisses your cheek, your temple. 

“I know, but it’s your turn.”

“Oh, not quite. We’re way past turns and bein’ square and even and all that,” he says. “Yeah, that went out the door with that little stunt you pulled on me last week. So let me spell it out for you, darlin’, I am not finished with you.”

“Joel, what are you–” Joel cuts you off by bringing the shower head back to your pussy. Reaching out for something, anything, your hand finds purchase in his hair, tangling your fingers in his curls as you tug gently. “Joel, fuck,” you pant. 

“Not goin’ easy on ya,” he warns. “S’that alright?” Your heart swells. Always the gentleman, Joel is. You nod against his cheek. “Then you stay just like this for me,” he instructs, whispering quietly against the shell of your ear, “Just like this. That’s all ya gotta do, s’real easy.” He tells you this like he’s giving you a choice, but subtly, he places his hand his back on your knee, keeping your cunt exposed to him for his use. Then Joel, realizing he has a better idea, gently pushes your leg off the bench. Potentially against his better judgment, he takes your own free hand and places it on your knee. “Be a good girl,” he murmurs, trusting you with this privilege perhaps too early in tonight’s endeavor. But he knows you, you’ve always been all bark and no bite – he’s not worried about you. Not a bit. 

“I’ll be good, Joel,” you whimper, eager to make this easier on yourself. You’ve never felt a sensation this intense before, and you know to tread carefully with Joel. Especially given what led you to this mess you’re in with him. 

Joel smirks, he’s right as always. Already you’re so docile, so well-behaved, so pliant. 

He finds your clit with the fingers of his left hand to help him with the shower head in his right hand. After finding that sweet little bundle of nerves with the jet stream, Joel traces along your lips momentarily before pushing a finger inside your warm, wet pussy. “Joel, oh my god,” your right hand leaves its place in his hair and you reach for his bicep instead, not exactly sure what your goal is here. You just need Joel’s comfort, to touch him, feel him, hold onto him for dear life as he delivers you deep and powerful pleasure just moments previously unknown to you. 

“I know sweetheart. Can’t do anything about it, huh?” he taunts, pushing in another finger. He curls them slowly, savoring the feeling of your wet heat pulsing around his knuckles. “Y’look very beautiful like this, ya know.” Joel quickens the pace of his fingers. You moan as you beg him for mercy of some sort as he fucks you on his fingers, while torturing your poor, overworked clit with that shower head. It’s sensual, satisfying, and nearly painful all at once. “Doin’ so good. I know you’ve got another one in ya.”

“I don’t know, Joel, I’m– I’m–”

“Take it easy. Focus right here,” he says, curling his fingers faster now. You’re a mess of panting and whimpering as Joel works his magic, stroking that sweet spot inside of you he made short work of finding. You’re soaking his fingers with your arousal as he touches you, a second orgasm washing over you quickly.

You’re panting, heart pounding as you try to come down from your high. “Please,” you breathe heavily, “Please Joel, I– oh–”

“Not quite sure what all that beggin’s for, sweetheart. Told ya what you were in for tonight,” Joel whispers in a honeyed voice. “You got one more, though.”

No way. It’s not possible. This is too much, you’re certain you’ll be satisfied for an eternity after this. “Joel, I don’t think I can,” you cry, hot and salty tears of overstimulation rolling down your cheeks. “I don’t–”

Joel interrupts you. “Yes, you can,” he says. Joel pulls his fingers and the shower head away from your pussy, giving you another moment to breathe. You’re still breathing heavily, shaking and trembling slightly. Poor thing, not used to all of this. It’s a lot on you and Joel knows this. “I’m right here, I got you,” he coos. He adjusts the way he’s holding you for a moment to look at your face, wipe away your tears. His brow furrows as he searches your face, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your jaw. “Breathe, baby. S’okay. Ain’t gonna break.” 

You nod, stutter out some incoherent response. Joel’s eyes are warm and soft as he calms you, kissing your lips and your nose. 

“What do you think?” he asks, “Reckon you got another one in ya. Just one more, hmm?”

“Okay,” you agree with a small smile. “Okay.” 

“Attagirl,” Joel praises. He brings the showerhead back to the space between your thighs but you catch his wrist, pulling it away from your body before he has the chance to use it on you again. 

“Want your fingers,” you request in a soft voice. “Can you just use your fingers on me?”

Joel nods. “We can try it,” he offers. “Was startin’ to get cold anyway. Why don’t you switch it back to the regular setting and put it back where it belongs?”

You nod and follow suit, playing with the settings before settling on the regular shower feature. You stand up to put the shower head back, letting the water wash over both you and Joel. On your way back to sit with him he holds your hips, steadying your shaky legs. You sit back between his legs, spreading your own. You gasp softly when Joel cautiously brings his right hand to your pussy, starting out with slow, careful circles on your clit. He groans in pain and shakes his head. “Does it hurt?” you ask.

“Mhm,” he answers. “Why don’t you help me out, hm? Use your own hand? Kind of your specialty, ain’t it?” Joel reaches for your hand and then stops suddenly. “Or,” he says, “What if we try something new?”

Oh, man. You’ve experienced a lot of firsts tonight, you’re not sure you can handle another. 

“That poor clit of yours is all worn out huh?” Joel asks. “C’mere. Turn around and face me,” Joel helps you up and then has you straddle his lap, his rock hard cock is between your bodies, the tip all blushed. “I’ve gotten pretty good at doin’ things with my left hand.”

You’re quick to retort. “Except for getting yourself off,” you tease.

“Oh, yeah. Rub it in,” he replies. He snakes his left hand back between your bodies, his middle two fingers pushing inside you. “Was thinkin’ could see how it works out. How’s this feel?” Joel curls his fingers inside of you in a repetitive come hither movement, stroking your g-spot.

“Good,” you tell him. It does feel good, if not a little unfamiliar. 

“Just focus on my fingers,” he instructs. As Joel works his fingers inside of you, you rest your forehead on his own. Breathing steadily, focusing on the feeling it stirs inside of you. It’s a new, different sort of pleasure. “Good girl,” he praises in whispers, “So good for me. You’re almost there.”

You begin to rock your hips into his hand, ignoring the way the hard material of the bench feels on your knees. Your clit is still untouched yet, here you are, that familiar feeling beginning to bloom in your tummy. Nothing’s ever made you feel the way you do right now, here in Joel’s arms. You’re liquid in his hands as your last orgasm begins to build, It’s deeper inside you, a slower build to ecstasy as Joel fucks you on his fingers.Your climax washes over you in waves, white-hot pleasure coursing through your through your body. “Oh my god, Joel,” You come with gasping breaths and moans for the last time, your fluttering walls choking Joel’s fingers and your arousal pooling in his hand. 

Joel holds you tightly in his arms as you come down from your high for the last time tonight. You’re not sure how much time passes, but when you feel ready, you lift yourself up on your knees and reach for Joel’s cock, guiding him to your entrance. 

“Woah, woah–” Joel stops you. 

“You don’t have to do a thing,” you try. “Just let me–fuck. I need you, need to fuck you.”

“After all that? You still want more?”

“Wanna take care of you,” you plead. You want him so bad, need to feel him, need to be closer to him, you need to watch his face. 

Joel smiles sadly as he shakes his head. “You know I can’t give that to ya,” he strokes your cheek, continuing, “God knows I wanna feel you too, sweetheart. We can’t get ahead of ourselves with my damn shoulder and all that. Just give me a few more days, hon.”

You nod in agreement. He’s right, unfortunately. 

“And then I’m all yours,” Joel reaches for your ass and lifts you up, then sits you back down on the bench after he stands up. He stands in front of you, holding his heavy cock between his thumb and first two fingers, bouncing it slightly. “Stay right there,” he says. “You just sit all pretty-like for me, just like ya always do.” 

Joel reaches for the back of your head and guides you to be closer to him, parting your lips with the tip of his cock. He tastes salty, heady and masculine. You cup his balls and squeeze gently, playing with them for a moment before gripping the base of his dick. Joel pushes into your mouth slowly. You swirl your tongue around his tip and his shaft, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks. You love the way he tastes, how he feels, how he jerks his hips slightly when you trail your tongue along an extra sensitive spot of his member. 

“So good,” he praises, “Always so good.” 

Joel maintains eye contact with you as he draws in and out of your mouth, watching you with warm, adoring expression. He loves your eyes, how you watch him as he fucks your mouth. 

Moments go by and Joel’s squeezing his eyes shut, his movements starting to become frenzied. “M’close, hon,” he warns. You reach for his hand with your own and squeeze it a couple of times as if to tell him it’s okay, that he can let go. Joel does just that. He comes with a deep groan, his soft tummy and his chest heaving as he breathes heavily, loudly through his nose. His thick, heavy cock twitches in your mouth as ribbon after ribbon of his hot spend coats your tongue and your throat, which you swallow with pleasure. Joel lets out a strangled sort of noise when you begin to pull your mouth off of him, but first licking his head a couple of times. “Too much, too much,” he warns urgently. Interesting. He can dish it but he can’t take it. But you keep your thoughts about Joel’s overstimulation threshold to yourself. “M’not done with you sweetheart, I promise,” Joel says as he comes down from his high, his breathing now beginning to steady. “Few more days and you’re in trouble.”

Your insides flutter at the prospect, what a welcome threat. You smile as Joel takes your hand and lifts you to your feet, shuts off the shower and reaches for your towel. He helps you to dry off, then dries his own self off before helping you to your feet. Still holding your hand, he takes you to his bedroom and lifts up the covers. You get underneath and Joel tucks you in, walks around to his own side of the bed and joins you. Knowing what you need after all of this, he doesn’t bother asking before pulling you into his side, kissing your cheek and the top of your head. Holding you close and telling you what a good job you did. Making sure you’re okay, asking if you need anything, water, a snack. Whatever. “No,” you tell him before closing your eyes. 

Just as you’re drifting off to sleep, Joel whispers in your ear, “Hon.” 

“What, Joel?” you mumble, your voice thick with sleep. 

“We forgot to wash my hair.”

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭

Kenji Sato x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.3k (FUUUUUUU)

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: One sided pinning (or that’s what Kenji believes), Reader is a daddy’s girl (me) and Kenji has daddy issues :,) brief harassment from a drunkie, Kenji saves your ass though, insecurities from Ken, Friends to More (?)

𝐀/𝐍: First Kenji fic I’m posting. If this does flop uhhh no one saw that 🫣🫣

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Kenji tells himself that he only frequents the local restaurant because their food is always the best, made with the freshest ingredients. Definitely not because he enjoys finding excuses to chat with the owner’s attractive daughter, who often helps out as an unofficial waiter.

Kenji rarely found a place to eat without being overwhelmed by baseball fans who knew nothing about personal space. While he appreciated the admiration, it was increasingly frustrating having to sit down for a meal and being disrupted.

But that wasn’t his main concern. He knew that if fans saw him dining at a certain restaurant, it would soon be flooded, limiting space in the establishment.

Fortunately, he found Kokochi Tei, a small family-owned restaurant run by a widower and occasionally his daughter, who helped as a waitress. The place quickly became his sanctuary, offering both privacy and delicious food.

Initially, Kenji frequented Kokochi Tei for its food and respect for privacy. But everything changed when you started helping out at the restaurant.

He found himself looking for you the moment he entered, hoping you were working that day. He didn’t understand what it was about you that piqued his interest.

But he knew that the hidden gem of the establishment seemed even brighter when you were there—or maybe that was just the sun reflecting on the window.

At first, he thought at all stemmed from his envy of your relationship with your father, as self-projecting as it sounded.

It never crossed his mind that he might actually be interested in you as an individual until you started interacting with him more one-on-one while serving the other patrons.

His brows creased from carrying the day's weight as he sat behind the shoji screen, though he was hopeful that coming to Kokochi Tei would turn things around.

He noticed your figure behind the screen getting closer as you headed to his table, menu in hand. Your strides always seemed to carry some grace.

“Are you sure you don’t want the menu this time?” You asked, clutching onto the menu against your chest.

“Yeah, no.” Kenji shook his head, his lips tugging up in a small smirk. “Your father is like a maestro in the kitchen, I think I’d rather take the chance,” he leaned back in his seat with his broad arms crossed over his chest.

Eating at Kokochi Tei meant expecting the unexpected, especially when it came to your father’s cooking. He was always experimenting with different dishes and Kenji would accept it, even if it was something he never had. “So, what’s special for tonight?”

“Well…Dad’s been experimenting with some Vietnamese dishes, and he nailed a chicken pho ga recipe,”

“Pho, really now?” He arched his brow, interest piqued. “How can I pass up on some chicken pho? Sounds good.”

“Alright, one bowl of pho it is,” you said.

“You’d dad was practically busting his ass in the kitchen before I got here. Is he…doing okay?” The question lingered for a moment, Kenji’s gaze drifted towards the kitchen at the far back.

“Ah…he will be once I run him a bath after,”

“Oh is that so?” He responded, his lips curled to a full grin. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full then, huh?”

“Mhmm I think he’s trying to keep himself distracted after Mom’s not around anymore…” your voice trailed off at the end. It was a sensitive topic that you wouldn’t elaborate on. You blinked and spoke again, “So…pho ga?”

“Yeah. Oh, and a glass of your dad’s homemade green tea if he’s got any,”

“Of course…should be ready in 15.” You turned your heels to leave.

“Oh…and by the way,” Kenji called out, making you halt in your tracks before you turned back to look at him. There was something about the way you perked up when he called after you that sent a flutter through him. “Did you happen to catch the game today?”

“You know I always do. Dad’s always a fan.” You responded. He held his gaze at you, watching your every expression as you spoke.

“So, I assumed you saw my little fight with the catcher, too.”

“Yeah…what’s with that?”

He sighed, ranking a hand through his hair as he recalled the event. “Long story short: the guy had a smartass comment he just needed to say.” He said, a hint of irritation evident in his voice. “And, I’m sure you know me. I don’t tend to stay quiet when I get riled up,”

He wondered what you were thinking when you watched him tussle with the catcher live on television.

Shifting in his seat at the thought, he continued, “You uh…probably saw how the coach pulled from the game after that…”

“Heh—” you stifled a laugh before covering your mouth, clearly amused by his compromising anecdote.

“What’s that sweet giggle for, huh?” He said with a tease before adding on “Don’t you have tables to wait,” he pointed out with a huff, though he couldn’t hold back his smile that gave away his unseriousness. You always found a way for him to bring out his more relaxed side.

“Uh huh,” You managed to compose yourself before you left his table to attend to the other patrons.

“Yeah…that’s what I thought,” he watched you walk away with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. A few silent moments passed by, his eyes darted around the restaurant, observing anything that could keep his attention.

There were a few paintings hung on the wall with contemporary art pieces and a few plants dotting the space. He leaned over to look past the shoji screen, trying to get a quick glance of you.

He couldn’t help but take note of you as you walked around and served the other patrons. The restaurant wasn’t busy tonight, so your movements were more fluid, with a smoother flow, rather than rushed and on your toes when the restaurant was packed.

It was enticing, even though he knew he could never be in that position— but you always made it look so easy with your welcoming demeanor.

Eventually, you headed over to his table at the back with a tray in hand.

“Here’s your pho go. I got dad to add extra chili just how you like it.” you placed the bowl of hot, steaming pho on the table in front of him. The delicious aroma was irresistible.

“And tea!” You placed a teapot with a cup next to the bowl, along with some cutlery and napkins.

“Thank you,” he said, glancing up at you with a smile. He knew the tea would be divine as always. “Pass along my compliments to your dad, yeah?”

“Always,”

“Perfect,” he started taking a spoonful of the pho, blowing the steam away before he brought it up to his lips and took a sip. He let the pho sit on his tongue to savour the flavour; it was definitely something different but still incredible. “You’re a damn good waitress, you know that.”

“I’m just…doing my job when I can,” you said meekly.

“Well, you do it damn well, if anything,” a thought erupted in his mind, wondering about your love life. He never saw you with a partner, even if he saw a glimpse of your life.

Even if it felt a little invasive, he was conflicted on whether he should ask you or not, especially with the small relationship you’ve built over the months of talking.

He knew he should hold his tongue about it, but he took the risk and asked anyway, before his doubts overtook him. “You got a boyfriend or anything,”

“Sorry?”

Oh God, don’t make him repeat himself.

“Come on, a boyfriend? Any guy at all that you’re seeing?” He always imagined asking the question with a better, more smooth delivery— not like this. Nevertheless, he was glad the question was out of the way now.

“Nope,” you said. Despite the newfound revelation, a part of him made him doubt that you would even give him a chance, given his status.

You probably only saw him as the famous baseball star who was a regular at your father’s restaurant with a big ego. Although the latter wasn’t completely wrong, he knew he was more than that but he was unsure if you were curious to explore more, like he was.

“Ah, single then, are you?” Even with his lingering doubts, there was still a sense of satisfaction with your answer, maybe some underlying hope now that he knew you weren’t seeing anyone. “I was starting to believe you’d have line of guys at your feet,”

Whether it was true or not— and he really hoped it was the latter— he didn’t want to further broach the thought of other men trying to flirt with you. He was aware of how selfish that must’ve sounded, hence why he tried to keep his feelings in check.

“Yeah…heard of that one before,”

“Heh, just trying to compliment you,” he quipped. “No need to shoot down every word that comes out of my mouth,”

He caught a playful eye roll from you as he resumed eating, taking another spoonful of the pho and relishing its taste.

He could taste the slight kick from the chili just the way he liked it. It made him wonder if you remembered other small details about him, but he quickly brushed it off before he started speculating other scenarios.

After another spoonful, he asked, “So, when do you close?”

“We’re not closing until another hour,”

“Right, right. Just another hour,” he said with a hum, continuing on the pho in front of him. “And I’m guessing you’re aren’t gonna sit down and keep me company,”

“Yeah, probably not…”

“Ouch, you’re breaking my heart here.” He teased, clenching his chest to add emphasis to his feigned hurt. “You’d rather run around catering to other people than keep this baseball player company.”

“Well you've got your tea to keep you busy,” you shot back, your teasing words matching his wittiness.

He chuckled at that, giving the tea that was sitting besides his bowl a pointed gaze. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s a great listener,” he said sarcastically.

“Oh, for sure. Totally silent and won’t interrupt you and such.”

He let out a scoff, but his amused smile was still present on his face. “Yeah, smartass. Keep it up and I might decide to stay here all night.”

You arched a brow at that. “We’ll see what dad has to say about that.”

“Please,” his lips curled into a smirk. “If anything, he’ll probably beg me to stay. The tips I give are probably the only reason this place is still in business.” He knew full well how much your dad loved serving him and having him around, and not just because of the hefty tips he gave everytime.

It’s not often that Kenji let his insecurities get the best of him. Matter of fact, it was so rare, the feeling was almost foreign to him.

He wouldn’t let them overshadow his confidence, especially when he needed it the most on the field when there were hundreds and hundreds of eyes on him in real-time or when he’s doing his Ultraman duties with the citizens relying on him to keep them safe.

But being in a situation like this felt like navigating a complex maze where he has no sense of direction. Whenever he was with you, Kenji felt like the doubts in his head were a little louder than usual, and he was worried that one day, his blasé mask would slip away.

“You know, he was on my case last time when I was hanging around your table.” You commented.

“Oh really? You think he’s afraid of losing his regular customer to a pretty waitress? I won’t ditch him anytime soon. Gotta show my appreciation to these heavenly meals, you know,”

“I think he’s more concerned about me hitting on you,”

Kenji froze momentarily, the spoonful of the noodles halfway to his mouth, before he looked up at you with genuine surprise. “Wait wait wait— he seriously thinks you’d try making a move on me?” The thought alone seemed too baffling for him to comprehend.

“Yes, he does,”

A small chuckle escaped him before it morphed into a full blown laughter. He noticed through his teary eyes that you still held your serious expression. “That’s-” he began, taking a deep breath to compose himself. “Oh wow…your old man actually thinks you’re after me?”

Although the claim sounded comical hearing it out loud, Kenji hoped that there was some truth to it—even if he did disguise his hope with his laugh just now.

Just the thought of him catching your eye like that made something in him stir with a spark of excitement and nervousness.

“Unfortunately, and that’s all he talks about,” you finished your sentence with a groan. Kenji wondered how you really felt about the situation. Were you truly denying any interest, or was there something you’re holding back?

“He’s been talking to you about me, then, has he? About how you’re all falling for my charms and such?”

“Urgh, I don’t even want to feed that idea into his head,”

“But why not?” He leaned forward on his chair with his arms resting against the table. “I’m sure this whole thing is giving him a good laugh,” It was quite charming seeing the dynamic between you and your father and how your father felt about your interaction. Though he really hoped that he wasn’t temperamental about it.

“More like another reason to be on my case…I’ve already stressed him out for giving the wrong order to a few customers this week alone,”

He recalled one incident that had been going around the dining area. “Right…didn’t you give a guy beef noodles when he was supposed to get pork instead?”

You pressed your lips together in mild annoyance at the reminder, and he chuckled at your quiet response.

“Yeah. Poor fella probably had a fit once he realised what happened. I’m sure you had an earful from your dad after that,” he add

Just at that moment, another customer entered the restaurant, and you were already on your toes to serve them a table.

There was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes at the interruption; he was really enjoying your conversation, but of course, your job comes first.

“Duty calls, huh?” You nodded in silent response. “Go on then, go play nice and serve your customers.”

The male customer trotted over to an empty table, trying to hide the clumsiness in his steps. Kenji was never superstitious, but something about that man just at first glance rang all alarm bells in him.

He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but his instincts were telling him to keep a close eye on the interaction and stay on high alert.

The longer he watched the the conversation between you and the newcomer, the more he could pick up on his behaviour.

His crooked smile, his relaxed yet provocative body language, and his slight slurred speech all pointed to him being intoxicated.

The man’s presence disrupted the calm atmosphere in the room, and Kenji couldn’t help but find himself on edge.

As you left for the kitchen to fetch his order, Kenji didn’t miss the man staring at your backside. It was obvious that he was eyeing your body like a shark sizing up it’s prey.

Kenji’s protective instinct kicked into overdrive, making him clutch the spoon in his hand hard enough to leave a dent on his palm.

He continued to watch as you returned from the kitchen, only to be met with the obnoxious patron who was getting more unruly by the minute. Kenji couldn’t hear the conversation from where he was sitting, but he could tell that you were uncomfortable.

You maintained your forced smile through your nervousness, and he could only seethe from his seat.

It took every ounce of willpower not to step in and cause a scene.

But something in him snapped the moment the man reached out and tried stroking her leg. All the tension he had held back boiled over.

In a swift motion, he stood up from his seat, the chair scraping against the wooden floor with a loud screech. He strode over towards the table, each step fueled with purpose and irritation.

He placed a hand on your shoulder and felt you jolt from the sudden contact.

“Come here,” he muttered, his voice gentle yet firm.

“What?”

“Just come closer,” he urged, the grip on your shoulder growing slightly tighter. Despite his calm exterior, his eyes betrayed his irritation.

You did as you was told and moved towards him. Immediately, he pulled you close and wrapped a protective arm around your waist, making sure you were behind him, shielding you from the man’s lecherous gaze with his athletic frame.

In the deepest pit of his gut, he felt a tinge of nervousness having been this close to you and having his arm around you. He always imagined what it would be like to be in this position but not in a situation like this.

But he brushed that thought aside as he looked down at the man, his eyes narrowed into slits. His voice instantly dropped to a dangerous tone, dripping with menace. “You got a problem?”

The man didn’t seemed fazed, still maintaining his lopsided grin, which only fueled his irritation further. “Nah, just having fun with the waitress here,”

Kenji felt his gut twist as the man’s spoke. ‘Fun.’ The word echoed in his head “Well, your fun ends here.”

“What, you got a problem with a guy just having a good time? Look at her, she loves the attention.” The man tried to lean to the side so he could take a look at you, but Kenji immediately blocked his view.

“She clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you,”

“You her boyfriend or something?” The customer sneered.

Kenji felt you tense behind him at that question. A part of him wanted to claim that title— not only to get the man to back off, but also to finally say it out loud, just to see how it felt like on his tongue.

But feeling how you tensed up made him second guess, so he kept his answer vague. “It doesn’t matter if I am her boyfriend or not, you’re going to leave her alone now.”

The man was completely oblivious to Kenji’s mounted annoyance. Kenji was surprised he didn’t recognise him, but that could be the alcohol completely skewing his judgment. Kenji leaned in so he was forced to focus on him.

“Eyes on me,” his voice sharpened, a hot razor blade. “She's not for you to touch or ogle, do you understand?”

The drunk man’s bravado evaporated under Kenji’s intense glare. He realised that continuing to provoke him would only lead to more trouble. He shifted in his seat before standing up unsteadily.

“Fine, fine I get it. She’s yours. No need to get all territorial, man.” The man muttered before staggering out of the restaurant, his balance wavering as he walked.

Once he was out of sight, the restaurant slowly resumed to its usual buzz and the patrons turned their attention back to their food. Though there was still a lingering awkwardness in the room that was hard to ignore.

Kenji’s attention shifted back to you, his fury melting into concern. You still look shaken and he could feel your muscles still taunt from the encounter.

His voice lowered to a softer tone, a mix of concern and protectiveness. “You alright?”

It took a moment before you could respond, your voice barely above a whisper but still audible enough for him to hear. “Y-yeah…I think so,”

Kenji could still send the remnants of fear lingering in your eyes and notice the slight tremor in your frame. The shock of the incident was still fresh and you were still trying to process what had just happened to you.

“I think I might close up early for the night,” you said, and he nodded in understanding. The whole ordeal must’ve taken a toll on you and you probably weren’t in the right state of mind to continue serving.

“Let me help you,” he offered.

“You don’t have to. Your pho…” you started, but he waved off your concern. His only focus was to make sure you were comfortable.

“Forget about that, it’s cold anyways. I’m helping you, no arguments.” He insisted firmly, leaving no room for debate in his tone.

Without waiting for a response from you, he reluctantly let go of you, wishing he could hold you a bit longer.

Fortunately, the place was quiet tonight and there were only a few customers scattered around finishing off their meals. He approached them one by one and politely asked them to finish up and head out, explaining the place was closing early.

As he waited for the place to clear out, his gaze lingered back on you as you started cleaning up the counter and counting the tip jar. You were uncharacteristically stiff and mechanical. Seeing you like this made his chest ache.

He wondered how often these things happened to you while you were on the clock. This was the first time he had witnessed anything like that, and he hated that some jackass ruined your night after seeing how relaxed you were earlier.

A few minutes later, once the last customer had walked out, Kenji returned to you, vigilant. “They’re all gone now.”

You didn’t meet his eyes, too stunned to focus on anything other than the floor. His chest tightened at the sight. “My dad’s gonna be pissed,”

“Why would he be pissed? It’s not your fault some drunk guy was harassing you.” He took a step closer, trying to study your expression.

You let out a solemn sigh, enough for him to feel the weight of your worry. He wanted to reach out and comfort you, but he knew you probably didn’t want to be touched right now.

“Hey, look at me.”

You glanced up at him briefly, then quickly interjected before he could speak, “You should uhm…finish off your pho. Don’t want it to get wasted, huh?” You quickly added, “Do you like dorayaki?”

He paused, surprised by your sudden change of topic. He couldn’t tell if it was a coping mechanism from your distress, but he appreciated your attempt to lighten the mood. “Dorayaki? Yeah, I love them,”

“Let me give you one…it’s on the house for helping me.” Before he could respond, you were already heading to the front counter where the dorayaki were displayed.

You wrapped one in a napkin and handed it to him. He accepted it gracefully, wrapping his large hand around the treat. “You sure your dad won’t get mad at you for giving away free food,���

“I don’t think he’ll notice anyway,” you said. “Plus, he’ll probably do the same, being his favourite baseball player and all.”

“Oh, so I’m the favourite, huh?” He unwrapped the dorayaki and took a bite. “Well, I had to admit, your dad’s got good taste in baseball,”

“Yeah…don’t see why he’d have an issue with me hitting on you, if that was the case, considering how much he admires your game play and such.”

“Can't blame him for being protective of you. I wouldn’t want some cocky bastard hitting on you either,”

“Oh, so you admit that you’re a bastard,”

“Guilty as charged, but I’m the kind of bastard that knows how to treat a girl right. Unlike those idiots that only see you as a piece of meat,”

He paused, recalling the incidents from earlier. He didn’t want to mull over what could’ve happened if things turned out differently. “I’m just glad I was here tonight. I wasn’t going to let some asswipe take advantage of you.”

A sudden outburst could be heard from the kitchen before the back door slammed open, revealing your father’s hardened face.

You stood upright, preparing for the confrontation. “Baba…”

You dad eyed both of you and he could almost feel the suspicion rising from him. His voice was gruff with a protective anger, “What is going on here?”

“It’s not what it looks like. I had to close the shop half an hour early,” you said quickly.

“And what’s the reason for that?”

Kenji took this opportunity to step in before things escalated further, not wanting you to revisit the story again. “Because some drunkard was harassing her. She felt uncomfortable and decided to close up early for safety reasons.”

Your dad’s attention darted at Kenji, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He was used to people recognising him along with the shocked and awestruck look on their faces when they see him. But the way you dad was looking at him was something new, and he didn’t know how to react in the situation.

He quickly looked back at you and asked, “Is it true? Someone was messing with you?”

“Yeah…he touched me,” you said before gesturing to Kenji, “but Kenji stopped it from escalating,”

Your father still seemed guarded as he asked, “You stepped in?”

“Yeah, I did. I wasn’t going to stand by and watch her get harassed,”

You father’s gaze flickered between the two of you, his earlier suspension giving way to grudging respect. He was aware of Kenji’s reputation, both on and off the field. If the pro-baseball player had intervened, it must’ve meant the situation was serious enough to warrant it.

You picked up on your dad’s hesitation. “Baba, I was never trying to make a move on Kenji. You can even ask him,”

For some odd reason, Kenji felt his heart quicken at your words. Hearing you actually mentioning it to your father felt almost cathartic.

Kenji felt his eyes on him again, almost looking for confirmation from him. Kenji nodded, keeping his voice level, despite his senses going haywire right now, “She’s telling the truth, nothing inappropriate is going on between us,”

The room seemed to relax as your father’s tense demeanor faded. Perhaps after hearing it from Kenji himself was enough to convince him.

“Alright, I just wanted to make sure that nothing is going on behind my back,” he said. “Looks like I have to pack everything away in the kitchen,”

“I’m sorry, Baba.”

“It’s not your fault, don’t apologise. I’m just glad you’re okay,”

Your father looked back at Kenji, his expression more sincere now. “And I guess I owe you a thanks for stepping in and saving the day,”

“I gave him free dorayaki,” you chimed in.

“Ah, rewarding him with food, huh? That’s my girl.” He turned back to Kenji and stuck his hand out.

“I appreciate you looking out for her, son. Thank you.” He gave Kenji a firm handshake, though the word ‘son’ had struck him more than he let on, sending an odd feeling through his body. He didn’t think hearing another father calling him that would affect him.

Though he simply nodded, his expression was sincere, “No problem. I wouldn’t have let anything bad happen to her,”

He was still taken back by the unexpected term of endearment from your dad, cutting through his usual confidence. Memories of his own strained relationship with his father flickered in his mind, something he hadn’t confronted with for a while.

Your father gave you both a final nod before he headed back to the kitchen to finish off the last bits of closing.

Kenji maintained his gaze on the back door where you dad just exited, his mind now racing. He started speculating on how different things would be now, and more importantly, how you felt about the situation.

“What’s with that face?” You voiced snapped him out of his deep trance. He didn’t realise how silent he had been until you spoke up.

He turned back to look at you, “I just can't get over the fact that you dad seems to consider me a hero for saving you today,” he said jokingly, though there was some truth to it.

It was refreshing to be seen as more than just a star player; your father saw him for his character and actions. Even if it was just a brief glimpse, gaining your father’s trust and respect felt like a significant accomplishment— something he hadn’t achieved with his own father.

“I can’t believe he called you son, eugh.” Kenji couldn’t believe it either, still hung up on that moment. The gratification still felt fresh, and he hoped that feeling would last.

“Yeah, that too. Seems like he’s accepted me into the family,” he smiled.

“Oh God…” you groaned, massaging your temple to emphasise your feigned exasperation.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take offense to it. I actually find it entertaining.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” you said.

It was definitely more than that to him, given the gravity of the situation with his own father.

But he wasn’t going to admit that to you. Maybe one day he’d share more of his family life with you, now that he seemed to be more than just a customer here.

“You know, it’s actually kind of amusing how you’re so bothered by this,” he mused.

“I think you got on his good side, so good for you.”

“Oh, I think I’ve got more that just his good side,”

“What do you mean?”

His smile morphed into a full grin, “Well I just saved his daughter from being harassed. He’s probably thinking of seeing me as a potential son-in-law.”

Shit, why did he say that. Did he sound weird?

You grumbled. “Don’t get excited now,”

Seeing your grumpy expression gave him some relief. It was better than seeing you disturbed. Then again, you were probably used to his teasing by now, so he couldn’t be too surprised.

“Relax, I’m not getting my hopes up…”

Lies.

“…I know you’re not swooning over me like your dad thinks,”

“But I’m pretty sure he’s noticed the way you freeze everytime I look at you when you come into the restaurant,”

He almost choked on his own saliva when you said that. He didn’t think that you’d notice, but now that you had, he wondered how obvious he was.

“I…don’t do that. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mentally cursed himself for stuttering. No one had this much of an effect on him, and he didn’t know how to act.

“Just the other day, a man scolded at you for holding the queue,” you commented. Of course you would remember that.

“Alright, fine. I admit it. Maybe I do get a bit distracted sometimes when you look at me. But can you blame me?”

You covered your mouth to hide your snickering, holding back from laughing too hard. “Wow…I didn’t think you were that whipped,”

He huffed at that but he wasn’t going to deny it, even if it did hurt his pride. He knew he was more than just whipped; with those pretty eyes and beautiful smile, you could make him do just about anything.

“Yeah, okay. Laugh it all you want,” he muttered. He didn’t expect you to lean in towards him, invading his line of sight.

Oh no…you were more breathtaking up close.

“Hmm, I might be tempted to drag this out a little, just to see how far you’ll go.” You said, a small smile hinting a tease.

He swallowed thickly before he spoke, mirroring your tone, “Oh, really? You’re gonna make me work for it?”

He wouldn’t mind that if it meant spending more time with you. Every interaction with you was exhilarating and he would take the chance if it meant taking things further with you outside of your work.

The positive interaction with your father gave him a much-needed boost of confidence. If your father trusted him, maybe you would, too.

“Well…what if we start things slow and I asked you to dinner then? I’ll do you good and take you somewhere fancy since you have good taste in food,”

Seeing the way your eyes light before you answered made his chest warm with gratitude. “That sounds nice actually….yeah, I’d like that,”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @lovingyeet @aise-30 @moonjellyfishie @dear-detested @nommingonfood

@luneariaa @ittomain1 @slushycoookie @roserfz27 @starriestarlight

@lily-337

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

currently eating drywall while reading your Gaz pushup fic. I got an idea, Gaz pinning reader down under him and doing push-ups like that?

this is playing with fire anon.

1,843 / 15 / takes place immediately after doing push-ups with Gaz and distracting Gaz as he's counting reps

...

The next day, Gaz gives no indicator as to how many push-ups he's doing, and you're struggling to keep track. Your focus lies elsewhere--between his broad shoulders and muscular back; the way his t-shirt fits so tightly to his skin.

"You're not counting my reps this time, I take it?" he asks dryly.

You stiffen, in the middle of warmup stretches yourself. "Why, should I? Are you going to get distracted and miscount again?"

"I don't miscount." He pushes up. His biceps look like carved stone under the strain. "I just ignore people who try to get my attention while I'm working."

"Maybe I should lay under you this time so you can't ignore me." You chuckle absently at your own joke without fully registering the implications of what you just said. You also don't notice Gaz falter in his reps for the first time ever.

He buckles down onto one elbow. "I'm... sorry? Come again?"

Your brain catches up with your mouth just as you're trying to twist your left knee up and over your right hip. "Wait, I didn't mean like that. Or I did, but not in the way that, like, just with your chest-- wait, fuck--"

Still mid-stretch, his hand closes around your ankle.

"No, really, come again."

He pulls, dragging you under him, and you find yourself on your back, the workout mat stinging against the skin there. He hovers over you, his hands and knees caging you in.

"Lay under me?" he says. "Because that's what it sounds like that's what you're saying. Is that what you want? To be under me?"

You blink up at him. This shouldn't feel as intimate as it does. Gaz is your workout buddy. You've been closer to him. Regularly.

It's the eye contact, isn't it? He looks hungry. Your gym buddy shouldn't be looking like he wants to devour you. He leans in closer, his eyes roving over you in a way you've never seen him do before. Obviously Gaz is an attractive guy--ridiculously so. But you've never seen him look at you like this. Your whole body is tingling with awareness.

You know you can put an end to this right now with a single comment. The fact that you don't want to is what makes his closeness feel new. If he were to lean down and kiss you right here on the gym mat, you would welcome it.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Gaz shifts again, leaning further over you. "I said, is that what you want?"

Your mouth is dry. Your tongue darts out go wet your lips and his eyes snap down to watch.

Your self-control wavers.

"Yeah," you tell him shortly. "Maybe I do."

Gaz's jaw sets. His body is tensing like a coiled spring. He is desperate to touch you. "Maybe isn't good enough," he grits out. His hand slides up from your hip to your waist, slipping under your shirt. "I want to hear yes."

nsfw ⬇

Your vision fogs a bit as his fingers graze the skin under your breasts. When he dragged you under him, you realize, the friction of the floor against your clothes rolled them up. Now your shorts and top are riding very high on your frame. He sees the way you're trembling, your hips writhing subtly under his touch. You're so exposed. It's so wrong. But he's enjoying the hell out of the view.

His hand disappears and he drops to his elbows, his hard body pressing up against yours. Your breath hitches. He chuckles. His mouth strays to your ear. 

"Easy," he breathes. "I'm not asking to have my way with you right here on the floor. I'm just asking for permission to touch you a little, yeah?"

Your heart clenches in your chest, catching oddly. "Oh, right. Y-Yeah."

"Sorry, are you disappointed?" His hand drifts back up your body, going straight to the elastic band of your sports bra. "Did you want me to take you right here? In this very public gym?"

You squirm as his thumb begins to work its way under the elastic. Your hands go to his chest, a rush of endorphins surging through you at the slight give of his form pectoral muscles under your fingers.

"I didn't say that," you tell him, voice still wavering more than you want it to. "Don't put words in my mouth."

"Oh, no, I'm just thinking out loud. You really need to watch your phrasing, boss. You're gonna make me think you're not as innocent as you like to act." His thumb rubs in slow circles over your soft skin as he speaks. "I’m just thinking about how cute you are when you're all flustered. And how pretty your eyes are. And how you’re not denying it.”

"You're the one who-- ah--" Your retort dies on your lips as his hand slips under your bra. His fingers run over your nipple, the rough texture of his callouses against the many nerve endings there making you jump.

He lets out a low groan of satisfaction when you respond so quickly to his touch. His forehead falls to your collarbone, trying to focus on you, on the sounds you're making. You're igniting his whole body. He squeezes your breast roughly, unable to help himself. He squeezes again when you squeak and he realizes just how much you like this, too. He tenses more and more with every breathless little jump and squeal.

You're barely aware of your own reactions. All you register is his hand on you and the heat in your face spreading down your neck and racing to your core.

His knee slides between your legs. It tears a ragged gasp from your throat. That only seems to encourage him, and he presses his body down harder over yours.

"You're so sensitive," he breathes out.

He grinds his knee up into you even more shamelessly, and you fist a handful of his tank top. "Wait," you protest. "Someone could walk in."

"So?" He growls, his voice suddenly rough. "Let them walk in and see. I'm not going to pretend I'm doing anything other than what you want--" His breath gets heavier as he shifts again, his knee easing back. Fuck, you're right. Someone is going to walk in any second. It's incredible nobody has already. This would be a compromising position to be found in, to put it very lightly. He's a senior officer over you. It looks bad for him to be over you.

Gaz forces his hand to still and pulls it out from under your shirt, swallowing. He sits up, dragging his gaze slowly down your body before he finally locks eyes with you again. Your clothes are in disarray; your chest is heaving; you're looking at him with such a debauched look in your eye he has to clench his hands into fists to keep them off you. Jesus. He's only touched one nipple and you already look like he's been fucking you. How are you real?

He grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet as he stands. "Come on, up."

"Where are we going?" you ask as he walks across the floor with your hand still in his grip. "Why did you stop?"

"We're going somewhere private." His grip stays firm as he drags you out through the front entrance. "And I stopped," he adds, "because you're going to get me in trouble if I keep going where we were."

"Wait." You tug his hand back as he pulls you past the entrance to the women's locker room and showers. "In here."

Gaz almost trips as your grip pulls him back.

"What?" His voice is an exasperated whisper.

But at your persistence, he lets you tow him over to the women's locker showers.

"What?" he repeats, this time quieter as he opens the door. "Are you--?"

But you step in after him, shutting the door behind you. Gaz's eyebrows go up.

"I guess you are."

"A lot less foot traffic in here. Enough time for a little hands-on training, right?" you say, pulling him further into the room. You start up one of the shower heads near the door, hoping the noise will cover up what you want to do. Then you strip your tank top and bra off in one swift motion, grabbing the hem of his shirt immediately after.

Gaz's throat goes dry at the sight of your exposed chest. He drinks in your body, his eyes roaming slowly and possessively. "Jesus, your body is-- fuck."

He grabs your hips and pushes you against the wash-tile in the nearest stall. You gasp at the cold of the tile on your naked back.

He runs his hands up your waist, groping your tits unabashedly. "We're way past hands-on training, love. That's your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yeah. Yours." Gaz's voice is rough with arousal. He hefts you up, grunting in satisfaction when your legs fasten around his waist. "You started this. You're the one who suggested laying under me. You didn’t have to say that. Did you think I was going to say no?"

You give him what is--somehow, even as you're naked from the waist up with your legs around him--a shy glance. "I didn't think you'd say yes."

His hands move up your legs, massaging your thighs then moving to your hips again. The way your body grips him, the way your legs squeeze him tightly to you--he's loving every goddamn inch of you.

"What do you expect a starving man to do when he's presented with a three-course meal right on the table?"

You scoff. "You are not starving."

"I'm starving for you," he grits out. "Don't be obtuse. God damn. You have no idea how often I’ve thought about getting my hands on you.” He rubs his fingers along the sensitive skin just over your waistband. “You have no idea just how much I’ve wanted to--”

He slides his hands up your body again, his fingertips tracing smooth undersides of your breasts. Even now he's holding back and his restraint is obvious. He could have you right now, pinned to the wall.

"I wanna devour you, you hear me? Every inch."

Your stomach flutters as his palms reach your ass and squeeze. You can't believe Gaz of all people wants you like this. "Is this gonna mess up our relationship as gym partners?"

"Probably. Definitely." He bites your earlobe the same place he bit it yesterday. This time, he laves his tongue against it. His breath is labored in your ear. "If you don't want that to happen. I need you to tell me." He rolls his hips against yours, groaning at the feeling of your heat through your thin workout shorts. "Right... right now."

"Is... is it wrong that I kinda want you to ruin it for the rest of time?"

"Good." He shifts one hand to run his fingers over the crux of your thighs from behind, making your back arch. "Because I'm going to destroy it beyond all reason."

...

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 / part 5

more Gaz / masterlist tag

[enwoso]

SEXIER IN BLACK! — lucy bronze

*something that’s been in my drafts for a few weeks, sorry for the lack of fics but i am writing little bits in between studying but exams are nearly over so should be able to get more done soon<3*

navigation

“black or pink?” you questioned holding up a black satin dress where the straps crossed over the front and in the other some a matching light pink suit. lucy looked up from her phone as she lying on the hotel bed. looking back and forth between the two outfits several times.

you were leaning towards the black dress, it being a while since you had worn a dress or even had the excuse to dress up fancy. so what better excuse than lucy and the lionesses going to an award show. although you weren’t nominated for anything due to spending half the season out with an injury - you still wanted to be there to support lucy and the other girls.

you and lucy went way back and had been friends for a while before any feelings actually came into the picture. knowing of her since you began in england U17s youth teams.

it not being until you were called up to the senior team, and she took you under her wing, lucy having joined a year earlier that you started hanging out more often, until you both confessed your feelings for each other — ever since then the two of you had been inseparable.

the award show was paying tribute to young and upcoming stars both domestically and internationally, the girls being nominated for their work done at the euros. it also being a chance to see new and old faces.

“hmm.. well you do look adorable in pink but-“ your girlfriend pausing, her face deep in thought you could see the cogs moving behind her eyes as she looked between the two outfits still not giving you an answer.

why was the girl so indecisive?

second felt like hours had passed and she was still looking between the two outfits, the clock ticking and you already didn’t have a lot of time to get ready as the two of you decided to have a thirty minute nap which actually was two hours.

“so i’ll just pick the pink then?” you ask, your arms getting sore from holding up the two outfits for so long like some sort of clothes statue.

“no, no!” lucy quickly said as she moved to sit on the side of the bed, “you look cute in the pink but the black.. you just um what the word..” lucy continued, she was dragging it out on purpose now knowing how short of an attention span you had to begin with and how much your hated waiting.

“you look sexier in black” lucy smirks, as your stomach begins to do flips. “so go with the black!” she confirms her answer as you nod satisfied that you had finally gotten an answer from the girl.

“could have just said that in the beginning!” you mumbled, but still loud enough for lucy to hear you as you turned around to move back into the bathroom to get changed.

placing the dress down on the counter as you began to get changed, the black satin dress which hugged your curves just right and for once maybe lucy was right — you did look sexier in black.

not that you would ever admit that to your girlfriend’s face knowing the smug smile you would get if she knew you thought she was right.

the ego of hers did not need to be boosted anymore than it already was on the daily,

fixing the straps to ensure that they sat on your chest in the correct way, feeling a pair of eyes staring you down from the doorway.

moving your head slowly to the direction of the doorway, your eyes were met with lucy as she stood in the doorway a large oversized hoodie which will definitely make its way into your wardrobe later, and some shorts that she always slept in.

little flyaways coming from her bun as her hair was all messy from the nap the two you you had just woken up from but still she managed to look gorgeous, her tattooed arms standing out as she stood with a giant smirk across her face.

“yeah?” you asked wondering she she needed anything as she stood there in her own thoughts, while you began to rummage through your makeup bag for a certain product.

“oh nothin’ just admiring how beautiful my girlfriend is!” lucy smiled as she came and wrapped her arms around your waist her head resting on your shoulder.

“mhm that so?” you mumbled as you began to press makeup into your skin, drawing lines and dots on your face.

“why are you even puttin’ that on your face?” lucy asked, as she focused on you dabbing your face as the product blended into your skin. lucy of course knew the basics about make up but she didn’t wear it a lot — in fact very rarely. the most makeup she wore was mascara other than that her makeup supply was very limited.

“makes me look more put together!” you shrug as she hummed, “you look gorgeous with and without out!” lucy whispered as she placed a gentle kiss to your neck, a grin appearing on your face like a child at christmas.

you carry on with your makeup as lucy does everything in her power to slow the process down by teasing you.

placing sloppy kisses to your sweet spot on your neck, sucking slightly on it every few seconds as you body tried to remain calm, your head had other plans.

“luce, please… you need to go and get ready” you squeaked out. however you weren’t sure if you were wanting her to stop and listen to you or if you were wanting her to carry on kissing you.

your breathing increasing with each kiss she placed on your body. seconds beginning to feel like hours as she removes her hands from your waist, lifting you so you were now sitting on the bathroom counter.

kicking the door shut with her foot, as she placed on hand on your lower thigh and the other moved up to your cheekbone and gently tucks the loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

you swore you could hear her pulse as she brings her lips to yours as you can feel the fire crackle under your skin. the same feeling you get in her tummy as you did when you and lucy had your first kiss appears once again.

if there was one feeling you could have for the rest of your life — this would be it.

you don’t let yourself think about how your going to explain to the rest of your teammates why the two of you are so late.

all you wanted to focus on right now was the way her hands slowly roamed your body, your body feeling flushed just at her touch.

the way her mouth tastes, the way your tongue somehow knows how to follow hers and the way your hands grip her neck to pull her closer into you.

burying your fingers into her hair, tugging gently at it as her hands find their way fumbling with the straps of your dress. feeling the smirk on her face as small whines fell from your lips as she nipped and tugged at your body.

“lucy! y/n!” georgia yells banging on the bathroom door startling both you and lucy as you jump away from each other a the sudden noise. “are yous’ in there” a thick milton keynes accent of leah williamson sung out as they both began to bang on the door at the lack of the answer.

“hang on!” lucy yelled back, while the two of them still banged on the door — probably just to be annoying.

lucy helped you down, smiling as she kissed you one last time before opening the door. both leah and georgia nearly falling over at the sudden moment of the door opening.

“how are the two of you not ready yet?” leah asked as her and georgia stood all dressed and ready while lucy opened her mouth to say something before being cut off by leah pulling a face of disgust, “you know what don’t answer that i don’t wanna know”

“can yous like hurry up, everyone’s waiting and im starvin” georgia complained as you stood their beginning more to wonder how they even got in when neither have a keycard for you door and for a good reason.

"how’d you even get in-" you began.

“okay cool- also lucy you’ve got lipstick on your face!” georgia cut you off before you even had a chance to get your sentence out, directing the last part to lucy as she pointed to your girlfriend. before the two left giggling, quickly leaving your room.

“do i really have lipstick on ma face?” lucy asked turning to you as you smile to yourself reaching to rub it off with your thumb.

“darling you need to get better at puttin’ makeup on!” lucy cheekily says as she watched you fix up your own lipstick.

“and someone needs to learn to keep their hands to their self!” you sass as a gasp comes from your girlfriend as your quick remark.

“don’t wear that dress next time.” lucy mumbled as you stood dumbfounded as she was literally the one who told you to wear the black dress.

“go and get ready, we’re already late!” you smile at lucy hitting her slightly in the shoulder as you pushed her out the bathroom.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 4

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

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: I got like insanely sick suddenly and I still feel off.

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Sam, that paradise punch was a bad idea,” you groan as you struggle to get your bag out of the trunk of the taxi. 

“Whatever,” Sam slurs as he comes around, “I tipped the driver extra. Bud, you think you can get this out for the lady?” 

The driver is all to helpful as he comes around you take the handle from you and swiftly plants the bag on its wheels. It’s everything you have that isn’t bundled up into storage or sacrificed to the dumpster. You thank the man and swallow a belch. 

“Have a safe trip, miss,” the driver nods and turns to slap Sam’s arm, “and you, sir.” 

Sam salutes the man and pushes away from the cab, your carry-on slung from his shoulder. The two of you clumsily lift the bag over the curb. You look up at the airport as the roar of jet engines cuts through the dusky air. 

“I feel like I’m drunker,” Sam snickers. 

“Uh huh, me too,” you murmur. Two hours on his couch was barely enough. If anything, it’s just set your vision askew. “They’re not gonna let me board if – hiccup—I'm blasted.” 

“Don’t worry, we can get water,” he blathers and yanks your bag onto its wheels, “off to the land of vikings! Skol!” 

“Skol?” You follow him in a clamour. 

“It’s what they say, isn’t it?” He chuckles, “I saw it on a show or whatever.” 

“I... yeah, usually while they drink, not stumbling drunk,” you rebuff. 

“Sound pretty sober to me with all that whining,” he rebukes. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes and follow him through the automatic doors. 

He veers off and you follow him in confusion, glancing back at the check-in counter. He stops before a bright vending machine and feels around in his pocket. He taps his card and focuses intently on pressing the button. 

“Waterrrrr,” he drones and leans on the machine to reach through the slot. 

He hands it over and you unscrew the cap. You chug half the bottle and let out an obnoxious belch. You cover your mouth in embarrassment and offer him the rest. He finishes it off and you linger by the machine as you let the cool flow settle in. 

“Feel any better?” He asks. 

“A little. I’ll have a coffee on the plane.” 

“Nah, you should sleep.” 

“Maybe,” you take out your phone and tap the side button. Nothing. 

“Anything from Mr. Carter?” Sam asks. 

“No,” you black the screen and shrug. “Come on, I gotta check my bag.” 

“You should check that boy,” he blathers as he stands straight and once more yanks the bag after you, “tell him what’s what.” 

“Sam, he’s busy--” 

“He’s your best friend! At least, he likes to say so then do nothing.” 

“Quit,” you beg him, “this is hard enough.” 

“This is what you need--” 

“I know!” You throw your hands up and face him as you come up before the counter. “I know. Okay. I’m stupid and---” you shake your head and let the truth sink back into the depths of your soul. You face the clerk and sigh, “I’m sorry, I’m here to check my bag.” 

You pull out your wallet and slide your passport across the counter. You show your boarding pass and pay for the extra weight. Your bid a safe journey and carry on with only the smaller bag still on Sam’s shoulder. 

Wordlessly, you sit in a row of seats. You look up at the clock. You’ll have to go to the boarding area sooner than later. He won’t be able to come with you. 

“Sam, I’m sorry. I just... is it that obvious?” You croak. 

He puts his hand on your back and rubs it gently. It’s soothing. The tension trickles down your sides and seeps out. It feels good to admit it aloud yet mortifying just the same. 

“No, I just sense these things. I know Steve, I know you, and I know he doesn’t deserve you. Even as just friends.” 

“Ugh,” you put your head in your hands, “I am so stupid.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re human. It stinks. Our brains, our hearts, they aren’t logical, as much as we like to pretend,” he huffs, “trust me. We’ve all been there and if we haven’t, we’ll get our turn.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” you sit up as your eyes glisten, “I just... he said he’d be here. I thought I’d at least get that--” 

Your name echoes through the airy space and you wince. Right on cue, just before you can collapse completely. You turn as Steve rushes toward you. He wears jeans and grey sweatshirt. He remembered! 

You stand as Sam sighs. You smile, only halfway before you see the figure trailing behind him. Peggy looks less than excited to be there. Her sleepy lashes flutter as her wave hair is pinned back in a messy chignon, still elegant despite the carelessness. She wears a dark green trench over a silver satin nightie. She must’ve rushed out with him. 

“Hey,” Steve nears, “sorry I couldn’t make it for drinks, but I couldn’t miss take-off.” 

“Mmm, they don’t have any afternoon flights,” Peggy mutters. 

“They do but landing doesn’t line up with the train,” you shrug and glance at her briefly. Her glare darts back at you. You wonder if that work dinner was so impromptu after all. 

“Are you excited?” Steve drops into the seat next to you. 

“Uh, yeah, nervous,” you smile as the weight lightens from your chest. He came. Maybe Sam is wrong. Maybe friends isn’t that bad. 

“It’s going to be great. You have to send me updates, oh, and I’ll be sure to send you all the wedding news!” He grins, “I still can’t believe you’re going to be so far away.” 

“It’s a good opportunity,” Peggy intones as she sits on his other side, resting her hand on his forearm, “in her line of work, I’m sure they don’t come often.” 

You press your lips tight and look down, “yeah, not really.” 

“She can get out. Make new friends. Some girl friends, maybe,” Peggy remarks. 

“I’m sure she’ll make all the friends,” Sam interjects, “I hear there isn’t much sunlight over there, she’ll be a breath of fresh air for those grumpy vikings.” 

“Mm, yes,” Peggy grumbles as she trails her hand down to Steve’s. “Too bad you won’t make the engagement party.” 

“Or the wedding,” Steve adds. 

“Well, we’ve a full wedding party as it is,” she shrugs. “There’ll be lots of pictures.” 

“Right, yeah, I’m sorry to miss it all,” you frown. “I...” you sit back and nearly choke, “I’m gonna hit the bathroom.” 

You stand as Sam puffs out heavily and to your surprise, Peggy swiftly gets to her feet, suddenly very awake. Your soberness is setting in along with a pulsing headache. You really don’t want to deal with her. If you knew he’d bring her, you’d have told Steve to stay home. 

“I’ll come with you. I’m splitting at the seams,” she trills. 

“Alright,” you agree with a tint of uncertainty. 

She twirls and you walk parallel to her towards the bathroom signs. You chalk it up to the feminine habit. It isn’t unusual to visit the toilets in pairs, even without much kinship between you. It does however spoil your attempt at respite. You less so want to empty your bladder than clear your mind. 

You don’t say a word as you enter the bathroom. You go into a stall and she does the same. Your mind clogs your biology and you have to sit and focus before you can get a flow going. By the time you’re trickling into the bowl, she’s done. A toilet flushes and you hear her unlatch the door and approach the sinks. 

She’s in heels, even at this hour. The sink sprays out water and you listen to her hum as she washes her hands. You finish up and flush, coming out meekly to use the sink next to her. You focus on the simple task as she watches you in the mirror. 

Sensing her gaze, you look up and pull your hands out from under the censor-activated faucet. You meet her eyes and nearly wince at the steely intensity. You stand straight and move past her to retrieve some paper towel. 

“This is a wise decision,” she says, “well-needed.” 

You look at her again as you dry your hands, “thanks.” 

“Oh, I’m not congratulating you. About time you got some sense,” she sneers. 

You wince and crumple up the towel. You drop it in the bin and cross your arms, “okay, well...” 

“It’s better you’re not here for any of it. He doesn’t need the distraction.” 

You chew the inside of your lip as venom drips from her voice. You’re still slightly tipsy and too tired to process this. You have no response. 

“The distance will help you get over it. Finally,” she snips, “you know, I thought it was almost endearing at first then it just became pathetic.” 

You swallow. You’re humiliated that even she could see right through you. You can hardly blame her for her spite. After all, she’s his fiancée, not you. 

“He thinks it’s silly. He laughs.” 

You flinch then. Hard. Your chest rents and your stomach boils. 

“He knows. It’s obvious. I mean, it’s convenient, isn’t it? You’ll do anything for him and really it was rather helpful. Took a lot off my plate and his but it’s time for all of us to grow up. I will be his wife and he doesn’t need some girl to measure out his laundry detergent or remind him to eat.” 

You blink and look away. You cross your arms and push your shoulders up, “got it.” 

“So why don’t you go ahead and just put him on mute now?” 

“Peggy,” you whisper. 

“We’re getting married. You know you can’t stop it, that’s why you’re running away. So end it.” 

“You don’t have to be cruel,” you mutter. 

“I could be horrid. I could have been for all these years. I believe I’ve had remarkable restraint with you,” she points a manicured nail at you, “you should be thanking me for having the grace to do this in private.” 

Your lip trembles and your cheeks tug painfully. You nod and turn away, “don’t worry, Peg, you won’t hear from me. He won’t either.” You make your way to the door, “I wish you both the best.” 

“Mm, I pray you find some clarity and perhaps some maturity along the way,” she retorts as she follows you, heels clicking loudly across the tile, “perhaps you might find someone too. Someone you deserve.” 

Her last words sting. The derision is pungent enough to make your nose crinkle. Someone you deserve... because you could never ever be good enough for Steve Rogers. 

💟

You don’t look back as you go through the gate. You can’t. It’s too painful. The tears have receded but the pain is only deeper. Peggy’s words reverberate in your head, nipping at your ears as your nape burns hotter and hotter. 

She’s right. Sam too. This is overdue. It’s exactly what you need to do. You know it. It’s the reason you chose this. That moment when you were faced with being the eternal wobbly third wheel, you made up your mind. It’s over. That part of your life is behind you, but you don’t know that you’ll ever stop feeling this way. 

It’s hard to settle in your seat, even knowing you have ten hours of flying ahead of you. Disembarking alone will be another hour at least, then finding the train station, another few hours... It’s a lot of time to think and you just can’t stop. 

You don’t take the book out of your bag or touch the screen in front of you. Instead, you sit, slumped down in your seat, eyes drifting back and forth, as you wallow in your self-pity. You stay like that through the flight. You decline the mid-flight meal and the snack cart. You don’t even get up to use the bathroom. 

You close your eyes and float away into memory. You can feel the scene around you. You can smell the stale air freshener forgotten on the shelf above the desk and hear the muffled thrum of music through the walls. You sit on the bed, your textbook open in your lap and your laptop open by your leg. Steve’s on the other end, phone in hand, texting as his golden hair flops forward over his head. 

He’s younger. That rosiness still kisses his cheeks as subtle freckles speckle his pale skin. Yet he’s just a well-built as ever. Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, long legs. He’s the very picture that should appear next to ‘hunk’ in the dictionary. Every girl’s dream. Your dream. 

“Huh,” he chuckles and drops his phone, “this girl in my history class wants to meet up.” 

Your heart plucks and you force a smile, “a girl? Meet up?” 

“Oh, yeah, she lets me copy off her pop quiz every lecture. Guess I kinda owe her.” 

“Wow,” you utter, the only noise you can eke out. Owes her? Funny, you did his laundry last week and helped him print out his term paper... what do you get? 

“Yeah, so uh, do you think you could send me a copy of your notes?” He pushes himself to the edge of the bed. “I probably won’t be back tonight.” 

“Right,” you nod and hide your embarrassment at the insinuation. 

“You can crash here if you wanna. Long way across campus at night,” he shrugs casually as he grabs his varsity jacket. 

“No, I’ll... I’ll just go now,” you get off the bed and close up your books. 

“Probably a good idea. Just in case she wants to come back here,” he chuckles, “see ya in poli sci?” 

“Sure,” you keep your chin down. “See ya.” 

Your eyelids lift as you come out of the dazed memory.  

New York is gone. Steve is gone. You’re all alone. You’ve left it all behind but that home was never a home. It was all a farce you built on a childish hope. You’re done lying to yourself. It was never going to be. You didn’t miss any chance at all. You just wasted your own time. 

You just languish there in the airplane seat. It’s still hard to believe it’s all real. It isn’t until the wheels bounce and hit the tarmac that it fully sinks in. 

You’re not doing that again. You’re better off alone. You have to be, right? You don’t really know. You don’t even know yourself. You just know the girl who only wanted to be what he needed. 

But what do you need? What do you want? Can you figure it out? Is there anything in this land for you that you couldn’t find in New York? 

At least you’ll have lots of time to figure that out. Intimate hours with yourself to dwell and cringe and regret. Time to think, time to move on, time to cut him out. 

As you join the line to have your Visa stamped, you pull out your phone and turn off airplane mode. You swipe through to Steve’s last message. It was weeks ago. That makes it easier to hit that button; ‘mute’. It’s a start. Maybe in a few weeks, you’ll be ready to hit ‘block’. 

[underdark-dreams]

This fic will explore the fanon of Tiefling rut/heat cycles: specifically, what happens when a stressed, overworked, sexually pent-up wizard is confronted with his own biology and his feelings about a certain hero all at once?

Thank you @rolansrighthorn for kindly beta reading this chapter!

Rolan x afab!Tav

Birds and Bees - Ch.1

The new Master of Ramazith's Tower hasn't been feeling well. Rolan isn't quite sure what's wrong with himself, but when Tav arrives back in Baldur's Gate, things get much worse.

Tags: Tiefling Ruts, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3.4k [Read on AO3]

Rolan awoke feeling sick as a dog. 

He pulled his legs over the edge of the mattress with a wince. The dull ache in his muscles was something he hadn't felt since those first weeks on the road out of Elturel.

He'd slept like hells the past few days; no doubt that was the cause. Once again, bizarre nightmares had left him gasping awake before dawn, covered in a clammy sheen of perspiration.

The dreams featuring Tav, however…

Rolan’s tail shuddered and flicked over the bedsheets behind him at the memory. He pushed those thoughts forcefully from his head. Tav was due back in Baldur’s Gate today—that was the last thing he should be thinking of when she arrived at Sorcerous Sundries.

She’d been away for over a week this time, gathering her materials in the Underdark. He wondered if that meant she'd have enough work to keep her in the city for longer, too. The thought encouraged him enough to rise and dress for the day. He should make sure her alchemy station was prepped and ready for her at the back of the shop, at least. 

Down on the main floor of Sorcerous Sundries, Rolan’s improved mood was instantly tested. Cal took in his face wide-eyed.

“You look awful.”

“And good morning to you,” Rolan responded irritably.

“Is it?” Cal trailed after him as he unlocked and threw open the wide front doors. “Rolan, maybe you need a day off. You look like you barely slept.”

“I'm fine,” Rolan said, voice firm. “Where’s Lia?”

Right as the words left him, a teacup appeared at his elbow.

“Had a feeling you might need it,” Lia told him. “Looks like I was right.”

Too tired to combat both his siblings at once this early in the day, Rolan accepted the tea with a begrudging sigh of thanks. The smell of bitter herbs hit his nose before he took the first sip.

“Doctoring me with folk remedies now?”

Lia waved a dismissive hand as she moved behind the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we all know you'd rather get fussed over by Tav. Can't have you dragging your tail and embarrassing us in front of her, though.”

Cal walked off with a snort.

Rolan shut his eyes and wished he could return straight back to bed. Instead, he drank his tea down in silence and said a prayer for an easy day of work.

He did find himself perking up after a while. It was difficult to stay sullen on such a glorious spring day; clear sunlight streamed generously through the high windows above, and the flow of customers milling into the shop settled into a pleasant, familiar hum. Rolan fell into the rhythm of assisting them here and there, locating scrolls and giving advice on spellwork.

It certainly wasn’t the prospect of seeing Tav again that was improving his mood so much. That’s what Rolan kept telling himself, at least.

Another breeze drifted in through the open atrium behind him, bringing with it the fresh scent of spring wildflowers. Rolan was taken with a sudden fancy to move closer to wherever it emanated from.

“Lovely morning, isn't it?”

Tav stood beaming at him from the doorway, despite the full-to-bursting pack slung over one of her shoulders. Clearly he wasn’t the only one affected by the irresistibly nice weather.

“It rather is,” Rolan agreed. Ignoring her usual protests, he unshouldered the bag from her with a tug; its weight made him question whether she’d stuffed it entirely with minerals.

“Ugh…thanks.” Tav stretched her arms back appreciatively. She was wearing a lightweight tunic, carelessly laced, and the motion strained the fabric over her chest. 

Rolan averted his gaze, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. He instead led Tav back to her workstation near the stairs.

“Looks busy in here,” she remarked with approval. “Business good?”

“Can’t complain. I take it your travels were as successful?” He punctuated the comment by landing her pack on the desk with a heavy thump. Tav laughed.

“Brilliant, actually. I've got a lot to show you, if you can spare the time.”

“Just give me a few minutes,” he answered, turning back to her.

Tav didn’t reply right away; she was frowning at his face. “Rolan, are you ill? You look flushed—” And she reached a hand as if to feel his forehead.

“Of course not,” Rolan answered, a bit too swiftly. Casting for an excuse to create some distance, he moved to the nearby reference shelves and began shoving the mess of books back into their correct cubbies. “Cal, could you grab another stack of the beginner’s Weave series? We’ve sold through.”

Cal looked up from his work rolling scroll pages. “Er, sure…which wing is that again?”

“Nevermind,” Rolan sighed. “I’ll get them myself. Let me know if your station’s missing any supplies,” he added to Tav, letting his voice soften a bit. It earned him a dimpling smile.

Rolan strode away from her toward the portal, feeling that annoying ache in his legs return as he did.

—

Tav watched Rolan’s figure trudge up the staircase with another twinge of concern. Then she set to work connecting all the equipment on her alchemy station. Lia appeared at her side before long, asking after her week’s travels in the Underdark and catching her up on news and gossip from the Gate. It was so nice to have friends like Lia; ones you could pick up right where you left off with.

Tav had emptied her bag onto her desk and begun sorting the small mountain of herbs into separate piles as she listened. “How’s Rolan been doing with everything, really?”

Lia was turning over one of her shards of laculite, idly catching the sunlight in its facets. “Mostly happy. And stressed, and overextended. And completely neurotic about organizing every shelf in the library. You know, typical wizard stuff.”

“I just hope he’s looking after himself,” she said down to her work. The words left her mouth easier than she wished.

Lia leaned a hip against her desk with arms crossed. “You sound interested in helping with that.”

The quake in Tav’s stomach made her feel very caught out, then very stupid. She let out an exhale of laughter instead.

“Rolan’s made it pretty clear that he is not,” she replied. Her fingers began stripping the blooms from her pile of dried mugwort with more force than strictly necessary.

“Between you and me,” Lia mused, “I don’t think Rolan’s anywhere near clear on that subject. Smart people can be real idiots, you know.”

“Who can?”

Rolan was headed from the staircase with an armful of books; he stood behind Lia with a suspicious look. Tav immediately wondered how much he’d heard.

“Rich people,” Lia answered at once, still leaning casually against Tav’s desk. “Lady Whitburn’s handmaid keeps coming in asking for spell scrolls that I’m pretty sure don’t exist. You think she’d get the picture by now.”

Rolan let out a long-suffering sigh and held out the stack of volumes to her. “Take these. And just send Cal to help her next time, that’s why she keeps coming back.”

Lia threw up a hand as if that only proved her point. “Like I said, idiots.” But with one last glance at Tav, she grabbed the books and ferried them away to the front of Sorcerous Sundries.

For her part, Tav resumed the work of preparing the week’s ingredients—there were several large batches of antidote to get through this morning. Rolan took up his usual spot at the desk in her periphery. 

Ever since the first week he’d offered Sorcerous Sundries to her as a home of operations for her alchemy, Tav found herself spending many hours at work beside Rolan like this. They spent the time talking about her travels, or his latest studies with the Weave, or just discussing the last books they’d read. On busier days, he was called away to help customers for most of her visit.

Today, however, Rolan stood unusually silent next to her.

“Sure you’re feeling all right?” She glanced at his back, again noting the tense line of his shoulders.

“Just a bit tired.” Rolan tipped open his massive record of the shop figures. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I could make you something for that, if you like.”

He gave a low huff of laughter as he took up his quill. “From what I hear from my customers, I’d be out cold for days.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help a grin of professional pride, but focused on adjusting the flame under her distilling glass. “Glad they’re selling well.”

“I can barely keep them on the shelves, especially those remedial draughts you make. The last batch lasted three days.”

Though it was satisfying to hear, Tav felt a bit chagrined. “Damn…won’t have more of those for a while. I still need to track down a new materials trader in the Gate. My usual guy moved on to Neverwinter.”

There was a short pause in their little corner, filled only with the sounds of softly bubbling liquid against glass.

“You know,” Rolan said without turning, “you’re welcome to stay here, if it’s easier for you. The guest room’s always empty. That is, so you wouldn’t have to travel across the city on top of finding your new contact.”

“Oh—” Tav tried hard not to read anything into his offer. “Actually, I already left my things with Danis and Bex. But thank you, Rolan,” she added.

Rolan coughed lightly, back still turned. “Of course.” 

There was another pause, longer and strangely awkward. Tav suddenly found she needed something more to occupy her thoughts than watching a flask boil. Reaching down for her pack, she pulled her research journal up to the desk.

It had been many weeks since Rolan brought up that subject. Why now?

Cal and Lia constantly reminded her of the long-standing offer of a room in the Tower anytime she had need of it. For unspoken reasons, she’d always found polite ways of declining.

It wasn’t that Rolan had made her feel unwelcome in any way. After all, he’d opened up the expansive resources of Ramazith’s Tower to her use, lending her all of the delicate and expensive alchemy equipment that she’d never be able to cart back and forth in her travels. She owed much of her current success to his generosity.

But Rolan had proven himself a generous patron for all kinds of arcane arts as Master of Ramazith’s Tower. Really, what made her think she was any kind of special case?

The fact that she’d very much like to be that to him…well.

That was something Tav tried not to think about. It only led her to dangerous territory, such as staring at his hands while he worked a spell and wondering what else they might be good for. Hardly conducive to a friendly, professional relationship. 

And if she was any good at reading signals, friendly but professional was how Rolan wanted to keep things.

Tav shuffled through her notes a bit too briskly and almost scattered them. That was enough dwelling on that subject; clearly, Rolan had plenty to think about without worrying about unwanted advances in his own home. The least she could do to repay his generosity would be to continue respecting his boundaries.

“Noblestalk propagation?”

She glanced over her shoulder. To her surprise, Rolan had moved closer to peer down at the top page in her hands with curiosity.

“Most valuable thing in the Underdark,” she told him. “Even more than mithril. Actually, this is what I wanted to show you—”

Noblestalk fetched a high price for its alchemical power, certainly, but also for its rarity. The delicate mushrooms were notoriously picky about where they grew; it was part of what made them so hard to find. 

Truth be told, she’d been running a little experiment on them down in the Underdark over the past few months. She ran a finger across the charted results as she explained them to Rolan, whose tension seemed to vanish as he listened on with keen interest.

“Obviously the spores took faster in high humidity. But look, they actually did better when I transplanted them in a really cold spot near the river here—which is so odd, most fungi need a bit of warmth—

“Have you tried recreating these artificially? Carrying a sample back to the surface?”

“Not yet.” She scratched her chin in thought. “I’d need to find somewhere underground to propagate it. And I’d rather not spend any more time in the sewers, after that little cult business.”

“Just do it here,” Rolan dismissed, as if it was the plainly obvious solution. “We’ve got quite a few empty vaults now. Shouldn’t be too hard to repurpose one as a greenhouse of sorts.”

As she turned her head to respond, she was caught up short. 

Rolan was still peering intently at her writing. But in his concentration, he’d angled his body very close beside her. His chest nearly brushed her shoulder. She could’ve counted the freckles dusting his nose.

When he reached forward to flip over the page, she felt his other hand actually rest on the far side of her waist—the absent way you might touch someone very familiar to you when moving past them. Heat rose in her cheeks at the gesture.

Perhaps Rolan felt her tense. He blinked, and she watched realization dart over his features. He stepped back at once.

“Apologies.” Then he cleared his throat to add—“Your work is quite engaging.”

Coming from him, the words sounded much nicer than they had a right to. She felt her flush deepening, and quickly turned back to reorder her notes. 

“Thanks,” she laughed, praying it didn’t sound as awkward as it felt rising in her throat.

Behind her back, she heard Rolan return to his desk on her left. Presumably continuing his work on the Sundries inventory; more likely trying to ignore her obvious fluster. 

She clenched her jaw in an attempt to shove that same stupid, fluttery feeling out of her stomach, and returned to the practical work at hand. 

—

Rolan stared down at last week’s sales in his ledger. The figures were a blur of meaningless scribbles in front of his eyes.

Was he feverish? Seriously ill? There had to be a sound explanation for the way he’d just…laid hands on her like that, unthinking. 

He clenched the guilty right hand responsible, feeling its sharp nails press crescent moons into his palm. Idiot. He took a deep breath to regain his composure. 

It only caused that lovely wildflower scent from before to fill his lungs more completely, pulling at his other senses. Perhaps it was emanating from one of the many strange ingredients Tav was always carrying back from the Underdark. Was that what had muddled his mind this way?

He found himself glancing back over his shoulder to where she was bent over her alchemy scales. The pink tip of her tongue was visible between her teeth, a gesture she often made when concentrating.

As Rolan watched, a lock of her hair slipped forward over her shoulder. She swept it absently back behind her ear. The innocuous motion caused another wave of something floral to brush past his face, stronger this time.

“Are you wearing scent?”

Tav glanced up from the powder she was weighing out, brows raised in question. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rolan said swiftly, shaking himself back to rights a bit. He felt very lucky she seemed to have misheard. He turned back to his work before he could say anything else strange or embarrassing.

With effort, Rolan forced his attention back to the comforting logic of sums and figures. 

The time passed with blessed uneventfulness after that. The soft sounds of glassware and bubbling liquids from Tav’s alchemy faded to an idle lull at the back of Rolan’s consciousness. Nevertheless, he pushed through the past month’s numbers with more difficulty than usual, scratching through multiple errors as his quill moved over the page. He occasionally had to pause to rub at an uncomfortable crick building in his neck.

A laugh came from behind him. “Do you mind?”

Rolan raised his head to look. Tav was gesturing at the corner of her alchemy station with a bemused expression. 

To his own confusion, he found that his tail had traveled there of its own accord sometime in the past minutes. It lay coiled on the wood, its tip flicking back and forth in her direction, as if seeking her attention.

With another chuckle, Tav’s fingers closed around it and lightly dropped the appendage off the edge of her desk.

An involuntary sound caught in Rolan’s throat. The moment her hand connected with his skin, a shock of blood rushed to his groin. He nearly tipped forward in alarm at the feeling.

The rapid redirection left his legs wobbling and bloodless. His knees almost buckled under him; he gripped sharp claws into the edge of his wooden desk to steady himself. 

As the ringing in his ears cleared, he heard Tav reading under her breath behind him while she ground something against her mortar. Praise the gods that whatever just happened to his body had escaped her notice.

“Need a book from the library—”

Without a backward glance, Rolan stumbled toward the stairs.

Spurred on by the knowledge that any customers who might notice his urgent departure would certainly see the reason for it, he strode on double-time for the portal. Only once the swirl of Weave closed behind him, depositing him in the quiet of the Tower, did he release the breath caught up in his lungs.

Seeking to ground himself, Rolan glanced up to watch the golden dust motes drift through a beam of sunlight. It was the strangest sensation to be standing completely still and feel a sweat break out over his brow.

How did he not realize days ago? Muscle aches—difficulty sleeping—heightened senses. All clear indicators that his biology had finally caught up with him, albeit a solid year later than it should have.

Rolan gripped a hand to the back of his head with a groan of realization. Not perfume—it had been Tav herself he kept catching scent of this morning. That sweet smell that practically made his mouth water to recall now was nothing but raw instinct laid bare.

Well, he had no right to complain about the timing. Apparently many frantic months of escaping the Hells, surviving on the road, and battling back an invasion from the Astral Plane had done a lot to delay the inevitable. 

But inevitable it was, and as of today, very much inescapable. There was never really a convenient time for this sort of thing, was there?

It could be worse—as the new keeper of Ramazith’s Tower, at least he found himself with private quarters to retreat to for the entirety of it. If he was lucky, it would all be over in a week, and then he could go on ignoring this unfortunate side effect of his Infernal heritage for a few more uneventful years. 

Lia and Cal could manage the shop for a week without any major calamities, surely?

As Rolan paced the silk carpets of the Tower floor, he forced his feverish mind to finish scrabbling together the plan. His gaze fell on the desk by the window. In the next second, he was putting shaking quill to parchment. Something simple, just enough they’d understand—

Bad week for visitors. Please mind the Sundries while I recover. Tell Tav 

The tip of his quill skipped as he paused, letting a droplet of ink bleed into the page. 

Tell Tav what, exactly? That he was in his room rutting his brains out like an animal in heat? Likely thinking of her while he did?

That line of thought brought a series of unhelpful and very stimulating images to mind. He swallowed down a humiliating sound as the stiffness between his legs grew painfully hard in reaction. Merciful, bloody hells.

Tell Tav nothing, he finished in a scrawl. Rolan folded the note and deposited it on the floor just in front of the portal, where it would be impossible for his siblings to miss. 

Then he turned for the staircase to his bedroom, already mad to rip these chafing gods-damned robes off his skin.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 3: Miss Me, Miss Me Not

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

And it hits me when the lights go on (shit, maybe I miss you)

(In which a lazy writer somehow still manages to make her deadlines, much to her own shock)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining and a teensy bit of Fluff

Words: 5.8K

TW: Swearing (once again I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I'm not gonna lie til about an hour ago, I very much did not think I was gonna give y'all a Monday update but here we are! A couple of housekeeping things, I went back and added months to the years so hopefully that's more helpful. I lowkey dislike this part but I felt like the fic needed it and I'm excited to write the next part. Ngl, the editing on this is pretty nonexistent because trying to read this back lowkey killed me so please feel free to point out mistakes so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, and disliked and anything you wanna see going forward. I really appreciate all of y'alls feedback and the long reviews make my day! Have a good rest of your week lovies <3

September 2017

Azzi: just got home :) 

It’s a simple text and it should be easy for Paige to conjure up an equally simple reply. Instead she finds herself typing and deleting, over and over, because nothing sounds quite right. There’s this hollow feeling thrumming in her chest, that has only gotten stronger every passing minute since she’d said goodbye to Azzi at the airport. If she tries hard enough, she can still feel the remnants of their last hug lingering against every inch of her skin. She wants to memorize that feeling and create a blanket out of its threads to numb the ice cold shiver that’s been repeatedly running through her veins from the second Azzi had gotten on that plane. But even that might not be enough. Not when she’s learnt just how warm Azzi’s presence can be and how everything else pales in comparison. 

Paige lies to herself that it’s an accidental slip of her fingers, that she’d meant to press send not call, that she had every intention of hanging up the facetime on the first ring itself. 

But then Azzi picks up on the second one.

And really it would be rude to hang up. 

“Hey what’s up?” Azzi’s face fills the screen, tired eyes staring intently at Paige through the screen. 

“Oh um-” Paige fumbles for words, awkwardly shuffling her feet that are dangling off the side of her bed, “I just wanted to ask how your flight was?”

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “you couldn’t have texted me that?”

“Too tired to text,” Paige lies and the words i just wanted to hear your voice stay stuck, burning hot, in her throat, “gotta save these money-making fingers for more important things.”

“Yeah I’m hanging up-”

“NO-” it comes out far more forceful than it should and if possible, Azzi’s eyebrow shoots up even farther, as Paige clears her throat, “I mean- uh- you didn’t tell me how your flight was.”

Paige is too busy cringing at herself to notice the light blush that tinges Azzi’s cheeks. She’s too busy wondering why this girl brings out this nervous bumbling side of hers to notice the fond smile that almost cracks through Azzi’s lips. 

“The flight was okay. I actually got to sleep this time,” Azzi says pointedly and Paige laughs. 

“So what you’re saying is it was boring as hell.”

“I’m saying it was really peaceful not having someone yapping in my ear while I was trying to sleep.”

“So you didn’t miss me?” Paige presses, trying to keep her voice teasing despite how desperately she wants the admission. 

Azzi hesitates, as if she’s debating with herself, before, “I didn’t say that.”

It’s a little ridiculous how large Paige’s grin is but it’s okay, because Azzi’s smiling back, soft and shy. They’d look foolish to anyone else, the way they’re so intently gazing at each other through a screen as if there’s no barrier between them at all. 

“It’s gonna be weird going to the gym without you tomorrow morning,” Paige confesses after a second, moving to lay down on her stomach. 

“I bet. You’re gonna get absolutely nothing done without me,” Azzi teases dramatically before her eyes soften, “it’s weird that I’m not gonna see you at all tomorrow.”

There’s something gut-wrenching about that admission and yet, there’s something in it that heals a part of Paige’s heart that she hadn’t even known needed to be fixed. It means something to her that Azzi must feel it too. Because if she’s honest with herself, Paige had been just a little afraid that maybe the connection was just in her head, that maybe Azzi was simply tolerating her presence out of kindness. 

“You should just move to Minnesota,” Paige replies finally, “much nicer than Virgina or whatever.”

“Have you ever even been to Virginia?” Azzi asks, eyebrows raised as she flips herself to lie on her back, holding her phone above her in a way that lets Paige see entirely too much and yet not nearly enough. 

“No but it sounds boring as fuck.”

“Not with me,” Azzi says, biting her bottom lip sheepishly as soon as the words are out. 

Paige smirks, suddenly filled with a brand new confidence, “yeah? You’d make Virgina interesting for me Fudd? What would we do?”

Azzi licks her lips and Paige feels her mouth go dry. 

“We’d be together,” the younger girl says finally, averting her gaze as the depth of her words begin to make Paige feel like she’s being flooded by an ocean of emotions she’s not quite ready to feel yet, “anything can be interesting if we’re together.”

It would be so easy to come up with a sarcastic quip or tease Azzi for being a sap and yet there’s a certain sincerity in this moment that feels too fragile for Paige to feign nonchalance. 

“Is Virginia nice in the winter?” she asks finally, hands fidgeting with the hair ties secured around her wrist, “Minny’s a little too cold sometimes.”

Azzi’s eyes shine and Paige wants to try and read them, find the little clues hidden in her irises and solve the mystery lingering behind the crimson flush of her cheeks. But the truth is that Paige is a little scared of what she’d find, a little scared that discovering Azzi might mean discovering herself too. 

“You should come find out some time,” the brunette says, casual tone filled with intricacies of something far deeper. It’s the closest they’ve gotten to saying anything of actual substance and they tip-toe around saying what they both want, daring the other to ask first. 

“I dunno,” Paige says, determined to win the game, “I’m not in the habit of showing up to places without a proper invite.”

Azzi scoffs, “a proper invite? Are you expecting someone to send you a carrier pigeon with a gold letter addressed to her royal highness or something?”

“That would be nice,” Paige surmises and Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Does your back ever hurt from carrying that ego?”

“Only hurts from carrying my team.”

“Oh my god you’re so full of it.”

“Full of talent? Yessirrrr.”

Azzi huffs, “Paige.”

“Azzi,” Paige hums. 

“Do you wanna come visit me in Virginia during winter break?” Azzi says finally, a small smile playing on her lips like she’s okay with losing this game as long as it’s to Paige. 

“If I must,” Paige says dramatically, shrugging her shoulders and everything as Azzi lets out an offended squeak. But inside, her heart flutters at the offer, at the idea of seeing Azzi again, even if it feels like a lifetime away. Because as long as it’s Azzi on the other side, Paige and her impatient self can wait however long it takes. 

“Actually you know what nevermind, you don’t gotta come,” Azzi concedes bitterly,  scrunching her face (and Paige would never tell her this but she thinks Azzi looks just a little too cute when she’s mad and so maybe she riles her up on purpose)

“No takesies backsies Az,” Paige sing-songs before her lips uptick from a smirk into something more sincere, “hey Az,” she whispers, giggling to herself when Azzi pretends to ignore her, “I’d really like to come see you in Virginia during winter break.”

And as a brilliant grin dazzles across Azzi’s face, Paige realizes that her favorite thing about Azzi’s smile isn’t when her dimples show or when her eyes twinkle, it’s when it’s there because of Paige, when it’s there just for Paige. 

“Good,” Azzi whispers as they fall into a comfortable silence. 

There’s this serene sense of calm that laces itself around Paige’s nerves. Her normally fidgeting body is content to be perfectly still, an anomaly to her usual demeanor. The truth is that Paige isn’t the kind of person who’s okay with just existing; she likes to spend every second in motion, living out the high. There’s a part of her that’s scared of missing moments, scared that the people around her will leave her behind if she doesn’t chase them. But it’s different with Azzi. The younger girl makes Paige feel like it’s okay if she takes a moment to just breathe. Because Azzi will wait. Because Azzi won’t leave Paige behind. 

“Wait,” it’s a little while before Azzi pipes up, shaking Paige out of her thoughts, “what time is it?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to the time on her phone, confused by the line of questioning, “it’s almost 9 why?”

“Don’t you have a team party or something to go to tonight?” Azzi asks, face scrunching, “I swear you told me you had something tonight.”

“Oh-yeah- Amaya’s back to school thing,” Paige sheepishly scratches her neck, suddenly feeling itchy in her flannel shirt. She’d forgotten she was wearing that instead of her daily clothes. Hell, she’d forgotten she was supposed to be going somewhere in the first place, too occupied with other thoughts. 

“Bro get up,” Azzi orders, “you’re already late.”

“Nah it’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna go,” Paige says and she thinks she should probably feel a little more guilty about it. 

“What do you mean you’re not gonna go?” Azzi asks in disbelief, “dude you’re the star of the team. You have to go.”

“Amaya will understand besides-” Paige drags in a deep breath, feeling vulnerable as the next words fall out in a quiet whisper, “I don’t wanna hang up yet.”

“Paige c’mon we can talk tomorrow,” Azzi tries to protest but it’s half-hearted at best.

“I wanna talk right now,” Paige argues, “you don’t wanna talk to me?”

For a second Paige thinks Azzi might just say no, might just chip away a little bit of heart with a well-intentioned rejection, but she doesn’t, “always wanna talk to you P.”

“Then don’t hang up. Talk to me.”

And Azzi does. All night. 

Two weeks laters there’s a letter, in an envelope with a picture of a carrier pigeon, that arrives in the Bueckers’ mail box. 

To her royal highness, 

Unfortunately I couldn’t find an actual carrier pigeon (I swear I tried) so this envelope and the mailman will have to do. 

~ You are formally invited this winter break to the Fudd family residence in Virginia. ~

(And you better show up Bueckers)

Yours, 

Azzi

February 2033

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Ice whines petulantly as she makes herself comfortable on the couch across from where Paige is getting her makeup done, “this is parental neglect.”

Paige laughs, eyes closed, her makeup artist does her mascara, “you’ll survive.”

“You don’t know that” Ice argues, plucking a grape from the fruit basket before segueing into a rant about how boring Arlington, Texas is. 

Paige is grateful for the distraction her younger friend is providing. Her nerves had been on edge since the moment she’d woken up this morning, anxious to get the impending farewell press conference over with. She’d already started accepting that the Wings weren’t the right place for her but that feeling had only been heightened by her trip to the Valkyries. And ever since she’s come back, Paige feels a little bit like she’s sleepwalking through her final moments in Dallas. If she’s honest, she’s probably rushing things a little bit. There’s still plenty of time before she really has to move to Oakland but it had been her choice to move there as soon as possible. Paige had always been good at conjuring excuses and she had plenty as to why she needed to be in California so soon. But at the end of the day it isn’t about training or team bonding or any of the other hundred justifications she’s given anyone who’s asked. It’s about a little girl who’s eyes had been brimming with tears when saying goodbye, a little girl who had made Paige pinky swear that she’d be back as soon as possible. 

Really, Paige thinks she should be applauded for her restraint, because truth be told, the second Stephie’s lower lip had trembled, Paige had been prepared to ask Ice to just ship her stuff to Oakland so that she’d never have to let go of the little girl’s hand. 

And here’s the thing, Paige is willing to admit she wants to go back to the Bay Area for Stephie. It’s that pesky little part of her that’s desperate to go back for Stephie’s mother, to go back for one more hesitant yet lingering touch, that she won’t ever share with anyone else. 

“I never thought I’d live to see you and Azzi willingly playing together again,” Ice says as soon as Paige’s makeup artist leaves the room, “KK and I didn’t even try betting on it, we were that sure it wouldn’t happen. Shit I should have. I totally would have won.”

“Don’t y’all get tired of betting on my life?” Paige asks, rolling her eyes, trying to ignore the first part of what Ice said. 

“Betting on your life has made me hundreds of dollars bro,” Ice says, before a more earnest  look crosses her face, “but genuinely P, are you sure about this? There’s a lot of history there.”

Paige sighs, “it’s not about our history. It’s a basketball decision. And we’re both mature adults who know that. I’m just tryna win. Nothing else.”

“It’s never nothing when it comes to you two.”

“It is this time,” Paige argues adamantly and Ice raises her hands in surrender. 

“I just don’t want another set of teammates to have to deal with y’alls bullshit,” the younger girl teases, but it’s laced with a hint of seriousness that sends a flare of guilt shooting through Paige’s body.��

“Ice-” she begins.

But Ice is quick to change to a lighter subject, “can’t believe Jana’s the one that gets mom and dad back together. I always knew she was the favorite.”

“We didn’t have favorites,” Paige plays along, thankful for Ice and her ability to always keep the tension to a bare minimum. 

“Oh don’t lie. We all know you did,” Ice scoffs and then lets out a chuckle, “and now Azzi’s actually a mom. That’s kinda insane. And you met the kid right?”

“Yeah. Yeah I did,” Paige says and she can’t help the way her entire face breaks into a gleaming smile as her thoughts turn into memories of Stephie. She doesn’t even realize she’s gotten lost in a different world until Ice coughs, an amused grin playing on her lips. 

“You’re so royally fucked Paige,” Ice shakes her head, “the only person I’ve seen you smile that big for before is Azzi.”

“She’s a cute, smart, adorable kid, that’s why I’m smiling,” Paige tries to defend herself. 

“She’s Azzi’s cute, smart, adorable kid,” Ice counters. 

“That has nothing to do with it,” Paige protests again but it rings hollow to her own ears.

“Oh my god I needa call KK and get this bet started. It’s only a matter of time for real,” Ice says, more to herself than to Paige, as she whips out her phone, probably texting KK. 

“A matter of time till what?”

“You’ll find out Paigey,” Ice says gravely with a mocking smile, patting Paige’s head, “all in due time.”

***

The Dallas Wings media room is buzzing, reporters desperate to ask Paige questions and the blonde tries to maintain a smile despite the fact that her heart is lurching in her throat right now. Her opening speech had been short and sweet, parroting basically the same thing that had gone out on her social media the night before; she’d been desperate to just get it out. Generally, Paige is pretty good with the media, having been immersed in the spotlight since basically forever. The attention and how to maneuver it has always come naturally to her so she’s not sure why she feels so unnerved by it all today.  From the back of the media room, Ice sends her a thumbs up and a reassuring grin and Paige lets out a breath, glad to have at least that comforting presence with her. 

“Aidrian Ginsburger with Bleacher Report, Paige, you’ve obviously spent all of your career so far with the Wings, can you tell us a little bit about the impact this organization has had on you?”

Paige smiles at the question, letting her brain skim through pages and pages of fond memories she has of time spent with this team. It might be time to move on but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have plenty of cherished moments. 

“Yeah um- this place has really shaped who I am as a person. Since day one, the front office, obviously it’s a different one to the one I came in with, they did a lot to make sure that I was comfortable. My teammates through the years have been incredible and I wouldn’t be the player I am today without them. And of course the fans you know, they always showed out for the team, for me. Always supported me in anyways and I hope that I was able to give back the love to them that they always gave to me,” she says, suddenly nostalgic for the team that had started it all. 

The next questions are similar in nature and Paige’s answer varies only in words but not substance. She feels herself start to settle into it, now fielding the expected questions about the Wings and Valkyries with an air of confidence. There are a couple questions about Azzi that make her heart thump, but that was to be expected. It’s a pretty brilliant story in the making, two MVPs who used to play on the same college team coming together. Talia had warned Paige in advance that there was no avoiding it. But for the most part the questions have an easy answer about how Azzi’s a brilliant player and she’s excited to play with her old friend again. That is until a familiar hand shoots up and all the tension that had previously dissipated, comes roaring back with a vengeance. 

“Olivia Reynolds with the Dallas Morning News, Paige, as others have said today, you and Azzi Fudd played together at UConn and you were best friends.” Olivia’s eyes glint viciously, “I mean it’s pretty well documented how hard you tried to recruit her to UConn. But despite being best friends, the two of you have been never seen hanging out, outside of games and formal events, unlike your other teammates that is-”

“Is there a point to this?” Paige asks, hands fisting in her lap as she tries to keep herself calm. 

Olivia smiles, sugary sweet, “I was just wondering if maybe there was some tension and how that would affect your on-court chemistry at the Valkyries?”

“There’s no tension,” Paige lies through gritted teeth, “we didn’t hang out because we live far apart. There isn’t much else to it. And even if there was, Azzi and I are professionals. We wouldn’t let anything off the court affect our goal to win.”

“You lived far apart before UConn too, but that didn’t seem to stop you guys. What changed?” Olivia presses.

“Time did. Our lives did. There’s nothing sensational here. It’s just a case of two people drifting apart,” Paige says and the fabrication feels heavy on her tongue. If only it really had been that simple. 

“But clearly not that much,” Olivia says, and Paige glances at the moderator, desperate for an intervention, “there were plenty of fan pictures of the two of you out getting ice cream with Azzi’s daughter. It seems like you’re already fitting into that Bay Area life-”

“I’m not hearing a question at the end of your sentence,” Paige hisses and she can practically already hear the scolding she’s going to get from Talia once her agent gets wind of how this press conference had gone. The entire media cohort is watching the exchange with wide eyes, no doubt questioning whether they were embarrassed or impressed by their colleague. Ice is mouthing something to Paige, probably something along the lines of please keep your shit together, but Paige is steaming. Really, she should have expected this. 

“Well if you’d let me finish,” Olivia snarls, the façade of innocence dropping, “even if the two of you have drifted, as you put it, clearly there’s still a relationship there. How big of a role did Azzi Fudd play in your choice to move to the Valkyries?”

Paige sucks in a deep breath, nails digging into her palm at the question, “Azzi is the best shooting guard in the country. That was her role in my decision to move to the Valkyries. I don’t know what else you’re trying to imply, but I want to play with her because we play well together. That’s it,” she stands up and there’s pin drop silence, “thank you all for coming but we’re done with this press conference. 

***

Paige is seething as she exits the media room, Ice hot on her heels trying to calm her down. The sane part of her knows she should head back to the makeup room or even to her car, instead she finds her feet carrying her in the direction of where she knows Olivia Reynolds will be, reviewing her press conference notes by the coffee machine like she always is. 

“What the actual fuck was that?” Paige spits as she comes to a halt in front of the reporter. 

“I know you think playing basketball is the only job in the world Paige, but that was a reporter doing her job,” Olivia says, her calm and composed voice only furthering Paige’s irritation. 

“Bull-fucking-shit.” Paige sneers, “that wasn’t a reporter out there, that was my ex-wife grilling me like we were back in fucking divorce court.”

Olivia cocks her head, “oh so you do remember who I am to you then?”

“Oliv-”

“Because if you did remember, I’d like to think you’d have the courtesy to at least personally tell me that you were moving to your,” she drops her voice, “ex-girlfriend’s team instead of letting me find out with the rest of the world. You don’t think you owed me that?”

“That’s what this is about?” Paige sighs, “Olivia we’ve been divorced for almost three years now, I don’t owe you-”

“You didn’t owe Azzi anything either,” Olivia whisper-yells, the calm in her voice replaced by the same anger that had tainted the last year of their marriage, “but when we first started dating, you kept us a secret for months. You wouldn’t even tell your fucking teammates cause you were so scared she’d find out,” her eyes drift towards Ice who looks like she wishes she’d made a different decision rather than following Paige out here, “you said she deserved to hear it from you but apparently I don’t-’

“I didn’t mean it like that Olivia. Look, I meant what I said up there. There’s nothing between- ”

“Spare me,” Olivia says, as she stuffs her notepad into her bag, “you can lie to all those other reporters out there about how all of this is a basketball decision. You can even lie to yourself if you want. But you can’t lie to me, not when I spent four years fighting to keep our relationship from getting crushed under whatever it is that Azzi is to you.”

***

It doesn’t matter how far Paige burrows her head into her pillows, she can’t seem to stop herself from hearing Olivia’s words reverberating through her ears. The two of them had done well at co-existing in their social circles after the divorce had been finalized. While no one could quite call them friends, they’d done a good job at being friendly, being able to converse and share an occasional drink when in their combined friend group. And if Paige is honest, she knows she’s fucked up, knows she probably did owe Olivia a call. But calling Olivia would have meant calling someone who would inevitably make Paige face the truth, just like she had today. The truth that, even with the deal Talia had concocted with the Liberty hanging in the background like a dark presence, the move to the Valkyries was about a lot more than just basketball for Paige. 

She’s so entrenched in her thought that she doesn’t bother checking who it is when the facetime rings, irritation seeping into her voice as she answers it, face still buried in her pillows, “WHAT?”

“Miss Buecks?” a tiny voice comes through the phone and for a second, Paige thinks she must be dreaming, until she finally lifts her head to look at her phone, and Stephie’s small face lights up the whole screen. And it’s like she can feel little hands on her shoulders, slowly unknotting her tightened muscles. 

“Stephie,” she breathes out, a sudden sense of serene calm washing over her previously tense body. 

“Hi Miss Buecks,” Stephie says happily before she squints at the screen, “you sleep weird.”

Paige laughs, “and why’s that?”

“You’re not wearing pajamas and it’s only seven. ‘Dults don’t sleep at seven,” Stephie says matter-of-factly. 

“It’s actually nine here,” Paige says, a little surprised by the time; she hadn’t realized she'd been moping in her bed for that long. Ice had forced her to get lunch together, not wanting to leave Paige alone after the encounter with Olivia. Once she’d finally gotten back to her apartment, Paige had flopped on her bed, taking out her frustrations on her poor pillow. 

“That’s not poss-ble,” Stephie scrunches her face, “Mama’s phone says it’s seven.”

“It’s seven in California, it’s nine in Texas,” Paige tries to explain though by the way Stephie’s looking at her, she thinks she’s probably just confusing the girl more, “how’d you figure out how to call me babe?”

Stephie gives her an exasperated look, “Miss Buecks I’m five. I know how to use facetime.”

“And does your Mama know you're facetiming me?” Paige asks, eyebrows raised.

“She’s in the shower,” Stephie whispers, grinning sheepishly. 

As if on cue, Azzi appears on the corner of the screen and Paige feels her mouth run dry. The darker skinned woman is clad in a light pink fluffy bathrobe that ends right above her knees, giving Paige the perfect view of her long, toned legs that seem to shimmer despite the shitty quality of the facetime. Rivulets of water cling to her neck, delicately cascading down the valley of her breasts before disappearing from sight. And Paige must be dehydrated because never has she wanted to taste a drop of liquid more than she does right now. 

“Stephie,” Azzi groans, as she walks towards the phone and Paige gulps, heart beating faster with every step the other woman takes, everything about her becoming clearer and clearer, “what did I say about using my phone.”

“Only in em-a-gencies,” Stephie recites, “but Mama I had an em-a-gency.”

Azzi tilts her head, eyebrows raised as she gives her daughter a knowing look, “and what was your emergency?”

“I really, really, really, this much” Stephie stretches out her hands as far as they’ll go,  really, really, really, miss Miss Buecks.”

Paige feels her heart flutter. Stephie’s words feel like a hand carefully pulling her out from under the pile of stress she’d been buried under the whole day. It’s like the little girl is pushing away the rubble pressing against her lungs, turning the rocks into dust with a light touch and Paige feels like she can finally breathe. 

“Sounds like a pretty big emergency to me,” she says, relishing the way Stephie’s face lights up at the admission, “cause I really, really, really miss you too Steph.”

“See Mama,” Stephie says, placing the phone against a wall so can place her hands on her hips and look up at Azzi with a pleased smirk. 

Azzi rolls her eyes before glaring at Paige, “you’re a bad influence on her.”

“I’m the best influence on her,” Paige argues, sending Stephie a conspiratorial wink, “just you wait Az, I’mma teach her all the good things.”

Something unreadable flashes across Azzi’s face before she’s back to looking at Paige with an unimpressed arched eyebrow, “I am not letting you corrupt my daughter Paige Bueckers.”

“We’ll see,” Paige says slowly and Azzi shakes her head before turning to Stephie. 

“Alright Stephie bean time to go brush your teeth. It’s almost bedtime babes,” she says with a stern look 

“But Mama-”

“No arguing, you have school tomorrow missy,” Azzi reminds the little girl and Paige can’t help but marvel at the mother that Azzi’s become. And it makes her heart ache for the fantasies she’d dreamed of when she was in her early twenties. She’d always known Azzi would be a great mother; Paige had just naively thought she’d be there alongside her too. 

“Can Miss Buecks stay on the phone till I fall asleep?” Stephie asks, peering up at Azzi with big doe eyes, “please Mama pleeeease.”

“I’m sure Miss Buecks has other things-”

“I don’t,” Paige cuts in far too enthusiastically, clearing her throat to get back some semblance of restraint as both mother and daughter turn to look at each other, “I don’t have anything to do tonight so I can stay till you fall asleep Stephie.”

“YAYY,” Stephie cheers enthusiastically while Azzi studies her with a weary look, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and then you can read me, my story Mama.”

With that, the little girl runs in the direction of what Paige can only assume is the bathroom, skipping with childlike joy as she sing-songs about something Paige can’t quite make out. 

“You know you don’t have to say yes to everything she asks right?” Azzi says slowly as she grabs her phone and sits on the couch. 

Paige shrugs, “I have time to stay.”

“Do you?” Azzi asks skeptically, “because from what I heard the Wings are having a little farewell party tonight, for you.”

Paige narrows her eyes, “and how exactly did you hear that?”

“I have connections.”

“You talked to Ice.”

“I talked to Ice,” Azzi concedes, “and I’m pretty sure you’re already an hour or so late for it.”

“Exactly. I’m already an hour late so why bother,” Paige says, sitting up so she can rest head against her headboard, “why were you talking to Ice?”

“I can’t talk to my friend?” Azzi asks slowly. 

“Of course you can but why specifically today?” Paige presses 

Azzi bites her lip, “I um- I watched your press conference today. You uh-” she averts her gaze, “you seemed really stressed at the end and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A soft grin upturns Paige’s lips before she can stop it, “were you worried for me Fudd?”

“That’s not-” Azzi groans, “shut up.”

Paige smirks, “you were worried for me.”

“I was concerned for my future teammate," Azzi huffs, “besides,” her face hardens, “she was way out of line.”

Paige sighs at the implied mention of Olivia, “maybe but maybe I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t,” Azzi protests and that oh so familiar protective tone in her voice carves itself into every crevice of Paige’s heart, “no one deserves to be put on the spot like that. She was being unethical trying to dig into your personal life like that.”

“This is nice,” Paige says softly, unable to help herself. 

“What is?” 

“Seeing you get all defensive over me. It's nice to see you still care. I didn’t know if you still did.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second, gnawing at her bottom lip as she looks at Paige, “I’ve always cared Paige. And-” she hesitates as the tightrope beneath them wavers, “I’m always gonna care.”

There’s years worth of unsaid words lingering in the silence between them as they breach some unspoken rule they’d both inadvertently agreed to. And they both know that they shouldn’t be saying things like this to each other, that they’re teetering on the edge of falling into an abyss that has nothing but destruction at the bottom. But Azzi’s words feel like sunshine, like heat waves across her skin and Paige is so tired of feeling cold. 

Before either of them can say another word, Stephie comes back into the room, crawling into Azzi’s lap.

“I’m back,” she beams, completely unaware of the way the two adults are scrambling to act normal around her. 

“Here baby,” Azzi hands the phone to Stephie, “take Miss Buecks to your room. Mama’s gonna go change and then she’ll come read to you okay?”

“‘Kay Mama,” Stephie complies, pressing a soft kiss to Azzi’s cheek before running towards her room. For a second Paige’s screen is blurred in motion until Stephie fixes her again and Paige catches a glimpse of Stephie’s room, specifically the walls that are painted the perfect shade of Valkyrie purple. 

“I love your walls Stephie,” she compliments.

“They’re pu-ple,” Stephie exclaims, “that’s my favorite color.”

“First the ice-cream, now the color, you’re stealing all of my favorites kid,” Paige teases but she’s secretly pleased by this revelation. It’s dangerous how fast Stephie’s starting to whittle down Paige’s walls and build herself a permanent shelf in Paige’s cabinet of my people. 

“Can I tell you a secret Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, bringing her lips closer to the phone. 

Paige smiles, “of course you can.”

“I think Mama misses you too,” Stephie says softly and Paige feels her heart catch in her throat, “I heard her tell Nanna on the phone.”

“Can I tell you a secret Stephie?” Paige lowers her voice, leaning into her phone. 

“‘Course you can Miss Buecks.”

Paige swallows as the admission falls from her lips, “I really miss your Mama too.”

I miss her always and I think I’ll miss her forever. 

“What are you the two of you whispering about,” Azzi’s voice cuts in as she tucks herself next to Stephie, a children’s book in her hand. 

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says immediately, winking at Paige through the phone. 

“Yeah,” Paige echoes, ignoring her erratic heartbeat, “nothing Azzi.”

Azzi looks between the both of them, clearly aware she’s being left out of something, but doesn’t push further. Instead she flips open the book, pulls Stephie closer into her arms and starts reading. If anyone were to ask Paige later, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea about a single word in that damn book. Because as Azzi’s soothing voice begins to lull Stephie to sleep, and the younger girl, despite her yawns, holds the phone up so the blonde can be included in every second of it, Paige feels herself being pulled into a dream she has no right to dream. She dreams of being in Stephie’s purple bedroom. She dreams of her and Azzi lying against Stephie’s lilac bedspread, their hands entwined in the middle over Stephie’s little body. She dreams of a forever that she’d long forsaken.

[yesimwriting]

could maybe possibly do a blurb of farleigh being protective of bestfriend!reader like maybe someone was talking shit about her and before felix can even defend her farleighs beating him to it? idk if that makes sense but i love love LOVE your fics you’re SO GOOD at writing felix

this is the kind of thing farleigh would do by accident while drunk and then the reality of the situation would hit him so hard he'd decide to be sober for at least a week 😭

sidenote this was sooo fun to write omg

"Okay so it's--" Lacy (or Lizzie, or maybe even Lyla, Farleigh lost the girl's name at some point between between round 3 and 5) giggles as she squints at the tab. "It's--if we want to do an even split..."

She had been so happy to race to the bar when Felix first brought up leaving and continuing the night elsewhere. As if being the one to physically pick up the tab and hand over cash and cards to the clearly irritated bartender would cement her place, would make her a part of the night's inner workings.

The desperation had been so apparent that when Farleigh nudged your arm, you immediately whispered a sharp, "Stop it." You only react that strongly when you're already fighting for your life to keep your halo shiny.

"Hey." You extend the single syllable, voice hinting at a tipsiness that could explain your boldness. You're not exactly shy, but you tend to let the main group do as they please, content to do whatever as long as Felix is by your side. It's nauseating, but reliable.

"Do you mind if..." You trail off, lifting a hand to gesture towards the receipt. Lacy blinks, giving you a look that Farleigh's gotten used to. A subdued, jealous disdain.

Your ignorance would be endearing if this was some made for TV romcom. But it's not, so even though Farleigh knows that you mean your end of night comments that reek of insecurity because the new girls never like you, he'll still poke fun of you for it.

You let go of Felix's arm, walking forward until you're close enough to Lacy to read over her shoulder. You glance at the receipt, and then at the group. In less than a minute, you're announcing, "47 each."

Farleigh has been around you long enough to no longer be surprised. Tipsy division loses its shock value after awhile, and if Farleigh knows you well enough to no longer think twice about it, Felix definitely has no reason to be impressed. That doesn't stop Felix from beaming at you, expression truly lovesick. It's sweet enough to make Farleigh's stomach ache.

"A genius," Felix breathes, extending his arm as far as he can without falling off his stool, "My girl's a genius."

You try to glare, but there's too much softness in the look. "Am not." A response that could technically apply to the 'my girl' part as much as the 'genius' part. There's a hopeful beat in which the girls that aren't used to competing with you for Felix's attention seem to be waiting for a clarification that never comes.

Farleigh's lingering nausea is slightly alleviated by Lacy's pout. She must think that the praise and Felix's undivided attention should be hers. That they would be, if it wasn't for your interference. The thought feels laughable. Felix would have just as easily paid off the entire tab to avoid a frustrating debate. He isn't complimenting the solution, he's complementing you.

Felix pulls your hand towards you, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. "Next round's to you."

What's left of Lacy's mask of indifference crumbles. She glares briefly before remembering her place.

"Next round's somewhere else." You manage the correction through a soft giggle. "You wanted to go, remember?"

Felix blinks twice before nodding. Farleigh has a feeling that Felix's quick concession is more a result of his cousin's faith in you than his own memory. "Yeah, we're going..."

"To Austen's place, I think." Felix tugs on your arm, his attention more focused on squeezing your hand between both of his than actually figuring out what he's moving the group for. "It's closer to campus, he promised you weed."

Felix nods again, this time the motion a little more assured. He pulls on your arm gently. You laugh. "Lex."

"What?" The question is a halfhearted attempt at feigning innocence. Felix's free hand finds your other forearm. "Come here."

"Wait." Despite your protests, you do nothing to escape his grasp. "I have to--I have to go to the bathroom before we leave."

Felix frowns. Farleigh resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Y'want me to go with you? Show you where it is?"

"I'm okay," you mumble, voice sweet and slow as honey, "Stay here, figure out the cash thing. I'll be right back." Carefully, you untangle yourself from Felix's hold. "You have my purse, right?"

Felix lifts the small bag off his lap, a genuine hint of pride coloring his expression. The two of you get more unbearable by the day. "You need it?"

"No, but you can take out my wallet so no one has to wait for me to get back."

Okay, Farleigh actually has to roll his eyes at that. It's a routine that you insist on, trying to pay even though it's clear that Felix would rather you not even attempt to touch a wallet. That's what makes the least sense about you, Felix lets you get away with not giving him what he wants.

"It'll be settled by the time you get back."

Your eyes narrow at his wording. "That doesn't sound like--"

"Lovie, go before we leave you here."

An empty threat. Felix would sooner lose the group than abandon you for a second. You roll your eyes, but seem to accept defeat. "You're impossible."

Farleigh smiles to himself before you can disappear into the crowd, "Kept woman, are we?"

You flip him off without looking back. The joke is typical. The topic would be cruel if you couldn't afford to keep up, but you're from enough money to sustain your own nightlife. You're not from a wealth that equals the Cattons, but the father you're always hesitant to mention works in finance. Farleigh doesn't have the details, but it's clear that you're comfortable enough to not need Felix's charity. Unlike Oliver.

"Was it just me or was that '47' a little...?"

To Lacy's credit, she's smart enough to realize that openly insulting you would only alienate Felix, so instead of embracing the clumsiness of her friend's comment, she brushes a strand of hair off her shoulder. "She's nice," she hums, "A little loud, but nice."

"Loud as in her voice or what she's wearing?"

Vultures picking at bones, too ravenous to consider tact. They'll attack whatever they can think of in an attempt to cope with the fact that you're the one with Felix wrapped around your finger. Farleigh knows that's all it is, and yet it digs at him.

Your outfits, your uncertainty in certain social situations. Those are all fair shots, fair comments for Farleigh to make.

"Clara," Lacy mumbles, an attempt at virtue signaling.

"No," the patience in Felix's voice seems to drain them of their good humor, "Answer the question. Explain what you meant."

Lacy laughs once, the sound awkward and strained. Her uncertainty is oddly gratifying. "Oh, nothing, really." She tilts her head, eyes innocent yet alluring as she stares at Felix. "She's sweet, really Felix, I like her. She's darling." The last sentence is said the same way one would to describe a puppy. "But she--she's not like us." Lacy takes a step forward. "C'mon Felix, you know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"Lacy means," Farleigh's own voice surprises him, "That she's the kind of girl you actually go home with, and Lacy isn't."

Wow. Okay, technically true because you do go home with Felix, it just--accuracy feels like the least important part of what just came out of his mouth. Farleigh can't tell who's more shocked--Lacy and her gaping friend, Felix, or himself. Did he--did he just defend you of all people?

He blinks. You, the voice of reason that's always willing to point out when gossip crosses the line between catty and cruel, who maintains a 4.0 without trying, who paints their nails bright colors, who scrapbooks. That's who Farleigh stood up for?

This could be the rockbottom alcoholics always talk about.

"Lizzie," her friend begins sharply, "I think our--our friend's waving us over."

With that, Lizzie-not-Lacy and her friend abandon their places by the bar in favor of the anonymity of the center of the bar. Farleigh's too distracted by self disgust to note their expressions.

Felix steps towards him awkwardly, eyes unable to meet his. "That was--uh, good of you, mate."

Farleigh lets Felix's praise have its usual affects for a brief moment, embracing the warmth as Felix throws an arm around his shoulders. Then, reality hits Farleigh all over again. One word about this, and you'll be making him a friendship bracelet. "If you tell her about this, I'm telling her about how you didn't shut up about her all of Christmas break."

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny

[kwonnyangel]

[☆] — long way home | c.sc

synopsis ‣ choi seungcheol knew the city roads like the back of his hand. 30 minutes was more than enough time he needed to take you home, but driving slow whilst taking the long route doesn't sound all too bad, especially if it's with you

pairing bf!seungcheol x fem reader

genre fluff, drabble | warnings not proof-read, use of pet-names (baby & love), kissing, reader calls seungcheol a dork lol

wordcount 0.5k

✷ first post ! been reading tumblr fics for a while but its my first time publishing anything :—) idea was sparked by the 5sos song "long way home" and my current obsession over coups heh enjoooy !

you were strolling around the park with seungcheol after having a hearty dinner at the newly opened italian restaurant you've been wanting to visit, followed by a quick stop for coffee on your way to said park.

hands intertwined, stomachs full, and the dim lights casting a glow on your lovely boyfriends face, you felt content.

and a tad bit sleepy.

"cheol, let's go home?"

you softly ask him, your head laying on his shoulder as you watch him snap a picture of a cute dog wearing a vest in an even cuter shade of pink. you make a mental note to look for one for kkuma, maybe you could even turn it into a matching outfit for all three of you.

"come on, baby"

the sound of seungcheol's voice breaks your train of thought and you look to him, his hand extended for you to take.

you gladly do so, jumping on your feet as you swing both of your arms back and forth all the way to the parking lot.

like muscle memory, seungcheol opens your door and buckles your seatbelt for you, not forgetting to send a cheeky wink your way when your eyes interlock as the buckle clicks into position.

"careful now, i've got a boyfriend you know"

"yeah? can he drive as well as i can?"

"for your information, he can!"

"well i'd like to meet this hotshot then, maybe i could snag his number and take him from you"

"hey!"

he giggles at your remark, admiring the way your hand fit in his as he drove through the roads of seoul with ease. you had always praised seungcheol for his driving, never once making you feel dizzy or nauseous especially for a person who gets motion sickness quite easily.

of course he was and is extremely proud about it.

driving together was easily one of your favorite things to do. drives with seungcheol always made you feel like you two were the only people in the world. laughter, intimacy, and conversations about anything under the sun filled the atmosphere of his cozy bmw.

"so we're taking the long way home?"

you ask in a teasing tone, hiding the hint of hoping that he would say yes. you loved drives with your boyfriend you won't let that get to his head, of course.

"you know it. i'd love to get lost and drive forever with you, baby"

a small giggle is elicited from you as seungcheol kisses your knuckle

"well i guess we should start our forever now."

"waaay ahead of you, love. been waiting for our forever... forever."

your smile widens as you spot his dimples, the streetlights casting yet another glow on your boyfriend's pretty face. the lighting gods must love him i guess, you do too.

"you can always make up for that lost time by kissing me everytime we come across a stop sign"

the amusement in his voice is evident as you spot a big red octagon with the word stop in its famous big bold white text.

the car does exactly as the sign says and seungcheol turns to face you, a boyish grin spread across his face, dimples present and everything.

"you're such a dork, cheol!"

that was all you said before flashing him your own signature smile and giving him a kiss that made him forget his name.

seungcheol made sure to pass by every stop sign on your route home after that.

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (17/17)

Part Summary: “I firmly believe that when you do the right thing, everything will eventually fall into place. It might not turn out exactly as you hoped, but you’ll find a sense of understanding and peace with your decision.”

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 7.600+ | Tags/Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of smut Author's note: Wow! Those five months went by so fast. Thank you so much for being with me on this journey. It's been my honor and pleasure sharing with you this story :)

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV I Part XV | Part XVI

-

“Tell me that your love is a sure thing” - Golden Vessel, Emerson Leif (“Hesitate”)

“Do you think I should ask Y/N to come with me?” Leigh asks, idly twisting a gold bauble between her fingers. She stares at it a beat too long, like she might find the answer in the curve of its shiny surface. 

It's three days before Christmas, and true to Shaw family tradition, they're just now getting around to setting up the decorations. It wouldn't have happened at all if Amy hadn't taken the initiative to remind them. She was supposed to help, but she's vanished again to meet another “friend.” Leigh and Jules are suspicious, thinking their mom might be seeing someone in secret.

Jules, teetering slightly on the ladder, twists around to give Leigh a raised eyebrow. “To the Harrison’s bash for New Year’s? Hell yeah, why not? She’s a blast. Could shake things up a bit.”

“No, not that,” Leigh exhales, now regretting even bringing it up. “I mean the comic book tour for Matt.”

Jules steps down, one rung at a time, until she’s down to Leigh’s level. “Oh. That’s…quite a step. But, why not? Sounds like an adventure for you both,” she says.

Logan zips by, a sheeny red bauble in his mouth, set on a mission to place it next to his bowl in the kitchen. He keeps fetching or chasing after the scattered Christmas balls, sending them rolling all over the house. Leigh and Jules have been running around, picking them up and putting them back on the tree.

“It’s not just that,” Leigh says, glancing out the window where the first hints of evening are brushing the sky. “Asking her to come means asking her to leave everything here behind. Her life, her responsibilities. It’s different for her—she has a real career.”

“Hold up—what we do is a real career too. We’re improving lives with healthy habits, remember?”

Leigh laughs sardonically. “Come on, Jules, we're kinda just floating, working for Mom. Y/N is a doctor, owns her clinic, has staff. That’s...”

“That’s a big deal,” Jules agrees with a solemn nod. “It’s a huge ask, for sure.”

Silence hangs for a beat, the only sounds being Logan’s light panting as he settles down, ornament forgotten. 

“Do you think she'd actually say no?” Jules suddenly pipes up, climbing back up the ladder to resume her decorating. Leigh spots a stray ornament a few feet away, points at it, and calls out, “Fetch!” 

Logan springs into action, scampering to retrieve it. As he returns, triumphant, Leigh gives him a pat on the head and passes the ornament up to Jules.

“Actually, it’s quite the opposite. She’d jump at the chance,” she tells Jules.

“So, what’s stopping you?”

“She might regret it later,” Leigh says quietly. “And that could mean losing her.”

Jules frowns, understanding the bind her sister is in. She stretches out a hand, and Leigh takes it, their palms pressing cold and warm together. “I’m sorry.”

“And if I leave her here, I might lose her anyway,” Leigh adds, the heaviness of two futures making her shoulders sag. 

Jules gives her hand a firm squeeze. “But what if you both end up regretting not taking the chance? It’s only a few months. Maybe Y/N can sort something out with her clinic?”

“It’s still too risky for her business. She’s poured everything into that place, Jules. Asking her to step away, even briefly—it’s…it’s selfish.”

“Life’s full of risky asks, Leigh. Sometimes, you gotta bet on what’s scary. Risk a little heartbreak on the chance it’ll bring you both something remarkable. Maybe this is one of those times?”

Leigh releases her hand and moves to another bare section of the tree. “Is that the kind of thinking that made you decide to look for your biological parents in Vietnam?”

Jules snaps the tinsel down, her response coming quick and a bit sharp. “Yes.”

Leigh winces slightly, realizing her question might have prodded an unintended sore spot. “I didn’t mean—”

“I get it,” Jules interjects, sighing as she tries to bring the conversation to a close. They’re both dealing with their own issues, and as much as she loves Leigh, she knows she’s not in the right headspace to offer solid advice—especially advice she’s not even sure works.

Leigh clamps her mouth shut. She doesn’t want this to turn into an argument either.

“Maybe just talk to her? See what she thinks? Who knows, maybe the biggest leaps make the most sense when you’re doing them for the right reasons... for the right person,” Jules says after some time. 

“You really think so?” Leigh asks, her voice threaded with hope.

“I do,” Jules nods, her hands busy rewrapping the tinsel Logan has graciously returned. “Just talk to her. It’s either a ‘what if’ or a ‘what now.’ Better to find out which.”

-

Leigh comes with her mouth open, but no sound escapes. Her body trembles as she experiences what she knows is the best orgasm she's ever had—though she remembers saying the same thing about this morning’s quickie in your bathroom. It just seems to keep getting better each time.

You slowly climb up from her pussy, trailing soft kisses along her stomach. As you move upward, you let your tongue lightly trace a stripe across one of her nipples, eliciting a shiver from Leigh. She’s still catching her breath, but when you finally reach her lips, she pulls you in for a deep, consuming kiss. The way her tongue wrestles with yours tells you she’s already eager for more, her hands tangling in your hair as she holds you close.

You break the kiss, smiling down at her. “Hi,” you murmur, almost shyly.

Leigh, still a little dazed, brushes the strands of hair off your forehead and gently traces your lower lip with her thumb. “You know something?” she asks, her eyes wandering over the marks and lines on your face.

“Hm?” 

She kisses the corner of your mouth. “You're kind of amazing,” she says softly.

“That good, huh?” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Her hand, which has been cupping your face, slides down your neck before she pulls it back to herself, biting at her index fingernail.

“I’m sure you can tell,” she whispers, her voice low and sultry. To emphasize her point, she arches her hips, the slickness between her thighs evident against your skin.

“You’re going to have to give me a minute,” you sigh, letting your head fall to her sweaty chest. “You’ve completely worn me out.”

Leigh laughs, a soft, melodic sound. “Really? Getting tired already? What happened to your stamina?”

You don’t bother to retort, content just to lie there listening to the rhythm of her heart. “It’s hard work keeping you satisfied,” you say after some time, your voice muffled against her skin.

She tightens her hold around you, the gentle stroke of her fingers in your hair making every thought slow down. The security of her embrace makes everything seem right in the world, and it emboldens you to voice a thought that's been on your mind more and more lately.

“You know,” you start, lifting your head to catch her eyes, “I was thinking… maybe you should move in with me.”

Leigh stiffens just a bit, her eyes darting away for a moment, and you instantly regret how fast you’ve blurted it out. You sit up, trying to backpedal, “Only if you want to, I mean... it was just a thought. You're here most nights anyway, and your toothbrush is already—”

Before you can ramble on, Leigh leans in and silences you with a gentle kiss. “Slow down,” she whispers against your lips, her smile reassuring.

You chuckle, giving her a sheepish, lopsided smile. “Right, right,” you agree, settling back down beside her. 

Leigh shifts to lie on her side, propping herself up on one elbow. Her eyes, still dark with want, sweep over your body—flushed, soft, and still quivering slightly from your efforts to pleasure her. She catches herself, though, and with a more composed motion, she pulls the blanket up to cover you, tucking it around your chest.

You look up at her, your expression ironically innocent, waiting for her to say what's on her mind.

“I’d love to,” Leigh finally says. “But do you really think it’s the right move?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve just started exploring what this is, what we could be, and I’m already planning to leave. It feels like I’m setting us up for...” Leigh doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t have to.

Matt's book tour looms over both of you, an ever-present shadow no matter how tightly you try to cling to each other. It's as if you believe that by melding into one with Leigh, you could somehow will her impending departure into nonexistence.

Though before you can say anything, your phone rings from the coffee table beside you. You reach over and grab it, your mom's name flashing urgently on the screen. A quick glance at the time sends a jolt through you—you were to pick her up at the airport but completely lost track of time.

Leigh sits up too, clutching the sheet to her naked torso. “What is it?”

You wince, the irony of the situation not lost on you. “It's my mom,” you explain hurriedly. “I should have left, like, half an hour ago to pick her up at the airport. She’s staying with me for a few days until right before New Year’s.” 

A moment ago, you were discussing moving in together, and now you find yourself needing to ask her to leave. 

Leigh raises an eyebrow, smiling coyly as she realizes the implications of your mother’s arrival. “And let me guess, she's staying here? In your one-bedroom palace?”

“Yeah,” you say, scrambling to get dressed. “Which means I need to air out the place, change the sheets... make it look like I live like a monk.” You stop for a second, looking at Leigh with an apologetic frown on your face. “And I kind of need to ask you to leave now. Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad?” Leigh laughs as she swings her legs out of bed and starts gathering her clothes. Once she's collected them all, she steps closer, gives you a quick kiss, and murmurs right next to your ear, “I’m furious.”

You kiss her hair gently before stepping in front of the mirror to check your appearance, making sure you don't look as disheveled as you feel.

“Gives us both some time to think about everything. The tour, us moving in, all of it,” Leigh says, slipping into her jeans.

“Absolutely,” you agree, watching her.

“Change those sheets well, huh?” she teases, zipping up her bag. “You know how moms can be.”

You grimace jokingly at her comment. “Please, don't ever use 'sheets' and 'mom' in the same sentence ever again.”

Leigh laughs again, clearly enjoying you squirm. She slings her bag over her shoulder, waiting for you to finish getting ready.

As you cap your lip gloss, an idea suddenly strikes you. Seeing Leigh's expectant look reflected in the mirror, you ask, “Hey, how about you join me to pick her up at the airport?”

Meeting your mom seems like another huge step in your relationship, but she doesn't hesitate.

“Is it okay with your mom?” she asks, a bit wary.

You shrug, taking her hand confidently. “Why wouldn't it be?”

-

Apparently, you’re the spitting image of your mother.

At least, that’s how Leigh sees it as she watches you both hug it out in the arrival section of LAX. As a fitness pundit, Leigh immediately notices your mom's excellent posture, despite her petite frame. It's the first thing she observes in anyone, and your mom is no exception. Beyond that, you both share the same quick smile and the way your eyes light up in laughter—deep brown, the color of rich coffee, which Leigh finds particularly striking. Even the gestures are mirrored; the way you both tuck hair behind your ear when nervous, or the confidence in your strides.

What distinctly sets her apart from you, though, is how intimidating your mom appears to be.

As you walk to the parking lot, holding your mom’s hand in one of yours and Leigh’s in the other, your mom chats animatedly about a hot spring resort she discovered near your hometown. Leigh keeps half a step behind, doing her best to stay engaged while keeping up with your pace.

“So, how was your flight?” Leigh asks, finding a moment to wedge herself into the conversation.

Your mom barely glances back, responding briefly before turning her attention back to you. “Long, but it’s always nice to spend Christmas with my daughter,” she says, squeezing your hand affectionately.

Leigh tries again. “It's pretty nice weather here, isn't it? I bet it's a lot colder on the East Coast right now.”

“Oh, it’s freezing out there, Leigh,” you chime in, completely oblivious to the awkward interaction between your mom and your girlfriend. 

Your mom nods but doesn't elaborate, her focus still on you. “We should stop by that bakery you always gush about,” she says, eyes bright with excitement.

Leigh's grip on your hand tightens slightly, and she lags further behind. “Oh, that store closes at five. It’s seven already,” you say. 

Desperate to connect, Leigh tries for the final time. “There are special light installations in the park for the holidays. Would you like to go see them?”

Your mom finally looks back, but her smile is thin. “I’m not much into these ‘light installations’. Too much walking.” She quickly shifts back to you. “How’s work been?”

“Work’s been busy, but manageable,” you say, glancing back at Leigh, who offers a small, strained smile.

The three of you continue to the parking lot, the conversation feeling increasingly one-sided. As you reach the car, you open the trunk and help with the bags, all the while trying to think of a way to include Leigh more naturally.

“Leigh and I were thinking of checking out that new restaurant downtown,” you say, making an effort to draw your mom's attention to her.

“Sounds nice,” your mom replies. “But actually, I'm not hungry—just a bit tired.”

Leigh’s expression falls just a bit, but she quickly masks it, helping with the last of the luggage. She figures that’s her cue to leave. 

You can’t hide your frustration. Your plan was to have a nice dinner, a proper introduction. “Are you sure, Mom? It doesn’t have to be a long meal,” you push back gently.

“Let’s just get your mom home, she’s had a long day,” Leigh tells you softly.

You glance at your mom, silently pleading for her to reconsider, but she only smiles. “Maybe another time, dear.”

Reluctantly, you agree.

-

You lead your mom into the living room, urging her to make herself comfortable while you hurry to get the bedroom ready. The sheets need changing, the windows thrown open to freshen the air, and the whole space needs a bit of tidying. 

“I’ll be right back,” you mumble, disappearing into the bedroom.

In the bedroom, you work quickly, stripping the used sheets and flinging the windows wide. You hustle, smoothing on fresh sheets, fluffing pillows, and straightening up—getting rid of all the evidence of what you and Leigh had been doing all week. 

Meanwhile, your mom isn't one to just sit around. She takes in the scattered magazines, the couch cushions askew, and the dishes piled up in the kitchen. With a small sigh, she gets up and starts putting things in order. She straightens up the living room and moves on to tackle the kitchen. Before long, the sound of running water and clinking dishes fills your tiny apartment.

When she’s done setting things in order, she starts rummaging through your fridge and pantry. With only a few ingredients at hand, she decides to make do with what you have. Soon, she's boiling spaghetti and slicing hotdogs to toss into the mix. This dish was a childhood favorite of yours and remains a go-to comfort food. As soon as the familiar aroma wafts through the air, you find yourself irresistibly drawn toward the kitchen.

“Is that...?” you start, a delighted smile spreading across your face at the sight of the generous layer of shredded cheese melting over the thick red sauce.

“Sit down and eat while it's hot,” your mom commands with a warm smile.

You don’t need to be told twice.  Fork in hand, you dive into the spaghetti as though you haven't eaten in days. Considering your usual diet of takeout and quick fixes, that's not too far from the truth. You chat about small, inconsequential things—the new coffee shop you tried last week, the remarkable cases you’ve encountered in the clinic this month, the shows you’ve been watching on Netflix. 

Finishing your meal, you lean back with a satisfied sigh, feeling truly content for the first time in a long while.

“Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“So... what do you think of Leigh?”

“So that’s Leigh, huh?” Your mom pauses, setting down her cup of tea with deliberate care. “The widow of the guy you unknowingly dated for a while, not realizing he was married?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” you confirm, nodding slowly as your nerves start to build. The last time you brought up Leigh to your mom, you were almost ready to throw in the towel until she urged you to give it another shot. Now, more than anything, you're hoping she'll give her approval.

She nods thoughtfully, then with a sly grin, says, “Well, she's definitely out of your league.”

“Mom!” you exclaim, embarrassed.

She chuckles, clearly pleased with her little joke.

“Come on, be serious,” you plead.

Your mom clasps her hands on the table, and gives you that look—the one that means business. You can't help but roll your eyes at her theatrics, clearly aimed at getting a rise out of you.

“Leigh seems lovely,” she says. You can tell she’s sincere and that makes you sigh in relief. “And I really appreciate how she tried to engage with me earlier.”

You relax slightly, but then, as you replay the earlier interactions in your mind, you realize Leigh seemed frustrated and your mom wasn’t as welcoming as she usually is. Your face scrunches up as this sinks in.

“Wait, you were really standoffish to Leigh earlier!”

She holds up her hands in a half-shrug, her smirk fading into a more thoughtful expression. “Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to come off that way at all,” she says. “I guess I was just being overprotective. You know, considering how everything started between you two.”

You appreciate her motherly instincts but wish she'd given Leigh a fairer chance from the start. “I get it, Mom. But Leigh is really important to me now. It would mean a lot if you could try to get to know her better. For me?”

“Of course, sweetie,” she says. “What do you need?”

“Well, for starters…” you start, pausing as you try to find the right way to explain. You're about to share that you'll be spending Christmas dinner with the Shaws this year. It's always been just the two of you for the holidays, so you're not sure how she'll take the news of including others she hardly knows. “You’ll have an opportunity to bond with her the day after tomorrow.”

“What’s on Tuesday?”

“Christmas Eve dinner,” you reply. “At the Shaws.”

“Dinner at your girlfriend’s?” she clarifies.

You nod, your lip catching between your teeth. It still feels a little surreal—exciting, actually—being able to call Leigh your girlfriend. “Yeah, Mom. I thought it’d be nice for us to join them this year.”

Instead of giving an outright yes, she asks, “What should I bring? I want to make a good impression.”

You stand up and walk around the table to give her a hug. She wraps her arms around you and plants a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you,” you mutter into her shoulder. “Maybe bring your blueberry pie? Everyone loves that.”

“You love it,” she says cheerily. “Consider it done.”

Slipping back into old habits, you start clearing the dinner dishes, just like you used to when you lived with her. As you stack dishes and run water in the sink, your mom begins unpacking her bags in your bedroom. As you scrub the dishes, thoughts of following Leigh and leaving everything here behind start to overwhelm you. Once the kitchen is spotless and the last dish is put away, you realize you can't keep these feelings bottled up any longer. 

You call out to your mother as you dry your hands on a kitchen towel. A few seconds later, she reappears in the living room, her face expectant.

“Hey, uhm,” you say, not knowing how to start. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“Go on,” she urges gently.

You take a deep breath before continuing, “Matt’s comic book is getting published posthumously. The publishing company wants Leigh to join a tour to promote the book, and I'm… I’m thinking of joining her.”

Your mom's expression becomes inscrutable as she processes the information. She walks to the couch and takes a seat. After a long pause, she asks, “What will happen to your clinic here?” 

You look down, fidgeting with the towel in your hands, and then meet her gaze. “I’ve thought about that,” you say. “I’d need to find someone to cover for me. It wouldn’t be easy, but... I feel like I need to be there for Leigh. This is important to her, and… she’s everything to me.”

You try to read her reaction, but every line on her face remains perfectly still and composed. “Is it because you want to be there for her,” she says slowly, “or because you're afraid that if she leaves, you might lose her?”

Your eyes drop to the floor, and that's answer enough for your mother.

“Come here,” she says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to her. Wordlessly, you oblige.

“It's okay to be scared,” she whispers. “Loving someone means taking risks. Just remember, you need to be true to yourself as well. Leigh is important, but so are you.”

“I just don’t want to regret not giving my all to see this through with her,” you say.

“You love her,” she states, not as a question, but as a fact.

“I really do,” you say quietly.

“I firmly believe that when you do the right thing, everything will eventually fall into place. It might not turn out exactly as you hoped, but you’ll find a sense of understanding and peace with your decision.”

-

Your mom's words stay with you throughout the night. As you lie in bed, you can hear her soft breathing, her back turned to you.

You’ll find a sense of understanding and peace with your decision.

Your phone vibrates gently beneath your pillow, and you smile when you see a message from Leigh.

Leigh [10:45 PM]: Can’t sleep. I miss you.

You [10:45 PM]: Miss you too.

She doesn't reply, but she fills your head well into the night. The future is uncertain, but one thing feels right: going with Leigh on her tour is the decision that brings you peace.

-

Christmas Eve dinner arrives sooner than you expected.

Pulling up to the Shaws' house, you're amazed by the decorations that the siblings have tirelessly worked on for the past two days. The house is transformed into a festive wonderland, with twinkling lights draped over every surface, garlands of holly framing the windows, and a towering Christmas tree visible through the living room window, adorned with shimmering ornaments and tinsel.

You watch your mom's reaction as you both step out of the car, seeing the lights reflected in her awe-filled eyes. You beam at her, proud of your girlfriend's decorating skills and holiday spirit.

You and your mom walk up to the doorstep. She clutches her much-loved blueberry pie, which you’re looking forward to having a hearty slice of tonight, while you carefully hold Leigh's gift—a Lego typewriter modeled after a vintage 1950s design. You feel a twinge of nervousness about how she’ll receive your gift.

Moments later, the door swings open to reveal Leigh, all dressed up, and for a moment, you're speechless. Leigh has always been beautiful. No matter what she wears—be it casual joggers, sleek dresses, or even just her underwear—she never fails to leave an impression. Tonight is no different; she takes your breath away all over again.

“Merry Christmas!” Leigh greets brightly. “Almost, anyway,” she adds with a nervous laugh.

“Your decorations are incredible,” your mom says, smiling at her.

“Oh, thank you!” Leigh replies, her cheeks flushing at the unexpected compliment. 

“Where should I put this?” your mom asks, holding up her pie.

“You didn’t have to, but wow, that looks amazing! Come on in, I'll show you,” Leigh says, stepping aside to let you both in. She leads you to the kitchen, where the smells of holiday cooking are even stronger. “You can set it right here,” she points to a spot on the counter already laden with various dishes and desserts.

Just as your mom sets the pie on the counter, Amy walks in. Leigh introduces her mom, and the two women share friendly greetings before Amy’s attention quickly turns to the blueberry pie. They dive into a lively discussion about cooking, swapping recipes as if they’ve known each other for years.

Leigh turns to you, her eyes shining. “I'm so glad you’re here now,” she says softly, her fingers lightly brushing against yours. Craving more contact, you gently grasp her hand and guide her to the backyard where Logan is nonchalantly marking a geranium. With no one around now, you draw Leigh close and kiss her deeply. Leigh responds just as fervently, her hand coming to rest on your waist and then squeezing, making you moan into her mouth. She takes advantage of the moment, slipping her tongue in. Her other hand finds its way to your neck, pulling you even closer. You can feel her heartbeat against your chest, matching the rhythm of your own.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you rest your forehead against hers. Leigh's eyes are half-lidded, her lips slightly swollen, tempting you to lean in once more. Just as you're about to, she finally takes notice of the enormous box under your arm.

“Is that for me?”

“Yes,” you say, handing it to her. “I hope you like it.”

Leigh's eyes widen as she takes her gift, her excitement further lighting up her soulful green eyes.

“I've got something for you too,” she says, giving the box a little shake. “It's upstairs in my bedroom. Want to get it now?”

You shake your head, matching her giddy smile. “Maybe later. If you take me to your bedroom now, I can't promise we'll be back in time for dinner,” you say.

Leigh chuckles. Honestly, she feels the same way. “Well then, can I open this now?” she asks.

“Absolutely! Go ahead. I really hope you like it.”

Leigh quickly starts unwrapping your gift, her fingers deftly tearing through the wrapping paper. As the paper falls away, her eyes widen in pleasant surprise at the sight of the Lego typewriter.

“Oh my gosh, it's perfect! Thank you so much!” She carefully places it on the ground before wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“You're welcome,” you whisper, circling your arms around her waist and pulling her close.

When she pulls back, her eyes are brimming with happiness and something deeper—pure, unfiltered love. She stares at you, her gaze soft and intense, as if she's seeing you for the first time.

“I can't believe you remembered,” she says, referring to a conversation you had weeks prior. “This means so much to me.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

Something in your words strikes a chord within her. Without thinking, she blurts out, “Come with me to Matt's comic book tour.”

Her eyes widen slightly as she realizes what she's just said. But she doesn't take it back; instead, she buries her face in your neck, breathing in your scent. With each breath, she finds the idea of being apart from you increasingly unbearable.

“I want you to be there with me,” she continues with more conviction. “I can't imagine doing this without you.”

She pulls back slightly, needing to see your reaction. In your eyes, she finds the same depth of love she feels for you, mirrored back at her.

“As you wish,” you whisper, leaning in to seal your promise with a kiss.

-

Dinner is a success, largely due to Amy's and your mom's excellent cooking skills. The pasta prepared by Leigh and Jules wasn't a total disaster, but it had its mishaps. After the first batch turned too soggy—practically mush—Jules had to dash out in the middle of dinner to buy another pack of pasta.

Leigh’s father made a brief appearance with his new family, stirring a bit of awkwardness between the exes. Luckily, your mother defused the tension by suggesting a family game. It wasn’t long before laughter filled the room, with Jules energetically shouting clues at those struggling to guess the words on their foreheads.

In the middle of the game, Leigh volunteers to do the dishes. You offer to help, but Jules quickly drags you out of your seat to be the next one to guess the word. While you’re preoccupied, your mom quietly slips out of the living room and follows Leigh into the kitchen.

Leigh is surprised to see your mom. “I've got this,” she assures her with a polite smile. Despite your mom having considerably warmed up to her, Leigh still feels a bit anxious in her presence.

Your mom simply picks up some dinnerware that has already been washed and starts wiping them dry with a towel. “Do you know why Y/N became a veterinarian?” she asks casually.

Leigh smiles, recalling your story about Max, the first animal you ever helped. “Yes, she told me about rescuing a pup. It was really touching,” she says, her eyes softening at the memory.

Your mom observes Leigh, who has already returned to busily washing the dishes. “That’s right. But there’s more to it,” she says.

Leigh stops what she’s doing and tilts her head. “What do you mean by that?” she asks.

“Y/N did get into veterinary school,” your mom begins, placing a dry plate on the stack. “But she dropped out after the first semester. She had this deep-seated dream of traveling the world.”

Leigh listens attentively, wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

“Her father and older brother are both veterinarians, running a small clinic in our town. Naturally, they encouraged her to follow the same path,” your mom continues, “and while she loved animals, she also wanted to explore every corner of the world ever since she was a kid.”

Leigh's hands pause in the sudsy water as she absorbs every word.

“Her father gave her his blessing, and off she went. She traveled the world for two years.”

“What brought her back?” Leigh asks.

Your mom takes a deep breath, her knuckles whitening as she grips the towel more tightly. “H-Her father and brother were killed in a car accident,” she says, each word seeming to be painfully forced out of her.

Leigh's hand flies to her mouth in horror. “Oh no, I... I didn’t know,” she stammers, feeling a rush of guilt and confusion. Why hadn’t this crucial detail come up before?

“It was a terrible time,” your mom says quietly, “but it brought her back home.”

Leigh is silent, guilt gnawing at her for not knowing such a significant detail of your life. She’s been so caught up in sharing her own thoughts and plans, and you’ve always been the listener, never pressing her to ask about your past. She realizes now how little she’s asked about your family.

Leigh abandons her chore altogether. “W-What happened then?”

“After the accident, without their expertise, we couldn't keep the clinic running,” your mom replies, her voice steadier now but still tinged with sadness. “We had to put it up for sale. It was devastating to lose what they had worked so hard for.

“For a long time, Y/N was depressed. She blamed herself for not being there in the last two years, for putting her own interests first. And with the clinic gone, she felt like she had failed to preserve their legacy.”

Leigh is at a loss for words, her eyes growing bleary. “I’m—” 

“Being a housewife all those years, I suddenly found myself needing to help put food on the table so Y/N could go back to school,” your mom explains. “For a year, she was just a shell of herself, hardly the vibrant person you know now.”

Needing a moment to process all these revelations, Leigh moves to the dining table and sits down. Her legs feel weak at the thought of you being so heartbroken. She knows grief all too well. Losing one person she loved nearly destroyed her; she can't imagine losing two at once.

“Y/N is the most… beautiful, wonderful and well-adjusted person I know,” Leigh says after a while. “I wouldn't have guessed she went through all that.”

“My daughter is a miracle,” your mom states with a soft smile.

“Thank you for telling me all this,” Leigh says sincerely.  “It means a lot to understand what she’s been through.”

Your mom nods and says, “I'm not telling you this just because you're her girlfriend. I'm telling you because I know she’s planning to follow you and leave her practice here in LA behind.”

Leigh's breath hitches as she takes it all in. Learning about your father and brother, she realizes she nearly forgot what she asked of you just hours ago. It's not just a job or a business you're leaving behind—it's a dream that keeps their memory alive, a part of you where they still live on.

“Please, don't ask her to leave everything behind,” your mom says, her voice almost pleading. “Just promise her that you'll come back for her.”

It’s not an easy promise to make—or keep. The mere uncertainty of what lies ahead holds her back. She can't stand the idea of breaking a promise to you or betraying your trust in any way.

Leigh's silence stretches on, and your mom speaks again. “If you can't promise to come back for her, just end it. Don't let it drag on. She's tougher than she knows. It'll hurt, but she won't be alone—I'll be there, and so will her friends and coworkers.”

Leigh balks at her. “I don't want to rush into a decision.”

But your mom isn't listening. Her concern cuts through her caution, compelling her to share more. “After we lost half our family, she was never the same. She’d sacrifice everything for someone she loves, always skeptical of a second chance. She loves like there's no tomorrow.”

It’s the one thing your mother said tonight that rings truest about you. You do love as if it's the last thing you'll ever do.

Before Leigh can respond, Amy walks in, sensing the tension immediately. “Is everything alright?” she asks, her eyes darting between Leigh and your mom.

Leigh suddenly realizes she's been crying, and so has your mom. Your mother excuses herself to the bathroom, leaving Amy looking concerned and bewildered.

“What was that about?” Amy asks.

Leigh, shaken and overwhelmed, struggles to speak. “I-I need to get the gifts for everyone. They're upstairs,” she stammers, then quickly heads to the bedroom, needing to escape and collect herself.

Amy watches Leigh leave, then reaches for the blueberry pie, trying not to read too much into the haunted look in her daughter’s eyes.

-

It’s a cold January evening when Leigh finally gathers the courage to talk to you. Your mother flew back to Maine three days after Boxing Day, and the rest of the holidays passed by in pure bliss. The two of you are curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, the remnants of dinner still on the coffee table. She’s been avoiding this conversation, clinging to the hope that something might change. But the more she thinks about the family you lost when you were younger, the more convinced she becomes that your mother was right.

“Can we talk?” Leigh’s voice is soft, almost drowned out by the movie playing in the background.

You mute the TV and turn to her, a look of concern immediately crossing your face. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us, about our future,” Leigh says slowly.

It doesn’t immediately ring any alarm bells in your head, but your heart starts to race. “Okay…” you murmur. You can't help but notice her hands twisting nervously in her lap. You reach out to steady them, and as she looks up, her resolve breaks.

“I love you. You mean the world to me, but…I don’t know if it’s right for you to come with me.”

You frown, eyebrows stitched together in confusion and denial. “Leigh, what are you talking about?”

She looks away, her hands slipping from your grasp as she inches further into her corner of the couch. “I can’t be the reason you give up everything you’ve worked so hard for,” she says.

“I’m not,” you reassure her, trying to keep calm. “It’s just for a little while, right? Less than six months on tour. And it's not like we'll be non-stop; the schedule allows breaks. We can come back home in between. We’ve discussed this, remember? We have a plan in place.”

Leigh grows quiet, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor. She takes a long breath through her nose, as if preparing herself for something even harder to say. “That's the thing,” she whispers. “I might not come back.”

Everything around you stills.

“What do you mean, you might not come back?”

Leigh’s eyes remained glued to the floor. “For the longest time, I’ve thought about leaving. Now that Jules is embarking on her own trip to Vietnam, and Mom is planning a long vacation in Europe, it feels like the best time to explore what's out there.”

“Leigh, we've been planning this together. It's just a tour. We'll be back,” you reiterate in frustration, starting to grasp at straws.

She merely shakes her head. “Everything about this place reminds me of Matt—both the good and the bad memories. Maybe I—”

“Great. The Matt card again,” you snap.

Leigh bristles at your comment. She stands abruptly and begins to pace. Seething. “Card?” she retorts sharply. “This is my life, my pain—”

“And you’ve just been running away from it all!” you counter, standing up too. “Running away from me!”

“Didn't you?” she fires back, her voice breaking. 

“What—”

“Didn't you do the same thing when you lost your—” Leigh can't finish the sentence. It hurts too much to even say it.

You take a step back, shocked. “How did you—”

“Your mom told me.”

The room certainly feels like it's closing in. Unable to stand any longer, your legs give out, and you collapse onto the couch, burying your face in your hands and massaging your temples. Leigh watches you for a moment, then sits beside you. She reaches out tentatively but pulls back, unsure of what to say or do.

Your hands fall away from your face, and you turn to her, your eyes filled with pain and betrayal. “You learned about me losing my dad and my brother, and your response is to... leave me as well?”

Leigh's eyes fill with tears again, and she looks away, unable to hold your gaze. “It’s not like that,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“What if I promise that the clinic will be okay? Foreman can manage things while I’m away, I trust him,” you suggest, your voice wavering as the reality of the situation starts to consume you.

Leigh shakes her head, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can't,” she murmurs. “I can’t feel good about myself knowing I'm pulling you away from something important to you.”

“But you're what's important to me, Leigh,” you argue weakly.

“That’s not how it works, Y/N,” Leigh says, trying to fight more tears threatening to spill over. “It’s too imbalanced. We don’t need a relationship where one of us is sacrificing too much. That’s not healthy for either of us.”

You sit in stunned silence, her words sinking in. You've always been willing to sacrifice for the people you love, but now you see how it could be a burden for Leigh. 

You swallow hard, trying to compose yourself, the words sticking in your throat. “And you think the best for us is to be apart?”

She nods reluctantly. “I think the best for you is to not have to choose between your love and your life's work. I can't ask you to put anything on hold, not for me.”

“But I choose you, Leigh,” you say, tears now streaming down your face. “Doesn't that count for something?”

Leigh can’t help herself any longer. She moves closer, needing to comfort you despite being the source of your pain.

“It does,” she whispers, gently wiping away your tears with her thumb. “It counts for everything. But I need to know that you're not losing yourself to be with me. I can't live with that.”

With that, she pulls you close. You hold each other tightly, falling asleep on the narrow sofa, clinging to each other as if letting go would mean losing everything.

But by the time the sun has risen high in the sky, Leigh is already gone.

-

There are days when you feel bitter about Leigh deciding to break up with you, especially with weeks still left before the tour begins. You oscillate between anger at her decision and a reluctant acceptance that it might have been the right choice for both of you. More often than not, the anger prevails, leading you to drink yourself to sleep, only to wake up the next day to discover that nothing has changed.

Leigh is still leaving.

-

To your surprise, Amy willingly provides you with Leigh's flight itinerary out of Los Angeles. In the days leading up to her departure, you find yourself constantly formulating and discarding plans. Will you show up at the airport and whisk her away? Convince her to change her mind? Perhaps even show up with your own suitcase, ready to join her if you can persuade her at the last minute that she’s making a huge mistake?

Ultimately, none of your scenarios play out. However, you do find yourself at the airport, arriving ten minutes before her boarding gate closes. There, you spot Leigh standing in the lobby with a small suitcase. In that instant, you feel like you’ve accepted—for real this time—her decision to do this on her own.

You watch from the shadows as her gaze darts around as if searching for someone. Your heart swells with a mix of hope and sorrow, realizing she might be looking for you. You stay hidden, watching as she pulls out her phone and dials a number. Your phone vibrates in your back pocket. With your eyes still on her, you answer it.

“Hey, it's me,” Leigh starts awkwardly, as if implying that you might not remember how she sounds. You haven’t spoken to each other in weeks.

“I know it's you,” you reply softly.

“I'm about to board,” she says, and you can hear the reluctance in her voice.

“I see,” you say, struggling to contain the emotions that might slip through the cracks of your nonchalance. “Did you pack some food for the flight?”

She laughs, a tearful sound that squeezes your heart. “Yes, I picked up some donuts.”

“Sounds unhealthy, Ms. Shaw. Try to order some broccoli in-flight,” you tease her lightly.

“I hate broccoli,” she deadpans, her voice layered with a stubbornness you know well.

Then, she asks the harder questions, “Where are you? What are you doing?”

You mull it over, caught between honesty and the need to protect her decision. “I'm just hanging out in the clinic,” you lie, unwilling to reveal that you are there, watching her last moments before departure. “Will you call me when you land?”

She sounds like she wants to protest, but you cut in, “I need to know you're safe. It would really help me to know you're okay out there.”

After a few seconds, she agrees softly, “Okay, I'll call.”

“I’ll wait,” you say. “However long it takes,” you add, leaving the meaning of those words open for her to interpret.

They announce final boarding.

“Listen, I—I have to go,” Leigh says quickly. “Please, take care. Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Leigh,” you manage to say, your voice catching as you watch her walk away.

You end the call and pocket your phone. Watching her wipe away a tear and head towards her gate is almost too much to bear. You allow yourself a moment, a small smile playing on your lips, proud of her courage and saddened by her departure. You’ll be waiting for her call, but if it never comes, you'll understand. These moments don't erase the past several months you've spent getting to know Leigh.

And you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

-

At exactly ten in the evening, Leigh calls you from Boston.

[its-avalon-08]

Can you do a fluffy and angsty fic for Lando after Austria, his girl comforting him. I'm surprised there aren't more after what happened under the tags but the only ones that were there are smut, which I don't really want to read I want fluff and angst.

look at you now (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - tears, comfort, negative self talk

The silence in the McLaren motorhome was deafening. Lando slammed the door shut behind him, the force echoing through the sterile space. He could feel the sting of Zak Brown's disappointed gaze and the worried glances of the mechanics burning into his back. But all he saw was red. The vibrant blue and red of Verstappen's car that had stolen his dream away at the last corner.

He stormed into his living quarters, helmet flung across the room with a dull thud. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the already distorted reflection staring back at him from the mirror. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he yelled, slamming his fists against the cool glass.

The sound of his own voice startled him, the raw anger morphing into a crushing wave of despair. This wasn't just any race. This one, at the heart of Austria, could have been his. He'd driven his heart out, pushing the McLaren to its limits, only to have it ripped away in a heartbeat.

Just then, the bedroom door creaked open. Y/N, her normally cheerful face etched with concern, stepped inside. One look at Lando's hunched form, and her face crumpled in sympathy.

"Lando," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

He turned, the dam breaking. He fell onto the plush sofa, burying his face in his hands as choked sobs wracked his body. Y/N sat beside him, her arms wrapping around him in a silent embrace. She didn't try to talk, just let the storm rage within him.

Slowly, the intensity of his sobs subsided into shaky breaths. He finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. "I messed up, Y/N," he croaked, his voice thick with shame. "I had it. I had the win. And I threw it all away."

Y/N cupped his face, her touch sending a jolt of warmth through his chilled body. "Hey, no," she said gently, her gaze unwavering. "It wasn't your fault. These things happen."

His voice broke again. "But it could have been different. I should have been more careful, should have backed out. Now, Max extends his lead, and all the hard work..." He trailed off, unable to finish the crushing sentence.

"Lando," Y/N interrupted, her voice firm but laced with love. "Listen to me. You drove a phenomenal race. You were brilliant out there. Don't let one incident define you."

He shook his head, the self-loathing swirling inside him. "It's more than an incident, Y/N. It's my season, maybe even my championship dreams, going up in smoke. What if it was all for nothing? What if I'm just not good enough?"

His voice cracked on the last word, a raw vulnerability Y/N had rarely seen. She squeezed his hand, her heart aching for him. "No," she said fiercely. "Don't you dare say that. You are one of the most talented drivers on the grid. This doesn't change that."

He looked down at his trembling hands. "But what if I keep making these stupid mistakes? What if I'm just a glorified crasher?" The words were bitter on his tongue, fueled by the self-doubt gnawing at him.

Y/N's eyes widened. "Lando, stop it! You are not a crasher. You're a racer, a damn good one. This doesn't erase all the podiums, all the incredible races you've driven."

He let out a humorless scoff. "Yeah, a few podiums here and there. But a win? A championship? Maybe that's just a dream for someone else, someone who doesn't crack under pressure."

Y/N's heart clenched. She hated seeing him like this, tearing himself down. But she knew blind reassurances wouldn't work. She needed to reach the root of his despair.

"Lando," she said softly, "where is this coming from? This isn't the Lando I know, the one who fights tooth and nail for every position."

He met her gaze, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. "Maybe I'm not that Lando anymore. Maybe I'm just a disappointment."

The pain in his voice was a knife twisting in her gut. But she knew this wasn't the time for coddling. He needed a reality check, a reminder of the racer he truly was.

y/n's pov

"Lando, listen to me," I said, my voice firm but laced with the fierce love I felt for him. I cupped his tear-streaked face, forcing him to look into my eyes. "This isn't some pit stop gone wrong, some tire strategy backfiring. This is you, deep down, and that man staring back at me is someone I barely recognize."

He flinched at my words, a flicker of hurt crossing his eyes. But I couldn't sugarcoat it. He needed a wake-up call, a reminder of the incredible person he was.

"This self-loathing, this tearing yourself down – that's not you. You're Lando Norris, the fearless racer who takes corners with the precision of a surgeon and the audacity of a daredevil. You're the one who leaves veterans speechless with your talent, the one who brings a smile to every engineer's face because you push the car to its limits and beyond."

I paused, letting my words sink in. His eyes were glistening, but a flicker of curiosity peeked through the storm of emotions.

"Yes, this race didn't go your way," I continued, my voice softening. "But that doesn't erase all the incredible moments, Lando. Remember Miami , the way you battled for the lead lap after lap? Or Sochi, that daring overtake on the last corner that stole the show? You don't define yourself by one mistake."

"But what if..." he started, his voice barely a whisper.

I cut him off gently. "There will be mistakes, Lando. That's part of racing, part of life. But you learn from them, you come back stronger. And that's exactly what you'll do. Because that's who you are. A fighter, a champion in the making."

Taking a deep breath, I shifted the focus. "And beyond the track, Lando? You're the one who lights up a room with your goofy grin, the one who donates his time to charities close to his heart. You're the one who surprises me with those ridiculous flower crowns and remembers the smallest details about my day. You're an amazing boyfriend, a kind soul, and that doesn't change just because of a DNF."

A single tear escaped his eye, but this time, it wasn't one of despair. It was a tear of understanding, a flicker of the Lando I knew and loved starting to shine through.

"You are so strong my love," I finished, my voice thick with emotion. "And stronger than any setback this sport can throw your way. Don't let one race define you. Remember who you are, the incredible racer, the amazing boyfriend, the extraordinary person I fell in love with."

end of y/n's pov

Y/N's words hung in the air, a balm to the storm raging inside Lando. He stared at her, the self-doubt slowly receding, replaced by a flicker of the fighting spirit she'd ignited. He wasn't a failure, and he wouldn't let this break him.

With a surge of determination, he cupped her face in his calloused hands. "You're right," he murmured, his voice raw but filled with newfound resolve. "I am Lando Norris. And I'm not done yet."

Before she could reply, he leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that spoke volumes. It was a kiss of gratitude, of rediscovery, of a love that wouldn't be shaken. He poured his emotions into it, the frustration, the self-doubt, and the overwhelming love for the woman who held him together.

Y/N responded in kind, her kiss fierce and full of support. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, a shaky smile played on Lando's lips.

"Thank you," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers.

Y/N squeezed his hand. "Always."

Settling back on the sofa, he pulled her close, his head resting on her chest. The familiar rise and fall of her breath soothed him, a calming rhythm against the chaos in his mind.

Y/N carded her fingers through his hair, a gesture that always brought him comfort. The soft strands tickled his scalp, sending a wave of relaxation washing over him. He closed his eyes, the sound of her gentle humming filling the space between them.

He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy. There would be more races, more challenges. But with Y/N by his side, he was ready to face them all. He would learn from his mistakes, come back stronger, and chase his dream with renewed determination. Because he wasn't just Lando Norris, the racer. He was Lando Norris, the man who loved and was loved in return, and that, he realized, was the greatest victory of all.