#I didn’t expect this game to go for so long

[sparklingchim]

game on 04 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x oc

word count: 2.6k

tropes: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: 18+

warnings: shy koo 🤭( he can be pookie at times), jimin being extremely chaotic and stirring drama, thigh squeezes <3, talks about first times n doing it raw 😃

summary: jungkook did expect some interrogation by his friends - just not this type.

a/n: we're back!! a bit more chaotic and sillier!!

masterlist

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“How was it to fuck for the first time?”

Jungkook freezes mid-chew.

This guy’s audacity.

Of course. Of course it would be Jimin. The man's allergic to silence. And shame.

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. Mostly because he’s trying not to throw his drink in Jimin’s face in the middle of a packed BBQ restaurant.

Mingyu's trying not to laugh while Chanyeol’s shaking his head like he doesn’t want to know where this conversation will go.

They’re all squeezed around a hot grill at one of those buzzy downtown spots. Neon lights, tiny stools, smoke clinging to everyone’s clothes. And you’d just gone to the restroom with Karina.

Jimin wasted exactly zero seconds.

“I’ll kill you if you say shit like that in front of her,” Jungkook warns, voice low.

“That’s why I’m asking now when she’s not here, duh.”

Jungkook exhales sharply trough his nose, jaw tight. He could just say whatever. Say something vague and let it go. But it pisses him off how casually Jimin talks about you like that.

“I swear to god –” he starts, but Jimin’s already talking over him.

“Did you cry after?” Jimin asks with a gleam in his eye. “Or wait, did you bust after two minutes?”

Mingyu chuckles beside him. “Jimin's got a death wish.”

Chanyeol huffs out a laugh, shoulders shaking. “If he lunges, I’m not stopping him.”

Jimin’s eyes widen with faux innocent. “What are you guys on about? I mean, you’ve probably been pining after her for so long now. Finally hitting it, you must have lost your mind, no?” he asks. “Was it everything you dreamed about when you put your d-”

“What the fuck?” Jungkook interrupts.

“It’s a genuine question!” Jimin insists. “No judgment here. Could’ve been a quickie for the memories. A warm-up round.”

“A quickie for the memories,” Mingyu repeats, snorting in pure disbelief.

“Yeah! Like, you finally get to sleep with the girl you’ve been obsessed with for months. Brain’s probably short-circuiting. Whole thing’s over before it starts.”

If Jungkook doesn’t keep his breathing in check, there will be blood.

“I’m not telling any of you my business anymore.” Jungkook reaches for his beer, downing a long pull. “Especially not about her. Not like that.”

Even if this whole scenario would be real, it wouldn’t be their business. Wouldn’t be something he’d toss around for laughs between food and cheap beer. You weren’t some hookup story to debrief after a night out.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “So you didn’t last two minutes?”

Jungkook just stares at him.

Jimin grins, delighted. “That silence is loud.”

“I will literally strangle you with your own hoodie,” Jungkook says flatly.

“Look, I’m just saying,” Jimin goes on, because he loves pain apparently. “With that kind of tension, all that build-up… I figured the second she touched you, it was game over.”

“Bro,” Mingyu coughs. “You want him to kill you.”

“I’m romanticising!” Jimin defends. “The human body can only take so much emotional blue-balling. You don’t think he dreamed about it? Like full cinematic fantasy? Slow-mo? Background music? Montage of hand-holding and then bam, real life?”

Jimin doesn’t know when to shut up. Now he’s gone and put the image in Jungkook’s head – you, laid out pretty and flushed beneath him, hair messy on his pillow, your fingers locked with his while you whisper his name all breathy and soft.

Jungkook presses the cold beer bottle against his temple. This is fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing’s on fire.

Chanyeol speaks, voice amused. “Pretty sure Jimin’s just bitter.”

“Jealous,” Mingyu corrects.

“Both,” Jungkook mutters.

“Aw,” Jimin pouts dramatically. “You’re not gonna tell us anything?”

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head, tone final. “Not a thing.”

He hopes the topic dies there, but of course not. Not when his brain is still glitching with the image of you beneath him, tangled sheets and tangled limbs. A pretty mess. Just for him.

“So... serious, huh?” Jimin nods slowly, but then a cheeky smile curves his lips. “Serious enough to do it raw the first time?”

Mingyu chokes on his drink.

Chanyeol doesn’t even try to get involved. “You’re on your own, man,” he mutters, turning away from Jimin.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Jimin laughs nervously, hands raised like he’s innocent. “It’s a joke! I’m joking!”

“Shut up before I throw a bottle at you.”

“I feel like you wouldn’t react this way if you had fucked raw.”

“You’re fucking dead.” Jungkook stands up. Chair scraping back with enough force to make a point.

And that’s exactly when you and Karina return, both mid-laugh, until you feel the shift in the air and look at the boys confusedly.

“Uh…” Karina blinks. “What’s happening?”

“You’re just in time for Jimin’s funeral,” Chanyeol says, raising his glass like a toast.

“Has the number 2 played a significant role in your life recently, ___?” Jimin asks.

“Am I supposed to be scared?” You glance at Jungkook, asking him for help.

Jungkook waves it off, sitting down. “He’s being weird again.”

“Don’t overthink it. Yes or no?” Jimin raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Uh, no?”

He sighs, dramatically disappointed. “Case closed. I’m done here.”

You slide into your seat next to Jungkook, Karina settling in beside you.

“What did I miss?” you whisper to Jungkook.

He dips his head closer, muttering back, “Just locker room bullshit. You don’t wanna know.”

“Was is gross?”

“Very gross.” Jungkook pats your head, slowly reaching down to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Your brain’s too precious for that.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches up anyway.

Chanyeol sighs loudly, leaning back in his chair. “I love this so much,” he declares with a satisfied smile.

You glance over. “What?”

“It just all makes sense now, you know?” He gestures vaguely between Jungkook and you. “Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.”

Jungkook grins. He looks over at you, but you don’t look up at him. Your gaze is cast downwards, a shy smile creeping up your face. Cute.

Chanyeol pats his chest. “Just makes me really happy in my heart.”

It’s kind of funny, Jungkook thinks. How none of your friends questioned the sudden relationship announcement. They just took it in stride, like it had been a long time coming. Like they’d all just been waiting for the two of you to get your act together.

An unspoken sense of we were wondering when you’d finally admit it to us.

He just hopes the breakup goes down just as easily – like, oh well, they gave it a shot, and now they’re back to being friends, no drama.

“Chanyeol gets too sappy when he’s drunk,” Mingyu says.

“I love seeing people find each other. Makes me so happy.”

Okay, maybe Chanyeol is not gonna take the breakup that well.

You’re definitely gonna have to find a soft way to break it to him when the time comes.

“You have a soft heart,” you say, reciprocating his warm smile.

“You two work. Like, it makes sense. Real yin and yang shit,” he declares with complete sincerity. “I speak from the heart,” he adds, tapping his chest. “From here.” His gaze bounces between Jungkook and you. “Don’t you dare hurt it by breaking up.”

“Damn,” Jungkook mutters. “Pressure’s on.”

Your head turns to him then, a little too fast.

Karina lets out a surprised laugh at Jungkook’s reaction.

“Excuse him, ___,” Mingyu cuts in, eyebrows raised as he side-eyes Jungkook. “He’s new to relationships.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jungkook quickly defends himself. He stares into your eyes. “You know how I meant it.”

How did he fuck it up so quick?

“I know,” you reply gently, but there’s something sharp in your eyes. Jungkook realises that this your way of telling him to not slip up. To act, pretend properly.

He shifts slightly, more alert now, then reaches for your thigh. His hand lands warm and familiar, fingertips pressing into your skin just enough to coax you closer. You move without hesitation, slotting into the space he makes for you.

“Am I allowed to ask a question?” Jimin’s voice cuts through the quiet.

Jungkook’s head snaps towards him, meeting him with a challenging expression. “You’re on thin fucking ice.”

“Why?” you ask, curiously glancing between the two.

“Your boyfriend’s a little sensitive,” Jimin says, sniffing a little laugh as he teases Jungkook.

Jungkook’s hand around your thigh tightens. His fingers flex, pressing into the curve of your thigh.

“How annoying have you been to Jungkook for him to be so upset?” you ask amused.

“I swear I’m innocent,” Jimin says.

“I’ll kill you.”

You brush your fingers over Jungkook’s hand, gently running them over his arm a little too. You feel the tension in his muscles shift beneath your touch.

“I just wanna know who said I love you first.” Jimin’s voice is annoyingly sweet. “That too much for you too, Jungkook?”

Despite wanting to strangle Jimin, Jungkook feels a wave of nerves rush up at the question. You didn’t rehearse this part. He glances down at you, and you’re already looking up at him with the same wide-eyed helplessness.

“That’s obvious,” Mingyu cuts in confidently.

Is it?

“Jungkook’s too obsessed with ___ to not spill it every single second they spend with each other,” Chanyeol says.

Reasonable, Jungkook thinks.

“Okay, but,” Karina chimes in. “What if they haven’t said it yet?”

“What the fuck?” Chanyeol grimaces like the thought disgusts him.

You start giggling at his expression.

“Be serious,” he goes on, waving a hand. “Have you seen them? They’re literally glued together.”

Karina leans forward across the table, peering at you two. Jungkook follows her gaze, then blinks down at your lap.

His hand is still on your thigh. Your hand is over his. Neither of you move.

Jungkook brushes his thumb over your skin. “We’re a little touchy.”

You play along, all soft smile. “You’re clingy. Which is why you said I love you first.”

“That sounds like me,” Jungkook agrees.

“Seeing Jungkook as a clingy boyfriend was not on my bingo card for this year,” Mingyu remarks.

You lean into Jungkook, resting your head briefly on his shoulder. “He is so clingy. Gets all pouty when I don’t text back within five minutes.”

Jungkook scoffs, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t do too much now,” he muffles into your hair when he turns his head to give you a little peck.

“Anway, this boy doesn’t like to be called cute and clingy too many times. Can’t take it that often. Can’t handle the truth in high doses,” you sigh.

“It’s called maintaining a rep.”

“What’s so bad about being a golden retriever boyfriend?”

“No, I’m fine with being a golden retriever boyfriend,” Jungkook answers. “But,” he adds. “I am a tattooed golden retriever. That’s different.”

Everyone laughs, and Jungkook feels your fingers subtly squeeze his under the table. It’s a bit ridiculous, this whole act, but it’s also weirdly easy. Fun, even. He glances down at you, catching your eyes for a second.

He wouldn’t have done this with anyone but you.

~

“Spill. Now,” you demand when you’re back in your dorm and Karina slipped into her room, leaving Jungkook and you alone in the living room.

“Spill what?” Jungkook asks as he wanders into the tiny kitchen. He starts poking through your cabinets. “For a med student, you sure you just wanna give your body ramyeon? Think that’s the healthiest lifestyle?”

“Not the healthiest but the cheapest,” you shoot back. You close the cabinet before he can open the next one and hop onto the counter in front of him, blocking his path. “Now stop snooping through my sad pantry and tell me what you boys talked about when Karina and I were gone.”

It’s been gnawing at you the entire way home. You’ve been pondering what the boys talked about the entire time. Especially knowing Jimin. Nothing wholesome comes out of his mouth.

“I wasn’t talking about anything.” Jungkook plants his hands on the counter, one on each side of your thighs “Jimin was the one asking bullshit questions.”

“Like?”

“You’re gonna make me repeat it?”

“It was about me too, no? I wanna hear it.”

“I meant it when I said your brain’s too precious for that filth.”

“I’ve heard and seen enough throughout our friendship already. You think I’m fragile now?”

“Not fragile,” he murmurs. “Just selective about what you let into that pretty head. Don’t wanna ruin it.”

“Stop using your charm and tell me.” You draw him closer by the hoodie strings and force him to focus.

“He asked how it was.”

“It?” You blink confused.

“You know. It.” He looks at you pointedly, trying to make you get through his expression. When he realises that his attempt is fruitless, he sighs defeatedly. “Our first time. How our first time went.”

“Ahh,” you hum, the realisation dawning on you. “But why are you acting like this? You’re never this shy when it comes to that stuff.” You tilt your head just a little, catching the exact moment when the tiniest flush blooms across Jungkook’s cheeks, delicate and rosy. “Are you blushing?”

Cute.

It makes something warm flicker in your chest, stupid and soft.

You didn’t realise it could be this easy to make Jungkook blush.

“I’m not,” he mutters, quickly looking to the side.

You giggle, turning his head back to you by grabbing his chin. “How come?”

“’Cause we’re talking about us.”

“I mean, it was obvious they’d ask stuff like that,” you shrug.

“It wasn’t just that.”

“Oh?”

“Jimin went on and asked if we had ever done it raw.”

You let out a little gasp. “That’s freaky.”

Jungkook takes a step back. “You think doing it raw is freaky?”

You assess Jungkook through squinted eyes. “You’ve probably done that before, right? You’re freaky like that.”

“Big yes on being a freak and big no to doing it raw.” He steps back into your space and pokes your side “Lowkey offended you think I’d risk it when I’ve never even been in a proper relationship.”

“I’m proud of you, Koo.” You pat his shoulder. “I deemed you responsible enough for safe sex, but I did have my doubts, I’ll be honest.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I like to fuck but I’m not stupid.”

You hear light footsteps, then your name called out. “___?” Karina peeks around the hallway corner and promptly freezes when she sees you.

“Oh, I – I thought you were in your room,” she stammers, eyes flicking between you and Jungkook. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” She smiles awkwardly, blinking fast.

For a second, you’re confused. Until you realise that you’re perched on the counter, Jungkook between your legs and his arms caging you in.

It hits you then, how intimate this looks. Like you’re actually a couple caught in the middle of something. Even if Jungkook and you weren’t trying to pretend.

“It’s okay,” you reassure.

Jungkook draws back, hands dropping. “I was about to leave anyway.”

“Oh, no! Don’t leave! Stay! I was just – I don’t even know – but please don’t leave.”

“It’s fine,” Jungkook laughs, already moving toward the door.

You hop off the counter and trot after him, catching Karina mouthing a panicked I’m so sorry at you before she retreats into her room and shuts the door.

“She’s going to feel bad about this for the rest of the week,” you tell him.

“Tell her even though I am obsessed with you, I wasn’t about to take you in the kitchen while she’s at home.”

“You’re not freaky like that?” you tease.

Jungkook short-circuits for a moment, momentarily even stares at your lips, before snapping back to his usual, cocky self.

“Wanna find out?”

It takes you all of ten seconds to wish him a dry good night and shove him out of your apartment.

“Can’t wait to see you at my parents’ this weekend and introduce you as my girlfriend!” he calls out from the hallway.

[behold-the-griffin]

The main problem was this:

When people began to get trapped in the game, nobody ever expected to be able to get them out.

Of course, it didn’t start out like that. It was less about the game itself, and more about the technology. Some bland fantasy-flavored MMORPG was nothing new, but the ability to fully immerse yourself in the game? To bleed and cut and fight and feel? That was a novelty.

Both sides of the media called “the Matrix waiting to happen.” And when people started becoming more difficult to wake from their gaming session, tensions rose. The company behind it started a hotline for people to call and have them boot their loved ones out forcibly. Sure, it resulted in some grogginess, some false memories, one unfortunate incident with a pocketknife, but everything was still under control.

And then one day, it didn’t work. Seventeen-year-old Damon Pycton of Somewhere, Illinois, was booted from the game and didn’t wake up. His profile buffered, flickered, and popped right back on.

(Somewhere in Cordelestra, a mage sat down, suddenly dizzy.)

There was immediate panic. Hospitals were overwhelmed with comatose people suddenly needing what could be long-term care. Self-proclaimed “hackers” would go into the game itself, only to be unable to resurface. It became the digital equivalent of a prehistoric tar pit, with the still-breathing bodies left behind as the fossils.

Some called for the company to be dismantled and the servers shut down. But no one wanted to risk the possibility that shutting down the servers would mean that the estimated 1.2 million people worldwide would cease any and all brain activity.

So they waited. And searched for a solution. For seven years, the world held its breath.

With the crackling fizz of a shield spell slamming into existence, it exhaled.

Twenty-five-year-old Damon Pythian of Fridalshire, accomplished Archmage, graduate of the Torchwood School of Magic, husband of Myra Frostbane of Pennonite, proud father of a fantastic four-month-old baby girl, casted a shield over he and his wife’s marriage bed on instinct.

Those instincts were right. The sheets on the bed were cold and stiff, his muscles cramped, the lights far too bright. The masked humanoids around him gasped and stumbled back from the comforting blue light of the shield.

Crouched on the bed, Damon didn’t even bother to take his eyes off of the creatures around him while he removed the annoying little tubes (IVs, a long-dormant part of his brain supplied) from his arms.

”Damon, you’re safe,” one of the humanoids said, voice shaking slightly. “Do you know where you are?”

They knew his name. Shit.

”Where,” he said, pouring power into each of his words, “are my wife and daughter?”

”I think it’s false memories,” said one of them to another. The second one looked terrified of him, familiar green eyes wide and shiny.

Distantly, he hears a third mutter “Then what the fuck is the blue light?” but that doesn’t matter. He knows those eyes.

His daughter has them.

Damon has them.

The shield drops with a whisper.

“Mom?”

You've been "trapped" in a "VR" game for years, learnt magic, had a family, etc. But now they've "rescued" you from it all. Waking up on the hospital bed you reflexively cast a shield. Which works.

[kannady]

Genuinely love the Ever, Ever After series. Reading every paragraph of it has me clutching to my pearls <3 I LOVE IT SO MUCHH SHIWJEIEJW

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 4k

a/n: okay so! an early update cus ill be super busy and tired tomorrow, then squid game s3 will be coming out AND a lads update is coming out on friday with fans heavily speculating we'll get a sneak peak of the sixth li. so im guessing we'll all be super busy. i really hope ur enjoying this series and TYSM ANON you literally made my day!! i hope you enjoy this chapter as well. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

III

Your heart sank like a stone in water as Dr. Voss’s expression shifted. A slow, chilling transformation from  curiosity to something far more dangerous. His cold eyes flicked from you to Sylus, still restrained behind the glass, then back to you, and in that split second, you knew. 

Oh, shit. I’m done for.

But survival instincts kicked in, sharp and automatic. You straightened your spine, forcing your voice into something resembling professionalism.

"I was just checking his vitals before lunch," you said, gesturing to the monitors with a steadiness you didn’t feel. "His levels plateaued. The serum isn’t affecting his Evol anymore. I thought-" A breath, calculated. "I should ask if he was experiencing any side effects. Protocol 9-D, right? Patient-reported data?"

The lie slithered out smoother than you expected. Voss’s eyebrow arched, his gaze lingering on you for a heartbeat too long before he stepped closer to the observation window. The silence stretched, suffocating, as he scrutinized the vitals himself. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the suspicion coiling tighter.

Then, miraculously, he nodded. "You’re right." His voice was clipped, but the tension in your shoulders eased a fraction. "We’ll halt administration. Clearly, this batch isn’t potent enough." He turned to you, and for the first time in your two years at EVER, something resembling approval flickered in his expression. "Good catch, Dr. (Y/N)."

The praise should’ve felt like a victory. Instead, it sat heavy in your chest. You nodded stiffly, avoiding Sylus’s gaze, but you could feel it, burning into you like a brand. Even now, even half-drugged and strapped to a chair, he was watching. Waiting.

You mumbled an excuse about lunch and all but bolted from the lab, the doors hissing shut behind you. The hallway was deserted, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. For a moment, you just stood there, pressing your palms to your eyes until stars burst behind your lids. 

What the hell am I doing?

Your phone was in your hand before you could second-guess it. Luke’s number rang once, twice, then disconnected. Kieran’s didn’t even go through. You stared at the screen, your reflection warped in the black glass. A new, ugly thought slithered into your mind. What if he didn’t come alone?

Sylus didn’t do anything without a plan. And if he was here, in EVER’s clutches, then where was she? The woman whose laughter had haunted you long after you’d left. The woman he’d loved in some other life, maybe even in this one.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. What if this was all part of some elaborate scheme, and you were just a pawn again? A distraction. What if she was waiting in the shadows, ready to step in the moment EVER’s defenses crumbled?

The idea should’ve infuriated you. Instead, it just made you tired. Two years of running, of building a life where you were finally someone else, and here you were, right back where you started. Caught between Sylus’s games and EVER’s cruelty, with no idea which side would destroy you first.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket and started walking, your heels clicking a sharp, staccato rhythm against the tile. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Because whether this was a trap or some twisted reunion, one thing was certain. You were already in too deep to walk away now.

Your lungs burned with the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The immediate crisis was over, Voss had bought your lie, at least for now. But the relief was temporary, fragile as glass. You knew what came next. A stronger serum. A more aggressive extraction. And Sylus, proud, untouchable Sylus, wouldn’t survive it.

The thought sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through you, your pulse hammering so loudly you were half-convinced the entire lab could hear it. What do I do?

Luke and Kieran weren’t answering. That left only one option.

Her.

Her very presence had been like a blade pressed to your ribs, a constant reminder that no matter how close you stood to him, you would never be the one he truly saw.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides. She worked at the Hunters Association, you remembered that much. But you couldn’t go now. Not in broad daylight, not when you didn’t even know her name. The realization was a bitter pill. Two years of resentment, of stolen glances and silent comparisons, and you’d never even learned what her name was.

No, you’d have to wait. Slip away after hours, linger near the building’s exits like some kind of stalker, and hope to catch her leaving. The idea made your skin crawl, but what other choice did you have?

For now, you forced yourself to move, to slip back into the rhythm of your day like nothing was wrong. Mara had mentioned a new restaurant, some place with dumplings she’d been raving about. You went, more out of obligation than hunger, sliding into a seat just as the lunch rush began to thin.

The food arrived, steam curling off the plates in fragrant spirals. You picked up your chopsticks, took a single bite, and then just stopped. The flavors blurred together, tasteless as ash. Your mind was elsewhere, spinning in frantic circles.

What if she doesn’t help? What if she laughs in your face? What if she’s the reason he’s here in the first place?

You pushed the food around your plate, your appetite long gone. Around you, the restaurant buzzed with conversation, the clatter of dishes, the occasional burst of laughter. None of it reached you. You were trapped in your own head, drowning in scenarios that all ended the same way, with Sylus’s lifeless body on an exam table, and your hands stained with the consequences.

By the time you made it back to the facility, lunch had bled into the afternoon, the sky outside the windows already darkening toward evening. You barely had time to stash your bag at your workstation before the alert chimed on your tablet.

“Emergency meeting. Conference Room A. 5 minutes.”

Your stomach dropped.

You knew, even before you stepped through the doors, what this was about. The room was already half-full, researchers murmuring to each other in hushed, excited tones. Voss stood at the front, his expression unreadable as he tapped something into a holoscreen.

Then he looked up, and his gaze landed squarely on you.

“Now that we’re all here,” he said, his voice cool and precise, “let’s discuss Phase Two.”

The screen behind him flickered to life, revealing a new formula, twice as complex as the last, with a list of side effects that made your blood run cold.

Cardiac arrest. Cerebral hemorrhage. Ischemic stroke.

Voss’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We begin testing tomorrow.”

Across the room, Mara caught your eye, her brows furrowed in concern. You realized, distantly, that your hands were shaking.

You curled them into fists.

The meeting passed in a blur of muffled voices and flickering holoscreens. Words like "enhanced serum" and "immediate testing" caught your attention once in a while, meaningless noises against the roaring in your skull. You sat stiff-backed in your chair, fingers clenched around your tablet hard enough to leave imprints, your mind a thousand miles away, trapped behind that observation glass, watching Sylus’s body convulse under the serum’s assault.

When the meeting ended, you stood mechanically, following the stream of researchers out the door like a robot rehearsing actions. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway, perfectly measured, your body moving on autopilot while your thoughts spiraled.

What were you going to do?

The question looped in your head, but there was no answer. No plan. Just the crushing weight of what was coming, the knowledge that tomorrow, they would strap Sylus back into that chair and pump him full of something even worse. And you would have to watch.

A hand closed around your wrist, yanking you sideways into a dim storage room. The door hissed shut behind you, and you blinked, momentarily disoriented, as Mara’s face swam into focus. Her usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by something sharp and searching.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, voice low. “You’ve been zoning out all day. And in there?” She jerked her chin toward the conference room. “You looked like you were about to vomit.”

Your throat tightened. I can’t tell her. The truth was a grenade in your hands, pull the pin, and everything would blow apart. Mara was your friend, maybe the closest thing you had to one in this place, but this? This was too big. Too dangerous.

“It’s just…” You swallowed, scrambling for something, anything, that wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the whole truth either. “This is serious stuff we’re doing now. I can’t- I don’t know if I can take it.”

Mara’s eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?” She crossed her arms, leaning back against a shelf of sterile supplies. “What about the other experiments you performed? The neural overwrites? The memory wipes?” Her voice dropped, almost mocking. “Those didn’t bother you?”

The words hit like a slap.

She was right. You had done worse. Writen protocols that scraped a person’s mind clean, designed machines that could drain the blood out of the subjects with a few clicks. But those subjects had been monsters, rapists, murderers, traffickers from the N109 Zone’s darkest corners. You’d seen their files. Known what they’d done. It had been easy, then, to tell yourself you were making the world better.

But Sylus? Sylus was different.

What exactly was he to you?

The question lodged in your chest like a bullet.

Mara sighed when you didn’t answer, pushing off the shelf. “Look, I won’t push. But get it together.” Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to you, uncharacteristically serious. “I noticed first because we’re friends. The moment someone else does? You’re in trouble.”

She left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her, and just like that, you were alone.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. You slumped against the wall, your legs suddenly unsteady, the cold metal biting through your lab coat. Your tablet slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but you didn’t bother picking it up.

You couldn’t walk away now. Couldn’t pretend you hadn’t seen him. Couldn’t let them kill him.

But helping him? That meant betraying EVER. Meant throwing away everything you’d built, your career, your safety, the fragile peace you’d carved out for yourself.

And for what?

For the man who’d watched you walk away two years ago and hadn’t followed?

Your hands trembled. You pressed them to your face, your breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, a voice whispered. You already know the answer.

You’d known it the moment you saw him behind that glass.

You were going to burn your life to the ground for him.

And the worst part was you didn’t even know why.

You slipped out of the storage room with measured steps. The hallway was empty, the hum of distant conversations and clicking keyboards the only sounds. Okay, you’ve got this. 

The plan formed in your mind like a lifeline. After work, you’d go to the Hunter’s Association. Even if Sylus had some grand scheme in motion, you needed to know. And then? Then you’d step away. Wash your hands of this mess.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before pushing open the lab doors. Inside, the scene was exactly as you’d left it, researchers hunched over glowing screens, fingers flying across tablets, the air thick with the sterile scent of ozone and disinfectant. No one looked up as you entered. No one except Mara.

Her gaze met yours for a brief moment before she deliberately turned back to her work. The unspoken "get it together" was evident on her face. You forced yourself to move, crossing the room to your workstation.

The observation window drew your attention like a magnet. Empty, of course. Sylus wasn’t there, why would he be? The serum testing was done for the day, and EVER had no reason to keep him in the lab when they could stash him in some high-security cell instead.

You sank into your chair, fingers hovering over the holoscreen as your thoughts churned. None of this made sense. If Sylus was here, it had to be part of a plan. That’s how he operated. So where was the cavalry? Where were Luke and Kieran, bursting through the doors with guns blazing? Where was the distraction, the sabotage, the anything that would explain why the most dangerous man you’d ever known was sitting in a cell instead of burning this place to the ground?

Unless he wanted to be here.

The thought sent a chill down your spine. You shook your head, as if you could physically dislodge it. No. That was a rabbit hole you couldn’t afford to go down right now.

You threw yourself into your work, losing hours to data streams and prototype schematics, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind raced. The second your shift ended, you were out the door, your coat barely shrugged on as you all but sprinted for the transit station.

The Hunter’s Association loomed ahead, its sleek facade lit by the dying light of the sunset. You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly unsure. Were you too late? Too early? Would she even still be here?

You planted yourself across the street, leaning against a lamppost like you had every right to be there, your pulse thundering in your ears. Minutes ticked by. Ten. Twenty. Just as you were about to give up, to turn and walk away, you saw her.

There she was.

She stepped out of the building beside a coworker, a tall man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes, his posture relaxed, his laugh carrying across the street. And her. Even now, after all this time, the sight of her hit like a punch to the gut.

She was beautiful. Effortlessly so, her hair catching the golden light, her smile easy as she listened to something the man said. You’d spent years trying to forget the exact curve of her lips, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed.

Your feet moved before you could stop yourself, carrying you across the street. The man noticed you first, his gaze sharpening as he subtly shifted his stance, one hand drifting toward his hip. A weapon. Of course. Hunters were never unarmed.

She followed his line of sight, and her eyes locked onto yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Her smile froze, her breath catching audibly. You saw the exact moment recognition dawned, the way her eyes widened, her lips parting in something like shock. Then she  turned to the man, murmuring something too low for you to hear. 

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two of you before nodding and walking away, though not without a final, lingering glance in your direction.

And then she was walking toward you, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. Up close, she was even more striking. The scent of her perfume hit you like a memory. The last time you’d been this close to her, you’d been standing in Sylus’s study, your hands clenched at your sides as they stood side by side. 

Now, she studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

"You," she said finally, her voice softer than you remembered. "I wondered if I’d ever see you again."

The words settled between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

What the hell were you even supposed to say?

Your mouth went dry. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, awkward, stilted, painfully inadequate. "Um… hi?"

Her expression softened, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, to your absolute shock, she stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.

You froze.

Her arms were warm, her perfume dizzyingly familiar, something floral and expensive, the same scent that had lingered in Sylus’s study long after she’d left. Your hands hovered uselessly at your sides, your brain short-circuiting. What the hell was happening?

She pulled back first, her smile small but genuine. "Where have you been?"

The question threw you. You blinked, scrambling for words. "I just… left. For work."

"Work?" Her brow furrowed. "You worked for Sylus."

"Well, yeah. And then I left."

She studied you for a long moment, her gaze sharp in a way that made your skin prickle. Then she gestured across the street to a dimly lit coffee shop. "Let’s talk there."

You followed her numbly. This wasn’t how you’d imagined this going. You’d braced for hostility, for cold indifference, not this. Not soft smiles and casual hugs and a conversation you had no idea how to navigate.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, the air thick with the scent of roasted beans and burnt sugar. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl seat creaking under your weight. Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t stop staring at her, the way her fingers tapped absently against the table, the way the dim light caught on her hair.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. "Have you been in contact with Sylus?"

She raised an eyebrow and then laughed.

The sound was bright, effortless, just like you remembered. It sent a sharp pang through your chest. You frowned. "What’s funny?"

She wiped at her eyes, still grinning. "I haven’t talked to him in, let’s see, over a year now. And the last time we did talk?" She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "He called me in the middle of the night asking if I knew where you were."

Your heart stuttered.

The world narrowed to the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. He’d asked about you. Not just in passing, not just as an afterthought. He’d called her. In the middle of the night.

Your voice came out strangled. "What did he say?"

She shrugged, stirring her coffee idly. "Like I said, he wanted to know if I’d seen you. And honestly? We never talked, so I was no help. But I have contacts, so I tried looking for you anyway." A pause. Her expression shifted, something almost wistful creeping in. 

"It was like you’d vanished. The last I heard, Sylus ransacked the entire N109 Zone trying to find you."

Your stomach twisted. You’d known, on some level, that he’d searched. But hearing it out loud, hearing her say it, made it real in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"I’m sorry," you said automatically. "I had to go away."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Not my business. But what does catch my attention…" She tilted her head, studying you with renewed interest. "is why you’re asking if we’re in touch."

You stiffened. She laughed again, softer this time. "Why would we be? We’re hardly friends. He just helped me out when I needed assistance, and that was it."

Something fragile and hopeful fluttered in your chest. You crushed it immediately. "Aren’t you two…" You trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "A couple or something?"

This time, her laughter was outright delighted. "Oh, come on." She leaned back, shaking her head. "He’s a criminal. The most wanted man in Linkon City. Not exactly my type." A smirk. 

"Besides, why would we be a thing when he always had eyes for someone else?"

The words hit like a runaway train. Your breath caught.

Someone else.

The implication hung in the air between you, thick and undeniable. You opened your mouth to say something, but words were lost to you.

She took pity on you then, her expression softening. "You really didn’t know?"

You couldn’t answer. 

After all this time?

You sat there, stunned, the words "he always had eyes for someone else" ringing in your skull like a gunshot. The coffee in front of you had gone cold, untouched. She watched you with something between amusement and pity, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup.

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I have to go."

She didn’t stop you. Just arched a brow as you fumbled for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Sure," she said lightly. "But he did find you, didn’t he?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat had closed up, your pulse hammering so violently you were half-convinced she could hear it.

The walk home was a blur. The city lights smeared into streaks of gold and neon, the sounds of traffic and chatter fading into white noise. Your mind was a storm, thoughts crashing into each other with brutal, unrelenting force.

Sylus had eyes for you.

The idea was laughable. Absurd. And yet not so impossible to imagine.

Memories surfaced. The way he’d linger just a little too close when reviewing your work, his breath warm against your temple. The way he’d leave notes in his precise, elegant handwriting, notes you’d saved, tucked away like some pathetic secret. The way he’d asked you to live with him, for fuck’s sake, as if that was a normal thing a boss would do.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

There was a time, a time when you would’ve begged for this. When the mere possibility that he might feel the same would’ve sent you spiraling into dizzy, reckless hope. But now?

Now you didn’t know what to feel.

Because it didn’t matter. Not really.

You’d help him. Of course you would. You’d get him out of EVER’s clutches, and then you’d move on. Both of you. That was the plan. That was the only plan.

So why did that thought make your chest ache?

A gust of wind cut through you, sharp and biting. You barely felt it.

Why the hell is he even here?

The question gnawed at you. If Sylus had orchestrated this, if this was some elaborate scheme, why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he fighting? Why weren’t Luke and Kieran kicking down doors? Why was he just sitting there, letting them pump him full of serums that would kill him?

You scoffed, raking a hand through your hair. Hypothetically speaking, if you didn’t help him, if you walked away and let EVER do what they did best, he’d die. Just like that. No grand escape. No last-minute rescue. Just a cold, clinical death on an exam table, his body discarded like faulty machinery.

The idea was so wrong it made your teeth hurt.

Sylus shouldn’t die quietly. Sylus shouldn't have to die at all. He was a force of nature, a storm given human form. He didn’t just let things happen to him.

Unless he was here for you.

But no. That was insane. That was pathetic.

You shook your head, but the idea stuck, stubborn and insidious.

Because if he had come for you, if he’d let himself get captured, knowing you worked here, knowing you’d see him, then he’d gambled everything on the hope that you’d help him. And that meant he’d gambled on you caring. Did he not think of the possibility that you might not? That you might walk away? That after two years of silence, you might look him in the eye and let them take everything from him?

A bitter laugh escaped you.

Of course he had. Sylus thought of everything. That was the problem. Which meant maybe this wasn’t a gamble at all. Maybe it was a test.

The realization settled over you like a cloud.

Tomorrow, they’d give him the stronger serum. Tomorrow, he’d die, unless you did something. And he’d known that. He’d known. But why was he putting you on the spot like that?

You stopped walking, your apartment building looming ahead, its windows dark and empty.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She wasn’t involved. You couldn’t and wouldn’t drag her into this. But that left you with exactly zero allies, zero resources, and zero time.

You exhaled sharply, your breath fogging in the cold air.

Things weren’t any better than they’d been this morning. If anything, they were worse. Because now you knew and that changed everything.

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

tags: @nm4565natty, @dysphxriaii, @animegamerfox, @floofycookie, @food4me-always, @dummiebunny, @starllight613, @natashahbarry, @hao-ming-8, @eve-rockin-blog, @sylusgirlie7, @babygirl-panda19, @chaoticfivesworld, @wakeupr41, @poptrim, @brailsthesmolgurl, @seung185, @mimiu3usoft, @theplaid-wearingmoose, @moonchildjae00, @pinksaiyans, @vintag3u, @peachystea, @69-gojos-wife-69, @harusansthings, @dyeinsomniadontwake, @perqbeth, @dramaticalsachan, @dana-nite, @blusterry-bomb, @miffysoo, @his-ocean-emissary, @totallytaurus4, @sleepykittyenergy, @terriblesoup, @mcdepressed290, @ikesimpleton, @meyline, @decaf-nosebleed, @ili6a, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @adeptustemptations, @sylussweetkitten, @roschea-arts, @blipblopblopblip, @eolivy, @coeurdeveea, @sylussplushie, @thestarsaboveme, @cordidy, @bxtchopolis, @sabage101

[paxaz535]

SLOW SIMMER - FOUR

dallas!paige x privatechef!azzi

note : sorry it took so long , i needed to do a lot of thinking so i can keep this story interesting lol

—————————————

“so… how’d you feel about everyone?” paige asked as she and azzi cleaned up the kitchen.

it was around 11:20 when everyone left the bueckers household. the girls had stayed late, running extra games, and azzi ended up bonding with dijonai and maddy over leftovers and side conversations.

azzi smiled to herself, thinking about what they talked about. “i already love them. they’re funny—especially dijonai. she has no filter,” she laughed, the memory still fresh.

paige chuckled, rinsing out a bowl before putting it in the cabinet. “that’s good to hear,” she said, leaning on the counter. “i thought you were gonna hate them.”

azzi finished cleaning a cup, then mirrored paige’s stance, their eyes locking across the kitchen. “hate is a strong word. i don’t think i could ever hate anything.”

paige gave her a look. “trust me, you hate something.”

azzi played along, leaning in slightly, a small grin on her lips. “and you know this how?”

paige leaned in just an inch closer, her voice dropping. “i know a lot of things. don’t tempt me.”

azzi’s heart fluttered. paige’s tone was soft, low, but teasing. her eyes flickered to the blonde’s lips before returning to her eyes. “yeah?”

paige didn’t budge. “yeah.”

just as azzi opened her mouth to say something, paige’s phone dinged. the sharp sound broke whatever was building between them. both girls flinched back a little as paige sighed and checked her phone, her expression instantly shifting.

“what happened?” azzi asked with a soft chuckle, noticing the way paige’s whole vibe changed.

paige didn’t answer right away. she looked at azzi, then back at her screen. “it’s just… someone i used to talk to. she can’t take a hint that we don’t talk anymore.”

azzi hummed, her smile fading slightly. she didn’t know what that meant, didn’t know if she wanted to. still, it didn’t hurt.

not really.

not yet.

but it felt weird.

‘i don’t blame her,’ she thought, then immediately shook the thought away.

the phone rang again, and paige rolled her eyes before answering with a sharp, dry, “what’s up, bro?”

azzi nearly burst out laughing—she’d never heard paige sound so unbothered.

on the other end, a girl scoffed. “don’t answer the phone like that, i can’t call you no more?”

paige’s tone flattened. “no, you cannot, actually. what do you want?”

then came the bomb.

“girl, you know you miss this pussy. stop playing with me, paige.”

azzi’s eyes went wide, her hand flying to her mouth. she hadn’t expected that. not out loud. not now.

paige froze, clearly just as stunned. azzi made eye contact with her, silently mouthing, i’m gonna go. goodnight.

paige gave a tight nod, sighing heavily as she turned away to keep talking. “watch ya mouth, ‘cause you don’t even know what you talkin’ ‘bout.”

azzi slipped down the hall, quietly shutting her bedroom door behind her.

she didn’t know why hearing that girl bothered her so much.

but it did.

it left a weird twist in her stomach, a tightness in her chest.

because something about that call made her feel like…

whatever her and paige were building—

wasn’t just theirs.

not yet.

and azzi didn’t want to admit how much that bothered her.

she just got some clothes out to shower with, today was long.

she was about to go to the bathroom but when she opened the bedroom door, paige was standing there.

the blonde froze, clearly not expecting azzi to come out at the exact moment she planned on coming in.

azzi froze too, one hand still on the doorknob. “oh,” she mumbled, eyes locking with paige’s.

“hey,” paige said quietly, rubbing the back of her neck. her expression was softer now, different than it was a few minutes ago when she answered that call.

“hi,” azzi replied, stepping back slightly to let her pass. “did you need something?”

paige didn’t move right away. she looked at azzi, then glanced toward the floor before finally meeting her eyes again. “i wanted to say sorry… about earlier.”

“you don’t have to,” azzi said quickly. “it’s not my business.”

“maybe not,” paige nodded. “but it still felt… weird. and you didn’t deserve to hear that.”

azzi looked at her, unsure what to say. the hallway was quiet, a thick silence hanging between them.

“it’s not like i’m mad,” azzi finally said. “i just… wasn’t expecting it.”

paige stepped a little closer, her voice dropping again. “i’m not talking to her anymore. i haven’t for a while. that call? it wasn’t anything.”

azzi nodded, her voice softer. “okay.”

paige noticed the way azzi’s fingers curled slightly around the doorknob, like she didn’t know whether to stay or go.

“i didn’t mean for it to mess up the night,” paige added.

“you didn’t,” azzi said. “it was a good night.”

they stood there for a second longer, quiet again. then paige tilted her head slightly, her eyes gentle. “you were heading to the bathroom?”

azzi nodded.

paige stepped aside. “go ahead. i’ll be out here.”

azzi gave her a small smile, walking past her.

but even as she entered the bathroom, paige’s voice echoed in her mind.

that call wasn’t anything.

so why did it still feel like something?

-

next day, azzi woke up with the whole scene from last night still replaying in her mind.

the phone call.

the hallway conversation.

the way paige looked at her.

the way she felt.

it was fucking with her brain.

but she had to pull herself together.

this wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

she was here to cook. not to catch feelings.

so she got up, showered, and got dressed—something simple, something comfortable. her apron hung over her arm as she made her way out of the room, trying to clear her head.

what she didn’t expect to see was emma, paige, dijonai, lyss, and arike sitting in the front room. their faces were serious, low voices murmuring back and forth like they were mid-discussion about something important.

emma was the first to notice her. she looked azzi up and down with a soft smile, lifting a brow. “well if it isn’t the chef herself.”

all heads turned.

azzi suddenly felt warm under the pressure of so many eyes.

especially the blue ones.

she stood there for a beat, then forced a small smile. “hey, everyone.”

paige didn’t say anything right away, just looked at her. her gaze wasn’t cold—but it wasn’t easy to read either.

“hey, azzi,” dijonai greeted, patting the empty seat beside her. “come sit. we’re talking about something important.”

emma chuckled, shaking her head. “we’re not dragging her into it just yet. she just woke up.”

azzi glanced at paige again, her chest tightening a little.

“you okay?” lyss asked, catching the slight hesitation in her posture.

“yeah,” azzi nodded quickly. “just a little tired.”

emma stood up, brushing off her jeans. “i was just checking in before heading out. needed to talk to paige about a few things.”

azzi nodded, her hands tightening slightly around the fabric of her apron.

“you cooking this morning?” arike asked, eyes hopeful.

“i was planning to,” azzi answered, a little more gently. “what are we feeling?”

paige finally spoke then, voice soft. “surprise us.”

and for some reason, those two words carried more weight than they should have.

“paige, you love surprises don’t you?” lyss joked, her tone teasing as she threw an arm around dijonai’s shoulders.

paige glanced over at her, unimpressed. “don’t start.”

dijonai smirked, nudging lyss. “nah, she definitely do. remember that time at the team dinner—”

“nope,” paige cut in quickly, holding up a hand. “we are not doing story time right now.”

emma laughed as she grabbed her bag. “i’ll let y’all get back to embarrassing each other. azzi, i’ll text you later, alright?”

“okay,” azzi said softly, offering her a wave as emma made her way out the door.

as soon as it closed behind her, the room shifted a bit. still light, but quieter. azzi moved to the kitchen, her hands already reaching for the pan on instinct.

behind her, paige was watching—she always seemed to be watching lately. the girl who was once just her private chef had somehow started taking up more space.

not in a bad way.

just… noticeable.

“so what kinda surprise are we getting?” arike called from the couch, breaking the silence.

azzi smiled faintly as she opened the fridge. “a good one, hopefully.”

and somehow, she wasn’t just talking about the food.

she heard footsteps behind her and glanced to the side—paige had walked into the kitchen, leaning on the counter like she always did when she was trying to act casual.

“you sleep okay?” the blonde asked, her voice softer now that it was just the two of them.

“yeah,” azzi said, pulling out eggs and some fresh spinach. “woke up kind of in my head, but… i’m good.”

paige nodded slowly, then let a beat pass. “about last night…”

azzi kept her eyes on the cutting board as she cracked an egg, careful and calm. “you don’t have to explain again. it’s fine.”

“i know i don’t have to,” paige said, watching the way azzi moved, “but i want to.”

azzi finally glanced up at her. “okay. then talk.”

paige hesitated, like she was trying to find the right words. “i haven’t talked to that girl in months. it was just one of those people who pops back up for attention, you know? i shut it down as soon as i could. i didn’t want it to mess anything up.”

azzi’s eyes lingered on hers for a second. “why would it mess anything up?”

paige looked at her—really looked. “because… i don’t want you thinking you’re just another person in my space.”

azzi blinked, surprised by the honesty. her heart did that weird flutter again, the one she swore she wasn’t supposed to feel.

“…well,” she said after a moment, turning back to the stove, “if you keep talking like that, i’m gonna burn these eggs.”

paige laughed quietly. “can’t have that.”

azzi smirked, focused on the skillet. “exactly. i’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

the moment settled into something easier—something warm. and while the rest of the girls in the living room teased each other and scrolled their phones, in the kitchen, something quiet but real was beginning to take shape.

“hey— where’s maddy?” azzi asked, glancing toward the living room as she flipped the eggs.

paige turned her head to look too, only just realizing the absence. “yeah, where is maddy?” she called out to the three girls on the couch.

“oh, she’s with her boyfriend,” arike replied casually, not looking up from her phone.

“fiancé,” lyss corrected, grinning. “get it right, boo.”

“same difference,” arike mumbled, rolling her eyes as she leaned back deeper into the couch cushions.

lyss laughed, stealing the throw pillow beside her. “she said she’ll be here for dinner, though. told us not to eat without her.”

azzi raised an eyebrow from the stove. “dinner? we making plans already?”

paige shrugged, leaning her elbow on the counter, chin in hand. “only if you’re cooking.”

“of course i’m cooking.” azzi smirked, “what else am i here for?”

“your sparkling personality,” dijonai teased, sending her a playful wink.

azzi just laughed, shaking her head. “y’all are a mess.”

“and yet you love us,” dijonai grinned.

paige smiled to herself quietly, her gaze lingering on azzi longer than it should’ve.

yeah.

she really did.

“i’m a loveable person. i love everyone.” azzi said with a small shrug, turning back to the stove like it was just a casual statement.

“mmhm,” dijonai drawled from the couch, “but do you love paige?”

paige nearly choked on her water.

azzi froze for a split second—hands still, jaw tightening just slightly—before laughing it off. “i said everyone, didn’t i?”

arike hollered. “that’s a safe ass answer, chef. i see you.”

lyss grinned, nudging dijonai. “you tryna stir the pot before breakfast’s even done?”

“girl, i stir everything,” dijonai said proudly. “food, drama, tension. i’m well-rounded.”

azzi just shook her head, flipping the eggs with a smirk. “y’all are too much this early.”

“you love it,” paige said quietly, still smiling as she watched azzi from the side.

azzi didn’t look at her, but she heard it.

and she felt it.

“maybe,” she muttered under her breath, the tiniest grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

paige heard that maybe—soft, almost too low to catch—but it echoed loud in her chest.

she leaned a little closer across the counter, chin propped in her palm, blue eyes steady on the girl standing at her stove like she owned the whole damn place.

“what was that?” paige asked, teasing, even though she heard her just fine.

azzi didn’t turn around, just kept flipping the eggs and plating the rest of breakfast. “nothing,” she said casually, but her ears were a little pink.

“nah,” lyss called out. “that wasn’t ‘nothing,’ fudd. what you say?”

“yeah, come on now,” dijonai added, grinning. “we all heard something that wasn’t ‘i love everyone’ just now.”

azzi finally turned, setting a plate in front of paige and grabbing another for arike. “i said maybe,” she admitted, locking eyes with the blonde for a half-second. “now eat.”

“mmm. mysterious,” arike grinned as she took her food. “i like her.”

“i been said that,” dijonai muttered, already halfway through a bite.

paige, though, didn’t say anything.

she just stared at her plate for a moment—then up at azzi again.

“thanks,” she said softly.

azzi nodded once. “you’re welcome.”

but as she turned back to the kitchen, that grin wouldn’t leave her face.

and paige?

she was already thinking about dinner.

paige kept eating, but her mind wasn’t fully on the food anymore—even if it was damn near perfect. she was chewing slower, eyes following azzi as the chef moved around the kitchen like it was second nature now.

it wasn’t just the way azzi cooked.

it was the way she made the space feel… soft. warm.

like a home paige didn’t realize she’d been missing.

“yo.” arike’s voice broke through her thoughts. “you good?”

paige blinked. “huh?”

arike raised a brow, a fork mid-air. “you zoned out hella hard just now. you was over there chewing like it was a love song playing in your head.”

lyss and dijonai burst out laughing.

“she’s in deep thought,” lyss said dramatically. “probably imagining her last name on wedding invites.”

“shut up,” paige muttered, but her grin gave her away.

azzi glanced back, eyes flickering between the group and paige. “what’s going on over there?”

“nothing,” paige replied quickly. too quickly.

“mhm,” dijonai smirked. “nothing except our girl here making heart eyes at the chef.”

azzi blushed immediately, turning back to the sink. “y’all are exhausting.”

“you love it,” paige echoed softly.

azzi’s hand paused over a dish for half a second before she kept going.

the room filled with laughter and clinking forks, the smell of breakfast still hanging in the air.

but under it all, something new was brewing—

and it wasn’t just what was on the stove.

“so, azzi.” dijonai spoke, resting her elbow on the counter like she was about to start trouble.

azzi looked up, her brows raised. “yes?”

“you got any plans today?”

azzi thought for a second, sipping on her water. “not that i know of. why, what happened?”

paige’s head turned slightly, eyes narrowing in suspicion as she chewed slowly. she knew that tone in dijonai’s voice. it always meant something.

“good,” dijonai grinned. “because we’re taking you with us.”

azzi laughed softly, intrigued. “where are you taking me?”

“yeah,” paige chimed in, tilting her head, “where are you taking her, nai?”

“chill, p.” dijonai smirked. “you can come too. it’s nothing crazy. we’re just gonna hit the little vintage market downtown and maybe stop by that smoothie place arike’s obsessed with.”

“you didn’t even like that smoothie place last time,” arike said with her mouth full.

“shhh,” dijonai waved her off. “azzi hasn’t been yet. it’s a bonding trip now.”

azzi smiled, her interest piqued. “alright… i’m down. sounds fun.”

“great,” dijonai clapped her hands once. “we’ll leave in like an hour. wear something cute.”

paige leaned over, nudging azzi lightly with her shoulder. “you always wear something cute.”

azzi looked at her, surprised, lips parting to say something—but dijonai cut in.

“aht aht—none of that flirty stuff yet. we on a group trip.”

paige rolled her eyes while azzi just blushed and turned back to her water, smiling into the glass.

this was gonna be a long day.

but probably a good one.

-

azzi kept it simple—she didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard, but she still wanted to look good.

she pulled on a pair of green cargo jeans that sat just right on her hips, pairing it with a black tube top that hugged her figure in all the best ways. her goddess braids were pulled up into a bun, but a few curls had fallen out, framing her face in a way that felt effortless.

a soft makeup look—light blush, glossed lips, lashes just enough to bat—

and gold hoops to finish it off.

when she stepped out of her room, the conversation in the living room quieted a little too fast.

paige, who had been mid-scroll on her phone, looked up—then kept looking.

“okayyy,” lyss said, dragging the word out with a grin. “chef said outside today.”

“you look good, fudd,” dijonai added. “like, you trying to get chose good.”

azzi blushed, brushing them off with a laugh as she reached for her bag. “it’s just cargo pants.”

“mhm,” arike said, standing and grabbing her keys. “and i’m just 5’9”. let’s roll.”

as everyone headed to the door, paige lingered, walking beside azzi with a smile that felt soft—genuine.

“you really do look good,” she said under her breath.

azzi looked over, smiling back. “thanks. so do you.”

neither of them said anything else.

but they didn’t really need to.

they all piled into dijonai’s car, the group loud and already full of chaotic energy. dijonai slid into the driver’s seat, tossing her phone into the cupholder as she called out, “azzi, shotgun.”

azzi was about to politely decline, but before she could even say anything, she heard lyss behind her.

“wha—baby, i always sit in the front,” lyss said, dramatic as ever, watching azzi reach for the passenger door handle like her title was being stolen.

dijonai turned around with a deadpan expression. “it’s not gonna kill you to sit in the back for a day. calm down.”

lyss folded her arms as she pouted, mumbling under her breath, “this car ain’t even got real legroom in the back.”

“your legs short anyway,” arike teased, already buckled in behind dijonai.

“let azzi have her moment.” paige chimed in.

lyss gasped. “wow. okay. betrayal from all sides.”

azzi, laughing softly, finally got in and shut the door. “y’all are funny.”

dijonai looked over at her once they were settled in. “they do this every time. don’t take it personal.”

“oh i’m not,” azzi replied, smiling. “this is fun.”

dijonai grinned as she started the car. “good. you better get used to us.”

and just like that, they were off—windows down, music blasting, voices overlapping—azzi’s first real day out with the crew.

and so far, it felt right.

“so what’s up with this smoothie place? i love smoothies,” azzi asked, glancing over at dijonai as the car rolled through a yellow light.

the older girl had on black sunglasses, her jaw set like she was driving in a Fast & Furious sequel.

“first of all,” dijonai started, eyes not leaving the road, “this spot is it. fresh fruit, they don’t use that fake-ass syrup. and they put this granola crumble on top of the smoothies-in-a-bowl that’ll make you rethink your whole life.”

“they do be hittin’,” arike added from the back, chewing gum loudly. “i ain’t even like smoothies like that ‘til i came here.”

“same,” paige chimed in, turning to look at azzi. “i get the dragonfruit one. fire.”

lyss leaned forward from the backseat, her arm hanging between the front seats. “azzi, don’t listen to them—get the pineapple mango one with the extra honey. that’s the best.”

“see? already starting,” dijonai muttered, smirking. “you’re gonna have to make your own decision, fudd.”

azzi laughed, her gold hoops catching the sunlight as she shook her head. “this sounds like serious business.”

“it is,” paige said, tapping her phone like she was preparing a whole review. “smoothie politics in this car are intense.”

“y’all lucky i like y’all,” azzi teased, looking out the window as they turned into the lot. the spot was small but cute—plants in the windows, people sitting outside with bright bowls and even brighter drinks.

“welcome to the jungle,” dijonai grinned as she parked.

“don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

they all piled out of the car, the sun warm against their skin as they headed toward the shop. the smell of fresh fruit, honey, and something faintly tropical hit azzi immediately.

“this place smells good already,” she muttered, taking it in.

“just wait,” arike said, holding the door open with a little bow. “ladies first.”

azzi chuckled, stepping inside with the others. it was cozy but vibrant—plants hanging from the ceiling, a chalkboard menu with colorful writing, and a few shelves of granola and pressed juices off to the side. the energy felt local, personal… kind of like the food azzi liked to make.

“i’m telling you,” lyss whispered as they walked up to the counter, “one bite and you’re gonna understand why i almost fought arike last time over the last açai bowl.”

“she’s not lying,” arike added, arms folded. “i didn’t get the last one. and that still hurt.”

paige stood beside azzi, glancing up at the menu. “you want me to help you pick?”

azzi looked over at her, their shoulders nearly touching. “nah, i think i wanna try that pineapple mango one lyss was raving about.”

lyss pointed at her from the back of the line, “you will not regret that.”

they all placed their orders, laughing through it as arike fumbled her card and dijonai made a big deal out of getting two bowls “just in case one doesn’t hit.” while they waited, they found a spot outside at a corner table under a shaded umbrella.

azzi sat between paige and lyss, and for a moment, it felt like she’d been part of the group forever.

“so,” lyss started, poking at her straw, “now that we’ve all officially adopted you, what are your weekend plans lookin’ like?”

azzi looked around the table, everyone waiting, playful curiosity in their eyes. she smiled softly, realizing she didn’t mind being asked.

“honestly?” she said, pulling her hair back into place. “no plans yet.”

“good,” dijonai nodded. “you do now.”

“good,” dijonai nodded, popping the top off her smoothie bowl. “you do now.”

“oh, word?” azzi laughed, raising a brow. “y’all just assign plans to me now?”

“absolutely,” lyss said, already halfway through her drink. “you’re one of us now. no escape.”

arike leaned across the table, spoon in hand. “we’re thinking a beach day. well… more like a lake day, technically. there’s this spot about 30 minutes out. not too many people, chill vibes, good scenery.”

“and snacks,” dijonai added, pointing her spoon at azzi. “which is where you come in.”

“i had a feeling this was food-related,” azzi muttered, shaking her head with a smile.

“i mean,” paige said, leaning back in her chair and turning her cup in her hand, “if we’re all gonna be outside for hours, wouldn’t it make sense to have, like… gourmet sandwiches?”

“gourmet sandwiches?” arike snorted. “you bougie now?”

paige gave her a dry look. “have you had azzi’s sandwiches?”

arike raised her hands in surrender. “point taken.”

azzi laughed, covering her mouth. “fine. i’ll make something. but y’all better bring the drinks and entertainment.”

“done,” dijonai nodded. “you focus on the food, we got the rest.”

they all clinked their cups together like it was some kind of unspoken contract. and just like that, azzi had weekend plans. not because she asked for them—but because this group had a way of pulling you in.

paige leaned close again, voice low just for her.

“sorry in advance if they get too loud or competitive.”

azzi turned her head slightly, their faces just a little too close.

“i think i’ll be okay,” she whispered back.

“they feel kinda like family already.”

paige’s lips curved into something soft—real—not the camera-ready kind of smile azzi had seen on tv or in press photos. this one was for her.

“that’s good,” paige said, still holding her gaze. “they can be a lot, but… they’re solid people.”

azzi nodded, her eyes flicking down to her smoothie for a second, then back up. “i can tell.”

their moment was broken when lyss let out a dramatic groan from across the table.

“can y’all stop whispering and start planning the vibes? like… what kind of music are we bringing? cause if y’all think i’m listening to country the whole ride—”

“girl, no one listens to country,” dijonai deadpanned.

“you’d be surprised,” arike chimed in.

“uh huh, and you be the main one knowing the lyrics when it come on,” lyss shot back, pointing at her with a plastic spoon.

“okay but let’s not act like azzi don’t give off r&b picnic playlist energy,” maddy added as she rejoined the group with her drink in hand, having finally arrived.

“mads! i thought you weren’t coming back until later on?” dijonai asks as she sipped her drink.

maddy shook her head, “something told me to check arike’s location so i came here.”

azzi laughed, leaning back in her seat. “wait- r&b picnic?what does that even mean?”

“it means you got the vibe,” maddy said, sliding into the last empty chair. “like, the soft vocals, sunset lighting, wine-in-a-jar aesthetic. that’s you.”

paige, now clearly enjoying this, raised a brow. “wine-in-a-jar?”

“you know exactly what i’m talking about,” maddy smirked.

azzi shook her head with a grin, letting their banter wash over her. she wasn’t used to being so naturally folded into a friend group—let alone one that felt this easy. this seamless.

it was like they’d known her longer than just a few days.

paige must’ve sensed something in her silence because she bumped her knee against azzi’s gently under the table.

“you good?”

azzi glanced at her, then nodded. “yeah. i’m really good.”

and for the first time in a while, she actually meant it.

they stayed out there for a while—long after the smoothies were finished and the bowls were scraped clean. the conversation drifted from music and weekend plans to random “would you rather” questions, embarrassing college stories, and heated debates over which disney channel original movie was the best.

azzi didn’t speak all the time, but when she did, the girls listened. laughed. pulled her in even tighter.

it wasn’t just paige making her feel welcome—it was all of them.

eventually, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a soft golden light over the patio. arike stretched her arms dramatically. “alright, i need to get back before i pass out.”

“same,” lyss yawned, tossing her empty cup in the trash. “we still on for the lake?”

“yes,” dijonai confirmed. “saturday morning. we meet at mine.”

“i’ll bring the speaker,” maddy added, already typing something into her phone.

“i’ll bring towels and extra sunscreen,” lyss said.

“i’ll… bring myself,” arike shrugged, earning a few laughs.

paige turned to azzi as everyone stood and started filing toward the car. “you need anything for it? i can pick up ice or coolers if you don’t have enough.”

azzi smiled, pulling her braids back into place. “nah, i think i got it covered. i’ve done a few beach picnics before.”

“of course you have,” paige smirked, nudging her playfully.

“chef life,” azzi shrugged, then paused. “but… thanks. really. this was fun.”

“you don’t gotta thank me,” paige said, holding the car door open for her this time. “you’re stuck with us now.”

as they drove back, azzi looked out the window, her face lit by the warm pinkish light of the sunset.

she couldn’t explain it, but something about today shifted things inside her.

she didn’t know what it meant yet. but it felt… right.

like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

[batsandbirdbrains]

I need Bruce trying to gentle parent Dick as a child. Like maybe Bruce isn’t exactly a good parent but tries. When Dick starts throwing massive tantrums, he just puts Dick in an empty room for time out. This does not stop Dick as he ends up destroying the room despite nothing being in it. When Dick does something Bruce doesn’t approve of, Bruce just says softly “Don’t do that.” Dick does it again. Like I need him trying and failing. Nothing he does works. Then Dick decides to turn that gentle parenting back on Bruce. No whenever Bruce makes him mad, he puts Bruce in a time-out room. Whenever Bruce is being dumb, he just gives him a pout and says “Don’t do that.” Bruce actually does his best to listen to Dick because he thinks it might foster trust or encourage Dick to follow along when Bruce does it to him. It doesn’t really work. Dick still doesn’t listen and now Bruce is being parented by the child he’s supposed to be raising. The only plus is that it calms down Dick’s more violent urges because instead of destroying shit he just sends Bruce away.

Then Dick gets shot, and something in Bruce snaps. There is no more gentle parenting, no more kind words or soft punishments. He needs to make Dick listen, and if that means hurting him, then so be it. He loses sight of the fact that Dick is still a kid, an incredibly traumatized one at that. He still lets Dick parent him, although he’s more snappy about it. Dick stops being soft with him, too, instead telling him harshly to get to bed, threatening to sic Alfred on him, or screaming in his face about how he’s the worst. Somehow they’ve fallen into this horrible dynamic and neither of them know how to get out of it. Dick blames himself for being such a troubled kid, and though Bruce never says it, Dick knows he blames him too. So Dick leaves.

Eventually, over the years their family grows, but Bruce’s softness never really comes back. He’s meaner, more controlling, even downright cruel at times. And one day when the entire batfam is arguing with him over how unreasonable he is, one them snaps and says “Jesus, B, who turned you into such a fucking asshole?” and before Bruce can even think about it, he responds “Dick did.” He closes his mouth in shock, face going ashen while everyone else freezes. The words cut straight into Dick’s heart. He replies with the only words he can think of at the moment “Don’t do that.” He meant for the words to be cold, confident. Instead they came out soft, chiding and pained. Before anyone can say anything else, Bruce turns on his heel and leaves. They all try to follow him to argue more but then stare, confused, as he walks into an empty room, locking the door behind him. He doesn’t come out for a long time.

🥺 rip out my fucking heart why don’t you, damn.

But now I’m just thinking of the scenario with Bruce saying Dick turned him into an asshole, and the whole room freezes.

Jason didn’t expect an actual answer. Tim and Damian thought Bruce would have just chided Jason for his language. Dick thought a Bruce was just going to keep yelling.

But then the way he says, “Dick did” without even thinking about it, without hesitation, it shocks everyone.

And Dick feels like he wants to cry, because sure, he knew he was a pretty fucked up kid. He was troubled. Traumatized. A problem child. But Bruce for the most part had been so patient when he was little. And when Bruce started being an asshole after Dick got shot, it wasn’t like Dick couldn’t fight right back. It was almost like a game, sometimes. But Dick has always felt so guilty about it, because Bruce had been so soft spoken and patient and nice, and then Dick went and fucked him up. Dick ruined him. It’s all Dick’s fault.

Dick has always had that thought in the back of his mind. But he’s never had any real proof that Bruce felt the same.

Now he does. And Dick’s chest feels hollow as he stares at a horrified looking Bruce.

All Dick can manage to say is a soft, desperate, “Don’t do that,” just like Bruce always tried to use with him, before he started using yelling as his go-to response.

Then Bruce turns without saying anything and walks right into an empty room, and Dick feels like he’s going to throw up. He turns too, towards his bike, and he ignores the way his siblings are calling after him. He turns off his comms and rides home, going way too fast, feeling the wind whip around him, and tears blurring his vision until he blinks them away.

When he gets back to his Blüdhaven apartment, he slides in through the window and doesn’t even change out of his costume before he’s puking in the bathroom.

He silences his phone, turns in his security system, and then spends the next hour sitting under the water in his shower, spacing out until the water goes ice cold and he has to get out. Then he crawls into bed, pulls out Zitka from under the pillows to hug to his chest, and buries his head under his pillows. If he doesn’t pay attention to it, he can pretend he’s not still crying because of the guilt.

He stays like that for a long time, not moving. He falls asleep for a while, wakes up in a panic, rinse and repeat.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but the next thing he knows, someone is sitting down on his bed next to him, laying a hesitant hand in his back. And he knows it’s Bruce, and it just makes him feel even worse.

“Go away,” he begs, the words muffled under his pillows.

“I didn’t mean it,” Bruce tries to tell him.

“Yes you did,” Dick says miserably. “And it’s true. I know it’s true, you don’t have to pretend it’s not.”

“It wasn’t you who made me an asshole,” Bruce says. “The situation-”

“Caused by me,” Dick argues.

“You were just a child, Dick.” Bruce sighs.

“A horrible, no good, rotten child!”

“Don’t say that about yourself,” Bruce says firmly. “It’s not true, Dick. I don’t care what anyone says, you were not a rotten child. You were just a little boy. I was the adult, and I should have found other solutions that worked for you.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, but he eventually moves out from under the pillows to curl up with his head in Bruce’s lap. Bruce plays with his hair, and the two of them stay quiet for a long time. Neither of them really knows what to say. They’re both still upset. And they’re both awful at dealing with their feelings.

The sadness and anger and guilt they’re feeling from this fight won’t be resolved. They won’t really talk about it. It won’t be talked about without someone else bringing it up, and that won’t happen for a while.

But for now, Bruce is going to comfort his son. And for now, Dick will let him.

[yothatshitgas]

The Dress

Note: Work of fiction.

This was meant to be a quick one shot, but it went beyond the length I expected. So I'm splitting it into two parts. Song is The Dress by Dijon. AU of Paige never recruiting Azzi to UConn. Word Count: 3.2k

Part 2

__

“Well, it's official,” Nika said without looking up from her phone, “we just got the best damn shooter in the country.”

Paige turned her head slowly toward Nika, who tilted her phone just enough for her to see the screen. It was an Instagram post, bold UConn Blue letters across the top: Committed. Behind the text was a photo of a girl with curly hair styled in two french braids, she donned a Blue University of Connecticut varsity jacket over the program’s uniform. She wore a bright smile with two dimples accompanying. Azzi Fudd. Her transfer announcement had gone live, nearly a month after she’d blown up the internet by entering the portal, just a week after UCLA’s Elite Eight loss. 

“You played with her before, right?” Nika asked, chewing her gum as she leaned back against the wall. They were both sitting cross legged on the training room floor, their post practice routine.

Paige nodded, a slow smirk forming on her lips. She couldn’t help it. For the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was finally aligning. The team was healthy again, anchored by three of the most dangerous juniors in the country. And Paige was right at the center of it. Now? They were adding her, the same player Steph Curry once called an ‘automatic bucket.’ They were going to bring the championship back to Storrs, a feat that the program has been chasing for over five years now.

Although, if Paige was being honest, it wasn’t the championship that had her grinning like a fool in her seat. It was Azzi. 

They’d played together for two summers on Team USA, their chemistry unmistakable and from the moment she met Azzi that first summer, she’d had a crush. Immediate. Electric. It was the way Azzi moved, fluid and fearless, every shot slipping through the net like it belonged there. She made it look effortless, like her body was made for basketball. Paige couldn’t look away, she was impressed. Maybe even addicted, not that she’d ever admit it out loud. 

And then there was the smile. God, the smile. Bright and dangerous, framed by dimples so deep they looked carved into her cheeks by some mischievous higher power, as if they were invitations for Paige she wasn’t so sure she should take. She’d never known desire to take shape of something as deceptively innocent as a smile, but with Azzi, it was right there in the curl of her lips and the light in her eyes.

Paige tried to flirt. Or, well, her awkward approximation of flirting. She teased. She poked. She pressed buttons she had no business touching, all under the guise of playful annoyance. But Azzi never flinched. She didn’t shy away or shut it down. If anything, she leaned in. Snapped back with her own witty jabs, turning every interaction into a game of verbal tug of war. There was a rhythm to it, a cadence only they seemed to understand. Push, pull. Give, take. 

They never said they wanted more. But the signs were there, quiet and consistent. The way Paige’s hand would linger on Azzi’s shoulder during a huddle, her thumb brushing lightly along the seam of her jersey. The way Azzi would find her way to Paige’s room on nights when the rest of the girls gathered in the hotel lobby, chasing gossip and late night snacks. Yet, it was fleeting. Always understood to be temporary, wrapped in the golden haze of summer. When the final buzzer of their last game sounded and Team USA disbanded for the year, they returned to their regular lives. Back to high school, back to expectations, back to reality.

They followed each other on social media, of course. Swapped numbers. Left the door cracked open, just enough to peek through from time to time. A like there. An emoji reaction there. A birthday message. A ‘Merry Christmas’ that never turned into more. It was a quiet kind of closeness. One that never asked for anything, never dared to define what they’d shared.

And then came their second year on Team USA.

Whatever simple, harmless crush Paige thought she’d had the summer before had evolved into something far less manageable. Azzi had changed. In all the right, most unfair way. She still had that same soft smile, still flashed those killer dimples like they were jokes only Paige got to understand. But now she was taller. Leaner. Stronger. More confident, both grounded and untouchable. And she had gotten better on the court, it was like watching magic refined into muscle memory. Her shots weren’t just good, they were lethal. And Paige, elite as she was, found herself staring more than she should have.

Just like that, all the fleeting, fluttering feelings Paige thought she’d neatly boxed up and shelved from the year before came crashing back with the subtlety of a freight train. No warning. No mercy.

Paige was obsessed.

And this time, she knew it. She couldn’t hide it, didn’t even try, to be honest. Not when Azzi laughed in that low, breathy way that made Paige’s chest tighten. Not when she pulled her hair back into a puff and wiped sweat off her brow mid-practice, looking entirely unbothered by the way the blonde stared at the other side of the court. Not when she threw an arm around Paige’s shoulder like it meant nothing and everything all at once.

Lines were crossed on their last night of the world cup. 

One minute, they were just talking, curled up in the dim hush of Paige’s hotel room. The glow of a single bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The air between them had been warm with something unspoken, humming with the energy of everything they refused to name. They talked about everything and nothing at all - inside jokes, music, the future, what home even meant when you were always on the move. In between their words, there was laughter. The kind that couldn’t exist anywhere else but inside those four walls.

Paige’s hand brushed against Azzi’s, just the slightest graze. Azzi, true to herself, didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift away, instead her fingers stayed right there, resting against Paige’s like she’d been waiting for that exact moment to happen. So Paige took it. She laced their fingers together slowly, and without thinking too hard, Paige leaned in and kissed Azzi.

Quick. Gentle. Barely more than a breath.

But it was real. 

And by cruel design of the universe, they flew home the very next day. One moment, they were curled up in the safety of each other’s silence, hands still remembering the weight of that first kiss. And the next, they were separated by thousands of miles and the divergent paths of two girls chasing greatness. Their lives, so full of promise, were equally full of obligations. Training schedules, family responsibilities and looming seasons, all conspiring to keep them apart.

But they tried. This time, they really tried.

Late night calls that stretched until one of them drifted off mid-sentence, the quiet hum of breath on the line more comforting than any lullaby. Text messages layered with longing, little confessions wrapped in emojis and inside jokes. Wish you were here sent from gyms and bedrooms, from the backseats of carpools and early morning flights. For a while, it was enough. For a while, it felt like they were still tethered by that final night.

Fall came and with it, the return to school and structure. Paige threw herself into her senior year, laser focused on getting her team their first state championship. Azzi, on the other hand, was already a legend in her own right. She led her squad to dominate the DMV circuit, her name whispered across courts and hallways with equal reverence. Their training regimens didn’t align. Their free time evaporated. Slowly, inevitably, the tether stretched thin.

Hour long conversations became missed calls. Quick replies turned into half read messages, then long gaps followed by apologetic explanations: sorry, been slammed with practice. Didn’t mean to ghost, just tired. And even though neither of them said it, both could feel the shift. A subtle, aching distance growing between them like a bruise they didn’t want to press on.

But how could they be upset? They hadn’t labeled what they were. No promises. No commitments. Just a summer and a kiss and a lingering thread of connection that neither of them had the language to define. They were temporary constants, steady for a while then they faded, slowly. Like sunlight slipping out of a room.

By the time the new year came, they’d had the conversation. It made sense, they told themselves. Best to focus on the year ahead. College, basketball, the future. There was no big heartbreak. No blowout fight. Just a quiet understanding that they were living parallel lives that couldn’t quite overlap.

Paige graduated that spring and slipped into a UConn jersey like she was born to wear it. She dove headfirst into a new world of expectation and cameras and team dynamics. Meanwhile, Azzi earned her spot on the USA U18 team for a third year, one again disappearing into the blur of red, white and blue.

They became what ifs in lives that had no choice but to embrace what is.

And Paige came to terms with it. She didn’t reach out. Didn’t push, she offered her support the only way she knew how: from a distance. She liked Azzi’s posts, watched her interviews. Caught clips of her games when she could, always with a small, private smile tugging at her lips. Azzi was thriving, just like everyone knew she would. She only grew brighter with every passing season.

It hadn’t come as a surprise when Azzi announced her commitment to UCLA for her 18th birthday. It was expected. She’d spoked about being a Bruin for as long as they’ve known each other, her dream school etched into her like gospel. The announcement had felt more like a formality than news - the rest of the world finally catching up to what Azzi had always known. She belonged out west and she made sure the entire country knew. Within weeks of stepping on campus, Azzi had the Big Ten on notice. Her name already being whispered in the same breath as legends.

Meanwhile, Paige was learning how quickly everything you love can be taken away.

The injury happened during an early pre-season game. One awkward step, one wrong pivot and her world shifted. A torn ACL. Just like that. It was cruel in its simplicity, the way her body betrayed her before her sophomore season even began. Surgery followed. Then the slow, grueling climb of recovery. She became a permanent fixture on the bench, forced to watch her teammates chase a season she couldn’t be part of.

She tried to be supportive. She cheered, clapped, smiled for the cameras. But there were nights she’d go home and cry into her pillow, the pain in her knee dull compared to the ache in her chest. She was used to leading from the court, not the sidelines. By the time she finally cleared - after months of rehab, doctor visits and mental battles - UConn’s season was already winding down. They’d fought hard. Won regionals. Took home the Big East Championship. But the goal had never been just conference titles, it had always been the Final Four and they hadn’t made it. Their battle cut short at the Sweet 16.

Now, Paige sat shoulder to shoulder with Nika on the training room floor, backs pressed to the cool wall, a silence settling between them that felt more like recovery than rest. It had only been a couple months since their season ended in heartbreak, an early exit no one had seen coming, especially not a program like UConn and yet, somehow, despite all the disappointment, all the bruised egos and quiet tears behind closed doors, they’d managed to pull off a miracle.

Paige let out a quiet huff, still a little dazed, “I honestly don’t know how we pulled that off,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Nika glanced over, arching a brow, “I’m telling you, it’s Geno and CD, voodoo magic. Mind tricks.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, shaking her head, “that, or we’ve just gotten really good at begging.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m quite the charmer,” Nika shot back, popping her gum with a grin, “but really, she’s coming. Two weeks.”

Paige didn’t hesitate, her smirk returning, “ready as I’ll ever be.”

__

Azzi’s arrival on campus was the calm before the storm. 

One minute, the whole team was crowding into her new room, helping her unpack boxes and making jokes about who would steal her snacks first. The next, they were back in the gym, running full-speed scrimmages with brand new plays. Sets tailored for a starting lineup that now included one of the most dangerous scorers in the country.

There was no easing into it. No breathers. Not when every single girl on that court knew exactly what was at stake. This season wasn’t just about redemption, it was about destiny. Everyone could feel it in their bones. But destiny didn’t come without sweat. Without bruises, arguments, late night film sessions and early morning lifts. That was the plan, grind now, win later. Work until their body ached and their chemistry became second nature. Until everything led to one singular moment: holding up that trophy, giving Geno his twelfth national title.

And giving themselves their first.

There hadn’t been a quiet moment for Paige and Azzi to officially acknowledge their reunion. No catching up beyond polite smiles and half-spoken words in between drills. They were cordial, professional, even. But the court told a different story. Their chemistry ignited the second the ball hit the hardwood. Every movement flowed like muscle memory. Every pass, every glance, every instinctive pivot fell into place with the kind of synchronicity that couldn't be taught. 

One play, in particular, turned heads.

It started with Paige dribbling near the left wing, her eyes scanning the floor like time had slowed specifically for that moment. Azzi lingered near the baseline, then took off on a sharp, lightning fast cut up the lane. The timing was perfect. Nika and Aaliyah closed in to set an elevator screen at the free throw line, bodies colliding like doors slamming shut behind her. Azzi squeezed through the seam just as Paige shifted her weight and fired a crisp chest pass to the top of the key.

Azzi caught it in rhythm, feet set and shoulders squared.

Splash.

Three points. Nothing but net. Textbook shooting form, a quick release and an arch even Steph Curry would be jealous of.

The gym erupted, not in chaos but in that stunned, respectful silence that happens when everyone recognizes perfection in motion. Even the practice players look rattled, exchanging glances like they’d just seen something unfair. 

Geno blew his whistle, but not to stop the drill. Just to nod.

“Run it again,” he barked, barely masking the satisfaction in his tone.

__

“Finally caught you,” Paige called out, her voice echoing through the mostly empty gym as she stepped inside, hair damp from a shower. Her sneakers squeaked lightly against the hardwood as she walked in, “you know we don’t hand out gold stars for being the last one in the gym, right?”

Azzi glanced over from the free throw line, her expression unreadable at first until that familiar smile crept across her face. The same one that had lived in the back of Paige’s mind far longer than she’d like to admit. “You’re acting like I’ve been hiding.”

“You have,” Paige said easily, striding toward her without breaking eye contact. On her way, she snagged a loose ball that had rolled toward the baseline and gave it a sharp bounce pass back to Azzi, “I tried to give you a ride to practice this morning and you practically dragged Caroline out of the room with the way you rushed her.”

Azzi caught the ball, but didn’t respond. Not with words, anyway. She turned back toward the line, dribbled twice, bounced the ball with a spin that landed it back in her hands and planted her feet. The gym fell quiet again, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and rhythmic creak of the old backboard as her shot sailed through the air and dropped clean the net. No rim. No hesitation. 

Swish.

Paige walked beneath the hoop, casually plucking the ball as it came down through the net. She didn’t say anything right away. Just held the ball in her hands, then bounced it back to Azzi with a soft thud that echoed in the silence between them. 

“Same routine,” Paige said, softer now.

Azzi caught the ball, effortlessly but didn’t lift it for another shot. Instead, she stood at the line, cradling it against her hip, her thumbs slowly brushing the textured grooves. Her gaze dipped toward the floor, then traced a path back up to Paige, lingering a second too long.

“How’s your knee?” she asked softly, then her eyes dropped again, trailing down Paige’s legs, “did you stick to the recovery regimen? No shortcuts?”

Paige smirked, the corner of her mouth twitching upward, “yes, mom.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but it didn’t hide the flicker of concern behind them.

“I’m serious,” she said, her tone firmer now, “people cut corners all the time. Especially when they’re trying to get back to something that matters.”

Paige leaned against the padded base of the basket, arms crossed loosely over her chest, “I didn’t cheat the process, Az,” she said, drifting at the nickname that she’d used from the moment they’d met, “not once.”

They stood in silence for a beat, then Paige pushed herself off the padded base, each step toward Azzi slow and deliberate. She didn’t leave much space for the unspoken. Didn’t want to. When she reached her, she let her fingers gently trail along Azzi’s arm until they reached her hand. She let them linger there, light but present. 

“Why did you transfer, Az?” Paige asked, her voice low and quiet, she was trying to protect the moment from the rest of the world, “you were doing so good in Cali. It's not your parents, they’d fly to the other side of the world just to see you play. So what is it?”

A pause.

“Is it me?”

Azzi turned her head just slightly, “you’re giving yourself way too much credit, Paige,” she said, her voice playful.

“Want to play for the truth?” Paige asked, jerking her chin toward the hoop, her tone dipped flirtatiously, like she already knew the answer, “horse?”

Azzi quirked a brow, intrigued, “that your idea of an interrogation tactic now?”

“No,” Paige replied, already walking back toward the top of the key, “its my idea of foreplay.”

Azzi let out a laugh, but she followed, slowly walking to the free throw line, “fine,” she said, looking over at Paige with narrowed eyes and a teasing grin, “every missed shot a is a letter and a question, don’t want to answer? Another letter.”

Paige grinned, “game on.”

[juudesgirl]

The Space He Chose - Jude Bellingham (Part 1)

It had been almost four weeks since Jude ended it.

Y/N still remembered the exact moment — the way the light had faded behind him as the sun set through the Madrid skyline, the way he’d stood awkwardly in their apartment, hands in his pockets, voice low, like he was reading a pre-rehearsed script.

“I need to focus. On the game. On my career. I can’t give you the time you deserve. I don’t want to keep failing you, Y/N… I think this is the right thing.”

She hadn’t argued. Because what could she say to someone who had already made up his mind?

She’d nodded. Swallowed the lump in her throat. Packed quietly. Left the place that had once felt like home with just a suitcase and the aching echo of goodbye.

-

Now, back in Birmingham, Y/N walked through the city streets wrapped in her navy trench coat, scarf snug around her neck, trying to push the chill away — the one in the air and the one inside her chest.

She wasn’t meant to be out long. Just picking up a book from her favorite indie bookstore. A little corner of comfort she used to visit with Jude whenever he was home — before Madrid, before everything changed.

She was halfway to the till when she heard it.

“Y/N?”

She turned, heart immediately skipping.

Denise.

Her soft brown eyes sparkled the same way they always had. Next to her stood Mark, tall and composed as always, and Jobe, taller now but still carrying that mischief in his grin.

Y/N froze, breath caught between surprise and heartache.

Denise’s face lit up. “Oh my God! Look who it is!”

And before Y/N could even think, Denise had wrapped her in a warm, tight hug. The kind of hug that used to feel like home.

Mark smiled warmly. “What a lovely surprise. How’ve you been, love?”

Jobe grinned. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You’re back for a bit?”

Y/N offered a tight, polite smile, her fingers gripping her tote bag just a little harder.

“Just visiting some old places,” she said gently.

“Tell Jude we said hi,” Denise said cheerfully. “And please tell him to finally reply in the family group chat. We’ve been trying to get him to commit to a date for the next family dinner, and all he did was react to our message with a thumbs up emoji!”

Jobe laughed. “Seriously, when you’re with him, just grab his phone and type out a reply for him.”

Y/N’s smile faded slightly. The lump in her throat returned.

She took a breath. Now or never.

“I’m… I’m not with Jude anymore.”

Silence.

Denise’s expression faltered. Her brows lifted, a stunned softness taking over her face. Mark blinked, his hands slipping into his coat pockets. Jobe stopped fiddling with the book he was holding.

“What… what do you mean?” Denise asked softly, almost cautiously.

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. “We broke up. About a month ago.”

Jobe looked between them all, utterly confused. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. It… wasn’t my choice.”

Denise’s lips parted, eyes glistening. “Oh, sweetheart… what happened?”

Y/N held their gaze for a moment, then looked down at her hands. She didn’t want to cry in this bookstore. Not again. Not in front of them.

“You’ll have to ask Jude,” she said quietly. “He… he said he needed to focus on football. That he didn’t have space for anything else. For me.”

Mark looked away for a moment, jaw tight. Denise’s hand instinctively reached for Y/N’s, squeezing it.

“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to you all,” Y/N said, voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been such a huge part of my life these past few years. And I love you all so much. Truly.”

Her voice cracked.

“I just didn’t expect my last time seeing you to be… like this.”

Denise blinked quickly, as if pushing tears back. “You don’t have to say goodbye, you know. You’re still family to us.”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, offering a sad smile. “But I think… I need to let go. Completely. And I think this is part of that.”

There was a long silence.

“I’m really glad I ran into you today,” she continued. “I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I hadn’t had the chance to see you. To tell you in person. And to thank you. For everything. For letting me be part of your world. For treating me like one of your own.”

Her eyes welled.

“Please take care of each other. And Jude. Even if he pushes you away a bit — just remind him he’s not alone.”

She leaned in and hugged Denise tightly. Then Mark. Then Jobe.

And then she stepped back.

“Goodbye,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

And with that, Y/N turned and walked out into the cold grey afternoon, blinking back tears, her heart breaking quietly all over again.

[thealternateuniverse]

Party 4 U

Oscar Piastri x reader

Word Count: 15,707

Note: Sorry if it's bad. I wrote this in a spur of moment kind of feels.

----

"I need a freaking break," you muttered, sighing as you dropped your books on the table.

"Finally!" Flavy exclaimed, throwing her hands up like she’d been waiting for this moment forever.

"]s came one after another, the noise overwhelming your already-tired brain.ag you there," Carmen warned.

"I already said yes!" you said, hands up. "Chill."

The girls all exhaled in relief.

--

"Oh wow... I wasn't expecting this," Carmen murmured, scanning the area in awe.

You were glad you and the girls had stuck to casual outfits, they matched the vibe perfectly. The moment you stepped into the Sigma Sector One frat house yard, you were welcomed by cozy lighting, mellow music, and a warm, inviting atmosphere. It was nothing like the usual chaotic frat parties.

Fairy lights were strung across the yard, swaying gently in the breeze. Bean bags, picnic rugs, and soft seating were scattered across the grass. Groups of students lounged around, laughing, sipping drinks, playing quiet games. It felt more like a chill rooftop night than a frat-hosted event.

"I actually love them for this," Alex said, visibly impressed.

What stunned you all even more was what lay inside the house. The entire first floor had been transformed into zones:

A DIY Mocktail Bar with custom mixes and refreshing spritzes.

A Sensory Corner stocked with fidget toys, weighted blankets, essential oils, and soft ambient lighting.

A Noise-Free Zone, where guests wore headphones, lounged with plushies, and chilled to lo-fi beats.

Tables with Chill Games Only—UNO, Jenga, a custom deck called Cards Against Burnout, and trivia rounds.

Even a mini arcade section with basketball hoops and a billiards table.

"If I didn’t know better, I’d say a sorority threw this party," Carmen muttered, eyes wide.

"Ladies… hello," came a familiar voice.

You turned to see Esteban Ocon approaching. A Sigma Sector One member and apparently, Flavy’s not-so-secret weakness.

You felt her shift beside you, subtly tucking her hair behind her ear as she greeted him.

"Estie..." you all chimed, exchanging pleasantries.

"Hope you enjoy the night. Have fun," Esteban said, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on Flavy before walking off.

"Y/N, look!" Kika pointed toward the snack table. "Blueberry cheesecake. Oh and revel bars! Wait—is that your favorite mocktail?"

You followed her finger—and froze. Shirley Temples. Your all-time go-to. And not just that every item at the snack bar was suspiciously... your favorite.

Your jaw dropped slightly. "That’s… weird."

"Hmmm," Carmen said, drawing out the sound as the others exchanged looks. "I think we’re starting to piece together the cheesecake mystery."

You tried to dismiss it. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

"Y/N." Lily’s tone made you look at her. Her eyes sparkled with realization. "I think I just figured out the party’s theme."

"What do you mean?"

"It’s very you." Her voice pitched higher in excitement. "Oh my god... it feels like this party was thrown for you."

Gasps. Actual gasps from the girls.

"This is so girly pop." Carmen clutched her chest dramatically. "Whoever did this, I would marry him if it was for you. You were a walking burnout last week."

You stared at the twinkling lights. No way. Right?

It couldn’t be. The girls must be overanalyzing again, romanticizing things as usual. Still... it was a lot of coincidences.

"Okay, enough," you said, trying to wave it off. "Let’s just enjoy the night."

But they didn’t hear you or more likely, they chose not to.

"But the question is... who?"

All eyes turned to you. Like you had a clue.

"Didn’t you say Lando gave you the invite personally?" Rebecca asked, raising a brow.

You nodded, still processing. "Yeah... but he just handed it to me like any normal invite."

"So he could have planned all of this," Carmen whispered.

"No way," you said, laughing nervously. "He was acting weird, yeah, but Lando’s... Lando. He’s not throwing soft-lit parties with sensory corners."

The girls all exchanged knowing shrugs.

"Well, let’s see how the night unfolds."

You finally let yourself relax. Whoever planned this party whether it was for you or not they really understood what people needed right now.

And maybe… just maybe, someone had been paying closer attention than you thought.

--

"Jesus, mate. This is so not our brand," Lando muttered, coming to stand beside Oscar, both of them looking over the lively crowd below.

The once chaotic rave parties by Sigma Sector One yard had been transformed soft fairy lights, laughter echoing across bean bags and game corners. It felt like someone had bottled up serenity and poured it into a frat party.

"But you pulled it off. And you even got Max to come out of hiding," Lando added, giving Oscar a side glance.

Oscar didn’t respond. His eyes were scanning the crowd, searching. Frowning slightly when he couldn’t spot you.

"Is this too much?" he asked, still not looking away.

"She’s not freaking out yet, so I guess not. Or..." Lando shrugged. "She hasn’t noticed. Yet."

Oscar mentally scoffed. The blueberry cheesecake should’ve tipped you off but maybe Lando was right. Maybe you just thought it was a coincidence.

"Why don’t you just approach her like a normal person?" Lando nudged him with his elbow.

Oscar exhaled, quiet and slow. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He did. But it wasn’t the right time. Not yet.

He barely knew you. One library encounter, that’s all. And even then—you hadn’t really seen him.

You were on autopilot when you bumped into him, muttered an apology, then tried to grab a book on the top shelf. He reached up, handed it to you. You said thanks, eyes barely meeting his, then trudged back to your table and promptly fell asleep on top of your notes.

Still... that moment stuck. And everything after that became a silent pattern. You eating in the cafeteria. You ordering blueberry cheesecake at the café. Shirley Temples. Head buried in books, but always with a calm sort of presence.

He learned you were part of Lambda Rose. Friends with the popular girls. Pretty. Smart. Driven. Social.

Everything he wasn’t.

Oscar stood there, hands in his pockets, unsure what bothered him more: the fact that you didn’t know he existed or that he didn’t know how to fix that.

"Mate," Lando said again. "You’re Oscar Piastri. And you think Y/N won’t notice you?"

Oscar sighed. "She seems to have her life together. I’d rather not mess with that."

Lando looked at him like he’d grown a second head. "You think she’s out of your league? Are you hearing yourself right now?"

Oscar didn’t answer.

"Mate, she’s a uni student, not a celestial being." Lando groaned. "You just need to talk to her. Let her know you exist. Level up your game."

Easy for Lando to say. He was charming. Loud. Effortless. Oscar? He was... well, Oscar. Reserved. Straightforward. Calm to the point of being misread. People either thought he was a genius or a complete asshole. There was no in-between.

"Honestly, if I were Y/N, I’d freak out. Girl is busy. I almost got on my knees when she said she was coming tonight," Lando muttered.

Oscar didn’t answer, only scanned the crowd again. He finally spotted you sitting on the floor, legs crossed, mid-laugh as you carefully pulled a Jenga piece. A Shirley Temple beside you.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

"So this is going to be a weekly thing now?" Alex Albon’s voice joined them. George Russell followed right after, both balancing drinks and curiosity.

"I gotta say, Oscar," George grinned, "didn’t peg you for the simp of the year. I'm sorry, I wasn't aware of your game."

Oscar gave him a flat look.

"We would've helped earlier if we knew your game plan involved full-blown themed events," Alex added, clearly entertained.

"Come on, Osc," George said, patting his shoulder. "Just introduce yourself. Let her know you exist."

Oscar remained quiet, eyes still on you.

What if he said the wrong thing? What if he got tongue-tied and ruined the one small chance he had?

"Swear to God," Lando warned, "if you don’t talk to her, I’ll have Charles set up a fundraising collab with Lambda Rose and force you to co-host with her."

Oscar paled as if it was a death sentence

He glanced back at you now sipping your drink, eyes crinkling from laughter. You looked at peace. Happy.

And maybe... maybe he didn’t need to be perfect. Just present.

Oscar cleared his throat.

Then quietly without fanfare, without looking back—he started walking toward you.

--

You frowned, trying to reach the back of your hair where an unfortunate glob of slime had gotten stuck. You weren’t even sure how it got there just that it was now a problem.

"Here, let me help."

You nearly sighed in relief at the sound of a calm voice behind you. A literal godsend.

"Oh my god, thank you. Finally." You dropped your arms, letting the stranger work on your hair.

You felt his fingers gently pinch the ends, delicately pulling at the sticky bits. His touch was so light you almost didn’t feel it.

"There. I got most of it out, but you’ll need to wash out the rest."

You turned to thank him and then froze.

"Thank you, really—wait... oh! I know you!"

The guy looked slightly startled. "Me?" he pointed to himself, eyes wide.

"Yes! You’re the one who helped me grab that cursed mechanical book from the library!" You beamed at the memory. He looked even more confused, which was fair you'd been a total zombie that day.

"I was completely out of it, but I remember now. You actually got the exact book I needed for my essay. I passed out after, but I finished it!"

He didn’t say anything at first, just kind of stared at you, like you were some rare bird that had just started talking. Maybe he thought you were weird for suddenly yapping.

You realized you were rambling. "Sorry....wow, I’m yapping again. I’m Y/N, by the way." You extended a hand.

There was a moment of hesitation before he took it.

"Oscar," he said.

The moment your hands touched, you swore you felt a jolt, almost like static. You flinched a little, blinking it off.

"Nice to meet you, Oscar. I was just playing that catching stick game but couldn’t beat 'Papaya Aussie.' Whoever that is, he’s got insane reflexes."

You continued talking, your energy spilling out naturally, not even noticing how Oscar hadn’t said much. But he didn’t look annoyed just... quietly watching. Listening.

"Yeah, I bet he is," he said eventually, lips twitching in what might’ve been the start of a smile.

"Right? So I gave up and ended up here in the sensory corner. Discovered slime. Regret the slime."

You plopped down onto one of the bean bags, absentmindedly picking up a stress ball. Oscar stood nearby, silent again but not awkwardly so. Just... calm.

"Sorry," you said again, glancing up at him. "You probably have somewhere to be. Didn’t mean to trap you with my running commentary."

"No, I don’t mind," he said softly, eyes scanning the yard. "Everyone seems to be having fun."

You followed his gaze, catching a glimpse of a few frat boys giving Oscar an exaggerated thumbs-up. He immediately looked away, ears flushing pink.

Cute.

"Are you having fun?" you asked, still trying to figure him out.

"I’m okay. What about you?"

"I am. Honestly surprised. This whole event is... really thoughtful. After last week? Totally needed. Whoever planned this is a genius. And that blueberry cheesecake? Divine."

Oscar felt his heart trip over itself. You remembered the library. You liked the cheesecake. You liked this. His entire body was tense under the weight of that relief. It worked. You were here, talking to him. Not out of politeness actually talking.

Lando was right. It was better to get to know you instead of just watching from afar. You weren’t intimidating at all once you started rambling. You were... refreshing.

"I haven’t seen you around much at the uni. What course are you taking?"

"Computer Engineering," he answered.

Your eyes lit up. "No way I'm in Mechanical Engineering! Are you part of Sigma Sector too?"

Oscar hesitated. "Uh... yeah. Kind of. I usually work behind the scenes."

Your mouth made a little "O." "Cool. Well, thank you for this party, Oscar. It's really fun and I mean that. I appreciate it."

"I’m glad you liked it," he said, voice softer than before.

"Hope you throw more of these."

"It might be a weekly or biweekly thing, depending on how you... I mean, if Charles approves."

Oscar mentally cursed. He almost said you.

You laughed. "Okay. Nice to meet you. And I guess... see you around? Especially if you guys keep hosting stuff like this."

He smiled, just a little.

"Thought you’d say that," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" you blinked, leaning in.

"Oh nothing," he recovered quickly. "See you around, Y/N. It was... nice meeting you too."

And with that, he gave you a small nod and walked off heart thudding in his chest but relief softening every step.

You watched him go, brows slightly raised.

Interesting.

---

"I swear to God, Oscar. I did not sign up for this."

Charles hissed from across the room, voice thick with his French accent. He looked absolutely done with the world his lashes curled, cheeks dusted pink, lips painted in a shade so bold even Nicki Minaj would pause. A Minnie Mouse headband completed the look.

Max was already in tears from laughter. His phone was out, camera shaking from how hard he was cackling.

They’d volunteered to help at Lambda Rose’s outreach event, a hospice visit for children battling cancer. You had personally invited Oscar, and in turn, Oscar convinced the boys to come. He might have bribed them. Just a little. And now? The children had turned the guys into their personal canvases.

Charles was a glitter masterpiece.

So were George, Alex, and Lando.

Only Oscar and Max had escaped the chaos, though Max’s current joy probably guaranteed he’d be next.

Oscar was pulled from the moment when a little hand tugged at the hem of his shirt. He looked down and smiled, then knelt.

"Hey, buddy."

The boy didn’t say anything—just pointed across the room where you stood, surrounded by kids, animatedly helping them decorate cookies.

"Pretty," the boy muttered.

Oscar’s gaze followed, lingering longer than he meant to. You must have felt it because you turned and waved. Oscar instinctively waved back, but the kid beat him to it.

"See?" Oscar whispered to the boy, who nodded in agreement.

He took the boy’s hand and gently led him toward you. Watching you, Oscar felt something warm in his chest—something quietly thrilling and terrifying at once.

Around him, the situation favored his friends as well. Esteban had basically assigned himself to Flavy’s side. Alex was obviously smitten with Lily. And Charles still covered in pink glitter and shame was now ducking behind decorations when Alexandra walked by.

Oscar, meanwhile, couldn’t stop smiling. He’d dragged them all here under the pretense of “fraternity service,” but really? He’d just wanted to be part of your world.

"Oscar," Max’s voice cut in. "If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were insane."

Oscar didn’t look away from you.

"Mate literally invited her favorite band for a ‘concert for a cause’."

"You’re seriously freaking me out," Charles added, his face still shimmering with accidental highlighter. "How’d you even know she liked Chase Atlantic? And how the hell did you pull that off?"

Oscar usually unreadable grinned.

A real grin.

"She told me," he said simply. "And I called someone I know back in Australia. Pitched the whole thing as a fundraiser. The concert’s under the fraternity’s name, of course..." He shrugged. "But I just wanted her to like it."

The boys stared. Lando choked on his pudding.

"Holy shit, that’s more than ten words. You’re whipped," George said.

They all nodded.

"Did you ask her to go with you already?"

Oscar shook his head. He was planning to. Today.

"You better not screw this up," Charles said, glitter still sparkling beneath his scowl. "I sacrificed my face for your love story."

Honestly? The guys couldn’t even be mad. Oscar’s moves had benefitted everyone from the R&R nights to the volunteering to the concert-for-a-cause. Every little detail screamed you. Oscar noticed. And he acted.

---

Oscar was tapping his foot anxiously beside his parked car, eyes flicking toward the sorority house every few seconds. His palms were sweaty—literally. He rubbed them against his jeans in frustration. God forbid a man down this bad.

Then the door opened, and there you were.

He straightened immediately.

Jesus.

You were practically glowing. Oscar swore you carried your own ring light with you everywhere, because the way the porch lights hit your skin and made your smile brighter? Unfair. Unfair and deadly.

You bounced down the steps with excitement in your step, and as soon as your eyes met his, he froze in place.

"Hi..." he said, voice a little breathless.

"Hi!" you beamed, practically floating toward him.

And then you both paused.

You looked at each other and realized.

You were unintentionally matching.

Same earthy tones. Subtle accents of black. Casual, clean, and sharp. The universe or Lando clearly had a hand in this.

You tilted your head. "Wait... are we matching?"

Oscar looked down at his outfit like he was only just realizing it too. "I—Lando might’ve... helped a bit." Thank God his friend has some fashion sense or else he's doomed.

You laughed, a genuine soft laugh, and his stomach did a flip.

"Nice car," you added, gesturing toward his sleek McLaren 720S.

Oscar blushed instantly. Like clockwork, his hand reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

You noticed.

Again? You were starting to think it was a reflex his tell. You found it ridiculously adorable. His ears even turned pink when he got flustered. Endearing, you thought.

"Come on," you said, brushing past him with a smile. "Let’s get there early and grab a good spot."

Oscar blinked out of his daze and rushed to open the passenger door for you. When he did, you paused blush creeping from your neck to your cheeks.

No one had done that for you in a while.

"Thanks..." you murmured, slipping into the seat.

The fifteen-minute ride to campus was quiet—but not awkward. The kind of silence that felt... calming. There was music playing low in the background.

You tapped your fingers lightly to the beat. Oscar glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You looked peaceful, content.

Don’t mess this up, he told himself.

When you pulled into the university’s open-air grounds, heads turned immediately.

People were already crowding the concert area, but all eyes followed as Oscar parked and you stepped out of his car.

Whispers.

Is that Y/N?

Wait... is that Oscar Piastri?

When did he become hot?!

Oscar noticed the murmurs but didn’t care. He only looked at you.

You, on the other hand, didn’t hear any of it. Your mind was elsewhere. Your eyes were wide with anticipation.

"Oh my god..." you muttered, scanning the area. "This is actually happening. They’re really here."

Chase Atlantic’s crew was already doing their final checks onstage, and the crowd was buzzing.

You turned to Oscar. "How much money and convincing did you actually need to pull this off?"

Oscar shrugged, trying to act cool but the small, smug grin gave him away.

"Let’s just say... being Australian has perks."

You narrowed your eyes playfully.

"You’re scary, Piastri."

"You’ll see just how scary when they start your favorite song."

Your mouth dropped.

"Wait—what do you—?"

He just gave you a small smile and offered his hand as you made your way through the crowd.

You took it without hesitation.

And just like that, you attended the once in a lifetime exclusive concert of your favorite band. You're actually worried Oscar might get bored, but he was chill beside you. He wasn’t dancing. Oscar was never the type. But he stood still in the storm, quietly absorbing every second, stealing glances at you like he was trying to memorize this moment.

The night breeze kissed your cheeks, the crowd buzzed around you, and laughter echoed as students lost themselves in the music. The stage was lit in gold and violet, shadows shifting across the lawn. Chase Atlantic had the crowd wrapped around their fingers but it was what you felt beside you that made your heart start to flutter.

Oscar was quiet, as always.

But something about him tonight felt... restless.

You couldn’t explain it. The way he stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, the soft furrow of his brows, the way his eyes tracked the band and occasionally, subtly flicked toward you.

He hadn’t said much since you arrived. But every time your arm brushed his, it was like your skin was remembering something before your mind could.

You told yourself you were imagining it.

Until Moonlight started playing.

The first beat hit like a slow, sensual tide and something shifted in the air. The crowd softened. The lights turned cool, silver and blue, casting an ethereal glow across the audience.

Your favorite song.

Your lips parted in surprise, and you turned instinctively, immediately to Oscar.

And when you saw him looking at you?

Your breath caught.

His expression was unreadable at first. Calm. Collected.

But his eyes God, his eyes they said something else entirely.

There was yearning there. The kind that sneaks up your spine and coils around your chest. The kind of look that says I want more, but not now. Not yet.

Not when the moment is already this perfect.

You smiled softly at him. He didn’t return it not fully. But his gaze softened. Something inside him pulled taught like a wire being plucked.

And then the lyrics hit.

“Now I’m under the moonlight…”

The crowd began to sway again, but neither of you moved.

You could feel his arm brushing yours subtle, warm, grounding. He didn’t pull away. Neither did you. The touch wasn’t loud, wasn’t obvious. It just existed in that narrow space between holding back and giving in.

You turned forward again, but you were no longer focused on the stage.

You could feel him.

Watching you.

Wanting.

Oscar was screaming inside. Not literally—but the kind of ache that only builds when you’re standing next to the one person who doesn’t realize how much of your world they’ve unknowingly taken over.

You looked too good under these lights.

And the way you bit your bottom lip during the chorus?

Unfair.

He could reach for your hand now. He wanted to. His fingers twitched like they might. But he didn’t.

Because this moment this song, this stillness was too damn good to rush through.

He let his shoulder press just a bit more into yours, and when you didn’t flinch, his chest tightened.

You turned to him again.

This time, your smile faltered just slightly. As if you’d realized something you weren’t ready to say yet.

Because you felt it too.

That this wasn’t just a cute night out or a shared favorite band.

This was something growing.

Something real.

But saying it now? Putting it into words would crack the spell.

So neither of you spoke.

You let the music do the talking, standing shoulder to shoulder, your fingers brushing once twice just enough to remind each other: I’m here.

And when the final note of Moonlight echoed into the crowd, neither of you clapped right away.

Because both of your hearts were too full.

Too loud.

And maybe just maybe that was enough for now.

--

"What the hell happened to you?" Kika’s voice cut through your daze. She was eyeing you from across the couch, concern etched into her features. You’d been zoning out for a solid ten minutes, eyes unfocused, mouth slightly parted, your textbook forgotten in your lap.

"Kiks..." you started, then paused, unsure how to even begin.

"Did something happen at the concert?"

You groaned, dragging your palms down your face. Of course she figured it out.

"Oh my god."

"It’s not what you think—oh god," you said quickly, face now buried in your hands.

Kika gasped dramatically. "Wait... do you like Oscar?"

You kicked your legs into the air in mild panic as her words hit. She just said it. Out loud. And now it was real.

"You silly girl," she giggled, pinching your cheek. "It’s okay. He’s not bad. Kind of mysterious, actually."

That was the problem. He wasn’t bad. He was just… a problem now. Because everything had been so normal before.

You kept rewinding moments in your head like they held answers. The coffee runs. The blueberry cheesecakes. The way he listened to you talk like your voice was his favorite soundtrack. And now, ever since the concert, you didn’t know how to act around him.

"You’re blushing," Kika teased.

"Did I just hear someone’s in denial?" Carmen sauntered in, smug grin on her lips.

"Australian, calm, studies computer engineering, walks like he’s thinking about quantum mechanics..." she listed with a smirk.

"Member of Sigma Sector One," Kika added, nudging you.

You groaned and dramatically flopped onto the cushions. "Stopppp. Oh my god."

"Darling… since when?" Carmen asked, crossing her arms with curiosity.

Since when? Even you didn’t know. You sighed, eyes distant. "I don’t know. But... he looked different during the concert."

You could still feel the echo of his gaze every time the song hit a certain note. The tension in the air. The briefest touches that sparked something under your skin. It was like your body had realized something your heart hadn’t caught up with yet.

"Just go with the flow, love. See where it takes you," Carmen said gently.

But your brain wasn’t as easygoing as that. Everything had been normal. You yapped, he listened. He sent cheesecake. You said thanks. You invited him to your charity event—and he showed up with the guys and a full-blown concert for a cause. That definitely wasn't normal anymore.

"I don’t know. Maybe I should take a step back? Maybe I’m just getting too dependent on him lately."

Kika tilted her head. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Oscar’s the awkward one in the group."

You blinked. You hadn’t thought of him that way. To you, he was calm. Quiet. Collected. Mysterious, sure but not awkward.

"Some people think he’s rude or intimidating because he’s so straightforward. No fluff, no nonsense. Always looks like he’s ten steps ahead of everyone," Carmen added.

Kika leaned in with a mischievous grin. "But it’s adorable when he gets all fidgety around you. Like, I swear his whole vibe shifts when you're nearby."

"Okay, stop." You raised both hands in surrender. "You’re feeding my delusions."

"Observation, not delusion."

And you couldn’t even argue with them. Because maybe… just maybe... You were already too far gone.

---

Oscar’s brows furrowed. You were avoiding him. You had to be.

He hadn’t seen you all week not during your usual lunch breaks, not in your department’s hallway, not even in the library where you'd sometimes cross paths in quiet familiarity. And worse? You weren’t replying to his texts.

"You’ve checked your phone so many times, I’m getting a migraine, seeing you miserable" Lando said without even looking away from his sim rig. His tone was casual, but Oscar could hear the concern.

Oscar sat on his bed, phone in hand, refreshing your thread of messages again and again like a prayer.

"I haven’t seen her. She’s not replying to me."

Lando sighed. "Maybe she’s just busy, mate. Probably on DND."

Oscar clenched his jaw. "All week? After the concert?" He retraced every moment, searching for something he might’ve said or done wrong. But nothing came to mind. Nothing bad, at least.

Then like the man of action he was when logic failed, Oscar sat up. "Screw it. Let’s go back to basics. Throw a party tonight. Call Zak. Invite Lambda Rose."

Lando froze mid-lap. "You’re insane." But he was already reaching for his phone. "And honestly? Weirdly consistent."

While Lando made the call, Oscar stared blankly at the ceiling, trying not to think of how far gone he was. Millions for a surprise Chase Atlantic concert? His mother nearly had a heart attack when she saw the transactions. His sister? Called him out immediately. "Who is she and why are you this whipped?" He never gave them a name.

Lando hung up, then turned to him. "You know, I’m torn between admiration and deep concern. But for what it’s worth..." He clapped Oscar’s shoulder gently. "She brings out the side of you we don’t get to see often. Or ever."

Oscar didn’t say anything. Just nodded, quietly absorbing that truth.

Later that night, the party was in full swing. The music pulsed, the lights were warm and golden, and students swayed under string lights and laughter.

Oscar stood at the edge of the second floor balcony, gaze fixed below, searching.

You weren’t there. Your friends had arrived, but you hadn’t.

He didn’t mingle. Didn’t talk. Just watched. Waiting. Until eventually… dawn inched closer, and still, no sign of you.

"Why don’t you just go to her?" Lando muttered beside him.

Oscar didn’t respond. He’d already surrendered his phone to Lando earlier, mostly so he wouldn’t do something stupid, like send a long, slightly desperate paragraph. Or worse, scroll your socials like a stalker. He didn’t want to seem too much. Too overbearing.

"Well," Oscar said, sighing, "her not being here tonight... might be the answer. Just give her space." A beat. "But for the record, you should probably cool it with the Gatsby thing."

Is he competing with Gatsby? Lando thought.

Oscar didn’t reply. But he still kept watching the door.

And so it began.

Every Friday night, Oscar threw a party. Always inviting Lambda Rose. Always hoping. You never came. Your friends did sometimes. They always shook their heads when Lando tried to ask about you.

And every Friday, the parties got bigger. Flashier. A jazz band one week. A DJ with a fire show the next. Fireworks after that. It became a thing: Friday Fever at Sigma Sector One.

People called it tradition. They didn’t know the truth. Oscar wasn’t throwing these parties for the frat.

He was throwing them for you. All of it. For you.

--

Weirdly enough, Lambda Rose kept getting invites to Sigma Sector One’s Friday parties. Every single week, without fail.

And every single week you declined.

At first, it was easy to say you were busy. You were wrapping up your thesis, juggling internship requirements, and leading two sorority events back-to-back. But the truth?

You were avoiding Oscar.

Not because you didn’t want to see him. But because... lately, everything felt too much.

The pressure to keep excelling. The stress from your academic load. And then there were the feelings.

Feelings you didn’t know what to do with.

Because what if Oscar didn’t feel the same? What if you were misreading everything?

You’d been lowkey ghosting him. Not completely, but enough to create space. Still, that didn’t stop him. He kept sending blueberry cheesecakes, always from your favorite café. No note, no name just your favorite dessert every Friday morning. A quiet, patient devotion that both warmed and terrified you.

You caught yourself overthinking the smallest things: Does he see me platonically? And if he does like me… can we even handle this with college and everything else in our lives?

It was easier to hide behind deadlines and excuses than to face it all.

"Hey! Y/N!"

You turned around. Lando Norris jogged up to you, slightly out of breath but still grinning.

"Lando…" you said with a small, guilty smile. You weren’t sure why but talking to him suddenly felt like talking to Oscar’s proxy.

"I’m good," he said. "But how about you? Haven’t seen you at a single Friday Fever night. What’s up with that?"

You cleared your throat. "Got a little busy with my thesis. You know how it is."

Lando nodded slowly, but you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced. Still, he didn’t press.

"Fair enough. Just in case you’re not busy this Friday..." He hesitated, watching your reaction. "We’re throwing another one. Kind of a farewell party for Oz."

Your entire world tilted slightly.

"A what?" you asked, brows furrowed.

"A farewell. He’s leaving after the semester. Going back to Australia."

Everything inside you went still.

Your stomach sank like a stone. The tight hold you had on your books suddenly felt like it was keeping you upright.

"Oh…" was all you managed to say.

"I thought you knew." Lando’s tone was softer now. Genuinely confused. "He didn’t tell you?"

You shook your head, eyes glazed in thought. Oscar hadn’t said anything. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t care. Maybe he thought… you were already gone.

"W-Well, I’ll see if I can go," you said quickly, voice cracking slightly.

Lando nodded, but before he could say anything more, you turned on your heel.

You needed to get away. The thudding of your heartbeat drowned everything else out. Your grip tightened around your books, your pace quickened like you were outrunning something.

Because maybe you were. Regret, maybe. Or the realization that you may have waited too long.

Oscar’s going back to Australia. What the fuck.

---

After your conversation with Lando, everything around you felt muffled. The breeze? Too loud. Your heartbeat? Deafening. Your thoughts? A chaotic spiral of he's leaving?, why didn’t he tell me?, why does this hurt suddenly?

You barely remembered how you got back to the sorority house. You pushed the door open, dropped your bag, and flopped face-first onto the couch with a dramatic groan.

"Oh god, what now?" Carmen asked, eyeing you from the kitchen island.

Kika peeked around the corner. "She looks like someone just stole her dessert."

"Oscar's going back to Australia," you mumbled into the couch cushion, voice muffled.

The room went quiet for a second.

"Wait. You didn’t know that?" Kika asked carefully.

You sat up slowly, your face pale. "No. Lando told me. Apparently, there’s a farewell party this Friday."

The girls exchanged glances. Guilty ones.

"What?" you narrowed your eyes.

Carmen bit her lip. "Okay, so… don’t be mad. But we’ve been keeping something from you."

"Actually… a lot of somethings." Rebecca added, sitting beside you.

You blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Kika sat across from you and leaned forward, voice soft but sure. "Oscar was the one who arranged that R&R night when you were on the verge of burnout during hell week."

"What?" you breathed.

"And the blueberry cheesecake that magically showed up at the café that day?" Carmen raised a brow. "Yeah. That was him too."

Your jaw dropped slightly.

"That was before I even knew his name....."

"Exactly." Kika nodded. "He saw you in the library that one time and noticed how stressed you looked. He didn’t know how to talk to you, so he started with cheesecake."

You were stunned.

"And Chase Atlantic?" you whispered. "The fundraiser concert?"

"His idea," Carmen confirmed. "He remembered you mentioning it once during your charity event. Pulled strings, spent a ton of his own money. Guessed you'd come if it was your favorite band and... made it a fundraiser so it wouldn't be obvious."

Your chest tightened. How come did your friends knew about this and you are not?

"And every Friday theme?" Rebecca added with a grin. "All your favorite aesthetics. From the food to the lighting to the chill games. He planned those hoping you’d show up."

Your throat felt like it was closing.

"Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?" you asked, voice cracking.

"Because you were in denial," Kika said simply. "And we thought maybe you'd figure it out on your own."

You slumped back against the couch, overwhelmed.

Oscar, quiet, Oscar had been there. Always. Not loudly. Not with grand declarations. But with every small, intentional thing that showed he paid attention.

And now he was leaving.

"Oh my god," you whispered.

Carmen rubbed your arm gently. "You still have time."

"If you stop ghosting him and actually show up Friday night," Kika added with a wink.

Your heart was racing.

Maybe it wasn’t just you falling. Maybe… he’d been waiting this whole time.

--

Friday came with a quiet dread.

You were getting ready for the party not themed, not extravagant, just a farewell gathering. But your hands trembled as you applied your mascara. You cursed under your breath, anxiety tightening in your chest. This might be the last night you’d see him if things didn’t go well.

One final glance in the mirror. You forced a breath, smoothed down your outfit, and stepped out to join the other girls. Your hands were still shaking. You felt fifteen again nervous, unsure, heart racing with a dozen what ifs rattling around in your head.

Alex noticed. She took your hand in hers, gave it a reassuring squeeze. It helped. A little.

When you arrived at the venue, everyone headed in with ease. But your feet refused to move. Cold.

“You guys go ahead. I just… need some air first,” you said quickly.

You didn’t wait for their response. You turned and walked in the opposite direction. You didn’t know where you were going only that you had to move. Away. Away from the noise, the people, the possibility.

--

“This’ll be the last one,” Oscar muttered to Charles. “Then I’ll lie low for a while.” The frat house had been soundproofed, but the neighbors still complained. Fireworks. Car horns. Drunken chaos at 2 a.m.

Now the place was packed again but Oscar barely noticed. His eyes kept scanning the crowd.

Still no sign of you. Just your friends. Again. It had been a month. And each week chipped away at him a little more.

What if I’ve really lost her?

“You look upset,” Lando said, approaching with two drinks in hand. “She didn’t come?”

Oscar didn’t answer at first. He just took the champagne, even though he was never much of a drinker.

“I swear, I can feel she’s coming,” Lando added, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Since when had he become the optimist?

Oscar sighed. “After this, no more parties.”

He took a long sip.

“Maybe I pushed too hard and she is freaking out. Did too much. Is this love bombing?”

Lando scoffed. “No. Trust me she’s not freaking out because of you. She’s freaking out for a different reason.”

--

Midnight struck.

The sky exploded in color blazing reds, golds, electric blues lighting up the night like a living painting. People from the frat house spilled out, cheering as the fireworks bloomed above.

Oscar stood just beyond the doorway, hands in his pockets, chest tight. He scanned the crowd again.

Still no sign of you.

He sighed, jaw clenched. Maybe she really didn’t come.

The cold bit through his shirt, but he didn’t care. He stepped out for air, moving past the noise, past the drunken laughter and echoing music. And then, through the fading glow of the last firework, he saw a figure standing alone by the edge of the street.

Still. Quiet. Familiar.

You.

You were staring up at the fireworks, but your expression was somber eyes glassy, lips pressed into a trembling line. You looked like someone watching something beautiful they couldn’t keep.

Oscar stopped in his tracks.

You didn’t notice him at first. You were lost in your thoughts, in your regret. You’d made it all the way here but couldn’t walk inside. You coward, you told yourself. You couldn’t even tell him goodbye.

“He’s leaving,” you whispered under your breath. “And I couldn’t even look him in the eye.”

Your heart cracked again. This was it. You were about to lose him because of fear.

Then you heard footsteps.

You turned.

And there he was.

Oscar stared at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. And you… you looked like you were about to fall apart.

For a long, silent moment, neither of you moved. The fireworks ended, the crowd quieted, and it was just the two of you in the stillness.

Oscar finally stepped forward, voice low and rough, “You came.”

You swallowed hard. “I couldn’t go in.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Why?”

“Because…” You looked down, shame heavy in your chest. “I thought I was too late. That I missed my chance. That you were leaving for Australia.”

Oscar blinked, taken aback. “What?”

You frowned. “Lando said you were flying out. That this was your send-off.”

He stared at you for a beat then exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, almost a curse. “Of course he did.”

Your brows furrowed. “Wait… so you're not leaving?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I never was.”

You were quiet for a moment. “Then why would he.....”

“He probably got sick of watching me lose sleep over you,” Oscar murmured. “And he was right. If he hadn’t said that… would you still be out here?”

You hesitated, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know.”

Silence fell again. The air between you buzzed with something fragile and raw.

Oscar’s voice cracked through it. “For what it’s worth… I was still going to say it tonight. Leaving or not.”

You looked up at him.

“I love you,” he said, plain and certain. “And not in a dramatic, one-night confession way. I don't know when, I just know. And every time I thought it was fading, it got worse. And I’ve been trying to find the right moment, but maybe there’s no such thing.”

Your lip trembled. “Oscar…”

“I’m not leaving,” he repeated gently, stepping even closer, “unless you tell me to.”

You shook your head, eyes already filling. “I thought you were gone. And it broke me. I thought I waited too long to say that.....” You swallowed, voice cracking. “I love you too.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a month.

Then you were in his arms, burying your face in his chest, and everything you’d held in finally spilled out in tears. The fear. The guilt. The love.

Oscar held you like you were everything he’d ever wanted to come home to.

--

Back inside the frat house, the energy had mellowed. The music was softer now, people lounging on couches or dancing lazily in dim corners. A few leftover sparklers fizzled out on the porch, and champagne glasses clinked quietly in the kitchen.

Oscar walked in first, your hand tucked tightly in his. Your eyes were still a little red, your mascara slightly smudged but you were glowing in a way that had nothing to do with fireworks.

Lando spotted you both immediately from the snack table, mid-bite into a slice of pizza. His brows lifted then a slow, smug grin spread across his face.

“Oh,” he said around a mouthful. “So she did come.”

Oscar didn’t break stride. He just walked right up, eyes narrowed in mock annoyance.

“You lied to her.”

Lando blinked. “Technically, I bent the truth. Strategically.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You told me he was leaving for Australia.”

Lando pointed at Oscar with his pizza. “And look now he’s not. Because you finally showed up. Mission accomplished.”

Oscar crossed his arms. “You manipulated both of us.”

“You’re welcome.”

You couldn’t help it you laughed. You looked at Oscar, who was trying hard to look mad but already cracking a smile.

“Okay, fine,” Oscar said. “But if this had gone sideways, I would’ve blamed you forever.”

Lando raised his glass. “I was willing to take that risk. That’s how invested I am in your love story.”

You rolled your eyes, but with a smile. “You really watch too many rom-coms.”

Lando winked. “And yet… the ending was worth it.”

Oscar shook his head and pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You leaned into him, soft and warm, feeling something new settle between you something steady. Something right.

Lando took another bite of pizza and mumbled, “You’re lucky I didn’t fake a visa application just to seal the deal.”

You and Oscar both laughed.

--

The party pulsed behind you with soft music and the occasional burst of laughter, but here just outside on the steps, under the glow of porch lights and a sky still recovering from fireworks it felt like you were in your own world.

Your cheeks were still damp from crying, but you were smiling now. The kind of small, stunned smile that said did that really just happen?

Oscar hadn’t stopped looking at you.

“I still can’t believe Lando pulled that stunt,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Oscar chuckled. “Honestly? Me neither. But… maybe he knew what he was doing.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not giving him that much credit, are you?”

He smirked. “Okay, maybe just a little.”

Then he grew quiet again thoughtful. He turned to face you fully, still holding your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I know this night’s been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster,” he said. “And that it’s probably not the most conventional timing...”

You looked up at him, heart already beating a little faster.

“But I meant what I said. I love you. And now that you know that—now that we’re here… I want to do this right.”

You blinked. “Do what right?”

“This,” he said, gently tugging you a little closer. “You. Me. Us. No more misfires or waiting around or hoping you show up outside the party.”

You laughed softly, breath catching.

“I want to take you on a real date,” he said, voice firmer now. “Not a party. Not some random hangout. A real one. You, me, and absolutely no Lando interference.”

You grinned, biting your lip. “Is this you officially asking?”

He smiled back, eyes shining. “Yeah. What do you say?”

You paused for dramatic effect, like you were really considering it—then leaned in and whispered, “Took you long enough.”

Oscar laughed, and before he could say anything else, you kissed him. Quick. Sweet. Certain.

He looked stunned for half a second then completely floored.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he mumbled.

You nodded. “Only if there’s ice cream involved.”

“There will be. And flowers. And probably me being painfully nervous because it’s you.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “You’ll do great.”

From the open window above, Lando’s voice called out, “OH MY GOD ARE YOU GUYS DATING NOW? YOU OWE ME.”

Oscar groaned, face buried in your hair. “I take it back. We’re eloping in secret.”

You giggled. And as you sat there with him under the soft hum of the party, it didn’t matter what came next.

Because this time, you were finally heading into it—together.

[voidbunnyxo]

Title: Quiet, Love — The Game’s Still On

Pairing: Ghost x Soap x Reader (Bunny)

Rating: Explicit | NSFW

Themes: Domestic fluff + filthy smut, established relationship, comfort and chaos, overstimulation, rough/soft contrast

Setting: Shared bedroom, post-mission

The flat was warm with the scent of clean sheets and skin, lit only by the soft flicker of the telly. Football commentary murmured through the room, half-muted, like background noise to a memory being made in real time.

Johnny lay lengthwise on the bed, one leg hanging off the edge, still a little damp from his shower. A beer rested on the nightstand, untouched. His eyes flicked between the match and the woman perched between them — you — crawling across the sheets in one of his old shirts, hem brushing the tops of your thighs.

Simon sat up against the headboard, a book forgotten in his lap, shadowed eyes trailing your every move. His mask was off — a rare comfort — mouth twitching with something unreadable as you slowly, shamelessly straddled him.

“Bored already, Bunny?” he murmured, low and rough. “Game’s not even halfway over.”

You smiled sweetly. “Not my game.”

Johnny snorted from the side. “Course it’s not. You come in here wigglin’ like that and expect us to focus?”

“I didn’t say that.” You shifted, grinding just enough to make Simon grunt. “But you could’ve said please.”

Simon’s hands locked around your waist in one smooth movement. “Don’t push it.”

“You want her to stop?” Johnny asked, voice a teasing lilt. “’Cause I sure as fuck don’t.”

You leaned forward, kissing Simon’s jaw, hips rolling lazily. His cock was already thick and hot beneath you, sweat just starting to bead at his temples.

“Thought you were relaxing,” you whispered against his neck.

“Hard to relax when you’re sittin’ there drippin’ all over me, love.”

Johnny’s eyes never left you. He stroked himself absently under the blanket, beer forgotten, breathing a little heavier now.

“Go on then, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Ride him. Nice and slow. I’ll wait my turn.”

You bit your lip and reached down, guiding Simon into you with practiced ease. He filled you in one slow thrust, thick and deep, making your spine arch and your lips part with a gasp. His hands tightened — not enough to bruise, but close.

“There she goes,” Simon muttered, voice almost reverent. “Always so fuckin’ warm for me.”

You started moving — long, slow rolls of your hips, using his chest for leverage, keeping your pace steady. You wanted to take your time. Let them feel how much you missed them.

Missed this.

From the corner of your eye, you watched Johnny fist his cock harder now, breath catching every time your moan slipped past your lips. His thighs twitched. His jaw clenched. He looked almost angry with how much he wanted you.

“You’re fuckin’ killing me, Bunny,” he growled.

“Not yet.”

Simon grabbed your chin, dragging your gaze back to him. “Focus, love. You’ll get his cock when I say you’re done with mine.”

That edge in his voice — cold and possessive — made you whimper.

The rhythm deepened. Simon’s hips began to rise into yours, catching just right, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“Look at you,” Johnny groaned. “So fuckin’ pretty when you’re full.”

You could barely speak now. Each thrust sent another wave through your body, fire coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

Simon leaned close, voice ragged. “Come for me, Bunny. Do it with him watching.”

That broke you.

Your climax hit in crashing waves, thighs trembling, cries muffled against Simon’s shoulder. He groaned low, deep, spilling inside you with a brutal snap of his hips.

You collapsed forward, panting, skin slick with sweat and love and everything in between.

And before you even had time to catch your breath—

“Up,” Johnny said, voice tight. “My fuckin’ turn.”

Simon chuckled, smoothing your hair. “Still want more?”

“She always does,” Johnny said, pulling you off Simon like you weighed nothing. “Don’t you, Bunny?”

You nodded weakly, still pulsing between your legs.

Johnny laid you on your back, spread your thighs, and shoved into you with a growl.

“Fuckin’ ruined,” he hissed. “So wet it’s drippin’ outta you.”

Your back arched again, tears stinging your eyes at the overstimulation. You wanted to say stop — but your body was begging for more. And they knew it.

Simon lay beside you, stroking your face, whispering sweet nothings while Johnny fucked you like he was trying to brand himself into your skin.

“You’re alright,” Simon murmured. “You’re doin’ so good, love.”

Johnny was rougher — one hand around your throat, the other digging into your hip as he took what he needed.

“Mine,” he muttered against your ear. “You and that tight little cunt. Fuckin’ mine.”

You came again — sudden, blinding — muscles spasming as Johnny finally followed, groaning into your neck as he filled you to the brim.

Silence fell like snow.

Only the TV spoke now. Some forgotten match still going. A player fumbled. A groan from the crowd.

Johnny rolled off you, chest heaving.

Simon pulled you close, wiping the tears from your cheeks, kissing your temple. “You alright, Bunny?”

You nodded, blinking slowly. “Just… full.”

They laughed, and Johnny pulled you in too, big arm tossing over your waist like a weighted blanket.

“Next time, we turn the game off,” Johnny mumbled.

Simon hummed. “No. Let her earn it.”

You drifted off between them, sore and satisfied, the warmth of love and sin stitched into your bones.

And when they reached for you again later — because they would — you’d let them.

[camficdiner]

You are sooo talented 🤩

Can I please have

[1.2] [2.6 + Fwb] (he cancels bc of injury and she comes to help- crutches scenario poor guy is useless) [3.1] [4.3]

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 042

🍒 Thank you for this cozy little heartbreak — the kind that lingers in the chest. I hope it makes you smile. I hope it makes you ache.

💬 “Still Showed Up”

✨ Description and prompts:

 Character: Quinn Hughes

 Prompt: Quinn cancels plans due to injury, but you come over anyway to take care of him. He doesn’t expect it. Friends with benefits dynamic, but with an emotional undertone and

 Word Count: 1.1k

 Type: fluff + comfort + quiet emotional shift

🛼🍒✨🧁

Quinn’s text comes through at 3:42 p.m.

hey, can’t do tonight.

tweaked something during practice.

kinda wrecked.

sorry.

You read it twice. Then a third time.

It’s not like you had anything big planned — just a loose agreement, a standing “if you’re free” sort of thing. The kind of arrangement that doesn’t require confirmation, labels, or real emotional commitment.

You’re friends. You sleep together sometimes. You watch dumb movies and share takeout. You make out on his couch, sometimes fall asleep on it. No promises.

Still, your fingers hover over the reply.

no problem. feel better.

But you don’t send it.

Instead, you grab soup from the little place he likes down the block. You stop by the store and get the blue sports drink he always has after games. You bring Tylenol, a cold pack, and one of those ridiculous microwaveable animal-shaped heating pads you joked about last week.

And then you show up at his door.

He doesn’t hear the knock at first. It takes two, then a text, then finally the sound of footsteps.

When he opens the door, he’s a mess.

Baggy hoodie. Hair messy. An ice pack half-falling out of the waistband of his sweats. No shirt under the hoodie. And a look of complete disbelief on his face.

“You came?”

You hold up the bag of soup. “I brought dinner.”

He blinks.

Then steps aside silently to let you in.

He’s quieter than usual.

Not cold. Just… unsure. Like he’s trying to figure out what this means.

You don’t push. You unwrap the soup. Set out the Advil. Heat the little penguin-shaped heating pad in the microwave. He watches you from the couch like he doesn’t quite know how to breathe.

“You didn’t have to come,” he says finally.

You smile. “You said you were wrecked.”

“I thought that’d scare you off.”

“Quinn,” you say softly, handing him the spoon. “I’ve literally seen you cry over the ending of a Pixar movie. You’re not that scary.”

He laughs. It breaks the tension.

You help him adjust the heating pad behind his back.

You tuck the blanket around him.

You refill his water.

And then you just… sit.

Side by side. Watching something dumb. Not touching. Not saying much. Just there.

And he keeps glancing over at you. Like he doesn’t understand.

It’s two hours later when he finally says it.

You’ve both half-dozed off. The TV glows softly. His head lolls toward you, shoulder brushing yours. He mumbles, voice barely above a whisper:

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

You open one eye. “Why not?”

He swallows.

“Because I canceled. Because I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

You blink. Sit up slightly. “And what do you think I wanted?”

He shrugs. Doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I don’t know. Sex. Company. Distraction. Something easy.”

You stare at him.

“Quinn,” you say. “I came because you needed someone.”

He doesn’t reply for a long moment.

Then, so quietly it nearly disappears:

“I didn’t think I mattered like that.”

You don’t know what to say.

So you reach for his hand. You hold it. You let the silence stretch.

And he doesn’t let go.

He almost says more. You feel it in the shift of his fingers. The way his thumb brushes yours like a promise he’s not sure he’s allowed to make.

But he doesn’t speak again.

And you don’t ask him to.

Later, when you finally stand to leave, he says your name.

You turn.

“You didn’t have to stay,” he says.

You shrug, smiling softly.

“You didn’t have to matter. But you do.”

You think you see it then — just for a second — that flicker in his expression. Like maybe he wants more than late nights and fading kisses.

He doesn’t say it.

But maybe next time, he will.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

can you write about Yandere mermaid or a female siren please?

Together Forever | Yandere Siren x Reader

Thinking about a siren woman on a mission, granted the ability to walk on land along with her sisters. A long-awaited revenge finally coming to fruition. As expected she dazzles all, surprised by the ease at charming all she comes across but she’s faltering because of something minor. Or rather someone.

“Hey Felis I was wondering if you’d be free to come with us to the arcade.”

“Nice try (Y/n), obviously Felis is too good for the arcade.”

“Yeah, she probably has important things to do.”

“Actually (Y/n) I would love to.”

“Great I’ll add you to the group chat.”

It’s you. The oddly talkative and goofy former outcast with the support of your atypical friends. Laughing about animated series and independent games with a sense of niche community found on most uni campuses. 

Usually, she should have never crossed paths with you. Unable to apply her shallow level of research to such a deep-seated community and deeming it irrelevant in the grand scheme of her plan. But something about you drew her in, maybe it was the contrast of your silence in class to your smiling visage at clubs. Or maybe it was the way you maintained the character you were cosplaying on campus during club-day. Or maybe it was the way she so easily slipped into her siren song when you cheered for her at karaoke. Either way, she just can’t stop, even if it means going against the original plan.

“What is your problem Felis!? You were supposed to have drowned more by now!”

“I am working on it, too many at one time and I’ll be a suspect!”

“We already are aware of that which is why we have a replacement waiting. What could possibly be worth delaying the plan for?!”

“...It’s something important!”

“Fine but do it fast. I’m demanding your apology in bodies. Twice as many, you hear?”

“...fine.”

Felis was meant to have killed more humans by now. Confirming that they were the children that the hex pointed them to. Unfortunately among these humans, she was meant to drown, was you. Beaming and clueless, inclusive and kind completely unaware that you were the only descendant of a distant ancestor entangled with the sirens long ago.

“Hey Felis, are you a swimmer?”

“Huh, what?! I…am. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just thinking about checking out this spot along the river, I heard it’s like some legendary rejuvenation spot. Would you maybe want to come?”

“Uh, sure.”

Just her luck the one human she happens to love and her sisters demand she drowns is you. It takes hours of soaking in her dorm’s shower before she comes up with a brilliant idea.

She’ll just drown you! 

Tell all the mutual friends you previously invited to go to another spot by the river giving the wrong landmark to find the unbeaten path; then purposely making the mistake for one of your close friends to correct her, allowing Felis to conveniently forget to tell the others. Now that her mistake has an adorably innocent papertrail she finds herself annoyed with the fact that your tight-knit  friend group wasn’t so easily swayed. 

“Hey (Y/n) you’re already swimming?”

“Yeah the current isn’t too bad here, I’m just watching the fish go by!”

“Thanks for inviting me again, (Y/n).”

“(Y/n) invites everyone to the river eventually, this has been the spot for ages.”

As if she didn’t already know that. “Oh is that so?”

“Yup just glad you can join us Felis, though I hope you don’t feel too left out we’ll be talking about that anime's new release.”

“Don’t apologize (Y/n), she knew who she was hanging out with.”

“Yeah most normies tend to avoid us like the plague, but my guess is Felis isn’t like that or maybe she just hasn’t got the memo.”

“Ohhh yes it’s like instead of injecting herself into social situations to drive the convo like a normal extrovert, she’s putting herself out of her comfort zone and silently observing like an introvert.” 

“Come one guys be nice.”

She endures it. A whole four hours of mindless chatter, she could care less about. Seeing the sun had begun to set she decided it was time to put her plan into action. Excusing herself from the river Felis disappeared into the forest surrounding. Letting the group speak in hushed voices all about her. Of course as a creature of the deep her hearing was strong enough to hear the not so-secret opinions of your friends. While she imagined the embarrassment they’d feel if she appeared before them, she decided to focus on the objective. 

“But it can’t be that bad? Is it? Those IGN reviews are always off.”

“Well yeah but I have to say it was pretty accurate to me!”

“I think you’re losing it.”

“Oh come on it’s not that–WHOA what is that?!”

“What’s what—glug—ahhh!”

Faster than any of your friends can realize you are underneath the surface of the rushing waters and headed downstream at an impossible speeds. A glimpse of something scaly along your side, chalked up to a hallucination as they climb out and run alongside the river with hopes to catch you. 

Within a minute you are out of sight and the group is left on their knees at the side of the river. Calling out your name and getting no response as the fear settles in. 

They’ve lost you.

For all they know you could be dead and in part it’s their fault. It has to be.

“Hey why’d you guys run away like that, what’s going on? Where’s (Y/n)?!”

They plead their various experiences. Their testimonies overlapping one another in a frantic haze until they take a beat to compose themselves. All crowding around Felis as they share the terrible news; watching nervously as her face beautifully twists with curiosity.

“Oh they probably ended up in a nearby cove. The map I looked at earlier had a couple marked on there. We can check and see if the current spat them out there.”

“....I’m still not sure that was the current. Maybe we should call–”

“Don’t stress. We check the coves and if we don’t find them we call. Okay? (Y/n) will probably be so mad if they knew you got all riled up on their behalf

“I don’t think they’d be mad more like happy we—“

“Come on. We’re losing daylight.”

The group follows Felis to this cove walking long after the sun has gone and the moon slowly begins to illuminate their walk. Their paranoid thoughts about where you might be, what they saw, and what would be the plan overtaking the group. Felis resumed her typical observation speaking up only to properly guide the group away from the main river. So consumed in their grief and fear not once had anyone questioned just how Felis knew where this cove was.

“Whoa is that someone’s swim trucks?!”

“These look new? Could this have been a bear attack?”

“No way maybe they were goofing and tore at it someother way look at all the beer cans around this place.”

“Yuck, they even have them going into the cove.”

“Come on, (Y/n) is waiting for us.”

What the group took as an optimistic statement, stepped over the cans and entered the mouth of the cove. Starting on the soggy sand along it’s sides until it dwindled landing the group in waist-length murky water. The only reflections being the occasional glint in the group’s eyes.

“H-how would we know if (Y/n) is in here?!”

“We’d h-have to call out and hopefully they’ll hear us, right?”

The groups hollering echoes off the walls of the cave. The only responses being their own shaky voices and the occasional splashing in the water.

“Guys I really don’t think they’re here!”

“Oh no we have to get outta here and call the police!”

This is stupid! We should’ve called them from the beginning. Let’s go.”

“Wait wheres Felis—uhp!”

Splash!!

In the inky darkness of the water beneath them something shifts and when they huddle near one another to look down at the space their friend was just at, something faintly blue glows beneath them. 

“WHAT THE HECK IS THAT!?”

“wE GoTTA GET OUT OF HERE!”

“THEY’RE GONE! BOTH GONE!”

“Hurry go for the exit!”

Scrambling in the water, they try to out-runnning the speedy glowing light under the rippling water. Another goes under and your remaining friend group is practically at the end of the cove happy to see the reflection of the moon against the water. 

“WE’RE ALMOST THERE!”

“Go go go!”

“Wait what’s in there!”

One of them points to the water where a similar blue light glows brighter under the water. Standing between them and the mouth of the cove, they frantically spare a glance at the fainter light closing in on them. With a frantic confusion their heads dart to each side wondering which of these mysterious lights they’ll finally get to see first. In the end the light that glows at the mouth of the cave is the brightest and the water opening up to reveal none other than–

“Felis!? You’re still alive?!”

It is she, who's silhouetted by the risen moon, and wearing a blue necklace that glows. With a sigh of relief they come closer to her smiling form and relax. Instantly put at ease by a friend in such a frightening situation. 

“I’ve missed you so much.”

She sounds different. Her voice, normally preppy and bright is now sultry and alluring in a way your friends haven’t quite realized. Of course they knew long before now that Felis was likened to a nymph among the masses. Impossibly slender, handsomely tall, and hair that flows down her back like an obsidian waterfall. Now it just seems so much more profound. So much more enrapturing to see her bare self at the exit of the cove. 

“Thank you for waiting. I didn’t mean to keep you long.”

Swooning, they didn’t bother speak. Just releasing the tension in their bodies and planning to float instead of trying to balance on the soggy sand. All was forgiven and all was forgotten especially the blue light behind glowing brighter. 

“Now eat my love! There’s plenty more where that came from!”

In the haze of their drunken trance, it was barely registered that the response in their limbs was impossible thanks to the jagged rows of teeth gnawing at their bloodied stumps. Their nerves ineffectively firing a warning and making their heart pump violently; all to be ignored as the brain designates a higher function for their failing bodies.

Be Food for Felis. 

It didn’t matter that their eyes flickered with familiarity as the glowing azure devourer resembled their missing friend or that globs of tears were falling onto their freezing face. Only that Felis too had revealed a jaw full of fangs and was penetrating their cranium with furious abandon. Like fulfilling a craving after a dutiful wait. 

“Don’t cry! Now they’ll be with you forever! Not in the same way I will but whatever!”

Carefully she framed her hands around your head she let’s your newly frigid and freshly scaly form lean against her. A mixture of grief and exhaustion allowing her to hold your placid form as she rubs her fingers against your closing eyelids. 

Drowning you was the best thing she could have ever done!

[hcvney]

“ Payment Accepted ”

you meet a mysterious man alone in a subway corridor and agree to play Ddakji with him. After losing, you willingly offer yourself to him, drawn in by his charm.

-

Rating: 18+ (explicit, nsfw)

Pairing: The recruiter (gong yoo) x F!Reader

Warnings: Power dynamics, oral (f receiving), public setting (no witnesses), reader willingly submitting

-

It wasn’t even supposed to be your stop.

You’d missed your train by seconds — the echo of its departure still rattled the platform tiles beneath your boots. The crowd had thinned. The lights buzzed above in flickering pulses. You were alone.

Or… almost.

The suitcase caught your eye first.

Then the man beside it.

He stood like he was waiting for someone — crisp dark suit, red tie knotted tight, one hand tucked neatly into his coat pocket. Calm. Still. Almost too still. Like a photograph.

When you didn’t move, he smiled.

“Lost?”

His voice was deep. Clean. Almost velvety. Like it belonged somewhere indoors, behind polished glass and soft whiskey.

You hesitated. “No. Just… missed my train.”

“Then maybe you’ll play a game with me while you wait.”

Your breath caught.

He bent down and unlocked the suitcase with a satisfying click.

Inside—two neatly folded pieces of red and blue Ddakji paper.

“You win,” he said, “you get the money.”

“I win… you repay me however I ask.”

He paused. “But only if you want to.”

That part wasn’t a threat.

It was a dare.

Your eyes flicked to the paper squares. Then to his hands — long fingers, buttoned cuff. Clean nails. The kind of man who didn’t just take control. He commanded it.

You stepped closer.

“I’ll play,” you said. “But don’t go easy on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

-

You lost.

Three times in a row.

The sharp crack of the Ddakji slapping the platform echoed louder than you expected. The final fold flopped onto its back, defeated.

You looked up.

He was already stepping toward you — not hurried. Just… deliberate. One slow foot in front of the other.

You swallowed. “So… what happens now?”

“You pay,” he said, smooth as ever. “But I’m not interested in slapping you.”

He reached out, his fingertips brushing under your chin. Lifting it.

“You’re far too pretty for that.”

The words weren’t crude. They were precise. Like everything he did was planned two steps ahead.

“There’s no one here but us,” he said. “And I think you knew you’d lose the second you agreed to play.”

Your pulse throbbed in your throat.

“Why else would you still be standing here?”

“Why else are you looking at my mouth like that?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Because when he kissed you, you kissed him back.

Hard.

His hands slid around your waist and backed you into the subway wall, one palm splayed against the tile behind your head. The suitcase lay forgotten. His tongue slipped between your lips with expert ease — no fumbling, no hesitation. Just full intent.

He tasted like mint and something darker.

You let out a breathless sound as he pressed his body to yours — sharp suit lines firm against your chest, thigh between your legs.

“You want to repay me?” he murmured, lips ghosting your ear. “Let me taste you.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

You didn’t answer with words.

You just nodded — and reached for the zipper of your jeans.

-

He dropped to his knees with the grace of someone who was used to being obeyed.

You steadied yourself against the wall as he gently tugged your pants down, his breath warm against your inner thighs. His eyes never left yours.

Even when he licked his lips.

“Already wet for me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

Then his mouth was on you.

The first lick was broad — tongue flat, slow, deliberate, dragging up your slit like he wanted to memorize the texture. He stopped at your clit, mouth pausing to gently suck — not hard, not rushed. Just enough pressure to make your breath hitch and your knees tighten.

Hot and slow and deliberate — like he wasn’t just trying to make you come, but trying to learn you. Every flick of his tongue was measured, every suck of your clit perfectly timed.

His tongue moved with devastating skill — circling your clit once, twice, then flicking it rhythmically while his lips sealed around it. He kept you open with one strong arm under your thigh, holding your hips steady when you bucked forward.

Your hands fisted into his hair, breath catching when his tongue flattened and dragged upward — then circled again, tighter, then again—

You weren’t guiding him — he didn’t need guidance — but you needed to hold something as he devoured you like it was his purpose.

He changed pace — slow swirls, then sharp flicks. He dipped down, licked through your folds, and back again, tongue teasing your entrance, then sucking your clit again until your moans echoed off the tiled walls.

You cried out softly, but he only pressed deeper — one arm hooked around your thigh to keep you open, the other hand braced against the floor.

“Let go,” he said between licks. “You can. No one’s watching.”

He closed his mouth around your clit again — this time sucking harder, with his tongue flicking in steady rhythm.

You came with a gasp, thighs trembling, hips rolling forward into his mouth as he groaned against you — like your taste was everything he expected and more.

Your orgasm tore through you like a wave — hips bucking into his face, thighs clenching around his shoulders, your fingers gripping his hair so tight you heard him moan.

He didn’t stop.

He licked you through the aftershocks — slow, reverent strokes now, easing the tremors out of your legs until your grip loosened and your back slumped into the wall.

Only then did he stand.

He licked his lips. Not in show. Just to taste what lingered.

And then he smiled.

“Payment accepted.”

He smoothed your clothes back into place, tucked your hair behind your ear, and handed you a small piece of paper from his jacket.

“Call the number,” he said.

He leaned in again — lips grazing your cheek, hot breath against your ear.

“Or don’t.”

“But if you don’t…”

“I’ll come collect you again.”

And with that — he turned. Lifted his suitcase. Vanished into the tunnel like a shadow.

-

[buckevantommy]

another makemewrite excerpt for the nonny who gave me a few prompts in this ask: this one is for don't and it's my casino royale au (which i may have shared something from last year? idk..) yay spy boys!! ♠🥃🤵‍

The word is, this Buckley kid is some poker whiz with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove. Tommy thinks he’s dangerous and not just because he’s reckless - which puts the mission in jeopardy - but because he’s gorgeous - which puts Tommy in jeopardy.

But the mission comes first and while Buckley may know poker, the odds and chances of it all, Tommy knows people. He’s spent decades honing his ability to read others in order to survive, and not just in the army or since joining the agency. He knows how to give people what they want. Be what they want. He also knows how to remain unobstrusive, fly under the radar and disappear if need be. Buckley is brash and conspicuous - not exactly conducive to spywork. 

Tommy’s here to inform the kid about the other players’ tells and Buckley will use his own skillset in hand with that information to win. Or at the very least make the others lose.

He doesn’t expect Buckley to lose, and so early on in the night.

“The cards are coming,” he tells Tommy on a brief sojourn at the bar. “Gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelette, ya know.”

All swagger and arrogance; the providence of youth and inexperience. The sort of thing that calls unwanted attention to them and what they’re trying to achieve here. “This isn’t a game, kid,” Tommy grabs his arm before he can slink away. “Lives are at stake.”

Buckley’s smirk is too cocky, his brow raised in defiance, in challenge, jaw clenched. “Then let me do my job.”

Tommy loosens his grip allowing Buckley to yank his arm free and make his way back to the table, fresh martini in hand.

“Since when do you micromanage?”

He doesn’t answer Sal’s question. Barely glances at him as he settles against the bar at Tommy’s elbow. “He’s not ready.” And it's worrying.

“‘Course not. Grant stuck us on babysitting duty. Kid’s got skill but he’s greener than the suitcase full of benjamins he’s bettin’ with." 

Arrogance and self awareness seldom go hand in hand, Athena once told him. At the time, she’d been speaking of Tommy. He’s come a long way since then. And maybe he sees himself in Buckley. Maybe all the kid needs is someone to believe in him. 

With a sigh, he relents. “We let him do his thing. Help him how we can.” 

“Long as that thing is strictly poker," says Sal. "Kid doesn’t have combat training.” 

Four rounds later, Buckley has managed to break even. 

“I’m gonna go check in, bring HQ up to speed. Not that there’s much to tell,” Sal says in parting, leaving just as Buckley returns to the bar.

There's a smug tilt to his lips. “Told ya.” 

“You did.” He shouldn’t have doubted the kid’s skills but he’s untested in the field. “Don’t get cocky. We still need them to bet everything they have, not get away with a safety net.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m workin’ on it. Handlebars might have another tell you didn’t catch ‘cos I’m pretty sure he bluffed his way through that last hand.” 

“How do you know?” 

Buckley gives a shrug. “I mean, it’s not not card-counting. Odds weren’t in his favour.” 

Tommy can't help the hint of a smile cross his lips. “Noted.”  

[alarwynnwhispers]

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 32: ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴏᴛʟɪɢʜᴛ 🧡

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴇᴛ ɢᴏꜱꜱɪᴘ, ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍ���ᴅɪᴀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴀʙʟᴏɪᴅ ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ

ɪɴᴠᴀꜱɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴄʏ (ᴜɴᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀɪᴢᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴏʟᴅ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍɪꜱʟᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇxᴛ)

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ-ᴀɢɢʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ ʙʏ ᴀɴ ᴇx (ᴍᴀɢᴜɪ)

ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴄʀᴜᴛɪɴʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟɪɴᴇ ʜᴀʀᴀꜱꜱᴍᴇɴᴛ

ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴀʟꜱᴇ ɴᴀʀʀᴀᴛɪᴠᴇꜱ

(ʏ/ɴ) ᴇxᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪɴɢ ꜰɪᴇʀᴄᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ-ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

The following week unfolded with media ripples Lando had expected, but not like this.

Social media was still ablaze with speculation. F1 gossip accounts posted timelines, compared old photos of (Y/n) and Lando from Monaco to Austria, even dug up clips from the boutique’s online presence. One reel, captioned “From thrift shop queen to paddock royalty,” had over a million views.

Lando tried to ignore it. He had more important things to focus on.

Like the nursery plans.

Or the twins' names.

Or making sure (Y/n) drank enough water before noon.

But in the background, something colder stirred.

It started with a single tagged post.

@magui.x | Vienna, Austria 🇦🇹💫 When you know, you know. 📸: elegant heels, a glass of wine, her signature charm.

He didn’t think anything of it, until the DMs started rolling in. Fans were sending screenshots. Theories were spinning.

“Did Magui just throw shade at Lando?” “She’s in Austria too??” “Imagine watching your ex win a Grand Prix and have babies with someone else…”

Lando shrugged it off, until he received a text.

Magui: So Austria, huh? Big moment. Congrats, I guess. Hope you remember what we used to talk about doing if you ever won there.

No emojis. Just that.

He didn’t respond.

He couldn’t.

(Y/n) had just walked into the room with a tray of fresh-cut fruits, her bump swaying slightly beneath a soft white cotton dress. She looked radiant, and real. Not curated, not filtered. Just here. His now.

But the past didn’t stay quiet for long.

Two days later, Magui posted a cryptic story: a mirror selfie from a dimly lit hotel bathroom.

And then the real hit dropped.

A grainy photo. Posted by an anonymous tabloid page. Two figures in the hotel bar lobby. One of them unmistakably Lando. The other, long legs, dark hair, sly smile, could only be her.

The caption read: “EXCLUSIVE: Lando’s late-night ‘catch-up’ with ex Magui sends fans into chaos. Trouble in paradise already?”

It wasn’t real.

The photo was old. From over a year ago. But Magui didn’t correct it. She didn’t deny it. In fact, she reposted it, captionless, before deleting it an hour later.

And just like that, she’d stirred the pot.

—

Back at their Monaco flat, Lando tossed his phone across the bed.

“She’s playing games,” he muttered.

(Y/n) looked up from the couch, concern flickering in her eyes.

He walked over, kneeling in front of her, resting both hands on her knees.

“I need you to know, I haven’t spoken to her. Not since before Austria. Not properly.”

“I believe you,” she said quietly. “But she’s not going away, is she?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken worries.

Then she said, “If she wants drama, she’s not getting it from me. But if she tries to drag you into it… I’ll protect what’s mine.”

Lando looked up, genuinely startled.

“Damn,” he whispered, half a smile forming. “You’re kind of terrifying.”

“Only when I have to be.”

He pressed his forehead to her bump. “Don’t worry. I’m not stupid enough to look back.”

“But she might try harder,” she warned. “She watched you win. She saw us on every screen. She knows she lost.”

He nodded. “And now she wants a rematch.”

(Y/n) reached out, fingers threading through his curls. “Then let her fight shadows. Because we’re living in the light.”

Outside, the sea shimmered in the late afternoon glow. Inside, despite the headlines and whispers, there was still peace.

For now.

To be continued... 🧡

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 33: ʜᴇʀ ʙɪɢ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ’ꜱ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ 🧡

📝 Note from the Author: Fifth post of the day. FIFTH. 😩 You better hydrate and stretch after all this emotional cardio because I am not slowing down. This chapter? Whew. She’s for the ones who know what it means to choose maturity over mess, love over noise, peace over pettiness.

Magui? Oh, she stirred the pot. The subtle shade, the old photo, the cryptic captions? A masterclass in manipulation. But (Y/n)? She didn’t flinch. She didn’t spiral. Instead, she said:

“Then let her fight shadows. Because we’re living in the light.” And that right there? That’s power. That’s grace.

We’re entering the part of the story where public pressure and past ghosts come knocking. But this couple? They’re choosing each other, again and again. Even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.

Drop a 🕶️ if you felt Lando’s “I’m not stupid enough to look back.” Drop a 🐍 if you’re ready for Magui’s games to get shut down. And drop a 🌊 if you felt that last line, the sea shimmering while the world spun wild, but peace still found them anyway.

Let me know how you’re holding up in the comments. And yes, I will still be scheduling posts while I go MIA for a bit, because I love you that much.

With love, me 🧡

[ellclarkey]

Game night meet cute. (requested)

Arthur tv fluff

warnings(none)

a/n: first thing i’ve written go easy on me💔

(the spacing probably looks so dumb but idk how to do it)

Isaac loved hosting things at his place.

Game nights, movie nights, random little dinners they were always at Isaac’s.

It just made sense.

His place was the most accessible, his best friend lived right across the hall, you were only a few minutes down the road, and the rest of his mates were around the area as well.

Somehow, though, you’d never met the guy across the hall.

His best friend.

Which felt nearly impossible considering how often you were over but that changed the night of game night.

you walked in, the last one to arrive, spotting some familiar faces in the mix but also two new ones.

One was a smaller guy with curly blond-ish hair, who you assumed was Chris md, based on the height jokes you’ve always heard about him.

The other one had that kind of quiet confidence you only noticed once he was already in the room, not loud, not flashy, but undeniably there.

Tousled curls framed his face just enough to make you wonder if he knew how effortlessly good he looked (he probably didn’t).

His eyes light but in an intense kind of way.

A beautiful deep brown that locked with you as soon as you entered the room.

“Arthur” you thought as you made your way into the room.

“Hey” you greeted Isaac embracing him into a slight hug.

You give a wave to the rest of the room as you sit in the only seat available next to Arthur.

“Hey” he whispered.

“Have we met yet?”

“Hey, no we haven’t” i shot him a smile

“Well it’s a pleasure to finally meet my best friends best friend” he puts on a jealous glare.

I crack a smile “same goes to you.”

The night progresses, full of easy laughter and chaotic rounds of charades, Pictionary, and a particularly unhinged game of Gartic Phone.

Isaac was in his element.

Loud, dramatic, and gleefully yelling over everyone.

Arthur, though quieter, was surprisingly sharp when it came to guessing things, and he kept tossing these smug little glances your way every time he got something right.

“I’m kind of hungry,” Arthur said at one point, turning toward Isaac.

“Grab something to eat, then you know where the food is,” Isaac replied, barely looking up as he argued over whether that drawing was a dog or a terribly drawn horse.

Arthur nodded, standing up and disappearing into the kitchen.

A beat passed.

Then, casually maybe a little too casually you stood as well.

“Me too, actually.”

You weren’t hungry.

Not for food, at least.

You pushed open the door to the kitchen and found Arthur halfway into a cupboard, poking around like he wasn’t totally sure what he was looking for.

“Looking for something?” you asked, teasing.

He turned, caught, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Something quick. Don’t want to miss any more of Isaac accusing people of cheating.”

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely.

“Important stuff.”

Arthur chuckled, then gave you a look — something softer now that you were away from the group.

“So what brought you in here, then?”

You held his gaze for a moment, feeling the tension settle between you like a held breath.

“I don’t know. Just thought I’d keep you company.”

His smile widened not cocky, but warm.

“Well, I’m glad you did.”

“So,” Arthur began, pulling out a bag of chips, “what made you think I needed company?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “I’m just here for moral support. Someone’s got to make sure you don’t eat all the snacks.”

He laughed softly, that warm, easy sound you already liked. “Fair enough. Was starving to be fair.”

There was a pause just long enough to feel meaningful.

You found yourself studying him more closely the way his hair flopped slightly when he moved, how his eyes caught the light in a way that made them shimmer, the way his smile softened when it wasn’t directed at the crowd.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said suddenly, voice low. “Not in a bad way.”

“Is that so?” you teased. “What did you expect?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, maybe someone a bit more… Loud? Or firece” he smirks

“So a clone of Issac?” you giggle as you felt a flutter in your chest from the acknowledgement. “Glad I could surprise you I guess?”

He stepped a little closer, the space between you coming smaller. “I guess surprises can be good.” He states almost mysteriously

You swallowed, heart racing, you let out a breath.

The sound of footsteps and laughter from the living room nudged you both back to reality. Arthur glanced toward the door, then back at you.

“Should we head back?”

You nodded, reluctantly stepping away from the counter.

“Yeah. But, hey,” he added with a smile, “thanks for the company.”

You smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Anytime.”

You guys walked back and continue game night. About an hour passes and everyone goes home except for Arthur Issac and you.

“Goodnight Issac had a great night and very great to meet you Arthur.””

You walk our arthur following close behind “D’you want a pal to walk home with?” He questions sweetly

“Only if it’s you.” You respond with burning cheeks

He walked me home that night and hangouts at Isaac’s changed forever.

[majaloveschris]

Hey Maja,

You’re level headed, I mean that in the most respectful way. 😅

But I had to flip the situation so to speak and really ask myself hmmm what if we’re all wrong about this being PR, like what if to Chris it looks completely different. He is just a guy from Boston who happened to get famous due to talent. He’s done pr in the past yes and seemed to be authentic.

But just like life people change. Chris was never Steve Rogers, Chris is just a guy like many of people’s exes. What if he decided to do things differently and this is who he chose regardless of how it looks. Maybe he wanted to keep his fandom and image and that’s why it’s so PR looking like he’s playing the Hollywood game, but also working to help establish his wife. I just had to the look at another pov and like Lisa may indeed have accidentally liked something, it happens. Celebs are human and you don’t think they get tired of random strangers talking shit to them or stalking friends and family, you don’t think they’d see how invested online strangers are and try to play with people just to stay relevant and also just because.

Chris is simply living his life like the rest of us and Hollywood dressed him up and he’s played along, but now he’s trying to manage that plus his private life to another celebrity that doesn’t align to the image he held for so long and it’s just coming off as so badly business and fandom wise, but to him he just thought he was smarter and thought oh if I share her online people will love her, maybe he didn’t know she trolled or didn’t care if she did. Chris doesn’t know any of us to care. We assume these celebrities actually give a damn about this fandom shit, but they probably don’t.

People lie, he speaks in interviews that goes to BILLIONS of people so I don’t expect him to tell personal stuff too much more either especially these days, people are crazy. But to the fandoms limited view they see every video dissect every move to mean more that what it actually is.

I just wonder if this has spiraled and eventually we do unfortunately learn that Chris was an image while the real Chris Evans is simply human and this is real and the life he chose to live, just him and not to uphold some fake image, but he’s forced to keep playing that role as well.

If this doesn’t end by Summer or before their next anniversary, I do hope many people start really questioning reality. It’s easy to get caught up in parisocial relationships with celebs and not even know it.

Hi, thank you so much! I think it’s already crossed everyone’s mind at least once that what if this whole thing is real? And I don’t think this thought is bad; I think narrow-mindedly thinking this can’t be anything but fake is much worse, because then you will start misunderstanding everything that comes out and think everything proves something, or your point, which is not true.

Chris has never been and never will be Steve Rogers, and I don’t remember him ever stating the opposite. I never really understood why people thought in the first place that he is like him or can ever be. He is a fictional character after all, and as you said, he is just a guy, filled with flaws like all of us.

But let’s talk a bit about the theory you wrote down: what if this is real, but he is, on purpose, trying to make it look like it was PR? First of all, that would be extremely disrespectful towards his wife. If he decided to marry her, then go ahead and show her off. If he’s actually been doing that, he just made everything worse, because after a while people will realize that he was lying and playing them, and oh, that’s gonna be another shitshow. Because him playing people to make them think it’s not real and doing this just to save himself because he chose a not-so-good person as his wife is even worse than this being real. And while I don’t like Alba at all, that would be really humiliating for her as well. However, I find it highly impossible that this would be the case. I don’t think he is that bad of a human being, and you can clearly see in his body language that their relationship isn’t any more caring and loving behind closed doors as well. I mean, for example, when the NYC pap walk came out, and that random girl uploaded that video where they were seen as well, you could’ve seen how they act when they think they aren’t being recorded.

Lisa’s like, It could’ve been an accident, but considering that she didn’t really interact with her or anything like that, maybe only after this whole thing came out, says a lot, especially when you can see that she is still supportive of Minka, for example.I think these people care about what people say more than you would imagine. Half of the things that are being said and done wouldn’t have been if they didn’t care. Because of this whole whatever-ship, his career took a hit, not even a small one. People unfollowing, fans leaving after decades. His team noticed that; he noticed that. Celebs love saying that they don’t care, but they do, more than you would imagine.

Fans obviously care more than any random person who comes across an interview of his. While I agree that some things are being blown out of proportion, I do think that we can’t deny the inconsistency of their relationship. Even if it’s real, it’s clear they want to sell a love story that most likely never existed.

I do agree that after a while we need to let this story go, even if it turns out to be not real in the end. It’s funny because will we ever actually get to know what this was? Probably not. Even if this ends one day, we will never actually know the truth. But after a while everyone will get tired of this and move on with their life. They either will „accept” her presence in his life, try to forget that she exists, or leave the fandom. Either way, I hope everyone will do what’s best for their mental health because this isn’t worth yours, that’s for sure.