#and like. how hard is it actually to set something like that up

[gojoest]

a shape that could be ours — gojo satoru

synopsis: newlyweds are always asked the same question: “when will the babies come?” sometimes, the questions are harmless. other times, they get under your skin. you start to think and you start to imagine. maybe you tuck a pillow under your shirt one time, just to see. and maybe… your husband, gojo satoru, sees it too.

warnings: f!reader (she/her), established relationship (you are newly married), pregnancy/baby talk, pet names (pretty, baby), domestic fluff, not proofread, wc: 2.6k, dividers by @/cursed-carmine

“what? don’t you want a baby with me?” satoru asks as he sets the plates down on the counter and walks over to you. his voice is low and teasing. but not teasing in the usual carefree way; there’s something softer threaded through it, something almost serious. like it isn’t really a question he’s asking at all, but a quiet hope. a request. one he’s afraid to say out loud too often.

you blink up at him, unsure whether to be flustered or frustrated.

dinner had just ended. it was the first time you invited family over since the wedding. a small gathering, really, that still somehow managed to feel like a full-blown event. everything had to be perfect. you spent the whole day cleaning, organizing, cooking. and not just because you’re a perfectionist, but because…

…his clan is, well, intense.

polished and traditional in all the wrong ways where every smile hides a critique, every compliment is laced with a condition. you knew it wouldn’t be easy to deal with them tonight but it mattered to you for the dinner to go well.

and in many ways, it did. except for that constant baby talk. family pressure.

“so, when are we going to hear the pitter-patter of little feet?”

“you two are married now. it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“i give it three months.”

‘three months? i’m hoping to get good news by the end of this month. the gojo blood is impatient.”

the laughter at the table was warm and lighthearted on the surface. but all of it made you want to disappear into your bowl of rice. every eye was on you and satoru — some amused, others expectant. as if you two were a machine that could be activated at any moment to start producing the next generation.

throughout the entire dinner you could barely take a sip of your drink without actually chocking on it.

meanwhile, satoru was just grinning like the menace he is — relaxed, smug and completely unfazed as always.

“we’ve been practicing”, he said brightly, “when the time comes, you will all know. it will show”, while caressing your belly shamelessly.

you nearly dropped your chopsticks. that idiot.

no matter how many times you jabbed his elbow, perhaps at times hard enough to leave a bruise, he kept chuckling, leaning over to kiss your temple like the world’s most supportive husband, and carried on with his antics. entertaining everyone with far too much confidence and far too many innuendos. not embarrassed at all, not for a second trying to avoid the topic when it was brought up. in fact, he kept leaning into it. perhaps because he enjoyed the idea a little bit too much and loved making it known since it involved the two of you becoming even closer. or perhaps as a subtle way of signaling you that he’s ready even if you aren’t. either way, he was absolutely in his element.

you, however, were ready to crawl under the table and stay there until the end of time, embarrassed.

by the time everyone was finally saying goodbye, you could barely fake another smile. several relatives winked on their way out, whispering things like “go work on that baby now” as if they didn’t already do enough damage to your nervous system, but now this too.

hours later, you’re standing in the kitchen rinsing plates, trying to scrub both the dishes and your embarrassment clean.

satoru is still watching you. he tilts his head, eyes a little softer now, like he’s peeling back the layer of jokes he wears so well. he steps closer to you and reaches out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. then his hand tilts your chin upward, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“i mean it”, he says quietly. “don’t you want a baby with me?”

as a reflex, you try to turn away, but his hand holds you steady. not forceful, but firm enough, like he’s not ready to let you run from the question again.

“i…” you mumble. “i never said i didn’t want that.”

and that’s all he needs. a slow smile spreads across his lips. not a cocky one, but soft. almost relieved. he lets you go, brushing his fingers along your jaw as he pulls back. “good”, he says. “because i already think about it way too much.”

indeed, satoru has been imagining this, fantasizing even, for far too long, before you even got married. and all of his earlier teasing wasn’t just for show.

but on your end, it starts slowly. quietly. like how you start noticing flowers blooming only after winter has begun to fade.

a toddler’s giggle catches your attention in the park. you weren’t even really looking, just sipping on your coffee and scrolling mindlessly on your phone. but the sound draws your eyes up. a little girl in pink overalls is running after bubbles, squealing with laughter. her parents sit nearby on a bench, watching with contentment.

you don’t even realize you’re standing until the bubble pops and the girl turns to look at you, grinning. you smile back.

and just like that, you find yourself looking more often. at playgrounds. at babies wrapped in slings. at tiny shoes lined up in store windows. at couples who walk slowly because they’re pacing themselves with the unsteady toddle of their child between them.

you tell yourself it’s just because everyone keeps bringing it up. that your brain is on autopilot, stuck on a topic you never gave much thought before.

but then, you catch yourself lingering in the baby aisle at the store. just a second too long and just enough to picture what it might be like… a tiny hoodie with a little bear face. a pair of miniature sneakers that could fit in your palm. but alas, you shake your head and move on like that’ll erase the softness creeping in.

of course, satoru doesn’t help.

in fact, he seems to notice the shift in you immediately, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. one night, while you’re brushing your teeth, he appears in the mirror behind you, eyes sleepy but still, mischievous.

“if it’s a girl”, he says softly, “i want her to have your eyes.”

you pause, toothbrush still in your mouth. you look at his reflection in the mirror, he’s smiling. he says it so casually, like you’d been in the middle of that conversation all along.

pulling the toothbrush out, you gasp. “…what?”

“i mean it, pretty”, he says, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “your eyes. she’ll have me wrapped around her tiny little finger, obviously. but if she takes your eyes? i’m done for.”

you blink at him, unsure if your heart is skipping a beat from his words or because you brushed a little too hard… “satoru—”

“and i want to teach her how to fight”, he adds, grinning now. “so i can pretend i’m cool and strong before she decides i’m not.”

you stare at him. “looks like you’ve put way too much thought into this”

he shrugs, utterly unbothered. “of course i have. i think about it all the time.”

you turn away, rinsing your mouth, pretending your hands aren’t a little shaky from how serious he sounded underneath all the teasing.

another time, you’re curled on the couch, scrolling, when he flops next to you and plops a tiny onesie in your lap. it says: strongest baby alive!

“what— how— why do you even have this?” you ask, holding it up like it might detonate.

he grins. “came across it online. couldn’t resist. look, it’s perfect!”

“satoru.”

“what? just prepping for greatness”, he chuckles. but there’s something in the way he watches you after. like he’s waiting. measuring your reaction. seeing if your fingers linger on the fabric. and when they do — just a second too long — his smile falters. softens and turns quiet.

he doesn’t push it, though. doesn’t mention it again. instead, the next morning, you find your favorite mug already filled with coffee, and beside it… a baby spoon.

you roll your eyes. but you also don’t throw it away.

and that night, while helping your friend babysit her toddler, you let the little boy climb into your lap. he has chubby fingers and impossibly soft hair, and he tugs at your necklace while babbling nonsense. at one point, he rests his head against your chest and sighs. you feel something in your chest flutter, crack open…

when satoru comes to pick you up, the boy doesn’t want to let go of your hand. satoru says nothing on the ride home. but he doesn’t let go of your hand, either. one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on yours, warm against your thigh.

a few days later, satoru was abruptly called by the higher-ups about something last minute. nothing new. he kissed your cheek, told you not to wait up and vanished with a sweet little wink before putting on his blindfold.

now hours later, the silence he left behind still lingers. there’s no hum of his laughter, no echo of his dramatic commentary from the hallway, no footsteps chasing you down for one more kiss. just you.

you’re folding the laundry — a pile of shirts, a few of his socks that somehow always get lost in pairs, and then… a pillow. an extra cushion from the couch that ended up in the wrong basket.

you pick it up absently, ready to toss it aside, but… your hands hesitate. your eyes lower, thumb smoothing across the fabric. your heartbeat shifts a little and almost without thinking, you press the pillow against your stomach. a little too high at first, then you adjust it lower. tuck it in and pull your shirt over it.

just to see, to feel.

you walk to the mirror, barefoot, and look at your reflection. the shape is awkward and lumpy. not real. but the illusion is enough. your hand rests on the makeshift bump and then, slowly, one starts to move, caressing lightly over the curve.

you know it’s silly, but something within you responds. your face warms. you start to imagine satoru’s hand covering yours. you imagine him kneeling in front of you, placing a kiss against your stomach, whispering some ridiculous name idea he’s already picked out. you imagine tiny clothes, sleepless nights, holding something small and warm that’s half you and half him… you let yourself smile.

fingers brush gently over the fabric again. this could happen — you think — it’s possible. it’s real — and for the first time, the idea doesn’t make you want to run and hide. in fact, it makes your eyes sting a little. you lose yourself so deeply in the fantasy that your ears don’t catch on the sound of the front door open.

satoru didn’t mean to get home this quietly. usually, he makes a noise on purpose — jingles the keys, sings something stupid in the hallway, says something lovesick as soon as he opens the door just to hear you laugh.

but tonight, something stops him. he’s got that feeling. a pull.

the house is dim, soft with the kind of stillness that suggests you’re somewhere in thought. then he hears the faint shuffle of feet — yours — and he follows the sound like a thread, guiding him toward a barely cracked bedroom door.

he’s halfway through taking off his blindfold when he sees it through the narrow crack. you, in front of the mirror. a pillow under your shirt. your hands on it like it’s real.

he doesn’t move at first. his eyes track the curve of your body with something close to awe and he forgets how to breathe, or perhaps he’s afraid that if he breathes the moment will vanish. something primal and visceral hitting him all at once. you’re not smiling in the mirror like it’s a joke. you’re dreaming. touching the false belly like you’re already connected to someone that doesn’t exist — but could…

he thinks he might die on the spot. this is the future he’s been aching for in silence. this is the image that’s kept him up at night, one hand over his eyes, the other gripping the sheets, wondering when (if) you’d want the same…

and then, you see him. in the mirror just beyond your shoulder. startled, you turn. your hands fumble the pillow, cheeks heating up from embarrassment. “i— i was just… you know—it’s nothing. i was just being silly—”

he opens the door fully now and steps in slowly as if he’s approaching a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

“stop”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper. he walks over to you like he’s being pulled by something magnetic. his hands are warm when he places one over the bump. even if it’s fake, it doesn’t matter. his fingers tremble anyway.

“you look beautiful. so beautiful, baby”, he murmurs, eyes not leaving you. “like it’s already real”, he swallows hard.

god, what i wouldn’t give to make it real, he thinks. to watch you grow round and soft with his child. to see the way your body would change — carry the weight of something made by both of you. to feel your skin stretch under his palms, life blooming inside you because of him.

he would worship you. he already does. but like that? pregnant with his child? he wouldn’t survive it.

he plants a soft kiss to your temple, hand curling protectively around your back, the pillow pressing between you. “i want to give you everything, you know that?” he whispers, but his voice sounds strained like he’s holding back too much all at once.

you nod against him. but, it’s not enough. not when you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror like that, not when you’ve imagined it too…

“say it”, he breathes against your hair. “tell me you want it too”

you look up at him, eyes vulnerable. that same look you gave your reflection.

“i want it”, you whisper. “i want a baby with you”

…and that’s it. that’s the thing that unravels him. letting out a shaky breath, he presses his forehead to yours. eyes fluttering closed as he cradles your face in both hands. he’s barely holding himself from dropping to his knees and pressing his mouth to your stomach, kissing it until you forget every reason you ever hesitated.

“let me give you a baby”, he says it now. clearly. openly. reverently. “let me make you a mother”, his thumb stroking your cheeks as his voice falls like a prayer and a plea all at once. “i’ll take care of everything”, he promises. “you’ll never lift a finger. just be mine. just carry ours.”

his lips find yours into a kiss, slow and aching, full of thousand nights he spent dreaming of this exact moment. and in the back of his mind, there’s only one thought echoing over and over.

she wants it. she wants this. she wants me. she wants us.

…and that’s enough to break him, rebuild him, and start everything new.

he gently scoops you into his arms, carefully — like you’re already carrying something precious inside you. your hands fly to his shoulders, your face closer to his. and it’s one of those rare moments where there’s no teasing on his features. only something quiet, something tender. something that longs.

he carries you to the bed like he’s bringing you home, and when he lays you down, he takes a moment. just a moment, to look at you. the fake curve of the pillow under your shirt, the way your hands settle over it instinctively. the way your eyes never leave his.

satoru sinks to his knees beside the bed, presses a kiss low on the fabric over your belly. one hand slides over the curve gently, and then, looking up at you through his lashes, he murmurs,

“i’m going to make this real now.”

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[i-like-loserz]

breedable

pairing: husband!san x reader

cw: explicit (18+), raging breeding-kink, unprotected sex (no condom, yes other contraceptives), needy/whiny!san, cuteness/sexiness aggression (^^look AT THOSE ADORABLE PICS), not dub-con because you're not actually forcing san to have a child - its just a fantasy and san respects the responsible day dreaming -- oh, and this is NOT beta-read.

wc: 1.6k

note: reverse breeding kink turns my mind into a slushie

masterlist

---

you have a special type of aggression when it comes to your husband.

while there's the usual cuteness aggression that makes you want to pinch his cheeks and tickle him until he's a giggling mess -- or the alternative "awe-infused-aggression," that makes you want to crawl all over him and worship his body (because he's built like a god) -- but this special aggression is a mix of the two.

you call it the "i-need-to-pass-on-his-genes-with-mine" or the breeding-aggression. you see his perfect, docile face -- the cute way his brows scrunch together whenever he's feeling too much, the way his chiseled abs clench as he holds himself back -- and it sets a fire in your horny soul.

typically, when one describes a breeding kink, it involves someone wanting to impregnate the other person in an act of love and possession. of course, the other person is wholeheartedly egging them on because they, too, want to carry their baby.

in this case, however, you work hard to fuck him to get you pregnant.

you may wonder, "is that not exactly the same thing as a normal breeding kink?," which will be responded with a, "no, because san is a smart boy and he doesn't want a child at the moment -- that is, not until you're both done achieving your dreams and settled into a family-friendly environment."

san is the sensible one in the relationship, while you play the role of a feral cat in heat. he always insists on a condom or some birth control while you immediately embrace your inner horny demon and cannot go a week without begging him to fill you up like a boston cream donut.

you often think he's just playing the role of the timid damsel, begging for mercy before getting thoroughly ravished because he always ends up giving in.

at first, this obsession started with an accidental and harmless mistake.

you forgot to get condoms.

neither of you realized it until you stuck your hand into the bedside drawer, only to come up empty handed.

san, the sweetheart he is, offered to run to the store to get some. but before he could leave, you pulled him back and convinced him that one time without it wouldn't hurt. you can always take the morning after pill. right?

and you thought that was that.

but once you saw the way his cute lashes fluttered as he entered you, eyes shiny from how lost he was in the pleasure -- maybe something clicked for you. maybe.

and maybe, when you felt how his body shivered, finally feeling your warmth without any barriers, and how his cock throbbed within you, you knew this would turn into an addiction.

a dangerous one.

then when he came inside, painting your walls in his warmth before pulling out to reveal his sloppy mess, your brain chemistry became altered in a way that would change the course of desires for the rest of your life.

and then, pushing his love back in so affectionately with his fingers, eyes glazed over in awe and hunger, you knew something changed within him as well -- as much as he'd deny it. he already started to get hard again from seeing how he dripped from your perfect cunt.

and so, after that fateful night, you tried to hold back, knowing that taking the morning-after pill often wasn't healthy (and, of course, you and san weren't ready for kids yet).

this didn't stop you from imagining how his cum would feel if there wasn't a barrier between you every time you fucked. or how pretty he'd be as your baby daddy, claiming you as his own as he gives you the perfect little family.

ok, and fine, maybe you 'forgot' to buy condoms a few more times after that. and maybe you made it a habit to make him cum a few times before fucking him so he'd be a little less attentive to the missing condoms just so you can feel him gushing out of you once more.

but that's neither here nor there.

...

ok, so, maybe it was here.

and there.

here, in the house -- on the couch during movie night, on the bed in the morning, on the kitchen counter when you saw him in that cute little frilly apron he borrowed from you, in the shower when he got back from the gym.

and there, outside the house -- messily in the car(s), in a tight dressing room, spontaneously in a lake, in a utility closet at his work (don't ask) -- so you had to find a sustainable solution quickly.

it finally got to the point where you made a doctor's appointment to get on birth control because you knew you wouldn't be able to hold yourself back anymore. the pull-out method wasn't going to work for long, and you knew san was struggling to deny your whiny begs to be filled.

now, you can say whatever you want and he'll be the obedient husband that he is.

---

"cum in me, sannie..." you whisper in his ear, rolling your hips and perfectly arching your back so you can press your hot body against his. "don't you want to make me a mommy?"

you admire how his cute face scrunches up as you speed up on top of him. he's flushed a pretty scarlet, from his chiseled chest to his cheeks -- a product of your merciless teasing and edging from earlier in the evening.

"b-baby," he meets your motions smoothly, eyes squeezed shut as his body struggles to bear with the sensations of your soft heat wrapped around him. "fuck, i-i'm..."

"...you're...?" you ask, mockingly. you lightly rake your nails against the back of his neck. the action never fails to make him shiver and buck against you. you let out a short gasp as the feeling of him suddenly fully thrusting into you nearly knocks the air out of you. he's hitting that sweet sweet spot inside of you now -- and it's making you almost as delirious as the man under you.

"p-please..."

"c'mon, hubby, i wanna feel it dripping out of me," you sigh dreamily. your lips barely brush over his neck as you speak, "then you can shove it back in and make sure it keeps, right~"

"yes, yes, anything--" he mumbles, head tilted back in ecstasy. his large hands grip around your waist, guiding your body like a glorified cock sleeve, up and down his cock just right. you swear you're starting to see white spots in your vision as he continues to use your body.

you love it when he's like this. tunnel visioned and desperate to reach that explosive feeling of stuffing you full of his cum. your eyes roll back as he continues to nudge against that soft spot inside of you.

"u-uh, san..." a familiar and addictive exhilarating heat blooms from your core and proliferates through every nerve in your body before you even realize it. you bite your lip to keep you from drooling as your body starts to shake in his hold.

the shockwave of pleasure makes you clench around him, making you impossibly tight around him as he continues to thrust into you.

"fuck," he groans at the feeling of you fluttering around him. he struggles to keep up his pace as he gives into his pleasure. you can feel his abs clench against you as his hips begin to stutter to meet yours. "take it, baby. i need you to t-take it all for me."

"give it to me. i need it."

he pulls your body down and gives one last punishing snap of his hips to press himself deep inside of you as he finishes with a broken moan.

as he cums inside of you, his body trembles, overwhelmed by his orgasm, the press of your perfect body against his, the heated air surrounding the two of you, and the panted breath leaving your precious lips.

his arms wrap around you, holding you close, as he nuzzles his face against your neck, pressing soft and sweet kisses to your sticky skin.

as you both start to calm down, san lifts his face from the crook of your neck to look up at you.

"baby?" he gently brushes some hair from your face so he can get a good look at your flushed expression, "i think i'm ready." he has such a cute little smile on his face as he stares up at you with adoring eyes.

"ready?" you ask, still trying to come down from the pleasure infused fog that has settled over your mind.

"i think we should start baby-making, for real."

a silence sits in between you as you stare at him in disbelief. you weren't expecting your sensible and responsible husband to suddenly propose such a life altering idea to you.

you're suddenly pulled out from your warm post-orgasm deliriousness.

"...san. are you sure?"

he looks down at your connected bodies, at your baby-less stomach and the sticky mess that's now dripping onto his thighs. and then you feel him twitch inside of you.

oh.

"i-- yeah."

not convincing.

(at least not in the state you're in)

"yeah, no." you shake your head, fully aware of his wandering thoughts. "let's talk about this when we're fully clothed, okay."

who knew you'd be promoted to be the sensible one?

[darkmatilda]

𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the weight of distance presses heavier with each passing day, the ache of absence stitched together only by hour-long phone calls like a fragile sutures on a wound that refuses to close. so you choose his birthday — the perfect day to cross the miles in silence and secrecy, and surprise spencer on his special day.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: glasses!reid x baufemale!reader, long distance relationship, early seasons team, so our queen elle is here, lots of team interactions overall, both reader and spencer's pov, height difference, kissing until his glasses fog up xx

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5k

𝐚/𝐧: literally started writing this over two months ago so i hope the first half doesnt differ too much in quality from the second one :/ the soul who’s the first to catch the tiny subtle mr darcy reference gets a cookie!

You admitted it without a trace of embarrassment – every time you called your long-distance boyfriend, you waited for him to pick up with your forehead almost glued to the screen and your lips frozen in a half-smile, ready to bloom across half your face the moment you saw his face.

Automatically.

The word nonchalance wasn’t foreign to you, but you deeply despised it. You had no intention of pretending it didn’t matter whether he picked up or not, or that you hadn’t rearranged half of your quite busy day for that shared moment. You weren’t going to pretend that hearing his voice meant any less to you than it actually did, just to maintain some kind of image or out of fear of being too much.

No, that definitely wasn’t your case.

If anything, you leaned toward paranoia — that you weren’t doing enough to take care of your relationship stretched across nearly 4000 miles and separated by the Pacific. That you weren’t trying hard enough. You had a set time for one call a day; usually, by then, you were already comfortably tucked under the covers and reporting in for duty (though duty was a very poor comparison—unless we’re talking about the duty of petting small fluffy puppies. yes. kissing the heads of twenty fluffy puppies was almost exactly like your daily call with Spencer).

But that one daily call usually wasn’t the only one. You reached out to each other spontaneously throughout the day, depending on your schedules and the plans of that particular day. On weekends, you watched movies together, he read a book aloud and you exchanged thoughts only when his calm voice reached the end of a chapter, or you played chess online. The bare minimum to fill the void left behind by the distance.

A void that was, however, ravenous—and seemed to deepen with every passing day. It wasn’t a graph line with rises and dips. It kept steadily taking up more and more space inside you.

And that’s how you came to the conclusion that even hundreds of books read aloud by Spencer wouldn’t be enough to dissolve it.

Not when his voice came through a phone speaker.

Not when it wasn’t followed by his breath, tickling your ear.

And that realization pushed you toward a certain…spontaneous decision.

But more on that later.

Your call was finally answered, and a premature, involuntary soft smile curled your lips before his face even appeared on your screen.

“Hey, handsome…” you began with your usual line, fully prepared to relish the blush that would bloom on his cheeks like cupcakes with sweet cherries on top—

but instead of your favorite treat, you were met with something entirely different.

Seeing Derek’s face, clumsily close to the front-facing camera and moving in a way that strongly suggested he was fiercely struggling to keep hold of the phone, snapped you back to attention like an athlete catching their footing.

“Hello, conventionally handsome man, long time no see. Anyway, where’s my handsome man?”

“Morgan, I’m serious, give me—”

“Hey, kid, how many times have I told you women don’t like possessive men? Let me talk to her for a sec…”

“I’m not possessive, I just…”

“You’re right, long time no see,” Derek cut in, completely ignoring his friend—his words, his attempts to wrestle the phone back from his hand. You kept your gaze fixed on the corner of the screen where a part of Spencer’s face occasionally slipped into the frame. Your lips were still curved in a smile, but shifting your focus to Morgan took effort. “What’s up, former-new girl? Don’t look too happy to see me.”

“Oh, I’m very happy to see you. In fact, the sight of you has turned this rainy Amsterdam day well, not exactly sunny, but let’s say we’ve moved from a downpour to a drizzle.”

“You’re welcome—that’s what friends are for. So? You in the mood for a quick chat with me?”

“Morgan.”

“Hmm, gladly,” you replied, tapping your free lip in mock thoughtfulness. “Let me just check my schedule to see when I might be available. How about next Friday?”

“Next Friday?”

“Morgan, I swear—”

“Oh my God, stop torturing them already,” cut in a woman’s voice you recognized instantly, and almost in the same moment, the phone moved from Morgan’s hand to your friend Elle’s.

She gave you a smile—a fleeting one, just a flash of sincerity—before replacing it with her trademark bossy expression. “Another second and they’ll both shrivel up from longing. Here you go.” She handed the phone back to its rightful owner. The first thing you saw were his eyes behind the glasses, aimed at her, full of grateful warmth. “You both owe me one. But since one of you is currently unavailable and clearly unable to repay it, you owe me two favors, Reid.”

A nod.

 “Goes without saying.”

You just managed to catch Morgan’s disappointed sigh at having his thoroughly entertaining game cut short, before you found yourself finally, completely one-on-one with your boyfriend.

He was watching the two of them—presumably leaving—until, at last, his gaze shifted to you. That tiny smile of yours finally bloomed into something fuller.

“Okay, I feel like I was interrupted earlier and I need to say this again, properly,” you said before he could get a word out. You took a breath, like you were about to cast a spell. “Good morning, handsome.”

You loved that kind of smile on his lips—the one that came with an involuntary tilt of the head, like its weight shifted evenly and pulled just enough to cause that barely noticeable movement.

“Finally. Good morning, angel.”

It warmed you every single time he used that phrase with you, and you couldn’t help but blink a little faster at the thought of hearing it in person after such a long time apart. But that was still the future, a vision. For now, there was the present, reality.

“Please, tell Morgan I didn’t brush him off because I didn’t want to talk to him,” you said. “But I literally have fifteen minutes before I have to leave and just wanted to call you real quick, because I won’t be very available later. I have a seminar.”

Spencer nodded because, of course, he remembered. But still, his brown eyes clouded slightly.

“You mentioned it. And well, of course I’ll tell Morgan you brushed him off because you didn’t want to talk to him.”

You almost snorted, but held it back.

“Hey, being my boyfriend doesn’t give you permission to use me for your personal revenge.”

“It doesn’t?” he asked with a face of innocence, fake curiosity, like he’d just come across a tiny footnote at the bottom of a page, an unknown piece of information.

“Well, usually no, but there are exceptions to that rule. For example, when the personal revenge might bring satisfaction to both of us. The second is when you ask nicely. Just please, don’t abuse that option.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’d make you pinky-promise, but that wouldn’t really work in our current situation,” you said, glancing at your own raised pinkie, the corners of your mouth tugging downward.

Then suddenly, they parted, struck by a thought. “Oh, right. I just remembered. What are you planning to do tomorrow?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly.

“The usual, I guess? Go to work…”

“For your birthday, silly.”

This time, it was his lips that parted with a soft, dawning hiss of realization. You looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t even tell me you forgot your own birthday.”

Spencer shook his head distractedly.

“No, it’s not that I completely forgot. But if you think about it, it wouldn’t be that weird if I had. I don’t have any plans anyway, and it’s just going to be…you know, a totally normal day.”

You watched him for a moment in silence. You rarely faked emotions around him. But this time, you had to summon a thick mask of exaggerated disappointment—couldn’t let even the tiniest flicker of stinging excitement slip through.

“I wish I could be there for you so badly.”

That part didn’t need faking. The sincerity in those words rang clear. You saw your boyfriend’s jaw tighten slightly, and you wished you could reach out and rest your hand against it, letting your thumb brush toward his lips.

The silence that followed suddenly felt especially heavy. You knew Spencer was masking his sadness so you wouldn’t feel bad about not being there. He didn’t expect you to feel guilty—but he anticipated it. And, well, he’d be right. You would feel bad.

You forced a smile onto your lips—only because you wanted to see how, eyes fixed on your face, he’d unconsciously mirror the gesture. You’d learned that trick a long, long time ago.

“I have to run,” you announced with a sigh. “Seriously, I have to run. technically, I should already be out the door.”

“Don’t forget your umbrella.”

“It’s not raining anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to start again right around the time you’ll be heading home. And there’s a cold front coming in from the North Sea, so maybe wear something warmer under your coat. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Spencer knew the weather in your city—on another continent—better than you did.

A moment of silence to let that fact settle. Thank you.

“If you’re right, I love you,” you said. “If you’re wrong, I still love you, but I’m also mad I had to lug around an umbrella all day.”

For a fleeting moment, he dipped his head, eyes squinting just slightly, a small smile on his lips.

“I love you too.”

*

Spencer had never been particularly fond of celebrating his birthday.

To him, birthdays were simply another way of measuring time like years, months, weeks, and days—only a little more brutal. They were like a mirror you woke up in front of one day, a moment of realization and reckoning—not so much with time moving forward, but with everything that had been left behind. The new year reflected what you had achieved and who you had become. Birthdays, on the other hand, felt like a celebration of missed chances, honored with the addition of yet another digit to your age.

Twenty-six. He could’ve done something far more impressive by now—and he didn’t mean that just as self-criticism. He was being objective. At twenty-six, Einstein had his Annus Mirabilis, his miraculous year, the year he developed the theory of mass–energy equivalence. With that knowledge in mind, Spencer had every right to feel a certain pressure.

But beyond all that, that day…he just wasn’t in the mood.

He had just been wondering what to eat for dinner when his phone started ringing.

A long-distance relationship had trained him to reach for it the exact second the ringtone sounded—and to experience that brief flicker of disappointment when the name on the screen wasn’t the one he was hoping for. Just like this time.

“Oh, Reid, how wonderful that you picked up so fast,” came Penelope’s voice on the other end.

“Garcia, hey. Something’s wrong?”

“Yes. I mean—no. I need you to drop by for a moment, is that okay? I mean, even if it’s not okay, it’s still probably better if you come. Not that I’m forcing you, but—ugh, just come over.”

Spencer was standing in his kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, and as her explanation spilled out, a suspicion started blooming in him. He considered himself a fairly perceptive person—and Penelope a very open book. So it was no surprise that, almost immediately, he had a pretty good idea of what was going on. He leaned his lower back against one of the cabinets, folding his free arm across his chest.

 “I’m not sure I can make it,” he said despite knowing full well that he could, and that he had the time. But he also knew that, on the other end, Garcia was probably exchanging panicked looks with the rest of the team, arguing about where exactly to hang the balloons in her apartment. And the image was amusing enough to drag out the moment. “For what?”

“I need your help. With something.”

“With what exactly?”

His friend let out something between a hum and a sigh—both thoughtful and panicked.

Meanwhile, Spencer waited patiently, smiling to himself and saying nothing.

“What am I supposed to tell him?!”Penelope’s voice came faintly from the speaker, as if she’d lowered the phone away from her mouth probably thinking that would keep him from hearing. It didn’t.

“I don’t know, make something up!” came a reply Spencer recognized instantly—Derek. A finger snap. “Lightbulb in the bathroom went out.”

“Oh, great! I love when your brain is the same size as your biceps.” She turned her attention back to the phone, voice suddenly loud and confident with her freshly invented excuse  “The lightbulb in my bathroom blew.”

Spencer wasn’t about to let it slide that easily.

“What wattage?”

“What?”

“What wattage is the bulb? LED or halogen?”

“Normal. It’s a normal lightbulb, Reid.”

“Are you sure it’s burnt out? Could be a wiring issue. Might be better to call a specialist to take a look. I’d rather not end up electrocuted. Especially on my birthday.”

“Jeez, tell him to stop being such a child.”

Penelope pulled the phone away again.

 “I can’t, then he won’t come at all!”

“I have an idea,” Spencer said suddenly, forcing her to scramble back to the call.

“Why don’t you ask Morgan to change it for you, since he’s already there?”

Garcia squeaked in panic. Then immediately broke into a cough, trying to mask the sound.

“There is no Derek Morgan here! Where would you even get that idea?” she squealed in a high voice. At the same time, a distinct snort of laughter echoed in the background. “That? That’s just the TV. Just…some dumb show with an annoying host. Ugh, I should really turn it off…”

The snort that echoed in the background this time didn’t belong to Morgan. It belonged to Elle. A quiet, distant argument broke out between all three of them, and Spencer didn’t understand a single word of it. He cut in at the moment he considered most appropriate.

“I’ll be at your place in 30 minutes.”

Complete silence.

“You’re coming? Seriously? Guys, he says that— I mean, ymm, great! See you!”

Before she hung up, he still managed to hear her deep sigh of relief that the conversation, in which she had to show off her conspiracy skills, was finally over.

Spencer slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, remaining for a moment in the silence that followed. Of course he had intended to show up from the very beginning. He might not have felt excited at the thought of his birthday, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the surprise his friends had put effort into preparing. It wasn’t his dream way of spending the day, but there was a reason that dream scenario remained in the realm of dreams—its realization was simply physically impossible. But a not-so-surprising surprise party ranked high on that list.

He hesitated over what to wear. In the end, his gaze settled on the shirt he'd gotten from no one other than you. You liked how that soft, muted pink color both slightly contrasted with his wardrobe and still somehow fit perfectly into it. You also used to say it brightened his face.

Spencer pulled it on, tied his tie, and sent you a photo. He wanted you to know that even though you were far away, he was still wearing your favorite clothes.mHe didn’t expect you to reply right away.You’d already had the birthday call, during which you gave him wishes you’d been crafting for two weeks. You delivered them at machine-gun speed with all your enthusiasm, then repeated them more slowly so he’d have a chance to actually understand anything.

Your reply came just as he was leaving his apartment.

my boyfriend sending me an outfit check??? never thought I’d live to see that day

He was just turning the key in the lock, the light from his phone casting a glow onto his face, letting the gentle smile on his lips break through the darkness slowly wrapping around the stairwell. He pressed the handle again to check whether being distracted had made him forget to lock it. Then he dropped the key into his pocket and slowly started down the stairs. 

Not quite an outfit check. Just tangible or well, virtual, proof that I really like this shirt and I’m not wearing it just because you told me to. The team’s throwing me a surprise party and I figured it’d be perfect…

here his fingers slowed

…it’s your favorite, and in its own not-quite-explainable way, it makes me feel like you’re here.

The reply probably came in before you even finished reading the whole message.

so an outfit check?

wait what kind of surprise party is it if you know about it??

u’re so sweet. also you look so good in that color.

He wanted to text back, to explain how he even knew about this surprise party, but another message came in.

sorry cant really text rn just getting off the tram :( hope u have fun at the party kisses call u later

He was a little surprised, since you usually took the later tram home, but maybe you just had your own reason for coming back earlier. Maybe he’d ask about it later, when the two of you called. Spencer hoped he wouldn’t be too tired after the party to talk to you.

So he replied simply

Got it. Please, be safe.

The way to Penelope’s apartment passed very quickly for him. It occurred to him that he didn’t really know who would even be there. Definitely Morgan, Elle, possibly JJ, but he doubted that everyone had shown up—like, everyone everyone.

And if it turned out he was right, he didn’t intend to be even slightly offended—after all, it was understandable they might’ve wanted to spend the evening in a different way. He knocked on the door and didn’t even call out to come in, even though as he was approaching them, he had clearly heard voices coming from inside, which suddenly, as if by magic, fell silent.

He felt like rolling his eyes—in a positive sense. It was predictable. Of course it was. But it also filled him with a certain warm feeling.

He opened the door and stepped into Garcia’s apartment, heading for the living room. And that’s exactly what he did when he saw the entire team gathered there. He rolled his eyes, though that warm feeling grew stronger and made the decision on its own to stretch his lips into a broad, broader smile when he realized they really were all there.

They were silent, eyes fixed on him, Elle and JJ both holding a tray with a birthday cake with lit candles, but for some reason not bringing it any closer to him.

“Sorry, but I have to say this,” he began. “You’re so predictable.”

“Are we?” came a voice directly behind his back.

He didn’t exactly freeze in place, like he’d been hit with liquid nitrogen. His body transitioned into that state gradually — starting with his shoulder blades instinctively drawing together, long before his mind fully processed the situation or registered that voice.

That voice.

The voice he heard every single day through his phone or laptop speaker, desecrated by the quality of the device — which, even if it were the most cutting-edge machine built by NASA, wouldn’t be able to truly convey the tone of her voice, let alone force him to feel the kind of emotions that now crashed into him like a wave, drowning him.

Water filling his ears.

No, that couldn’t be — they had literally exchanged texts just moments ago!

His eyes locked ahead, all the team’s gazes fixed on him, waiting, expectant. Penelope, her hands tightly clasped together, resting just beneath her chin.

Spencer, not breathing, turned around — and only then drew in a deep, vital breath.

Vital, because he knew he was about to pull her into an embrace so tight neither of them would get a taste of air for a very long time.

Your eyes locked onto each other like two powerful magnets, desperately seeking one another — an instant click. Another instant click when both your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, lifting her feet off the ground. Click when his hands gripped your waist firmly, steadying you. Click when his face found its place in the curve of your neck, burying itself there completely, disappearing, hiding, drawing the curtains so no one else could interrupt this moment.

Click, because you were together.

Spencer drew in a shaky breath, entirely filled with your scent — a scent he seemed to rediscover after months apart — occupying his mind so completely that the words he had intended to say slipped away from him entirely. You took over the role of speaker instead.

“Happy birthday,” you announced tearfully, sniffling and pulling your head away from his shoulder so the tear rolling down your cheek wouldn’t stain his shirt.

The pale pink shirt. Your favorite shirt.

You pouted your bottom lip, trying to hold it together, but you couldn’t. Now that you were finally with him, the full weight of maintaining a long-distance relationship — the weight you had been pushing away to avoid sinking into sadness — crashed down on you all at once. But it was wild, unrestrained, and yet instantly found comfort in his arms, his scent, his presence.

You felt his chest cave slightly as he took in a breath and lifted his head to look at you. In the process, his glasses had been pressed all the way up his nose from where they'd been crushed between your neck and his face — the frames practically touching his eyelids — but neither of you thought about how ridiculous that must've looked.

His eyes immediately locked onto the tear that had slipped from yours. He wanted to wipe it away, but he didn’t want to let go of you either, so he settled for pressing a fleeting kiss to your cheek, brushing it away with his lips instead.

It earned a muffled, quiet laugh from you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a hushed voice.

You blinked and dipped your head slightly, letting the tears pool without falling, then tilted it back up so you could focus on his face. Immediately, you had the impulse to adjust his glasses, which you did.

“Attending my boyfriend’s surprise birthday party,” you replied, sliding your hand down his chest and rising onto your toes to kiss him — briefly, because you could feel the eyes of all your friends on you, patiently silent and giving you time.

It wasn’t a good idea. The moment your lips brushed his, Spencer froze for a second, only to lean in for more right after. You barely managed to pull away, ignoring his disgruntled hum of protest.

“But I guess I’m the only element of this whole thing that was actually a surprise…”

You shot a meaningful look at Penelope, fully aware Spencer had known about some kind of party happening. The blonde defensively waved her hands in front of her, brushing off the implied accusation.

“Oh, you don’t get it. I let it slip on purpose so your entrance would be more spectacular! Our genius boy thought he had outsmarted our whole plan and then…” she gestured between the two of you, still tangled together.

This time, it was Spencer who shot her a look, full of disbelief at her words and amused pity. And, as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one — well over half of the people present mirrored his reaction.

To shake off all the attention suddenly weighing on her, Penelope snapped her fingers in the direction of Elle and JJ, who were holding the birthday cake.

"Those candles are practically melting! Don’t forget your wish, loverboy."

Your lips twitched the moment you heard that nickname, and you gave Spencer a light, urging pat on the arm still wrapped around you. You could still feel his hand gently tightening around your waist for a fleeting moment before he let go — his fingers performing a subtle flex before falling back to rest — and leaned down over the cake to blow out the candles shaped like the numbers 2 and 6.

He immediately tried to pull you back into his embrace, but you forced yourself to slip away, letting him get swept into the whirlwind of bear hugs from everyone else.

You stayed back, just slightly to the side, knowing you'd have time for just the two of you later. Your gaze lingered on his softly glowing brown eyes behind his glasses and the faint squint from the smile that simply refused to leave his face. The sounds of the room gradually faded away around you.

Surprisingly, you didn’t feel the slightest exhaustion after the long, connecting flights. And even if any fatigue dared creep its way into your body, it was instantly drowned out by what now burned in your chest — that warm, joyful feeling.

“Why did I even stress so much over picking a gift for him?” you heard from your left , Gideon muttering under his breath, but still loud enough for you to catch. He was staring in the same direction. “No matter what I gave him, the only thing he’ll remember from today is you.”

You exchanged a glance with him — the smile lingering only on your lips, but you could tell he shared it.

For the rest of the party, you and Spencer stayed within arm’s reach, always side by side, finally able to allow yourselves that closeness after so many months apart. Even later, as you made your way back to his apartment at night, hauling gift bags and a single box between you, he carried them all on one arm just so he could keep the other wrapped around you.

You clung to his pink shirt, occasionally rising onto your toes to press a kiss to his jaw or a smile, only to pull away again quickly — careful not to crash into a trash can or a lamp post along your path.

Clinging tightly to his side wasn’t exactly making it easier for either of you to walk. But Spencer didn’t complain. Even despite the fact that you were moving at the pace of a drunken turtle.

When his apartment building finally appeared within sight, you tilted your head back for a moment, breathing slower, more consciously.

“Tonight’s stars are so beautiful,” you remarked, staring at the faint, barely visible dots in the sky.

Spencer slowed his steps, lifting his gaze toward the sky, only to fully shift his attention to your face.

“Setting aside the fact that those are the same stars on the same day,” he started, in that scientific yet soft way of speaking of his, “which I’m quite sure you know…no, they’re not beautiful. Look again. You can barely see them.”

“They’re still beautiful,” you insisted.

You were two adults, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, loaded with birthday gift bags, arguing whether or not the stars were beautiful. Spencer stood firmly on the no side of that debate.

“Absolutely not. Artificial light sources in the city generate light pollution, which makes astronomical observation of the night sky difficult. If we were somewhere less urbanized—”

“But we’re here,” you cut in softly, your face still tilted toward the sky. “We’re here together, which makes them beautiful to me. Besides, beauty is a relative concept. Which I’m quite sure you know.”

His quiet sigh, the gesture of surrender. Instead of trying to convince you of something he simply couldn’t convince you of, he just pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Fine, you win, my little relative concept.”

Already on the staircase, your melancholic mood vanished entirely as you pulled him into a kiss he couldn’t escape from. Not that he wanted to, but he had to — if he actually wanted to dig the key out of his pocket and let you both inside. So while your hands clung to the back of his neck, his fumbled through his pockets — the same ones, because he was far too distracted to remember which ones he’d already checked and which he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

“Can’t—”

“Find—”

“The key—”

Slipped from his lips in the few short moments they weren’t covered by yours. You couldn’t care less about his key struggles — you’d been away from him for months, and you fully intended to kiss him for every single time you’d wanted nothing more than exactly that, but had an ocean between you instead.

Eventually, Spencer gave up and fell silent, returning your kiss with his entire being, both of his hands cradling your cheeks perfectly. You wished your skin was made of plaster, able to preserve the shape of them on you forever. You heard his short, muffled whimper and cracked your eyes open, just enough to notice that his glasses were completely fogged up.

His glasses fogged white, his cheeks flushed pink.

You giggled at the sight, making his face match the color palette of his shirt even more. One of his hands slid down from your cheek and drifted toward the small pocket on his chest. “Found the key,” he announced.

It immediately slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a clatter.

His sigh, your next giggle, and both of you bending down at the same time.

A head collision and two groans.

You burst into open laughter and took full advantage of the fact that he was bent down, reaching for the key, to press a soft kiss to his hair—the very spot where you’d bumped heads. You left a trail of kisses along his head, wandering across his forehead, brushing the tip of his nose, slowly claiming his lips.

Meanwhile, he blindly fumbled with the key, trying to aim it at the lock without breaking the kiss for even a second.

You weren’t sure there’d be enough hours in the night to fully make up for all the time you’d been apart. Especially since you yourself still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. That you were seeing him again. Kissing him again.

Finally, after what felt like real, dragging hours and simultaneously exactly 4.24 light-years traveled in mere minutes—the sound of the lock turning.

[beabatoru]

10 things I hate about you 𝜗ৎ hockey player! gojo x reader

pt. 1/2

pairing ⊹ ࣪ ˖ college au - hockey player! gojo x reader

summary : getting accepted into one of the ivy league universities was supposed to be you getting the best education you could get, not the centerpiece of a bet created by none other than the hockey team, the players challenge satoru that he can't make you fall for him in 10 days in which he allows his pride take over to go out of his way to take on the bet thinking it would be easy. what he didn't expect was to fall for you instead, but after you find out his ulterior motives, your trust in him shatters and so does his heart. now with the truth out, he is now more determined than ever to get you back, but this time, he isn't playing games.

warning / tags ⟢ fluff, angst, brief smut, college au, this fic is based on the film '10 things I hate about you', partial angst with readers father regarding sickness, reader is low income.

w.c : 10k

a / n . this is a reupload from my old blog ! and yes this fic was inspired by '10 things I hate about you'

transferring from a community college to one of the top 10 universities was a huge step for you. you weren't even sure how you did it. but those two years of attending your local community college that wasn't even ten minutes away from your house paid off. one that made you feel ashamed in going since it felt like a detour from your actual goals.

growing up, you promised your family members that they'd see you majoring in the best schools and in becoming something they would be proud of to call a daughter. thats why you studied so hard in grade school, getting the best grades not allowing them to go below an 85%. but after your mother left shortly after your father got diagnosed with cancer. your dreams had to take a backseat to allow you to become the backbone of your family that consisted of you, your father, and your two younger brothers.

money came in short with your minimum paying job and it just wasn't enough to pay off any college funds. your brother who just turned sixteen always helped you out with groceries and bills now that your father retired from his job, after you forced him to, making sure he was taken care of at all times. hospital bills were also pricey, sometimes your insurance wouldn't cover all the costs and they had to be paid directly from your personal money.

so after applying to yale and actually receiving an acceptance letter in the mail a week after had you trembling in both excitement and fear. you were happy you could finally get the education you've been longing for, but on the other hand you wouldn't want to leave all the responsibility to your brother. he disagreed and encouraged your dreams instead when you sat him down to talk.

"y/n you've always been wanting to go to university. im sixteen now, im not the ten year old you know anymore, I am more than willing to take care after dad and matt."

you let out a sigh as you averted your gaze back down to the letter in your hands. the bold lettering called out your name and you tried to resist. but you couldn't.

"anything happens, you call me immediately." you firmly ordered. the pink haired boy chuckled, the corner of his lips lifted up as well as the corners of his eyes wrinkled before nodding. "got it."

thats how you found yourself packing the last bit of your shirts. no matter how hard you tried to, you just couldn't help the bit of tears that spilled from your eyes. you paused, letting out a shaky breath before feeling a pair of arms wrap around your waist. you looked down to see the soft face of your brother, Matt.

"sissy dont cry. me papa and yuji will be okay!" he promised.

you knelt down to wrap your arms around him as well, holding onto the warmth you were going to leave behind in a few hours. then, another pair wrapped around you both, a much stronger set of arms, then another, your fathers, who was weaker than before but still full of love. before you knew it, your whole family was cuddling together in the comfort of your own room.

no words were exchanged for a few minutes.

"ill miss those blueberry pancakes you make" your father whispered, making everyone giggle. you raised your head up, propping it on top of matt.

"ill leave the recipe for you guys."

your father placed a small delicate peck on your forehead.

airports were your least favorite method of transportation. you couldn't handle hearing the incoherent voice in the speakers call out the plane that was about to board in twenty minutes, or the panicked looks on peoples faces when they realize they booked the wrong flight, or the people just in general, so many people. the whole process was messy and annoying.

your family walked you to where the escalators headed up to your gate. with a sigh, you turned to face them watching as they held back tears. "ill miss you guys." a beat passed. then another. and you found yourself in another family hug.

it was still weird with the missing pair of warm arms that belonged to your mother. but looking back, maybe they weren't warm at all. they were always cold and empty whenever you hugged her. you reminded yourself that she left willingly. you quickly pushed those negative thoughts behind, not wanting to think about her when you had the next best four years of your life right ahead of you.

"call me if you need anything." you said with your voice more steady.

your father nodded before everyone let go at the sound of the speakers calling out your gate number. with one final look and a last goodbye, you stood on the escalators holding back tears of your own.

if the process of checking into the airport wasn't annoying enough, the next five hours boarding the plane itself would be. the man snoring next to you couldn't be any louder, the baby crying behind you wouldn't shut up, and the women gossiping in front of you was the only source of entertainment you could get.

but it all came to this. yale. the beautiful sight of the university's campus. you took it all in, seeing how students walked in with luggages or boxes of their own with the assistance of their parents or friends.

the sun casted a glow on the building itself making it appear straight out of a movie. you stood there for a moment, continuing to take it all in before your main character moment was interrupted by someone bumping into you.

he had white hair that resembled snow itself. he stumbled a bit before regaining his balance. the boys behind him that you figured were his friends laughed at the sight.

"oh uh sorry." he quickly apologized, glancing your way smiling like he meant the entire opposite of his apology before playfully nudging his friend as they continued making their way into the building. you blinked, continuing to watch as he disappeared. he was oddly.. beautiful.

after picking up a few papers form the directory, you followed the directions on the map to where the dormitories were located. you found out that you would be sharing your dorm with a roommate, you didn't mind as you saw this as an opportunity to make your very first friend.

and you were right because the second you twisted the door knob, not fully getting to turn it around before it swung open on its own, introducing a rather tall girl with the prettiest aesthetic and the sweetest smile plastered on her face that comforted you in ways you didn't know you needed.

"hi! I'm miwa!" the girl said in which you returned her greeting with your name. she moved to the side allowing you to step in. you took in the large room. it looks like she already has claimed her part of the room on the left side. band and show posters plastered all over her walls neatly with stuffed animals lying peacefully on her bed. it reminded you fondly of matt recalling how he has millions of plushies on his bed.

"need some help with that?" she pointed at your suitcases. you hesitated at first not wanting to bother her but it wouldn't hurt, right? "yes please." you chuckled which made her grin.

"great, roommate bonding begins now!"

hours pass by full of cleaning and organizing and chatter between you and the blue haired girl. you found out that she's been here for the past two years and you explained to her that you were a transfer. somewhere in between hanging fairy lights and folding blankets, she let it slip that she's crushing on a boy that is on the hockey team.

"didn't know they had a hockey team here." you said as you placed the last piece of clothing in the closet provided by the school. miwa gasped dramatically. "okay now I need to take you out to watch a game sometime!"

she flopped down onto your bed next to you. "its like an essential yale culture."

"deal. i'd like to see how good looking this boy you claim is the most handsome boy in all of yale to exist really is."

"he is!"

the first day of school wasn't until next week, yet you could already feel the nerves setting in as well as the homesickness. you pulled out your phone, dimming the brightness now that miwa was asleep and all the lights were turned off. pressing on yujis contact you sent him a message.

you || 9:04 P.M

everything alright?

yuji || 9:10 P.M

everything's great

you let out a sigh of relief at his words.

the first day was full of chaos, at least for you. you woke up a bit late after your alarm failed to do its job, you lost your map that showed the entire campus, and on top of that you had no idea what to wear.

after brushing your teeth and washing your face, you quickly slipped on a pair of pants and a cute top before rushing out of your dorm all while brushing your hair. you made it on time thankfully, but you surely learned your lesson to set your alarm to full volume.

your classes finally came to an end and you dragged your tired body that was aching from carrying all the syllabus and textbooks in your bag towards your dorm. miwa was already there scrolling through her phone.

"oh hey!," she flinched as she took a closer look at you. "you look rough"

you placed your bag down on the floor before flopping on your bed. "I am rough" you said with a grumble. she moved from her bed towards yours. "hey lighten up, tomorrow will be better. its the second day of school and the first hockey game"

"already?"

"yeah. since its the same previous team as last year versus some other school. coach said he wanted to kick off this season early for some reason. im not complaining, I get to see kokichi!"

"oh right your man" you teased which made her chubby pale cheeks turn a light pink shade before she bolted towards her closet pulling out two tops. "okay so which one says 'hey cute hockey player over there! wanna go out with me?'"

you burst out laughing before pointing at the one on the right hand. "that one, definitely that one."

you were never the type of person to enjoy sports. your brothers and dad enjoyed them though. they always connected both the couches together and gathered a bunch of blankets and snacks whenever a big game came up. now you are here witnessing one happen right in front of you, not on a screen.

you pulled out your phone to snap a picture to send to the family group chat. one you created after you had to delete the previous one with your mother in it. you angled the phone carefully, snapping a picture of the players already spread out ready to kick off the game.

you stared at your screen for a second before sending the message to the group chat. the second you sent it, the announcer's voice came to the speakers and the crowd erupted.

"there he is!" miwa squealed as she pointed at the dark haired boy, kokichi. he was rather attractive and you could see why she liked him. they definitely would make a cute couple. he was walking with a friend who had white hair. your eyes squinted as you looked a bit closer.

it was the same boy who bumped into you a week ago. his white locks were messy and he had a grin plastered over his face. it seemed that he was popular with the girls because they went wild at the sight of him.

you were interrupted from your thoughts when miwa's elbow made contact with your shoulder. "look, he waved at me!"

your eyes traced back to kokichi. "yeah, I saw." but your eyes kept wandering back to the boy with white hair. number ten. you watched as he placed his helmet on and slid across the rink to get into position.

a buzzer sounded across the arena, putting the game to a start and sending the crowd into a loud roar. you sat a bit straighter as you tried to keep track of the hockey puck. all the players were a blur of white and blue as they slid through the ice rink.

number 10 was sharp.

he was focused and quick, weaving through the other players. he stole the puck clean with a swift movement of his stick, gliding towards the opposite teams net. the air was thick with anticipation and it seemed that the entire arena was holding it's breath, and you didn't realize that you were holding yours as well.

then he hit it straight into the back of the cage with a satisfying clank.

applause echoed and so did the screams of the players' name.

satoru.

he rushed to his teammates doing a small celebration before continuing the game. maybe hockey wasn't too bad.

the game ended as soon as the buzzer could be heard, with your school winning. people made their way towards the exit or down to the rink. the hockey cheerleaders, glittering with their tiny ass skirts, made their way to their boyfriends who were players.

but most of them?

they went to satoru, congratulating him like he had just saved the world itself from an apocalypse. his hands reached to take off his gear, forehead dripping with a thin layer of sweat.

"im gonna go talk to kokichi." miwa said as she stood up from the bleacher already feeling the nerves settling down her stomach. you nodded, following her. she wrapped her arms around the boy, a hug in which he returned as well.

"thanks for coming." he said in a low voice placing his lips on hers practically melting the poor girl setting her rosacea on fire. you stood there a bit awkward not realizing that a pair of eyes was placed on your figure.

"hey, is she new?" a player asked his friends, pointing directly at you.

the other boy shrugged. "I guess, never seen her before." he turned to satoru who was busy untying the shoelaces of his skates, whistling at him. "yo satoru! remember when you were whining about not having any other girl to crack?"

satoru's eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a bit before he approached his friend. "yeah, what about it?" the guy grinned, jerking his chin toward the bleachers.

"what about her?"

he could barely see you due to his poor eyesight now that he had taken off his contacts. he saw you with a girl he knew was in a situationship with kokichi, his friend. "who the hell is that?"

"she's new. go after her."

satoru grumbled. "she looks like a total loner." his friend shrugged, untying his long black hair. "you like a challenge though, don't you?" he tossed his stick into his bag. "ten days. thats the bet"

"woah we're making this a bet?" satoru raised his eyebrow. there was a beat of silence, long enough to make him think this through. it's been a while since he's been laid, not wanting to continue the life of being a frat boy and a 'play boy.' he really just wanted to focus on his studies and hockey as well, if he found a girl somewhere throughout that then he'd settle down.

he grabbed his water bottle, taking a sip from it. "ten days." he repeated, mostly to himself. "suguru I don't know-"

"you backing out?" suguru questioned, wanting to stir something.

no matter how much he wanted to resist, he just couldn't because no matter how much he swore that he stopped doing that shit, he missed it just a bit. "fine, ten days."

his jaw was tightened watching as his friend smirked. the group chuckled a bit, like it was just another 'harmless' game. satoru glanced at you.

pretty.

you and miwa made your way to the exit after the little make-out session with her now new boyfriend. she kept squealing about how she couldn't believe she finally got together with him. you were incredibly happy for the both of them.

"he kissed me! like he actually kissed me! I thought I was going to pass out!"

satoru debated, standing still for a moment. you were a step away from leaving, your arm wrapped around your friends, chattering about whatever. part of him wanted to plan this through, something smoother than just..

"fuck it." he mumbled.

his legs moved before his brain ordered them to. "hey-" he called out, jogging a bit to fully reach you. you turned slowly, miwa did too with her eyebrows furrowed. he realized that maybe this wasn't the best option. his lips parted a bit before continuing.

"uh.." he scratched the back of his neck. "you dropped something."

you stared at him in confusion. "no I didn't.." you looked down to confirm that you in fact, didn't drop any item.

"right uhm, that was supposed to be my opening line" he cursed at himself, but it made you chuckle. satoru was dorky, you thought. he had an uneven smile before he looked back at you.

"im satoru"

"I know" you felt like everyone in this damn school knew who he was. "oh im y/n." you quickly introduced yourself after the small pause. for some reason, satoru didn't feel like this was the beginning of a bet he agreed to, but a beginning for something he wasn't ready for.

"go out with me."

miwa snapped her head so fast towards you, you could have sworn you heard a crack. you blinked at satoru, unsure if you heard him right.

"what?"

"go out with me, please." he repeated confident just like the first time. you weren't entirely convinced. "is this a joke?" satoru froze. of course this was a joke. he always played around with random girls so why did it make him feel guilty this time.

"no. I want you, pretty." he smiled softly, showing off his pearly whites that could have any girl soaking her panties in under 10 seconds.

you could feel miwa vibrating next to you, begging you to say yes, or at least something. "I think i'll pass." you mumbled, not unkindly just firm enough to make your point, staring at him for a bit before turning your heel to leave with miwa who now had a disappointed look on her face.

"whyyy?" she whined.

a grunt left satoru's lips. "I can take you out somewhere, anywhere! real nice places sweetheart!"

"like the 7/11 in broadway?" you shot back. he froze before chuckling a genuine laugh, shaking his head. "even better!"

the corner of your lips tugged up a smile as you giggled with miwa at his advances as you both left.

"well look at you missy, pulling mr captain of the hockey team."

"im just that good." you continued to hold your smile, not letting it drop.

and neither did he.

every night at eight, you'd have a video call with your family, just to make sure everything was alright back at home.

"he had an appointment today." yuji said while he was washing the dirty plates, handing them to matt to dry. you used to always put the dishes away back to their original places, but you were no longer there to do your job and that hurt you a bit.

it stung seeing how they had to adapt to live without you and you recalled how you all had to do the same when your mother left. you watched how matt didn't hand it to anyone, he just placed them down.

"and the results?" you asked, your voice quiet and steady but ready for any news you didn't want to hear. not yet.

"not out yet, but im sure nothing has changed since last time he got checked up."

yuji turned off the sink, handing the smaller kid the last dish before drying his hands with a towel. "how's yale treating you? saw the picture you sent."

you hummed looking back at how the day went. "it's going great I guess. our school won the game by the way, oh and a boy wants to take me out."

"you agreed?" yuji has always been the overprotective type, despite you being older.

you answered by shaking your head. "no, he's sketchy."

"how come?" now he was completely alert. a boy is hitting on his sister hundreds of miles away from home? not on his watch. you shrugged.

"he has a whole fangirl club or something."

matts voice could be heard from afar. "he's a red flag!" his words made you chuckle. "you been teaching him new vocabulary?"

yuji rolled his eyes. "its the kids at his school. but seriously, trust your gut. if you don't feel like something is right about that gut, don't take his offer."

you nodded, pressing the sleeve of your sweater up to your nose taking in the scent of old memories. it hasnt been washed since you left home and that nostalgic smell lingered.

one that you desperately wanted to go back to.

satoru could've sworn he left dissecting frogs back in high school, but here he was again, poking around at the laid back amphibians internal organs. "no way am I doing this shit." with a mutter, he placed the tweezers down gagging, shaking his hands in disgust before pulling out his cigarette box, sliding one out placing it in between his pretty pink lips, far too pretty for a man. "smoking in class? you'll set the smoke alarm off." suguru scooted closer to his friend.

"better than doing a bbl on a frog." satoru grumbled, looking away not being able to stare at the gross mess that was right in front of him. "that girl from yesterday.." he narrowed his eyes in thought, trying to remember your name. "y/n" he mumbled after it finally reached him.

"she didn't want to go out with me." he continued. the black haired boy scoffed, not comprehending the words that were coming out of the school's playboy. " you're satoru fucking gojo, this should be easy as hell for you!"

"look man, I dont do this shit anymore."

suguru rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he looked at the frog's corpse. "I'll pay you." satoru grunted bringing the lighter up to his cigarette, huffing it slowly before blowing it towards suguru, in which he looked down at the smoking boy unimpressed.

"I have enough money, I don't need your pocket change."

suguru paused in deep thought. "you're right, heard she's only into pretty guys anyways." satoru brought a hand up to his chest as if he was truly hurt, because he was.

“are you telling me im not a pretty guy?” he took out the cigarette from his mouth, before crushing it down against the table, which left a nasty dent on the cheap laminate. "why do you want me to play with her?"

suguru brought his pierced tongue out to lick his dry lips. "I guess I just miss the old you. seriously satoru, I'll pay you. 300 bucks if you take her out on a date," he scooted closer to his friend. "500 if you get in her panties. and 1000 if you manage to make her your date to hoco."

as if divine intervention occurred, the door creaked open, pausing the chatter between the two boys. there you were. wearing a well put together outfit that just made satoru's hormones run crazy, as you made your way to your desk. the sight of you made gojo straighten his posture suddenly hyper aware of every detail of himself. quickly running a hand through his hair and gulping, his adams apple bobbing.

he turned to look at suguru who was already giving him a pointed look.

"bet."

another thing that you like about yale's campus is that its not too far away from shopping areas. you found a nearby barnes and noble not even a few blocks away from the school. it soon became your go to stop where you would buy books and cd's. you weren't able to fit any of your beloved music or novels when you were packing, so you started a new collection that was placed neatly back at your dorm.

you entered, the bell placed on top of the door notifying any workers of your entrance quickly making your way to the music disc section, straight shelves full of cd's. you're surprised to see many new arrivals.

some were year old music, and some were rare old ones from the 2000's. you reached out to grab a few, a soft smile plastered on your face as you scanned the labels. so deep into it, you didn't notice the bell chiming again.

'debut' by bjork was being held by your hand right now, having an inner battle with yourself whether to be financially responsible for today. you placed the cd back when you remembered that the hospital bill from your fathers last visit would soon come back. and you were not looking forward to seeing the multiple zeros behind whatever number was in front of it.

"excuse me, have you seen any cd of bjork?" the smooth voice behind you asked. "oh yeah-" you answered, turning to look back at the voice.

halfway through your sentence, you took a good look at who was behind you. satoru. "oh, it's you." your eyes narrowed as they focused on him. the boy slid his glasses on the crown of his head. you didn't know he even wore those. satoru seemed to have noticed your observation.

"lost my contacts."

"are you stalking me?" you asked defensively which just made him laugh. his body got closer to yours as he skimmed through the cd's.

"you not getting that bjork one?" he asked tilting his head as his long pale fingers slid the music disc right out of its place. the plastic creaked the second he held it.

"uh its a bit expensive.." the words came out in a mumble, almost embarrassed to admit you couldn't afford a fifty dollar cd. you shifted your weight onto your right leg, looking anywhere but him.

he looked at you before looking down at the case. "guess I'll get it."

you blinked. "didn't know you liked her."

"I dont. but I like you, so I'll get it for you, baby. anything else you want?"

you head snapped towards him, watching how he didn't even let you answer as he placed the bjork case that contained the disc you've been wanting for a while into a shopping basket. you were so shocked you didn't even realize the term of endearment.

"its fifty.." you reminded him.

"be a sweetheart and dont mention the prices, I dont care one bit about it." your eyes dropped to the basket, lips parting to say anything but nothing came out. nothing but a, "can I get the post one..?"

you couldn't find how much one has ever spent at barnes and nobles, but you were pretty sure you may have broken whatever record there was. satoru didn't mind, just like he said.

when the cashier asked how he'd like his receipt he declined it. when he saw the total on the screen in bold green letters, he ignored it. and when he handed you the bags full of books, cd's, and figures, some that you didn't even ask for. he just noticed you staring at them for a little too long and he'd just grab it and place it in the basket, he had a smile plastered right on those pink lips.

"I think I deserve a kiss for all of this.."

its the least you could do, right? besides he didn't tell you where he wanted the kiss. so you stepped up on your tippy toes a bit to place your lips on his cheek.

"thank you. seriously thank you." his smirk softened to a smile, returning the kiss but on your forehead making your breathing stutter.

"any time," he mumbled kissing your nose before backing up. "oh here, give me your phone"

your hand pulls out your phone from your back pocket, handing it to him. "what for?"

"im putting my number in.." his fingers typed quickly, the dumb smirk on his face not leaving, before slipping it back into your hands.

'my sugar daddy'

you visibly cringed at the name he chose. "you've got to be kidding me." you said with pure disbelief. he nodded, proud of his decision. "I did buy you all this didn't I?" he tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear, leaning down to whisper into it.

"ill send you a picture to set up as my contact photo. perhaps a nude?"

"perhaps not."

miwa's eyes widened when she saw you stumble into the shared dorm with heavy bags on each hand. "woah.. didn't know it was black friday." she half joked, getting up from her bed to help you out. you exhaled in relief when the weight was taken from your poor limp arms. "and I didn't pay a single penny."

she averted her gaze from the bags up to you. "who did pay for them? your sugar daddy?" your face burned at that damn name. "you're not wrong. it was satoru." you held up your phone, opening this contact name you knew would have miwa laughing.

she squinted, looking at it before she burst into giggles.

"hes so extra." you set the bags down on the desk, taking one thing out at a time. miwa wiped the tears that spilled from her eyes. "how'd this happen?"

you dragged a hand down your face, shrugging. "he saw me at the store and offered to buy me whatever. but I swear I didn't ask for all of this."

"he likes you."

you paused for a second. "does he now?"

it was a dumb question. who else would buy a random person they have no interest in hundreds of dollars worth of barnes and noble? no one, except him of course.

you retold the same ridiculous events to yuji, who still wasn't pleased at the idea of you getting hit on not even a month into school. his arms were crossed over his chest as he was lazily sitting on his desk chair, same as you.

"return everything."

you scoffed. "no way! even if I did I wouldn't be able to, he didn't ask for a receipt."

"he shouldn't be buying you shit. didn't you tell me yesterday how your gut was telling you something was off?"you moved from your desk to your bed, sighing as your back hit the mattress. "well maybe I was wrong about him."

satoru felt proud of being able to treat you like a princess, buying you all sorts of things, showering you with everything you wanted. he remembered how you hesitated on buying that cd. it bothered him a bit.

'did she have a problem with money?'

his phone rang with a message from suguru.

'party tonight at the frat, you coming?"

of course he was, he hasn't missed a single function since he joined yale. his fingers typed out, "Omw!" but before he could send it, he stopped, and then deleted it. why was he thinking about you right now?

why is he declining a party?

"im not in the mood tonight."

he stared at the screen for a moment, realizing that he actually sent that. a calloused hand rubbed his cheekbone, exhaling before he received another notification, this time not from any of his friends but from spotify.

'the marias are performing near you! click to see ticket prices and shows available!'

the marias? where had he heard that name.. his mind instantly flashed to you. you were holding the marias disc, the one he bought you along with all the other cd's. it was as if his body was moving without him knowing because a second later, he was buying two tickets.

your first day was an unconfirmed barnes and noble date. but your second day, the concert, would be an actual date.

he clicked the 'pay now' button without hesitation.

you weren't expecting to see a screen showing the digital receipts slip right into your line of sight while you were halfway through placing some textbooks in your locker. the bold blue letters read, 'THE MARIAS'

"hi pretty.. got these for you and me." your eyes widened at the familiar voice. the white haired individual really had a habit of sneaking up behind you didn't he? "you.. you got-" you stammered, blinking at the sight of the tickets, then back at him.

"got these for you and me." he repeated himself, both his voice and gaze softening. not sure to be flattered or continue being suspicious, you slowly reached for his phone, taking it from his pale hand to make sure what you were seeing was real.

not only did he buy you both tickets to a music artist you liked, but he also got the best seats. "you got the marias tickets.." you said mostly to yourself. his smirk was still there, but it showed no sign of being cocky.

"mhm, thought you'd like it."

"satoru.. you already spent so much on me yesterday.." how come a boy you barely knew was dropping a thousand on you each day. "I told you I like you. this can be our first date." he gently grabbed back his phone.

you swallowed, your mind trying to wrap itself around the unexpected layers of satoru you’d been seeing over the last few days. and you wondered if you were the first one to see this version of him.

"one date." you said firmly as you lifted up your finger, finally agreeing to his advances. his charm was different.. it was bold, yes, but real. "don't push your luck, im only accepting because its bjork."

"there will be more than one date, pretty." there was short pauses between his words allowing each syllable to sink in. like he meant it.

you had no idea why you were allowing him to score another point at this game he was forcing you to play. "at least let me pay for the gas.. or for the food." you offered but satoru only scrunched his face up shaking his head.

"don't do that."

he had some extra cash on him. 300. just like suguru promised when he said he'd pay satoru 300 if he managed to take you out on a date.

"just wear something pretty for me, and easy to remove."

you rolled your eyes. "im not sure about that second part, you're pushing your luck here sir."

"mm no not sir baby, its sugar dadd-"

your hand shot out to cover his mouth, cutting him off before he even had the chance to finish. he was shocked for a bit before he licked a long stripe against your hand moaning.

you recoiled immediately, gagging with a mix of shock and disgust. he chuckled at your discomfort and the sight of you wiping your hand on his chest.

"you like that baby?"

"no!" you shot back, closing your locker before rushing to the bathroom to properly clean your hand.

"ill see you later my love!" he called out.

miwa helped you get ready for the concert date after school. she straightened your hair pin straight while you both talked about what could happen later. your phone vibrated with a notification from 'sugar daddy'

"you still wearing something easy to remove right?"

you stared at the message. any past thoughts of him not being that bad quickly vanished. obviously, you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of your reply, so you left him on read. guess that hurt his feelings because a few minutes later he texted again.

"im joking baby :("

"still haven't changed that contact name?" miwa asked, finishing up the last strand for the final section. you grumbled a little 'shut it'

"im kind of nervous.." you admitted. this was going to be your first date after all.

miwa stopped, her hands hovering in mid air, before she turned your chair to face each other. her expression softened, a mix of understanding and excitement. "hey, it’s okay to be nervous. besides you kind of already know him.."

"briefly." you couldn't help but sigh, your eyes following her figure as she chose an outfit from her side of the closet to lend you.

"he wanted something easy to remove right?"

"dont."

you both met up to where you agreed, which was just outside the girls dormitories. the second he saw you, his heart fluttered.

you looked, no, you are gorgeous.

"...hey" a smile crept up on his face. he was dressed casual while you went all out thanks to miwa.

"hi" you smiled softly.

"you're so beautiful.." you'd be lying if you said you weren't flustered. even if you tried lying, the dark tint of pink on your cheeks would say otherwise. "thank you"

with a chuckle, he led you to his car. a model of the year, typical for a rich ass boy like him. being the gentleman he was, he opened the passenger door for you before closing it as you settled yourself down.

he made his way over to the drivers seat. "can't believe I finally landed a date with you" he mumbled before reaching over to hold your hand in his.

why was he acting like this? it was just a bet.. right?

you stared down at your hands that were now intertwined. you'd expect his to be cold from how pale they were and the amount of time he spends playing hockey in the cold rink.

your eyes lifted to his face, he was focused on the road now, a quiet little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, like just having you next to him was enough.

"im going to be honest, i don't know any of this bands songs."

your breath caught in your throat. "you bought the tickets without knowing how they were?"

he shook his head. "I bought the tickets because I knew you knew who they were." his hand squeezed yours, keeping his eyes on the road. "have I told you how absolutely sexy you are? I mean look at this.." his hand moved from yours to tug at your skirt, making you gasp.

"feel good, baby?" he continued squeezing your thigh, biting his lower lip as he felt the warmth of your skin.

he slapped it playfully, moving his hand onto the steering wheel leaving you flustered.

"pervert.."

the concert was beautiful. the music reached your heart it made you tear up, of course some songs hit close to home. gojo couldn't help but admire you from time to time. watching as your pretty mouth sang along to the unknown lyrics.

"lets take a picture pretty." he said out of nowhere. "a picture?" he nodded before pulling out his phone, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing his cheek against yours, snapping a few pictures of you and him throughout the night, mostly of you. you did the same, filling up your gallery with endless pictures and videos.

he pressed his lips on your temple before pulling away to continue enjoying the performance.

as the night came to an end, he drove you safely back home, both of you discussing the songs you enjoyed being performed the most.

"I think I enjoyed back to me the most"

"no way! paranoia was clearly the most enjoyable."

he rolled his eyes. "yeah well I think what I enjoyed the most was seeing you sing. you're gorgeous baby."

"you already told me that like twenty times."

"and ill continue to tell you for the rest of my life and beyond that." his words made your stomach twist. not in a bad way. definitely not. you watched how the dim light lit up his face making him look even more handsome than he already was.

"want to go to the ice rink?" he asked.

'right now? I dont think im wearing the appropriate clothing for skating.."

satoru grinned, pulling up to the building where the arena was in. "good thing I came prepared then." he reached towards the backseat, pulling out a duffel bag.

"you can thank your friend miwa."

you stared down at the clothes, which belonged to you, now on your lap. light pink thighs and a sweater as well as leg warmers. "you guys planned this?"

"she helped me out. I wanted to make this the best first date."

it was late, so the place was quieter than usual, dimly lit, making the place peaceful. the cold air nipped at your cheeks as you both stepped inside, and you tried your best not to show how nervous you were.

"ive never skated before." you admit.

"good thing your man is a hockey player." he finished tying up his laces before getting down on one knee to tie yours. he said it so casually. 'your man'

satoru looked up at you all while he continued fumbling around with the laces on your skates. "I really hope we have that romcom moment where you slip on the ice and fall right into my arms."

"what type of movies are you watching?" you giggled, feeling the heat creep up to your neck.

he finished the second skate, placing it on the ground before gripping your thighs. "like I said.. romcoms." he murmured, bringing you closer to his face. he darted his tongue out to lick the inside of your thigh.

a gasp left your lips. "h-hey.."

he didn't stop there.

he was starved. his lips traveled all throughout your inner thighs, nipping once in a while. "pretty.."

a shaky hand pushed his head away, watching as a string of saliva connected his lips with you. "so uhm.. you gonna teach me how to skate..?"

the fog of tension shattered the moment you placed your hand on his forehead, pushing him away. he licked his lips before chuckling. "yeah, come on."

the second you stepped onto the ice, you were already struggling. it was more slippery than you'd expect it to be, but satoru's large hands, placed on your waist, kept you steady.

"lean on me."

you held onto his arms, following his step wobbling once in a while.

"I got you doll."

twenty minutes was all you needed to learn how to maintain your balance on the ice. you excitedly followed satoru, holding his hand as you both made rounds around the rink, your skates gliding smoothly. he glanced at you, smiling as he watched you. "look at you... natural born skater" just as he said that, you bumped into his shoulder.

"natural born liar."

he chuckled seeing how your eyes showed signs of being tired. he wrapped his hands around your waist, lifting you up with ease. "lets get you out of here. kind of sad we didn't have that cute moment."

"what cute moment?" you wrapped your arms around him before he placed you down the carpet when he got you both out the ice rink. "the one where you fall right into my arms and we kiss."

you rolled your eyes. "maybe next time."

he raised an eyebrow, kneeling down again to take off your shoes. "so is that a confirmation that we will have another date?"

"mhm." you hummed quietly and before you knew it, you were leaning into a kiss with no control over your body, like it was possessed by a curse or something.

he hesitated for a second, deciding not to kiss you back. it was just a bet.

"lets go."

you stared at him in hurt and betrayal. this is what he wanted wasn't it? you felt your heart sink deeper as the seconds passed. you didn't allow him to put your shoes on, doing it yourself instead.

"baby.."

"dont." your voice wasn't firm, it was soft. barely even a whisper to be honest. "you're just messing with me aren't you?" he looked startled, like he had gotten caught with his hand down the cookie jar, because he did.

"no..no you're not something to play around with."

you were mad. furious even. "feels like it."

opening the door after gathering your clothes, you left without a goodnight. or a kiss. once you were out of view, satoru dragged his hands down his face groaning. he's grown attached to you without knowing it in the span of three days. and he's hurt you by denying your kiss.

he rushed after you.

"let me walk you."

"its fine. my dorm isn't that far."

"damn it y/n." he pressed his lips against yours, cupping your jaw. the kiss was full of frustration and it was desperate. his other hand found your hip, bringing you closer to him. he wanted to deepen the kiss, but he noticed you weren't kissing back.

he pulled away before smashing his lips against yours again, hoping that you'd kiss back this time but you didn't.

"I'll see you later.." you mumbled out.

he watched you walk away quickly in the direction of your dorm. now it was his heart who was sinking. he didn't remember any of his last 'bets' hurting this much.

so why does it feel like you were ripping out his heart right now?

when you reached your dorm, ready to get any call from your brothers, you already planned not to mention anything. not the concert date with satoru and definitely not how yuji was right about him. you couldn't let him have that 'I told you so' moment.

your phone vibrated at the back of your pocket as soon as you dropped your bag onto the floor. miwa was staying over at her boyfriends tonight, giving you and satoru any privacy if things went to a more heated direction.

it did. sorta.

with a sigh, you slid your thumb across the screen, answering the call from yuji.

"took you a while."

you forced a laugh. "sorry, you woke me up." you allowed your body to rest, flopping down on your messy bed with a 'thump', the back of your head sinking into the pillows.

"I'm just calling you to let you know that a hospital bill might reach you."

you quirked an eyebrow, staring at the ceiling. "its going to be sent out to me? all the way to yale?" yuji let out a small 'mhm', casual like he was commenting on the weather.

"yeah, from dad's last check up."

"oh," you rubbed your face, feeling a different kind of tired. "thats right."

"its just from his prescriptions and shit.. I would've paid it myself but.." his voice trailed off.

"no, no dont worry about it. not like i'm already drowning in student loans or whatever"

"of course not." you could hear him chuckle from the other side of the phone.

after the call ended, you let the silence settle. you received your mail usually by the end of the week in your small issued mailbox that was located in the front of the school. most of the time it was just flyers for clubs you had no intention of joining. but soon, a hospital bill that you desperately wanted to leave behind home, where it belongs, will appear right inside the small box.

after dreading to see the ridiculous amount you had to pay for oral chemotherapy medication, your mind circled back to satoru, a finger brushed against your lips, reliving the moment he placed his against yours in a kiss you wanted to return, but didn't.

you felt like it wasn't real.

why would he hesitate in the first place? your hand dropped back down against the mattress, gripping the bed sheets to brace yourself from any tears that might come out.

miwa dragged you to watch kokichi practice in the ice rink. the memories from last night hit you like a wave every other minute you sat on the bleachers. the same spot you were rejected.

you were annoyed.

no. pissed. pissed at how he dodged your kiss like it meant nothing and honestly you have every right to be. because why is he hesitant to kiss you when he’s the one that was so desperate. is this some sort of sick joke?

you didn't want to mention it to miwa or anyone. you were too embarrassed and the poor girl was happy she even had the opportunity to help out satoru with last nights date. you couldn't take that away from her. when she asked how it went you spared the details and just gave a brief summary.

"it was fun, he took me to the concert, we sang. then the ice rink, thanks by the way, and he taught me how to skate."

"thats so cute!" her face lit up.

you both continued to see the hockey players glide across the arena. but someone was missing. number 10. your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a microphone starting.

“can't take my eyes of off you..” a voice murmured into the microphone, a voice you instantly recognized. satoru. you blinked once. and then again-unsure if you were hearing correctly or if the loud ass volume you listen to your music in was finally catching up to you.

you squinted your eyes to see the white haired boy stand right in the middle of the rink, the whole team joining him as well. his body stepped forward, then another, until he broke into a dance. you let out a few chuckles of disbelief as you watched him make a fool of himself.

“i love you baby!” you wanted to crawl into a corner and die from embarrassment. “and if it’s quite alright, i need you baby..” his finger pointed right at you. a few people around you chuckled as well, one yelling, "go verona!"

you brought your hands up to you face covering it in embarrassment as a flush appeared. he was so off key now, yelling out the lyrics as he did little tricks around the ice, nearly slipping but catching himself with a dramatic spin. he made a bee line towards the top of the bleachers. you wanted to escape but he was quick, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“oh pretty baby..” he panted as the chorus died down. he placed the microphone down, grabbing your cheeks without a warning with both hands planting a long and sweet kiss on your plump lips. this time, you kissed back without hesitation from either of you.

"satoru.." you managed to say before he continued his desperate kisses, sliding his tongue into your mouth leaving no room for the words that were swirling in your head. miwa was ecstatic, clapping with others, who were surprised that the ex-playboy was acting straight out of a 2000's movie.

"shut up.. let me just kiss you." his fingers threaded through your hair.

and kisses continued all the way to his dorm, no sign of stopping any time soon as he pushed you down his bed.

"im sorry about yesterday.. let me make it up to you."

"I think you did already with your little performance."

he chuckled, shaking his head. "nah, you need more than a song."

satoru wears everything on his face. like everything. you could tell what he was feeling with just a glimpse at his blushed face that turned from his usual pale color to a deep red. his mouth was open when he sank into you.

he smirked when he watched you struggle to take him. the small moans you let out made him twitch. "you look so fucking good. taking my cock like this." he wrapped your legs around his bare waist before his large hand found your neck, wrapping lightly around it.

"sa..satoru.." you whimpered.

"mmf- yeah that feels good. so.. tight and wet f'me. should've done this yesterday." he rolled his hips against yours gently. satoru has never been this gentle during sex towards anyone. he slid in and out of you slowly, making sure you felt every single one of his veins.

"oh fuck.. not going to last long inside this warm fucking pussy."

he licked your lips before shoving his tongue down your throat. satoru pulled away, forcing your jaw to open to spit right into your mouth.

"swallow."

you obeyed, swallowing his shared spit, opening your mouth to show him.

"good girl."

you screamed, gripping his shoulders when he slipped almost all the way out before slamming all the way in. he was loving this, almost forgetting the amount of money he would receive for getting into your panties.

it wasn't until you both finished, and his arms were wrapped around you in a comfortable position to cuddle, placing loving kisses on your forehead, that he finally remembered that this was all a bet. was.

he was scared that maybe he didn't want this to be just a game. his breath stilled, his fingers still tracing random shapes on your back as he pulled back slightly, taking a close look at your peaceful expression.

he didn't want it to end.

he took a look at his calendar that was placed on his nightstand. he counted the days knowing he didn't have that much left with you.

"love?"

you hummed, opening your eyes, your expression soft, when he called out to you.

"i'm playing tomorrow.. then we're having a sort of 'hoco' type of thing at the frat.. come with me?"

you nodded, placing your head on his chest listening to the way his heart beat at a steady pace. "course.." you murmured, he did tire you out after all. his body relaxed at your answer. there were still so many things left unsaid, so much you both needed to figure out. but he was okay with just having you this close to him right now.

you didn't call your family that night. your phone was put on do not disturb, laying on top of the nightstand. satoru's arms were still wrapped tightly around you.

but across the country, yuji grew worried, because not only were hospital bills going to reach you, but terrible news as well.

he paced back and forth outside the hospital room, the one where your father was currently staying, checking his phone every second to see if you have seen his messages or calls.

nothing from you.

he tried to come up with a reason. you were probably studying, or just busy in general. he wanted to cry because the feeling of being the one now responsible for everything was finally sinking in. he didn't know why your father collapsed. he didn't know if your aunt was on her way to pick up matt from school. and he didn't know when the hell you would answer your phone.

"answer.. please." he prayed.

the next day when you woke up to the sound of shuffling, you were met with several forehead kisses.

"sorry baby, have to go straight to the rink." your eyes fluttered open slowly, eyes adjusting to the morning light. you remembered the game today, and the party as well.

"practice hard.." your morning voice came out groggy, in which he let out a soft laugh.

"ill see you later baby." with that he left.

you looked around, still groggy, seeing the clock on his wall. eleven o clock.

your eyes widened. shit. you were late for class. you threw the blanket off of you, quickly putting on the same clothes from yesterday. when you reached for your panties, you noticed they were ripped. the sudden pain you felt on your stomach was a reminder of your poor decisions from last night.

you slipped on your skirt, praying you wouldn't flash anyone by the time you got to your dorm. after grabbing your bag, you reached for your phone before bolting out of his room.

when you made your way to class, you felt a deep feeling in your gut telling you, no, yelling, that something wasn't okay.

the cold air of the rink hit you the moment you stepped through the doors, crisp and biting against your skin. the faint sound of blades carving across ice echoed through the space, mixed with low shouts and the occasional laughter of teammates mid practice.

miwa was buzzing beside you, excited to see her boyfriend play, and for the party he asked her out to. you caught sight of satoru not that far away talking with a boy with gauges.

"I'll be back: you said to her.

"okay! I'll go grab us some seats then!"

you watched as the blue haired girl quickly made her way up the bleachers, snatching a good spot for the both of you. you approached satoru, ready to scare him as you snuck behind him.

"dude, I'm telling you I fucked her already, pay up." he grumbled.

your entire world stopped for a second. were you hearing correctly? the other boy laughed. "thought you didn't want to take this bet?" his hand reached for his pocket, pulling out his wallet to slip out a few hundred dollar bills.

it all suddenly clicked.

"it's whatever. honestly, she's everything i've wanted in a girl." the boy you thought you could trust accepted the bills into his hand. how could you have thought that this actually meant something. that you actually meant something to satoru.

"are you fucking kidding me?" you stared at him, feeling so many emotions all at once. anger, betrayal, and even denial. your mind was processing what you just heard. you wanted to hear it wasn't real, that he wasn't only after you because of a bet and that he actually likes you. but you knew you were better than that, you couldn't help but connect all the dots. the way he just randomly went up to you? the way he spent so much money on you?

it wasn't fate. it was orchestrated. and you felt stupid for now realizing.

there was horror written all over gojos face. "no baby.. baby listen to me." but you refused, shaking your head. you refused because the following words were going to be the confirmation that you dreaded to hear. without another word, you turned away pushing though the crowd. "y/n!" he shouted, but you didn't turn back. as you made your way down the hall, his hand wrapped around your wrist, "please, PLEASE listen to me!" in which you yanked back.

"it was all a bet huh? and for what? I knew I shouldn't have trusted yo-" you were interrupted by his lips molding against yours. no matter how much you wanted to melt into it, you didn't. your hands landed on his chest, pushing him off you before wiping your lips. the boy stood there, stunned, as his sad blue eyes watched you walk out.

how could he do this to you? after you accepted his dates. after you let him use your body for pleasure. after everything?you felt horrible for leaving miwa alone, but you didn't want to ruin her day. her boyfriend was playing hockey, with satoru.

it was when you pulled out your phone, ready to block him, when you saw the several missed calls from yuji and from your fathers doctor. your heart sank even more. you quickly found a secluded spot.

satoru wanted to follow after you, desperate to fix things. but he couldn't, not with a game he needed to play. but in all honesty he was done playing.

yuji was screaming at you through the phone. his voice was raw. one you haven't heard in years.

"I called you twenty fucking times y/n! all of last night, where the hell were you?!"

you were hyperventilating. the situation sinking in, the one with gojo and the one where your dad was on the brink of death. "with.. with this guy.."

silence.

"with a guy?" he spat. “you were with some guy while dad was- y/n, he’s in critical condition. they had to resuscitate him last night. and im over here wondering that something important was going on with you only to find out you were busy sucking some guy off. was it the guy you told me about?"

"..yeah..but it didn't end well."

"I dont fucking care about that right now. honestly im glad, let this be a lesson. we thought we were gonna lose him. and you were out playing house with some asshole?”

you didn't answer, too busy trying to even breathe. "im sorry... im sorry." yuji didn’t respond right away.

"i already paid half of the shit," his sharp voice continued. "if you could send some money over that would be great. and those bills, have you paid them yet?"

you swallowed hard, tears stinging the backs of your eyes. “o, I… I haven’t had time, yuji,”

“you haven’t had time?” he repeated like the words physically hurt him. there was a long pause. when Yuji spoke again, his voice had softened.

".. just please pay his medication.. my job isn't paying that well."

"I will.." you said quietly. "where is matt?"

"he's with aunt teresa. i'll call you if anything happens again, please answer next time."

you sniffled, wiping your runny nose. "okay. I love you."

click.

the call ended with him not saying those words back. you still had your phone up to your ear, wishing that magically yuji would say it back.

you felt so unwanted

unloved.

you could feel your eyes stinging even more and your throat closing up on you. you felt like you were losing everyone, your father slipping away in a hospital bed miles from here, your brother who had always been your anchor, your voice of reason, now too exhausted to carry you, and satoru.

satoru.

that night your phone was blowing up. call after call, text after text- all from him.

satoru : y/n please.

satoru : call me, return my calls lets talk pretty.

satoru : it was a bet, but believe me when I tell you that I truly love you.

satoru : I love you. say it back baby. please I need you. can't lose you, im sorry love please don't leave..

you remembered when you planned to block him before the call with yuji, your finger hovered over the red block button. but you simply put your phone on dnd and headed to sleep recalling the horrible events of tonight. tear stains were placed on your cheeks, mascara ruined, just like how your life felt.

miwa had tried, she really did. she tried her best to comfort you, but she understood you needed space. the sweet girl provided you with extra blankets as well as water, she even rubbed off the remaining makeup on you.

satoru hasn't felt this horrible since he accidentally flushed down his sisters goldfish back in first grade. but it wasn't the same.

the goldfish didn't hate him. you did.

and he hated himself for how he made you feel. he hated himself for doing this to you. but god was he grateful to have taken on that bet. not for the money, but for you. because of the bet, he met such a wonderful girl who he was completely smitten for. too bad that the girl now hates his guts.

the weather matched how gojo felt. he looked like hell.

his usual outfits was replaced by a simple white t-shirt with sweatpants. the confident boy was now just a regular burnt out college student who looks like he missed out on eight hours of sleep to study for his physics final. he hasn't eaten since yesterday, deciding his body didn't deserve to be rewarded with food.

he made his way to the small mailroom provided for students. his face lit up when he saw you there, not looking so good like him.

"baby."

his voice startled you, making you drop your mail, watching as they scattered all throughout the tile floor.

you crouched down to gather your mail, avoiding his eyes, heart pounding in your chest from too many things at once, his voice, your brother’s call, the reminder of your father, the unbearable guilt, and now him standing here, looking like someone you didn’t know how to love right now.

satoru knelt beside you, brushing your fingers by accident as he helped you collect the envelopes. the moment your skin touched, a sharp breath escaped his lips.

thats when saw it. a bunch of letters from kaiser permamente.

"what's this..?"

you froze, hand curling tighter around the envelope like you could hide it, like you could make it disappear if you just willed it hard enough. but he had already seen.

you stood quickly, clutching the papers to your chest. “it’s nothing.”

“sweetheart…” His tone shifted, serious now. “that’s a hospital.”

"i know, i can read." you shot back.

satoru rose to his feet slowly, eyes still locked on you, his earlier exhaustion now sharpened with concern. “y/n?” His voice cracked. “is everything okay?”

you didn't know how it came to this. but you were hugging him tightly, crying into his chest like he wasn't part of the reason why you were going through it.

.

.

.

[athenalvss]

Could you write with Wally West being silly and madly in love with a girl Y/N, but every time he tries to confess, something happens (like that cliché scene where the boy is trying to confess in the middle of the hall and he ends up falling, something like this hehe)

WOULD YOU BE MY.... ( wally west! )

Summary: Wally is finally ready to face the girl he likes and tell her how he feels about her, but well, apparently fate doesn't want it that way.

pairing: Wally west x fem!reader

open request - wally west masterlist

Wally West paced the halls of Justice Tower, his heart beating faster than his feet. Every time he thought of you, the world became a little brighter, though also a little more chaotic. His mind kept going over and over in his head: Today is the day. Today I'm going to tell her how I feel.

He'd been rehearsing the speech in his head for days, searching for the perfect words to express what he thought without sounding like a complete mess. But, as always, when the time came, everything fell apart.

He stopped in front of the training room door. You were inside, adjusting the bandages on your wrists, ready for another training session after a mission, although you shouldn't have been doing so given the massive blow you'd taken. Maybe it wasn't the right time, but then again, it wasn't the right time for this kind of situation. Wally ruffled his hair a little, took a deep breath, and approached the door, determined this time would be different.

He'd been rehearsing the speech in his head for days, searching for the perfect words to let you know what he feels without sounding like a complete mess. But, as always, when the time came, everything fell apart.

This time everything would be okay. He'd tell you everything he felt for you, you'd say yes, he'd kiss you, and he'd hug you until you grew tired of him, everything would be okay this time, not like the other four times.

The first time, he'd tried it in the Tower cafeteria. He'd set out a tray of food and drinks, sat right next to you, and started a normal conversation, trying to find the right words to get it all out, but just as he started talking, Beast Boy excitedly entered the room to show off his newfound animal transformation, accidentally knocking a tray of milkshakes over Wally.

The second time, for some reason, he thought it would be a brilliant idea to say it in the middle of a mission, after you saved his life by pulling him out of the way of a giant laser beam. Nothing like a post-near-death love confession, right?

"For the love of god, are you okay, Walls?" you said, on the verge of worry.

"I'm more than fine! Because you... I... actually, there's something I want to tell you..."

And just as you were about to let him go, a ship exploded behind you, and he let out a high pitched scream like a five yeas old. Neither of you spoke of it again, but Wally knew you'd been laughing at him inside.

The third time he tried, he wrote a note, complete with little drawings and hearts; he'd even scented the paper. He discreetly left it in your locker, convinced it was his masterpiece. That was until the fire alarms went off and a large group of students ran down the hallway, sending the letter flying, leaving no chance for you to read it.

The fourth time you two were training together, he was really trying hard, really wanting to impress you, making spectacular dodges, rolling on the floor with a confident smile.

"I have to tell you something…"he began.

And right there, when you were trying to throw a punch, he slipped because he wasn't concentrating and fell backward, hitting his head on a dumbbell. Hours later, he woke up in the infirmary with a bandage on his forehead and a note from you that said: "Rest easy, silly Flash ❤️‍🩹"

He nervously shook his hands against his pants, as if that would take away his fear. This time, this time it was going to work.

He'd seen you from across the hall. You had a makeshift bandage on your forehead and a water bottle in your hand. Despite that, Wally thought you looked like the prettiest girl on the planet with that bandage and that bruise on your face.

There were no explosions. There were no drills. There were no treacherous weights. Just the two of you, and this time, he was going to tell you.

He approached with a clumsy but determined step, without running, even though everything in him told him to flee or at least make a joke to break the tension. But no. This time he was going to be direct. He was going to speak from the heart.

"Hey..." he said, with that smile of his that always appeared when he was around her, that smile accompanied by hearts in his eyes. He ran one of his hands behind his head and rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Do you have a second?"

You looked up with a soft smile, tiredness still etched in your eyes. "Sure, Walls. What's up?"

He stopped in front of you, and for once in his life, he managed to hold your gaze. It felt like fireworks were going off in his chest, like his hands were getting wet with anxiety, he felt his words pile up in his throat, and for the first time, they didn't stumble over each other. He was more than ready.

"I've been wanting to tell you something for a while. Something that... well, that scares me a little, but I can't keep it to myself anymore because every time I see you I feel like-"

you blink slowly, once, two, three times.

"You okay, hon?" he asked, confused by the sudden lack of response.

And before he could say or do anything else, you stumbled forward, as if the world were slipping away from under you. Wally caught you in his arms just in time.

—¡Hey! Hey, hey! No, no, no, don't do this to me! —he said, holding you with a mixture of panic and desperation.

You were unconscious. Fainted.

The blow you'd received during the mission, the improvised bandage, the exhaustion. obviously something was going to happen

And he, again, with the words on the tip of his tongue...

Damn fate

[musingsofheaven]

OFF THE RECORD.

crown prince!art donaldson x reporter!reader

⠀⠀⠀ heavy kissing. suggestive. intimacy. tension. ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ secret romance. not graphic, but loaded. ♡

One of the perks of being in this line of work is the connections you can build and the events you can go to. It's one of your favorites, actually. You just have to have the confidence to take on many tasks until this kind of assignment lands in your lap. And here you are… only just slipped your press badge into your evening purse- a slim, elegant little purse that barely held your phone and lipstick- when the message lit up your screen with three new messages. Come up. Suite 1806. Now. That was it. No explanation. Just three firm messages. Just that familiar, quiet command, the kind he always sent when he wanted something and expected a yes as an answer. And you knew exactly what it meant. He’d seen your name on the press list. Of course, he had.

He knew you’d be here tonight in your professional best, dressed like every other media rep at the gala. Giving your big smiles to people you'll have to interview, holding a microphone, voice clear and polite, asking the right questions to the right people. He knew you’d be close- close enough to hear him speak, close enough to catch his eye- and that you’d pretend, at least for the cameras, not to remember how he sounds when he’s panting into your mouth. Not to remember how his fingers curl when he’s about to come.

For a moment, you’d considered ignoring it because you know he's being needy again. Just need to see you the moment he hears you'll be there. You don't know if he's upset, but you’d worked hard to look like this. Your hair was freshly set. Your lipstick was flawless. Not too grand or too much effort with it but it's good on your skin. (It’s Art’s favorite color on you) It has a flattering shade you knew would stay in place through speeches and handshakes. You are okay. Good to go. Your interview questions were memorized, printed neatly, and somewhere. You were prepared. Controlled. Ready. You hadn’t planned to see him, let alone touch him- not tonight. Not in some kind of big event the Royal Family is holding. And certainly not in a suite no one was supposed to know you’d entered.

But the moment you read those three short lines, you knew. It wasn’t about sex. Not really. It wasn’t about anger, either. It was about that quiet, raw thing that got under his skin whenever you were forced to treat him like he was just a prince. That's it. A royal. Just another man smiling in a tailored suit. So you went. You know how he gets when he gets ignored, you know he'll be all pouty and annoy the hell out of you when he doesn't get what he wants: to see you.

But now you’re here- shoulders tense, throat dry- and he’s standing by the window like he’s being painted for history. His shirt is pristine like always. Buttoned and closed. Pressed so clean it looks starched. His hair is smoothed back, glossy and brown, it looks so perfect and it doesn’t even have strand out of place. Regal. Remote. Looks too good and he's so unreal. Like the day hasn’t touched him yet. Like he’s still the crown prince, not your crown prince- not yet.

He doesn’t move when the door opens. Not at first. He just let the step echo first. Just a subtle turn of his head, like the sound alone told him it was you- that familiar click of the handle. Your soft footsteps that he knows that are not heavy when you step it on the ground. Your scent of something expensive and warm that he’s already memorized for many times he holds you so close and he’s obsessed with. (He couldn't get enough of them especially when you are curled up against him) His eyes find yours, steady and sharp, and for a moment he just watches you. Stare at you. Then, quietly, without ceremony, he speaks. “You should’ve told me.”

Your stomach pulls tight and churns at the sound of his voice, that quiet and steadiness that masks something sharper beneath it. Low and deep. He's not mad but not in a good mood either. Still, you lift your chin with careful control. The habit you learn when you are in this kind of industry. Not to get intimidated. You are refusing to show the way his presence affects you. “Told you what?” you ask, your voice even, though your throat feels dry, but you are not being defensive about anything. You just don’t like that that was really his first words to you when you came inside. It made you raise your eyebrow while you waited for his response, staring at him and confused about what he was talking about.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink. “That you’d be covering the event,” he says, the words level but too pointed to be casual. You don't know where you will go with this conversation though. “That you’d be there with the others.” His gaze stays fixed on you, he couldn't even get that mad when you look that good. But his gaze is unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders betrays him- just slightly, just enough. He looks like he’s holding something back. Like he’s trying very hard not to let it show how much it stung to see your name on the list like it meant nothing. (Even though he knows there are big possibilities for it to happen because he knows what kind of work you have.) Like it didn’t belong to someone who knows what it sounds like when he whispers your name into your mouth. Maybe he's like this because you didn't give him a heads up… that he really has to know this from a piece of paper handed to him.

You step fully inside now, letting the door close behind you with a soft click. There’s a weight beneath his words, buried under the mask. He looks the part- composed, princely, in a shirt that’s buttoned up but there’s something in his voice that frays at the edges. Something personal. Something like disappointment. You can't figure out what it is though. You move a little closer, your voice quiet. “It’s not a secret. I’m on the press list.”

“It’s not your job that bothers me,” he says, the words coming fast. He can’t control them because he’s been holding them in. Like they’ve been sitting just behind his teeth since the moment he saw you. Or maybe the moment he saw the list. Like it's been bothering him since he saw it. “It’s the way you said it- like it's… You don't really tell me you'll be there.” His voice stays low, measured, but there’s a quiet ache underneath it, something raw and personal that turns the air heavier between you. He knows that you know that he doesn't like being surprised with information because it's throwing him off guard.

That’s where it lands- not as anger, but as ache. You should have told him. Because he doesn't like not being prepared because it's there, that slow, silent bruise he wears whenever you both have to pretend. Whenever you stand too far away. Whenever you smile like you don’t know the heat of his mouth or the way he falls apart when you touch him. Whenever you adore him while he has to act he doesn't know you, that he doesn't want to kiss you all the damn time.

Because you know him. You know that it's not really about not telling him. It's about both of you pretending this is nothing when people are around you. “You think I’ll ignore you?” you ask, your voice pitched low, almost a dare. But you don’t say that to provoke him. It’s softer than you mean it to be gentler. It is threaded with a question you’re not really ready to ask, but you do. You always ask him things especially when he can’t voice them out properly. You know him. But you know he's bothered about it. Because you can see how he looks. Now? He's holding it for a long moment, his gaze catching and holding, eyes moving over you like it physically pains him. It does. You see it in the way his throat works when he swallows, in the flicker of hesitation across his mouth before he speaks.

“I think you’ll try,” he says, and it’s not cold. It’s worse- it’s knowing. Certain. Like an assurance to himself that you might do it. The kind of quiet certainty that comes from watching you too long, too closely, and recognizing the cracks before you ever felt them form. “Because you think it’s easier,” he adds, and his eyes drift down, slowly, like every inch of you costs him something. Like looking at you is both a weakness and a warning.

You step forward. Not a dramatic move, just a quiet shift in the space between you, enough for the air to change. He still doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t move- his hands at his sides, his spine straight, shoulders set like he’s bracing for impact. But he wants to reach for you. To touch you. To feel you. His shirt is soft, collar neat, still buttoned. There’s no visible sign of strain, but you know how tightly wound he is. You can feel it, coiled beneath the surface of him, humming just out of reach.

“My boss would lose her mind if I got a quote from you,” you say softly, watching the way his mouth tightens when you speak. But you just said it to lighten the mood. To subtly tell him that it's not possible to happen, that you'll ignore him. “Do you really think I’d miss the chance to put your name at the top of my piece? That I’d stand ten feet away from you and not still feel you looking at me?”

“You’d better not,” he whispers, and it lands like something closer to prayer than warning. There’s no threat in it. Just hunger. Just yearning. Just that desperate undercurrent that’s always been there - the one he hides behind silk ties and perfect posture. “Because if I watch you tonight and you look through me- like I’m nothing but a topic in some article- I won’t forgive it.”

Your hand rises, slow and sure, fingertips brushing the edge of his collar. He twitches and tightens at your action at the same time. You feel the warmth of him there, the slow thud of his pulse under your thumb as you slip it beneath the fabric. His skin is hot and soft. You toy gently with the first button, and his breath catches. Just the smallest hitch. But it’s enough. Enough to tell you he feels something beneath all the walls he built.

“So that’s what this is?” you ask, your voice low but steady, your lips pulling into a shape that almost looks like a smile - but isn’t. It’s too sharp, too sad, too knowing. “You made me come all the way up here just to remind me I belong to you?” Not an accusation but a confirmation about something you already have the answer to.

He exhales sharply, and for a second you think he won’t answer. His nostrils flare, jaw locked, like he’s fighting himself. But still, he doesn’t move. But not until your thumb caresses his skin. His hand reaches out, wraps around your wrist, slow but gentle- grounding you there, holding you in place like the idea of letting go is impossible.

“No,” he says at last, and the word falls softly between you, but its weight is heavy. His fingers tighten, not cruelly, but with something closer to desperation. Yearning. “I made you come here so I could see you before they got the chance to look at you,” he said but still holding back the words in his mind about him missing you.

His thumb drags along your inner wrist, just once, slow and careful, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your pulse. The thickness of your skin. The feeling of your hair. His eyes search yours - not asking for forgiveness, not even for understanding. Just looking. And then he kisses you.

Hard. Messy. Like he’s been starved for weeks and you’re the first taste he’s allowed himself. Like he's trying to prove something to himself more than to you. His hand slides behind your neck, the other curling around your waist. He squeezes it and feels the shape and the curve before he's dragging you in so fast your heels stutter on the marble. His mouth is hot and open and hurried like he’s punishing you for every minute you’ve spent apart.

You moan into it, fingers fisting in his perfect shirt. Making it wrinkly. Buttons snap loose. Your palms slide over the firm heat of his chest, feeling his soft chest and the hair on it. His curls falls loose, curling where your fingers rake through it, tumbling forward across his temple. You like the way it feels under your palms.

By the time he finally pulls back, he’s already a wreck- but not because he wanted to stop. It’s because he had to. For air. He’s breathing hard, dragging in air like it costs him, like it hurts to be apart from your mouth even for a second. His shirt is half off, wrinkled from your grip. Buttons gone. One cuff hanging loose, the other forgotten. His hair's ruined the neatness of it from earlier- wild from your fingers, damp at the temples. His lips are wet and red, swollen and shining. There’s saliva on his chin, and you know it’s yours.

And still, when he pulls away, he doesn’t really pull away. His mouth drags across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your lips again. Just peppering you with soft kisses. He’s chasing the taste of you. He can’t help it. Been a long time since the last time he saw you personally. “You’ll stand there tonight,” he breathes against your skin, “with your camera and your script- like I’m nothing but a headline.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your hand fists the front of his shirt. Tighter like you're mad at the words he's saying. You drag him back in, crashing your mouth against his like you’re furious with him, like kissing him is an argument. Like you don't like everything he said the moment you came here. Like he's ruining the mood for you to be at the event. Your teeth catch. Your tongues slide. His groan rumbles straight through your chest as he slams you back against the wall, fingers digging into your waist.

“I won’t,” you gasp when you finally come up for air- barely. Maybe just to say them. Maybe because you don't want him to have the last word. Your mouth is red and spit-slick, aching from how hard he kissed you, but you liked it anyway. Your throat burns like his tongue scraped it raw. You can’t meet his eyes. “I couldn’t.”

But he doesn’t believe you. He never does when he feels like this. When he wants you so much it hurts. His hand curls tighter in your hair like a warning. Like a claim. Then he crashes into you. Not a kiss, but you are colliding with him. A consequence. His lips smash into yours, already parted, already demanding. His tongue shoves inside like he owns it, licking past your teeth without invitation, taking like he’s starving for it. His tongue is exploring inside, trying to scrape everything to taste every inch of what he hasn't tasted for weeks. You moan into his mouth- into him- and he swallows it down like breath. Like it's some source of oxygen for him.

His teeth catch your bottom lip- bite, then suck until you can taste the metallic taste. Until it blooms. You whimper, your hand clutching tighter on his hair and shirt. He groans back into you like it hurts to stop. His hand fists harder in your hair, yanks your head back, and he licks into your mouth deep, wet, unforgiving. “You will,” he growls, breath hot and wet against your lips. “You’ll smile like I’m not still thinking about the way you taste.”

Your knees buckle. It’s not a metaphor. You almost fall. But he’s ready for that, too- like he knew you would. He's already holding you tight. His thigh shoves between your legs, and you grind against the thick press of him without even meaning to. Your body just moves. Your panties are soaked it's embarrassing. Your thighs tremble. You gasp against his mouth and he smiles- that crooked, mean, and cruel smile like he’s proud of you for falling apart.

“I’ll ask you two questions,” you rasp- an assurance to him that it won't be a lot when you interview him later, voice wrecked and slurred with spit and heat. You grab his collar and yank- hard. He chokes on it, stumbles forward into you, and you feel his cock twitch against your hip.

“Nothing too serious.” You add, but he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. He just groans- and kisses you again. Hot. Violent. Sloppy. Tongue sneaking into yours. Licking deep. Sucking hard. His mouth seals over yours like it belongs there, like he’s trying to breathe you in and choke you on him at the same time. His hands are everywhere- your jaw, your throat, your ass. Gripping. Lifting. Pulling you closer, harder, deeper. He couldn't just get enough of it, of you.

Your teeth clash. Your lips slip. Neither of you stops. He kisses you like he wants to fuck your mouth open. Like he's trying to prove to you that he misses you. Like your mouth is a wound and he’s digging in tongue first, then teeth, then that awful, desperate moan like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. He bites the corner of your lip. Sucks your tongue into his mouth and holds it there, just around his mouth. He tastes like heat. Like sweat. Like he wants to live inside your breath.

Saliva smears your chin, your cheeks. His spit. Yours. Both. The line’s long gone now- blurred out by hunger and heat and the way you’re rutting on his thigh like it’s instinct. Like it’s more important than your job. “Smile like you don’t know how I sound when I’m needy,” he mutters against your open mouth.

And you shatter. You kiss him harder- kiss him meaner. Like it’s the only language you know. Like maybe, if you keep going, if you keep licking him, grinding against him, tasting him, you won’t have to answer. You won’t have to admit how much it’s ruining you. Your hands twist in his collar, his shirt, his skin. You don’t know what you’re holding onto anymore- just that if you let go, you’ll disappear.

“I’ll be professional,” you lie, soft and broken and right against his lips. It sounds like it hurts to say, but you still do. He stills. Then opens his eyes- and you wish he hadn’t. They’re haunted. Glazed. Starving. He looks at your mouth like he’ll never get enough of it. Like he wants to spit in it. Cry into it. Fuck you through it. Like he’ll never forgive it for making him feel this way. And when he finally speaks, it’s not a warning- it’s a promise.

“You’ll be mine,” he says. Ruined. “Even if I’m the only one who knows it.” And when you finally leave- lip gloss smudged, shirt clinging in all the wrong places- he’s both of you are standing close to the mirror, looking like he just got hit by a tornado. One with lip balm and soft hands.

He’s trying to fix himself. Tugging his shirt down. Flattening the wrinkles in it. To straighten it without an iron. Refastening buttons that don’t quite line up. His curls are all flat on one side and sticking up on the other. He looks… sweet. Ruffled. Soft.

You blink at him and fix your clothes with a crooked smile. “Wait,” you say, voice small and teasing, “are you like this when you miss me?”

He freezes, glancing at you in the mirror before scoffing like you haven’t caught him red-handed. “Like what?”

“Like…” You step in closer, eyes wide with pretend concern. “All messy and flustered and- ” your fingers flutter toward his hair, curling it around them, “- your curls doing that sad little please touch me thing.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but it only makes him look more adorable. You swear you saw him pout. “They don’t do that.”

“They do, actually,” you sigh like you are disappointed with what you heard, smoothing the worst of it down, fixing the strands you tugged on earlier when you were kissing him like it meant something. Your voice drops to a whisper as you tilt in close to his ear. “You missed me so bad, huh?”

He exhales sharply through his nose and doesn’t answer, but you can feel how warm his skin gets. So you poke his side, light and giggly, and say again, “Huh? Be honest.” You smile and play with him right now like you haven't had the most starving make out you have had in a long time.

He groans, turns to face you fully, and grabs your waist like he doesn’t even mean to, but it stays there. He squeezed it though before speaking, “You’re evil.”

“I’m right,” you proudly say, grinning up at him.

He kisses your forehead, quick and breathless, and mumbles into your skin before kissing your head, “Fine. Maybe a little.”

“A lot,” you correct sweetly, hugging him back. “You’re all needy and rumpled. It’s very endearing. I love it.”

He shakes his head like he disagrees, but he’s smiling- cheeks warm, curls still a mess. And when you finally do leave, slipping out with your lip gloss smudged and your heart doing something weird in your chest, he just… stays there. In front of the mirror. Still catching his breath. He stares at himself for a long moment. Tries to fix it.

Straightens his collar. Wipes the kiss from his mouth. Runs a palm through his hair- but it’s no use. His curls have that wild, post-you look to them now. Soft and ruffled and touched. The kind of mess that only means one thing.

He buttons one more button, just to say he did. But he doesn’t bother at all the way. Doesn’t want to. It still smells like you- his shirt, his skin, the air. Like heat and sweetness and something dangerous. So he leaves it. Half-undone. Like you left him.

And when he shows up at the event like that- lips clean but cheeks still flushed, curls all over the place, shirt buttoned like he couldn’t finish- everyone notices. They don’t say anything. Not outright. But they glance.

Someone claps him on the back and asks if he’s had a long day. Someone else raises a brow when he laughs too easily. One person says, “You look like you’ve been busy.” He did. But not with his responsibilities, just with your mouth this time.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[yothatshitgas]

The Dress | Part 2

Note: Work of fiction.

This is part two. Part one. I lowkey want to turn this into a whole series but thats just a commitment that I'm afraid my job wont give me time to do. So I'll stick to oneshots for now. __

“I get first shot,” Azzi said, flashing a grin full of challenge and charm as she strutted toward her spot near midcourt.

Paige didn’t argue. She just stepped aside, lips twitching with amusement as she watched Azzi settle in at the edge of the sideline logo. Azzi set her feet like she was lining up for a real game. Her shooting form was textbook perfection, even in a casual round of horse. The ball arced through the air with beautiful rotation and dropped through the basket - all net, no hesitation.

“Alright, your turn,” she said, casually stepping back with a smug glint in her eye.

Paige retrieved the ball, dribbled it twice and walked to the exact same spot. Her gaze locked in on Azzi the entire way. She didn’t break eye contact as she pulled up, raised the ball above her head and let it fly.

Azzi’s eyebrow lifted, “shot got better,” she said, a teasing tone in her voice, “guess rehab gave you time to fix that weird hitch in your release.”

Paige jogged after the ball and passed it back with a smirk, “jealousy isn’t a cute look on you, Az.”

Azzi caught it, already turning toward the wing, “I was hoping you’d miss,” she rolled her shoulders, “got some hard hitting questions I’ve been saving for years.”

“Oh yeah?” Paige followed, hands on her hips, “like what?”

“Well,” Azzi said with a shrug as she lined up a corner three, “you’d have to miss to find out.”

The ball left her hand in a high arc and dropped through the net again.

“I never miss,” Paige shot back, eyes narrowed playfully as she chased the ball down for her turn, “you, on the other hand, are looking real nervous.”

The game picked up intensity. Corner threes. No look bank shots. Over the backboard tosses. Behind the back layups. Both of them trying to outdo the other, digging deep into their bags like it was a championship skills challenge instead of a friendly shootaround. They were trash talking and laughing through the effort, but their focus was razor sharp. Neither was willing to give the other an inch.

The scoreboard of their silent game was stitch at zero.

Until Azzi paused near half court. She spun the ball in her hands, glanced once at Paige and squared up.

“Alright, lets see what you really got,” she said, and launched the ball.

It soared through the air in a perfect arc, Paige followed its path with wide eyes, heart thudding as it hit the glass then dropped through the net.

“Seriously?” She groaned.

Azzi just grinned.

Paige walked to the half court line, cradling the ball in her hands. She took a long breath, then dribbled once, bending her knees as she stared down the rim. The shot arced high, hanging in the air like it was deciding whether or not to give her grace. It clipped the front of the rim with a heavy bounce and veered sharply to the left. . 

Clang.

Azzi’s voice rang out, sickeningly sweet, “H.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s hear it. What is this hard hitting question you’ve been dying to ask?”

Azzi’s grin softened into something else entirely, something more careful. Paige recognized it, it was actually a look that she personally hated seeing on her. It meant Azzi was thinking too much, but then it changed again, her smile turned more honest. It had Paige feeling flustered, a slow heat crawling up her neck and to her cheeks. She looked away too fast, suddenly aware of how loud her heart felt in her chest.

Azzi stepped forward, closing the space between them like she had every right to. Her voice was quieter now, “Paige,” she said, treating the older girl’s name like a well kept secret, “how come you never asked me to come to UConn?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, “answer or you get O.”

“Look, it’s not like I didn’t want to. But you were so set on UCLA, you talked about it like it was the only place that made sense. I didn’t want to get in the way of your dream,” Paige paused, swallowing down the hesitation tightening her throat, “I wanted you here. I did. I still do.”

“You really didn’t think I’d drop everything just to spend the next four years playing next to you?”

“You shouldn’t have to,” came the reply and without thinking, her hand reached out and found the other’s, “that’s what I’m trying to say. Why would I ask you to be a shadow when you could be great on your own?”

Azzi laughed softly, gaze flicking down to their intertwined hands before drifting back up, “you’re thinking too highly of yourself again, Bueckers,” there was that smirk, “what if I came here to steal your spotlight?”

A breath caught in her throat.

“God,” she murmured, lips twitching into a slow grin, “that’d be so hot.”

That response earned her a shove, a gentle one but it was playful. Azzi scoffed and pushed away, retreating a few steps before snatching the ball back up, “come on,” she called over her shoulder, “it’s getting late and I still gotta beat your ass.”

“Confidence looks real good on you, Fudd,” came the reply, “kinda into it.”

“Kinda?” Azzi repeated, raising a brow as she walked back toward her next shot.

A shrug, then a jog forward. That dumb, happy smile was back. The same one that hadn’t left since the first shot of the night, “fine,” the blonde relented, “very into it.”

The game resumed, and with it, the air between them shifted back into one that was competitive, playful but still laced with something that hadn’t quite settled just yet. 

After that first question, the rest stayed easy. Safer. Azzi kept her tone casual, her questions framed in the comfort of familiarity. She asked for updates, the kind that sounded routine but between the two of them, it carried more weight than either of them let on.

O - “How’s your mom?”

“Still thinks I don’t eat enough.”

R - “The knee?”

“Better. Stronger. Rehab was rough but sitting on the sideline was harder. I just wanted to play, the court was so close yet it felt so far.”

They moved through those topics like old friends slipping back into rhythm, passing the ball between them as naturally as the conversation. But, then came one that landed a bit different. A little too pointed to be casual.

S - “Did you ever date anyone?”

Paige blinked, caught off guard, “what?”

Azzi turned like she hadn’t just dropped a question that reached back through years of distance and silence, “you know, in those two years we weren’t talking, anyone serious?”

There wasn’t a clear depiction of jealousy in her voice. No. But there was a trace of pure curiosity, it was vulnerable almost. Like Azzi didn’t actually want the answer, but needed it anyway. As if knowing wouldn’t hurt as much as a continuous wonder.

“No,” she said after a moment. Simple.

“Why?”

Paige looked up, a slow smirk forming on her lips as she cradled the ball in one hand, “that’s another question, Az,” she said, dribbling once, “you’re gonna have to wait your turn.”

She stepped back to the top of the key and rose into her shot, the kind she’d taken a million times in every gym from Minnesota to Storrs. Her form was clean. Shoulder square. Release smooth. But the ball hit the rim, rolled indecisively for a moment, then dropped off the side.

Miss.

It bounced twice on the hardwood before Azzi jogged over and scooped it up, still grinning.

“I’m gonna start thinking you’re missing on purpose,” she teased, making her way to the same spot Paige had just vacated. She took the shot as if it was second nature and the ball sailed through the net without even grazing the rim.

She turned, victorious, “there, another try.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, catching the rebound as it bounced back in her direction. She walked to the top of the key again, shoulder rolling back with ease as she prepped for the shot. Only, she didn’t take it. Instead, Paige let the ball roll off her fingertips.

“Ask me,” she said.

Azzi blinked, surprised but she stepped forward, eyes locked on Paige’s and asked again, gently this time:

“Why not?”

“I’d never wanted anyone else more than I wanted this girl who lived thousands of miles away,” she said, “someone I only ever saw once a year, but she lived in my head like she’d moved in, rearranged the furniture and left her sneakers at the door,” Azzi’s breath caught slightly as Paige stepped closer, hands finding their way to her hips with familiarity, “when we agreed to focus on our stuff, I thought I was doing the right thing. Choosing the grind, the game. The future. But the longer we stayed apart, the louder it got. The voice telling me there was something I wanted just as much, maybe more than basketball.”

Azzi tilted her head, her voice barely audible now, “and what was that?”

Paige smiled, slow and shy, “yeah,” she murmured, brushing a thumb just above Azzi’s hipbone, “I wonder that too, Az.”

[higgsbison]

I've gotten a couple of questions about how I decided on the actual, almost legal chess moves in the actual, almost legal chess game part of this.

It was some sort of a process and I put it under read more to avoid spoilers.

First of all, it was essential that Vimes starts with an accidental bongcloud opening, because it was very funny to me personally.

The second thing I decided from the get go is that both kings had to end up dead in very specific ways, cause I wanted the whole game to essentially reflect the history of Ankh Morpork - first king getting murked by Vimes using a piece in the king's own court (like Old Stoneface killing Lorenzo the Kind) and second king getting got by Vetinari's bishop during a general revolt (like Vetinari killing Lord Winder).*

Then I set up a practice board and made dubious moves until the three load bearing game points connected in a way that was hopefully both in character and chess-adjacent enough to not anger any chess-enjoyers/bore any chess-haters in the audience. This wasn't that horribly hard cause I reasoned Vimes would want to pawn-revolt instead of playing by the rules anyway and also wouldn't notice any pieces outside of the 3x3 area where the action was happening and Vetinari would just play the worst game of chess he could in order to further his Vimes Studies. This meant I could get away with fucked up bad illegal chess and the rest of the plot just kinda wrote itself based on what the in between moves had to be.

*(In the second chapter we also get the "chess" equivalent of Snapcase going ham on his own populace due to zero checks and balances, then Lord Vetinari's initial guild stalemate reign, then the rise of watch and then maybe something that has yet to come, who knows. But I didn't use a chessboard for those cause they were just playing with action figures at that point.)

CHAPTER 2 OF ""CHESS"" IS HERE

40% LESS CHESS, 10% MORE FISH

[opiumwings]

prank’d — megan skiendiel

– you prank megan by pretending to hide somebody when she comes home – word count: 1361 words

you’d been waiting for the perfect moment to get megan back for some of the pranks she had pulled on you, and today felt right. she always swore she couldn’t be pranked. she was just too good and would see it coming, but after spending so much time with her, you’ve learned ways to catch her off guard.

you checked the time. she’d be home any minute now.

the living room was way too clean, on purpose. you left a second pair of sneakers by the door, a hoodie that wasn’t hers was draped over the couch, and an empty glass on the table with lipstick that wasn’t her shade.

you saw her pull up through the window. perfect timing.

you dashed down the hall, made a loud thump in one of the rooms, then sprinted back to the kitchen just in time to open the fridge and pretend you were doing something completely normal.

the front door creaked open.

���babe?” megan called out.

“hey! you’re back early,” you answered nervously to play the part.

she stepped in and paused. you could hear the slight hesitation in her footsteps as her eyes scanned the shoes, the hoodie, and then the rest of the room.

“do you have people over?” megan asked slowly, eyeing you suspiciously.

“what? no one’s here,” you replied, glancing around the room like you were trying to find someone too.

she squinted at you for a second longer before shaking her head. choosing to believe you—because really, why wouldn’t she? you’d never given her a reason not to trust you.

“i’m actually so tired,” she sighed, tossing her keys on the table. “they drained me today.”

“you wanna talk about it?” you asked, moving toward her.

“i just wanna cuddle and be with my girlfriend for the rest of the day,” megan said, wrapping her arms around you.

“i can do that for you,” you murmured, hugging her tight, guilt already tugging at your chest.

“let me just freshen up,” she said, pulling away slightly. “i’m a little sweaty.”

that was perfect, right where you’re dummy was set up.

“you don’t need to go in there,” you blurted, stepping in front of her.

“i kinda do, though,” she replied.

“can’t we just chill down here for a sec?” you tried to steer her back toward the couch.

“why are you being so weird today?” megan tilted her head. 

“i’m not weird. you’re weird.”

“i just want a quick shower. then we can do whatever you want.”

“it’s fine, i love you exactly how you are,” you smiled.

“okay but i want to shower for me,” she said, stepping toward the door again.

you instinctively blocked her with your arm, gently but firm enough to stop her.

“what the fuck?” she muttered, frowning.

“sorry! i didn’t mean to,” you said quickly, trying to recover.

“y/n, what the hell is going on?” megan ran a hand through her hair, clearly trying to stay calm.

“nothing,” you said, voice low. “i just don’t want you to leave me…” 

the way you said it gave her pause, like there was something more behind it.

“we can shower together, if that’s what you’re really trying to say,” megan softened a little. 

“uhh… yes. but can you grab us some towels and a change of clothes first?”

“okay. be right back,” she sighed in relief, believing you were just being clingy. 

as soon as she turned the corner, you clasped your hands together in prayer toward the hidden camera. you needed this footage to be worth it.

you quickly opened the bathroom door to check on the dummy. still there, seated just right on the counter.

when megan returned, you made it look like you were whispering to someone inside, then jumped when she appeared behind you.

“okay,” she said slowly. “i’ve been trying so hard not to assume anything because i trust you. but you’re making it really hard right now.”

“there’s nothing happening,” you insisted, trying to flash your most innocent smile. “i’m just happy you’re home, my love.”

“then let me in the bathroom so we can be even happier.”

“i would love that, but... could i trouble you to grab one more thing?”

“seriously?” megan narrowed her eyes. 

“just my slippers,” you said.

“fine,” she sighed, clearly running out of patience. 

you quickly took the towels and clothes she brought, tossing them in the bathroom next to the dummy. then, just loud enough, you whispered, “you have to go before she comes back!”

and of course, megan sprinted back into the hallway.

“i knew i wasn’t fucking trippin’!” she shouted. “i knew it!”

“why were you so fast?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

“so we’re just gonna act like you weren’t whispering to someone just now?” she said, eyes wide.

“i wasn’t!” you said, voice high-pitched like you were lying.

“y/n, be honest right now.”

“i am being honest! do you not trust me?” you said, already regretting the question.

megan looked like she was trying not to cry. her eyes began to get glossy, but she kept blinking them away. “i know you’re joking. i have to believe you’re joking. because you’d never do that to me.”

your heart dropped; it wasn’t funny anymore.

“don’t be mad,” you said softly. “please. you know i love you, and i would never purposely hurt you.”

she didn’t say anything, just stared, face unreadable.

“say something,” you whispered.

“just open the fucking door, y/n,” megan said her voice coming out sharp.

you hesitated a second longer, then slowly turned the knob and stepped aside.

megan stormed in, ready to confront whoever she thought was in there—only to be met with… a lifeless dummy slouched on the toilet in a hoodie and sunglasses.

she froze, and it went dead silent.

“are you serious right now?!” megan yelled, frozen in the doorway, staring down at the dummy slouched on the toilet.

“not really my type, but he was perfect for the role,” you said casually from behind her.

“i can’t believe you,” megan slowly turned to face you, hands dragging down her face in complete disbelief. 

“guess you can get pranked, megan.” you grinned, barely able to hold in your laughter. 

“oh, don’t get cocky,” she said, pointing at you as she walked out of the bathroom. “because i trusted you. i came home tired, wanted to cuddle, and this is how you treat me?”

“okay, to be fair, i was just getting my get back,” you bit your lip, holding up both hands. 

“you sure did,” she muttered.

“you have to admit, though…” you smirked, stepping closer. “i did good.”

megan rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. “i was ready to fight someone. i had a whole dramatic breakup speech ready in my head, too.”

“you were gonna leave me over a mannequin?” you gasped, placing a hand on your chest. 

“i thought it was a real person!” she shouted, hitting you lightly on the arm.

you wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her close before she could storm off. “i’m sorry,” you said, smiling into her shoulder. “but that reaction was so worth it.”

“you’re lucky i didn’t punch you,” megan mumbled into your neck, even as she let you hold her.

“you know you still love me,” you whispered.

“unfortunately.”

she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk already forming on her face. “you know what this means, though, right?”

“that you’ll let it go and never bring it up again?” you tilted your head.

she just laughed in response, and that was so much scarier then anything else she could’ve done.

“oh, baby,” she said, patting your cheek like the sweet girlfriend she is. “you’re gonna wish you never did that to me.”

“wait, hold—what does that mean?” your smile faltered. 

“it means sleep with one eye open,” she said sweetly.

and with that, she got ready for her shower like she didn’t just declare psychological warfare. you stood frozen in your spot. you might’ve just made one of the biggest mistakes by starting a prank war with someone who never loses.

[linedbycaro]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐃𝐨𝐣𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐭 (𝚸𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢) 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭.

𝐰𝐜: 𝟐.𝟖𝐤

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲. 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨.

also i decided to post now, edit later, so if your seeing this, i haven’t edited yet.

By the time they arrive, the event is already in full swing—music thumping through speakers, string lights crisscrossing above the turf, someone at the gate handing out clubs and colorful golf balls.

A couple food trucks are parked near the entrance, the smell of grilled meat and fryer oil wafting through the air.

"Wanna get something to eat first?" Paige asks, glancing at Azzi. It lands somewhere between a habit and a truce.

As much as Paige's body screams for distance, she wants to salvage something— anything—even if it hurts. 

Azzi hesitates for half a second, then nods. "Sure." Like she's surprised.

They silently walk over, order tacos, Paige pays wordlessly, and then they settle on a picnic table. 

"So," Paige starts, picking at the corner of the napkin, "You ready to lose? I don't like to brag, but I'm kind of undefeated at mini golf."

Azzi glances up with a flicker of something—maybe genuine amusement.

"Shut up. You take it way too seriously."

"I do not."

"Last year you brought your own glove."

Paige raises a brow. "It's about grip. You wouldn't understand."

Azzi smiles. "Whatever, loser."

"It's Winner, actually."

They don't say anything after that, but they are secretly grateful to eat together in silence.

Secretly grateful that they have one interaction that somewhat vaguely resembles normalcy. A lapse in the midst of this mess.

However, Paige knows the conversation they had earlier did as much good as setting a timer on a time bomb, slapping a band-aid over a bullet wound.

The night is still young, and Paige has an awful feeling it's only a matter of time before they blow up again.

___

They've joined their teammates on the course, mingling with players from other teams, laughing. Making rounds to different coaches and different peers. It should feel easy, but it doesn't.

Paige feels like she was walking through a minefield. Every interaction measured, every joke calculated. Fragile. Breakable.

One wrong step, and everything shatters.

She's too aware of Azzi in the back of her mind. Sensing her behind her, across from her, three holes over. Like gravity. Like they're on the court, and Paige needs to get Azzi the ball.

Paige is a mid-sip of some citrusy hard seltzer— something to dull her nerves— when the first explosion goes off. A voice.

"Yooo Z, what's up?" 

Theo's voice rings out across the green.

Fucking, of course.

Paige knew Theo would be here. He's on the men's hockey team, after all, but she was kinda hoping she wouldn't have to see him with Azzi.

Not tonight, after everything was already so hard and already stung so much.

She tries not to stare as she watches Theo approach Azzi two holes over. He opens his arms for a hug, easy and confident. 

Paige tracts the way Azzi smiles, stepping into the embrace. It's brief, but it feels like a punch. 

They start talking. Theo says something dumb, and Azzi laughs too easily, too loud, and Paige hates how well she knows that laugh—knows it's real.

"Paige," Jana says quietly beside her.

Paige doesn't move, just keeps her eyes trained on them.

"You're literally staring."

She blinks, looking away. "No I wasn't."

Jana snorts, lining up her shot. "Girl."

Paige downs the rest of her drink in one long swallow, then steps toward the cooler and cracks open another seltzer with a lot more force than necessary. The tab snaps loudly.

Jana eyes her.

"What?" Paige asks defensively, swinging her club like she's testing its weight.

Jana raises a brow. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

"No."

"Well, we're talking about it anyway," Jana says, squinting as she taps her ball toward the hole. It lips the edge and rolls away.

"You look like you're gonna commit a felony with the way you're gripping that second White Claw."

Paige looks down, and it's true—the can is dented under her hand.

She sighs. "There's nothing to talk about."

Paige nods her head towards Azzi and Theo, walking down the path together. "I just have to be okay with them."

Jana watches her for a second. "They're not a them, Paige."

Paige doesn't look at her, just shrugs. "Whatever." 

She drops her ball on the green and swings once. It sinks effortlessly.

Then Jana says, softer now, "Paige, have you ever considered that maybe Azzi's just as scared as you are and also doesn't know what to do?"

"I wouldn't call her stripping in front of me in the gym and practically asking me to come and get it, scared." Paige mutters, retrieving her ball.

"You're telling me that doesn't scream internal crisis to you?"

Paige opens her mouth, then shuts it. Because… okay, fair.

Jana tilts her head. "Do you seriously believe she doesn't have any genuine feelings for you?"

"I seriously believe she doesn't like me seriously," Paige says, eyes narrowing. "I think she just likes the game."

"Yeah, or maybe you're confusing her. Neither of ya'll are being straight up, and she's trying to prove she's serious in the only way she thinks you'll believe her."

"Explain that, then." Paige grimaces, eyeing Theo's arm slung around Azzi's waist—Azzi fully leaning into it. 

Jana follows her gaze, shaking her head. "You two are exhausting. It's gonna take, like, ten years before you figure your shit out."

She taps her ball into the hole. "But when you do, don't say I didn't tell you so."

____

Paige has about four more drinks in her system by the time Kk waves Paige and Jana over to join the group— at the very same hole, Azzi and Theo are already playing.

Their offer comes at the perfect time.

She's not drunk, but her solution to loosening up is… working well. A considerable amount of alcohol hums in her blood, making her feel looser and hazy enough to be dangerous. 

Paige is antsy. She kinda wants a reason to step in and cause a spark to go off. Test if Jana's theory holds any weight.

Paige kinda wants to check in on Azzi and Theo. It's her job, really, as Azzi's best friend, to make sure he behaves. 

And also, her jealousy is stronger than any leftover hurt or self-preservation.

Jana glances at her, low and dry. "Are we sure this a good idea?"

"Course." Paige slings an arm around her. "Why would you think this could go wrong?"

She plants a goofy kiss on the side of Jana's head, guiding them toward the rest of the group.

Jana rolls her eyes. "Cause you get clingy and unpredictable when you're drunk."

"Look who decided to join us!" Caroline grins as they walk over. She tosses Paige a ball. "We were just saying it was getting too peaceful around here."

Paige catches it one-handed. Smooth. Easy.

"Don'tchu worry, I'm here to restore chaos," she plasters on a grin, dabbing up her friends and shoulder-bumping Kk. 

Her gaze flits through the group until it lands on Theo. 

"Theo," She says, giving him a clipped nod. "Good to see you, I guess."

But when Paige says that, her gaze isn't on Theo; it's on Azzi, whose smile falters for a half-second.

Jana sees it. Nudges her with an elbow. 

Azzi busies herself with her ball, biting at her lip. Paige swigs her drink, pretends to study the scorecard.

And because she can't help herself, she calls out, "Wow, Theo. Four strokes on the last hole?"

Theo grins, unfazed. "Z was distracting me."

"Z?" Paige asks, unimpressed with the nickname.

Like, really? Are we really calling her that now?

"Yeah, what can I say?" Theo just smiles stupidly, not getting Paige's sarcasm. "This one's just too good."

'This one,' Be fucking for real. Paige is utterly disgusted.

Azzi rolls her eyes, nudging him in the ribs. "You're just bad."

"She's not wrong," Paige adds without thinking; her blood is simmering just a little.

Azzi meets her eyes and something flickers. "You say that like you're any better."

"Oh, I'm not better," Paige says, stepping up beside her. Her voice lowers just a little, "I'm the best."

She lines up her shot—and sinks it in one. Turns smug. Cause even tipsy, Paige Bueckers knows how to ball.

Azzi claps slowly. "Wow. You want a trophy?"

Paige shrugs, eyes dancing. "Only if you're the one giving it to me."

A few people laugh, but it's Azzi who looks away first, biting a smile.

Theo cocks his head, watching them, oblivious. "You two always flirt like this or is tonight special?"

Paige chokes on her drink. Jana coughs pointedly.

There's a pause. A couple of their teammates exchange a glance. KK raises her eyebrows like here we go again.

Azzi doesn't say anything.

Theo, somehow still oblivious, just grins.

Azzi suddenly stands a little straighter. "Whose turn is it?"

The next few holes pass without incident. At least not to the untrained eye.

Paige keeps pace, swinging with a focus that's too sharp to be casual. She laughs when she's supposed to, but she's focused, watching Theo like a hawk—measuring every touch, every glance he throws Azzi's way.

And she's also golfing like her life depends on it.

"It's tooo easyyy!" Paige grins, scooping her ball from the cup with exaggerated flair. "That's three in a row now thank you. Someone better stop me." 

She points to Theo with faux encouragement. "Your turn lover boy. Time to impress the princess."

It takes Theo four tries to sink the putt.

"Not bad, not bad," Paige mocks lightly. "But next time you might wanna use some hand eye coordination."

Someone whistles under their breath. Azzi hides a smile behind her hand.

"I'm serious." Paige adds, spinning her club casually. "Y'all might as well give me the prize already."

Theo, either oblivious or unfazed, slings an arm around Azzi's shoulder. "That's okay, I got the real prize right here." 

He says it playfully, just trying to make Azzi blush, but it slices through Paige anyway.

Because Azzi does blush. And because Theo doesn't even know what he's stepping on.

Paige swallows hard, glancing away for a second like that'll stop it from stinging.

But she catches it.

The way Azzi's smile flickers. The way she steals a glance at Paige out of the corner of her eye like she's checking to see if it landed. If Paige felt it too.

By hole twelve, Theo's in full stride.

"You're really gonna owe me after this, Z," he says, leaning into Azzi as she sinks her shot.

Azzi doesn't look at him. "Owe you what?"

"A rematch. Or dinner. Or—I dunno—you crashing at my place. I'm flexible."

It's casual. Dumb. Clearly half a joke. Azzi blushes and doesn't say anything.

But Paige hears it like a gunshot. She looks up, jaw shifting, and says it before she can stop herself. "She'd better not."

The group goes dead quiet. Paige had meant to mutter it under her breath, but it comes out cold and threatening.

Theo blinks, confused. "Huh?"

Azzi stops mid-backswing. Doesn't move.

Jana groans under her breath. "Oh my God." 

Kk, Aubrey, and Caroline try to hide their snorts like this is peak entertainment.

Paige forces a smile, trying to walk it back. "I just meant—we have film early."

Theo looks at her funny and then drops it. Azzi doesn't.

"Can I talk to you?" Her voice is teaming with restraint.

Paige stiffens. "What?"

"Alone."

She's already walking toward the little shaded path behind the shed at the edge of the course.

Everyone else stares at the ground, suddenly very interested in their clubs.

"Paige," Azzi says sternly once they're out of earshot. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? I dunno. What's wrong with you? Theo's like, the lamest guy ever. What do you even see in him?"

"No." Azzi shakes her head, firm. "You don't get to be jealous."

Paige scoffs. "Jealous? Who sai—" She clicks her tongue. "I'm not jealous, Azzi." 

"So then what's with the unsolicited shit talking? I know the guy sucks at golf but seriously, what is your problem?"

"My problem is him. He's a fucking creep. He won't stop touching your ass. I mean—Z? Come on. Really? I know you hate that."

Azzi shrugs, rolling her eyes.

"Azzi," Paige's voice drops. "Look me in my eyes and tell me you actually like him." 

Azzi swallows hard, meeting her graze. She opens her mouth, then closes it, unable to protest.

"Exactly." Paige narrows her eyes, satisfied with Azzi's silence.

But then Azzi says quietly, "Paige, I love you. But you don't get to ask me that. At least Theo actually shows me that he likes me. At least he's not a fucking coward. At least Theo believes me when I say I want him. At least he cares."

"So you do want him?"

"God, Paige!" Azzi exclaims, exasperated. "That is entirely not the point. You are so fucking confusing. One minute you're asking me to prove it, and then when I do you act completely indifferent!"

"You think I'm indifferent? You're the one who strips in front of me like you want me to put my tongue down your throat and then apologize a couple hours later like it was a joke."

Azzi fliches. That lands.

"I know that gym stunt was stupid," she says, voice quieter now. "But you don't have to throw it in my face just because you don't want me back."

Paige's breath catches, steps closer to Azzi until they're mere inches apart.

"Azzi—" She shakes her head, stunned. "You really think I don't want you back? That it doesn't kill me every goddamn time Theo puts his hands on you? That it doesn't slice me open every time you flirt with me and then drop it?"

Paige's voice cracks. "Azzi, I want you too much. That's the problem. How could you—"

Azzi grabs her hand, cutting her off. "Follow me," She says, voice set with a new tone. 

She doesn't wait for a response—just turns and tugs Paige with her, leading them off the path, past a little maintenance shed, and down a narrow slope behind the course. The laughter and music from the group fade into a distant hum.

Paige follows, heart thudding, not fully sure if she's walking into a bigger fight or something else entirely.

They stop behind a line of tall hedges, out of sight, out of earshot—just them and the thick, buzzing summer air.

Azzi turns to her, eyes blazing.

"Do you want me, yes or no?"

"Yes," Paige whispers, words catching in her throat.

It takes Paige a second to catch up—to understand what's really happening—but then she's kissing Azzi back like she's starving. One hand finds Azzi's waist, the other tangles in her hair.

Azzi pushes her into the hedge, hands everywhere—hips, jaw, the back of her neck. She bites Paige's lip just enough to make her gasp, then slips her tongue in like she owns her.

Paige groans into her mouth, grabbing fistfuls of Azzi's shirt like it's the only thing keeping her upright.

It's all tongue and teeth. There's no rhythm. No finesse. Just heat. Just want. 

And then Azzi moves lower, kissing Paige's jaw, open-mouthed and wet, sucking lower, one hand sliding under Paige's sweatshirt, groping her breast.

Azzi licks a stripe along her collarbone, then sucks at the hollow of her throat.

Paige moans, "Azzi—Azzi," is all she can muster, breathless.

"Yo—Azzi?"

The voice slices through the air like a blade.

They freeze.

Paige sees him first, from halfway inside the hedge. Azzi immediately lets go of her, whipping around.

They're a second too late. Theo's footsteps crunch on the gravel, too close, too fast.

"Azzi, what the fuck? What are you guys doing?" Theo squints. It's dark, so he probably can't see much more than their silhouettes, but that's incriminating enough.

Azzi wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, still panting.

"Nothing, babe," she says quickly, voice too bright. "Everything's fine. Paige just… fell into a bush. We'll be right there."

Theo hesitates. "Are you guys…?" His voice trails off. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little bit confused."

Azzi swallows. "We'll be right there," she repeats, firmer now.

She turns back to Paige, eyes wide, guilt swimming in them.

Paige just stares at her, jaw tight. "I fell into a bush? Really?"

"I'm sorry," Azzi breathes out. "I didn't mean—"

"Yeah. I know." Paige mutters, cutting her off, voice cracking. "I know."

A beat passes.

"We—we should go," Azzi says, stepping back. Her voice is hollow now. "I think I'll just… get a ride with Theo."

Paige nods, barely. "Sure. Yeah."

She doesn't say anything else. Doesn't trust herself to.

Azzi lingers a second too long. Then leaves.

And Paige stays behind in the dark, trying not to cry.

[superbassbuck]

Making Out for America

Chapter 5: Insure Domestic Tranquility

masterlist || one || two || three || four || five

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x America's Sweetheart!fem!reader

Mentions: 18+, enemies to lovers, slow burn, set during thunderbults*, sexual tension, forced proximity, arranged marriage, panic attacks, mental health issues, angst (lots of it), no y/n

Word Count: 4.5k

gif by sebastiansource || dividers by cafekitsune

The next day came, and you stood at the podium, the same Jameson Foundation banners rippling in the wind gently above you. The first few questions were exactly what you’d anticipated, the press opened up with questions on your father’s legacy and the foundation’s continued growth.

But you knew deep down, you knew where everyone’s real interest lay. And that was with Congressman Barnes.

It was a strange kind of irony. You had only agreed to this engagement to shine a spotlight on the foundation, on your father’s work, his legacy, the cause he devoted his life to. And while the turnout today was bigger than usual, it was clear they weren’t here for that.

They were all here for the man with the metal arm and the headline-making engagement. And it was only a matter of time before they started asking the more personal questions. 

"You've spoken so passionately about the foundation, but I think the public is curious about something else too. How has life changed since your engagement to Congressman Barnes?" one of the reporters questioned from the second row. 

You forced your smile. “It’s certainly been… an adjustment,” you said smoothly, just like you practiced. “Our lives were already demanding before, and combining them has been both a challenge and a privilege—” 

Another hand shot up before you even finished. “Was it love at first sight?”

You recoiled slightly, trying hard to fight the cringe creeping on your face. You weren’t used to a crowd like this. They interrupted you before you could even finish your sentence. 

This wasn’t the Jameson Foundation crowd anymore. It was a crowd full of Capitol hounds, eager for a stupid headline. You actually felt bad for Bucky for dealing with all this bullshit. 

You laughed softly, and that sounded real enough to pass. “Let’s just say he made a strong first impression.” Not technically a lie.

The crowd chuckled politely, and the questions started coming faster now. 

“What’s something we don’t know about the Congressman?” 

You hesitated for a moment, not because you didn’t want to answer, but because there wasn’t much you could answer. Bucky never let you get close. Most of what you knew was already known to the public. You stood up straighter, trying to come up with something. 

“He makes very good chili dogs,” you say with a nervous chuckle. “And his vibranium arm is dishwasher safe.” 

That entices another round of chuckles and wholehearted laughter from the crowd. You sighed in relief. The fact that his vibranium arm was dishwasher safe probably made him look silly, but the crowd is eating it up. 

“Do you see yourself stepping back from the foundation to take on a more traditional role… say, as the Congressman’s wife?”

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly. “This foundation is my life’s work. Congressman Barnes supports that, and he always will.” 

He better, you thought quietly. You straightened yourself to mentally prepare for the next question, but then another voice cut through the crowd. 

“Are you two… truly in love?”

Your breath hitches. When Bucky was asked this question during his interview yesterday, the lie came so easy to him. It came off so naturally that you almost believed him. He and Voss warned you, reminded you how to smile, how to speak in a way that felt heartfelt without being too vulnerable. And still, for some reason, your words caught in your throat.

You hadn’t had many relationships. Your world has always been a little isolated, your focus locked on the foundation and your career. You’d lived in your own little bubble for so long, but then there were those moments with Bucky that burst the bubble. 

The way he looked at you while you comforted him during his panic attack, like you were the only person that could keep him grounded. The softness in his eyes once he slipped the wedding ring on your finger delicately. 

How natural it felt, sleeping next to him, held tight like he didn’t want to let go.

They were small things, maybe even meaningless to him—but they stuck with you. 

All these rare yet soft moments shared between you two would make any woman fall in love. 

You sucked in a breath when you realized everyone was waiting for your answer. 

“I do love him,” you said clearly. “And I truly believe that if my father were here today, he’d be proud to know I’m marrying someone as exceptional as Congressman Barnes.”

Once your interview was finished, George drove you across town to Bucky’s office for a quick “debrief” on the rest of the week’s agenda. It was the kind of thing that easily could’ve been handled over email, but of course, Voss insisted it be done in person.

In her exact words, she said, “I know you two can barely tolerate each other, but at least try to act like you enjoy being in the same room.”

So here you are. Both you and George walked into the building, and in George's nature, he insisted on waiting in the hallway. 

As you enter the room, you find Voss and Bucky already seated at the table, mid-conversation. They both stop talking as soon as their eyes land on you. 

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Barnes,” Voss says warmly, rising to her feet and pulling you into a quick, professional hug.

You return the gesture with a polite smile. “Voss.” You glance over at Bucky and he’s keeping his eyes down on the papers in front of him, not looking at you. 

“Bucky,” you say evenly.

He doesn’t look up.

“Have a seat,” Voss gestures to the empty chair, that was unfortunately, right next to him.

You hesitate for a moment. You’re not sure if you even want to sit next to him. A part of you understands that he just wants to keep his distance—but pretending you’re not even in the room? 

It was a new low. 

With a reluctant sigh, you take the empty seat. You glance in his direction, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment. Nothing. His eyes stay fixed on the papers, as if you’re completely invisible.

“Your interview was fantastic,” Voss says with a bright smile. Either she’s blissfully unaware of the tension between you and Bucky, or she’s choosing to ignore it. 

“You made our Congressman look like a dream,” she adds, nodding towards Bucky. “The way you two answered those questions was so convincing, I almost believed you were actually in love.”

“Yeah,” you force a polite laugh. “Bucky almost had me fooled too.”

Voss chuckles, and she pauses for a moment, looking at Bucky to see if he has any intention of adding to the conversation. 

Bucky finally looks up from his papers with a clenched jaw. “Glad to know I’m such a convincing liar,” he mutters, still not looking at you. 

Oh, so now he addresses you—and with a sarcastic remark at that. 

You raise a brow and cross one leg over the other, not looking at him. “Actually, now that I think about it, your ‘ I am very much in love with her’ line could’ve used some work.” 

Bucky shifts in his seat, propping one hand on the arm rest as he finally looks at you with a disbelieving look. 

Voss laughs nervously, glancing between the two of you like she’s not sure if she should be here or not. “Well, whatever you did, it worked. The public is starting to love–”

“You know,” Bucky interrupts her, his eyes glued on you now. “That’s rich, coming from someone who used the phrase ‘strong first impression’ like we met at a job interview.” 

You finally look at him with a tight smile that you know will get under his skin. “Well, isn’t that what this entire relationship is?” 

Voss clears her throat, clearly trying to keep the meeting from derailing. “Okay, okay,” she says, waving a hand. “Let’s focus. You two can bicker like an old married couple later—” 

“And what the hell was up with that dishwasher-safe arm comment? You’re painting me as a joke,” he bites back. 

“You can’t be serious,” you scoff, glaring at him now. “I’m not painting you as a joke. I made you seem approachable. It was a cute fact.” 

Bucky mumbles grumpily under his breath and sinks back into his chair. 

You tilt your head and sweeten up your tone, just enough to make sure you piss him off. “Don’t be so sensitive, sweetheart . It was cute.”

You see his jaw clench as he turns away, avoiding your gaze now. But the flush that’s creeping on the side of his face gives him away.  You lean in closer, trying to get in his face. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” you tease. “I thought we were supposed to be practicing with the nicknames… you know, to make them feel natural?”

Bucky opens his mouth to snap back, but Voss’s voice cuts through before he could even get the chance. 

“Okay, you two can rip each other’s throats later,” Voss says firmly. “This week we’ve got engagement photos scheduled, and after that, I suggest you two start locking down wedding plans.”

You nod, keeping your focus back on Voss. Even though you’re not looking at him anymore, you can feel the tension radiating off of Bucky next to you. 

“Ultimately, the wedding date is your call,” Voss continues with a serious tone. “But as your press secretary, I’d recommend holding it soon after the photo release—strike while the media is still buzzing.”

“Fine by me,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug.

Voss smiles at your response. Then her eyes flick between you both, her eyes lingering on Bucky a bit longer when she realizes he isn’t responding. 

“What about you, Congressman?” she prods gently.

He doesn’t respond. Bucky just stares down at the papers in front of him like they were more important. Voss lets out a long exhale through her nose and pushes on, undeterred.

She dives into a fully detailed rundown—rambling on everything from upcoming press appearances and engagement photos to how the two of you should present yourselves when asked about your relationship. Her words start to blur into one long stream, like background noise. But you do catch a few key points, something about Bucky making an appearance at one of your upcoming foundation events, something about “maintaining the illusion.”

Finally, Voss rises from her seat, collecting her folders with a dramatic sigh.

“Well,” she begins. “I’ll leave you two be to—“ she waves a hand vaguely between you, “sort out whatever lover’s quarrel you’ve got going on.” 

Then she strides out the room with her heels clicking, the office door closing behind her.

A very awkward and uncomfortable silence settles between the both of you. You glance over at Bucky. He’s still staring down at the papers in front of him, chin propped in his palm, doing a painfully good job of pretending you don’t exist. 

Again.

“Is this going to be a thing now? You ignoring me unless there’s a camera in your face?” you spit out. 

Bucky’s fingers twitch slightly, but he still doesn’t look up. 

“I get it, okay?” you go on, your voice getting shaky despite your efforts to remain poised. “This whole thing sucks. But I’m still showing up. I’m trying to make this work. I’m trying to make you look good. The least you could do is acknowledge I exist.”

His jaw clenches, and still, he says nothing. His eyes remain glued to the paper in front of him, like if he just stares at it hard enough, you’ll disappear. 

“Nothing?” you whisper in disbelief. “God, I don’t even know why I bother.” 

You stand, pushing the chair back slightly. The sound startles him, but he still doesn’t lift his head. You get it—this was only for show. But if you were going to be bound to each other for the rest of your lives, the least he could do was treat you like a human being. Because the other night, when you stayed at his place, he did treat you like you mattered.

Now it feels like he’s built his walls back up twice as high as when you first met him. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t climb them. You can’t even see past them.

“I understand that this whole thing is for public appearance,” you say softly, your back turned to him. “But I didn’t sign up to feel like I’m some… some burden. I’m not your enemy, Bucky. And I don’t know what I did to make you treat me like one.”

You give him a moment to see if he’ll say anything. But he doesn’t. With a heavy sigh, you begin walking towards the door. 

“I’m trying,” he finally murmurs under his breath. “I’m doing the best I can.” 

You stop with your hand on the doorknob. You turn slightly to him and say, “Then help me understand, because I can’t keep guessing what version of you I’m going to get.” 

And then he’s quiet again. 

“I’m standing here trying,” you mutter with a voice crack. “And you won’t even look at me.” 

“I can’t,” he says quietly and broken. 

You turn to face him fully now, your heart pounding loudly in your chest. His eyes are unfocused, locked on some distant point in the office like he’s not really here.

“You won’t ,” you corrected him. “You won’t let me in.” 

“No,” he snaps suddenly, pushing back from the table and rising to his feet. “You don’t get it. You can’t get it.”

His sudden movement startles you, but you don’t feel scared—just surprised. His voice is rough and strangled, like the emotions are catching in his throat. His body is shaking again, and before you even realize it, you’re already taking small steps towards him.

“You think I’m keeping you at arm’s length because I want to?” he says, voice shaking uncontrollably. “You think this is easy for me? Sitting here pretending—when every time I look at you... I—”

He stops himself short, his breath hitching. 

He turns away with his back to you, bracing both hands on the table to support himself. His whole body is trembling as he tries to keep himself grounded. 

Your hand rests gently against his back, and he stiffens under your touch.

“When every time you look at me… what?”

He doesn’t answer. He won’t and he can’t. Because if he says it, if he tells you what he’s done, he doesn’t think he’ll ever see that softness in your eyes again. And that… that would break him.

As you’re standing there, watching him crumble apart again, your heart can’t help but ache for him. Even if Bucky isn’t really yours, watching him like this, hurting and haunted, it makes your heart crack wide open for him. 

No one wants to watch the person they care about suffer. 

“No matter how many times you push me away,” you say softly as you rub your hand gently on his back. “I will always be here for you. You just need to let me in.” 

Bucky shudders beneath your touch. “You don’t know what I’ve done,” he whispers. 

“No,” you admit softly. “I don’t. But I know it wasn’t really you. Whatever you did, you were controlled. You were used.”

He lets out a hollow, bitter laugh and shakes his head, lips trembling as he tries to fight back his emotions. 

Then, he finally lifts his head slowly. His eyes meet yours for the first time, and the look in them nearly knocks the air from your lungs. 

There’s so much pain in them. Guilt, self-loathing, and grief.

Your hand reaches up instinctively, cupping his cheek, tilting his face towards you, to make sure he sees that you’re still here. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingers come up to rest over yours, holding your hand there with a gentle squeeze. 

“Why are you being so kind to me?” he asks, voice so quiet and broken. 

You blink, forcing back the sting in your eyes. “Because I see you, Bucky. And beneath all the pain, I know there’s a good man trying to do the right thing.”

Bucky swallows, and his hand rises to gently cradle your jaw. His fingers are rough, but he holds you with a softness that makes your chest ache. He leans in closer—close enough to feel his hot breath against your lips. He hesitates, giving you every opportunity to pull away. 

Because what he’s about to do next will change your relationship forever. It would mean more than a stupid signature on a piece of paper. More than a stupid ring on your finger. And more than a stupid interview.

And yet, you don’t pull away. 

So he leans in closer and kisses you.

And it’s not for show. There are no cameras around. It’s not for press. That kiss was just for you . 

His lips are warm and soft. He moves slowly and carefully, like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he makes the wrong move. Once Bucky realizes you’re not pulling away, when your hand moves to the back of his head, something in him gives out. 

The kiss deepens, and his hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you against him. The kiss is messy, aching, and full of all the words he couldn’t say. 

When you two finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, catching his breath. He shuts his eyes as one hand is still caressing your face, thumb absentmindedly rubbing against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a shaky breath. “I don’t know what possessed me to do that. I… I shouldn’t have done that.”

You might’ve taken offense to that once, but you don’t hear any regret in his voice, just fear. Fear of what this means, fear of what he’s allowed himself to feel. Despite his words, you knew deep down that that kiss wasn’t a mistake, it was real. 

And you know he felt it too.

So instead of pulling away, you gently reach up and tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Hey,” you whisper. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. It’s okay.” 

Bucky was wearing a simple crisp collar button up shirt and some slacks. He didn’t have the usual tailored tux he was used to being photographed in. Voss had told him to keep it “classy and casual” for this shoot. Her exact words had been, “Wear something that makes you look domestic.”

Whatever the hell that meant.

The shoot location was set in a soft field of greenery. Tall grass swaying gently, flowers blooming in warm colors. It felt wholesome and peaceful. Any real couple would’ve loved to have engagement photos taken here. Bucky stood there, tense in the middle of it, waiting for you to arrive.

He had offered to pick you up himself, but you’d insisted George bring you instead. He didn’t blame you.

Things had been awkward, really awkward, since the kiss. He didn’t even know why he did it. It wasn’t the first time he’d wanted to. God . He’d lost count of how many times he’d looked at you and felt that same need, that dangerous and selfish need to kiss you. But it was the first time he had acted on it.

He couldn’t explain what it was about you. Your warmth, how inviting you were, the way you saw straight through him. It was so opposite of the life he’d known.

Bucky knew he shouldn’t have kissed you, that by kissing you, it would change everything between you two. That by kissing you, it’d only make the truth about your father hurt even more.

You deserved honesty, and he’d kissed you with a mouth full of secrets. 

But what made him feel even worse was that he didn’t regret the kiss. Not one bit. Especially after the way your hand slipped to the back of his head, pulling him closer. 

He shudders at the memory. 

He knew he was a terrible man, but he didn’t think he’d stoop this low. But when you reassured him and told him it was okay, then surely you must’ve felt the same way? Surely, the feelings are reciprocated—whatever feeling this was. He didn’t know anymore. Feelings are hard. And he hasn’t felt anything like this in over seventy years. 

Bucky was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the car pull up. 

“Good morning,” your soft voice calls out from behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts like sunlight cutting through a haze of dark fog.

He straightens up immediately. He turns, and when his blue eyes land on you, he feels like his breath was knocked out of his lungs. 

There you were, standing tall, probably the most stubborn woman to ever exist. But despite that, Bucky knew with certainty that you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“Morning,” Bucky mumbles, his eyes taking you in up and down, not even trying to hide it. “You look… good.” 

Fuck . Bucky mentally cursed at himself. You were standing there looking like a dream, and the best he could manage was the most generic compliment known to man.

She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and still, the only thing I can come up with is “looks good?” 

You stood there with a raised brow. Your hair wasn’t done with a million bobby pins this time. It was made just how you like it. Your makeup was light, nothing camera-heavy, just you. And the dress flowing lightly in the gentle breeze topped it all off. 

Bucky swallowed hard as he watched you glance down at yourself, the softest smile tugging at your lips. That smile, God, that smile— it messed him up more than it should have.

“Well,” you say with a light shrug, glancing down at yourself, “if these are going to be framed and hung up for the world to see… I figured I might as well wear something that actually feels like me.”

Bucky nods firmly, agreeing. “Looks good.” 

“You already said that.” 

Goddammit. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes,” the photographer calls, adjusting his tripod. “Right this way, please.” He gestures toward the center of the field.

Bucky clears his throat, extending a hand for you to grab, and you do. Your soft hand slips so softly and so easily in his as he leads you to the center. He watches as your eyes trail to his left arm. 

“You’re not covering it up,” you point out innocently. 

He glances down, then back at you. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’m not,” he says quietly.

The photographer adjusts his lens, looking through it as he calls out, “Let’s start with something simple. Just stand close together and face each other—hold hands.” 

Bucky steps closer to you, his hand never leaving yours. With his free metal hand, he hesitates before grabbing your other hand. Catching him off guard, you reach for his instead, grasping it firmly. You angle your body towards him, and for a brief moment, your eyes meet.

His breath gets stuck in his throat. 

“Closer,” the photographer calls. “Let’s see some of that newly-engaged warmth.”

Bucky takes a step closer, swallowing nervously as he looks down at you. You also take a step forward until there’s barely any space left between your bodies. 

You glance up to meet his eyes again. “This warm enough for you?” you tease, your voice low enough for only him to hear. 

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh, his gaze steady on yours. “You tell me, sweetheart.” 

Now your breath hitches. You knew that he’s only saying it to keep things “natural,” but no matter how many times you two petcall each other, it always makes your heart flutter in your chest.

The photographer keeps snapping away, muttering compliments like “perfect” and “hold that right there.”

“Now let’s try one where he stands behind you, arms around your waist,” the photographer instructs.

Bucky feels you hesitate for a moment, but his feet is already moving before he can think. He stands behind you, his arms slip around you and you tense under his touch. His arms lock gently at your middle, pressing against your belly, pushing you closer against him. 

You’re thrown off guard at how natural this feels. 

“Now look over your shoulder at him—yeah, just like that,” the photographer praises. 

You turn your head over your shoulder, and the breath catches in your throat. Bucky isn’t looking at the camera. He’s looking at you. Only at you.

Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, and you’re pressed so tightly against him that you’re sure he can feel it. His arms around you are warm, solid, protective, and in this very moment, it doesn’t feel staged. It doesn’t feel fake. 

In this very moment, Bucky was yours. And you were his. 

Your voice comes out shakier than you’d anticipated. “Bucky—” 

But before you could get the words out, he leans in, pressing his nose against your hair, inhaling you, taking in your scent. You hear him let out a soft sigh as his body relaxes behind you, but his hold on you is still strong. 

“Excellent!” the photographer calls out, adjusting his lens again, completely oblivious of the tension between you two. “Let’s do one where you’re kissing now.” 

Bucky goes still. His hands are still resting gently at your waist, and you sense his hesitation. Like he's stuck between instinct and restraint.

You tilt your head back slightly to look at him. “We don’t have to,” you say quietly, offering him an out, even though your voice betrays a hint of hope. 

After everything, you didn’t want to push him, not after how weird things had felt since that first kiss that you two never even addressed.

Bucky’s gaze drops to your lips, then slowly finds your eyes again. He doesn’t say anything yet, just places his hands more firmly on your waist and gently turns you to face him. His lips part to speak, and when he finally does, his voice is low and hoarse.

“Tell me if you don’t want this,” he mutters, only loud enough for you to hear. 

You pause for a moment. Your eyes flick down to his lips, then back to those blue eyes that keep inviting you in—whether you liked it or not. 

“I want this.” 

Bucky breathes in sharply. Just like before, his hand rises to caress your jaw with a careful tenderness that makes your chest flutter. Then, he leans in and kisses you. 

He kisses you like no one was watching. He kisses you like you truly belong to him. He kisses you in the way he would want to, regardless if there was a camera or not. 

The camera shutter clicks in the distance. The photographer says something encouraging, but to Bucky, it’s just noise. He can’t hear any of it, not over the pounding of his own heart, especially not when your lips move so naturally against his. 

And that’s when it hits him. That feeling he’s finally come to recognize. 

The feeling he never knew he was even capable of having.

It washes over him now, and it’s undeniable and terrifying all at the same time. 

Bucky is in love with you. 

back || next (in progress)

[mr-tony-stark]

Tony laughed. “Oh good.  I know I’m not much of a cook but I was sure I could handle putting meat and salad between bread.”  He was glad that Bucky liked it though.  He’d tried making food for people he’d cared about before, but it had never gone well.  A sandwich felt safe and apparently the choice had paid off going by Bucky’s reaction.  “Oh come on now,” he said.  “It’s some bread, meat, and cheese.  I didn’t make you a gourmet meal.” 

Tony smiles as Bucky’s hand brushes over his.  Steve doesn’t miss the moment - and god how he wished he could just knock their heads together and tell them that this right here is a romantic relationship.  That they liked each other.  Not as friends but as something much different to friends.  He hoped they’d get to it in their own time.

Tony grinned at Bucky as he played sound with his water.  “Does it feel wet too?” he asked.  “It’s really hard to know what the sensors will report to your brain, and you know what?  A lot of it comes down to just your brain deciding for itself what it’s supposed to feel like.  There’s this trick you can do, where you lay a rubber arm next to someone’s real arm but you cover the real arm, and you can literally trick the person into thinking that they can feel all the things you do to the rubber one.  And the rubber one only needs to vaguely resemble an arm.”  He took Bucky’s hand and flipped it over and ran his finger down his palm as he spoke animatedly.  “There are neuro receptors running all the way down the arm and they’re just sending a signal to your brain that something happening - a temperature, a pressure, a density, maybe a viscosity, but it’s your brain that decides what that date means and most of that is based on your sight.”

He looked up at Bucky and tapped his wrist much like he would to his real arm when he was trying to ground him.  “I will warn you though, Buck, there are potential side effects we have envisioned.  We don’t know if these will happen, because you’re the test subject, so it could end up meaning we have to turn the feeling setting off, or have you take breaks from it.  We’ll have to see.  But because you can’t actually hurt this arm, the pain receptors are turned down.  I mean, let’s say you’re out and a car comes hurting toward you, I don’t want you to flinch about using this to stop it because you’re worried it’d feel like all your bones were shattering.  Same as if you put it in a fire, we wouldn’t want it to feel like your skin is blistering.  You don’t have skin or bones in this arm, you can still do all those superhero things with it.  But - that could mean you start to forget that your real hand feels pain and you end up doing something really dumb with it.  Or maybe your brain will overcompensate and just decided for itself it should feel like you broke every bone in your arm.  I’m not saying those things could happen, but we want to get ahead of them if they do.”

He let go of Bucky’s hand.  “Until then, enjoy it.  And yes, the cradle is amazing.  One day we might even be able to grow you a whole new arm in it from the skeleton up.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen, “No! No that’s why I asked, it’s so much better than anything i’ve ever had from that cafeteria, I thought maybe you had a special connection in the kitchens and got the good stuff,” he grins, taking another bite and its quiet while he chews and swallows, “You made me a sandwich for after surgery? That’s real nice Tony, thank you,” he says with a warmer, sincere smile, tempted to reach out his hand but he didn’t know how Tony felt about that now that Steve was around.

Steve knew about them sure but Bucky was used to tamping down the affection in front of anyone, so he busies his hand with reaching for the cup of ice. He picks it up with his metal hand, eyes widening as he could feel the cold beneath his fingers. He sets his sandwich on the wrapper and pours some water into the cup, unable to resist the urge to dip his finger in it, staring in awe as he was able to feel the wetness of the water, and the chill from the cold.

“Jesus..I ain’t felt anything with my left hand since I fell..” he mumbles, trying to come to terms with the fact that he would be able to feel with both hands now. His flesh hand travels up to his shoulder to feel the skin at the base where the prosthetic connected to his arm, “and my shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore, the Cradle must’ve done it’s job..”

[project-sekai-facts]

Spoilers

Leoni’s wl chapters are all on sekai best right now and I wanted to inform what I understand about what they did with saki’s illness. From what I understand saki was weak and ill since she was young and during elementary leoni formed a band and at some point her illness got really bad and she had to stay in the hospital for a while. Saki was eventually released and became very worried about her health and was scared about it happening again so she wanted to get stronger. To do that Saki started working out more and during middle school joined the soft tennis club. She was able slowly over time build up strength and with the help of others looking out for her Saki got stronger and better. It is stated also that at times during middle school she did feel like she was going to faint.

I’m not sure how bad this handling is as I’m not a chronically ill person. I recognize it definitely isn’t the best route, which would’ve been leoni visiting her more often, or the worst route, which would’ve been be if they just erased Saki’s illness altogether.

i forgot saki chapter is out now so i can answer this. how they handled saki is incredibly questionable. because technically technically saki has nonspecific anime disease which means her illness works however the writers need it to. they don't say anything so they don't have to commit to anything or have any restrictions with how they write saki. so maybe tennis can cure her illness. it is true that exercise and healthy lifestyle improves immune system. however that begs the question, why did no one ever just tell saki's parents to make sure she got regular exercise and a healthy diet, in either universe.

as i said recently, based on what little we know about saki's illness, and inferring from the fact she had to be moved to a different part of the country to live in a specialist hospital, she had an immunodeficiency that was either genetic, or caused by other medical factors (eg: blood/organ transplant or chemotherapy). in these instances, you can't just magically get better by playing tennis. like obviously regular exercise would improve her physical health to a degree, but honestly with how ill she was that wasn't really possible, and it would be much less effective if saki's nonspecific anime disease is a genetic thing or caused by a different illness like cancer or an organ problem, which like pick one of the three because they make most sense for what her illness translates too.

we knew colopale kinda just used saki's illness as a plot device half the time considering the nonspecified part but yikes. it doesn't even make sense, like i said if she could just play tennis to get cured why did no doctor's tell her that in the main AU, where she ended up relapsing and returning to hospital. i feel like they just didn't know what to do with saki in a pre-main story canon divergence. it's not hard to think of something just have shiho and honami actually go to visit her and get rid of the miyajo bullies so they don't cut saki and ichika off. you don't have to get rid of her illness to make it work, it's set during second year anyway. i get she still gets fatigued easier than the average person but that's not really a good excuse. it's still incredibly poor treatment of a chronically ill character.

[chleem]

You’re incredible at writing angst. Can i request something with drew being on the other side of unrequited love

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: OH? u mean, im the one madly in love with HIM? uh, yuh!

⋆.˚ Warnings: mentions of alcohol and smoking

pairings; actor/best friend drew x reader

word count: 2.4k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

He’s standing across the room. 

He hasn’t noticed you yet; too busy chatting off with his friends. 

And you- well, you notice everything. The way he tilts his head back when he laughs. The nervous way he runs his fingers through his hair when someone gives him a compliment. The damn jacket he always wears, the one that used to hang off your shared dorm chair. 

You’d memorize all of it as if it didn’t already live in your bones.

You’re one of his friends too- or at least, you used to be. Back when things were simpler. Before the world knew his name, before the interviews and spotlights that came with his rising career. 

You’ve fallen behind. Not out of anger or some dramatic fallout, but just... time, distance.

Now, standing in the corner of a mutual friend’s apartment, you’ve only just realized how full the room is, and yet, Drew is the only one you’ve truly noticed.

And suddenly, you're second-guessing everything.

The outfit you spent too long choosing now feels all wrong- too much or too little, you can’t decide. Your hair feels flat in places it shouldn’t be, your makeup too loud under the golden lights that strung along the ceiling. 

You feel overexposed in a room where no one is even looking.

You set your drink down on a side table and quietly slip away from the noise. The hallway is dim, quieter, and you step inside into the bathroom, once you reach it.

You close the door gently, twisting the lock until it clicks. 

Then, with a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you lower the toilet seat and sit down, your hands resting in your lap. Your purse sits on the counter, unopened, untouched.

The silence wraps around you like a second skin, and finally, your thoughts catch up to you.

Drew.

Well… at least, that’s how everyone knows him now. To the world, he’s Drew, the rising name in Hollywood. The charming lead in that new movie. The actor everyone’s talking about. The one with the ‘blue eyes’ that gets more press than most people’s careers.

But to you, he’s Joseph.

Joseph, your best friend since you were kids. Joseph, who shared his last granola bar with you in third grade. Who helped you sneak out of class in high school just to watch the sky change color from the football bleachers. Joseph, who sat next to you on the dorm floor your first week of college because you were crying and pretending you weren’t.

Your first crush.

Actually… still your crush, if you’re being honest with yourself. You’ve tried to call it a phase, tried to let it pass. You told yourself you were over it, over him.

But it seems like, you never were. 

If anything, the time spent apart just made you fall harder; occasionally scrolling onto his news. 

A knock breaks your thoughts. 

You blink, “Give me a sec!” you call out.

You stand, smoothing your dress with slightly trembling hands. You check your reflection quickly, fixing your hair.

Then, you unlock the door.

…And it’s him.

Joseph.

Has he grown taller? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the way he’s standing- so close to the doorway that he’s suddenly right in your space, towering over you. His frame fills the doorway, broad-shouldered and casual in that way only he could ever pull off. His jacket is half-zipped, his hair messier than usual, and those blue eyes shining down at you, mesmerizing and unfamiliar all at once.

Your eyes widen in surprise.

He laughs softly, head tilting. “Hey,” he says, “…did you wash your hands?”

You let out a nervous, breathy laugh, your heart bumping hard against your ribs. “Uh, yeah.”

“Yeah? Okay,” he laughs, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening with the smile.

You’re rooted in place, caught between wanting to run and wanting to stay.

Then, quietly, he confesses, “I was looking for you.”

“Me?”

“…yes.”

“Looking for me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I was just- ”

“I was looking for you,” he repeats, cutting you off.

He bites down on his lower lip, hesitation flickering across his face before his hand reaches out and rests gently on your elbow.

He signals for you to back up into the bathroom again. You obey, stepping inside until the door closes softly behind you.

He’s in this small space with you now, not even breaking eye contact as he locks the door.

“Needed a break anyway…” he murmurs under his breath, glancing around. You wrap your arms around yourself, a small, protective gesture. “Hey, you.”

It’s awkward in a way that feels familiar, almost comforting.

“Hi,” you say, offering a soft smile, hoping the blush warming your cheeks isn’t too obvious under the overhead light.

The whole bathroom smells like him now- like his cologne, subtle and expensive and painfully nostalgic. Along with the beers he might’ve been drinking. 

“You look great,” he says, eyes scanning your face with a kind of quiet sincerity that makes it hard to breathe.

“You don’t look so bad either,” you tease, trying for lightness, though you’re not sure if that’s still how he likes to play.

But he lets out a breathy laugh. The kind you remember, the kind you’ve missed.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

You shrug slightly. “Just…still me.”

He nods slowly, “Great. Great to hear that.”

“What about you?”

“Same old.”

You giggle, “no.”

“No?”

“C’mon, I’ve seen your posters everywhere.”

He laughs, leaning back against the bathroom counter, “Yeah? Which ones?”

“Oh, the ones where you’re in bed with Daniel Craig, I guess.”

“Jealous?”

“Not at all,” you lie.

He laughs, deep-throated and low, the sound filling the tiny bathroom and cutting through the faint noise of music and conversation spilling in from the hallway.

“You got a cig?”

“…You smoke now?” you blink.

“Occasionally,”

“…No. I quit,” you murmur, stepping closer. You set your purse gently on the counter next to him. “But I’ve got one in here.”

He lets out a low chuckle, “that means you didn’t quit.”

“Shut up, Joseph,” you say with a smile, pulling out the pack of cigarettes from your purse, holding it out to him. He reaches for it. You pull it back, just out of his grasp. “Or should I call you Drew now?”

His blue eyes fix on yours, intense and unreadable.

“Everyone does,” then, without breaking eye contact, he takes the pack from your hand. “But you shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I like the way you say it.”

You let out a soft, surprised giggle, “what?”

He gently taps your arm, and you reach for the lighter inside your bag, fingers brushing against it, eyes never leaving his.

“Just don’t call me Drew,” he murmurs, pulling a cigarette from the pack and slipping it between his lips.

He cups one hand around the tip, nodding once. You flick the lighter on, and as the flame dances between you, your hand steadies just under his.

The cigarette lights, and he tilts his head back as he inhales. Great. Now it smells like cigarettes and Drew in here. You draw your hand away, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, starting up another conversation.

"So... you still with her?”

“'Her?'"

"Last time we talked- you were seeing someone.”

"Oh," he exhaled already; taking another puff. "No. We split.”

He says it so simply, like it wasn’t a slow-burning thing. like you hadn’t seen the way she used to look at him, like he hung constellations in her ceiling. Like he hadn’t once told you she made him want to be softer.

You nod, mostly to yourself.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you’re not sure you mean it.

He shrugs. “it was coming.”

Silence folds in between the two of you. The smoke coils lazily upward, staining the yellowed light. You don’t remember when it got so dim in here.

He glances over at you. “What- what about you?” 

You wonder if his blue eyes can see right through you- if he knows. You’ve had a crush on him for so long, it’s practically carved into you.

“Huh?”

“C’mon,” he says, almost teasing, “you have a boyfriend.”

You shake your head, “No. No one.”

“...still?”

You roll your eyes, but a smile betrays you. It tugs at the corner of your mouth, uninvited and unstoppable, especially when Drew laughs. That sound, familiar and careless- fills the room in a way that makes your chest tighten and your heart race. 

It hits somewhere deep, nostalgic and warm, like hearing a song you didn’t realize you missed. His laughter hasn’t changed; it still makes you feel seventeen again, and completely out of your depth.

When the moment fades, he turns toward you slightly and holds out the cigarette. 

Smoke curls upward between you as he says, “do it with me.”

You hesitate, “I quit, Joseph-”

“Have a breath,” he urges, a crooked smile playing at his lips. “I missed this.”

“We’ve never even smoked together-”

“I don’t mean the cigarette. I mean... this, talking to you, seeing you. Just... being in a space with you.”

He shifts, leaning in just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him.

He’s close now, closer than he’s been in years, maybe. Close enough that it’s suddenly hard to focus on anything but the way he says your name, or the quiet guilt in his eyes when he adds, “I’m sorry I got busy.”

He holds out the cigarette again, “so here. Smoke, and do this stupid thing with me.”

You can’t help but smile, shaking your head as you reach for it.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” you murmur, bringing the cigarette to your lips.

You try not to concentrate on the fact that his mouth was just on it. But of course you do. Which means, in some ridiculous, secondhand kind of way… you’ve technically kissed. That thought alone sends a warm pulse down your spine. 

You're such a loser for still liking him.

You inhale, the smoke burning lightly in your throat, and exhale with practiced ease.

“You always do,” you add, the words trailing out with the smoke as you speak.

“Me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. Remember in- ”

“I got you in trouble?”

“Freshman year. In the library?”

He pauses. “…that was your idea.”

You laugh softly, “Only because you told me to do it.”

“Oh, right. And our punishment was not seeing each other for a week? Including-”

“Including school,” you finish quietly, your voice a soft echo of the memory.

Younger you would be shocked that you managed to stay out-of-contact with Drew for several months; let alone one month. 

You bring the cigarette back to your lips, breathing in without really thinking, letting the smoke linger as you glance at him. 

You catch the way his throat tightens when he watches you. Then he looks down at the floor, fidgeting with his fingers in that way he always did when he was nervous or holding something in.

“Well,” he says finally, “I missed you, y/n.”

It’s not playful now. Not casual or joking. It’s sincere- quietly, achingly sincere.

And because it doesn’t feel right to say it too loudly, you whisper it back; “I missed you too, Joseph.”

He nods, still staring at the floor.

“I love you, Joseph,” you add. 

You don’t know why, but the flood of emotions rushes in all at once- fear, hope, longing. You’re afraid you might never get the courage to say these words again. Or maybe never at all, if he becomes too famous, too distant for you to reach.

But it’s the truth. You love him- with all your heart. You hope these words will reach out and touch something deep inside him. 

You want to be more than the friend who’s seen him through his worst nights. You want to be the one who stays. The one who sees him now; not just the past, not the one left behind.

You want to be his lover.

“I love you too, y/n,” 

he says softly, his voice warm but carrying a different weight. 

Before you can react, he pulls you into a hug. You find yourself pressed close between his legs as he leans against the bathroom counter, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist.

Your eyes widen as you lift your arms cautiously, careful not to burn him with the cigarette still in your hand. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, and despite everything- the distance, the unspoken things- you can’t help but grow comfortable under him.

“I love you more, Joseph,”

you whisper, so quiet you’re not sure he even hears.

Just before he pulls away, he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, leaving a faint, warm stain, like a secret blush meant only for you.

Without hesitation, he lifts the cigarette from your fingers and brings it to his lips once more. Another quiet, shared kiss- this one burning faintly between you.

“Alright- you’ll call me?”

“...will you pick up?”

He puts the cigarette out, flicking it on the floor and stepping on it. “Of course.” 

He bends to pick up the unlit cigarette, tossing it casually into the trashcan. He stands and steadies himself, briefly touching your elbow. “You… you still got my number saved?”

“...Of course,”

“Okay,” he smiles down at you. “I saw that, um, the kitchen has some snacks-”

“…okay.”

“…okay. uh… hey, here,” he murmurs, nodding toward the inside pocket of his jacket. “Just, put your hand here.”

You blink at him, confused.

“So I don’t lose you out there,” he says, and you can hear it in the smirk tugging at his words.

You shake your head, suppressing a smile, and reach for your purse instead, as he unlocks the door.

You leave the bathroom together. 

But just then, a friend spots him from across the room and weaves through the small group, eager to pull him into conversation. Another follows, then a few more, all wanting a moment with him- the Drew they know, the Drew everyone admires.

They crowd around him quickly, voices overlapping, laughter rising, and suddenly you’re on the outside again. Close enough to hear his voice, to see his smile, but too far to reach the part of him you need.

Your chest tightens with a love so fierce it almost hurts. You love him more than words could hold, more than you’ve ever dared admit.

You want to tell him, to make him see, but the words stay locked inside, swallowed by the noise and the distance growing between you. And as he gets pulled away, surrounded by friends, you’re left with nothing but the ache of loving someone who might never love you back the same way.

And just like that, he’s surrounded. 

You stand there, close, but still so far.

-------------------------------

stop i actually got sad writing this

elevator | other

[nebuladreamerrr]

Renewal | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: After many years of sharing your love, you both decided it was time to multiply it. But… what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: English is not my first language and traumatic birth

Part 2 (soon)

You’d always wanted to be a mom—no point pretending otherwise. But still, you never really imagined the moment would actually come. Back when you were younger, you were super focused on your own growth—personally and professionally. You knew a baby would need love, patience, and stability, so you spent most of your youth learning to love yourself, to grow, to become a woman who wouldn’t fall apart over every little setback.

Even though you met Kylian when you were both pretty young, you always had it clear: you wanted to build your own career. Not because you thought your relationship wouldn’t last—but because you wanted to set an example for your future kids. You knew, deep down, that no matter what path they chose, there’d be judgment. If they followed their dad into football, endless comparisons. If they did something totally different, people would say, “Yeah, but that’s only because of who their father is.”

So, you worked hard—really hard—so that, at least professionally, no one would see you as “just the wife of.” Instead, they’d say, “YN? Oh yeah, the young woman with two degrees.”

Still… the dream of being a mother was always there. Not in a hurry, but always present. Whenever you two passed by a tiny baby store on one of your quiet little date nights, you'd end up talking about “someday.” Or during cheesy rom-coms, when the characters had joyful family dinners. Even when Kylian got approached by a little fan, you'd catch yourself imagining him holding your future child. So by the time your wedding came—just close family and friends, no cameras, no press—it wasn’t a surprise that everyone started wondering when the baby news would come.

Honestly, you two never had that conversation, about when you'd start trying. But it wasn’t necessary. Everyone around you could feel it. Even fans started noticing the kind of posts you were liking—baby tips, early pregnancy advice… People figured it was only a matter of time.

But for you, it didn’t happen with the usual signs—no sore boobs, no morning sickness, no dizzy spells. It was more subtle. Babies were just... everywhere. You kept turning down the wrong streets and randomly ending up outside crib stores. Your TikTok feed? Full of babies. Every conversation you had somehow circled back to motherhood. It felt like the world was gently pointing you toward something.

One night, while Kylian was away prepping for a Champions League game, you couldn’t sleep. You found yourself wandering into that “guest room” that everyone knew was really the future nursery. You opened the window and stood there for a while, bathed in moonlight. You weren’t feeling any classic symptoms, but something in your chest whispered: “You’re already holding something—someone—inside you.” Not physically yet, but emotionally, spiritually. Something warm, something waiting.

The next morning, you took the test. And even though deep down you knew—it still shocked you when it turned out positive. You weren’t even trying. But now… it was real.

And now came the fun part: telling Kylian.

Let’s be honest, your marriage wasn’t some Instagram dream. You weren’t about to stage a cutesy shoe on the sofa pregnancy announcement for likes. In fact, you could barely even think about how the world would react. Humor had always been your shared language, so you decided to do something a little wicked. You snapped a photo of the test and sent it to him five minutes before his plane was supposed to take off, knowing he wouldn’t be able to reply. You knew he’d kill you—but it would be worth it.

So when he finally got home, practically sprinting through the front door, slamming it behind him, all out of breath and wide-eyed—you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Tell me it’s true” he said, dropping his bags right there on the floor and running toward you.

“Why would I lie, Kyky?” you smiled, totally calm.

“God, I’m gonna kill you. I nearly had a heart attack.” he laughed, scooping you up in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He kissed your face over and over like he couldn’t believe you were real.

From that moment on, you were living in a bubble. A pregnancy that felt like it belonged only to the two of you. Yes, your families were warm and supportive, but nothing compared to the way Kylian rushed home every day just to curl up beside you and trace slow, loving circles on your belly.

He was going through a rough patch at the club—not for any specific reason or because he wasn’t happy, but more like... he didn’t fit in the same way anymore. The usual things that used to excite him—talking about cars, going out, joking around in the locker room—just didn’t hit the same. Now, as soon as training was over, all he wanted was to jump into the car and get home as fast as he could, to be with you, talking about baby names, what color the nursery walls should be, and picturing your new little life together.

Everyone around him could tell something had shifted. Maybe fans in the stadium didn’t notice much, but anyone who’d worked with him closely could see it plain as day. He was different. Even during press conferences, where he'd always been laser focused and polite—no matter how annoying or repetitive the questions got—now he was distracted. He’d leave his phone on the table in front of him, eyes flickering to the screen every few seconds in case you needed something. There were moments where he had to ask the same question to be repeated twice because his mind was simply... elsewhere.

"Kylian, how do you feel about your performance today?"

"Oh—sorry, can you repeat that? My head's kinda... somewhere else right now."

So when a few months later he scored a goal and ran straight to the camera, shoving the ball under his shirt in celebration, suddenly everything made sense. Not just for the fans watching at home, but for every single person on staff at Real Madrid.

See, the thing is—Kylian loved football. It had always been his dream. And when he met you, it felt like life had finally clicked into place: a career, a purpose, and now, the kind of love that made everything worth it. And of course, he wanted your child to grow up around that dream. If they decided to follow the same path, he’d be their biggest fan—though he’d never push them to do so. But still, lately, every time he stepped onto a full stadium, the only thing on his mind was how quiet and safe your home felt. How comforting it was to be wrapped up in the soft intimacy of your pregnancy. And the truth was—he didn’t want to leave that behind. He wanted to run toward it. To stay there.

The club understood. They knew becoming a first-time dad was overwhelming in the best (and scariest) way. But still, there had been a few moments when they had to step in gently and remind him to keep his balance. They weren’t worried he’d abandon football—he never would—but they also didn’t want his performance to suffer or the club’s image to take a hit. Not that they could really complain. Anytime Kylian left early to be at a scan with you, he always made up for it. He’d make sure you were tucked in comfortably at home, with snacks, pillows, and anything you could need—then head straight back and train double.

After all, what could go wrong? The baby was growing perfectly, the scans were smooth, and you had the best medical team in Madrid. It all seemed... safe.

One of the sweetest memories you held close was when Kylian gave you a small notebook. Camavinga had actually gifted it to him with a little joke about “getting your thoughts out before you explode.” But Kylian had taken it seriously. After practice, he brought it home, slid it across the table, and said,

“You might wanna start writing stuff down before this baby steals all your brain cells.”

And so you did. At first, it felt strange. But soon, the pages started filling up like they were waiting for you all along. On the first ones, you wrote about the uncertainty—how, even without feeling a single textbook pregnancy symptom, you just knew. Somehow, you already felt them. You didn’t know what they’d look like or what they’d love or even what name you’d choose—but already, they were part of every conversation, every plan, every heartbeat. Not just in your heart, but in everyone’s who loved you.

As time went on, you wrote about the fear. Fear that maybe you wouldn’t do it right. That you weren’t ready. People always said the motherly instinct kicks in the moment you hold your baby... but what if it didn’t? What if you couldn’t live up to the examples around you? You had felt their presence from the very beginning, and yet—what if that wasn’t enough?

Then, just one week before your due date, your entries changed. You wrote with excitement. Everything was ready. Kylian had fought (and lost) a hilarious battle with Ethan trying to build the dresser and the crib, and after some resistance, he’d even had to call his dad for help. After weeks of going back and forth, the name was finally decided. The hospital bag was packed—tiny outfits folded for what would be their first time outside the safety of your belly. You checked it daily, just in case you forgot something, even though deep down you knew… all you truly wanted was to finally hold your baby in your arms.

So when one morning you woke up to a strange damp feeling spreading across your body, something inside you whispered that maybe... this was it.

You stood up slowly, unsure and still half-asleep, heading to the bathroom with a bit of embarrassment. A small part of you wondered if it was just exhaustion—maybe you'd just been too tired to wake up when you had to pee. You didn’t even bother peeling the sheets off the bed; your belly was so big now, it would've taken too much effort. You figured you’d wait for the housekeeper to arrive, or ask Kylian to help later.

But as you stepped out of the shower, clean and slightly more alert, and felt your underwear soak through again—you knew. This was the real thing. The baby was on the way.

You didn’t panic. You’d both gone to countless birthing classes together. You knew what to expect. So, instead of calling him frantically, you sent Kylian a calm, short message while he was at training:

“Our little one is coming. My water just broke. No need to rush—I barely feel any contractions.”

When Kylian read it, his heart skipped, of course. But he took a breath. You wouldn’t lie to him. If it had been urgent, you would’ve called the doctors right away. So, with good luck chants from his teammates and a quick goodbye to the coaching staff, he rushed home.

He found you in the kitchen, leaning on the island counter, stopwatch in hand, calmly timing each contraction. There was still space between them, so you both took that precious time to share what would be your last quiet moment as just the two of you. He stood behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your middle, his lips brushing your collarbone in soft kisses, occasionally rubbing your lower back in slow, soothing circles. You breathed together, swaying gently in that rhythm only two people in love could create.

As the contractions grew closer and stronger, he called the driver, helped you into the car, then ran back inside to grab the hospital bags—bags packed days before for the two people he loved most in the world.

You’d always told him about your dream birth. How the women in your family had all given birth naturally, without an epidural, and how you wanted to follow that path—if it was still the best option for you. So when a young nurse named Daniela walked in to check your vitals, she didn’t hesitate to encourage you.

“You’re doing amazing,” Daniela smiled, listening to your baby’s heartbeat. “Your body knows exactly what it’s doing. And I’ll be with you the whole time, okay?”

You nodded, and for the first time that day, you let yourself smile a little through the pain.

Over the next couple hours, you were closely monitored. They checked your dilation, your blood pressure, the baby’s position. The pain came in waves, sharper now, but you powered through every one. Kylian never left your side, wiping your forehead, whispering encouragements, holding your hands through every breathless minute.

And then, finally, the time came.

“You’re fully dilated,” Daniela said gently. “It’s time to push.”

And you did. With everything in you. You became something wild, something unstoppable. A force of nature. Kylian stayed right by you, gripping your hand, whispering “You’ve got this, baby” through gritted teeth while brushing the sweat from your brow.

Until—suddenly—a loud, piercing cry filled the room.

And just like that, your daughter was here. Giselle.

Tears fell from your eyes before you even realized it. You barely heard the congratulations. All you could focus on was the wriggling, warm little body being placed gently on your chest.

But the moment didn’t last.

Just as they told you it was time to deliver the placenta, Kylian stood between looking at his newborn daughter and at you… when the steady beep-beep of your monitor turned into a long, jarring tone.

Everything froze.

The next minute was a blur.

Shouts. Movement. Hands pushing Kylian back. He barely caught a glimpse of your face before the doors closed and he was left outside—alone.

Five hours.

Five hours passed. He had no nails left to bite. His leg bounced uncontrollably. No one had come to speak to him. Not about you. Not about Giselle. Not a single word. His thoughts spiraled. Had he jinxed it? Dreamt it all too perfectly? He’d reached every goal, every dream—but this one… the one that truly mattered, had it been taken away?

He stared blankly ahead until a familiar face appeared from the hallway.

Daniela.

Before she could even open her mouth, Kylian ran toward her.

“Please—tell me how my wife is. Tell me my daughter’s okay. I can’t— I can’t do this without them. I don’t know how to— I—please…” He was sobbing now, every word choked between hiccups and panic.

Daniela held up her hand gently, steadying her breath.

“Kylian, listen. Giselle is doing great. We’ve done all the standard tests—she’s healthy, strong, and she’s already been taken to your room. You can go see her any moment now.”

But Kylian didn’t move.

“And Yn?” His voice cracked like glass.

“Please, Daniela. How’s my wife?” He gripped her shoulders, eyes searching hers for any sign of truth.

She paused. Then finally said:

“We’re still running some tests. Her vitals are stable now—but… there was a moment during delivery when oxygen stopped reaching her brain. That’s why we intubated her. She’s responding well to treatment, but she’s still weak, and we’ve placed her in the ICU to monitor her closely. If everything continues to go well overnight, we’re hopeful she can be transferred tomorrow and wake up next to you both.”

She tried to smile. To give him hope. But Kylian couldn’t stop the tears that kept pouring down. He nodded wordlessly, then walked toward the room where his daughter was waiting.

That night, it was just Kylian and Giselle. Her tiny body curled against his bare chest, his palm softly rising and falling with every little breath she took. He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t.

He just stared out the window at the moon, begging—pleading—for a sign. That you were still there. That you’d come back to him. He didn’t care if it was foolish. He didn’t care if it was desperate. He needed to believe. In something. In anything. Even if he was holding on to nothing but a burning, fragile hope.

And somewhere, in the silence of that hospital room… he swore he saw the moon flicker.