#I don’t know if I can make myself okay enough to do that

[mcu-binge]

Blind Date || Clark Kent x Reader ||

Pairing : Clark Kent x Reader Word count : ~1800

Summary : Your friend Jimmy sets you up on a blind date with one of his coworker.

Tags/warnings : dorky!clark, shy!Clark, shy!reader, fluff, blind date.

A/N : the gif is him celebrating the next day at work

====================================

I’m going to kill Jimmy.

Not literally, obviously. But if this date is a disaster if this man turns out to be some weird crypto bro or, worse, a guy who “dabbles in stand-up comedy” I’m going to delete Jimmy Olsen from my phone and pretend I never knew him.

I shift nervously on my heels, standing in front of the cozy Metropolis café Jimmy picked out. It’s early evening, warm enough for just a cardigan, and the sky is blushing with the last bit of sun. My palms are damp. I swipe them discreetly down my jeans.

“He’s tall,” Jimmy had said. “A little awkward, but very, very nice.”

That was it. No photo. No last name. Just… “very nice.” What does that even mean?

“Uh—excuse me,” a deep voice says.

I turn.

“Are you… here for the uh… blind date?”

And yeah. He’s tall. He’s also—God—he’s wearing a tight black t-shirt. With glasses that are kind of fogged. His dark hair is a little messy, like he tried to comb it and gave up halfway. He’s handsome, but in that earnest, "volunteers at the library and brings his own thermos" kind of way.

And he’s nervous. I can tell because his smile wobbles when I don’t answer right away. I want to answer my mouth won’t make a sound so I nod.

“I’m Clark,” he adds quickly, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Clark Kent. Jimmy set this up, I think? Unless you’re also here for a completely different blind date, in which case I’m really sorry and I’ll go sit in a corner and rethink my life choices.”

I blink. Then laugh soft and surprised.

“No, no, I’m—uh—Jimmy’s friend, too. I’m the… date. I mean, your date.”

Smooth. Real smooth.

He chuckles, and it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Okay. That’s a relief. Should we… go inside?”

We do. The hostess leads us to a small booth in the back, dimly lit, quiet. I’m already regretting the cardigan; I’m overheating from nerves alone. He tries to slide into the booth but bumps the edge with his knee hard enough to wince and shake the table dramatically.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine. Just doing my best not to fall apart physically in front of a beautiful woman. You know. Standard first date goals.”

“Clark,” I say, laughing, “are you sure you’re ok that looked really bad.”

“I’ll be fine.” He assures with a smile. “Trying to be a man about it.” I blush and look down at my menu. There’s an awkward beat. Then he clears his throat. “So. Blind dates.”

I smile. “The stuff of romantic comedies. Or horror movies.”

He laughs, like a real belly-laugh that makes him look away, embarrassed.

“You’re right. It’s kind of absurd when you think about it. Two strangers trusting their mutual friend enough to risk a night of small talk and possibly food poisoning.”

I nod. “Exactly. And Jimmy gave me zero details. Just told me you’re tall and nice.”

He winces. “That’s… not inaccurate. He told me you were kind. And pretty. And that you liked books.”

My face flushes. I glance at the table.

“Well, at least he didn’t lie,” Clark adds softly, fiddling with the corner of his napkin.

I look up and see his cheeks are pink.

After the food arrives, some kind of fancy grilled cheese and tomato soup I barely remember ordering. The conversation starts to loosen.

It’s Clark who cracks it open.

“So… books.” He tilts his head a little. “Jimmy said you liked them, but he didn’t say what kind. And I—I’m not great at this part, so I’m just gonna throw myself under the bus and admit I still have The Hobbit and The Secret Garden on my bookshelf.”

I laugh around my spoon. “That’s adorable.”

“I mean, I also read newspapers,” he adds quickly, like that redeems him. “But I guess I like stories that feel… comforting. Small, even when the worlds are big.”

I nod slowly. “That’s exactly it. I reread Jane Eyre almost every winter. There’s just something about the quiet resilience in that book. It’s not flashy, it’s not loud—it’s just steady.”

Clark’s eyes light up, like I just said the secret password. “Yes. That’s the word. Steady. Like, you can feel the weight of it in the background.”

“And it makes you feel less alone,” I murmur.

He’s quiet for a beat, then smiles. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

We eat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then he asks, “What else are you into? Besides dark Victorian heroines and hot cheese sandwiches?”

I laugh again softly, surprised. “Okay, that was smooth.”

“I’m trying,” he says bashfully. “I googled ‘how to be charming on a date’ an hour before this.”

“Did it tell you to admit that?”

“No, I think that part was under the ‘avoid at all costs’ section.”

I grin, resting my chin in my hand. “Alright. Interests. Let’s get it out of the way. I love old movies, but only the dramatic, overly long kind. Black-and-white, piano swelling, someone’s always dying of heartbreak.”

He groans like I’ve hit a nerve. “Yes! Finally, someone who gets it. Everyone always tells me I’m a grandpa for liking Casablanca.”

“Clark,” I deadpan, “I own the Criterion edition.”

He leans back like I’ve just revealed I’m royalty. “Okay, I’m impressed. Do you… cry at the end of it too?”

“I cry at the beginning of it.”

“I cry when the plane takes off.”

“I cry when the piano starts.”

“I cry when Rick doesn’t cry.”

We’re both laughing now full, unguarded laughter and I swear the rest of the room melts away. Something warm settles in my chest. Like I’m not faking it. Like I’m not waiting for this date to be over. Like maybe Jimmy actually knew what he was doing.

“What about music?” I ask once we catch our breath. “Please don’t say you’re a secret DJ.”

Clark grimaces. “Do people actually say that?”

“More than you’d think.”

“No, I’m more of a… vinyl guy.”

“Vinyl guy,” I repeat, stunned. “That’s very attractive.”

“It is?” His eyes go wide behind his fogged glasses. “I mean. Yeah. Obviously. Vinyl is the sexiest of all musical formats.”

“That’s not what I said.” I tease.

“But you implied it.” He adds with a cocky smirk. “I have a whole crate I’ve been dragging with me since college. Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin, some Springsteen, a little Ella Fitzgerald, The Mighty Crabjoys. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” I echo. “Clark, that’s like… swoon-worthy except maybe the last one.”

He turns bright red. Like, blush to the roots of his hair red.

“I—uh—thanks,” he says, suddenly very interested in his soup again. “I don’t know. I guess I just like things that feel… old but alive.”

That line hits me in the gut.

“Me too,” I whisper. “I was so nervous I’d say something dumb,” I admit, smiling behind my glass of water. “Or that you’d be like, aggressively normal. Like… the kind of guy who ranks chicken nuggets on a spreadsheet.”

Clark snorts into his drink. “I actually do use spreadsheets. But mostly for… grocery lists. Or budget stuff.”

“Groceries?”

He nods solemnly. “I once had a breakdown in the produce aisle over the price of strawberries.”

I’m giggling now.

It’s slow. It’s dorky. It’s incredibly sweet.

And by the time we’re sharing dessert, some ridiculous molten lava cake neither of us technically ordered. I realize I don’t want the night to end.

“Jimmy’s going to gloat,” I murmur, licking a bit of chocolate from my spoon.

Clark hums in agreement. “He’s going to be unbearable.”

“I still might kill him.”

“I’ll help you hide the body.”

We both smile. And his hand, tentative and warm, brushes the back of mine on the table.

I think, this could be something. Maybe even something very, very nice.

We leave the café with warm bellies and dessert still lingering on our lips. The air has cooled just enough to make me tug my cardigan closer. Clark immediately shrugs off his jacket.

“Oh, no…it’s fine,” I say, waving him off.

He holds it out anyway. “Please. You’ll make me feel useful.”

I hesitate, then slide my arms into it. It smells like laundry detergent and something warm and simple. Maybe cedar.

“So what’s a guilty pleasure?” I ask.

“I can retell you any Star Wars movie verbatim.” He admits with his head down.

“Every single one?” I ask in horror and awe.

“Yeah, they’re my favorites, have you seen them?”

“Can’t say I have but I’ve heard good things.”

“They’re amazing we definitely have you sit you down for them. Maybe a marathon, I know the perfect order to watch them in,” he geeked out making me smile.

“We definitely have to,” I say and my cheeks feel like they’re burning up.

The street is quiet, lit by flickering lampposts and the occasional window glow. Clark walks beside me, a respectful distance away, but close enough that our arms brush now and then. Every time they do, I swear he stops breathing for half a second.

“So,” I say, casting him a glance. “Did tonight meet your spreadsheet expectations?”

He grins. “Surpassed them. I might need to make a new column just for… ‘unexpectedly wonderful.’”

I snort. “Wow. That’s dangerously corny.”

“I warned you,” he shrugs. “Tall, awkward, but very, very nice.”

“Jimmy actually undersold it,” I say before I can think better of it.

Clark’s steps falter. “Wait—really?”

I nod, hugging myself a little tighter. “You’re… different. In a good way. Like, if someone made a list of all the things I didn’t realize I wanted, and then stuck them in a black T-shirt and glasses.”

He goes quiet. Then, softly: “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”

We stop at the corner where my street begins. My building is just a few doors down. I can see the front light glowing over the stoop.

“Well,” I say, suddenly shy again. “This is me.”

He nods. “Right.”

Neither of us moves.

“I had a really nice time,” I offer.

“Me too.”

More silence. Not the awkward kind. The kind that feels like maybe something important is happening and you don’t want to rush it. I glance up at him. His eyes are gentle behind his glasses, and his jaw ticks just slightly, like he’s working up the nerve for something.

“Can I…” he starts, then stops. “Would it be okay if I kissed you goodnight?”

My heart thumps once, hard.

I nod.

He takes one tiny step closer. Reaches up like he’s not sure what to do with his hands, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers are warm against my skin.

Then ever so softly, hesitantly he leans in. The kiss is sweet. Careful. A little unsure, but real. Not practiced. Not showy. Just honest. Like him. When we part, we’re both smiling.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat, “when can I see you again?”

“How about tomorrow?” I say, bold before I can second-guess it. “We can discuss the strawberry budget crisis or you can recite the first star wars movie.”

His eyes crinkle with delight. “It’s a date.”

I start up the steps, still wrapped in his jacket, then pause halfway.

“Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“I like you.”

He blushes so hard I can see it from ten feet away.

“I really like you too.”

I laugh, then disappear inside.

And I swear, I swear, I hear him whisper a very breathless, very dorky “Yes!” behind me.

[bballesbolol]

Power Play | Chapter 2 (part 1)

PWHL Paige x WNBA Azzi AU

You can find the last chapter here

Warnings: Language

A/N: Okay I grinded this out but apparently tumblr had a text blocks limit that I managed to exceed so this gal is gonna come out in 2 parts (sorry?) the whole thing is like 8k words. Anyway sorry for putting this out so late and sorry that it isn’t one part—hope u still enjoy!! (pretty please tell me ur thoughts i crave validation—and feedback ig) Also If there’s mistakes please look away I’m too tired to care 🤗

Word Count: 5.1k

| Hotel after draft | 6:23 a.m. | Azzi’s POV |

She woke up way too early with a headache that must’ve been karmic punishment.

It felt like her body knew she shouldn’t rest. Or like it was trying to punish her for relapsing into her chronic Paige Bueckers horniness.

Either way she felt like shit.

Caroline was still asleep when her head stopped pounding enough for her to sit up. Wonderful. Alone with her thoughts. And her phone. And her free will—

She reached across the gap between the two beds and shook Caroline awake.

“What the fuck—“

Caroline’s voice was cracked and thick with sleep. She rolled to her back, eyes fluttering open, face screwed up with a mix of fear and confusion. Azzi wasted no time.

“Caro I think I’m still drunk and Paige’s story is still up and I need guidance before I embarrass myself completely.”

Caroline’s hands flow from her sides to her face, dragging down it like she was trying to peel her skin off.

“Good morning Azzi. I slept great, thanks for—“

”I can’t do this right now. You need to take my phone”

She scrambled to grab her phone from where she had left it last night—under her pillow like she was waiting for the horny DM fairy—and chucked it to the foot of Caroline’s bed.

Caroline slowly rose from her bed, one hand still on her temple like she was trying to keep her head from splitting in two.

“You need to calm down, like, right now. We’re getting through this.” She yawned and reached for Azzi’s phone, squinting as the screen lit up and unlocked at the sight of her face.

“You haven’t done anything yet, right?”

Azzi thought back to last night. As far as she knew, no, but there were definitely some gaps she couldn’t fill in. She dragged a hand down her face.

“Uh—I don’t think so?”

Caroline nodded, swiping through something on her phone. She blinked and let out a soft sigh, “No, you didn't. Thank god.”

Azzi let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding. It escaped from somewhere deep behind her ribs, raw and utterly relieved.

“Thank fuck” she groaned, flopping back into her pillow, and regretting it once she felt what she could only assume was her brain hitting her skull and bouncing around pinball-style.

“What do I do?” She groaned hopelessly, less at Caroline and more at the universe in general.

Caroline took a deep breath. Looked back down at Azzi’s phone in her hand, deep in thought, “Okay, you don’t want to look desperate—public or private. Thirsty DM is off the table”

She nodded, “Done.”

“But, if we’re serious about this whole—whatever—you need to make a move”

Azzi paused for a moment.

Was she serious about this? Nothing about it felt serious—it was more of a terminally horny fever dream. Something 20 year old her probably would’ve wished for when she was blowing out the candles on her Paige Bueckers birthday cake Caroline had gotten her as a joke.

It certainly wasn't something she spent every night thinking about anymore. But it wasn't something she’d rule out.

“Define serious”

“Are you still into her?” Caroline's question was clear cut. Unavoidable.

Shit.

Yeah. She was.

Azzi groaned and rolled over onto her stomach, smothering her face in the cheap hotel pillows.

She squeaked out a shameful, “mhm” against the fabric.

“Okay, so we have to do something.”

She rolled up onto her side, “define something?”

”God, Azzi, buy a dictionary—we’re making a move,” She grumbled, “Not a desperate one. Something small. Classy. You just want to start the conversation”

Azzi sighed, “like what?” She asked reluctantly.

“You can repost her story. Acknowledge her, athlete to athlete. Nobody should question that, considering you’re about to be a star on the only other major women’s sports team in Minnesota—”

Azzi cut her off with a desperate groan that sounded more like a death-rattle.

”God—all she did was welcome me to the state—what am I even supposed to say? ‘Thank you mommy’?”

Caroline snorted.

”Mommy? If anything it’d be—”

She cut her off before she got the chance to put that thought in her head, “Caro. Don’t even fucking think about it. I’m already dying over here”

“Sorry. You don’t even have to say anything, really. Could just repost it blank. Let people know you’re plotting on that—“

“Okay, you’re shutting up now. I need to think”

Caroline was silent. Azzi rolled onto her back again, hands finding their way back to her throbbing temples in an attempt to fight back against whatever vendetta her body had against her.

The logistics of this were fuzzy.

She was a public figure. So was Paige. Both made headlines if they breathed in the wrong direction.

Paige had made it pretty clear that she didn’t care about a scandal. Actually, it seemed like her fans loved her because of how little she cared. She didn’t care when the media criticized her for leading the Frost in penalty minutes. Or how she led them in hits, too. Or about her hot mic moments that would probably kill a Victorian child on the spot.

She didn’t care when photos of her with a new girl on her hip circulated through twitter once a week. Never cared to comment on the pictures of random women on their alleged ‘walks of shame’ leaving her apartment complex.

Paige’s career was built on her being the rat. Azzi’s, on the other hand, was not.

She was the people’s princess. She donated her NIL money to food banks and non-profits. Practically cried when she got her one and only career technical for complaining about a bad call—which was entirely justified. Helped girls on the opposing team up after particularly hard fouls. Offered words of encouragement to underclassmen. Never argued. Always smiled.

Kept anything personal out of the public eye. Avoided scandal like her life depended on it.

She was UConn’s golden girl. Had to be, considering the scrutiny she faced from pretty much every angle all the time.

If something were to happen—something were to go wrong—

If someone took a picture of her leaving an apartment late at night—cheeks flushed, hair a mess, clothes not hers—

Fuck. Why was that even a thought?

—She’d be ruined. And Paige sure as shit wouldn’t try and fix it.

But maybe that was what she wanted?

No, Fuck—

She needed to be sedated. Or lobotomized.

She took a deep breath and finally broke the silence, “I’m not gonna do anything”

Caroline whipped her head around to face her, “What? Why?”

“I can’t, it's not worth it—“

”Azzi. I didn't sit through months of your obsession with this woman for you to throw away this chance”

”I didn’t spend 4 years of my life building an image the media couldn't criticize just to throw it out over a crush I had—”

”have” Caroline corrected.

Azzi ignored her, “Had in college. I’m moving to Minnesota to be a star on the Lynx, not one of Paige's sneaky links. I can’t let myself—I’m not engaging. It’s for the greater good”

Caroline looked her up and down, “That’s…very mature of you. Can’t wait to see how it works out.”

She rolled eyes, “I’m serious. I’m just gonna go to Minnesota and be kick-ass at basketball, and she's gonna be sexy and do hockey, like, parallel to me. Our paths don’t ever need to cross”

Caroline nodded slowly, looking like she was doing some kind of mental math on the probability of that actually happening, “And if she wants them to cross? What then?”

she sighed, deep and hopeless, “Then I’ll just have to be strong.”

Caroline laughed. Not a little chuckle—a full bodied, uncontrollable fit. breathy and bold.

“Good fucking luck”

***

5 Tylenol and about a gallon of Gatorade later she was out of the hotel and on the phone with her team. Talking training camp. Apartments. Marketing. Brand deals. Plane tickets. Appearances. Social media roll out.

Fuck.

It was a lot. Especially for someone who had just fully sobered up about 3 hours ago. Even more so when the man currently talking to her was some freshly hired twinky 35 year old social media manager who sounded like he’d had a quintuple-shot iced vanilla latte with a side of coke for breakfast.

“We need you to be active on social media for the next few weeks before training camp, there are new people who came across Azzi Fudd from the draft, and we want them to get to know her on your terms”

“Got it, drafts will be posted.”

“We’re not just talking Tik Tok, I need you on instagram, that's where you’ll get the most interest. I’m thinking a draft dump for sure, and then some posts about training. And you should keep people updated on your move to Minnesota, and your relationship with the team—”

”Yes, instagram—“

”and this whole thing with Paige Bueckers? I think we should milk that—twitter is already going crazy and all she did was post a story. I’m thinking we bring you and a few of your teammates to a game as soon as we can—“

Oh god-she’d forgotten about Twitter. That hellscape was probably already filled with people speculating about what was going on between the two of them—which was absolutely nothing—but they sure could work with that.

“Uh—I don’t know. I have zero business even touching hockey, I don't think we have a lot of overlap in fans—“

”honey, the fans are all lesbians—or at least lesbian adjacent—they’ll overlap just fine if we make them—“

She groaned, “Why can't I just go to Minnesota and play basketball like a normal person?”

”It's called expanding your market, all the pro’s who do it always end up successful. You can't just be a basketball player, you have to be an entertainer”

”I’m going to Minnesota to play basketball. That’s all I care about. That’s all I’ll be posting about. And I will be letting this whole thing die out.”

“Come on—“

”I’m done talking about it.”

”We can be done for now, but we will be discussing this later. Call me when you're a little less hungover, kay babe?”

The line cut before she got the chance to verbally strangle him. Milk it—like there was an “it” in the first place. Paige's manager probably forced her to repost that story. That’s all.

Shit. No, that wasn't all. She liked the story. She followed her.

No. She was just being friendly, right? Because she’s famously so personable—

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

———————————————————

Caroline:

Thinking in a straight line yet?

Because these people are UNHINGED

———————————————————

Wonderful timing. Attached was a link to a tweet. She clicked it.

It was relatively tame. Just a screenshot of Paige's story last night, followed by a “👀”. The replies were what got her.

↳@/lesbsportsfan

My two world colliding 🤭cant wait to see where this goes…

↳@/bueckersbitch

Same!! Like did she just make a move on main??

↳@/pdubluvrrrr

She’s just welcoming the girl to the city, probably just saw the post and thought it’d be nice to repost it.

↳@/bueckersbitch

She doesn’t follow the Lynx 👀just Azzi

↳@/motherpucker

Doesn’t follow anyone ON the Lynx either

↳@/lesbsportsfan

WHAT?? Okay that’s DEFINITELY a move 🫣

↳@/bueckersbitch

AND she’s in Czechia after worlds, 6 HOURS AHEAD. She reposted that at like 2 a.m. her time, that’s kinda suspicious is she's just “welcoming” her

↳@/lesbsportsfan

I’m convinced 😭cant wait for more crumbs once Azzi gets to Minnesota!!

↳@/Uconntbeatem

I think someone needs to keep Paige away from this girl. From what I’ve heard/seen the girl is all trouble

↳@/brebballa

Yeahhhh, she definitely doesn’t JUST wanna say hi iykwim

↳@/phil.smithss

Don't blame her, Fudd’s hot 🤷‍♀️

Oh my god ew. Nope. No more of that.

Twitter was gross, but they really weren’t wrong. Story posted at 2 a.m.—Doesn’t follow the Lynx—Or anyone on the lynx—Just her. Bad reputation, rarely good intentioned—

The context certainly helped clear up the intention—no matter how hard she wanted to ignore it.

This was a move.

She sighed. Shook her head. Texted Caroline back:

————————————————-

I’m fucked.

Caroline:

Think that's her goal, actually.

| TRIA Rink | April 25th | Paige’s POV |

“All I’m saying is, I think we should get this practice off”

Grace's voice echoed through the locker room, along with the chatter of the rest of the team.

“yeah right, say that to coach’s face” Taylor grumbled back, bending down to strap on one of her shin pads.

“I will—actually, would—my skates are already on”

Taylor snorted “yeah that’s what I thought”

The door to the locker room swung open, and Kendal walked through, bag slung over her shoulder, “I hate to say it, but it sounded like we won’t be seeing pucks today”

A collective groan echoed throughout the locker room.

It was the first practice back from the international break. “Break” being a very loose term for most of the team, considering half of the first two lines had spent the past few weeks in Czechia fighting for their lives.

She could still feel the ache of her ribs from where she’d caught a puck in their last game. Was probably still hungover, even if it was just a little. A puckless practice was the closest thing to a living nightmare she could experience right now.

Paige looked up, halfway through strapping on her own shin pad, “you’re fucking lying.”

Kendal made her way to her locker and flopped down onto the bench, opening her bag, ”why would I lie about that? I'm still recovering from that final, plus a three day bender. If there was hope, I'd be clinging onto it too”

Paige groaned and leaned back against the hardwood in the back of her locker, “just tell coach your old lady joints are creaking and we should all get the day off—“

She was quickly cut off by a chorus of voices.

“I’m literally only 32–“

“Dude we’re like the same age—“

”she can still skate faster than you—“

Michela and Emma hopped in behind Kendal like they were in some kind of 30 and flirty solidarity club.

She raised her hands in self-defense, “chill chill chill I was kidding”

Kendal mumbled something like yeah right under her breath and went back to getting dressed. She wasn't so lucky with the other two. They were still staring at her, Michela with her head cocked to the side, Emma with her arms crossed, like they were cataloging ideas for every possible mistake she could’ve made over the break.

Michela finally spoke up, voice edged with suspicion, “why do you need the day off so bad? Too many late nights?”

Emma looked to her, and then to Paige, a smirk on her face, and added, “maybe sampling the foreigners?”

She groaned. This is how they always were—felt like they had the right to know everything about that side of her life just because they were the team's token happy couple. Claimed it was just because they wanted the same thing for her. Usually failed to consider the fact that she didn’t want what they had. That she was there for a fun time, not a long time.

She ignored them and bent down to tie one of her skates. That was met with a chuckle and a come on from the two of them.

Taylor took it upon herself to answer for her, “nah, she was pretty tame surprisingly”

“yeah right—”

“She was, really,” asserted Grace, who snorted and continued, “Probably because she’s got her sights set on someone more…domestic”

The locker room chatter died down ever so slightly. A few heads turned just enough for them to notice.

Wonderful. Now this was everyone’s business. Michela and Emma stared down at her expectantly.

Paige glared at Grace, bent down and pulled a sock up over her shin pad. Tried her hardest to avoid the question she knew was coming, “Can I borrow someone’s clear?”

Michela scoffed, “Nope. Not dodging that one—who’s the unlucky lady?”

“Hey—” Emma growled and elbowed Michela in the ribs. She folded dramatically with a grunt.

“no but, seriously, who is it” Emma added, looking at Paige expectantly.

Someone piped up from deeper in the locker room, “you guys didn’t see? she reposted her on instagram”

Paige groaned and continued to fuss with her socks, trying her hardest to remove herself from this conversation.

She heard Emma scoff from somewhere above her, “uh, we’re not online like that—you reposted her? like thirsty repost or friendly repost??”

“Babe, you know her, it was so a thirsty repost—”

Paige cut them off, “Oh my god you guys are so dramatic, it wasn't like that. I just welcomed her to the city—it was nothing, really”

“welomed who?”

She didn’t sit up. Refused to, actually. These kinda conversations weren’t exactly the type of this she needed before the team was forced to skate until their legs disintegrated.

She sighed, and lifted her head just enough to scan the room, “could really use that clear—”

A roll of tape came flying right at her head. She dodged it—narrowly—and sat up. Found Grace staring back at her, a smirk on her face.

Michela turned and nodded at Grace, then spun back around to face her, crossing her arms, “There, tape. Now fess up”

Paige groaned and ran a hand down her face, “Azzi Fudd. she just got drafted to the Lynx” she mumbled, like the confession had been dragged out of her. Which, for the record, it pretty much had been.

“Lynx? oh this is serious—have you even seen a basketball before?”

“yeah, on her draft table—“

“YOU WATCHED THE DRAFT?”

Shit. This was definitely going to become a thing. She was quick to defend herself, “KK and Laila wanted me to, then Taylor and Grace hopped on me and I couldn’t say no—“

Taylor interrupted her, a shit-eating grin across her face, “she got all starstruck when she saw her on the screen”

Paige groaned, “I did not. I just thought she was hot”

Michela paused for a moment, then asked, “I mean, is she?”

“MICHELA—“ Emma shoved her, a half disgusted, half disappointed look on her face.

”what? I just wanna know if it's valid?”

Paige paused for a moment. A smirk slowly spread across her face. A chance to get them off her back about this thing—if they wanted honesty, they could have it.

“Oh she’s hot. Lightskin, dark curls, insane body. The kinda girl I could eat off the bone—”

Emma cut her off and groaned, ”Oh my god P”

Michela gagged with mock-disgust, ”you’re nasty”

She snorted, “Nah, just tryna get nasty—“

Another gag.

“Paige, quit it—I’m actually gonna throw up”

She shrugged and grabbed the roll of tape that had nearly taken her head off, “you guys were curious”

Kendal stood from her locker, somehow fully in gear despite the fact that she was the last one to sit down, “You guys are slow—you included P. We gotta be on ice in 5, get your shit on and get out”

The room quieted down, chatter replaced by the ripping of tape and lacing of skates. Paige let out a sigh and returned to taping her socks.

Kendal made it halfway out the door, then turned around and poked her head back into the locker room and added, “Not a puck in sight, by the way”

The entire room groaned, her included.

It was gonna be a long night.

| MSN Airport | April 25th | Azzi’s POV |

She got to Minnesota late. Not late in the day—actually she’d woken up far too early for her flight—just late compared to the other rookies.

Saniya had touched down in Connecticut two days after the draft. The Mystics had their gang of rookies flown in within the week. But her? She’d lingered in Storrs as long as the Lynx would let her.

Her manager practically had to drag her to the airport and onto the plane to Minnesota. She wasn’t even sure why it was so hard to leave home. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was her friends. Maybe it was just the thought of change in general—

Maybe it was whoever was waiting for her in Minnesota.

Eh, probably the change thing.

Whatever it was, it had to be in the rearview tonight, because she was here. In Minnesota. On her way to the Lynx’s training facility for a meeting with their head coach. Her head coach. Goodbye Geno, hello Cheryl.

A car was already waiting for her at the front of the airport. Her bags, apparently, were already headed to her apartment. She’d have time to unpack them later. Right now all she needed to worry about was meeting the team—maybe—she actually wasn't even sure if they’d be there.

Her phone buzzed in her lap.

——————————————

Caroline:

Did u touch down?

actually idk why I’m asking I can see u on snap maps

congrats on actually making it!! 🎉🎉

lmk what happens in your meetings

if u don’t tell me aubrey will

Azzi:

just got into a car

on my way to the facility rn

trying to be cool about it

Caroline:

you’re so cool about it dw

you need to post that you made it there tho

people think you’re gonna skip training camp lol

Azzi:

uhg ik

idk if it’s a risk I’m willing to take rn

Caroline:

risk?

ohhhh

you’re still thinking about it aren’t you

Azzi:

idk what ur talking about

Caroline:

She hasn’t done anything since draft night

I think you’re safe

unless you don’t want to be 👀

Azzi:

Caroline.

not everything is about her

Caroline:

about who?

Azzi:

about Paige

Caroline:

you said it, not me 🤷‍♀️

Azzi:

i hate you

Caroline:

you love me.

post something when you get to the facility

if you don’t the lynx will

it’ll make you look a lot less forced to be there

Azzi:

do people really think that?

Caroline:

babe, people think anything

just make them think what you want them to think

aka post a story

and lmk what everyone’s like pretty please

actually just call me tn

Azzi:

don’t wait up 🤗

____________________

She turned off her phone. Caroline was obviously delusional. She hadn’t thought about the Paige thing since the day after the draft. Actually, maybe just once the next day. And maybe once or twice after that. It definitely didn’t cross her mind on the flight here—

Okay maybe it did. But it shouldn’t. Paige hadn’t tried to reach out to her since draft night. Maybe she got the hint. Ghosting somebody tended to have that effect. Not like she even ghosted her, she didn't have to respond to that story. Still, resisting the urge to felt like enough of a message—to herself at least.

Paige was off limits—even if she didn’t want to be.

God, especially if she didn’t want to be.

She probably didn’t even want to be, right?

Right.

***

She posted the story when she got to the facility—begrudgingly.

Just a picture of the front of the building, captioned finally made it, time to get to work. Nothing extra. She wasn't even in it, looked too disheveled to post herself on her own account.

She immediately put her phone on do not disturb after she put it up. Mostly out of respect for the coaches she’d be meeting with for the next hour. Partially to stop her from obsessively checking who saw it every five seconds like an obsessed idiot.

The meetings went as expected. Just a lot of shaking hands and congratulations. Laying out expectations for the next few days. Then came the tour of the facility. About an hour of wandering around through miles of hallways between gyms and film rooms and whatever else the professionals got.

They ended at the locker room. She could hear chatter on the other side of the door before she even reached it.

The assistant coach who had dragged her around the building turned to her and patted her shoulder, “I’m gonna leave you here. Team’s waiting for you, gear is in your locker—dont let ‘em keep you out too late, we need you breathing for training camp and media day.”

She chuckled weakly. Her coach kept a straight face. Apparently not a joke. Cool.

She straightened her face and nodded, “you uh—you don’t have to worry about me”

The coach nodded and turned away. She nodded again, at no one, like an idiot. Coughed to cover it up from—again, no one.

Shit. Okay

She reached out and opened the door.

Someone shouted, “There’s our rook”

Another added, “Better late than never”

She felt her face flush as she stepped into the locker room.

Napheesa pulled her into a hug before she got the chance to get her bearings, and said, “Hey Fudd, glad you finally made it”

She pulled back and took in what was in front of her.

A row of wooden lockers, each with a name placard above it. Her eyes tracked down the line until they stopped on one that said Azzi Fudd. A jersey—her jersey hung in the main cubby, a 35 emblazoned boldly on the chest. Folded on the shelf below it was what looked like a month's worth of gear—warm up shirts, shorts, sweatpants, sweatshirts, practice jerseys—you name it, it was in the pile.

“Holy shit” she mumbled, half to herself.

Phee clapped a hand onto her back, ”holy shit is right, this is just the half of it”

“Yeah, they gon’ keep feedin’ you gear all season.” Chuckled Courtney, who was leaned back up against her locker watching Azzi gawk like it was an award winning tellanovella.

She managed to blink and pick her jaw up off the floor after a minute of trying to absorb the fact that this was really her life, “It’s not just that, its—I forgot that this is like, my job. Like I’m getting payed to have all this”

Courtney laughed again, “yeah, payed”

Phee shot her a glare and turned back to Azzi, “I know, it's all crazy right now. Just take some time to let the city sink in—“

”Oh she’s letting it sink in. Gonna get to know it real well. we gonna be outside tonight”

Phee rolled her eyes, “T we have media tomorrow morning”

Courtney spoke up again, "don't mean we can't show a rook a good time”

“that is what it means, actually. We all need to look presentable tomorrow.”

”god Phee you're such a mom. We can control ourselves—”

”thats such a lie—“

Azzi swallowed, “I can go out if you need me to. I’m Still young enough to bounce back in time to be on camera”

Someone shouted hell yeah, another yelled damn straight. Phee groaned and ran a hand down her face, “You don't have to encourage them, you know—“

”OH YES SHE DOES”

”sorry” Azzi grumbled, glancing back to Phee.

“Dont be sorry, have a backbone. You don't have to go out—“

Someone laughed from behind them, “I think she wants to”

“I don't think she has a choice”

Yeah, it really felt like she didn’t. Not like she didn’t not want to, though. Tipsy Azzi was good at making friends. She’d be even better at team bonding. It’d be an excellent way to shake off whatever nerves she was having about being in a new city. But she was dog tired. Had her life waiting for her, packed up in shitty cardboard boxes back at an unfamiliar apartment. Didn’t even have a bed to flop down into after a late night.

Phee turned to face the locker room, “We aren’t going out. Period. I don't want everybody looking hungover in their headshots.”

The room erupted with groans and signs.

Courney shot up from her seat, “Can’t we just go somewhere lowkey? Like, that sports bar on Washington?”

“Yeah we’ll have her in bed by midnight.” Added T.

Phee raised her eyebrows, “Sober?”

Courney paused for a moment, crossed her arms and shrugged, “tipsy”

Phee sighed and shook her head, “This is just team bonding, okay? No shenanigans—”

Courtney nodded, “None at all.”

Phee turned back to her, “Azzi? You fine with this?”

“Uh, yeah—as long as I have some time to unpack my apartment—”

Courtney laughed from her seat at her locker, “Girl—you think we’re dragging you out right now? It’s like, 7 p.m. we not goin’ out ‘till like 9”

She flushed again, “Yeah, obviously.” She looked around the locker room. There was one face she still hadn’t seen, “Where’s Aubrey?” She asked.

“Training room. Still doing recovery even though she’s cleared. Can’t skip it, even for the rook”

She nodded. Aubrey was drafted last year, but she had knee surgery the minute she got to Minnesota. It was essentially her rookie year too, except she had a leg up on knowing the team. She looked around the room again. No one was dressed for practice. They didn't look like they had treatment either. No one seemed to be doing much of anything. It felt like they were just here to see her.

She cleared her throat, “So, like, am I free to go whenever?”

“Damn, we that boring?”

The locker room burst out into breathy laughs and snorts. She felt herself go red again, “oh my god not like that, I just need to unpack—“

Phee flung an arm across her shoulder and shook her, “we know, they’re just fucking with you. You can go whenever.”

“Hey, no she can’t. Do we have her number?? She’s not dodging going out—“

Phee sighed dramatically and turned around to face the voice, ”I have her number, Court, so does Aubrey.” She turned back to Azzi, “get out while you still can, we’ll text you later”

She nodded back at her, then turned to face the room, “Good to meet you guys, see you tonight”

Something about the way she said it sounded awkward. too formal. She felt like a middle schooler trying to fit in with the cool group of teens. Too late to take it back now. She cringed internally, turned on her heels and headed back out of the door. She let out a sigh of relief when she was finally alone in the hallway and reached for her phone to shoot Aubrey a text. Well, a couple, actually.

————————————

YOU DID NAWT JUST LEAVE ME TO MEET THE TEAM ALONE

I WAS SO AWKWARD

and APARENTLY were gonna be ‘outside’ tn 😭

Least you can do is give me a ride to my apartment

and maybe help me build my bed frame 🫣

————————————

—> Part Two <—

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 23

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, alcohol, angst, rollercoaster Wordcount: 7.4K A/C: sorry for this (live reactions always appreciated)

-

London

Jasper Your mum told me you’re under the weather and that’s why I haven’t heard of you. Bless you! I hope you feel better soon love. Shame about tonight, I shall suffer without you at the office. Call me when you can. I love you.

The text lingers on my lit screen, buzzing quietly against my lap. Under the weather - It almost makes me laugh. I bet that’s how my mother feels. Izara is sick, unwell, not herself. I wish I could explain to her. That it’s not sickness, but love. Love like she feels for my father. Love I can never feel for Jasper, let alone a man. or anyone else for that matter. Love I feel only for her.

I swipe the text away, another issue pushed to another day. Shelved to be found lying around years from now. I know I need to end it with Jasper. It’s so selfish of me to keep him hanging on. Hopeless and locked up like an animal by me just to be left to starve while I lie with another person, another pet I keep fed and allow to sleep in my bed. But it feels like the moment I do it, it means something more to Paige. The future is still as foggy as a November morning in the English countryside, lying thick on fields that keep going as far as eyes can see. I love her, yes. But what does that mean for me? I’m not ready to decide. And luckily I don’t have to. Not right now.

Because right now we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder in a booth in a nice pub, surrounded by my closest friends: Olivia, Molly and Keana, and I’m feeling a buzz from the tequila shots the bartender insisted giving Keana who always had a way to make strange men do things she didn’t even ask for. A few bats of her dark brown eyes and they were under her spell.

“Wait, Paige, do that impression again, please!” Liv says loudly over the crowd. I audibly groan. The blonde looks over for permission. Silently I give it to her, despite my distaste.

Paige sits up from her slouching position, licking her lips spread into a smirk and clears her throat. “I just have to take the Julibee line-”

“Jubilee line, my love,” I correct her horrific accent that’s supposed to be me.

“Right, Jubilee line, on the tube, but before I leave I must check 15 times that I didn’t leave the stove on and that I locked the door or-”

The girls around the table giggle. I bite my lip not to show my amusement. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“Aw, but she was just getting to the good part!” Molly frowns. Paige turns to me with a smug smile.

“Yea, I was just getting to the good part,” she repeats. I almost let myself melt into her blue eyes, but instead push her face away to tell her she’s done.

“Sorry y’all,” she sighs. “The boss said no.”

“Booo,” Liv complains. “It’s such a good impression. Spot on.”

I show my middle finger jokingly to her as she sits opposite me and the blonde. 

“God forbid a girl has anxiety,” I scoff, sipping the last of my vodka martini. I glance at the time. Only 20 minutes till midnight. I decide to forget about the text. I’m here with the people I love and my friends adore Paige, laughing at every stupid joke coming out of her mouth. I never even brought Jasper around - something about it made me uncomfortable. Paige just seemed to belong everywhere she went. She just clicked. So I didn’t think of our New Years plans twice when Liv asked us out.

Paige squints, smiling as she stares at me. I can’t help myself when I lean over and kiss her cheek. My friends all share a unanimous look, but I ignore it.

”You need another one beautiful?” Paige asks, pointing at my empty glass. I nod.

The blonde climbs out of the booth, grabbing everyone’s empty glasses from the table to bring to the bar. A spot of red seeps into the sleeve of her olive green flannel. She doesn’t seem to notice, we’re all too tipsy to care about a little stain somewhere.

”Darling, will you make sure they use Man-”

”Manzanilla olives, I know baby,” Paige murmurs absentmindedly and starts pushing through the crowd. A pleasant chill runs down my spine as I watch her broad back disappear behind a corner. My eyes nearly water as my heart pounds, overwhelming with love.

”She’s got Zari gone,” Keke says to the girls on either side of her, opposite me.

”Pardon?” I ask, realising I didn’t hear a word.

”Oh nothing,” Keke sighs mischievously. ”Just saying you’re mad about Paige, aren’t you?”

I feel the blush crawl up my neck. Even if I denied it, the redness on my face could only be explained by one thing. I knew it as well as they did.

”Why do you say that?” I ask, tapping my acrylics against the wood of the table. I had never heard my friends utter those words to me. I was always the one who hated PDA, who hated public pet names and the doting that came with being in love. 

”I’ve never seen you like this,” Liv admits, kicking me under the table playfully. But she doesn’t seem to be teasing - her blue eyes are genuine in the dim light and the smile on her face is real. We’ve known each other since year 3, long enough that her words hold incredible weight. Never seen you like this.

”She looks at you like she wants to eat you up,” Molly jokes. 

”Babe, Zari looks at her like that too, let’s be real,” Keke hides behind her drink, making all of us giggle.

Molly gasps. ”Wait, have you done that to her?!” She tries to whisper. It’s more like a yell.

”Done what?” I giggle.

”You know,” Molly giggles too. ”Gone down on h-”

”Molly!” I shout. My hand knocks into a pint, nearly tipping it over.

Keke rolls her eyes. ”Of course she has. I would too and I’m not even gay. She’s so fit.”

I suck the insides of my cheeks, a pang of jealousy running through me before I realise it’s ridiculous. Liv stares at me.

”So you think you’re gay then?” She asks.

”I don’t know,” I admit, licking my glossed lip. ”I don’t really think about other people. Just her.”

”Maybe you’re straight and just into her. Like an exception,” Molly suggests, but Liv is quick to shut her up.

”No, because what about Nicole?” 

”Oh Lord,” I groan, looking over the crowd to find a sign of the blonde girl. Still gone.

”Who’s Nicole?” Molly asks. Me and Liv share a look.

”She was Izzie’s first,” She says, earning gasps from the two girls in shock. ”Now that I think of it, that’s the only other time I’ve actually seen you happy in a relationship.”

”Didn’t last very long,” I chuckle awkwardly, my mind drifting back to Jasper. God I’m an awful human being. What was I doing? Wasting both of our time.

”Yeah, well while it lasted,” she waves me off. ”Iz, I think you’re gay. Not bi, just gay.”

I didn’t want to think about it now, let alone discuss the topic. I wanted to reject the idea completely and I don’t even know why? It made everything more real - I could never get my family’s love back if it was true. There would be no compromise, I’d have to choose between being happy and being loved by them. With my head spinning, I chew on my bottom lip, not bothering to answer. And thankfully I don’t have to, because Paige appears again holding a frosty martini and a fruity drink. My saviour.

”Bro, the line was crazy,” she sighs, plotting herself beside me. Scooting closer, I melt into her, allowing her side to press into mine. My pounding heart slows down, and I inhale the scent of sandalwood without shame. All I know is I love her. Right now that’s enough. I squeeze her hand three times as a sign, a squeeze for each word - I love you.

-

“Yo, you comin’ tonight, right?” Arike’s familiar voice blasts through the speakers of my phone. In coming here I had abandoned many commitments over Izara, which I would do again in a heartbeat. The problem is, I had also failed to let everyone know where I was.

Her eyes pierce me through the screen as they realise I’m definitely not home or available.

“Bro, you promised,” Arike groans. “Where you at? How you already drunk? Your ass is never gonna last to midnight.”

Iz is sitting right out of view, engaged in a conversation with the girls. Snickering at Arike’s comment, I bring the phone closer to my mouth.

“Bro, I’m not in Dallas,” I tell her with a smirk.

 “You still on the east coast?”

Placing my phone against my glass, I tap Izzie’s soft thigh. “Babe.”

Her gaze turns to me, sparkling and eyes heavy from the alcohol. Every fibre of my being wanted to kiss her senseless. I nod towards the screen.

A smile spreads onto Izzie’s face as she leans close enough to be in view, her cheek pressing into my shoulder.

“Hey Arike,” she chuckles at her wide eyes processing what she’s seeing.

“Yo what?!” She screams, nearly dropping the phone. Izzie lets out a bright laugh that makes my heart flutter.

“Sorry Arike, I stole her from you for New Years,” she says into the phone.

“Nah, forget it,” she grins. “Hollup, you called her babe? You two back together?”

Me and the woman beside me share a glance. I’m about to answer with the obvious yes, but the apprehension on Iz’s face causes a realization to run through me. We hadn’t even talked about it, let alone when she’d be coming back to the US. If at all. I mean of course she would, right?

“Oh sh- my bad,” Arike mumbles, realising neither of us knew how to answer that question. I don’t think I could be more thankful when I realise people around the pub are beginning to countdown to midnight.

“Uhh, sorry we gotta go. Love you bro, I’m flying home in a couple days,” I mumble into the phone. Iz shifts on her seat, taking a deep breath like she always did when something was on her mind.

“15, 14, 13…” The crowd chants, everyone looking for the person they love the most in the room. I’ve got mine right beside me. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, my fingers dip into her hair, massaging the back of her head and certainly messing up her blowout. She doesn’t seem to mind though, her green eyes meeting mine. This girl of mine could break my heart so easily and it would be a million times worse than it was when she left the first time.

We stare into each other as the people around us count down. 10, 9, 8, 7. My free hand travels up her arm to her cheek. Her face looks so small in the palm of my hand, and she leans against my touch, smiling only the tiniest bit. 6, 5, 4. She places her manicured hand over mine, and kisses the rough skin of my palm. 3, 2, 1. I lean towards her, and she meets my lips halfway, tasting like strawberries and vodka and everything I’ve ever loved. I don’t fight the urge to slide my tongue into her mouth. Iz doesn’t resist it. I feel her hum against me, her spit covering my swollen lips. The long nails dig into me as she pulls away. I can feel the way she’s struggling to stop. I almost wince.

“Happy New Year,” she murmurs, words slurring because of the alcohol. I wipe my lips dry. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was on the internet somewhere soon. And I don’t give a damn.

Her eyes sparkle brighter than the sun. Everything made me swoon. Life has no meaning without her. Suddenly nothing else matters. My life before her was dull and gray, the only meaningful thing concluding into an orange ball I bounced across the court every day of my existence. I do adore basketball - but what a depressing life, any existence without her. 

“I’m so in love with you,” I slur out, likely looking as dopey as I felt. For a second I think I said too much, but then a lopsided grin spreads onto her face. She’s pleased.

“I am utterly, completely, entirely in love with you Paige Bueckers,” she says back, the lilt of her voice telling me she means it.

-

The night had developed quickly, even the packed bar seemed too slow for the state we’d ended up in. It wasn’t hard to get into an overbooked club with Paige flashing a smile and my friends adding a few ”Don’t you know who she is?!” for the full effect. It was the Instagram profile that, however, convinced the bouncer to let us in.

For the first time in my life I felt slightly underdressed, my black top carefully placed off my right shoulder a dull sight in the sea of glittering dresses and sparkly jewelry. I almost felt self-conscious, but then the blonde squeezed my hip and whispered in my ear.

“You’re the sexiest girl in the world y’know that ma?”

I realised with her I never felt self-conscious, not to the extent I used to only a year ago. I didn’t mind either the sweaty bodies dancing around me, or Paige attached to my neck by her lips surely leaving marks on my skin. The sticky floors or my drunken state brought no anxiety. I knew no matter what she’d protect me from the world.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this about you of all people, but you two,” Keke’s finger points at me and the blonde. “Need to get a room.”

“You’re just jealous,” I tease, wrapping my arms around Paige’s neck. A warmth spreads through my chest all the way to my fingertips as her hands slide down to my ass. Suddenly remembering all my friends again, I glance around.

“Where is everyone?”

“Liv and Molly went to the karaoke room,” Keke says, nursing a bright yellow cocktail.

I hear Paige gasp in my ear, an excited grin spreading to her face.

“Karaoke?” She smirks, blue eyes batting at me. She didn’t have to say more, I already knew what she wanted. And I already felt very strongly about it.

“No.”

“Bu-”

“Absolutely not.”

Her pink bottom lip turns to a pout. “But… Bro you missed my birthday.”

I scoff. “You missed mine.”

“It’s not like I wanted to,” she scoffs. 

“It’s not like I wanted to leave,” I reply, a little annoyed now. I pull back, crossing my arms over my chest. Paige’s eyes widen.

“Baby, c’mon,” she hums, fingertips grabbing a gentle hold of my elbow. “Please.”

I can’t say no. Not when she’s looking at me like that with her eyes like a clear sky, the downward turn of her mouth. 

”I’m not singing though,” I admit defeat, ignoring the celebrations of Keke and Paige as we head to the other girls.

My finger flies to my ear as some man’s drunken squeal into the mic reaches me. The loud sounds made me tense up. Noticing my flexed jaw, Paige wraps an arm around me.

”Whatchu want me to sing?” She asks, her words slurred into my ear.

”You’re actually going to sing?” I laugh, but the girl is too excited to hear me out.

”Wait here, I’ma go line my song up!”

To my horror it seems to take closer to an hour for Paige’s turn. By the time she finally gets on stage, I’ve half-finished a drink I didn’t want and sat through three off-key ballads. She, however, looks thrilled.

A sly grin is already on her face as she climbs onto the stage, her shirt left somewhat unbuttoned showing the sports bra underneath. I lean into the tall table, clapping with the rest of the people as she fidgets with the mic between her hands. Hooting loudly, my friends jump up and down for her, just as drunk as she is, if not more. Not that Paige needed a drink to get on stage. Even now, she’s easily charismatic and comfortable under everyone’s gaze. I admired her courage more than anything.

”This song is for my girl,” she says, earning a cheer from the crowd. My ears feel hot, and I bury the smile on my face with my hand. 

”Look at her,” she points at me. ”She’s so fine. I’ma marry her one day, trust.”

If my ears burned before it was nothing compared to the way my entire face sparked bright red like a flame. My stomach twists at her public declaration, even more so when people’s eyes turn to me. 

”She’s so in love with you,” Liv murmurs to me, suddenly appearing. I gulp.

”Yeah, she is.”

Suddenly the lyrics for One Time by Justin Bieber appear on the screen, a burst of laughter erupting from us. As dramatic as ever, the blonde is clutching at her chest, singing slightly above the key and serenading me.

”Your world is my world, And my fight is your fight, My breath is your breath, When you're hurt (I'm not right)”

She sings with such passion I can’t help but feel butterflies bursting from my stomach, my cheeks as red as a firetruck. 

”You look so deep, You know that it humbles me, You're by my side and what troubles them don't trouble me, Many have called but the chosen is you, Whatever you want, shawty, I'll give it to you”

”Oh my Gosh,” I mumble under my breath, my cheeks hurting from smiling as she stumbles drunkenly around the stage. She’s so wasted. 

”And I'ma be your one guy, You'll be my number one girl, 

always makin' time for you, I'ma me tell you one time (girl, I love, girl, I love you)” 

She’s somehow managing to sing the background vocals simultaneously, getting me to laugh. I let out a sigh of relief as the song ends, and she bows deeply before walking to me, the worker running after her to fetch the mic she forgot to leave for the next person.

”Sorry,” I mumble to the lady, handing the microphone to her.

”What was that?” Paige asks, nuzzling her nose into my neck. I hope no one here has any idea who Paige Bueckers is.

”Just that I love you,” I quickly say, smiling wide at her. Her blue eyes soften, nearly tearing up. It’s definitely time to go.

”I love you so much mama,” she hums, leaning in for a big wet smooch. 

”Home time?” I whisper hopefully. She nods, her nose dragging against my cheek. I feel liberated over here, the oppressive fear of being found out in Dallas had left me afraid of the smallest touch or gaze. We were free to do what we wanted, even if the world was watching. And maybe for once, I don’t care if it is.

-

”Need water,” Paige stumbles into the hotel room hitting the door, the dresser AND the bedframe on her quest to the bottle on the bedside table. I follow behind, folding my jacket neatly onto a chair.

”Yes you do,” I reiterate. The blonde plops herself down onto the blanket, struggling to unbutton the shirt hanging off her. Wordlessly I walk to her, sitting onto her knee and doing it for her. I don’t need to lift my gaze to know that she’s staring.

Her hand rubs my bare knee, warming the cold skin.

”Are you happy?” The sudden question catches me off guard as I push the sleeves off her broad shoulders. 

”Of course I am,” it comes off a little too defensively, though I don’t know why. It’s just that as the days closed in on us and her return to the States, I seemed to be getting more and more irritable. It wasn’t her fault. It was the stirring in my stomach and the pressure in my throat - anxiety.

”I- I meant,” she slurs. ”Are you happier now that I’m here?” She’s not bothered by the tone of my voice, instead rubbing circles on my leg soothingly.

I bite on my lower lip. What a question to ask. Wasn’t it obvious? Time stood still without her. The last weeks have been the greatest gift of my life.

”Yes,” I simply say, meeting her intruding gaze.

”But I’m leaving tho,” she adds. I hadn’t addressed it since now. Or how I felt about it. I didn’t want to start now. Or I might completely unravel.

”Yes,” I swallow loudly. ”But you’ll come back. When you can.” Or so I hoped.

”Well yeah,” she murmurs, her voice slow and low. ”And we do that for how long?”

I shrug. We both knew the chances of a long-distance relationship. It wouldn’t last endlessly.

”Until we figure it out,” I hum. Or until one of us fell in love with someone else and was finally ready to let each other go. The idea was nauseating.

”I guess I’m just scared that it doesn’t really end for me tho,” she admits, now staring at her lap. ”Like, Dallas and Unrivaled is always gonna be there. Basketball ain’t going nowhere.”

”I know that,” I say sharply.

”So then, what are we waiting for?” She asks, her voice harsher now too. But her hand still stroked my thigh, telling me it was okay. ”Why not just come to Dallas now?”

This is what I feared. Why did it take me leaving my whole life and everything in it to get her? To return to that cruel city with the burning heat that made me nauseous.

”I’d need a visa,” I remind her, taking a deep breath to cool my nerves. ”And I don’t have one last I checked.”

”There are ways around that tho,” she snaps, throwing her head back. She wasn’t in a state to have a constructive conversation and honestly, neither was I. The day of socialisation had drained me.

”Can we talk about this tomorrow?” I huff, standing up from her lap. She’s about to snap back, but hesitates and sighs. A regretful look spreads onto her face.

She reaches for me blindly, like she can’t stand the space between us. ”Fuck, I’m sorry baby,” she says, pulling me back down and placing a kiss onto my lips. She tastes like alcohol and my strawberry lipgloss. ”I think I’m too drunk.”

I forgive her easily. Like I always do. ”I’m sorry too,” I whisper, kissing her cheek. ”I’m really tired.”

”Let’s go to bed,” she answers, pulling her sports bra off. For this once I let her climb into bed without showering, trying to take my mind off the sweat soaking into the sheets.

As I flip off the lights, Paige groans loudly and smacks her own forehead.

”Shit,” she sighs. ”I’m gonna be so hungover tomorrow.”

I chuckle, scooting into my rightful spot on her chest, not minding the sweat or the smell of alcohol.

”Yup.”

-

The slow ripples of the Thames reflect the sun climbing lazily over the buildings. The sound of the water lapping is more apparent this early, when the groups of tourists hadn’t made their way out yet. I now understood why they complained about the short-term visitors - experiencing London through the eyes of a Londoner is what made me fall in love. The moments of stillness, the sound of birds and the whispered conversations and the quiet hum of the tube felt almost sacred.

I recognise the buildings now, looking towards the Shard and the sunbeams reflecting off the glass. A whiff of lavender over the smell of wet stone makes me breathe in the humidity. The fog is only settling, making everything look blurred, softer even. The contrast to the swirling emotions within me felt cruel on our very last morning.

”Shall we sit here?” Iz asks. The trembling in her voice tells me she feels it too. Our shoulders brush as we rest on the rough wooden slats of a bench by the river. I squeeze her hand, patting at my pocket as she sips a black coffee. Silence falls over us like a veil, neither of us brave enough to break it. 

A group of joggers make their way past us, wet thumping of their shoes loud against the stone. I wait till the steps fade, and suddenly they’re gone.

To my surprise, she sniffles first. I’m shocked to see a tear pooling in the corner of her eye when I turn to her. 

”Hey,” I comfort softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

”Don’t,” she whispers. ”It’ll only make me cry more.”

I understood what she meant. I think a hug would be enough to reduce me to tears.

”Just distract me,” she waves me off, wiping the tear and letting it soak into her sleeve.

My mind scrambles to come up with anything. 

”How’s the coffee?” I ask.

She scoffs lightheartedly, lower lip trembling. ”Good.”

”Is that why you’re cryin’? Because the coffee’s so good?”

She laughs, nodding. ”Exactly.”

I don’t know what else to say, tapping my foot nervously. It felt impossible to stay still in this moment. 

We hadn’t spoken since New Year’s about what we’d do. Every time I tried she skillfully distracted me, or perhaps I was just too easily distracted. Either way, both of us felt in the dark. In about 7 hours I’d be on my way home without a plan. I could feel every second ticking away. 

”Aren’t you hungry?” Izzie suddenly asks. I shake my head, causing the girl to eye me suspiciously.

”Never seen you skip breakfast,” she huffs, taking another sip of her coffee. Leaning in, I kiss her cheek to give her something else to think about. And me I guess.

”Where are you gonna go after I leave?” I finally ask, leaning back on the bench. The dampness seeps into my puffer vest. Iz rests her head onto my shoulder.

”I guess home for a bit, if they take me.”

”I can get you a place y’know?” I suggest, letting her scent overwhelm me for as long as I could.

”Absolutely not,” she says sternly. I’m not surprised at all by her answer.

A silence falls upon us, my right hand digs into my pocket, warming my freezing fingers.

”I’m so lucky,” I whisper, heart thumping in my chest so loud I’m afraid she can hear it. I swear if I don’t chill I might pass out. Taking a calming breath, I nuzzle my nose into the side of her face. ”Never got to love anyone like I love you.”

A hint of a smile lifts the corners of her mouth, her green forest eyes turning to me.

”I’m so lucky too,” she hums melodically.

I think back to that first time we shared a cab to our building. That twinkle in her eye.

”Remember when I saved you from giving that speech at that pre-season party?” I grin, my fingertips intertwining with hers.

”I do,” she smiles. ”I also remember when you called me Ivanna.”

”Bro,” I tilt my head back embarrassed. ”I was just too nervous around you.”

”I thought you hated me,” she reminds me.

”I could never hate you.”

She contemplates. ”Not even when I left?” She’s too ashamed to look into my eyes. I take myself back - I felt confused, devastated, heartbroken. But never hate.

I shake my head. ”Never.”

She glances back at me, but returns her gaze to her hands. ”I’m sorry for that. I’m just so bad at goodbyes. Even now, I-” She stops.

I take a deep breath. ”Then let’s not make it a goodbye.”

She frowns a little as her eyes meet mine again. ”Paige-”

”Hold up, lemme speak just a bit.” I demand. She quiets down. I can feel the blood rushing to my face suddenly. Taking a deep breath I start.

”Iz, I love you, okay? I love all your routines and rules and I love when you break them just for me. I love how you challenge me and I think you might be the only person in this world that gets to have their way with me. You’re so stubborn it drives me crazy but I can’t get enough of it. I love when you stop overthinking and just are yourself and I think I’m pretty good at getting you to relax a bit, yeah?”

She stares at me, barely blinking as she takes in every word.

”Oh I’m allowed to speak now?” She teases and I can’t help but groan.

“Bro, I’m being forreal.”

Izzie sighs, rubbing her thumb against my skin leaving it burning. “Yeah you’re pretty good at that.”

“Cool. And I love you when you’re stressed and overthinking too. And I like to think I’m pretty good at helping you with that too, right?”

“Yes.” Her features soften, like they did when she slept.

I nod, catching my breath, butterflies fluttering somewhere deep beneath my abdomen. The smile melts off my face. This was serious. She needed to know.

“Life before you,” I murmur into the morning. “Was nothing. You make me a better person,” my voice trembles as I slide my hand away from hers and dig into my pocket. Her gaze follows and she’s frozen still, the weight of what I’m about to do settling amongst us.

“I don’t want there to be life after you, Iz.”

I pull out the tiny square box, sleek and covered in emerald green leather that matched the color of her eyes. I’m too afraid to look for a reaction, so I opt out for staring at my fingers, holding the case ever so carefully as if it might break. With a shaky breath, I open it, revealing a delicate golden band holding a round cut diamond, classy but large enough to cause a commotion. It catches the morning sun, sparkling on my lap. It’s not just a ring. It’s a promise, an oath, a reminder of everything I feel.

Izara seems to understand the significance, her lips parting as a small gasp escapes them. Her eyes are glued to the diamond, a slight breeze brushing a strand of her hair back. The silence gives way to the ringing of my ears that seems to carry on for far too long. 

”You’re my soulmate Izzie,” I say, barely a whisper, looking for any shift in her expression. A hint of hesitation creeps up my spine. ”I- I know it’s way too early. And it’s not enough or even close to what you deserve. But why would you stay? Let’s just run away from all this. Come with me to Dallas. Please. Marry me.”

Her hard face softens, green eyes filling with tears as she bats her lashes. My heart flutters as they lift up to meet my gaze, and a gentle smile forms on her lips. The certainty that she’d say yes and be mine forever growing every second.

”Oh Paige,” she hums, the lilt of her voice so sweet I nearly feel sick. Her fingers trace the box, the cool leather, the round diamond. ”It’s so beautiful.”

I watch as she touches the band and exhales shakily, and finally closes the box without picking up the ring, the sound making me shutter.

”But it’s not right.”

The wind picks up, the tide moving faster along the river.

My world comes crumbling down and all the hope that I’d been foolish enough to allow to grow is gone, just like that. There was no changing her mind, the situation or us. We would always be a tragedy.

-

From that moment all the way until Heathrow we shared a mutual grasp of our situation. An understanding of sorts. We loved each other, and maybe in another world that’s how we’d always get to exist. But not in this life. There was no reason to fight the inescapable end of us. It wouldn’t change anything. So I’d stopped fighting it a while ago. We got two amazing weeks together, and that was enough. It had to be.

Still, saying no wasn’t easy. For a second I let myself dream of a life spent with her. The thought was always better than the reality with us. Life with Paige was anything but practical and after all that’s what I’d always been. Everything about her and her life went against my very nature. As much as I adored Paige’s eternal optimism and idealism, one of us had to be the realistic one. Fate cast the die and it pointed to me.

The usually busy Heathrow feels surprisingly quiet. Why today? All I wanted was to be distracted by dodging the crowds of people, stealing more seconds in long lines before our final goodbye. The one we didn’t get last time around. But the line to check in is nearly empty. My stomach drops when it comes to view, the grip I have on Paige’s arm tightening.

”Shit,” she whispers, thinking the same as I was. I can’t stand it anymore. The tears that had been building ever since my realisation of our inevitable end begin to roll down my cheeks, and an embarrassingly loud weep leaves my lips.

”Hey, baby, hey,” Paige turns to me. Her expression tells me she’s startled by the emotion pouring out of me. I can’t blame her.

Her arms wrap around my shoulder as I cry into her grey hoodie, certainly leaving a wet spot on it. She cradles me, a soft shush leaving her lips until she sniffles and I feel tears seeping into my dark hair. She’s crying too, shaking against me.

”I love you,” I whisper into her chest, straight to her heart.

”I’m gonna always love you Iz,” she sobs quietly, the word causing an ache in my chest. There would be no always. She’d get over this too, move on one day. And I want her to. I hope she does. With someone who doesn’t burden her with all this baggage.

Finally the blonde moves back, her eyes now burning red and lips swollen. I glance at the clock, cursing the constantly cruel passing of time.

”You should go,” I hum, trying to force a smile.

She smiles sadly back, nodding but never daring to look away from my eyes. ”Iz-”

”Thank you Paige,” I smile, holding back the tears. ”For the most incredible two weeks, no, 10 months of my life.”

A tear rolls down her cheek as she rubs her jaw, listening to me.

”That’s more than some people get in their whole lives,” I remind her.

”Aren’t we lucky, huh?” She replies weakly.

Right now this feels anything but lucky. Her blue eyes leave mine only to gaze at the time.

”I really gotta go Iz,” she says, petting my dark hair one last time. ”If you’re ever in Dallas-”

”I’ll call you,” I answer before she can finish, my heart already breaking.

Paige pulls me into a deep embrace, smelling my hair unashamed. I breathe her in. Sandalwood and her.

”Remember your worth Iz. Cause sometimes you forget,” she says. ”You’re the best person I’ve ever known.”

The words come so easy to her. I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing that can tell her what she means to me, that it’s not because she’s not good enough for me - but because being with her would be selfish of me.

”Okay darling, you better go,” I pull back in tears. She catches my lips against hers and I kiss her, letting her taste be engraved into my brain. The kiss is wet and salty with tears, but neither of us mind, taking our time to feel each other for the final time. At last, I take a step back. Every cell in my screams to do otherwise.

”Okay, I gotta go,” she says, grabbing her suitcase. I watch, holding onto her hand.

”Safe flight,” I add, unsure what to do with myself. Paige laughs at the casual words, her voice ringing in my ears.

”Take care of yourself baby,” she replies, meeting my eyes with hers. ”Don’t watch me go.”

I bite on my lower lip to start it from quivering. ”I won’t.”

Then, with a painful breath in, she steps back and my hand drops from her grip. It burns and aches for her the moment she’s out of reach. All my self discipline is being tested, to not take a step closer.

”Bye Iz.”

”Goodbye Paige,” I hum, and watch as she turns around. It hurts too much. I flip my back to her, wiping the tears from my eyes but they don’t stop. I decide I’d rather watch her go just to see her for a second more - So I do, following her on the line until she disappears past the gates and is gone from my life. She never turns back, so confident I had already left.

-

Two weeks later

I tuck the white sheet tightly into the couch, throwing the decorative blanket carelessly on the floor. I place the duvet and fluff my pillow meticulously - a nightly routine I had perfected in the last week.

”You’re never planning on sleeping in the bed, are you Zari?” A deep voice grumbles from behind me.

With a weak smile I turn, meeting Jasper’s gaze as he leans into the doorframe.

”You promised to be patient, didn’t you?” I remind him, sitting onto the sheet. The couch was surprisingly comfortable. He was lucky I was even considering returning to the bed.

”You’re the one that disappeared on me for three weeks, sweetheart. Need I remind you?”

I shift uncomfortably. I had never told him the truth. I decided none of it mattered anymore. Either I make this work or my life as I know it would be ruined. What he didn’t know didn’t hurt him. And my mother had been speaking to me again.

”I just needed some time Jasper,” I lean back, lying down. He sits by my feet, lifting them onto his lap and massaging. I can’t feel a thing. He stares into me, brows furrowed and a sly smile on his face.

”You used to be so easy to read. But ever since you came back from America I can’t figure you out,” he sighs, shrugging. A hint of satisfaction warms my chest.

”Is that so bad?”

”It is when you disappear from me for three weeks,” he scoffs lightheartedly. A silence settled between us, and his hands climb to massage my calves. A half assed attempt to get me naked into his bed. It would be a long wait for him before I was ready, the mere idea to be touched by anyone but her making me sick.

”But it gave me some time to think of our situation,” he starts.

”Wh-”

”Don’t interrupt me darling, you know how I hate that,” he tells me and I bite my tongue.

”I just figured Zari, that you’re not getting younger. Neither am I. My mates all think it’s time, and I think they’re right. And your mum seems to agree,” he turns to me, clearly looking for the right words. ”I think it’s time I start saving for a ring.”

I sit up, the pressure in my throat making me nauseous and dizzy. Jasper sees my expression, misreading it as excitement.

”I mean, we must get a new ring! That old one is rubbish, just bad energy all around. We’ll get a new one. Plan a new wedding. And start having kids straight away.”

I blink at him, stunned.

”I mean, it’s not like you have a career going for you currently, do you Zari?”

I tremble, sweat gathering on my neck. I stand up suddenly before thinking, the sound of his voice ringing in my ears. I think I’m going to throw up.

”Excuse me,” I say, already half jogging towards the bathroom. Only when I lock the door behind me I can breathe again, knowing he can’t walk in. I think of his words. What a dream to hear them - but not from him. Or anyone else for that matter. I see the visions in my head of everything he talks about. But it’s not him there, it’s Paige. 

The realisation hits me like a punch to the gut. Something I knew deep down rising to the surface. It could never be anyone but her. I dig through my box of tampons, scattering them over the floor where I had hid it. In the one place I know he wouldn’t go looking.

I pull out the forest green ring box, flipping it open with trembling hands. When Paige had left it in my suitcase, it had felt like a cruel reminder. Now, I knew it was an anchor. Tying me to her. Grounding me, reminding me of the promise.

”Remember your worth Iz. Cause sometimes you forget.”

The words ring in my ears, the memory of her voice a painful gnawing. I see it all. The house, the kids, a family, me by the kitchen island barefoot and pregnant. It should be exhilarating, but all I feel is wrong. Because in every version of that dream it’s never been him. It’s Paige. And I’ve been lying to everyone - to myself, to him, to her.

I see her in the morning light. Her golden hair and brilliant blue eyes, her tan skin in the Dallas sun with the car window down, singing along to some R&B song. Her hand on my thigh, the only thing that ever felt like home. It was always something I thought I didn’t deserve. Maybe it’s time I learn to be selfish.

Carefully, I sit on the bathroom floor and pick up the ring with the golden band. It’s beautiful, looking at it up close. I didn’t dare to really look before. I don’t overthink it when I slide it into my ring finger. It fits like a glove, and the weight of the diamond feels right. Even if I don’t deserve this, or deserve her, I’m willing to work the rest of my life to prove to myself that I’m good enough for her. One thing I know is for certain - I can’t stay here a moment longer.

Without bothering to pick up the tampons scattered up the floor, I unlock the door. Jasper is right behind it, making me jump.

“Are you alright?” He asks me, voice concerned. I merely nod.

“Yeah, I just- I must go,” I mutter, grabbing the suitcase I had left unpacked since coming here.

“Wh- What?” Jasper asks in shock, watching me. “It’s 10 PM. You’re in your pyjamas.”

I glance down at my appearance, realising I’m wearing my pale pink set. 

“I’ll change at the airport,” I reply, the ring sparkling on my finger as I go to unlock the door.

“Airport? Have you gone ma-” He goes quiet the moment he sees it, brows furrowing deeper. “What is that Izara?”

“Jasper,” I sigh, too antsy to explain. I only wanted her. “I don’t love you.”

His grey eyes flicker to me, unbelieving, unsure how to react. He might blow up, but I don’t care anymore.

“I love Paige,” I admit. The words sound more sure than I ever have in my life. “I’ll always love Paige, Jas. It’ll never be you.”

He snickers, until he realises I’m being honest. His face darkens.

“So you’re a lesbian now?” 

I scoff. “Does it matter? I don’t love you Jasper.”

“I think you’re confused,” he says, shaking his head. Irritation grows within me, as I open the door. He leans to close it, but I block him with my suitcase. Finally standing up for myself.

“I’ve never been less confused in my life,” I say assertively. “I never want to see your face again.”

With that, before giving him the chance to blow up, I drag my suitcase into my car, not caring about the state of my hair or my bare face or the pajamas on my body. I only had one goal - to go home.

-

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[rodolfoparras]

Clark Kent completely naked splayed out on your sheets dopey eyed cheek flushed because you keep insisting that he drinks, whether it be water from the pitcher on the night table, a glass of wine he’d left neglected at the kitchen counter, a cherry red juice he keeps in his fridge just because you’d once commented that it’s as red as his lips and now you’re just making out hands wandering his naked body soft moans spilling past his lips, pretty cock laying flush against his belly, pre already puddling on the skin, but that isn’t your goal at least not for now as you spread his thighs, hand wandering down to his cheeks, fingers a tad too dry as you circle the furled ring of muscles. He gasps , the sound all too loud for the hushed whimpers and whines that have been filling up the room since you got him naked, hips bucking up into your touch, but it’s gone all too fast as your hand wander further down his body, fingers now pressing against his perineum, massaging it in slow steady circles “what are you doing?” He says body tensing up, voice still a bit hoarse, tries to blink back the daze from his blue eyes “Just relax for me yeah?” It only takes a beat before he nods, lays back down onto the sheets, and looks at you with a steady gaze like he’d let you do whatever the hell you want to him. You keep going like that for a moment longer, fingers lazily circling the area, watching closely as he fully melt into the mattress, thighs spreading wider, chest falling and rising slowly. Eventually you put a warm palm on his stomach just a step above his pubic bone. He shivers at the sudden touch, harsh breath slipping past his puffy mouth. He thinks maybe now you’ll touch him begs and pleads already lining up on his lips but then you decide to put pressure on it, not enough for it hurt but enough to be felt, enough for him to look at you like he suddenly knew what the water and the wine and the juice meant “do you trust me Clark?” It’s a stupid question really because he’s bare bone naked beneath you while you’re completely dressed, you’re touching him without touching him, have been doing so for a while all while he laid there rock hard, and he hasn’t stopped you yet and now- “of course,” that’s really all it takes for the pressure to increase, the firm motion creating a tight coil in his stomach suddenly”hah” he cries it, eyes squeezing shut, head tipping up to the bed frame. It’s strange because he’s taken harsher punches to his gut but in this moment it feels like he can feel your five fingers sinking into his skin, can feel your touch twisting and turning the insides of his body however you pleas “is it still okay?” You say eyes flicking between his face and his shaky thighs, and the way his cock painfully throbs against his stomach . “Feels- hah feels strange?“ he voices it like a question like he’s not ready to admit it yet meanwhile he subconsciously tries to clam his thighs shut like his body already knows what’s coming. You don’t allow him to do that, knee jammed between the strong muscles, leaving him open, vulnerable for you “I said is it still okay Clark” you don’t need his response not really when you can see the little involuntary dribble can see the way his ears turn red the way he’s fisting the sheets, he’s been pent up for so long his body is already ready for release - any kind of release “Yes yes just- fuck think m going to piss myself ,” he manages to get out, fate practically sealed under your firm touch“then do it “

and that’s how you got the Clark Kent to piss himself

[xreader1989]

Science of Attraction (part three): Johnny Storm

Johnny Storm x fem!scientist!reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary: You wanted to hate Johnny Storm. He distracted you and was constantly under your skin. But was it really that, or can you just not face your feelings?

Warnings: implications of sex

Author’s Note: one more part after this! thank you all so much for the love!

Part 1 Part 2

07:52 A.M.

You hadn’t slept in about 22 hours. You hadn’t even changed clothes. The launch prep bay was freezing, but your palms were sweating.

The suits were completed about 12 hours prior, now it was just making sure this ship could get these crazy four genetically modified astronauts to space and back successfully.

Somewhere between double-checking the radiation shield and Reed’s launch calculations, the reality had sunk in.

They were going to space.

He was going to space.

And not just their typical research trip, not that those go smoothly either, they were going to face a planet evaporating alien and his sexy silver side kick.

You stood near the railing of the upper platform overlooking the shuttle, surrounded by engineers and techs reviewing data and fuel levels. The chatter around you was low and focused, everyone moving like the weight of the planet sat on their shoulders.

Because it did.

Reed was below, talking Sue through their final plan. She gave him a sharp nod and patted her stomach like she was reminding herself why she was doing this. Ben sat silently near the ramp, helmet under one arm, the other hand curled into a stone fist resting on his thigh.

And then—Johnny walked in.

Helmet in one hand, fire in his eyes, that easy, insufferable swagger in his step like he wasn’t about to hurl himself into the stars with a low chance of coming back.

You didn’t want to react. Didn’t want to look at him and feel your chest tighten.

But your heart never listened to your brain when Johnny Storm was around.

He walked straight over, eyes scanning your face.

“You look like hell,” he said, leaning his elbow on the railing beside you.

You kept your eyes on the shuttle. “Good morning to you too princess, and you’re welcome. I only worked all night to keep your ass from vaporizing.”

He smiled at that.

God, it would be easier if he didn’t look at you like that and if you didn’t care so much.

“Aw, I didn’t ask for that,” he said. “But I do appreciate it. Really.”

You glanced at him then—just enough to meet his eyes.

And there it was again. That flicker of something behind the grin. Something you both refused to say.

You turned back to your tablet.

“Don’t worry. I triple-checked the suits myself. Even yours. You know. Just in case you forgot to turn on the heat setting again like last time.”

He laughed. “Okay, that was one time. And it was funny.”

“You nearly cooked yourself like a rotisserie chicken, Johnny. Not to mention the suit literally disintegrated and you came back naked.”

He leaned closer. “But a hot rotisserie chicken, right? And it was a good view, nonetheless.”

You didn't smile. Not this time.

The teasing faded from his face when he realized you weren’t playing along.

You shifted, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Are you really not going to say anything?”

His brow furrowed. “About what?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “About this. About us. About the fact that you might not come back and we’ve spent the last few months pretending like this is nothing.” Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the emotions, or the really good sex you had with him about 32 hours prior, but you felt bold. You didn’t have the energy to keep pretending this “casual” thing was just that right now.

He froze for half a second—just long enough to give himself away.

“I—I’m not good at this,” he finally said. “You know that. And I don’t want to say something I can’t take back if... if something goes wrong up there.”

“So you’re afraid of being honest in case you die?” you snapped, more bitter than you intended. “You’d rather leave it unresolved?”

He looked down, rubbing his neck like he wanted to disappear.

“It’s not like that,” he said quietly. “I just don’t want to make a mess of this. Or make you wait for something that might not happen.”

“You already messed me up, Johnny,” you said, barely louder than a whisper. “I guess it was just all in my head then, you said casual, no feelings. I should’ve believed you.”

His jaw tensed.

And then, in the worst possible moment, Reed’s voice came through over the comms.

“Final boarding call. All crew to shuttle bay. Launch window closes in ten.”

Johnny shifted on his feet. He looked at you then, and for a second, it seemed like he might finally say it. Like the words were sitting right on the tip of his tongue.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he gave you a crooked half-smile and leaned in just enough to press a kiss to your temple. Familiar. Heartbreaking.

You closed your eyes, swallowing the tears you felt building.

But when you opened them, he was already walking away. Sue came over and hugged you, “We’ll see you soon, Doc. Two weeks. Tops.” You hugged her back and smiled, unable to find the words. You pressed a hand on her belly and gave her a small smile. Ben gave you a sheepish wave, “Talk to you once we’re in the sky! I’ll get us all home.” He winked and turned towards the shuttle with Sue. Reed stepped up to you and looked you in the eyes, “I know you’re against this, but you know I can’t do any of this without you. We’ll be back soon, in time for the next family dinner.” He squeezed your bicep and turned to join his wife and best friend. Johnny was already on the shuttle, buckled in, looking up. Ugh.

The launch countdown was a blur.

You stood at the command console beside the lead tech as the rest of the tower team buzzed around you. Reed’s voice crackled over the comms. Ben confirmed all systems go. Sue was steady as ever. And Johnny looked straight ahead avoiding everyone and everything.

“Radiation shield stable. Trajectory aligned,” one of the techs reported.

“Final systems lock. Ready for launch.”

You pressed your headset against your ear and spoke. “Team, you are clear for launch on my mark. Good luck.”

There was a long pause.

Then Johnny’s voice came through, low and clear. “See ya soon, Doc.”

Not I’ll miss you.

Not Thank you.

Not I love you.

Just a goodbye laced with everything he didn’t say. “Launching in 30 seconds”. You looked at the control board, laser focused trying to not think about how embarrassed you felt for basically begging him to confess his love for you. You swallowed hard. Why did it have to be him? The one to finally capture your heart. There were other men, even a few women, but no one ever lit a fire in you like he did (pun intended). I mean what the hell were you thinking putting yourself out there like that.

Ten.
Your heart was thudding in your ears.

Nine.
They were leaving. And he hadn’t said a damn thing.

Eight.
Maybe it was your fault too. You could’ve pushed harder. Told him again, even said the words yourself.

Seven.
But you were tired.

Six.
I mean, what the hell were you thinking?

Five.
You blinked back the sting in your eyes.

Four.
Don’t cry here. Not in front of everyone.

Three.

“Please come back,” you whispered under your breath. No one heard it but you.

Two.

Your hands clenched around the edge of the console.

One.

Ignition.

The shuttle roared to life and disappeared into the sky, swallowed by clouds.

You stood there long after the sound faded, until an engineer gently touched your shoulder and said, “They’re gone, launch successful.”

Gone.

And he didn’t say it. You didn’t even say it.

You returned to your office in a haze, sat in your chair, and stared at the blinking cursor on your monitor. Watching their position float higher and higher into the atmosphere.

You pulled out your journal—a worn little thing you never let anyone see—and wrote the words you needed to say.

"I love you. You coward. I hope you come back so I can say it again, louder. Or maybe punch you. Or both." You wrote the date on the top and closed the notebook.

Johnny’s POV:

Another successful launch, thanks to you. He adjusted his helmet and flipped up the visor now that they were floating in space. He sighed deeply. Sue was watching him from the corner of her eye, almost sensing what happened just moments before they left the planet to save humanity.

The stars were too quiet.

Johnny Storm sat back in his seat, the hum of the shuttle fading into the background as the launch’s adrenaline drained from his system. The Earth had slipped behind them, replaced by endless black—and a growing knot in his stomach that no amount of his typical cockiness could shake loose.

“Doc seemed upset” Sue said breaking the silence, Ben nodded in agreement. “Probably stressed and tired.” Johnny stated knowing it was his fault you were upset, but wanting them to drop the subject. Sue hummed knowingly but let it be.

Across from him, Ben was adjusting his harness, grumbling about the tight suit. Reed was already plugged into the ship’s diagnostic systems, muttering numbers and recalculating their course, not focused on any of them. Sue glanced away from Johnny and out the window, her hand resting on her stomach like it might tether her to home.

But Johnny’s eyes were now closed.

And his mind was nowhere near the stars.

You.
That was all he could think about. Your face. The way your voice cracked when you asked if he was really not going to say anything. The way you tried to keep your expression neutral but your eyes betrayed you—like they always did when you were trying not to feel too much, your beautiful eyes.

He should’ve told you.

He should’ve said more than “See ya soon, Doc.” That wasn’t a goodbye. That wasn’t even the truth.

He loved you.

It hit him right there—thousands of miles above Earth. Above everything he knew. Everything except you.

He loved the way you never let him get away with anything. The way you held your own around Reed, never once intimidated by the fact that he could bend the laws of physics to his will. The way you always smelled of lavender. And the way you looked at Johnny like he wasn’t just fire.

He hadn’t felt human in a long time.

With you, he did.

And now you were down there, probably back in your lab, drinking cold coffee and overanalyzing every inch of the launch telemetry like it was a puzzle you could solve—because that’s how you kept yourself from spiraling.

He wondered if you were mad at him.
He hoped you were.

Because that would mean you cared as much as he did.

He sighed, finally opening his eyes and catching his reflection in the shuttle window. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t see the charming, confident Human Torch. He saw a guy running from things he didn’t know how to face. A guy who could laugh off any danger—except the danger of letting someone in.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, letting his thoughts settle into the silence of the cabin.

Why didn’t I say it?
Why couldn’t I just tell her the truth?

He’d told himself it was to protect you. That if he didn’t make it back, it would be easier if he kept things casual, like you both agreed upon when you started this whole thing. He didn’t want to leave you grieving someone who'd made promises he couldn’t keep.

But that was a lie. A selfish, cowardly lie. When this all started months ago, he didn’t want to be too close to you emotionally, it’s like under all of it he knew that you would have him wrapped around your finger if he let you in. So he kept it casual, sex only. Until the sex turned into sleepovers, which turned into staying up all night talking, which turned into breakfast in bed. It all snowballed so fast he doesn’t even remember before you were there.

The truth? He was terrified.

Because loving someone and living his lifestyle meant it wasn’t just about him anymore, it was about you. And he’d already lost too much.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry…”

Ben looked over. “You say something, flame brain?” Catching Sue’s attention, she looked over trying to read Johnny’s face, but she didn’t recognize what he was going through.

Johnny blinked. “Huh? No. Just… talking to myself.”

Ben gave him a look, then shrugged and went back to his systems check.

Johnny leaned back again, staring at the ceiling of the shuttle like it might suddenly offer him the answers.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated in his head.
“For not saying it. For not being brave. For not giving you what you deserve.”

And still—despite everything—he hoped you’d wait for him.

Because the moment this mission was over, if he survived it…

He was going to come back.
And this time—he was going to say it. The scientist in Reed’s lab is the one to capture the human torch’s heart.

tags: @walleloveseve

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 15

Summary: Maddie’s first sleepover brings more anxiety than Y/N expected, but Spencer is there to help her navigate the ache of letting go. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: empty nest syndrome / separation anxiety, sexual content, heated makeout, word count: 10.4k

Series Masterlist

“I brought tangerines, popcorn, some juiceboxes, gummy bears, and a giraffe.”

The second I say it, I realize how ridiculous it sounds. But it’s too late—I’m already standing in the entryway holding the bag like it’s a peace offering, or maybe a bribe. Y/N looks up from where she’s kneeling at the coffee table, trying to zip Maddie’s overnight bag shut. Her eyes flick to me, then to the giraffe sticking out of the tote like it has a purpose.

“A giraffe?” she repeats, flatly.

“It looked… friendly.” I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how warm my ears feel. “And statistically, transitional objects can help kids feel more secure when they’re sleeping away from home for the first time.”

Before she can respond, Maddie appears out of nowhere—tiny feet pattering across the hardwood—and makes a delighted noise at the sight of the stuffed animal. I barely have time to hold it out before she grabs it, hugs it to her chest, and declares, “I’m naming her Orange.”

“Because of the tangerines?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“No. Because she’s orange.”

Right. Of course.

Y/N smiles under her breath and shakes her head like she’s trying not to laugh, but I see it—the way her fingers won’t stop fiddling with the zipper, the way her eyes flick to the bag every ten seconds like she’s forgotten something. Again. Like one missing item—one sock, one nightlight, one stuffed animal—might make the whole thing unravel.

The tension in her shoulders doesn’t ease. Not even a little. It just sits there, knotted and heavy, like she’s bracing for impact. Like letting Maddie go for one night might reveal some invisible flaw in her parenting. And I know that’s not rational. She probably knows it’s not rational. But that doesn’t stop it from sinking its teeth in.

She looks… stressed out of her mind. And if that wasn’t enough, she also looks like she’s about three seconds away from crying.

And I hate it.

I hate seeing her like this—this frayed, fragile version of the woman who commands bedtime routines like military operations and talks to her daughter with such gentleness it physically aches to witness. I hate that I can’t fix it. That all I brought were snacks and a giraffe and a bunch of soft words I don’t know how to say out loud.

What I want—what I really want—is to cross the room and pull her into my arms. Wrap her up and tell her it’s okay. That Maddie will be okay. That she will be okay. That I’ll stay as long as she wants. That I’ll stay longer, even if she doesn’t say it. I want to be the thing she leans on.

So I move.

I step across the room slowly, carefully—like approaching a wounded animal, like one wrong move might scare her off. My heart’s thudding in that awkward, top-of-your-throat way it does before I say something real. But I don’t let myself think about it too much.

I stop in front of her and reach for her hands—tentative at first, like I’m still asking permission even after I’m already holding them. Her fingers are cold. Or maybe mine are too warm. Either way, I bring both of her hands into mine and press my thumbs gently into her palms, rubbing slow, steady circles there. Like touch might anchor her. Like I’m trying to ground us both.

She doesn’t pull away.

“You know…” I say quietly, watching the movement of my thumbs against her skin instead of her eyes, “it’s just tonight. She’s gonna be okay.”

I glance up then, just briefly. Her eyes are glassy but not falling. Not yet.

“And if she’s not,” I add, softer still, “they’ll call. You’ll go pick her up. And she’ll come home and sleep curled up between us, and everything will be okay again.”

I shouldn’t have said us.

But I did.

And I don’t take it back.

Not because I’m brave. Not because I want to risk making it weird. Just… because for once, I don’t want to lie about the thing I want most.

“Us?” she says, barely above a whisper. Her voice is soft, but not confused. Curious. Like she heard it, felt it, and just needs me to say it again—like confirmation might make it real.

“I mean—” I start, immediately fumbling, my thumbs freezing mid-circle. “You. Next to you. I meant if she—if Maddie needed someone. I’d be on the couch, probably, or the floor, or—”

She squeezes my hands.

“I would love it if you stayed.”

There’s a pause. A small one.

But inside me, it splits the earth wide open.

I look at her. Really look this time.

She’s still scared. Still wound tight. Still clutching a thread of anxiety she can’t quite let go of. But there’s something else beneath it now—something softer. Like relief. Like she didn’t realize she was waiting for me to say it until I did. Like the idea of us wasn’t too much after all.

And maybe I’m not imagining it.

Maybe she’s just as scared of this as I am—of wanting something we can’t guarantee, something breakable and delicate and real. But for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t pull back from the wanting.

I lean in—just enough to brush my lips against her cheek. Barely there. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything in return. That just says, I’m here.

“I’ll stay,” I whisper, so close I feel her breath catch, “as long as you want me to.”

She doesn’t speak. Just nods, once, and squeezes my hands like she’s anchoring herself to the promise.

And I let her.

God, I let her.

I want to stay in this moment a little longer, want to hold her hands and watch the tension melt from her face completely. I want to say more, or maybe nothing at all. Just be here, where she’s letting me in.

“Are you two kissing?”

The voice cuts through the quiet like a cymbal crash.

I jump. Actually jump. Y/N lets out a startled breath that’s half laugh, half sigh.

Maddie’s standing at the hallway corner, one sock on, the other trailing behind her like it got tired halfway. Giraffe tucked under her arm. Wide-eyed. Suspicious.

“No,” I say quickly, too quickly.

Y/N arches an eyebrow. “That sounded convincing.”

“I—no, I mean—we weren’t—technically—”

“Mommy and Spencer were kissing! Mommy and Spencer were kissing!”

Maddie sings it like a playground chant, spinning in a little circle, one sock still barely clinging to her foot, the stuffed giraffe clutched tight under her arm like a witness to the crime.

I’m pretty sure I’ve died. Not metaphorically. I think my soul actually left my body and is now hovering above the room watching me suffer.

Y/N just covers her mouth with one hand, trying not to laugh—failing not to laugh. Her shoulders shake with it.

I rub the back of my neck, already beet-red and spiraling. “It was a cheek kiss. Just a cheek kiss.”

Maddie gasps. “A cheek kiss is how it starts!”

And that’s it. That’s the end of me. I’m done for. Melt me into the hardwood and donate my remaining bones to science.

Y/N’s full-on laughing now—eyes crinkled, cheeks flushed, everything about her warm and bright and real. And even through my mortification, I feel it bloom in my chest too.

This is what I want. This chaos. This closeness. This.

“So are you two married now?” Maddie asks, deadpan.

Y/N chokes on a laugh. I forget how to breathe.

“What?” I manage, voice cracking like I’m twelve again.

Maddie shrugs and plops onto the couch, giraffe in her lap like a wedding guest waiting for cake. “You kissed. That means you love each other. If you love each other, you get married. That’s the rule.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.

Nothing coherent comes out.

Y/N is trying—trying—to get control of herself, but her smile betrays her. She sits beside Maddie and brushes a hand through her curls. “Baby, kissing doesn’t always mean you get married.”

Maddie looks scandalized. “Then what’s the point?”

I blink.

That… is actually a good question.

Y/N turns to me, amusement still dancing behind her eyes. “Well, Spencer? What is the point?”

I’ve read 432 books on human bonding. I’ve studied attachment theory. I can recite courtship customs across twenty-three cultures.

And I have no idea how to answer that when she’s looking at me like that.

So I do the only thing I can.

I look at Maddie and say, “The point of kissing is to— to…”

My brain short-circuits.

“Some species of penguins mate for life and give each other pebbles. I didn’t bring a pebble. I brought a giraffe. Which… has absolutely nothing to do with kissing…”

Y/N’s eyebrows lift slightly, and Maddie’s staring at me like I’ve just recited the Periodic Table instead of answering a very simple question.

I keep going. I can’t stop.

“Did you know, kissing triggers the release of oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin, which are all associated with bonding and affection—so kissing is to feel happy. Or—no, not just happy. Regulated. Biochemically secure. That’s why it’s called a ‘social grooming behavior’ in evolutionary psychology. Like—like chimpanzees picking bugs off each other.”

Y/N makes a strangled noise that might be a laugh. Maddie looks mildly horrified.

“Not that I think kissing you is like bug-picking. I mean—not you—I didn’t mean that you have bugs—"

“I think,” Y/N interrupts gently, voice laced with amused mercy, “what Spencer’s trying to say is that kissing can mean a lot of things.”

I nod, grateful. “Yes. Exactly. A wide array of things.”

Maddie wrinkles her nose. “You guys are weird.”

Y/N just grins and tosses a pair of socks into Maddie’s overnight bag like this is the most normal interaction she’s had all day.

“Go put on your shoes, princess,” she says, not missing a beat.

Maddie groans dramatically but obeys, dragging herself off the couch like we’ve asked her to scale Everest barefoot. The giraffe dangles from one hand, bouncing against her leg with each step as she disappears down the hallway.

And then it’s quiet again.

Just me and her.

Y/N zips the bag shut and sets it upright, then leans her weight onto it with a sigh that sounds like it carries weeks of love and exhaustion all at once.

“So…” she says, turning to face me. There’s a shift in her voice, playful, lilting. Dangerous.

Her hands rise, slow and unhurried, and settle lightly on the front of my sweater vest.

Right over my chest.

I think my brain blue-screens.

She looks up at me through her lashes. “We’re like penguins?”

My mouth opens.

Nothing comes out.

She’s still looking at me—still touching me—and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to combust on the spot.

“I—uh,” I manage, clearing my throat. “Technically Gentoo penguins offer pebbles to establish long-term mating bonds. Kind of like a marriage symbol. At least the equivalent of it for them, which would just be mating for life, not actual marriage, because penguins don’t—”

I stop myself.

Breathe. Reset. Try again without sounding like I’m defending a dissertation on courtship behaviors.

“I don’t know if we’re penguins,” I murmur, sheepish, eyes flicking down to where her fingers still rest on my chest.

There’s a pause. She tilts her head, teasing, but there’s something honest beneath it.

“Because you don’t want to marry me?”

My eyes snap up. “No—no. I mean—I do want to—”

Her eyebrows raise slightly. My soul exits my body.

“I mean, not like right now,” I rush to explain. “Not because I don’t want to. Just—just because it’s too soon for that. But I do know that I really like you. I think about you constantly, and that this—” I gesture vaguely between us, “—is the only thing that makes sense lately. And I’m in this. All the way.”

I swallow, trying not to overcorrect.

“So… maybe someday,” I finish softly, “we can be like penguins.”

She doesn’t laugh.

She just smiles—slow and sure and so warm I feel it in my ribcage.

Then she leans in and presses her lips against mine.

And I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

Not just the kiss—the way she chooses to kiss me. Every time it happens, it feels impossible. Like she’s crossed some invisible line I still can’t believe I’m allowed to stand behind.

She kisses me like it’s normal. Like it’s something we do now. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world for her, and somehow I’m the one she wants.

So I kiss her back, because how could I not?

Her fingers curl a little in the fabric of my vest, and I swear my heart skips so violently it might be clinically concerning. I’m still getting used to this—to her—and part of me hopes I never stop.

Because the truth is… it doesn’t matter how many times it happens.

I’ll always be a little bit stunned that she picked me.

“You are getting married!” Maddie gasps from the hallway.

I immediately pull away like I’ve been electrocuted. My face goes beet red. Possibly purple.

Y/N lets out a startled laugh against my shoulder, her hand still lightly fisted in the front of my vest.

Maddie is standing in the doorway in one shoe, eyes wide with revelation, like she’s just witnessed a sacred rite.

“That was a mouth kiss,” she says, scandalized.

“I—it wasn’t—it’s not—” I stammer, tripping over every consonant. “That doesn’t mean marriage. mouth—romantic—kissing has no correlation to—”

Y/N doubles over laughing.

Maddie folds her arms. “Can I be the flower girl?”

I think my soul leaves my body again.

“Okay,” Y/N says through a grin, reaching for Maddie’s other shoe. “Come here, tiny wedding planner. Let’s just get you to the sleepover first.”

Maddie marches over with her arms crossed like a very tiny, very dramatic wedding coordinator. Y/N crouches to help her with the second shoe, still chuckling under her breath, and I just… stand there.

Still warm from the kiss.

Still short-circuiting from the fact that she kissed me.

Still trying not to think about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.

A minute later, the overnight bag is zipped and slung over my shoulder, Maddie is chattering about how many gummy bears she plans to eat before bedtime, and we’re loading into the car.

Y/N slides into the passenger seat beside me, close enough that her arm brushes mine. I try not to look at her mouth. I fail. She’s smiling faintly, like she knows.

The drive is short, maybe fifteen minutes, but it stretches in my mind like something cinematic.

Maddie fills most of the space with talk about her friend Amanda, what pajamas she packed, and whether or not giraffes are allowed to sleep on the floor or need their own bed.

Eventually, when her endless chatter started to slow, Y/N reached into her tote and handed her the battered portable DVD player she keeps strictly for car rides—no iPads, no tablets, just scratched discs and a firm belief that screen time should feel a little more 2004—and honestly, I find that kind of stubborn, analog parenting weirdly endearing.

I let the sound of the cartoon fill the car while I sneak glances at Y/N.

Her profile is lit up by the soft glow of the streetlights. She’s quiet now—watching Maddie in the rearview mirror, fingers tapping softly against her knee like she’s counting heartbeats.

I want to reach over.

Tangle my fingers in hers.

Say something stupid like you taste like cherry chapstick and I think I’m ruined for anyone else now.

Instead I say quietly, “She’s excited.”

“She is.” Y/N glances at me, smile curling in the corner of her mouth. “She’s gonna have a lot of fun.”

“Y/N…” I start, careful, soft. “It’s gonna be okay, you know?”

She lets out a breath. Not a dramatic one. Just enough to let me know she’s been holding it in.

“I know,” she says after a beat. “I trust Beth to take care of her, it’s just… I don’t know how to explain it…”

I glance over at her, only for a second, but it’s enough.

She’s staring out the window now. Not crying. Not unraveling. Just quiet in that way she gets when something big is sitting in her chest and she hasn’t named it yet.

“You don’t have to explain,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “It’s not logical. It’s not supposed to be. It’s… you’ve been her whole world for four years. And tonight is the first time that world shifts, even a little.”

She blinks fast, still looking out the window. “Exactly. It feels stupid. But it feels… like I’m missing something already. Like I forgot to double-knot her shoelaces or remind her that monsters aren’t real.”

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, wishing I could do more than just drive.

“She’s just…” she starts, voice barely above a whisper. “She’s growing up, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

She turns in her seat, glancing back at Maddie in the rearview mirror.

Maddie’s tucked into her booster, legs swinging slightly, her eyes glued to the tiny portable DVD player balanced carefully on the armrest. The animation flickers across the screen—an old cartoon with grainy audio and over-exaggerated voices. Y/N said it was Maddie’s comfort show. Something they’ve watched together since she was still wobbling in footie pajamas.

Y/N watches her for a long time.

Her expression is hard to read. Soft, but aching. That kind of ache that only happens when you love something so much it starts to scare you.

“She still looks little,” she murmurs. “But she’s saying things now. Big things. Talking about space and monsters and what she wants to be when she grows up. And I’m just… I’m still learning how to let go of her pacifier.”

I don’t interrupt. I just listen. Let her say it.

“She’s going to grow up, and I’m going to be the one waving from the driveway,” she adds quietly. “That’s how this goes, right? You give them everything and pray you don’t mess them up too much.”

My throat tightens.

“She’s not leaving forever,” I say gently. “She’s just sleeping over at Beth’s.”

“I know,” she says, smiling faintly. “But this feels like the start of something. Of her needing me less.”

She turns back toward the windshield, blinking like the light’s suddenly too bright.

“She’s always gonna need you,” I tell her. “She might not always show it the same way. But you’re… you’re the center of her universe, Y/N. You built the gravity she orbits around.”

I catch her glance out of the corner of my eye. And I don’t know if she’s going to cry, or kiss me again, or just say nothing at all.

But she nods.

And in that moment, I feel it—that invisible string between us tugging just a little tighter.

We pull up in front of Amanda’s house just as the sky starts to shift—a soft, dusky kind of blue settling over the neighborhood like a blanket. The porch light’s already on. Warm, yellow, inviting. There's a paper cutout of a ladybug taped to the front window. I assume Maddie's friend made it.

Y/N turns around in her seat and reaches back, brushing her fingers through Maddie’s curls to gently get her attention. “We’re here, baby.”

Maddie blinks up from her movie, eyes glassy with that half-aware look all kids get when they’ve been watching the same cartoon loop for too long.

She sits up slowly, clutching Orange the giraffe to her chest. “Already?”

Y/N smiles. “You’re gonna have so much fun.”

Maddie doesn’t reply right away. She just hugs the giraffe a little tighter.

Y/N gets out first, slinging the overnight bag over her shoulder, and I follow, watching Maddie carefully as she slides out of the car. She’s quiet now. Too quiet.

She doesn’t run to the door.

She doesn’t say anything at all.

She just stands between us, looking up at the porch like it’s further away than it is. Like something about this is suddenly too big.

Y/N notices it too. She crouches down, her voice low and warm. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Maddie shrugs, eyes still locked on the front steps.

I kneel down beside them, not touching her, just close enough to offer something steady if she wants it.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Y/N says softly. “It’s okay to feel nervous.”

Maddie chews on her lip for a second. Then whispers, “What if I miss you?”

Y/N's breath catches.

I feel it like a punch behind my ribs.

She tucks a piece of hair behind Maddie’s ear and kisses her forehead. “Then you call me. And if it’s too much, I’ll come get you. No questions asked.”

Maddie looks between the two of us. Her eyes land on me.

“You’ll come too?”

My throat tightens. I nod. “Of course. We’ll both come.”

She thinks about it for another long moment, then finally takes a step forward. Small, but certain.

And just like that, the door opens. Amanda’s mom greets us with a warm smile and a wave, and Maddie heads inside—still clutching the giraffe, still glancing back every few steps like she’s not quite ready to let go.

She turns just before the door closes and calls out, “Love you, Mommy!”

Y/N waves, her voice catching a little. “I love you too, baby!”

The door clicks shut.

And suddenly, the quiet is heavier than I expected.

Y/N’s eyes are a little teary when I turn to look at her. Not crying—not yet—but close. She’s standing just a few feet away from me, arms crossed like she’s trying to hold herself together, eyes still fixed on the front door like maybe it’ll open again. Like maybe Maddie will come running back out and say she forgot something.

She looks like she’s on the verge of breaking down.

And I can’t handle that.

Not because it’s uncomfortable, not because I don’t know what to do—but because I’d give anything to take that pain from her. Every last tremor of it.

“Hey,” I say gently, stepping closer.

Once I’m close enough, I don’t even try to fill the silence. I just wrap my arms around her—firm but careful, like she’s something precious that needs holding together. She doesn’t hesitate. She folds into me like she’s done it a thousand times before, like this is where she goes when it hurts.

She hides her face in my chest.

And I feel it—those little sniffles against my shirt. Barely there, but real. Raw.

“It’s okay, pretty girl…” I murmur, pressing my cheek to the top of her head. “We’ll come pick her up first thing in the morning. She’ll tell you all about the sleepover. And you’ll tuck her in twice as long tomorrow.”

She nods into me, and I tighten my arms around her just slightly. Not to fix it. Just to remind her she’s not doing this alone.

The last time the apartment was this quiet, Maddie had a fever and fell asleep on my chest before the sun even set. I remember the weight of her—small and burning up, breathing hot against my neck.

Her curls were damp, cheeks flushed, one hand tangled in the collar of my sweatshirt like she was scared I might get up and leave. She wouldn't even let me shift to grab the thermometer. Just whimpered softly in protest until I stayed completely still. I remember thinking, God, she's so little. Still so little.

Now, standing in the doorway of our quiet home, I realize just how long it’s been since I’ve felt that stillness. No trail of plastic toys across the floor. No little voice asking what’s for dinner or begging to wear her favorite mermaid pajamas. Just the soft click of the door behind me, Spencer’s gentle presence at my side, and the echo of a home that suddenly feels too big without her.

I know I’m being dramatic. It’s just a sleepover. Just one night. Other moms probably didn’t cry over this. Other moms probably used the time to clean the house or binge a show or finally do something for themselves. But I can’t seem to make this ache go away. It sits just beneath my ribs, stubborn and quiet, like grief for something I haven’t lost.

I toe off my shoes, leaving them by the door like always, and glance around like something might jump out and make the silence easier to bear. It doesn’t. The lights are low. The air smells like the candle Maddie insists on blowing out herself every night. I swallow around the lump rising in my throat.

I almost ask Spencer to put something on. Anything. Music. The TV. A podcast about ancient artifacts in lost cities. But before the words even make it out of my mouth, he’s already walking toward the little CD player on the shelf.

He doesn’t ask. Just starts flipping through the beat-up binder I keep tucked beside it—scratched jewel cases, faded album art, some discs so old the tracklists have worn off. I don’t think he even looks at the covers—he just moves with the kind of confidence that makes my heart twist. Like he already knows which one I’ll need. Like he’s memorized my patterns, the same way I’ve memorized Maddie’s.

When the disc whirs to life, it’s the one I always reach for on nights when I’m feeling too much. Just that familiar opening track, the one that’s held my sadness so many times I swear it knows my name. The type of song where you start to cry without even realizing you’re crying.

I sit down slowly on the couch. The cushions still hold the imprint of last night—where Maddie curled up beside me after brushing her teeth, where she insisted on one more cartoon even though her eyes were already half-shut. Spencer walks into the kitchen without a word and returns with the takeout bags we grabbed on the way home. He moves around me like he’s been doing it forever. Like this is normal. Like we’re normal.

He hands me a box of noodles, still warm. Our shoulders bump when he sits beside me, but neither of us moves.

For the first time since we dropped her off, I start to breathe again.

“Thank you,” I murmur, not looking at him yet. Just twirling a noodle around my fork, willing my voice to stay steady.

He glances over. “For what exactly?”

I don’t answer right away. I don’t even know how to. There are too many things. For the car ride. For the giraffe. For standing beside me on that porch while I tried not to cry.

“Being you,” I say finally.

It sounds too simple. Too light. But it’s the truth. And when I do look at him, he’s already looking at me—eyes soft, like he’s not sure he deserves the words but wants to believe them anyway.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders, slow and careful, like he’s testing the weight of the moment. Like he knows how close I am to falling apart in the best possible way. I lean into it without thinking. Just let my head rest gently against his side, let his warmth seep in through the fabric of his sweater vest.

And suddenly everything feels just a little warmer. A feeling I don’t ever want to go away.

“I know I thank you a lot,” I whisper, staring at the untouched noodles in my lap. “But I really mean it. Every time. I’m so grateful you stumbled into my life so suddenly.”

His chest rises beneath my cheek. A deep breath. Like maybe he’s trying to keep himself from saying something too big. Or maybe trying to hold it all together, the way I’ve had to do so many times.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just rubs his thumb gently along my upper arm, and that alone is enough to keep the ache in my chest from taking over again.

I pull my hand back and finally lift my fork, twirling the now-lukewarm noodles around the tines. Beside me, Spencer starts on his own box, quiet and careful, but I can feel the way his attention keeps drifting toward me. Little glances. Little checks. Like he’s trying to gauge if I’m okay without making a big deal out of it.

I take a bite. Chew. Swallow.

Then—

“Did you know,” he says suddenly, a little too brightly, “that chewing something crunchy can reduce psychological stress? It’s connected to the stimulation of the trigeminal nerve.”

I blink. “What?”

He holds up a piece of broccoli from his stir fry like it’s part of a TED Talk. “Seriously. The act of chewing—especially things with texture—activates sensory feedback pathways that can lower cortisol levels. It’s why people eat chips when they’re stressed. Or carrot sticks.”

I stare at him.

He chews the broccoli with a straight face. “Very soothing.”

A beat of silence.

And then I laugh. Not because it’s that funny—just because he is. Because Spencer Reid, who can quote nearly everything, and diagnose a psychopath in under thirty seconds, is trying to keep my mind off missing my daughter by weaponizing vegetables.

“You can't just tell me chewing is gonna make this better,” I say, shaking my head.

He grins. “It's not... Just trying to distract you. Is it working?”

I roll my eyes. “A little.”

He nudges my shoulder with his. “I’ll take it.”

“What else have you got stored in that beautiful brain of yours?” I ask, turning toward him with a smirk I don’t fully mean to wear.

He blinks.

I can actually see the internal buffering. Like I overloaded his circuits with one compliment too many.

“I—um—well,” he stammers, pushing a grain of rice around with his chopsticks, “did you know that laughter increases pain tolerance by releasing endorphins through social bonding mechanisms?”

I stare at him. “So you’re saying you’re trying to… trick my brain chemistry into cheering up?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. Then, quieter, “And also, you said my brain was beautiful and I’m still recovering.”

I laugh—fully, this time. A real laugh that shakes my shoulders and makes the heaviness in my chest loosen, just a little.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He grins again, that crooked, endearing kind of grin that he only pulls out when he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“But it’s working,” I admit, nudging him back. “Keep going.”

He hesitates—just for a second—and then straightens slightly, clears his throat, and starts in with a spark in his eyes like I’ve just flipped a switch.

“Okay,” he says, already sifting through facts in that impossibly fast brain of his. “Did you know that humans are biologically wired to form pair bonds through eye contact?”

I smile into my takeout box, already feeling the familiar flutter in my chest that only happens when he starts talking like this—half professor, half nervous schoolboy, all heart.

“I read a study that observed couples who maintained longer periods of mutual eye contact were more likely to self-report emotional closeness and relationship satisfaction. And that’s just the subjective part—neurologically, the same thing happens. Sustained eye contact stimulates the release of phenylethylamine, which is a natural amphetamine your brain produces during early stages of romantic attachment. It increases adrenaline, dopamine, and causes your pupils to dilate, which is why people look at each other and suddenly their hearts start racing even if no one’s said anything yet—”

He keeps going, hands moving now, gesturing as if the words alone aren’t fast enough to carry everything he’s trying to express.

“It’s tied to oxytocin too,” he adds, “especially in long-term couples. Eye contact during emotionally vulnerable moments—grief, for example, or stress—can regulate the nervous system. It actually helps you co-regulate, which is the scientific term for when two people subconsciously sync up their heart rates and breathing patterns. So technically—” he glances at me for half a second, then looks down just as quickly, “—even just sitting next to someone you trust while feeling anxious can make your brain and body feel safer.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t want to interrupt him. I just… watch.

There’s something about the way he talks when he forgets to be self-conscious. When the rhythm of knowledge and kindness takes over, and he’s not trying to impress me or prove anything—he’s just sharing pieces of himself because he wants to make me feel better.

Because he wants to make me feel safe.

And maybe it’s the dim light of the apartment or the weight of the quiet that’s been pressing on my chest since we got home, but suddenly I’m looking at him and thinking—I never want this to stop. The way he talks, the way he thinks, the way his voice slows down at the edges of big words like he wants me to have time to hold them. The way he’s sitting on this couch beside me like he belongs here.

God, I want him to keep talking forever.

He’s mid-sentence about emotional mimicking—something about how couples in love start to subconsciously mirror each other’s body language—when he suddenly falters. His hands stop moving. His voice drops off.

I turn to look at him, but he’s already ducking his head, eyes flicking toward the half-empty takeout container in his lap like it might save him from whatever embarrassment just hit him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, almost sheepish. “I’m not used to rambling for that long without being interrupted.”

The confession hits harder than I expect it to.

He doesn’t say it bitterly. Doesn’t even seem upset. Just… surprised. Like part of him only just realized it now. Like this moment—here, with me—is the exception to a rule he’s long since accepted.

“I mean—usually I get interrupted because we have case details to discuss,” he adds quickly, eyes darting down again. “And me rambling can be either really helpful, or really not.”

He tries to laugh, to play it off, but the way he’s gripping the box in his lap tells me the words meant more than he let on. Like maybe he meant, people don’t usually let me be too much for too long.

I shift closer, slow and easy, until our knees are touching. Just enough to let him know I’m here. Still listening. Still choosing him.

“I like when you talk,” I say gently.

He looks up at me, startled. Like I’ve said something scandalous. Like the idea that someone might actually enjoy hearing him think out loud is a completely foreign concept.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” I tease, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I’ve told you that before… at least I think I have.”

He just stares at me for a second—like he’s rewinding through every moment we’ve shared and replaying it under a different light. I see the exact moment he softens. The moment my words actually settle somewhere beneath the layers of doubt he carries like armor.

“I just… you really have a way of surprising me,” he says, voice quiet but steady. “Every time I think I’ve figured you out, you show me something new. Something kind. Something I didn’t realize I needed.”

My heart stutters.

He exhales like he hadn’t meant to say all of that out loud. Like the words slipped out before he could dress them up as something smaller.

His gaze drifts to my mouth, just for a second.

And suddenly, the space between us feels charged.

Barely noticeable if I hadn’t been watching him so closely. But I see it. I feel it. That flicker of want, raw and hesitant, like he’s trying to swallow it down before it gives him away.

My chest tightens.

I feel the heat blooming slowly beneath my skin, starting low and curling upward like smoke, delicate and dangerous. I set my takeout box on the coffee table without taking my eyes off him. My hands feel a little too empty, a little too aware of themselves. Of him.

He’s still looking at me, not moving, but his whole body is tense in that way he gets when he’s thinking too much. Like he’s weighing every second, every breath, against what might happen next.

And maybe I am too.

The silence stretches, but it’s not empty.

It’s full.

Heavy with everything we haven’t said, with everything we’ve been circling around for weeks—brushing against by accident, then backing away like the contact was too much, too soon, too something.

But not now.

Now the air between us feels like a thread being pulled tighter. One of us is going to break it. And I think—I hope—it’s going to be me.

I lean in.

Slowly.

Like I’m moving through water. Like I’m giving him time to stop me. To hesitate. To second-guess the moment the way he second-guesses everything he lets himself want.

But he doesn’t stop me.

His eyes search mine as I move closer, like he’s trying to read the fine print of whatever it is I’m offering. I feel his breath when I get close enough—warm, just barely uneven. His lips part slightly, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean away. Doesn’t close the distance.

He’s waiting.

Not out of fear. Out of reverence.

Like he wants to be sure this is real. That I’m sure.

So I let my hand rise, slow and deliberate, and brush a stray curl away from his forehead. My fingers linger. I feel the way his breath catches in his throat, the way his eyes flutter closed for half a second like even that tiny touch is something he’s been craving.

And then I whisper, almost without thinking, “Spencer…”

That’s all it takes.

He meets me halfway.

It’s not fast. It’s not rushed. It’s a convergence—careful, aching, suspended in that strange space where time slows and every inch feels infinite.

Our noses brush first. Barely. Just enough for me to feel the trembling edge of hesitation in him—like even now, with my breath on his mouth, he’s still afraid of getting this wrong.

And I think—You won’t.

So I tilt my chin the tiniest bit, closing the space.

When our lips finally touch, it’s light—feather-soft, almost uncertain, like we’re both afraid that if we move too fast, we’ll lose the thread we’ve been pulling toward all night. But God, it’s real. The warmth of his mouth. The way his hand, hesitant at first, lifts to hover near my cheek, as if he wants to touch me but still needs permission.

So I give it to him.

I press in a little more, just enough to feel the full shape of him. The way he exhales shakily into me, like the relief of it is too much to carry in silence. His fingers finally settle—one at my jaw, the other brushing lightly at my waist. It’s not greedy. It’s not claiming.

It’s courteous.

Like I’m something precious and fragile and wanted. So wanted.

And I didn’t expect that part.

Because I thought it might be awkward. I thought he might overthink it, might hesitate too long or pull back too soon.

But he doesn’t.

He kisses me like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment and is still somehow terrified it might vanish.

And me?

I kiss him like I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without it.

There’s a part of me—small and quiet—that wants to cry from the sheer gentleness of it. From the way his lips move with mine like he’s memorizing the shape of every soft syllable we’ve ever left unsaid.

When we finally part, it’s not because I want to stop. It’s because I need air. Because I need to look at him and see if he felt it too—this shift in the universe. This tiny, perfect undoing.

He’s still close. So close I can see the smudge of pink on his lips, the dazed tilt to his expression. Like he can’t believe I kissed him back.

Like he didn’t expect this ending to be his.

I want to say something. Anything. But I can’t catch my breath.

He swallows, eyes fixed on mine. “Was that okay?”

My chest tightens.

“Spencer,” I whisper. “It was more than okay… It was perfect.”

A beat of silence.

Then we both sort of—laugh.

Not loud. Not mocking. Just soft, breathless chuckles that escape before either of us can stop them. Like our bodies are trying to let out some of the electricity we’ve been holding in for too long.

He ducks his head, and I see the smallest, most genuine smile tug at his mouth—the kind he usually tries to hide behind his hands or a sip of coffee. It lights up his whole face, boyish and stunned and so clearly happy that I want to bottle the sight and keep it with me forever.

“I can’t feel my hands,” he admits, and I laugh again, a little louder this time.

“God, you're sweet,” I murmur, biting my bottom lip.

“You know,” he says, even as his fingers tremble slightly where they’re still resting near my waist. “I’ve read over twenty books on human intimacy and I still almost forgot to breathe.”

“I’m not sure that’s something you can read your way through,” I tease.

He leans forward just enough to press his forehead against mine. “Tell me that after I kiss you again.”

This time, when our lips meet, it’s easier. Warmer. Less careful. Still tender, but touched with something lighter—like we’ve cracked open some hidden part of ourselves and found joy inside.

His hands settle with more confidence now, one sliding around my back, the other threading gently into my hair. I tilt into him with a sigh, my own fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater vest, needing to hold onto something.

The kiss deepens again.

There's a shift. Subtle at first. A lingering press of lips, a shared inhale that feels like the start of something we can't take back. And I don't want to. Not even for a second. His mouth parts, inviting, and when my tongue brushes against his, I feel the sharp, beautiful catch of his breath. It sends a ripple through me—heat curling low in my stomach, anchoring itself in the space between us.

He groans—soft, like he didn’t mean for it to slip out—and it vibrates against my mouth. I feel it everywhere. In my chest. My spine. The ache that’s been building beneath my skin since the moment he first looked at me tonight like I was something he didn’t think he was allowed to want.

But now he wants.

I can feel it in the way his hands move—more purposeful now, sliding down from my hair to my waist, fingertips pressing into the soft cotton of my shirt like he’s memorizing the curve of me. Like he’s trying to stay grounded in something real.

I shift forward on the couch, into him, across him. My leg hooks loosely over his, angling myself closer, needing to close the last of the distance. He gasps into my mouth, and suddenly he’s gripping my hips like he doesn’t quite trust himself to stay gentle if I keep moving like that.

“Y/N…” he murmurs, voice wrecked, low and tight with restraint.

It sends a shiver straight down my spine. Not because he’s warning me. Because he wants this—wants me—and is trying so hard to hold the line.

But I don’t want the line anymore.

I kiss him harder. Deeper. My hands leave his sweater and slide upward, over his shoulders, into the soft curls at the base of his neck. He melts into it, into me, groaning again—louder this time, more desperate, more real.

His hands slide beneath my shirt—warm, tentative, reverent. Calloused fingertips brushing over bare skin like he’s afraid to touch too much, like every inch is a gift he’s still not sure he’s earned.

“Spencer,” I whisper against his lips.

He pulls back just enough to look at me.

And God—his eyes.

They’re blown wide, pupils dilated, lips kiss-bitten and parted, chest rising like he’s been holding his breath since the moment we started. He looks wrecked. Beautifully, completely wrecked. And the sight of him like this—rumpled, flushed, barely keeping himself together—undoes something in me.

I cup his jaw with both hands and press my forehead to his again.

“Come with me.”

His breath catches. “Are you sure?”

I nod, brushing my lips against his. “So sure.”

He still hesitates—but only for a second.

Then he stands, helping me up with both hands like I might disappear if he lets go.

And I don’t look back as I lead him to the bedroom.

The bedroom is dim, just the hallway light casting a soft amber glow across the floor. We don’t turn on a lamp. We don’t speak. There’s no need to—everything we’re trying to say is still humming in the space between us, in every glance, every touch.

He follows me inside like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, I might vanish. And I can feel the restraint rolling off him in waves, feel how tightly he’s keeping himself in check, even as his fingers brush against my wrist like he’s not ready to stop touching me. Like he can’t.

I back up slowly until the backs of my knees hit the bed.

He stops in front of me, breathing shallow. Waiting again. Always waiting.

So I make the next move.

My hands go to the hem of his sweater vest, fingers curling in the fabric. I tug gently—not to pull it off yet, just to hold him there, close. Anchored. I feel the heat of him even through the layers, feel the way his breath hitches when I slide my palms up underneath, meeting the fabric of his dress shirt. He shivers. Not from cold.

It’s not long before the vest is off and my hands settle on the buttons of his shirt. Not sliding them off yet, just tracing them.

His hands settle at my waist again, a little firmer this time. Confident, but still reverent. He doesn’t pull me toward him—I go willingly. Pressing my body to his, chest to chest, heat to heat, until there’s no space left between us. I can feel everything. The rise of his breath. The quiet, frantic thump of his heart. The tension low in his abdomen, coiled tight beneath his clothes.

When I kiss him again, it’s different.

No more gentle pauses. No more testing the waters.

This one is slow and greedy. A kiss that takes and gives in equal measure, all lips and breath and hands that are suddenly desperate for skin. My fingers slide up his chest, unbuttoning as I go—slowly, carefully, tracing each line of fabric until I can feel the heat of him through the thin cotton. He exhales like I’m undoing more than just a shirt.

His mouth trails from mine to my jaw, kissing down with the kind of focus that makes me dizzy. He lingers behind my ear, then down to the curve of my throat, where he kisses—really kisses—and my knees nearly buckle. I feel his hands shift lower, steadying me, gripping my hips tighter like he’s not sure whether he’s helping or holding himself back.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmurs against my neck, voice low, breath hot.

I shake my head instantly, fingers fisting in his shirt. “I don’t.”

It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever said.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes searching. Not for doubt—but for confirmation. For trust. I give it to him with one look, one kiss, one press of my body against his.

That’s all it takes.

We tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, the kind of gracelessness that only happens when you’re not thinking, not posing—just feeling. I land on my back, laughing softly, breathless from how quickly the air shifted again. He follows, bracing himself over me, his curls falling forward. One hand at the side of my face, the other resting carefully near my ribs, like he wants to hold me and also be sure he’s not too much.

He kisses me again, slower now, letting it stretch. My legs part to let him settle between them, the pressure of his body against mine exactly what I’ve been craving for too long. My hands move greedily now—over his back, under his shirt, tracing the skin there like I need to learn him by touch.

When his mouth finds the hollow of my throat again, I moan softly and feel him shudder.

Like he wasn’t expecting it. Like I’ve undone something fragile in him without even meaning to.

“Y/N,” he whispers, like he’s praying. Like he’s asking permission every time he says my name.

“Yes,” I whisper back, even though he hasn’t asked a question.

Because whatever he’s asking, the answer is yes.

Yes, to this.

Yes, to him.

Yes, to us.

His hand slips beneath my shirt again, sliding along my waist, up to the curve of my ribs. And this time, when he touches me, there’s no hesitation. Only reverence. Only heat. His thumb brushes just beneath the edge of my bra and I arch into him, needing more.

His mouth is on mine again, slower this time, but deeper. Hungrier. And I give into it completely, my fingers fisting in the back of his shirt, needing to keep him close. Needing to feel all of him—his weight, his heat, the careful, reverent way he keeps touching me like he’s terrified I’ll disappear if he lets go.

We move together without speaking, all instinct and breath and the occasional desperate gasp when one of us touches a new place, finds a new reaction. He’s learning me like he wants to—like he’s memorizing every sound, every shift of my hips, every stutter in my breath when he kisses a little lower, touches a little firmer.

His mouth drags down my neck again, open and warm, and when he finds that sensitive spot just beneath my collarbone, my whole body jerks.

“Y/n” he whispers, voice ragged as his fingers skim beneath my shirt again, “You’re a dream.”

I moan softly, arching into him, pulling him closer until the friction is maddening—heat and want and pressure, and something sweeter, too. Something like awe.

The first time his phone buzzes on the nightstand, we both ignore it.

Neither of us moves.

Neither of us wants to move.

“It’ll go to voicemail,” he whispers, but I can tell he’s hesitant to let it go. That part of him that runs on responsibility, on logic and worst-case scenarios, is already pulling at the edge of him. But I’m still holding him here. And for now, that seems to win.

Still, he shrugs it off by bringing his mouth to my collarbone.

His lips are warm—softer than I ever imagined they’d be—dragging slowly over the delicate curve of bone like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me with his mouth. He presses a kiss there, then another, then lingers with an open-mouthed breath that makes me arch involuntarily.

“God,” I murmur, one hand slipping into his curls, the other fisting in the fabric of the sheets. “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he says, voice low, wrecked, and when he looks up at me, his pupils are wide, his mouth kiss-swollen, his expression caught somewhere between worship and desperation.

He kisses lower, lips dragging down my stomach in a slow, reverent path. My shirt is pushed high now, nearly forgotten, and my thighs are already parting before he’s even touched me there. I feel open. Offered. And he’s accepting like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His fingers hook gently into the sides of my underwear, pausing only to glance up—asking. Always asking.

I nod, already trembling. “Please…”

He exhales shakily, like that word undid whatever thread he was clinging to, and begins to pull the fabric down with aching slowness. The air hits me, cool and sharp, and I feel his breath follow right after—hot and reverent and close.

So close.

I gasp as he kisses my inner thigh, teeth grazing lightly. His hands spread over my hips, anchoring me to the bed like I might float away.

And then—

The phone rings again.

A second time.

Louder.

Longer.

Neither of us moves. The sound vibrates through the silence like a cruel joke, like the universe itself is trying to tear the moment in half.

He groans—this quiet, wrecked sound that leaves his chest and presses right into mine like an apology. His forehead lowers to rest against my thigh.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “That’s… I can’t ignore it.”

I bite down on a whimper and force myself to nod. Because I know he’s right. Because if it’s a call from his job, something’s wrong. And he’ll carry that guilt with him whether I tell him to stay or not.

He rises slowly, like it hurts to put space between us. Like his body is still trying to stay pressed to mine even as he sits back on his knees, hands braced on either side of my hips, breath still uneven.

He reaches for the phone.

Checks the screen.

His jaw tightens. “It’s Garcia.”

A beat.

Then he closes his eyes like he’s willing the moment to hold just a few seconds longer.

“I don’t want to go,” he says, not looking at me. “God, I don’t want to go.”

And even though I’m still breathless, still aching in ways I hadn’t expected, I reach for his hand.

“I know,” I whisper, lacing our fingers together. “It’s okay, honey. Take it.”

He nods, reluctantly, and clicks the accept button, then brings the phone to his ear. His other hand remains tangled with mine, like he can’t quite let go.

“This is Reid,” he says, voice still thick, hoarse. Not professional yet. Not even close. He swallows hard, like he’s trying to drag himself back into the mindset of the man who solves murders, not the one who just had his mouth on my skin.

I watch his face shift as he listens. The tension coming back into his shoulders. His brow furrowing, his mouth tightening in the way it always does when the outside world seeps back in.

“Yeah,” he says after a long beat. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

His thumb rubs against the back of my hand—slow, apologetic.

He ends the call.

And the silence that follows is heavier than the one before. Not because we’re angry. Not because we’re upset with each other. But because we both know what we just lost in the space of a few seconds.

He finally looks at me.

His hair’s a mess, his shirt still halfway unbuttoned, lips flushed, skin warm with leftover wanting. He looks like he’s trying to memorize me—exactly as I am, in this bed, under this light, before the night splits away from what it could’ve been.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time. “I really didn’t want—”

“I know,” I interrupt gently, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay.”

And I mean it. Even if every part of me is still humming with unfinished need. Even if I want to pull him back down and finish what we started. I won’t make him feel worse. Not when he already looks like he might break in half from guilt.

“Go,” I say. “They need you.”

He lingers for a second longer, like he’s waiting for something to anchor him again. So I lean forward and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth—slow, tender, final.

“Be safe,” I murmur.

He nods, breathing out hard. Then rises from the bed with reluctant movements, grabbing his shirt from the floor, his phone, his jacket. He doesn’t bother buttoning everything properly—just throws it on over his rumpled clothes, half-zipped, his hair still mussed.

He looks like a man walking away from something he didn’t want to leave behind.

The door closes behind him.

And the room is suddenly, impossibly quiet.

At least it was for a moment—just long enough for the weight of everything that almost happened to settle in my chest. The warmth of his hands still lingered on my skin, the ghost of his mouth still traced along the inside of my thigh. My body felt like it was still reaching for him even though he was already gone.

The ache hadn’t faded. Not entirely. But I could feel it reshaping into something else—something quieter. Something lonelier.

Then my phone rings.

I blink.

It vibrates against the nightstand, sharp in the silence. For a second, I just stare at it, brain still foggy with everything Spencer left behind.

Beth's Contact.

Maddie’s friend’s mom.

My heart drops.

I scramble to grab it, thumb swiping across the screen faster than my thoughts can catch up. I sit up straight, tugging the rumpled sheets over my chest even though there’s no one here to see.

“Hello?”

“Oh—hi, Y/N,” Beth says quickly, her voice hushed, apologetic. “I’m so sorry to call this late, but Maddie’s… um, she’s asking for you.”

My chest tightens. “Is she okay?”

“She’s not hurt or anything, just really upset. She started crying about ten minutes ago. I tried to calm her down, but she keeps saying she wants to go home.”

That’s all I need to hear.

“I’m coming to get her,” I say, already reaching for the clothes discarded beside the bed.

“Are you sure? She might settle down if—”

“She’s not ready,” I say gently. “And that’s okay.”

There’s a pause, then Beth sighs. “Okay. I’ll keep her bundled up until you get here.”

“Thank you.”

I hang up and sit for a second on the edge of the bed, fingers still wrapped tightly around my phone. I stare down at the sheets where Spencer’s hand had just been. The same bed where just minutes ago, I’d said please and meant it in a dozen different ways.

I’m still not ready either.

But for a different reason.

And somehow, that makes the ache easier to bear.

I grab my keys and pull on the first hoodie I find. My body is still buzzing from Spencer—half-finished, half-satisfied, half his—but my heart is already pulling toward the front door, to the little girl who still needs me most.

Previous Chapter |

Taglist: @Tokalotashiz @livbonnet @jakiki94 @23moonjellies @saskiaalonso @ellaomalalaalala @deltamoon666 @person-005 @reidssoulmate @quillsandcauldroncakes @blog-du-caillou @codedinblack @imaginationfever13 @measure-in-pain @lunaryoongie @Marcelaferreirapinho @Reidrs @tiredqueen73 @scarlettoh @reidsjuno @un-messed @Happydeanpotter @ravenclaws-stuff @Ortega29 @rhinelivinglife @Skye-westwood @xxfairyqueenxx @pablopablito01 @Frickin-bats @alrat13 @ozwriterchick @willoweve13 @emneedshelp @ellebelle2016 @sukieskook @randomhuman112 @apobangpo-0613 @nnab

[iiiiiiis-things]

"I can be a better boyfriend" {1K SPECIAL}

pairing- Suguru Geto x reader

a/n- HEY GUYSSS TYSM FOR 1K I LOVE YOU ALL

analysis- Suguru literally shitting on your boyfriend,

cw- smut with plot :) , cunnilingus in a bathroom stall, cheating, suguru is exactly submissive but he's so down bad for the pussy he looks like it

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"You okay?"

You flinch at the sound of the voice behind you. It’s low, familiar, steady — the kind of voice that always made you feel safe even when your world felt like it was falling apart. You don't need to turn around. You already know it’s Suguru. Of course it’s Suguru.

Hurriedly, you wipe your face, your fingers catching on your damp cheeks, trying to erase the evidence.

"Yeah, I’m fine. You can go back, I—"

"Lie again."

His words cut through you, sharp and calm all at once.

Your chest tightens. "What?"

You finally lift your head from where you're curled up on the cold concrete curb, and there he is.

Suguru.

Moonlight spills across his features — all sharp jawlines and smooth cheekbones, his dark hair catching the glow like silk. He looks calm, composed… beautiful. Unfairly so. And just seeing him standing there, looking at you like you matter — it makes everything inside you ache harder.

"I said, lie again."

He crouches down slowly, getting low enough to meet your gaze. His eyes search yours with a kind of quiet intensity that makes your breath falter. You turn away quickly, as if the shame might be less if you don’t meet his eyes.

“Nothing. It’s stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

But your voice breaks. It trembles out of your throat, cracked and breathless, and before you can catch yourself, another tear slips free.

You hate this. Hate being seen like this. But it’s Suguru. And somehow, that makes it harder to hide.

He exhales slowly, then shifts closer. The soft scrape of his sneakers on the pavement makes your heart hitch. He settles beside you, not touching, not crowding — just close enough to let you feel his warmth.

"Do not tell me not to 'don't worry' about my best friend, who’s sitting outside the club… crying... on her birthday."

The words aren’t accusing. They’re soft, strict, and stern. Heavy with care. His elbows rest loosely on his knees, hands clasped together, his body leaning in just slightly toward you — like he’s trying to anchor you.

And you almost break again.

"I’m sorry," you whisper, eyes dropping to the curb, to the chipped red paint and the dust and gravel at your feet. You focus on anything but his face. “I didn’t want to ruin anyone's night.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Your fingers twitch. Not because he's wrong — but because he’s too right.

His tone changes. Not loud, but colder. Sharper. Controlled, barely.

"He told me he was going to the bathroom."

"Yeah. I saw him go in after—"

“Getting that girl’s number,” you both finish, voices low and bitter and exhausted.

The silence after stings. It stretches out like elastic, pulling at your chest, until you can barely breathe under the weight of it.

You inhale, shaky and slow, but all you taste is the air — sweat and alcohol and city dust. The ache in your throat swells again, threatening to spill over.

"I saw it too," Suguru says. His voice is quieter now. “Didn’t mean to. I just—”

He hesitates. You glance at him, and in the moonlight, you see something flicker in his expression. Something he’s not saying.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he repeats. “Just… just couldn’t bring myself to look at you.”

You blink, confused. “Why?”

He gives a small, bitter smile. “Because you look really pretty tonight... and it kinda hurt.” now geto's eyes were focused on the red paint. faint blush coming across his cheeks at his minor confession.

You freeze. Your heart skips — not in panic, but in something else. Something dangerous. Something that settles low in your stomach.

Suguru hadn’t been watching him on purpose. Not at first. He just didn’t want to look at you — not when you were dancing on your ex-boyfriend like that, the beat pulsing through your body as he gripped your hips moving into a slow grind, your tight birthday dress hugging every curve. Not when the sight of you like that made his jaw clench and his blood rush to places other than the tips of his ears.

that should’ve been him.

He didn’t want to watch Shoko fail miserably at flirting. Didn’t want to babysit a drunken Satoru who was busy buying drinks for half the club. So when his eyes wandered, they landed on your ex-boyfriend — laughing, leaning in, scribbling his number into another girl’s phone like you didn’t exist.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shame rising like bile. "And you know what makes it worse?" a soft whisper

He turns his head to look at you again, fully, like nothing else matters in this moment.

"This isn’t the first time,"

"I knew something was off before. I just… kept telling myself he’d change. I kept hoping."

Suguru hums quietly. Encouraging. Listening. Being.

"And I kept giving everything I had to him,” your voice cracks, tears spilling down again, no use stopping them now, “and he just… takes it. Every single time.”

Your breath shudders. You try to blink the blur away. “And I’m so mad because… I still go back. Like it’s normal. Like it’s okay to be treated like that.”

You pause.

Then, softly — barely audible

“It makes me wish he was more like you.”

Suguru tenses beside you. You don’t look, but you feel it.

His chest rises slowly. Controlled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His voice is lighter, a soft tease undercutting the tension, but there’s a raw edge underneath. Like he’s afraid to believe you mean it. there was still a glimmer of hope that would make all of shoko's teasing actually mean something.

You laugh, hollow. A little embarrassed, but it comes out anyway.

“I mean, you’re… a good man. You respect women. You're a good listen. You have a pretty nice and steady income, and you’re like.. really pretty.”

You freeze as soon as the word leaves your mouth.

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Pretty?”

Your face burns. “No — I mean, yes — I mean handsome! You’re handsome, obviously. Like in a cool, mature, effortlessly sexy way, not like—you know what, never mind—”

He laughs, deep and rich, the kind of sound that sends warmth curling into your chest.

You laugh too, even through the tears. But when you look at him, really look — the laughter fades.

He’s staring again. His smile gentles, eyes softer now.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess...

I could be a better boyfriend.”

He doesn’t mean it casually.

Not even a little.

Because what he wants to say is I would be. I already am. I’ve just been waiting for you to see it. he would love to be your good man, respect you, spoil you with his 'pretty nice and steady income', and he would want nothing more for you to wake up in his bed every morning, next to his 'pretty' face. or should he say his ' cool, mature, effortlessly sexy' face

And then — maybe it’s the moonlight, maybe it’s the way your lips are parted and your cheeks are flushed and your dress hugs you just so — maybe it’s the months of holding back — he hears himself say:

"You know… I could totally eat you out in the stall next to his. Just to give him a taste of his own medicine."

Your jaw drops.

“What?” you breathe, eyes wide, frozen.

Suguru stiffens. Immediate regret in every line of his body.

“Shit—okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. That was—stupid. I don’t know where that came from, I—”

"Would it change our friendship?"

The question slips out so quietly, you almost don’t hear it yourself.

But he hears it. Loud and clear.

He stops talking. Stares at you. His breath slows.

"...Do you want it to?"

You look at him then. Really look. The way he’s always there. The way he looks at you like you’re the only one who matters. And god, he’s so close. His knees brushing yours. His hands flexing slightly like they want to touch. His lips slightly parted.

“I don’t know,” you whisper

His hand lifts. Soft. Intentional. His fingers trail your jaw, tilting your chin so gently it makes your skin shiver. your internally panicking, hoping he can't hear the way your breath speeds up. he does

You don’t remember who moved first.

All you know is that suddenly, his mouth is on yours — warm, slow, careful, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away.

But you don’t.

You kiss him back.

And it tastes like a promise — one you’ve both been waiting far too long to make.

smut! under the cut (18+)

"f-fuckkk suguuuuu" you wish you could say your moaning out extra loud for your ex-boyfriend to hear but even if he wasn't in the bathroom, you couldn't help but mewl as suguru looks up at you through his pretty lashes, his mouth sucking the absolute life out of your clit. you lean your head back on the stall door as suguru is on his knees, hands on both of your ass cheeks trying to pull you in impossibly closer.

"Oh- ngh" his nose rests on top of your mound as you drag your pussy up and down in an attempt to grind on his tongue. suguru hands moves up to your hips, steadying you as he removes his mouth which causes you to slightly pout, letting out a whine which told him you wanted more than he was currently giving.

He holds up three fingers with a smug look on his face, three soon turned into two, two soon turned to one, and as if on cue you hear a slam of 2 doors being shut, one of them being the stall next to yours and the other being the entrance to the bathroom the loud noises being accompanied by harsh foot steps and a string of curses.

"I think he's jealous enough, what about you?" suguru asks his eyes staring directly into yours as he slowly moves closer, his breath just hovering over where you needed him most

"oh- yeah definitely"

"yeah for sure"

"so like we should totally stop right?"

"right- I mean y'know, mission is accomplished"

"yeah totally" he sits on the back of his calves running his hands up and down the back of your thighs, his eyes slowly migrating towards your pussy, not like it wronged him, never like it wronged him, but like it was the absolute center of his universe. he leans in close his nose nudging your recently neglected clit as he closes his eyes, suguru begins to slowly stick his tongue out, you take is upon yourself to grip his black locks by the roots and the back of his head making him crane his neck upwards to look at you, his purples eyes just barley open and his mouth still parted like he's about to let out a moan from the tight grip you have on his hair. His usual cocky and focused demeanor long gone. It was odd really, seeing suguru look so...

submissive.

"I thought you wanted to stop?" you ask confusion clearly lacing your voice. "yeah, yeah uh- sorry we can stop" he nods his head in agreement. the two of you stare at each other for a moment until you ignore your second mind with doubts with a simple "fuck it" shoving suguru's head back in between your thighs. what you didn't expect was for him to groan in response. he brings a hand to back your hip holding it so tight your sure there's gonna be bruises tomorrow.

With a hunger that matches the rage coursing through your veins, suguru presses his mouth against your pussy, his tongue delving into the warm, slick folds without hesitation. You gasp, the hold on his hair becoming even tighter to which geto responds in a muffled moan as he devours you with an intensity that's reassuring.

His teeth graze your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. The receiving pleasure is almost unbearable, the tongue thrusting inside your sopping cunt. "'feel like I'm in heaven baby, 'could sooo do this for hours"

"f-fuck don't stop, please baby- i need it" You can only tighten your grip on his messy black hair, moaning at the loud smacking of his tongue dipping in and out of your puffy folds.

suguru can't even bring himself to lift his head anymore, not even for a split second to just talk you through it, you just tasted so damn good, he makes up the lack of voice by lifting your leg up and over his shoulder; this new angle had his tongue touching that special spot inside you easily.

His tongue circles, flicks, and plunges, each movement a silent declaration of his loyalty and desire to make you feel good. you felt just how wet you were getting, and judging by the easy glide of his face, you cold tell his face was just covered in slick.

His hand comes to rest your remaining leg on his shoulder, his best shot to get even deeper inside you, he closes your thighs around his head, his own need for you palpable through the fabric of your soaked panties thats messily pulled to the side. It was as if he wanted to drown in the scent and taste of you.

The sounds of the club outside the stall fade away, replaced by the wet smacking of his lips against your skin and the loud moans that escape from your throat. He's relentless, his tongue moving with a purpose that borders on obsession.

You're powerless to stop the wave of pleasure that crashes over you, your hips bucking against his face. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you in place as he continues to feast. You're acutely aware of your surroundings—the faint scent of disinfectant, the sticky floor, the graffitied stall walls—but none of it matters. All that exists in this moment is the feeling of suguru's mouth on you.

As you reach the peak of your climax, you tighten your grip on his hair making him groan once more, your body shuddering as his long lashes kisses his cheek. You let out the loudest and pornographic moan you've ever conjured up in your life as you ride his nose, suguru's tongue trickling down to slurp up every single drop, not letting any of it go to waste. it leaves your throat raw and your eyes stinging with tears.

Suguru pushes your panties back into place as you catch your breath, he stands and runs his big hands up and down your sides. his breathing ragged, his cheeks flushed. You can see the bulge in his pants, the unmistakable outline of his erection pressing against the fabric. His eyes dart down to it, then back to yours, and for a moment, you wonder if he expects you to reciprocate, to ease his own ache. But you're too caught up in the aftermath of your own release, your body still humming with sensation. he speaks interrupting your thought train on what to do next.

"y/n.. im sorry but- i just- I cant be just your best friend after this" he gives you a serious look as his hand finally settles on your hips and pushes himself flush against you, trapping you in between him and the stall wall.

You bring your hands to cup his face that was recently buried into your neck as he tried his hardest to not grind into you, he needed to have this conversation before the two of you did anything else. "sugu.." you hesitate on what to say next, know you should choose your words carefully.

"I know," you whispered, your voice a hoarse confession. "I don't want you to just be my best friend either."

Suguru's grip tightened on your hips, his eyes searching yours for the truth of your words. He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin. "What are we then?" The question hung heavy in the air, charged with a need for an answer that neither of you had prepared for.

You swallowed hard, tasting the salt of your own sweat and the lingering flavor of his kiss. "We're…more." You didn't know how to define it, but the word slipped out like a promise that had been waiting to be made.

He closed the distance between you, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was hungry. His tongue invaded, tasting you, exploring every corner of your mouth as if trying to find the words he couldn't say. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax as he devoured you.

When he pulled away, you were both panting. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability you hadn't seen in him before. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, the truth in your eyes as clear as the desire in his. "I want this, sugu. I want you."

His smile grew "Good," he murmured, "Because I've wanted this for so long." He stepped back, giving you room to breathe. "But not here," he said, his voice a gentle rumble as he shakes his head. "Not like this."

You nodded again, understanding that he was right. This was a moment that needed more than a dirty bathroom stall. It needed a bed, candles, maybe some music that didn't make your eardrums bleed. It needed to be special.

Suguru took your hand, leading you out of the stall and into the cacophony of the club. The lights were a blur around you, the people a sea of moving bodies that didn't matter. All you could focus on was the heat of his hand and the promise of what was to come.

jjk masterlist

[mooshie-blue]

IMPORTANT UPDATE.

Please read

I’m gonna be honest with y’all. The internet is just. Not healthy for me. There’s a lot of reasons, doom scrolling, discourse, easy access to see horrible things happening that I can’t stop or control.

I use the internet to cope. Cope with my feelings, my anxiety. To escape and find solace in others. But lately, it’s not enough. Nothings enough.

Maybe I need to spend more time with myself and family. I need to just let it go. I’m exhausted. I’m always overthinking my worth to others.

Sometimes I cry alone, in my room wishing it would all make sense, or that I could trust people. But I can’t just sit and vent online because it really doesn’t help. Not as much as I wish it would.

And my art. My stupid fucking art. I have improved a lot last and this year, but that doesn’t erase the fact that I can easily see people that deserve the title of “artist” way more than I do. I can’t fucking stand it.

I’m even finding myself angry and jealous at my friends, but it’s not their fault. I’m the one who lacks discipline and variety lol.

And honestly. Yes, the harassment I received two years ago still bothers me, not in the sense that I miss the freind I fought with, I don’t. I hope she’s doing okay. It’s moreso the fact that I think they were all right about me.

I still don’t think I’m a good person. I get angry, I say things without thinking. I lose patience. Others get angry because of bad things happening to others, same here, but I also get angry because of how I think others are against me, or better than me.

It’s all culminating to a point where I’m obsessing over and spending hours sticking to unrealistic or unreasonable thoughts and ideas about my friends

And instead of asking them or talking to them upfront I just let those thoughts fester until it pops.

I need a break. From the whole internet. All my apps. Everything. I can’t hurt myself like this anymore. I mean I’ve come dangerously close to harming myself more times than I can count.

I mean most of my all nighters are spent dicking around on my phone. And it’s made even more pathetic by the fact that I don’t have any irl friends. You guys online are the only friends I have. And I don’t even talk to a lot of you guys, so even that’s a line that’s thin enough to cut.

I don’t want to put pressure on anyone anymore. I don’t want to hurt or think bad thoughts. I need to open myself up a little bit and stop letting everything get in the way.

I want to focus on me. Not my thoughts, not my art. Me. I want to grow more comfortable with myself. Just sit and think. Read, play games. Just let it all go.

So. I’m gonna take a break. I don’t know for how long. I don’t know what I’ll do. But I can’t keep living like this.

The only thing online I’ll be doing until further notice is DMs. I’ll still talk to you guys. But I’m not posting for a while. I’m gonna close commissions until further notice too. Sorry.

I love you guys. Thanks for understanding. I’ll come back when I’m ready.

[charliegyrth]

A Vibrator Makes You Fat

Week Three

It’s been three weeks since you started using Sparky, our remote-controlled vibrator. I have complete control over the remote, and I only use it when you’re eating something. (It’s more fun that way.) Last week, I finally notice that your body is starting to soften, but... I don’t know. I kinda like it. Let’s see what happens in Week Three…

***

“Where is it?” you scream from the bedroom.

I just walked in the front door, but I guess you heard me coming. “Where’s what, babe?” I ask innocently.

I know exactly what you mean. You’re looking for Sparky. You always insert him right before I get home (don’t want to waste time), but I hid it before I left for work this morning. It’s in the back of the closet.

“Fuckin' Sparky!” you shout as I enter the bedroom.

Clothes are everywhere. The dresser drawers are open. You’ve been searching.

“We’re not doing that today,” I tell you.

You’re shocked. We’ve had our Sparky Time every day for three weeks. It’s part of our routine now, and your body craves it.

Honestly, I crave it, too. But I have to put my foot down.

The whole reason I got you Sparky was to ease you into bottoming. For three years, you refused to experiment in bed. I thought that our vibrator would convince you to finally let me top, but it hasn’t worked yet. You’re so obsessed with that damn device that we haven’t had real sex in weeks. I’m ready. It’s time.

I tell you all this. And while you clearly miss your little friend, you understand. I have needs, too.

“Okay. But can we… have dinner first?”

“Of course.”

You’ve become a real foodie lately, and your body is testament to that. Your torso is thicker, no longer narrowing at the waist. Your stomach bulges, not enough to droop, but almost. And because you still haven’t upgraded your clothes, a sliver of flesh is visible under your shirt.

It’s hard to see the changes in your lower half, though. You always wear sweatpants. It doesn’t seem like your legs have changed much.

I take you to the kitchen table and make sure you’re comfortable. It’s only 5:30 (earlier than our usual dinnertime), but I guess that doesn’t matter. It won’t be a big meal today. Just leftovers from last night’s feast.

I open the fridge to grab the lasagna, but it’s not there.

“Sorry,” you say behind me. “I finished it all this morning.”

I don’t know why that turns me on so much, but it really does.

I don’t want to order in again, so I look through the pantry to see what we have. There’s not much. I guess you’ve been eating more than I realized. The only thing I can find is pancake mix. “Breakfast for dinner?”

“Yes, please!” you say.

So that’s what I make. I whip up a big pile of pancakes and bring them to the table. I probably won’t eat any myself, but you seem excited.

I watch you take your first bite. This feels weird. It’s your first dinner in three weeks without Sparky. I know it won’t be as fun, but it’s totally worth it for what I’m going to do to you after you finish.

You chew for a couple seconds. Then you tremble a little as you swallow. A soft moan leaves your lips.

“But I didn’t do anything,” I say.

“I know. It just… feels like you did.”

I don’t understand.

You take another slow, blissful bite, and your body reacts as if you’re being stimulated again. One hand grips the table.

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you always feel like this when you eat?”

“I do now. It’s not as intense. But it’s…” You take another bite. “Ooh.”

A trickle of syrup oozes from the edge of your mouth.

“You’re adorable. You know that, right?”

You smile, your cheeks bulging with food.

For the rest of dinner, I don’t take a single bite. I’m lost in the show. You gleefully plow through your syrup-soaked dinner, each ultra-sweet bite driving jolts of pleasure through your whole body. You moan. You hum to yourself. You don’t bother wiping the stickiness from your mouth.

It doesn’t take long for all the pancakes to disappear into your almost-pudgy stomach. And the craziest part is, you don’t look full. Just satisfied.

You chug the rest of your milk and let out a deep burp. “Okay. I think I’m ready now.”

“For what?” I ask coyly.

You stand up and pull me out of my chair. “Don’t make me beg for it.”

I laugh. You’ve changed so damn much in three weeks. It’s insane.

You lead me into our bedroom and immediately strip off your shirt. Your belly juts out of you beautifully. So round. So hairy.

I’ve never been attracted to bellies before, but yours is special. I helped you grow it.

Then you plop onto the mattress and peel off your sweatpants.

“Slow down, tiger," I say. "Let’s enjoy this.”

You yank off your briefs and kick them to the floor.

Okay. I guess we're not gonna take it slow. Fine by me!

I jump on you. You fall onto your back and giggle as I kiss you all over. I’ve been waiting for this moment. For years, really.

I’m still on top of your thick body as I reach into the nightstand and pull out our lube. Haven’t needed that in weeks.

Your erection presses against my thigh. It’s already wet with pre. From your pancake stuffing, apparently. Damn.

���Okay,” I say as I slide down your body and guide your legs apart. “Since this is your first time, we’ll take it slow. And if you ever feel uncomfortable, just—”

“Wait!” you shout. You crawl out from under me and run out of the room. I think you’re getting cold feet, but then you return with five sticks of butter from the fridge.

“Um, I think we’ll just use lube,” I say. Interesting idea, but it seems too messy.

You laugh. “No. I just need something to eat while you’re, you know… And since I finished all the snacks…”

This is the moment I realize that things have gone a bit too far. I never wanted you to be addicted to food, but your vibrator has truly rewired your brain, forever connecting food to pleasure. There’s no going back now.

We need to have a serious conversation. Later, though. I’m too horny.

You crawl onto the mattress, but you stay on your hands and knees this time, presenting your ass to me. Yup, it’s definitely softer now. Not bigger, just softer. I couldn’t tell through your sweatpants, but I can’t deny it now.

I lube up my hands and slicken your cheeks, feeling the give of your newly pliant flesh. Then I spread them. I was expecting to coax you open one finger at a time, but… no need. You’re gaping wide. Ready.  

I hear a crinkling noise. You’re unwrapping a stick of butter.

Once I get three fingers inside, I can hear you slurping. You’re sucking on the butter stick, not taking bites. “Fuckin’ do it already,” you say with your mouth full.

If you insist. I strip, then position my slim body behind you. Slowly, I enter, eliciting a sharp gasp from your butter-filled mouth.

What happens next is pure, skin-slapping joy. Not just because you enthusiastically buck against me. Not just because I’m inside you for the first time. Not just because I can hear you moan and suck and slurp the butter sticks.

All of that’s great, but the best part is… you’re fucking loving every second of this. You’re lost in the sensations, the tastes, the movements, and I’m pleasing you like you’ve never been pleased before. And when I erupt inside you, you’ve already cum. You’re licking the butter dribbles off the bedsheet.

And now I’m lying beside you, ignoring the mess, watching you catch your breath, waiting for you to speak.

You can’t. You’re too overcome.

“So?” I finally say. “Better than Sparky?”

“Yes,” you say. At least, your mouth forms the words. You don’t actually make a sound.

***

Thanks for reading! Next Saturday, we’ll skip ahead to a week later. And check out my ebooks for more stories like this.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

emmie’s hot writing tips

i’ve had a few asks for some advice when it comes to writing, so i hope this helps! don’t be shy to shoot me an ask or dm if you need further advice/help drafting/etc. excuse how i’m literally yapping here but i couldn’t pick only a few tips, these are my best ones

also thank you for deeming my silly fics good enough to ask me specifically for advice :)

/•᷅•᷄\Ⳋ⠀show, don’t tell

“show, don’t tell” is a writing device that elevates your writing by miles. think of it literally, by using this tool, you’re showing your readers what’s happening instead of just telling them. trust me, i know it’s tempting to write in broad strokes to sound poetic or profound, but often, the more specific you are, the more vivid and relatable your writing becomes. instead of “he felt sad,” or “the room was tense” say something like “his chest hollowed like he had forgotten how to breathe,” or “she could hear the shift of her own breath, loud in the stillness”. to you, which was more interesting to read? think, how does it feel to be in this situation? what is your character feeling physically, alongside mentally? take into consideration the physical aspects of emotions—feeling hot when angry, weightless when happy, heavy when sad, etc. zoom in on details—specific images, scents, or gestures can make a moment come alive. if you only had to take away one piece of my advice here, i would have to say this one is the most valuable.

/•᷅•᷄\Ⳋ⠀free writing

like many writers will tell you, if you have an idea—no matter how vague—take it and run with it. even if details have yet to be developed; bursts of ideas, plot points, and a general sense of where you’d like your story to go are great things to have when beginning something! perfectionism kills momentum. first drafts are meant to be messy. get the bones down. let scenes fall flat. say things “wrong.” you can edit a bad paragraph, but you can’t edit a blank one. trust that future you will be a better writer with a fresh pair of eyes and will clean it up.

/•᷅•᷄\Ⳋ⠀ learning metaphors and how to use them

metaphors are a very popular and powerful writing tool—for a reason. they help to really encapsulate the image you want to convey in a way that uses more than just plain words. although they are good, when they are misused, the picture you are trying to paint can become convoluted in your reader’s imagination. don’t just sling fancy words around to represent something just because—actually take a second to think about how you would describe things in interesting ways. try using your world building, plot, or otherwise as possible context that way you can conceptualise metaphors that fit into your story seamlessly.

/•᷅•᷄\Ⳋ⠀ foundation first, stylise later

yes, i understand that super original and stylish stories make for a better read, but it’s so important to have a strong story and foundation put out first. prioritise filling any possible plot holes, questions a reader could think while reading, etc. before diving into stylistic choices.

/•᷅•᷄\Ⳋ⠀write dialogue to sound like how people actually speak

people rarely speak in full monologues or perfectly structured sentences. if your dialogue feels stiff, try reading it out loud—if it sounds unnatural, it probably is. that being said, real speech is messy, so find a balance between authenticity and clarity. trim the “um”s and pauses, but keep the rhythm of human interaction. i often find myself doing my final proof read by reading it like i’m evaluating a film script, reading aloud ensures that what i’ve made sounds as natural as possible when rolling off the tongue.

/•᷅•᷄\Ⳋ⠀ not every idea is meant to be a novel

it’s okay if your idea works best as a short story, a drabble, or even a scene. learn to recognise the scale of your concept and let it be what it is. a well-told small story is more powerful than a drawn-out one that loses steam. sometimes, when you’re trying to extend an idea to fit whatever quota you think you need to fulfil, it ends up becoming too much to read—your readers might get bored. don’t immediately cut to the chase, but also don’t dance around it in a way that isn’t necessary. take some practice to find the sweet spot in that spectrum, once you know, you’ll know.

thanks for reading, happy writing!

this is different from what i usually post so i hope this helps whoever asked for advice! i’m always happy to help any fellow writers or creatives out there. again, don’t be shy to ask for help. i also invite any other writers to put any extra tips in the comments! village mentality of help for those who need it

[monicaalexandraaa]

SARAH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SAAARRRAAAAAHHHHHH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This was…….this was a rollercoaster !!!! And I’m never getting off !!!!!!

Oh gosh first of all, her opening up about working with her dad and how he hasn’t spoken to her😭How she loved it at first but finding out people thought she was just like him ruined it😭My heart broke for her. Shes such a confident badass but it took a lot to become that way🥺usually how it is isn’t it?😭

I loved seeing Harry comfort her and not thinking twice about it. He’s always jumping to make her feel better and make everything okay at the slightest inkling of her being upset. It’s the sweetest thing😌

“You’re nothing like him…that’s why I agreed to do this whole thing-because you’ll get the respect of your employees by being someone they know they can trust…not by being someone they fear.”

And she’s always jumping right back to make him feel good too😫😩😫😩

This flips a switch in Harry because he doesn’t ever want you to think that you’re not allowed to show any emotions that aren’t positive ones or that your feelings aren’t important and worth talking through because if anyone in his mind deserves a shoulder to cry on and arms to feel safe in, it’s you.

And I loved this^ waaaaaaahhhhhh. They’re both so caring towards each other I could sob for weeks about it.

And then this kiss ?!?!!!!! And the way I thought this would be it ?!?!!!!?!! Which I was more than giggling and kicking my feet over but I was a different person starting this than I am now having finished it.

One of his hands slides to the side of your neck to keep your face angled upward exactly how he wants while his other drops to your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. By the time Harry pulls away the two of you are struggling to catch your breath, he rests his forehead against yours but only for a moment because you watch him fix his posture and bring the hand that was on the side of your neck up to push his glasses back up his nose, a small blush on his cheeks when he catches you staring. You smile at the small reminder that the man standing between your legs, the one who just kissed you like he wanted to savor the flavor of your lips is the same sweet blushy man you met in that coffee shop almost a month ago.

ExaCTly HoW hE WanTS🫠🫠🫠And you know I love any and all adjustment of the glasses😍I’m making myself president of the Fine Print Harry adjusting his glasses fan club

The last little part of this too🥺LIKE WHO IS THIS MAN BUT LETS KEEP HIM FOR FURTHER EVALUATION✍️more testing is needed for sure👀just to be thorough of course of course.

“You don’t-don’t have to be strong all the time.” His voice is only a little shaky as he stares into your eyes, his hand giving your waist a squeeze. “I can be strong enough for the both of us-whenever you need me to be.” You rub your lips together to stop him from seeing how your bottom one is starting to quiver as he cups your cheek with his free hand.

FOR THE BOTH OF US😭😭😭OUR LITTLE CHICKEN NUGGET WILL BE STRONG EVEN IF HES AFRAID😭😭😭😭LIKE WHAT IS GOING AWWWWNNNNNN

Okay

So

The water bottles.

THE WATER BOTTLES.

“Please tell me they had one that said hubby and that you got it for yourself.” Harry lets out a laugh as your eyes look over the bottle in your hands and a grin takes over your face.

“Uh well…yeah they did and yes I got it so-”

“We can match!” Your excitement makes Harry’s heart vibrate as you do your signature happy dance that causes a few giggles to escape you, a stark contrast to the watery eyed woman he was just holding together a bit ago. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Your voice is soft and has an almost bouncy quality to it that has Harry following after you when you turn and walk into your bedroom so you can place the bottle on your nightstand.

I AM STILL SCREAMING OVER THIS !!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥹🥹😭😭🥺🥺HOW ADORABLE IS HEEEEEEEEE

Like uh yeah…..I did get it STOP RN I NEED HIM WITH ME AT ALL TIMESSSSSS

And her being so cute and excited about it! The happy dance !!!!! Like they’re perfect I cannot express that enough.

And then him still being nervous being in her room I’m sobbing I’m squealing I’m also doing some sort of happy dance what time is it where am I

You can’t help but smile at how even in moments like these Harry can’t help but be honest with you, even when it makes his cheeks turn pink and his finger twitch at his sides from embarrassment he can’t help himself, he will always be honest.

YEAH🥺😭😭😭😩

AND THEN YOU HIT ME WITH THIS SARAH

“This.” His hands are cupping your face and he’s pressing his lips into yours before you can even process what’s happening. The kiss is hungry and desperate as if Harry is trying to take full advantage of his moment of bravery, his tongue is slipping into your mouth as a hand slides to the back of your neck and he gently nudges your sock clad foot with his so you can make room for him to slot himself between your legs.

UM HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOO

But I can also imagine the little pep talk he most definitely gave himself to push him to go back into her room and do that. Like you can do it !!!!!!!!😩😫😩😫

but what makes your heart weak is the way he has to adjust himself so he’s leaning most of his weight onto his left arm so he can push his glasses up letting you get a better view of his lust filled eyes.

😩😫

“But don’t worry I’ll keep my glasses on while I ruin you-I know you like them.”

I AM SORRY

WHAT ?

WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAAAAAAAAAT WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

I needed to put my phone down and look around and fan myself because W H A T

Moving on (somehow)

You stare at him in a daze, his movements are smooth and he’s oozing a sense of confidence that would make it seem as if placing your legs on his broad shoulders so he can get a closer look at your soaked core is a casual and normal occurrence between the two of you and it has you gripping the sheets in anticipation for what’s going to come next.

Like truly what is going on right now and who do I need to speak with to make it a normal occurrence🤝

“I’m going to take my time with you-feel free to be as loud as you want.” Harry says with a voice filled with raw lust.

OKAY😃

“I like the way my name sounds when you scream it.” Your cheeks get hot as Harry leans over you, a pleased expression on his face. “Are you okay?” And just like that Harry is back to being soft and sweet as he leans down and places a tender kiss to your forehead.

THE SEXY TO SWEET I NEED HIM INJECTED IN MY VEINS SARAH !!!!!!!!!

AND OH ITS NOT OVER APPARENTLY

Your words are rushed and it has Harry smiling against your skin at how suddenly it’s you who can’t seem to get your words out smoothly and is a flushed mess beneath him.

Obsessed with that^ and both of them jumbling their words is perfection.

“What is it that you want?” His voice is deep and strained as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside of you until you’re feeling a sense of fullness like never before. “Tell me what you want love and I’ll give it to you.” He says with a groan as he quickly adjusts his glasses before he starts moving his hips in a slowly steady pace.

THE WAY HES TALKING AHHHHHHHH IS THIS THE MAN FROM PART 1 BECAUSEEEEEEE

Like truly need to run laps

“You okay baby? Sorry for sort of rushing there at the end but I just-uhm well didn’t know if you were okay with me-”

LIKE HES SO BABY EVEN AFTER THAT PERFORMANCE I DONT EVEN KNOW HOW TO MOVE ON FROM THIS SO I WILL STAY PUT RIGHT HERE FOREVER AND EVER ILL PAY RENT I PROMISE

So yeah I mean, that was great !

You’re incredible and I can’t wait for more🩷🩷

Fine Print: Practice Makes Perfect

Masterlist: Here

CW: Anxiousness, awkwardness, tiny bit of insecurity, minor language, tiny bit of size kink and smut (this is for the girlies who said Harry needs to keep the glasses on👀)

Word Count: 6.2K

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long I’ve been dealing with some energy/fatigue issues but I’m so happy these two are back and I hope y’all enjoy! Also I have decided to add one more part since this scene just needed its own moment so this series is going to have 7 parts in total now not 6! ✨

Tag List: @vikiii07 @pearlybows @sweetmoonlove0214 @mads3502 @somewiseguy @matildasatellite @lizsogolden @spinninc @prettygurl-2009 @onrsie @silastylesswift @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @blckburd @triski73 @mema10 @angeldavis777 @jerseygirlinca @readingrockstar23 @amateurduck

Summary: One night of your “honeymoon” takes a turn and things change between you and Harry ✨

“Okay one more time from the top but this time please don’t adjust your glasses more than twice-it makes you look a little flustered.” You instruct from your spot perched on the kitchen counter, a plate of pasta in your lap and a fork in your hand. “And it drives me a little wild.” You add with a wink that has Harry’s whole face heating up as he stands in front of you with a piece of paper that has his speech that he plans on giving the staff at his weekly meeting that’s scheduled for his first day back in office, which also happens to be his first day as the new official CEO of Styles & Co.

“O-okay I’ll uh try…try not to do that so much.” He stutters as he unintentionally uses his index finger to push his glasses further up his nose.

You give him a soft smile as he clears his throat and shoves the piece of paper into the back pocket of his jeans and readies himself to once again give you the speech he’s gone over maybe a dozen times already with you, each time ending with you giving him a tiny little adjustment to make. So far it’s been nothing too major just little things like not fixing his glasses so often and making sure he moves his eyes around the room so everyone will get a moment of feeling as if he’s speaking directly to them but the most important one and the one he is struggling with the most is his tone. He can’t seem to get it quite right but you assure him sounding confident in what he’s saying comes with knowing the material front to back so that’s why you have him standing in front of you ready to give you the same speech you yourself have begun to memorize.

“I’m looking forward to all the great things we will achieve together-thank you for your cooperation and patience during this transitional-”

“Pause please.” Harry quirks a brow at you as you hold a hand up to stop him in the middle of his closing paragraph. You look down at the plate in your lap and twirl a bit of the pasta onto your fork as you begin to explain to him the small issue you have with what he just said. “You don’t need to thank them for doing their jobs Harry. I know it seems like the polite thing to do but they’re getting a new chief executive officer that they’re already familiar with-it’s not like the company is going through a buy out so there won’t be much of a transitional period besides maybe you take up the elevators for a few days when you move up a floor to your new office.”

Harry stands there, in his usual state of awe as he watches you effortlessly twirl pasta onto your fork while also telling him he’s coming across as a little too nice. When you finally look up at him, his eyes are looking down at your plate so without thinking you hold out your fork, cupping your hand underneath it to catch any random drips of sauce. You catch his eyes move from the plate in your lap to the fork in your outstretched hand and he doesn’t hesitate to take a small step forward, his eyes finally finding yours as he leans down and wraps his lips around the fork earning him a smile from you.

“So let’s change the closing statement to something like-” Your voice is soft as Harry stands up and chews the bite of pasta, his eyes still locked with yours. “I’m looking forward to all the amazing and wonderful things we will accomplish together-so let’s get out there and get to work.” Harry nods his head as you deliver a closing statement that might potentially be the one he ends up using. It amazes him how professional and confident you sound, to the point where he even feels excited about the prospect of working with you all from a few sentences uttered at him while sitting on the counter with a plate in your lap, and feeding him bites of spaghetti.

“See how that seems more motivational and not so much like a warning about the nonexistent transitional period? We want them to leave that room excited about you being their new boss not worried about what the next few days or weeks are going to be like.” You explain as you twirl another bite of pasta onto your fork, your eyes still on Harry’s as he once again leans in and takes it from you once you hold the fork out towards him.

“How-how do you do that?” He asks after he’s done chewing, you raise an eyebrow as you motion for him to step closer to you with your index finger, he instantly complies and takes the small step towards you that has him now standing between your legs that are dangling over the edge of the counter.

“How do I do what?” You ask as you reach up and wipe a bit of sauce off the edge of Harry’s mouth, he feels his cheeks get warm as your thumb ghosts over his bottom lip.

“Uhm-” He tries to gather his thoughts as you look away from him so you can lean over and place the now empty plate into the sink. “How do you uh make this all seem so-so easy?” You let out a laugh as you sit up and lean your head back so it’s resting against a cabinet.

“I just know what board and senior staff members of a multimillion dollar corporation like to hear that’s all.” Your answer has Harry’s brows furrowing as he adjusts his glasses. “Don’t worry it’ll get easier for you we just have to take it one day-one meeting at a time.”

“Did you work for your dad?” He doesn’t know why the question slips out of his mouth but once it does he can’t help but notice the small twitch the corners of your mouth do before you give him a small shrug.

“I did.” He thinks that’s all he’s going to get but then you’re looking over his shoulder, out the window that shows off the back patio and he gets a feeling there’s more to your answer. “I started in the mail room…he wanted me to get a grasp of the company by starting on the ground level and working my way up…I loved the feeling I got with every promotion and honestly I was good at it…I was the one people turned to for everything the one they could count on and then one day…someone told me how I was just like my father and-and that changed everything.” Harry’s never heard your voice sound so small, so vulnerable before and it has his chest tightening as he fights off the urge to reach out and wrap his arms around you.

“He wasn’t the same person-at work he wasn’t the same man that he was at home. At the office he was cold and calculated…made everyone feel beneath him and he made everyone so nervous and miserable when he was around people hated him Harry…so when I got told I was just like him I quit…and never went back not even when he asked me to take over so he could retire-I just couldn’t risk turning out like him and having people hate me.” When you look at Harry you swallow the lump of emotions that has formed in your throat, you can feel your eyes starting to get the familiar sting of unshed tears and just as the first one rolls down your cheek Harry’s hands are cupping your face and he’s wiping it away with his thumb.

“No one could ever hate you.” He whispers as your hands come up and wrap around his wrists.

“Tell that to my dad-he hasn’t spoken more than five words to me since I turned him down and that was two years ago.” Your voice is watery and it has Harry’s heart splitting in half as more tears roll down your face. “Men like him aren’t used to being told no especially by their own daughter so I don’t know what I was really expecting.” Harry shakes his head as his thumbs continue to wipe away the teary evidence of your emotions.

“You were expecting your dad to still be your dad and-and he’s an absolute asshole for not being able to separate business from family.”

“Did you just call your father in law an asshole?”

“Uh-yes. I guess I did.” You let out a laugh that even though it’s a little watery sounding still makes Harry’s mouth curve up into a lopsided smile.

“You’re nothing like him…that’s why I agreed to do this whole thing-because you’ll get the respect of your employees by being someone they know they can trust…not by being someone they fear.” You confess softly as your hands travel down to rest on Harry’s forearms.

Harry lets your words sink in as your hands soothingly run up and down his arms, as if in this moment he’s the one who needs consoling and it has him beginning to wonder if you complimenting him with reassuring and confidence inducing words and giving him soft gentle touches is your way of getting the conversation to move away from what caused you to get so emotional in the first place. This flips a switch in Harry because he doesn’t ever want you to think that you’re not allowed to show any emotions that aren’t positive ones or that your feelings aren’t important and worth talking through because if anyone in his mind deserves a shoulder to cry on and arms to feel safe in, it’s you. So in a moment of pure impulsiveness he leans down and places his lips on your forehead in a gesture that feels almost more intimate than the previous kisses the two of you have shared.

“I’m not like him because I’d never pick a company over you.” He states smoothly and his words have your heart melting inside of your chest you don’t even process it as Harry tilts your head up just a bit, his thumbs brushing the last few tears from your cheeks before he’s pressing his lips against yours.

Your hands instantly grip the fabric of Harry’s t shirt, pulling him closer as much to your surprise Harry deepens the kiss by sliding his tongue against yours when he slips it past your parted lips. One of his hands slides to the side of your neck to keep your face angled upward exactly how he wants while his other drops to your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. By the time Harry pulls away the two of you are struggling to catch your breath, he rests his forehead against yours but only for a moment because you watch him fix his posture and bring the hand that was on the side of your neck up to push his glasses back up his nose, a small blush on his cheeks when he catches you staring. You smile at the small reminder that the man standing between your legs, the one who just kissed you like he wanted to savor the flavor of your lips is the same sweet blushy man you met in that coffee shop almost a month ago.

“You don’t-don’t have to be strong all the time.” His voice is only a little shaky as he stares into your eyes, his hand giving your waist a squeeze. “I can be strong enough for the both of us-whenever you need me to be.” You rub your lips together to stop him from seeing how your bottom one is starting to quiver as he cups your cheek with his free hand.

“Harry?” Your voice is barely above a whisper and it has Harry’s mouth turn downwards as he feels your arms wrap around his middle.

“What is it sweetheart?” He asks as he pulls you into his chest, his hand sliding to gently hold the back of your head as your cheek rests against the soft material of his t shirt.

“I n-need-” you feel his hand that was on your waist start running up and down your back as he quietly shushes you before you can finish your sentence and you’ve never been happier than the man you married three days ago also just so happens to be one of the sweetest men you’ve ever met, not even needing you to fully explain to him what you need because he already knows.

You’re not sure how long Harry keeps you wrapped up in the comfortable hold of his arms, but you know it was long enough that when you finally pull away the sun is starting to set behind the trees in the backyard. You can feel that something has shifted between the two of you so in an attempt to stay in the moment you choose not to say anything, afraid that even a small whisper will ruin it. Harry doesn’t say anything or bring attention to it either as he helps you off the counter but you can tell he feels the small shift that’s taking place between the two of you as well.

He licks his lips before rubbing them together but still remains silent as the two of you walk up the stairs hand in hand to the hallway that both of your bedrooms are on and he doesn’t say anything when you stop in front of your door, he just looks down at you with a look that makes your heart beat so hard in your chest you’re sure he can probably hear it. You let out a quiet sigh of content as you continue to look up at him, he’s all jawline and a soft cheekbones from your current angle and when he tilts his head just a bit you get a decent view of his profile and watch as his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose just a smidge with the movement.

“I uh got-got you something.” You raise an eyebrow as his voice takes on a deeper tone that you try not to let get to you, he clears his throat and lets go of your hand making so he can step further down the hallway adjusting his glasses as he heads towards his room. “Just-I’ll be right back.” He stumbles with his wording a bit as he holds a hand up as if telling you to just stay right where you’re standing. You watch in quiet amusement as he does a small jog like run down the hall and you can’t help but let a little chuckle escape you as you watch him turn and go into his bedroom.

There’s a quietness to the house that is oddly peaceful instead of the usual unsettling chill that silence can sometimes bring as you stand in your doorway waiting for Harry. You don’t have to wait long before Harry is walking down the hallway with a smile on his face and a playful gleam in his eyes as he holds both hands behind his back. You eye him suspiciously as he takes the last few steps so he’s standing in front of you, making you tilt your head up so you can look him in the eyes.

“You’re up to something.”

“I’m not I just…I saw it yesterday while I went to the store to grab stuff for dinner and-” Harry watches your face closely as he hands you a white water bottle that has the word Wifey on the front in a pretty cursive font written in a metallic silver color. “It made me think of you.”

“Please tell me they had one that said hubby and that you got it for yourself.” Harry lets out a laugh as your eyes look over the bottle in your hands and a grin takes over your face.

“Uh well…yeah they did and yes I got it so-”

“We can match!” Your excitement makes Harry’s heart vibrate as you do your signature happy dance that causes a few giggles to escape you, a stark contrast to the watery eyed woman he was just holding together a bit ago. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Your voice is soft and has an almost bouncy quality to it that has Harry following after you when you turn and walk into your bedroom so you can place the bottle on your nightstand.

“I’m glad you uhm…you uh like-like it.” Harry tries not to be so awkward, he really does but he can’t help but realize this is the first time he’s really been in your room since the two of you got married and it’s throwing him off. He tries to distract himself by looking around, noticing all the small touches that scream you, like the jewelry box on top of the dresser, the few picture frames you have on your nightstand and the robe that’s draped over the chair in front of your vanity.

“Harry.” His name rolling off your tongue has him automatically turning on his heels so he’s facing you and when his eyes find yours he feels at ease, his shoulder relax and his hands fall to his sides instead of being nervously clasped together behind his back. “There you are-was worried you were stuck in that head of yours again.” He lets out a nervous chuckle as he takes a small step closer to you.

“Sorry I was just looking at your photos and your uh silky looking uh robe thing and uhm…stuff.” You can’t help but smile at how even in moments like these Harry can’t help but be honest with you, even when it makes his cheeks turn pink and his finger twitch at his sides from embarrassment he can’t help himself, he will always be honest.

“Well uh I’m gonna go get uhm r-ready for bed but I’m glad you like your gift and thank you for all the help today on the speech…I really-really do appreciate it.” You almost stop him and ask him to stay, reassure him that he doesn’t need to rush off just because he said something silly like he was looking at your silk robe but you don’t want to make him feel obligated and one thing you know for certain is that Harry will more than likely do anything you ask him to do, even if it means he’s uncomfortable the whole time. So you just give him a warm smile and a nod as you stand near your nightstand, he returns the smile before heading out of your bedroom.

You let out a sigh as Harry disappears down the hall, you sit on the edge of your bed and are about to fall backwards and do a little doom scrolling before taking a shower when suddenly you hear the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway but this time they sounds like they are headed towards your room instead of away from it. You quirk an eyebrow and just as you stand up to go check and make sure Harry is okay, he’s standing in your doorway. He has a look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, their usual bright emerald green color has suddenly gone darker and it has your skin buzzing as he lets them slowly rake over your frame.

“Sorry I forgot something.” He’s moving towards you as the words leave his mouth, his voice still soft but with a deepness to it that has you swallowing thickly as you watch him step into your room.

“Oh wh-what is it?” You ask with a shaky voice as his gaze turns more intense the closer he gets to you.

“This.” His hands are cupping your face and he’s pressing his lips into yours before you can even process what’s happening. The kiss is hungry and desperate as if Harry is trying to take full advantage of his moment of bravery, his tongue is slipping into your mouth as a hand slides to the back of your neck and he gently nudges your sock clad foot with his so you can make room for him to slot himself between your legs.

Your hands tangle into his hair and a small gasp falls from you when you feel your back land on the soft sheets of your bed, Harry just swallows it down as his lips move against yours. His hand travels down to the hem of your t shirt slipping underneath it and a shiver runs down your spine as you feel his big hand lay flat against the soft skin of your tummy and slowly inches its way up until he’s cupping your breast over your bra.

When Harry’s lips make their way to your neck you feel not only out of breath but completely out of your mind with a sense of need, a need for the man who’s currently palming your breast and nipping at your neck to give you more. Normally you’d vocalize this, having no issue whatsoever with saying what you want and what you need from a partner but this isn’t just someone you’re having a casual moment with, this is Harry, you’re husband. So you decide to just see where he takes things, not wanting to make him feel rushed or uncomfortable because honestly as long as his lips and hands are on you in someway you don’t think you’d mind if this is all you get tonight.

“Is this okay?” His voice is gentle as he pulls back just enough for his eyes to lock with yours, his lips are kiss swollen, his cheeks are flushed with a light shade of pink and his hair is disheveled but what makes your heart weak is the way he has to adjust himself so he’s leaning most of his weight onto his left arm so he can push his glasses up letting you get a better view of his lust filled eyes.

“It’s more than okay.” You answer with a smile as you reach up and run your hands through his hair making him close his eyes and let out a soft sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about this-”

“About you being on top of me like this? Really? I’m shocked.” Harry lets out a laugh as he looks down at you just in time for you to give him a playful little wink. “I thought you’d be more into me on top.” You state casually as your hands slide down his chest, Harry watches as you bite your bottom lip and it makes his cock twitch in his jeans. “You know…because you could keep your glasses on? Figured you’d be into that.” He shakes his head and you feel his chest vibrate with a low chuckle.

“I’m just into you.” You can’t wrap your brain around how adorably charming and romantic he is without even realizing it, his tone and his eyes letting you in on the fact he’s not teasing you he’s just being honest. “But don’t worry I’ll keep my glasses on while I ruin you-I know you like them.” His voice is husky and it takes you a minute to adjust to the sudden flip in Harry’s demeanor as he leans down with a smirk and captures your lips in a heated kiss.

He wastes no time in slipping his tongue into your mouth making a deep fire of need ignite low in your tummy as he deepens the kiss with every swipe of his tongue over yours. You don’t know where he’s been hiding this confidence as his hands move down your body, exploring every curve leaving a trail of heat in his wake but you don’t have time to think about it long before you feel his strong hands grip your hips and pull you closer to the edge of the bed making him smile against your lips as you let out a little startled squeak. Breaking the kiss Harry gazes into your eyes and you feel your heart pounding in your chest as he adjusts his glasses with a knowing smile.

“You look beautiful.” He murmurs, voice laced with the kind of lust you’ve only heard in movies and it has you trying to clench your thighs together but Harry’s perfectly situated himself between them. You let out a tiny gasp as Harry leans down and begins placing open mouthed kisses to the side of your neck, his hand pushes up your shirt and soon you feel his lips traveling down your chest to your lower tummy his glasses lightly brushing against your heated skin making you shiver at the feeling of the cool metal on your sensitive skin.

“Harry.” You don’t mean for it to come out as a moan as you reach for his hair, urging him lower where he knows you’re craving him the most and when you feel his hot breath on your skin you can’t help but arch into his mouth needing more.

Harry smiles against your skin as he moves downward until he’s comfortably settled between your thighs, you feel a surge of anticipation go through your body as he presses soft kisses to the inside of your thighs as his hands begin to pull down your shorts. You instinctively lift your hips and slide your panties down your legs as well, hoping to get the process moving a little quicker and Harry just gives you a dark chuckle as you wiggle closer to the edge of the bed. When you look at him his stare is intense behind his glasses and then he licks his lips as he hungrily drags his eyes down to your glistening core and it’s in that moment you knew he wasn’t kidding.

He was really going to ruin you.

You swallow thickly as Harry’s hands grip your knees so he can spread your legs a little wider and then you feel his hold on them move so he’s now grabbing the backs of them so he can lift your legs onto his shoulders. You stare at him in a daze, his movements are smooth and he’s oozing a sense of confidence that would make it seem as if placing your legs on his broad shoulders so he can get a closer look at your soaked core is a casual and normal occurrence between the two of you and it has you gripping the sheets in anticipation for what’s going to come next.

“I’m going to take my time with you-feel free to be as loud as you want.” Harry says with a voice filled with raw lust. You rest your head on the bed just as his mouth lowers to your aching core, you shiver as his hot breath fans across your sensitive skin, his tongue immediately sliding through your slick folds, a low moan rumbles from deep in his chest as he gets a taste of you on his tongue.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, your hands tightening their hold on the sheets as intense pleasure floods your senses as he flicks your sensitive clit with the tip of his tongue before slipping it back into your tight cunt. The way he swirls it around as he dives deeper into your heat causes a loud moan to tumble out of your mouth and has you feeling as if he somehow already knows your body better than anyone you’ve ever been with. Harry hums in approval when you reach down and slide a hand into his hair giving it a nice tug, the vibration sending electric shocks through your entire body.

“God you taste so good.” He mumbles against your core as he pushes two fingers into you making you arch your back as they curl up and expertly stroke the spot inside of you that has your hips jerking and your thighs trembling. “That’s it isn’t it baby? The spot that makes you feel good?” Your mind can’t focus on trying to form a response, only able to focus on the waves of pleasure washing over you as Harry flicks his tongue across your clit, the cool metal of his glasses occasionally pressing against the inside of your thighs somehow only intensifies the sensations, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Don’t stop-please don’t stop.” You cry out in pure desperation, your hips bucking to try to match the pace of his fingers and tongue as they relentlessly work to make you come undone.

“Can feel you squeezing my fingers.” Harry growls, briefly lifting his head, his lips wet and glistening as he locks eyes with you through his glasses. “I’ve got you-just let go for me sweetheart.”

His words mixed with the intensity of his stare push you over the edge, pleasure exploding powerfully through your body. You scream his name as your legs tremble making him grab hold of your thighs to help keep you steady as he continues to work you through your climax, drawing out every delicious tremor until you’re utterly spent and your head is falling back against the bed and your hand releases its hold in his hair.

“Holy-oh fuck.” Your words get caught in your throat as Harry places a soft kiss to your sensitive clit making your hips jerk before gently moving your legs from his shoulder.

“I like the way my name sounds when you scream it.” Your cheeks get hot as Harry leans over you, a pleased expression on his face. “Are you okay?” And just like that Harry is back to being soft and sweet as he leans down and places a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Okay? No I’m-I’m not okay I’m….I don’t even know what I am but I’m doing way better than just okay.” Harry laughs at how flustered you sound as you try to get your breathing back to normal.

“Good.” His voice is low as he nips at the skin right below your ear. “But not done with you yet…so tell me now if you want me to stop.”

“I’m good yeah I-I don’t want to stop.” Your words are rushed and it has Harry smiling against your skin at how suddenly it’s you who can’t seem to get your words out smoothly and is a flushed mess beneath him.

You watch with wild eyes as he pulls away and stands up, you sit up so you’re leaning on your elbows letting you watch him as he starts to undo the button and zipper of his jeans, his eyes find yours as he pulls his jeans and his boxers down in one quick motion allowing you to get a full view of his hard cock. He watches your mouth drop open and your eyes go big and round as your eyes slowly roam over his lower half, taking in the size of him and he swears he could burst right then and there when you lick your lips.

“Oh okay so…you really are going to ruin me.” Your words come out with a sigh as you fall back onto the bed, Harry can’t help the laugh that falls from him and he moves so he’s once again hovering over you.

“You sure about this?” He asks in his usual velvety soft voice that has your heart racing. When you just nod in response he shakes his head as one of his hands reaches down and gives his cock a slow pump, the tip of it poking at your entrance. “Need words baby-you sure you want to do this?” You feel your eyes trying to roll back as he teasingly pushes the head of his cock into your wetness just to pull it out and drag it up and down your slick folds.

“Y-yes I want this please Harry-please give it to me.” The whine and pure desperation in your voice makes Harry’s cock throb as he slowly starts to push inside, your walls stretching and wrapping around him perfectly.

“What is it that you want?” His voice is deep and strained as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside of you until you’re feeling a sense of fullness like never before. “Tell me what you want love and I’ll give it to you.” He says with a groan as he quickly adjusts his glasses before he starts moving his hips in a slowly steady pace.

“Want you to f-fuck me please-oh god.” You let out a loud moan as Harry stands up, his hands gripping tightly onto your hips to keep you in place as he quickens his pace.

“You feel incredible.” Harry pants, eyes locked onto yours you see them swirling with an intense passion as he gives you a harsh thrust of his hips making the tip of his cock hit the spot that has your hands white knuckling the sheets. “Taking me so well baby-doing so good for me.” You let out a soft whine of his name as his sweet praises hit your ears, his eyes travel down from your face to where the two of you are connected and he lets out a groan as he watches the way his thick cock, glistening with your arousal slips in and out of your tight cunt.

“So big-feels so good.” You moan breathlessly as his grip on your hips tighten letting you know you’re probably going to have little bruises there tomorrow to serve as a reminder of the intense pleasure you’re feeling right now.

“Yeah you like the way my big cock stretches you out and makes you feel all full don’t you?” He watches your mouth fall open and a cry of his name flies out as he slides a hand over so it’s pressing gently onto your lower tummy while his thumb starts rubbing tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. “It’s all yours sweetheart-can make you feel this good all the time if you’ll let me.”

“S-so so close oh god yes yes-right there oh fuck.” Your moans turn louder and louder as Harry’s thrusts intensify, pounding into you making him continuously hit that sweet spot deep inside and soon you’re clenching around him making him tilt his head back and close his eyes to try to keep himself from bursting.

“That’s it baby just like that-feel so good squeezing me like this.” His voice is strained as he continues to pump his cock in and out of you, his thumb adding pressure to your clit making your back arch and his name to fall out of your mouth over and over like a chant. “You’re doing so good baby-shit you’re so beautiful when you’re soaking my cock.” You swear you see stars as your orgasm hits you, hard and intense but Harry just continues to fuck you through it, his hands holding the sides of your thighs to keep your legs around his waist as he chases his own release.

“Oh fuck I’m gonna come.” You feel his hands drop from your legs as he pulls out making you let out a tiny whimper at the abrupt loss of the fullness he was giving you but before you can open your mouth to say anything Harry is leaning over with one hand on the sheets next to your hip and the other firmly wrapped around his throbbing cock.

You lift your head and the sight before you has your mouth dropping open. Harry’s head is tilted towards the ceiling and his eyes are shut letting you get a beautiful view of his neck, his curls are a damp mess atop his head and the way his mouth falls open and he moans your name as he spills his hot release all over the front of your dripping cunt makes your toes curl and if your body didn’t feel like jello you would reach out and touch him just to make sure he’s really standing between your shaky thighs and this isn’t a dream.

“Holy shit.” He pants as he opens his eyes and looks down at you, a breathy chuckle falls from his lips as you just stare at him with wide eyes and a blissfully fucked out expression on your face. “You okay baby? Sorry for sort of rushing there at the end but I just-uhm well didn’t know if you were okay with me-”

“Whatever you want-I’m-I’m fine with.” You cut him off with a mumble making Harry just shake his head as he leans over you, fixing his glasses before he places his lips to the side of your face. “T-totally fine with it…whatever you want.” You add trying to really convince him that he can do whatever he wants with you.

“We can talk about it later.” He says with a laugh while he leans in so he can place a sweet kiss to your lips. “Come on-let’s get you cleaned up.” You blink up at him a few times before his hands are clasping around yours and he’s helping you stand up so he can walk you carefully to the bathroom where he effortlessly picks you up and sets you on the counter so he can start a bath.

“Yeah…I don’t think you’re ever getting rid of me.” You tell him with a dreamy sigh, Harry just gives you a shrug before looking at you over his shoulder, a dimpled grin on his face.

“Good.”

[tinyboxxtink]

"No" (Damien Haas/Reader)

So I legit had this dream last night, and I had to write it down. Granted it is very fleshed out, but the emotions are so vivid and sincere. Since it was a dream, I thought about just keeping it a one shot but I definitely have been writing more already.

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

In summation, you work at SMOSH and you are trying to tell Damien Haas how you feel, but he is hesitant to believe you.

I won't claim to know how Damien thinks, functions or acts due to his neuro-divergency, but I did my best of my own interpretation. I do not claim these to be factual! So please no "ACTUALLY he wouldn't do this, or say this, it doesn't work like that" please.

It is written in first person, I've never done it like that before and I kind of love it.

==================================

“No”

“No?” I half laughed. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean, no,” he repeated with a very serious look. “No, you’re mistaken. No, you’re wrong. No,”

“Damien--” I sighed. I should’ve predicted this. Everyone warned me about this. "You can’t dictate how I feel,”

“I get that,” he got defensive. “I may have the ‘tism, but I’m not stupid.” He pulled on the tips of his fingers.

“I know you’re not stupid!” I tried to follow his train of thought. “But you can’t just tell me I don’t have feelings for you,”

“I can if I know you’re wrong,” he replied while now moving to pick a string on his pants.

“You cannot know--” I started to shut down his thoughts.

“I can and I do,” He quickly cut me off matter of factly.

“What is happening right now?” I looked around as if looking for a logical explanation, as if there was one.

“Look at you, Y/N,” He gestured to all of you. “You’re beautiful, kind, funny, talented,”

“Well, thank you,” you blushed and played with your hair as you drank in his compliments.

“And look at me,” he made a flippant hand movement towards himself.

“I am,” I gave him a small smile, but it only seemed to agitate him.

“No, you’re not!” He took a step back. “I’m-- I’m not, normal,”

“I know that” I tried to step towards him cautiously. “That’s one of the things I love about--”

“Stop saying that,” He cracked his knuckles in agitation.

“What?” My eyebrows furrowed.

“Just-- just stop, okay?” He began to tug at his sleeves and bounced between his feet; a sign I noticed signaled distress.

“Damien,” my voice lowered into a small plea. “Please, please don’t do this,”

“Don’t do what?” he crossed his arms now, signaling self-protection keeping a barrier up between us. “Don’t start being weird? That’s who I am! This is who I am!”

“Okay, okay,” I looked around nervously, hoping no one noticed us.

“Oh, worried about being seen?” He clocked me at once. “Worried about being embarrassed by the freak of the office?”

“What are you--?” I had to half laugh. You both knew being a “freak” around this office was practically impossible with the cast of characters you worked with.

“Now you’re laughing.” He scoffed with his own bitter chortle. “See, I’m telling you. I know, Y/N. I know someone like you cannot and should not have romantic feelings for me, of any kind. You can’t even take me seriously!”

“Damien--” My eyes welled up as I heard him talking about himself like he didn’t deserve to be loved. Someone had really done a number on him; and that killed me.

“Don’t,” he warned, as if he predicted me making a comforting gesture; such as putting my hand out towards him.

“Damien,” I wasn’t going to back down. Not now. Not after it had taken me months to build up enough courage to tell him.

I did know that he was hesitant to accept compliments and gestures of affection like touch. But around me it seemed different. He didn’t flinch when I touched his arm gently while talking, which I discovered when doing so. Totally unconsciously of course, but when he didn’t jerk away awkwardly or comment “Oh I don’t like that,” as he did with most people, I just noted it to myself and continued the conversation.

He always gave me a sweet smile and thanked me if I said he was rocking that t-shirt or that I loved his new hair color. When other people would offer the same compliment, he would negate it or shrug it off.

“Oh no, I just grabbed the only clean t-shirt I had.” Or “Oh, it didn’t come out the color I meant to.”

I thought things like this signaled that I was different to him, that I might be special. Maybe I breached the invisible wall he kept up for the world. But now, now he felt more walled up than ever.

I took a deep breath before talking, trying to sort out every word I wanted to say with preciseness to keep his attention and ignore his intinction to run.

“Damien,” I spoke again, making sure to keep his eye contact. I could see his expression softening from anger to regret and sadness seeing the tears threatening to fall down my face.

“I... I know that—people,” I did my best to keep names out of it to keep from triggering anything else.

“They have made you feel like you don’t deserve good things. That you are somehow lower than a ‘normal’ person, just for being who you are. I get that,”

“No, you--” He tried to object.

“Please don’t,” I put my hand up. “Please let me get through this, okay?”

He nodded, accepting the social contract of conversation you were currently in.

“Maybe I don’t completely understand 100%, but I do know what it feels like to feel worthless.”

That confession made his expression turn empathetic, as if he never wanted me to feel the way he did all the time.

“But I am telling you, as the God’s honest truth.” I held my hand up like a promise sign. “I have romantic feelings for you, and I think I always have. Even before I worked here,”

I took a second to breathe before continuing before he could get in his head.

“You are kind, empathetic,one of the most talented performers and comedians I have ever seen in my entire life.”

I bit my lip as tears choked my throat. I needed him to hear these words, the words I had kept to myself for months. The words that had spewed from my mouth when Courtney mentioned she saw the way I looked at him.

“You are one of the most amazing, wonderful, sexiest man I’ve ever met.” I continued to vomit my feelings for him as I thought back to the moment, I met him in the Smoshfice.

=========

I had seen him on the internet for years of course, but something about him in person just took my breath away. His currently white hair was slicked back, except for one strand that fell across his Harry Potter glasses.

“Hi, I’m Damen,” he nodded at me with a shy smile, doing his best to keep eye contact with me.

“I know,” I had blurted out, which caught him off guard.

“Oh, yeah?” His beautiful hazel eyes perked up with the tiniest glint of confidence.

“I mean—yeah,” I had nervously pushed my hair behind my ears. Not wanting to admit I was the one behind more than one “Damien Haas Fan Edit” on TikTok, I threw out some anime I knew he voiced to trigger a conversation.

Watching him talk about things he was passionate about was one of my favorite things about him. The way he spoke so eloquently and with such fervor, his hand gestures going wildly and his face full of expression, it was the best part of my day.

I was very much underplaying how much I felt for him, for such a long time. I knew I was in love with him so much sooner than I would ever admit to anyone.

======

He just stood there for a minute—but the silence seemed to go on for hours. I could see the panic in his eyes morphing into darting motions back and forth as neurons fired in his brain, trying to grasp onto the words I was saying to him.

“Damien,” I gulped, taking another brave step forward, closing the space between us. I bravely graced my fingers against his own chipped black nail polished hands that were trembling.

“I love you,” I said in the most earnest manner I could while looking him directly into his eyes.

I search his hazel irises back and forth, my mind going a million miles an hour, and yet able to focus on one thing.

My breath hitched in my throat as I saw his expression soften into acceptance. His other hand lifted to meet mine as we both danced our fingers across each other’s hands.

He took a shaky breath and started to close the gap completely, and my heart stopped.

This was it, this was the moment. This was the thing I had been waiting for since I spotted his face on the internet.

I closed my eyes as I felt his face closer to mine, waiting for the contact of our lips.

But it doesn’t come.

I opened my eyes to see him now stepping back, the fear in his neuro-divergent brain taking over.

“.... No,” he jerked away and backed away quickly before turning and speeding away from me.

“Damien!!!” The tears now fell freshly and freely as I just watched him flee. I started to go after him against my better judgement when I felt a forceful hand on my shoulder.

I turned to see Shayne as owner of the hand, with Courtney standing close behind him.

“Don’t,” he said rather harshly, until Courtney nudged him. I knew he was just being protective, and Courtney was trying to help me.

“Sorry,” he apologized as he let his grip loose and returned his arm to his side. “I just--”

“I know,” I nodded as I wiped my eyes.

Courtney reached out behind him to envelope me in a hug as I sobbed into her shoulder.

Unknown to me, she looked at Shayne with a sad look, which he only returned with a shrug. He could see how hurt I was, and it made him feel for me. But he also had warned me that it took a lot of time, and effort, to be able to breach Damien’s wall. Especially after certain people had cemented the bricks with their abuse.

I didn’t know if it was brave or stupid to do what I had just done. I truly thought saying something might get through to him, might make the hurt you felt pining for him go away.

But now it was just a gaping hole, and I didn’t know how to crawl out of it.

[sickgraymeat]

.-.

[tecnestheim962]

I wish I knew how to make edits because you don’t understand how much I NEED an AMV of Wasteland but instead of Jinx it’s Ruby because wtf. Though 90 percent of it would just be V9E8 because, once again, wtf

I am not okay

[gregmarriage]

currently busy waiting for the other shoe to drop (the impending breakdown about it being my birthday in a week)

[strohller27]

.