#and now for something a little different!

[gojover]

WOULD THAT I.

he has spent four lifetimes repenting for his sins and searching for you. in the fifth, he finally gets it right.

pairing: jinu x fem!reader tags & warnings: romance, angst, hurt/comfort; reincarnation!au, previously established relationship!au. changes to canon. mentions of death & sins, blood, injuries, past lives, jinu remembers all his lives but learns how to love you in each one, profanity, alcohol consumption, historical inaccuracies, implied sex, etc. inspired by hozier’s would that i. word count: 8.7k

SEOUL, KOREA. EARLY WINTER, 1936.

It’s become a habit now, for Jinu to walk the alley behind Hwaryeohan Cha-jip every morning. He tells himself he’s just passing through, just out for air, but his feet always take the same turn—past the ink shop, past the frozen rice fields. The snow came early that year, dusting the rooftops of Bukchon in white. Jinu walks until he finds the teahouse, half-tucked between two aging hanoks, with its faded wooden sign and wind chimes made of porcelain spoons.

You work there. He knows this now.

You sweep the floors with your hair tied up in a red ribbon, humming songs no one else seems to know. You boil water in the back room, your sleeves rolled up past your elbows, wrists red from the heat. Sometimes you lean out the window to shake out a cloth, and Jinu watches from across the street, heart in his throat, as if looking at you might somehow unmake the curse.

It doesn’t.

Gwi-Ma’s words still echo like older thunder in his ears. One lifetime for every sin, the demon king had said. He doesn’t remember what he did to deserve this; only that it was enough for the king to curse him with memory, and longing, and you.

You, who never remembers him. You, who are always just out of reach.

Still, this life feels different. He’s not a lonely musician. He’s just Jinu. Just a man in a wool coat with frayed sleeves and too many lifetimes folded into the lines around his eyes.

Somehow, that compels him to step inside.

The bell above the teahouse door is delicate and cracked, like it’s been broken and glued back together a dozen times. It tinkles faintly as he enters, and you glance up from behind the counter. He orders ginger tea. It’s too hot, a little bitter. He drinks it anyway.

You don’t say much to him at first, just slide the cup forward with a polite nod, fingers dusted with flour, and return to kneading dough in the back. Jinu sits in the corner, watching steam curl from the rim of his cup, pretending to read a book he’s read a thousand times before.

He returns the next day. And the next.

Sometimes you smile at him now. Sometimes you ask if he wants something sweet with his tea. He always says yes, just to hear your voice again.

“Do you work nearby?” you ask one morning, wiping your hands on your apron.

“No,” he says. “I walk a lot.”

You tilt your head. “Even in the snow?”

“Especially then,” he says, and you laugh. The sound cuts through every century he’s lived without you. It makes something ancient in him ache.

You tell him your name one day. He already knows it, of course, but he pretends it’s the first time. He says it softly, rolls it on his tongue like a promise.

He brings small things sometimes: a book of poems; a silk ribbon the same colour as the one you wear; once, a tiny jade rabbit charm that he leaves near the register when you’re not looking. You find it later and keep it in your purse. You never ask if it’s from him, and he never tells you.

Some days, he helps. He carries water from the well; repairs a broken chair leg; teaches you how to fold paper cranes when the shop is slow. You sit across from him at the low table, your hands awkward at first, and he watches you fold the wings silently.

You crease the edge of the paper with your thumbnail, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. Jinu doesn’t laugh, though the sight of you furrowing your brow over something as simple as a paper crane is enough to pull a smile to his mouth. He leans forward and gently adjusts the angle of the folded wing.

“Like this,” he says quietly.

Your fingers brush, briefly, barely. It’s nothing—but to him, it’s everything.

After that, you start leaving out an extra cup when you brew tea in the morning, even before he walks in. You stop pretending not to notice the way he always sits in the same corner seat. You learn that he prefers ginger tea with honey, that he likes his bread warm and his jam unsweetened. You listen to him hum under his breath when he reads, even though his eyes don’t always move across the page.

He learns that you braid your hair when you’re nervous, and that you’re saving up for a trip to Busan, and that you talk to the teapot when you think no one’s listening.

Sometimes, when it snows harder than usual, you don’t get any customers and the city stays quiet. On those days, you sit across from each other on the heated floorboards, sipping tea and listening to the wind rattle the windows.

Once, you fall asleep like that—cheek pressed to your folded arms, exhaustion shuttering your eyelids. Jinu doesn’t wake you. He watches the snow gather on the windowsill and thinks about how peaceful your face looks in this life. 

He wonders if this is enough. If friendship is enough.

You wake, embarrassed, and he just smiles and tells you to rest more. You blink at him, still sleepy but shake your head, so he asks if you want to learn how to fold a lotus next. You do.

PARIS, FRANCE. SUMMER, 1890.

It’s your honeymoon. At least, that’s what the world thinks.

The hotel is charming in the way French hotels are supposed to be—wrought-iron balconies, velvet drapes, and wallpaper the colour of old pearls. The floorboards creak under his feet, and the hallways smell faintly of orange blossoms and candlewax.

Below, the Seine coils through the city, meandering long and slow. Gondoliers shout in lilting voices from the water. The bouquinistes have already opened their green boxes along the banks, selling secondhand poetry and crumbling maps to tourists who still believe Paris belongs to lovers.

Maybe it does. Just not to the two of you.

Jinu stands by the window, shirt half-buttoned, tie discarded somewhere near the settee. The silk catches on the carved wooden leg. The breeze lifts the edge of the curtain, letting in the sound of clattering dishes from the café downstairs.

The light falls soft on your face where you sit at the vanity, brushing your hair in long, even strokes, the red ribbon that you’d used to tie your hair back wrapped around your wrist. Your nightgown is lace-trimmed and far too sheer for the cool morning. He thinks it must be uncomfortable. But you wear it anyway, spine straight, chin lifted, always composed. You don’t look at him. You haven’t looked at him all morning.

There are two coffee cups on the table. One is untouched. You didn’t like the roast, but you won’t tell him that. You’ll let it sit there and grow cold because indifference is your sharpest weapon, and you know exactly how to wield it.

The lace shifts again as you move, bare shoulders catching the gold light. It’s almost enough to make him forget; almost enough to believe this life could be different. Maybe, if he just reached out—if he touched your shoulder, softly, just once—you’d remember something. The way your fingers once curled around the fabric of his hanbok, or the way you said his name.

It’s your honeymoon, and you can barely stand to be in the same room.

TOKYO, JAPAN. SPRING, ONE WEEK AGO.

Jinu promises to take you to see the cherry blossoms after work.

You’re half-asleep on the sofa when he tells you, legs tucked beneath you, your blouse rumpled and your slacks creased at the knees. Your fingers are curled around a mug of ginger tea you’ve forgotten to sip from, the steam long faded. The apartment glows in the evening light—low and golden, brushing everything it touches with warmth. It rests on your cheek, your collarbone, the line of your neck.

The window is cracked open just enough for the air to carry the sound of birds and distant footsteps. Someone laughs downstairs—the neighbour’s kid, maybe, or a passing couple. In the kitchen, the rice cooker clicks off with a soft chime, and the smell of jasmine rice begins to mingle with the faint perfume of laundry soap and honey.

The sakura have started blooming early this year, soft clouds of pink dusting every street, like the city’s been dipped in blush and left to dry slowly. He noticed them that morning on his walk to the train: the way petals clung to the sidewalk like confetti, the way one landed on the shoulder of your coat and you didn’t notice.

“Don’t forget,” you mumble without opening your eyes, voice warm and worn out, lips brushing the rim of the mug. Your feet are bare, and you wiggle your toes sleepily when he sits beside you.

“I won’t,” Jinu says, and he means it.

He never forgets, not in this life.

He reaches over and gently lifts the mug from your hands, careful not to spill it, and sets it on the coffee table beside your phone and a half-finished crossword. Your handwriting is in blue pen—curvy, a little impatient. He glances at it, then turns his attention back to you.

“You should change out of your work clothes,” he says.

“M’comfy,” you whisper, not moving an inch.

He laughs softly. “You say that. Then you complain about the wrinkles in the morning.”

You hum noncommittally, already slipping towards sleep. Your head tilts until it rests against his shoulder. He shifts a little to make it easier. Your hair smells like lemongrass shampoo and the rose spray you use in early spring. Jinu leans his cheek gently against the top of your head.

“Are we going tomorrow or Saturday?” you ask.

“Tomorrow,” Jinu says. “I want to go before the crowds come.”

“You hate crowds,” you agree, nodding.

“You hate them more.”

You smile. “Smart man.”

Jinu slides his arm behind your back, warm and solid and steady. He closes his eyes and listens—to your breath, to the tick of the clock on the wall.

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA. EARLY SUMMER, 1972.

Jinu slings his arm over your bare waist, and thinks that this might be the life.

Maybe Gwi-Ma took pity on him. Maybe this is a loophole, and it comes with jazz and heat and the way your lipstick smeared against his collar an hour ago. Maybe it’s not a trick. Maybe, for once, he gets to stay.

Your breath is steady now, but your skin is still flushed, slick with the last traces of sweat. The cotton sheets stick to your thigh where it’s thrown over his hip, and your fingers twitch against his ribs, still restless in sleep.

He lets his hand drift up the slope of your side, slow and gentle, the way a man touches something he knows will leave him. He watches your lashes flutter, the corner of your mouth twitch as you stir.

“Are you awake?” he asks.

You hum without opening your eyes. “Barely.”

He presses a kiss behind your ear. “Should I stop?”

“If you’re asking that, you already know the answer.”

So Jinu doesn’t stop. His hand moves, slow and familiar now, tracing the curve of your hip. You shift closer, still half-asleep, until your leg slides between his and your mouth brushes against the underside of his jaw.

It’s easy like this. Too easy.

Your bodies know each other even if your minds don’t. There’s no fumbling anymore, no pretending. Just heat and breath and the memory of your name whispered into the crook of his neck, again and again, like you’re trying to brand yourself into him. Maybe you are.

He holds you afterward, and listens to the rain starting up again outside the window—soft at first, then steadier. Jazz spills in from the bar two floors down, muffled by distance and glass, but still there. Like everything in this city, it lingers.

“You’re staring,” you say eventually, not unkindly.

“I do that,” Jinu says.

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

You make a soft sound in the back of your throat, somewhere between amusement and disbelief, and burrow deeper into his chest. Your fingers trace a line over his collarbone, idle and absentminded, like you’re not really thinking about what you’re doing.

“You always act like you know something I don’t,” you mumble. “Like you’ve been waiting for me to figure it out.”

Jinu swallows. “Figure out what?”

“Whatever it is you keep hiding behind your eyes,” you say. “You always look so sad, Jinu.”

His arm tightens around you just slightly. 

You’re not wrong. You never are, not in any life. Even without memory, your intuition is as sharp as it’s always been. You’re like a compass that always swings toward the truth, even when the truth is something you have no idea about. 

Jinu considers lying, or laughing it off. But you shift again, and your thigh brushes against his. You’re close—so close, close enough that he almost lets the truth slip past his teeth. You’ve died in my arms before. You’ve looked at me with your last breath. I’ve been cursed to find you again and again and again.

Instead, he says, “Maybe I just like the way you look when you sleep.”

“Poetic.”

“I try.”

You lift your head to look at him. There’s mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and a tiny crease on your cheek where it pressed against the pillow. Your mouth is a little swollen from kissing, and your voice is hoarse in the way that drives him insane.

“You know this isn’t forever, right?” you say, softly, like you’re offering him a kindness by saying it first.

“I know,” Jinu says.

You nod, like that’s what you needed to hear. “Good.”

But you don’t move. You don’t pull away. You rest your chin on his chest and look at him like you’re memorising the shape of his nose and the colour of his eyes.

“God,” you whisper after a while. “This would be so much easier if you were an asshole.”

Jinu laughs and says, “I can be, if it helps.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “You’re good. That’s the problem.”

He kisses your forehead and tries not to think about the way your voice cracked.

JOSEON, KOREA. WINTER, 1798.

It is snowing the first time Jinu sees you, and your name forms on his mouth like habit.

It’s not the name you carry now—not the one assigned to you by court records and a royal appointment, or the one embroidered into the hem of your hanbok in gold thread. It is the name you’ve had in your previous lifetime. The name he’s whispered into your skin, into your dying hands.

Jinu doesn’t say it aloud. He doesn’t dare.

He watches you from the far side of the courtyard, where the snow has muffled the world and the stone paths disappear beneath white. His breath fogs in the air. A court servant speaks beside him—something about a grain levy in Jeolla—but Jinu isn’t listening. He couldn’t, even if he tried.

You walk gracefully, holding a lacquered tray to your chest, with your back straight. Your hair is pulled into a sleek bun, adorned with a single ornamental binyeo shaped like a plum blossom. It is the sign of a new concubine: favoured and untouched. The wind catches your sleeve and flutters it gently, and his chest clenches at the sight of your wrist. A thousand memories flicker through his mind like reeds in the current.

Yet, your face is unfamiliar in this first life. Younger, and softer. Your eyes don’t carry memory. You don’t look at him with recognition or contempt. You don’t look at him at all.

You pass through the courtyard, and Jinu stands frozen under the shadow of a ginkgo tree, as though time itself has collapsed.

Later, in his private study, he asks about you. He pretends it’s nothing—an idle inquiry wrapped in courtesy, spoken to the right eunuch over warm rice wine.

“The girl who came last month,” he says, carefully. “The concubine gifted by the Governor of Gangwon. What do we know of her?”

“The new Lady?” The eunuch says your new name, the one that doesn’t feel right in Jinu’s mouth. “She is quiet and well-mannered. Literate, I believe, though she comes from no family of rank. She entered the palace under the northern court’s petition—her village suffered a flood, and her people sought mercy. The Governor offered her as tribute.”

“Tribute,” Jinu repeats, tasting the word like ash.

“She was chosen for her beauty,” the eunuch adds. “Nothing more.”

PARIS, FRANCE. SUMMER, 1890.

You married him because you had to.

It was a bargain struck behind closed doors, a compromise made with fathers and fortunes and convenience. He had wealth, and you had a family in debt. It was all very civilised, very French. The papers printed your photograph beside a headline that called it a union of elegance and fortune. They didn’t print the part where you refused to meet his eyes.

At dinner, you speak to him in French, formally, like a woman who doesn’t wish to be misunderstood, and doesn’t care to be known. You order for yourself. You never ask if he’s read the books you quote. You let the silence stretch until it breaks and sip your half-finished wine instead.

Jinu lets you. He nods when appropriate, smiles when it seems polite, swirls his wine, and pretends not to watch the way you cut your food too carefully.

He thinks about how different your voice sounds in this life. How your laughter is a stranger to him. He remembers the you who laughed easily, the you who danced barefoot in the snow, the you who wrote him letters in the margins of books and left pressed flowers between the pages. That version of you isn’t here.

In this lifetime, you wear gloves to dinner and never once let your fingers brush his.

But you’re beautiful. God, you’re beautiful.

It kills him a little, every time.

You look like a painting he’s seen before and can’t quite place; one he’s spent lifetimes trying to find again. Now that you’re here—flesh and blood, name and ring and contract—you’re more unreachable than ever.

You don’t sleep in the same bed. The suite has two, and that’s something you requested specifically. He remembers the clerk glancing at him with a look that hovered between pity and apology.

The bellboy had asked, “Madame, shall I draw the curtains between the beds?”

“Yes, thank you,” you had said.

You don’t ask him questions: not about his work, not about his past. Not about the faraway look he sometimes gets when the light hits the Seine just right. He doesn’t ask you, either. The truth is, you are not his, in this life.

He wonders if you dream of him. He wonders if somewhere deep in your chest, beneath the silk and bone and flesh, something stirs when he says your name. He wonders if you ever wake in the middle of the night with a pang in your heart that you don’t understand.

Jinu hopes so, because he has woken up like that every night of this life.

SEOUL, KOREA. WINTER, 1937.

By the time Seollal passes and the paper lanterns are taken down, the people in the neighbourhood begin to notice—not with suspicion or idle gossip, but with a kind of slow, blooming fondness. They don’t whisper behind their hands or snicker when Jinu walks by. Instead, they smile.

The old woman with the parrot—Madam Kwon, who lives above the fermented soybean shop—starts referring to Jinu as your shadow. Every morning, as she feeds her bird sesame seeds and counts her prayer beads in the sun, she croaks out, “Your shadow’s early today,” when Jinu turns the corner near the tea shop. The parrot repeats her, mangled and gleeful. Sha-dow, sha-dow!

You glance up from the window, smothering a smile.

The boy from across the alley, barely thirteen, who runs errands for the ink shop, has started tipping his cap at Jinu each morning. One day, when he passes, he calls out with the overconfidence of youth, “She likes persimmons, you know. Bring her some. The kind with the wrinkly skins.”

Jinu hides his amusement behind a polite nod. The next day, a small cloth pouch of dried persimmons appears on the tea shop counter. You don’t say anything, just tuck them into the cupboard—but you save one, and when Jinu comes in at closing, you place it on a small plate beside his tea without a word.

The grocer, Mr. Baek, an older man with a permanent frown and a weak knee, lets Jinu pick through the fresh vegetables first whenever he sees him on the path to the tea shop.

“You work too hard, boy,” Mr. Baek grumbles as Jinu hoists a basket of firewood onto one shoulder.

“He’s not a boy,” Madam Kwon snorts from her usual perch. “He’s a man, Baek. Can’t you tell?”

“A man, huh?” Mr. Baek eyes Jinu’s hands, callused from helping with the heavy work around the shop. “Well, even a man needs to rest his back before it breaks.”

Jinu only smiles. “I’ll rest after I’ve swept the steps for her.”

They all approve of him, though none say it directly. The world is starting to tuck Jinu into your corner of it without him needing to ask.

One afternoon, while the snow still clings to the gutters but the breeze carries a hint of plum blossoms, an elderly couple walks in from out of town. They speak in slow dialect, asking for ginger tea and warmth for their aching bones. Jinu is seated by the window, sketching quietly in his notebook. As you prepare the tea, the woman glances at him, then at you.

“Your husband doesn’t say much,” she remarks.

You nearly spill the water. “He’s not— I mean, we’re not—”

Jinu looks up, and the couple laughs kindly. “Ah, forgive us,” the man says. “You have that look about you.”

“What look?” you ask, wary.

“The look of people whose silence with each other is comfortable.”

You don’t respond, but when you set the tray down in front of them, you notice Jinu watching you closely. After they leave, you go to clear the table. There’s an extra coin left on the tray, and the old woman has pressed a paper fortune beside it: “Love that arrives quietly stays the longest.”

You crumple it without thinking.

But later that night, after the shop has closed and the windows are shuttered, Jinu finds it smoothed out on the back counter, your handwriting scribbled in the margins: “Don’t get any ideas.”

He smiles.

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA. AUTUMN, 1971.

Jinu finds you by accident, really. 

He’s searching for a bar—any bar—on an unnaturally rainy Friday night, his collar turned up against the warm drizzle, the air thick with the smell of sweet olive trees and fried catfish. The city hums with life even in the storm. Neon flickers on puddles like oil slicks, and brass spills from half-opened windows.

He’s already passed three places too crowded, one too quiet, and a fourth that reeked of stale beer and cigarette ash, when he turns down a narrow side street he doesn’t remember the name of.

He finds a wooden door, warped with time and painted a moody red. It sits beneath a hanging sign with chipped cursive that reads: The Red Ribbon. A string of paper lanterns hangs overhead, glowing soft through the rain like a trail of fireflies.

Inside, the bar is low-lit and warm, a haven from the storm. The air smells like cinnamon smoke and lemon rinds, and something old—like velvet curtains and perfume that clings to skin. There’s a quiet hum of conversation, the clink of glass on glass, and music.

No—not music. A voice.

Low and rich, not quite singing, not quite speaking. Like honey melting in a warm cup of tea. It curls around the room before he sees you; dips into the cracks between shadows; holds him still.

You’re on stage, beneath a gold spotlight, wearing a black satin blouse tucked into high-waisted pants, one heel perched on the edge of the stool as you croon into the microphone. Your voice doesn’t beg for attention. It commands it, slow and sultry and effortless. You sing a cover of I’ll Be Seeing You, but it’s yours now, softer, smokier, as if the song’s always belonged to you.

In your hair, tied just above your ear, is a red ribbon.

Jinu stops breathing.

You’re older in this life. Sharper. Your voice curls like cigarette smoke, and your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. But it’s you. Of course it’s you. He would know you in any century.

You don’t see him. You never do, not at first.

The room fades. Jinu’s heart hammers.

Gwi-Ma’s curse, so old now it’s half-forgotten, curls tight in his ribs like a warning. This is the fourth time, he thinks.

The bartender is young, with freckles scattered across his nose. “What can I get you?”

“What’s her drink?” Jinu asks, nodding toward the stage.

“She switches it up sometimes. But mostly it’s gin and tonic. Extra lime.”

“Then one of those. And whatever you recommend.”

He carries both your drinks over when you step off the stage, undoing the ribbon in your hair deftly and shaking your head. You wrap the ribbon around your wrist and raise an eyebrow when he stops by your table. 

“That for me?” you ask.

Jinu sets the gin and tonic down. “Extra lime.”

“Let me guess,” you drawl. “First time here, heard me sing, got curious?”

“Something like that,” he says.

JOSEON, KOREA. SPRING, 1799.

It is well past curfew when you slip into the old library pavilion.

The moon is high, its light diffused through the paper lattice windows, casting soft patterns on the wooden floor. The scent of old parchment and ink wafts through the air. Outside, the plum trees stir in the breeze, petals tumbling like tiny, perfumed ghosts.

You shouldn’t be here. No one comes here anymore—not since the roof began to rot, not since the scrolls were moved to the new annex.

But you know the door that creaks just slightly less. You know which floorboards to avoid. Most importantly, you know no one will be looking for a concubine in the archive of forgotten histories.

You light a single oil lamp and walk the aisles barefoot, your skirts brushing against shelves of neglected poetry and old Confucian texts. You’re looking for something. You don’t know what; only that your chest has been heavy lately with something unnamed, and that reading makes it easier to breathe.

You’re so engrossed in a worn volume of Tang poetry that you don’t hear him until it’s too late.

“What are you doing here?”

You whip around, heart slamming in your chest, the book nearly slipping from your fingers. 

Jinu stands in the doorway—half-lit by moonlight, half-shadowed, like something conjured from the very pages you were reading. He’s shed his ceremonial robes for the evening, wearing only a dark overcoat tied loosely at the waist. His hair is unbound at the nape, a sign that he, too, thought the night would pass without interruption.

You gasp. “I—I didn’t think anyone—”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, though there’s no bite to it. Just curiosity, and a hint of wariness.

You lift your chin. “Neither are you.”

He arches a brow, and you realise your mistake. Of course he’s allowed anywhere he wishes—he’s one of the King’s closest ministers. But instead of correcting you, he steps further inside, eyes never leaving yours.

“What are you reading?”

“Poetry,” you say.

“May I see it?”

You hand him the book with reluctant fingers. He takes it carefully, as though it’s precious. You watch as he scans the open page. His lips move as he reads silently. Then, softly, aloud:

“In the quiet night, the moonlight before my bed perhaps is frost upon the ground. I raise my head and see the moon, then lower it and think of home.”

You say nothing.

“You miss it,” Jinu says quietly. “Your home.”

“You can’t miss what you barely remember,” you say, shrugging.

“Still, you’re here,” he says, closing the book. “Risking punishment for poetry.”

“I thought this place was empty.”

“It is. Mostly. You’ve been here before,” he says.

“Will you report me?” you ask, finally meeting his eyes.

He watches you for a long moment, and shakes his head. “No. But if you’re going to read by lamplight, you shouldn’t sit so close to the paper screens. It casts a shadow.”

TOKYO, JAPAN. SPRING, ONE MONTH AGO.

On Jinu’s birthday, you surprise him with a picnic beneath the sakura.

It’s a Tuesday, technically a workday, but you convince his supervisor to let him off early and drag him, half-confused, half-laughing, onto the Marunouchi Line. You refuse to say where you’re going, only grin over the rim of your coffee and tap your knee against his like you’re buzzing with a secret.

He figures it out by the time you’re walking down the path at Shinjuku Gyoen, past couples and families and students with cameras, every tree dripping in soft pink petals. The wind is light, enough to lift your hair and scatter a few blossoms onto his shoulder. You swipe them off with a delicate touch, fingers brushing his collar.

“Here?” he asks, looking around.

You point to a quiet spot beneath a tall cherry tree, where the ground is dappled with sunlight and pink. “Here.”

He watches you set the blanket down and unroll the bento boxes you packed that morning, tied in checkered cloth, still warm. Tamagoyaki, onigiri, simmered daikon, the pickled things he likes. There’s even a small chocolate cake hidden in your tote, which you keep sneakily tucked behind your legs like it isn’t obvious.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says, sitting beside you. His voice is warm. He never quite knows what to do with being loved like this—not when it’s freely given.

“I know,” you say. “But I wanted to.”

Jinu looks at you for a long second. You’re wearing that soft blue sweater he likes, the one that slides off your shoulder when you’re not paying attention. The sunlight hits your cheekbones and catches in your lashes, and he thinks—like he always does—that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You open a thermos, pour him tea, and he raises it in mock solemnity.

“To thirty-three,” he says.

“Thirty-two,” you correct.

“Am I?”

“You always forget,” you say. “You’ve been forgetting since we met.”

He laughs. “Feels like I’ve lived a hundred years already.”

You don’t say anything. Sometimes, when the light hits his face just right or he says something echoes in your mind, you wonder.

You’ve always had strange dreams: places you’ve never been, languages you’ve never studied, and a man who always looks like him, even when he wears a robe, or a bloodied uniform, or a wool coat in the snow. You never tell him this. You’re afraid it will break the spell.

Instead, you offer him another onigiri and press a kiss to his cheek.

“Happy birthday,” you whisper. “I’m glad you were born.”

Jinu closes his eyes and laces his fingers with yours, lets you lean your weight into his side; lets the breeze scatter petals in your hair; lets the warmth spread down his spine like he’s standing in the sun after a long, long winter.

MANCHURIA. WINTER, 1944.

It comes as no surprise, then, that when the war begins, you and Jinu get married and business at the teahouse dwindles with every passing day.

The papers are signed quietly one late afternoon, in the cramped back office of the local administration hall: two names written in black ink, side by side, binding you together not by love but by survival. There is no time for anything else. The world is already falling apart.

The Japanese occupation deepens its grip. All around you, men vanish into forced conscription, women into labour camps, into silence. The air grows tighter with fear. Propaganda posters replace the poetry on the streets. The teahouse shutters for good.

You and Jinu are sent away within the month. He becomes a soldier. You become a nurse.

You are not the only married couple split between posts, but somehow, impossibly, the army places you both near the front. You meet sometimes between camps. Once every few weeks, maybe. Sometimes longer.

Each time, your reunion is brief and practical. You sew up the tears in his uniform. He shares what little rations he’s stashed away for you. He never forgets to hand you a pair of gloves or wrap your scarf tighter, or tie your hair back with that red ribbon with shaking fingers. You always insist he sleep for at least two hours before returning to his unit.

There is no time for affection. There is barely time for sleep.

But sometimes, when you are alone—when the tents are quiet and the snow piles against the canvas—he touches your face in the dark, and you lean into him without a word. Sometimes you rest your forehead against his shoulder, and Jinu runs his hand up and down your back.

The night you die, it is snowing.

The war has reached a new fever. There are no longer clear lines, no longer rest stations or warning signals or predictable patrols. The world is burning in patches, and no one can remember what day it is.

Jinu is stationed near the ravine when the call comes—medics down, supplies hit, critical injuries. He runs before they finish speaking.

He doesn’t recognise the wreckage of the medic tent at first, just the shape of it, torn open by gunfire and winter wind, canvas flapping in the air. The snow is tinged red. Bodies are scattered everywhere.

You’re still alive when he finds you, but barely.

You’re half-buried beneath another nurse, shielding her even in unconsciousness. Your side is soaked through with blood, spreading dark and fast across your uniform. Your breathing is shallow, more rasp than breath. Jinu drops to his knees beside you.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking. “Hey—look at me. It’s me.”

Your eyes flutter open. Focus. Unfocus. Finally, they find him. “...Jinu?” you breathe, your voice thready.

He laughs, because it’s either that or scream. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. You stubborn woman, what were you doing here? You were supposed to be safe.”

“I stayed.” You cough, wet and small. “One of the children… the boy with the bad leg…”

“I know,” Jinu says. He does know. He always knew you’d stay. He presses his hand to your wound. His other hand cradles the back of your head. Snowflakes melt on your cheeks.

Later, they find him still holding you, long after the snow has buried your boots and the blood has dried stiff on his uniform. He won’t speak for days, won’t eat. When he finally returns to his post, he doesn’t say what happened; he only writes your name on the inside of his sleeve in black ink, where no one else can see.

Years later, when the war ends and the country forgets the names of its dead, Jinu does not. He leaves a folded paper crane at every teahouse he passes, and he never remarries.

PARIS, FRANCE. SUMMER, 1890.

On the third day of your honeymoon, Jinu takes you dancing.

It is a Friday evening, and the city glows with the kind of gold that never quite fades, even as dusk creeps in. From the hotel balcony, the streets below shimmer with laughter, carriage wheels clattering against cobblestones, parasols twirling, violins warming up in salons beyond shuttered windows.

He waits for you in the sitting room, dressed in pressed trousers and a charcoal waistcoat, a pale lavender cravat at his throat—the one you picked, absentmindedly, on your first day in the city. The silk still smells faintly like you.

You emerge from the bedroom without a word, gloves drawn tight over your wrists, gown cinched neatly at the waist. You’re beautiful, but distant.

Always, always distant.

“Shall we?” he asks, offering his arm.

The carriage ride is quiet. The air smells like summer rain and perfume, and Jinu watches your profile in the glass—the slope of your nose, the way your eyes follow the shape of the Seine like it’s memory. You haven’t touched him since the day you arrived. Your hand rests lightly on his arm now, like you’re afraid even weight might give too much away.

He wants to ask about the letters.

The ones you receive from a different postbox. The ones you tuck away before he enters the room. He’s never opened one, but he doesn’t need to. The handwriting is always the same: slanted, and familiar only to you. He doesn’t ask. He never does.

Tonight, he only wants to pretend.

The ballroom is in Montmartre, crowded and warm, lit by chandeliers that make the dust shimmer. The band plays slow waltzes, the kind that linger in your throat even after the music fades.

Jinu places a hand on your waist. You let him.

Your fingers rest against his shoulder, delicate as frost.

He draws you closer, searching for something in your eyes. He finds nothing. Nothing but the practiced smile of a woman doing what is expected.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, voice low.

You look away. “I’m tired.”

“Of dancing?” Of me?

You don’t answer. Jinu guides you in a slow circle. You follow, graceful, perfect. A doll in silk and pearl. Yet, every few beats, your gaze slips towards the doors; towards the windows; towards something far away. He’s used to it now. Gwi-Ma’s curse has hardened him, but just because he is used to it, it does not make it any easier to be the consolation prize in this lifetime that never belonged to him.

“Do you love him?” he asks suddenly, before he can stop himself.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say.

You’re right. It doesn’t. Not in this life. Not in this world where your father sold your hand to erase a debt, and his name was the one on the contract. Not in a marriage made of cold sheets and polite lies.

Jinu exhales slowly. “It does to me.”

You meet his gaze, then, and something flickers in your eyes. Not love, or forgiveness—just sadness, deep and quiet, like the kind that seeps into your bones and never quite leaves.

“You’re not a bad man,” you say softly. “You just aren’t mine.”

He closes his eyes. The music swells. Couples spin around you both like falling leaves.

Jinu doesn’t say another word. He just holds you a little tighter, for as long as the song lasts. Because after tonight, you’ll drift further away. He can feel it, that tide pulling you towards a life you’ll never have and a man he will never be.

But for this dance—just this one—he lets himself imagine you’re his.

The next day, the divorce papers are finalised and the money is settled. You move to Vienna the week after.

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA. AUTUMN, 1972.

The bartender tells Jinu you moved to Chicago.

He says it like it’s nothing, like you didn’t leave a hollowed-out space where your voice used to sit on stage at The Red Ribbon, smokey and golden and soft as dusk.

“Packed up two weeks ago,” the freckled boy says, polishing a glass. “Didn’t say much, just left a note for Missy in the back. Said she got an opportunity, somethin’ better. Maybe a record label.”

Jinu doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t need them.

He nurses his bourbon in silence for a while, and lets the saxophone on the radio spill into the half-empty room. The walls feel thinner without you—less velvet, more echo. The stage is dark now, the piano covered in a wrinkled sheet.

When he asks for your address, the bartender raises an eyebrow. “You a friend?”

“I was her lover,” Jinu says, and it’s not wrong.

The man shrugs and writes it down on the back of a bar napkin, sliding it over with two fingers. It’s smudged at the edges, ink bleeding from moisture left behind by someone else’s glass. But the words are clear.

South Side. Chicago. Apartment 2B. ℅ Langford Records.

Jinu stares at it for a long time. He folds it once and pockets it.

That night, in his apartment above the bakery on Dauphine Street, he sits at the kitchen table with a cigarette burning low and a single lamp flickering behind him. Rain taps gently against the window, steady as a metronome.

He finds a sheet of paper, ivory and heavy. He doesn’t plan to write much.

October 12th, 1972 New Orleans

You left without saying goodbye.

That’s not a complaint. Just… an observation.

The bartender said Chicago. He said you packed light, but you always did. I used to wonder how someone could carry so much in them and still leave so little behind. I guess I have my answer now.

I keep thinking about that night on the balcony. You, with your lipstick smudged and your heels kicked off, humming some Ella Fitzgerald song that only you knew all the words to. You asked me if I believed in fate. I said no. You laughed like I was missing the joke.

I think I get it now.

Maybe it wasn’t fate. Maybe it was just timing. Bad, as always.

I don’t know what you’re chasing up there—music, love, a version of yourself you can finally live with—but I hope you find it. And if you don’t, I hope it finds you anyway.

I won’t write again. This feels like enough.

But if it ever rains in Chicago, and you think of me, just know I was thinking of you too.

– J.

Jinu folds the letter carefully and slides it into an envelope but doesn’t seal it. He stares at it for a long time. Then he sets it on the counter beside his keys and goes to bed without turning out the lamp.

He never mails it, but every now and then, when the rain hits just right, he reads it again.

JOSEON, KOREA. LATE SUMMER, 1799.

They charge you with treason.

No matter how many times Jinu kneels before the King, no matter how many sleepless nights he spends rewriting every record, begging the court historian to leave your name out of the final script, no one listens.

It is easier to silence a concubine than to question a minister, easier to blame a woman for sin than to hold a man accountable for love.

So, on the last evening of your life, they dress you in white: a shade meant for funerals; for forgetting.

Your hair, once combed and oiled and pinned with mother-of-pearl, hangs unbound down your back now. The servants didn’t bother with ceremony. They gave you water, and left you in a corner of the gardens, as if you were already half-gone. You sit on the edge of the low stone wall, staring at the lotus pond, legs tucked neatly beneath you and wrists bound.

The ropes around your wrists bite into tender skin—tight, too tight—but you won’t ask them to be loosened. The guards know better than to keep an eye on you. You’re not dangerous, just inconvenient.

You know he’ll come.

You don’t look surprised when Jinu appears between the carved columns, breathless, his topknot hastily tied and robes disheveled. His boots make no sound against the wooden floor as he drops to his knees before you.

“Please,” he says, his voice shredded down to the bone. “Please tell me you’ll hate me for this.”

You blink slowly. Your lashes are damp with the humidity. “Would that make it easier?”

“No.” Jinu shakes his head. “But I want you to have something.”

There’s no moon yet, but the light from the lantern by the steps is enough to see him properly. His lips are chapped. There’s ink on his sleeves, on the soft crease where his palm meets his thumb. He hasn’t stopped writing letters, then. Petitions. Pleas.

“You should go,” you say quietly. “If they see you—”

“I don’t care.”

“They’ll strip you of your title.”

“I don’t care.”

His hands are trembling when they reach for yours. He cups your bound wrists with reverence. His touch is a contradiction—soft, but desperate. His thumbs brush over your bruises. You don’t flinch.

Between his palms, you feel something cool press against your skin, smooth and weightless. Your fingers twitch, instinctively curling around it.

A jade rabbit. 

The kind children carry for luck. The kind lovers carve when words aren’t enough.

You remember once, weeks ago, a charm just like it left behind on the counter behind the Queen Dowager’s quarters—no note, no name. You’d tucked it into the folds of your robes and told yourself it didn’t mean anything. Now, you understand. You clutch it tighter.

“You said once,” Jinu whispers, “that you didn’t believe in reincarnation.”

You manage a faint smile, remembering his stories of the demon king and the curse of love and memory because of sins past. “I still don’t.”

“Well.” His eyes close briefly, lashes dark against his cheek. “I’ll believe for both of us, then.”

The cicadas outside scream like they know how little time is left.

“It’s just a story,” you say. “No one remembers their past lives.”

“I do,” he says, and something deep in you twists, aching. “And I will. I’ll find you again.”

“I don’t want to be remembered like this,” you whisper.

“I won’t remember the ropes,” Jinu says. “I’ll remember the way you fold paper cranes, and recite poetry, and the sound of your laugh when you think no one’s listening.”

Your throat tightens. There’s a sob there, buried deep, but it won’t surface. You’re too tired for crying. “Don’t—”

“I’ll remember,” he says. “And one day, somewhere—when you are free and unafraid—I’ll press this rabbit into your palm again, and you’ll know.”

“Jinu—”

He leans forward slowly, and presses his forehead to your bound hands. The lantern’s light glows between you. The cicadas hush. Far in the distance, a temple bell rings the hour. It’s almost time.

TOKYO, JAPAN. PRESENT DAY.

These days, you find it harder to sleep. The dreams are worse now, beguiling and long and sad. They stretch like old film reels behind your eyes, full of half-familiar cities and names that slip away when you wake. They end with Jinu, always Jinu—but not Jinu at the same time. He wears different clothes, speaks in languages you don’t remember learning.

You shift in bed, sheets tangled around your legs, one arm heavy and warm across your waist.

This version of Jinu sleeps with his mouth slightly open, his breathing even, steady. His chest rises and falls against your back, his palm curled gently beneath your navel. The window’s been left ajar, and the scent of sakura drifts in on the night air. You press your hand over his absentmindedly. His fingers twitch in his sleep and close tighter around you.

You sigh. Your forehead presses into the pillow. It’s too early or too late to be awake, and you’re tired—so tired—but your body doesn’t know how to rest anymore. Not when your mind insists on wandering. Not when you wake up crying into a man’s arms and can’t tell him why.

You almost speak, but he stirs before you can.

“Mmh,” he mumbles, lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. “You okay?”

“I… had that dream again,” you tell him.

Jinu lifts his head. He’s groggy, eyes swollen with sleep, but he’s already frowning. Already reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“The one with the snow?” he asks.

You nod. “And the red ribbon. And a jazz bar.”

He doesn’t laugh, though you’d expect anyone else to. Instead, he kisses your shoulder. “Come closer.”

“I’m already close.”

“Closer,” he says again, like the space between you could ever be enough to stop the ache. Like if he holds you tight enough, he can keep the dreams at bay.

You turn to face him, legs brushing his under the blanket. He touches your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Do I do something wrong in the dream?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “But you’re sad. Like… you know something I don’t.”

His throat works. His thumb runs along the apple of your cheek, just once. “Maybe I’m dreaming it too.”

You stare at him. It’s too dark to read his expression clearly, but something in you catches at the thought. Maybe he’s dreaming it, too: the same ink-stained hands, the same gardens, the same unfinished goodbyes.

“You think so?” you whisper.

He nods. “Remind me,” he says. “I found this antique rabbit made out of jade yesterday at the market. It reminded me of you. Remind me to give it to you.”

“Okay,” you say, and bury your face against his chest and let him wrap both arms around you. You press your palm over his heart. 

“You talk in your sleep, too, sometimes, you know,” you murmur into the dark. “Who’s Gwi-Ma?” 

You’re teasing, mostly—half-asleep, your words loose around the edges—but there’s a small, curious lilt to your voice that makes Jinu still for a fraction of a second. Barely perceptible, just long enough for you to notice.

You continue, lightly, unaware. “Should I be worried?”

He should’ve prepared for this. He’s had five lifetimes to come up with a better answer. Five lifetimes of choices and mistakes and prayers spoken into temples and alleyways and bomb shelters. Five lifetimes of watching you slip through his fingers, of losing you just when he thought he might have a chance.

He should’ve been ready.

Jinu exhales slowly, lets his palm slide a little higher on your stomach, grounding himself in the warmth of your skin. Your breathing is calm now. You trust him.

He leans in and kisses your shoulder again, and says, “No one.”

You shift a little in his arms, not entirely convinced. “Sounds like a someone.”

He smiles against your skin, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just a strange dream. One of those names that sticks for no reason. You know how it is.”

“We’re weird,” you mumble. “I mean… you and me.”

“I know,” Jinu says, and he means it more than you’ll ever understand.

You don’t see the way his gaze always rests on you in the dark after you drift off. You don’t feel how tight his arms become, how he pulls you closer like he’s afraid you’ll vanish in your sleep.

You don’t know that he remembers everything.

The snow in Bukchon. The teahouse. The library in the palace. The battlefield and your name on the inside of his sleeve. Paris and silence. New Orleans and the ribbon in your hair. The prison courtyard and the jade rabbit you clutched until the rope took you. All of it.

He remembers the taste of your ginger tea; the colour of your blood on his hands; the sound of your voice in French; the way you looked at him in a jazz bar in 1972 and said, “Don’t fall in love with me.”

Too late, he’d wanted to say. Too many lives too late.

Now, in this quiet Tokyo apartment, with your fingers unconsciously curled into the fabric of his shirt, he knows Gwi-Ma has finally allowed him to keep you. The king has grown tired of watching him suffer. That was the promise, that in this fifth and final life, he can keep you safe and warm, tucked into his side, where the only real concerns are whether he’s put the laundry to dry, or what to cook for dinner.

Jinu watches the sky begin to pale through the window, watches your lashes flutter in sleep. He watches your mouth part like you’re about to say his name, even here, even now. He thinks about the red ribbon he keeps tucked inside his coat pockets, and worn-out letter in his dresser, and the jade rabbit he keeps underneath his pillow, and he smiles into your hair.

a/n: hi! thank you so much for reading :) i watched kpop demon hunters on sunday and i could not stop thinking about how little we know about jinu’s past and about how rumi’s mother met and fell in love with a demon. that little thought about jinu’s past turned into a full-blown fic that i wrote imagining that jinu’s past sin was abandoning his family (except i obviously tweaked it) & that gwi-ma is more like hades in terms of punishment as opposed to like. a demon king. the poem that jinu reads out aloud is a translated version of quiet night thought by li bai. have a wonderful day!

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (9) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F ! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You and Michael now live parallel lives—close in distance but distant as strangers. After a school field trip to the zoo, you get injured and are rushed to the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center, straight to Michaels ER.

Word: 4971

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/Early 50s), Head Injury (Factured Skull), Bleeding from the ear, and Vomiting

Authors Note: Hello! Thank you for all the love on the last part. Lol I love seeing your guys comments and reactions. They crack me upppp. Couple more parts and this fic with come to a end🥲. Depending on season 2 maybe I'll write a spin off/Continuation of some sort 🤨??? or maybe I'll leave a good thing be. Idk this is all up in the air and just ideas. If I did continue it won't be until next year YIKES. Long way from now. But if you guys want it i'll prob do it lol very much a people pleaser 😭 also determined to finsihed eyes on me lol okay anyway. enjoy!!! - ryn

3 Months Later

Since that day—that morning where it ended—you and Michael had kept your distance. It wasn’t easy. Living across the hall meant you still saw each other constantly. You crossed paths in the elevator, passed in the lobby, caught glimpses through cracked doors. But it was different now. Cautious. Careful. The warmth was gone.

It was like reverting back to how things were in the beginning—only worse. Not acquaintances. Less than that. Strangers.

There were no more lingering glances, no more easy conversations or shared errands. No more moments where he helped you without being asked, like he just knew. Now it was all stiff nods and the occasional muttered “hey” or “hi,” as if everything between never happened or existed.

Your lives—once a single, tangled line—had split. Still running close, still crossing the same thresholds, but no longer connected. Now they moved in parallel. Close enough to feel, never close enough to touch.

You missed him. Not just being around him—but him. The version only you knew. The one who stayed late, who looked out for you, who let his guard down when it was just the two of you.

Now, it was like he barely looked your way. Just quick hellos, if that. And even those felt heavy.

Still, every time you saw him, you wondered if he missed you too.

And maybe—just maybe—you knew he missed you too.

But neither of you said a word.

Michael had been the first person to remind you what it felt like to be truly cared for. Losing that connection hurt deeply. But even without him, you were learning how to stand on your own. You are in a better place

After years stuck in a toxic, neglectful relationship with Aiden, you finally chose yourself. No more waiting to be seen or heard. You were rebuilding, piece by piece—stronger, quieter, more certain.

It was something Michael said the last time you saw him that stayed with you. His voice was calm but firm: “You need to figure yourself out. Really figure it out. What you want, what you feel… why you push people away when they treat you the way you deserve. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep hurting the people who care about you.”

Those words gave you the push you needed to walk away.

After breaking up with Aiden, the silence was deafening at first. No shouting, no blame, no empty promises—just quiet. And for once, that quiet felt like space you could breathe in, not suffocate.

You weren’t completely free yet. There were days when memories clawed at you, when loneliness crept in like a shadow. But with each morning you woke up without him, you felt a little stronger. A little more whole.

And Michael? Seeing him after everything—it wasn’t easy. There was a tension, a distance between you that hadn’t been there before. You still felt guilty for how things ended with him. But beneath it all, you knew one thing: his words had helped you find yourself again. Even if your connection had changed, that truth remained.

—

This morning, you had left your apartments at the same time, walking side by side in silence. No words. No eye contact. Just the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway—too close, too quiet.

He let you step into the elevator first, then slipped into his usual corner—like always. The space between you felt heavier than it should’ve in such a small box.

And every time you rode the elevator with him now, your mind drifted back to that morning. The one where everything shifted. The one where he had looked at you like he couldn’t wait another second. Where his hands trembled on your skin and nothing else existed. That morning where—for a moment—you both stopped pretending.

Now, you only pretended. Pretended not to miss it. Pretended not to look at him out of the corner of your eye. Pretended he wasn’t right there, close enough to touch, but choosing not to.

Then, suddenly—you don’t know why—you turned your head and glanced at him over your shoulder.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, a small, uncertain smile on your lips.

Michael stood there, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, AirPods in. He didn’t respond. Didn’t nod. Normally, he’d say hello—or at least acknowledge you—but today wasn’t one of those days.

Maybe he hadn’t heard you.

But he had.

Because the truth was, he missed you. Every time he saw you, felt your presence so close yet unreachable, it tore at something inside him.

But talking—to break the silence—meant opening a door he wasn’t sure he could close. It meant risking everything he’d been trying to hold together.

The silence in that elevator was suffocating.

The doors slid open.

You stepped out first, heart pounding, words caught in your throat. By the time the two of you made it through the lobby and out to the street, you found yourself saying, “Have a good day.”

Still, he ignored you.

Without a word, he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

—--

It had been a good day.

There was a field trip to the Philadelphia Zoo, and the fifth graders had been buzzing with excitement since they got off the bus. They darted from exhibit to exhibit in loose clusters, calling out animal facts they half-remembered from class, pointing at the gorillas, giggling at the flamingos, and dramatically gagging when they passed smelly enclosures. 

You smiled through the chaos, constantly scanning the crowd, reminding them to walk—not run—while answering a steady stream of “Can we go there next?” and “Do we have to stay with our buddy?”

By the time the group began gathering near the exit to prepare for departure, the kids were hot, tired, and still somehow full of energy—trading animal facts, snacks, and complaints about the long walk back to the bus.

You turned to check on one of your students—and your foot caught on a backpack left sprawled across the pavement.

You didn’t even have time to brace yourself.

You went down hard.

Your head hit the ground with a sickening crack.

Everything went black for a moment.

You passed out for a few minutes before slowly waking up. When your eyes opened, your other 5th grade teachers and your students gathered around you, worried. 

A sharp pain pulsed through your head. When you touched the side of your face, your fingers came away wet—your ear was bleeding.

You tried to sit up, but your body felt heavy and unsteady. Panic flickered in your chest.

“Are you okay, Miss?” a student asked, voice trembling.

You forced a small, shaky smile. “I’ll be okay,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure.

One of the teachers noticed the blood coming from your ear when you touched it. They knew something was wrong—you needed to get to the hospital.

You tried to protest, insisting you were fine, but the other teachers wouldn’t hear it. Their concern was firm—they knew you needed medical attention. They called an ambulance, and took care of your kids as you headed to the hospital.

“Okay, we’re headed to PTMC,” the driver said to his partner in the back with you.

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. No. You didn’t want to go there. Michael worked there.

“What? N-no, can’t you take me to Allegheny?” you asked, your voice shaking as you glanced up at the paramedic trying to stem the bleeding from your ear.

“Miss, PTMC is closer. Allegheny is too far,” the paramedic replied, his tone calm but unyielding.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit you hard. Before you could stop it, you threw up—your body reacting to the pain and shock.

The paramedics quickly handed you a bag, their expressions gentle but focused. Your head throbbed fiercely, and the thought of seeing Michael at PTMC made the room feel even more overwhelming.

You swallowed hard, gripping the stretcher tightly as the ambulance doors shut and the vehicle started moving. Outside, the world blurred past the windows, but inside, your mind spun with pain, fear, and an ache far deeper than the injury itself.

—-

It was busy in the ER today—loud, chaotic, the usual blur of motion and noise. Monitors beeped steadily in the background, gurneys rolled down hallways, voices called out orders and vitals in clipped tones. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the sharper tang of adrenaline and urgency.

Michael worked hard and efficiently, his hands steady and his voice calm as he checked charts, issued instructions, and answered questions. Every task was precise and practiced. But despite his focused exterior, his heart wasn’t fully in it today. Beneath the surface, his mind drifted elsewhere.

For some reason, you were heavy on his mind—ever since he saw you that morning in the elevator. Though he went about his work with his usual efficiency, every time he glanced up or caught a quiet moment, his thoughts slipped back to you. That brief encounter stirred something beneath his calm exterior, making it harder than usual to focus.

Even as he moved through the chaos of the ER, you lingered in the corners of his mind—a quiet weight he couldn’t shake. Each task felt automatic, mechanical, like he was running on autopilot 

At the nurses’ station, Dana glanced toward Michael as he passed by, pausing briefly. His eyes scanned the triage monitor for a moment before he continued on his rounds.

“What’s his vibe today?” Dana asked, peering over the top of her glasses as she flipped through a stack of charts.

Jack didn’t look up from the computer. “Full-on rain cloud.”

Dana let out a quiet laugh. “That bad?”

Jack finally glanced up. “Yeah. Barely talking. Just doing his rounds like a ghost.”

Dana frowned slightly. She hadn’t had a real catch-up with Robby in a while.

“I don’t think I’ve heard him say anything beyond patient loads and charts in weeks,” she murmured.

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. He’s been keeping things tight. You can tell he’s holding something in… and it’s not just stress.”

Dana sighed, looking up from the computer. “It’s been—what? Three months since they stopped talking?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, watching Michael enter an exam room. “He’s doing okay. Better than a few months ago, for sure. But I think today’s one of those days where he’s really missing her.”

Jack added quietly, “It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. He’s always been good at hiding what’s really going on.”

Dana didn’t respond right away, distracted by the faint sound of sirens growing louder in the distance.

“Looks like a bus just pulled up,” she said, glancing toward the ambulance bay.

Jack turned, following her line of sight. Through the glass doors, he spotted the rig backing in, its lights still flashing. The paramedics moved quickly, unloading a gurney from the back, getting ready to wheel someone inside.

“I got it,” he said, already moving toward the doors.

“Alright, what do we got?” 

Jack reached the stretcher as the paramedic began briefing him. 

“Mid-20s female, teacher on a zoo field trip. She tripped over a backpack and hit her head on the pavement. She lost consciousness briefly after the fall. There’s blood coming from her ear. She vomited on the way here and reported dizziness and nausea and is currently somewhat disoriented.”

“Exam Room 13’s open!” Dana called out as she overheard part of the paramedics’ briefing.

The gurney rolled past the nurses’ station in a blur of motion—wheels rattling, footsteps fast. Dana glanced up from her charts and files to get a quick look at the incoming patient… and froze.

Her eyes widened, recognition flickering across her face as she stood up straighter, instinctively stepping out onto the floor. Her heart skipped. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

It was you.

You looked pale, out of it—a plastic bag clutched in your hand, vomit on your shirt, and a smear of dried blood trailing from your ear. But it was unmistakably you.

The same woman she’d seen, playing around with Michael in aisle 9 of the grocery store fighting over cookies. 

Jack was already directing the paramedics to Exam Room 13, calling for trauma supplies as he moved alongside the gurney.

Dana stood abruptly, eyes darting around the ER. Looking for Michael.

Shit. Where’s Robby? Which wing did he go? She thought.

“Jack!” she called, rushing after him. She fell into step beside him as they wheeled you. 

“What?” he asked, not slowing.

“It’s her!” she hissed, voice low but urgent.

“Who?”

“The friend-neighbor-almost-something-—her,” Dana said, eyes wide. “Robby’s girl.”

Dana watched as Jack’s head whipped to face her. His expression shifts—from confusion to clarity, then to something dangerously close to dread.

Jack stopped short, turning just in time to see the gurney disappear into Exam Room 13. His expression changed instantly.

He looks at Dana again “That was her? Are you sure?” 

“Yes!”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“What do we do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jack didn’t hesitate. “We need to tell him.”

Dana’s brows knit. “Are you sure? After everything… you know how torn up he was…well still is” she trailed off, uncertain. “I mean, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “He still cares about her, still feels things for her. You know he does.”

Dana hesitated, lips pressed into a line.

“He’s not over her, Dana. Not even close. No matter how messy the fallout was, he’d want to know. And if he finds out she was here and we kept it from him…”

“He’d never forgive us,” Dana finished, already nodding.

Jack’s jaw was tight. “Exactly.”

“Look I’ll take care of her, find him as soon as you can and tell him. Okay?” 

“Alright” they quickly went off in different directions. 

—

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead felt like too much—too bright, too sharp—cutting through the fog in your skull. Your stomach churned again, sour and unsettled. You’d already thrown up in the ambulance, the evidence smeared across your shirt, and the nausea still clung to you, heavy and unrelenting. It was like your body couldn’t decide if it was in pain or panic.

The nurse—Princess, according to her badge—helped you onto the exam table from the gurney, guiding you gently as you sat down.

“Let’s get you settled,” she said calmly.

You nodded, though the movement made your head throb and your stomach turn.

Princess moved with calm precision, wrapping a cuff around your arm to check your blood pressure and attaching monitors to track your vitals. She was already prepping the IV, her hands steady, practiced.

“Pressure’s a little low,” she murmured, mostly to herself, then offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You closed your eyes as the needle slid into your arm, trying to focus on her calm voice instead of the pounding in your head.

She grabbed a damp cloth and gently began wiping the vomit from your shirt, doing the best she could to clean you up while keeping you comfortable.

“You’re doing okay,” she said softly. “Just stay with me.”

Princess noticed the shift in your expression—the way your face paled. Without a word, she grabbed a plastic basin and placed it gently in your lap.

“Just in case,” she said softly.

A moment later, the door opened and a man stepped in, wearing navy scrubs and a calm, focused expression.

“I’m Dr. Jack Abbot,” he said as he approached. “I’ll be taking care of you today.”

Jack

The name stood out. Michael’s friend—he’d mentioned him a couple of times. Quick stories, casual references. You never met him, but the name stuck.

Now here he was, standing in front of you. And suddenly, it all felt just a little more real.

To Jack, you were more than just another patient. You were her—the neighbor, the teacher, the one Michael couldn’t stop thinking about. The one who shattered him.

He was torn. Part of him wanted to resent you. Another part couldn’t help but feel sorry—for both you and Michael. It hurt watching Michael suffer in silence, burying his feelings under layers of composure. But there was sadness for you too—because Jack knew you were still clinging to something broken. A relationship that should’ve ended long ago.

But none of that mattered now. He needed to take care of you—not only because it was his job, but for Michael. 

You and Jack locked eyes. Neither of you spoke, but something passed between you—an unspoken recognition. You both knew each other through Michael, even if you’d never met before. And in that silence, there was a quiet acknowledgment of everything that wasn’t being said.

“Let’s get you checked out,” he said gently.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He pulled on a pair of gloves and waited patiently as you gathered your thoughts.

“I tripped over a student’s backpack. I fell… hit my head on the side,” you said, your voice a little shaky.

Princess, at the computer nearby, typed quickly, capturing every detail.

“You passed out? For how long?”

“I don’t know. No more than 5 minutes?”

“And you feel nauseous?” Jack takes notice of the dried blood from your ear. 

“Yes” He brought his hands up, feeling your head, and then he felt it. A squishy part on the side of your head. 

Shit. 

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he gently pressed around the swollen area, careful not to cause more pain. His mind raced—without a CT scan, he knew the injury was serious. How severe, though, remained uncertain.

“Okay, stay still for me,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We need to get a CT scan to find out exactly what we’re dealing with.” He says to the Princess, but also to you.

You nodded, swallowing hard, the dizziness and nausea pressing harder with every breath.

Princess looked up from her computer. “I’m alerting neurology and radiology now.”

Jack forced a steady breath, trying to stay composed though inside, worry tightened its grip.

Your stomach lurched, and you vomited into the plastic basin Princess had handed you earlier. Jack stepped back slightly, giving you room but keeping his eyes locked on you, watching for any sign of worsening condition.

Princess moved quickly to help, she handed you a clean towel and quietly assured you as you wiped your face.

Princess stepped over, grabbing a pair of gloves and a warm saline wipe.

You flinched as she dabbed gently at the dried blood near your ear, trying not to let it sting. 

“Sorry,” Princess murmured, careful and quiet.

Jack watched closely but because the signs were impossible to ignore. The dried blood near your ear, the squishy spot on the scalp, the nausea and dizziness—they all pointed to something serious. Possibly a skull fracture.

Until the scan came back, there wasn’t much he could confirm. But in his gut, he already knew this wasn’t minor.

He reached for a chart from the counter, flipping it open and beginning to write. His pen scratched quickly across the paper, but he kept looking up every few seconds—checking your breathing, your pallor, the way you struggled to keep your eyes open.

Princess adjusted the bed slightly, propping it up so you could sit comfortably. She hands you a new plastic basin. She takes the used wipes and throws it in the trash along with her gloves and goes to wash her hands. 

You glanced at him, searching. “Did… did Michael send you?”

Princess moved to gather the extra materials they hadn’t used, placing them neatly on the supply rack. Her movements were quiet, efficient, but her attention never strayed far. She listens closely. 

Jack shook his head. “No. Robby doesn’t know you’re here… at least not yet.”

At that, Princess froze for just a moment. She didn’t know the full story, but it was clear you and Michael were connected. Her eyes flicked to Jack, widening slightly. A silent exchange passed between them—brief, but unmistakable.

Jack sighed inwardly. He knew exactly what she was thinking—the bet she and several other staff had made a few weeks ago at the bar about Michael having a girlfriend. Now was not the time.

His eyes locked onto hers, sharp, silently warning: Don’t even think about it. He shook his head slightly.

You hadn’t noticed the exchange. Your eyes closed, feeling dizzy, your head throbbing. The words slipped out before you could stop them. “That’s the last thing I want.”

Princess gave an innocent, almost playful raise of her eyebrows, but beneath it was something calculating. She grabbed a chart out of Jack's hands and scurried out of the room, leaving a faint echo of footsteps behind her.

Jack remained still, watching her retreat. His jaw tightened, mouth pressed into a hard line. In the ER, whispers traveled faster than code blue alarms—money and rumors would be swirling in less than a few minutes. 

Jack exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief second. He’ll deal with it later he tells himslef.

Jack leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied you—pale, clearly worn down.

You swallowed hard, the dizziness still buzzing faintly at the edges of your mind.

“I don’t want to make things harder for him.”

“He’ll know,” Jack said quietly, his voice flat with certainty. “He’ll come rushing in here once he finds out—I guarantee it.”

“He likes you—a lot, cares for you deeply” he said, matter-of-fact, like it was the plainest truth in the world. “I’ve seen him talk about people before—patients, colleagues, even exes. But never like this.”

Your eyes flicked open. Jack wasn’t looking at you anymore.

You didn’t interrupt. His words caught you off guard—soft but heavy.

“With you… it’s different,” Jack said. “He’s not the guy who makes big declarations. But his actions? Loud as hell.”

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours—not confrontational, just honest.

“That day—after everything fell apart—he barely said a word.”

Jack’s voice dropped. “He didn’t say much. But I’ve known him long enough to read between the lines. Michael’s the silent type. Shove it down, suffer alone. That’s always been his way. He doesn’t fall easily. And he sure as hell doesn’t bounce back quickly.”

And didn’t you know it—you ruined what you two had. You looked down at your hands.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you said.

Jack finally met your eyes. There wasn’t anger—just a tired kind of clarity. “Maybe not. But it still happened.”

There was no heat in his voice. No judgment. Just the truth.

“He’ll handle it. He always does.”

He backed toward the door.

“My instinct is to tell you to continue stay away from him... keep the distance. To protect him.”

A beat.

“But even with all that… there’s a part of me that still hopes it works out between you two.”

He held your gaze.

“If there’s even a small chance you feel the same—don’t waste it.”

Then, firm again, “But don’t show up in his orbit unless you’re sure.”

“I’ll be back to get you for the CT scan. If you need anything, press the call button.”

And with that, he was gone.

—

Dana had spent the last several minutes searching—looking for Michael. The constant rush of the ER had kept her moving nonstop, priorities shifting by the second as new cases rolled in. Between the noise, the pages, and the demands of back-to-back emergencies, she hadn’t had a spare moment—until now. Finally able to look, she peeked into each exam room as she passed, also scanning for Michael.

Finally, she spotted him. 

Standing in the doorway, she called out, “Dr. Robby?”

Michael was looking up from the chart he was filling out while Victoria Javadi, the med student currently shadowing him, checked the patient under his supervision.

“Can… I talk to you outside?”

Michael glanced at her, then back at Javadi.

“Hold it down here. I’ll be right back,” he said, giving her a nod before stepping out into the ER floor with Dana.

“What’s up?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest.

Dana swallowed. “Robby, she’s here. Exam Room 13.”

“Who’s here?” His brow furrowed, clearly not understanding.

“She’s here,” Dana said again, slower this time, her eyes locking onto him.

Then it hit him.

His stomach dropped.

You’re here.

“W–what?” he said, hard and sharp, disbelief cutting through his voice.

“The bus pulled in a while ago-"

“How long ago?!” His voice rose, sharp.

“Half an hour—she hit her head. Took a fall during the field trip—”

Michael’s heart skipped, then kicked into overdrive. He didn’t wait for the rest.

He turned on his heel and bolted, weaving through the ER, past gurneys, staff, and startled patients.

He barely registered people calling his name.

Didn’t care about the chart he’d left behind, the patient waiting for him at 7 with Victoria, or the conversation he’d been having seconds ago.

All he could hear was Dana’s voice echoing in his head.

She hit her head.

His hands were already trembling. Thoughts circled like vultures—loud, fast, frantic. He didn’t know how bad it was. Was it minor? Maybe. But probably not—Not if the ambulance brought her in.

And then another thought struck—hard and bitter.

He’d ignored you this morning.

You’d smiled at him. Said, “Good morning.” Told him to have a good day.

And he hadn’t said anything back.

He’d brushed past you like you didn’t matter. And now—now this.

His chest felt tight. His feet moved faster.

Room 13. Room 13. Room 13.

Nothing else mattered. Not now.

Because you were here.

And you were hurt.

 He rounded the corner too fast, nearly slipped—caught himself—nearly crashing into Jack as he stepped out of Exam Room 13.

“WOAH!” Jack exclaimed, throwing an arm out to steady them both.

“Robby—”

“I gotta get to her—I” Michael said breathlessly, trying to push past him.

Jack grabbed his shoulders, holding him in place. “Stop, she’s gone.”

Robby froze. His heart plummeted, eyes going wide as the blood drained from his face. He couldn’t breathe—he just stood there, stunned, like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

Jack’s eyes widened as he realized. “Oh—shit—no! Gone as in, not in the room! I took her to her CT scan!”

Michael’s breath shuddered out of him. He stumbled back a step, dragging a hand down his face.

“FUCK, Abbot!” he snapped, voice hoarse. “Next time, maybe lead with that!!!”

Jack winced, “Yeah. Okay. Fair. Sorry!” He says quickly.

Michael looked like he was about to break. Without hesitation, Jack grabbed his elbow and pulled him inside your exam room, closing the door behind them.

Jack softened. “You want to sit for a second?”

Michael shook his head, jaw tight. “No. Just… give me a minute.”

His chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He turned away from Jack and leaned heavily against the wall, one hand braced flat against it while the other gripped his thigh. For a long moment, he stayed like that—bent slightly at the waist, eyes squeezed shut—trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

Then, with a trembling hand, he reached under his scrub top and T-shirt and pulled out the gold Star of David necklace he always wore—small, worn, and mostly hidden. He rubbed it between his fingers, clutching it tight in his calloused palm like a lifeline.

With his eyes still closed, he drew in a shaky breath, as if trying to summon strength from somewhere deep inside—something steady, unyielding.

Jack said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched, quiet and still, letting Michael have the space to come back to himself.

Michael straightened slowly, collecting himself.

“She’s okay?” Michael finally forced out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s conscious. Talking. But I’m pretty sure she has a skull fracture—I just don’t know how severe yet. We’re gonna have ro wait on the CT to tell us more.”

Michael’s face went pale. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Jack softened his tone. “Listen, Robby… I know this sucks. It’s scary, but you’re not alone here. We’re doing everything we can, as fast as we can. She’s tough, and she’s got the best care possible.”

He paused, then added, “It’s us. This team, this hospital—we make it work. You know that. You’ve been part of holding it together more times than I can count.”

Michael’s jaw twitched, but his eyes flicked up—just for a second—as Jack continued.

“She’s in good hands. Our hands.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.” But there was no real conviction in his voice. 

Jack glanced at Michael, his expression firm but not unkind.

“There’s nothing you can do right now, Robby,” he said quietly. “I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”

Michael’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw still tight, hands flexing at his sides.

Jack’s voice softened. “And as much as I hate to say it… you’ve got to pull it together and do your job. For now. Until she comes back from CT. We’ll know more soon.”

Michael closed his eyes for a beat, breathing through the heaviness in his chest. Then he nodded—barely.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

Jack glanced around. “It’s busy today. You know how it is—we’ve got to stay on top of everything, keep things moving.”

Michael knew Jack was right. As much as it tore at him, there was nothing more he could do right now.

So he did the only thing he could—he took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and began to shift the panic into focus. Into control.

He would see you when you came back from CT. Until then, he’d do his job. Just like he always had.

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin @galmorizethechaos @capj-1437 @airgoddess @nah2991 @interestellarprincess @laurensfilm @peachjellyy @aj3684 @sorryimstupidrn @escapingjune

Across The Hall | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

[akeaaan]

Change 2

Jinu X fem. reader

part1

word count: 4.7k

a/n: I bless you guys with this, idk why I made it like this and shit but yeah here the last part yall

Synopsis: ╰┈➤You were once a feared demon of the underworld—until you turned your back on that life. Branded a traitor, you escaped to the human world and lived quietly in the shadows, blending in among mortals for years. Peace became your new normal. Routine. Safe. That is, until fate stepped in. A single encounter with Jinu—the sharp-eyed, silver-tongued leader of the rising idol group Saja Boys—shattered your calm existence.

〃✦ ┆ You vaulted over the railing of your penthouse bedroom, landing with a soft thud on the floor below. Sliding the glass door open, you walked in with a tired groan and shook your head, muttering under your breath.

“Why the hell did I do that…” you sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Stupid. So stupid.”

Sealing your father’s voice—the ancient, terrifying weight of Gwi Ma’s presence—into Jinu’s head temporarily? That wasn’t just reckless. That was borderline suicidal.

A low, rumbling growl snapped you out of your spiral.

Your gaze shifted toward the bed, where a massive figure had claimed your mattress.

Not a dog.

A wolf.

No—a demon wolf.

It lay there like it owned the place, sprawled across your bed with limbs stretched out in every direction, completely unbothered by your mental crisis. Its fur shimmered faintly under the moonlight slipping through the windows, black with streaks of silver like ink in motion. Its tail gave a lazy flick.

The demon yawned, glancing at you with glowing amber eyes before settling back down.

You raised an eyebrow. “You're real comfortable, huh?”

In response, the wolf purred—a deep, vibrating sound—and rubbed its fur deeper into your mattress. You plopped down at the edge of the bed with a tired grunt. The wolf shifted without protest, curling around and laying its massive head on your lap.

You stared down at it for a long moment. The gentle rise and fall of its breathing didn’t match the chaos in your mind.

Because really, what the hell had you done?

You sealed Gwi Ma’s voice inside Jinu.

Temporarly

Jinu. Of all people.

Why him?

Was it pity? Guilt?

Or was it something uglier—some selfish instinct to push the curse onto someone who could carry it without tearing your world apart?

You couldn’t even explain it to yourself.

And now, it was done.

The seal was in place. Gwi Ma’s voice echoed in Jinu’s mind, long gone for now. And you could only hope he was strong enough to handle it.

You sighed, hand absentmindedly brushing through the wolf’s thick fur.

Even if you tried to avoid it, your paths were bound to cross again. You were both idols, standing on stages under the same spotlights, your names whispered in the same circles.

Destiny had its own sense of humor.

“Maybe the Huntrix will just finish the job,” you muttered dryly. “Save us both the trouble.”

The wolf let out a sleepy snort.

You weren’t even sure if that was agreement—or mockery.

You stood in front of the mirror in your waiting room, hands braced on the vanity as you tried to calm the racing of your heart. The makeup lights made your skin glow, but your eyes—your eyes told a different story. Focused. Fierce. A little scared.

You inhaled deeply through your nose, held it, then exhaled slowly.

Tonight wasn’t just another comeback. This was the comeback.

Your outfit shimmered under the warm lights—custom, sharp, stage-ready. The mic was clipped to your ear, in-ear monitors already tucked in. Everything was set. This was your newest single’s first live performance on Mnet, and the world was watching.

KNOCK KNOCK.

“Y/N, you're up in five!” called a staff member through the door.

You swallowed hard and forced a reply. “Y-yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Their footsteps faded. Silence returned. You looked back at your reflection and gave yourself a small nod.

You’ve worked too hard to get here. Too many sleepless nights. Too many sacrifices. This stage is yours. Nothing and no one’s going to take it away.

With that thought, you turned and grabbed the door handle.

But the second you opened it, your body froze.

Your breath hitched.

“What the heck are you doing here?” you blurted, eyes narrowing.

“Jinu…”

He stood leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed over his chest, wearing his idol outfit, but there was no mistaking him. Same intense eyes. Same aura that never really let you breathe when he was close.

“We need to talk,” Jinu said calmly, voice low but serious.

You blinked, shaking your head. “Now? Really? I’m about to go on stage.”

You moved past him quickly, boots echoing against the linoleum floor as you headed for the backstage corridor. But of course, you heard him behind you. His quiet, deliberate footsteps.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, not even glancing back.

“I think there is,” he replied, but his tone wasn’t biting. It was... tired. Hesitant.

You kept walking.

But then you felt it—his hand wrapping gently but firmly around your wrist. You stopped in your tracks. You feel the demon patterns on both of your arms starting to form.

“Y/N,” he said, and this time when you looked back, you saw it—whatever he’d been holding in. The regret. The urgency. The softness he only ever showed you behind closed doors.

You didn’t speak.

Not yet.

But you didn’t pull away either.

“I don’t want to work with him anymore,” Jinu said finally. “With Gwi Ma.”

You blinked. 

He looked straight at you.

“You can help. You’re his daughter.”

You stiffened instantly. The hallway felt colder.

“Don’t say that out loud,” you snapped, stepping forward, eyes darting. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t back off.

“You are,” he said. “You don’t work under him. You were never branded. Never bound like the rest of us. You're the only one who can talk to him without a blade at your throat.”

Your mouth opened—but you didn’t know what to say.

The truth was… he wasn’t wrong.

You hated it. You hated that your blood had ties to a name like Gwi Ma’s. You hated that even after cutting every tie, leaving the underworld, his rule, everything behind, people like Jinu still found you. Still needed something from you that only he could give.

But beneath the tension, the unspoken history, and all the things you left unsaid... You and Jinu shared one undeniable truth— Freedom.

You both craved it. From the shadows. From the blood-soaked contracts. From the underworld that shaped you and broke you in the same breath.

You weren’t just performers. You were survivors. Bound by the same cursed fate that ran deeper than fame, deeper than music. You both wanted out.

Jinu’s grip on your wrist loosened slightly, like he didn’t want to force you—like he hoped you’d choose him on your own.

And you did.

You closed your eyes, the weight of everything catching up to you for just a second. 

“…Fine.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Tired. Resigned. But resolute.

You opened your eyes, lifting your gaze to meet his. Jinu’s expression had softened, the usual cool edge in his stare melting into something vulnerable. Something real.

“I’ll help you,” you said quietly.

His hand didn’t let go—but it didn’t tighten either. It just stayed. Solid. Grounding. A silent thank you.

The stage was calling, but now… so was the war you swore you'd never fight again

Your legs dangled over the balcony railing, swaying slightly above a dizzying drop—hundreds of feet from the ground. One wrong movement and it would be over in an instant. But the danger didn’t faze you. Not tonight.

The city glowed beneath you—alive, unaware. Neon signs blinked in rhythm with traffic. A breeze rustled your hair, cool against your skin.

“You’re a terrible sneaker, you know that?” you said casually, not even turning your head.

A low chuckle answered you before a soft thud followed. You glanced sideways to see Jinu, landing on your balcony with the grace of someone who’d done it a thousand times.

“What gave it away?” he asked, brows raised as he pulled back his hood.

You turned your eyes back to the skyline. “I can feel your energy. It always gives you away.”

A dim glow started to pulse along your arm—faint, curling demon marks slowly forming like ink soaking through your skin. You studied them with no urgency, just resignation.

Jinu leaned beside you on the railing, hands in his pockets. He didn’t interrupt the silence.

“My father…” you began, voice low, “is the worst man alive.”

That caught Jinu’s attention. He turned slightly toward you, waiting.

You gave a bitter laugh. “And I’m his favorite daughter. Funny, right? The one he loved most… is the one who betrayed him.”

Jinu didn’t speak, but his silence felt like encouragement. You continued.

“I don’t even know how I survived all these years.” He tilted his head. “Then how did you?” he asked softly.

You finally looked at him, eyes tired but calm. “I fed,” you said bluntly. “On corrupted souls. I hunted them myself, quietly. It was the only way I knew how to live without becoming what he wanted.”

Jinu's expression darkened, but he remained quiet.

“When I was a child,” you continued, “he started sending me here… slipping me through cracks between realms like I was nothing. Just a spy. A pawn.” You exhaled sharply. “He didn’t care how small I was. He just wanted information. Souls. Obedience.”

Your hands clenched the railing. “But every time I crossed over… I felt something. Peace. Even if it was brief.”

You smiled faintly, eyes softening with the memory.

“A young couple found me once. Took me in. They thought I was just a lost child.” You paused, your voice nearly breaking. “They were kind. They raised me. Loved me. And when my father found out—he forced me to take their souls.”

Jinu finally looked at you fully. You didn’t meet his eyes.

“That was the moment I knew,” you whispered, “it was all wrong. Everything. I ran. I hid. I started using my power in secret—helping the Hunters. Sealing the honmoon. Destroying demons that slipped through.”

“…And killing your own kind,” Jinu finished for you, voice steady.

You nodded.

“I killed them because they were hurting innocents. Because they didn’t care who they destroyed. But I’m no hero either… I’ve taken souls too, even after I swore I wouldn’t.”

Your voice cracked as you added, “I know this world isn’t perfect. It’s full of pain and selfishness. But it’s still better than the never-ending torment of the underworld.”

Jinu didn’t speak right away. The wind rustled your hair again. Then he said, barely above a whisper:

"Sounds to me like you saved yourself."

You blinked slowly, letting his words sink in like a knife dulled by time but still sharp enough to hit where it hurts.

Then, quieter, gentler—his voice barely above a breath:

“And maybe… there’s still more worth saving.”

Your gaze met his, locked—daring, vulnerable, charged with something you didn’t want to name.

"You..." you whispered.

In a swift motion, you leapt from the railing, boots landing soundlessly against the cold rooftop tiles. Jinu pushed himself off the opposite side, standing tall as he faced you—chest rising with every slow inhale.

Then, it began.

Your patterns awakened first—slowly crawling up your arms like living ink, pulsing with familiar power, before consuming you entirely. Your eyes burned with a fierce, glowing violet hue. This was the real you. The form you didn’t show just anyone.

Your demon form stood bare before him.

Jinu's breath caught in his throat. His lips parted. He couldn’t look away. Something primal stirred in him as he lowered his gaze—his own markings responding instinctively. They crawled across his skin like heat rising beneath the surface, until his yellow eyes locked with yours—burning to match.

You stepped toward him, silent, slow, dangerous. Your hand rose, fingertips barely grazing his jaw before your palms gently cupped his face—like you’d done the last time you were alone. Back when everything was simpler... or maybe just easier to ignore.

Jinu didn’t move. He stood there, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes. You leaned in slightly, almost ready to speak the chant pulsing at the back of your throat.

But his voice stopped you.

“You never noticed me…” he murmured, barely audible—like a secret spilling from a locked place in his chest.

You froze, the words anchoring you in place.

“What?” you breathed.

He smiled faintly. Not out of happiness—out of resignation.

“I kept seeing you with Gwi Ma… I wanted to talk to you, I did. But I always got cold feet.” His laugh was soft, bitter. “Back then, I was barely holding it together. Newly turned, still figuring out how to control the patterns. But you...”

His voice trailed as the memory pulled him back. His gaze softened.

“You stood there, with your head high, commanding the space like you were born for it. Gwi Ma gave you orders, and you didn’t even flinch. You looked untouchable.”

You remembered that moment. The spy meetings. The night before everything shifted.

Jinu’s voice broke the silence again, quiet and aching:

“Ever since that day…” his voice was low, smoky, just above a whisper. “I couldn’t stop watching you.”

Jinu stepped forward—slow, deliberate. The kind of step that didn’t just close distance, it claimed it. His golden eyes flickered under the moonlight like burning embers behind smoke, catching every unsteady breath you took.

“And then you disappeared,” he murmured, now just inches away.

His words ghosted over your lips, and though he hadn't touched you yet, you could taste him in the air—warm, wild, and aching with something unsaid.

“Without a word,” he added, almost accusing. But his tone was soft. Hurt, maybe. Or worse—longing.

You couldn’t answer. Not really. Not with how your chest tightened. Not with how his presence filled the air like a storm.

“Until now.”

Your breath hitched. You hated how much he still affected you. How he always had. Since the first time he saw you—really saw you—backstage during Play Games With Us.

He told himself you just looked like her. Just a random idol with a familiar face. But when your paths crossed… when your shoulders brushed and he felt that undeniable pattern in his soul unlock—he knew.

It was you.

The girl he never had the courage to speak to in the demon world.

The one who haunted him across dimensions.

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, deafening in your ears. It was too loud. Too fast. And somehow, Jinu heard it anyway.

“I see it now…” he whispered, his hand rising slowly to cup your cheek. His touch was impossibly gentle. No trace of the coldness your kind were known for. Just warmth—steady, real.

“The real you.”

You didn’t dare speak. The moment was too fragile, like it would shatter if you so much as breathed wrong.

Only the tension. The breath you both held. The weight of everything unsaid.

The ghost of hands that had hovered close but never touched.

Lips that once looked but never dared.

Not until now.

When his lips pressed against yours, your eyes widened. It was slow. Searching. Testing a boundary he’d waited years to cross.

You didn’t pull away.

You melted.

Your eyes closed.

Your lips parted—inviting him in without knowing why. Needing him like oxygen.

His hand moved to your hip, firm and possessive, pulling you against him as he deepened the kiss. His tongue slipped past your lips, and the kiss turned hungry, urgent, electric.

And all you could think was:

Finally.

Your heels hit the floor with each backward step, heartbeat pounding loud enough to drown everything else out—except him.

Jinu followed without hesitation, lips crashing into yours, his breath hot and uneven as he kissed you like he’d been starving. His hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, pulling you closer like the space between you two offended him.

Your back hit the cool glass of the sliding door. The contact made you gasp into his mouth, your hand still cupping his cheek while your other reached behind blindly, fingers fumbling until the door slid open. You stepped backward again, drawing him in, and he didn’t even pause—just kicked the door shut behind you.

The room was colder than expected, but neither of you noticed.

Not really.

Jinu broke the kiss, panting, his forehead leaning against yours as he stared at you—eyes blown wide, dark with something primal.

"You're so beautiful..." he breathed, but it wasn’t just admiration. It was a whimper. A confession. A breaking point.

Then he kissed you again—messier, harder, almost frantic. Desperate hands pulled you forward as he guided you to the edge of the bed, gripping your hips to keep you from falling too fast.

You shivered, but not from the cold.

He laid you down with care that contrasted the hunger in his touch. One hand slipped under your shirt, palm splaying over your stomach, fingers dragging up—slow and teasing—until they reached the curve of your chest. The other hand slid down, rougher now, grabbing your thigh and lifting it up, anchoring you to him.

You wrapped your leg around his waist instinctively, pulling him in, grinding into the pressure.

He groaned low in his throat, redirecting the kiss—his lips trailed from your mouth to your chin, along your jaw, then lower. His mouth attacked your neck—biting, sucking, leaving a trail of heat and bruises and sin. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your hips arched into him.

You turned your head to the side, offering more, wanting more.

And he took it. Eagerly.

His lips found the spot behind your ear and when his tongue flicked against the skin, you nearly lost it. His knees shifted between your thighs and when one of them brushed there—through the fabric, right against your already wet slit—

You moaned.

You tried to stop it. Bit your lip. But it slipped out, raw and breathy and broken.

Jinu froze for just a second—just long enough to hear it, feel it—and when he looked back down at you, eyes dark and wild and locked on yours, it was clear.

He wanted to ruin you.

And God—you were going to let him.

Jinu’s hand slid slowly up your thigh, fingers trailing fire beneath your skin. He brushed against the edge of your shorts, and his smirk deepened the moment he felt it—the telltale dampness soaked through the fabric.

“Mm,” he hummed lowly, eyes locked on yours. “You’re already wet for me.”

The way he said it, voice all gravel and dark delight, made your breath catch. You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down where his fingers teased, hovering but never touching where you needed him most. Your lips parted—maybe to protest, maybe to pretend you weren’t so shamelessly worked up already.

But you couldn’t lie. Not to him.

Not when your body betrayed you so easily.

Jinu's eyes gleamed. "No need to hide it, baby."

He gripped the waistband of your shorts and underwear, tugging them down in one slow, deliberate motion. You lifted your hips for him, heart pounding, heat pooling low in your belly. He peeled the fabric away, baring you completely, and let it drop to the floor with a quiet thud.

You turned your head, shame rising despite the arousal surging through you.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice softer now—dangerous in another way.

His hand left your waist, slipped under your shirt and up to your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. “Didn’t I say all eyes on me?” His thumb brushed over your lips, slow and intimate, like he owned every inch of you already.

You met his gaze.

His smile was pure sin. “That’s my good girl…”

You clenched around nothing, heat flooding you all over again from just those three words.

Jinu dropped to his knees between your thighs like he belonged there. He slid one of your legs over his shoulder, positioning you exactly how he wanted, spreading you open like a gift he couldn’t wait to unwrap.

He looked down at you, then back up—his eyes dark, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint.

“I want you to watch,” he said, voice like velvet and vice. “Don’t look away. Just keep your eyes on me… while I make this pretty pussy forget how to breathe.” 

He didn’t hesitate—not even for a second.

Jinu dropped to his knees like he was born to worship you there, hands gripping the backs of your thighs as he dove in without mercy. His long, eager tongue plunged deep into your soaked cunt, and you nearly lost your balance right then and there.

The obscene sound of him slurping at your core filled the room, his mouth messy with your slick as he groaned into you like a man starved.

“Mmf…, you taste like heaven,” he muttered between licks, his voice thick with hunger.

He didn’t stop—he devoured you. Tongue flicking wildly against your swollen cunt, then sucking on it like it owed him something. Your legs shook as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, guiding his mouth right where you needed him.

“Jinu—ah—don’t stop, fuck—”

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he kissed every part of your slit like it was sacred. His gaze flicked up, dark and locked on yours, and it only made the heat in your belly coil tighter.

Then—just when you thought you couldn’t take more—you felt it.

A sudden stretch inside. His fingers.

Two of them, sliding into your dripping hole with ease, curling upward with wicked precision as he pumped them in and out, his mouth never once leaving your clit.

The combination made you choke on a gasp.

“Oh my god—”

His growl sent a hot vibration through your core, and your hips bucked instinctively.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasped, breath hot against you, “All for me, huh?”

Your stomach clenched.

That knot—tight and burning—started building fast. Too fast.

He sucked your clit hard, fingers driving deeper, faster, and your body gave in with a cry. The knot snapped.

You came undone on his face with a moan so raw, it echoed around the room. Your body trembled as the waves hit, one after another, and he didn’t let up—didn’t stop—until you were shaking, until your thighs were twitching around his head.

And when you finally looked down at him…

He was smiling.

Lips glistening, tongue darting out to lick up your release, shamelessly savoring it.

Then slowly—deliberately—he slid his fingers out of you and held them up between you both, watching you.

And without breaking eye contact, he brought those fingers to his lips and sucked them clean.

“Tastes like fucking addiction,” Jinu growled against your lips, his voice a low, sinful drawl that sent heat straight between your legs.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, then leaned in again—claiming your mouth in a kiss that was messy and hungry. You gasped as you tasted yourself on him, the tang of your arousal still wet on his tongue as he licked deep into your mouth, slow and deliberate. His tongue curled behind your teeth, exploring like he owned every inch of you—and he did. Tonight, he fucking did.

When he finally pulled away, your lips were swollen and your lungs desperate for air. You let your head fall back against the pillow, dragging yourself up the headboard, legs still spread and trembling slightly.

Jinu just smirked at the sight—your wrecked expression, flushed skin, the way your chest rose and fell like you were trying to keep it together.

“You okay?” he asked, low and husky, with just a flicker of concern under all that cocky heat.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah…”

“Good.” His voice dropped another octave as he reached down and peeled his hoodie off in one slow motion, tossing it to the floor without a care. It left him in nothing but those black pants, the fabric hugging his hips in the most unfair way.

Your eyes dropped immediately. Down the hard line of his torso—past the chiseled abs, the demon marks curling over his skin like some kind of dark prophecy etched into his flesh. Down to the sharp cut of his hips, the V-line so defined it made your mouth go dry.

And then there it was—his cock, thick and hard and pressing against the fabric.

He caught you staring, and that smug, lazy smirk spread across his face.

“I knew I’m hot,” he said, already unbuckling his pants with one hand, the metallic clink echoing in the quiet room.

“You’ve been looking like you want to fuck me all night, baby.”

And honestly?

You did.

you tossed your own shirt leaving you on your bra and nothing else. once jinu took off his pants he went back kissing your neck sucking on it giving marks, his cock pressed against your bare cunt, one of his hand moved its way on your back

clicked 

His fingers made quick work of your bra, the clasp undone like second nature. He didn’t even hesitate—he just pressed himself closer, his lips catching your gasp as your bra was flung somewhere into the shadows of the dim bedroom.

You felt him roll his hips against you, and your breath hitched. You could feel him—hard, needy, pressed right where you were pulsing for friction. A desperate sound escaped your throat, something between a moan and a plea.

Jinu’s breath was hot against your neck, but his voice? Low, strained, laced with restraint he was barely holding on to.

“Can I?” he asked, forehead resting against yours, his eyes searching—burning with both desire and something softer. Need.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. It was more than consent. It was surrender.

He slid his boxers down, and his cock pressed right against your entrance—hot, heavy, and aching. When he pushed in slowly, the stretch burned in the best way, making your legs tremble.

“A-ah—” you hissed through clenched teeth, your back arching slightly.

Jinu let out a rough groan, fingers flexing around your waist as he buried himself deeper. You could feel how he shook with the effort of holding still, breathing ragged. He reached up, brushing your hair gently from your damp forehead, voice soft—soothing.

“Hey… I got you, yeah? You’re doing so good for me already.”

When he was fully seated inside you, he didn’t move. He waited—only moving when you gave a shaky nod of approval.

Then he started.

At first it was slow. Tender. Every thrust deliberate, like he was savoring every second inside you. You whimpered, your body adjusting around him, pain melting into something slick and molten.

Then his rhythm shifted—slowly, gradually—until his hips snapped into yours with growing force. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, messy and obscene, your moans rising in pitch with every stroke.

He grunted as he braced himself against the headboard, hand digging into the wood for leverage. The pace was rough now—cock, relentless—and then with a sharp snap, the headboard cracked beneath his grip.

But neither of you cared.

Not when you were moaning his name like a prayer, not when his voice dropped to a low growl in your ear:

“Damm—you feel so fucking good. So tight—like you’re made for me.”

He slammed back into you, chasing deeper. “Say it. Say you want it.”

Your voice broke, breathless and wrecked, “I—want it —Jinu, please, don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t slow down—not even when the bedframe gave a harsh crack beneath you. His pace only grew rougher, more punishing, as if chasing something deep inside you. Each thrust dragged a broken sound from your throat, and the knot in your belly twisted tighter, sharper.

“Fuck.. you’re so tight,” Jinu hissed between clenched teeth, his voice guttural as he felt you start to clamp down on him. “You’re about to—aren’t you?”

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t form anything but a moan that pitched higher with every slam of his hips. Your nails raked down his back, leaving angry red marks that made him groan—not from pain, but pride.

“Just like that,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin. “Fucking take it.”

And you did. You took all of him—deeper, harder—until your body couldn’t take anymore. You shattered around him, crying out his name, spine arching off the mattress as your orgasm crashed into you.

That was all it took.

He cursed under his breath as his rhythm faltered—then stilled—burying himself to the hilt as heat flooded inside you. You felt it, that warm pulse of cum, and the way he trembled slightly above you as he rode the high with you.

Both of you were gasping, the room thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and something heavier. Jinu leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, still inside you.

Neither of you moved. Not yet.

“I can’t hear him anymore,” he murmured against your lips—eyes fluttering shut, voice almost... relieved.

You closed your eyes too, pulling him even closer. His skin was warm against yours, heartbeat steady, chest rising and falling in sync with your own. There were no more walls. No more distance. Just the quiet rhythm of breath and the lingering fire of everything unspoken now laid bare between you.

You stayed like that for a while—bodies tangled, souls unwinding.

Jinu opened his eyes first.

He looked at you—really looked at you. And this time, there was nothing but love swimming in his gaze. Relief. Longing. The kind that had waited too long and held on too tight.

He exhaled softly, brushing a thumb along your jaw.

“…The bed broke,” he murmured, almost like he just realized it.

You blinked slowly, and then let out a breathy laugh. “It’s the demon strength,” you whispered back, voice tired but laced with affection.

He smiled—lazy, genuine, and rare.

“Guess I owe you a new frame.”

You rested your forehead against his. “Guess you do.”

Neither of you moved to get up. The world outside could wait a little longer.

For once… there was no hunt. No stage. No pressure.

Just you, and Jinu, and the quiet in between.

a/n: ITS SO BADDD OMGGG STOPPP it's my first time writing full-on smut yall don't judge :( also idk how to end it so here your food Jinu was a bit ooc during the smexy scene lol

taglist: @miffysoo @akariis4snowball @zhentheraven @nisarelle @aise-30 @pjs-gf-foreal @22carolina08 @violetraccoon-4

[raevpng]

all these rumours

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

masterlist

summary: times azzi was sick of subtle and quiet hints and attempts to hard launch with her longtime best friend and girlfriend. frustration and chaos ensues however, when she fails. multiple. times.

a/n: thank u for ur patience once again lovelies 🥹 im still gonna edit this but this is my longest one shot ever so i hope it’s still enjoyable 😭 tell me ur thoughts <3

azzi knew more or less that there was a hefty price to pay for the dream life she chased.

she knew that eventually, the talent she’s harnessed and worked on for years would pay off – that the world would know what she could do. who she could be.

picture perfect form, unshakable morals, a humble yet competitive spirit.

that was who azzi fudd is. the kind of basketball player kids dreamed to be.

and she got it – she has what she’s worked so hard to do all her life. she got in the basketball capital of the world, she had a team that felt more like family, friendships that grounded her, people she’d bleed for.

and somehow, in the middle of all of that—she fell in love.

people were always stunned when she told the story. the story of how she met her soulmate, her twin flame, her everything.

paige bueckers.

every bit of a great athlete azzi is. she led with a kind of love and passion for not only the game, but for the people she played with. she had the kind of faith that swayed you, and a personality that left everyone wanting more.

and really, azzi understands. she understands why the internet obsessed over every interaction they had. every glance, touch, every shared laugh. they were absolutely enamored with their dynamic.

she understands cause she was living it.

she found a lover in her best friend. and god, azzi could never forget how softly their relationship had blossomed. how gently they had crossed the line between platonic and romantic. she remembers the soft confessions, the nervous first date, the jealousy they felt as they tried to hide from each other throughout their highschool careers.

she remembers how tough it was for paige had to watch azzi go with a boy to prom, and for azzi to watch as the media spun narrative after narrative of paige’s latest rumored boyfriend.

a hundred moments they had to swallow their love and smile like it didn’t sting.

but when azzi got to uconn, everything changed.

they were no longer living parallel lives — they were living the same one. suddenly it wasn’t just about quiet stares and lingering touches. it was about navigating something real, something tangible. they had a much harder time trying to bury their affections for each other. hands lingered a little longer than necessary, stares burned in a way that friends definitely did not do.

they tried to hide it. they really did.

nonetheless, everyone caught up to it pretty quick.

including their coaches and staff.

and safe to say they had a very thorough talk about media training and deal that yes – there was no rule that they couldn’t date, but it had to be very quiet, down low.

and it was easy.

kinda.

they were surrounded by the best team mates, who supported them through thick and thin. who, sure, maybe gagged at their quick kisses and cuddles during move nights or quick embraces in locker rooms before a game. but through it all, even with the chaos, azzi was content. grateful, even.

but now?

now it was different. they weren’t teammates anymore. they weren’t under the same roof, with the same jersey, following the same rules.

and azzi, has quiet as she had been during their years in uconn, was absolutely dying to show off her girlfriend.

because why not?

she can now.

and she was so damn ready.

–

forget about ending it with a bang, they started it with a bang.

the 2025 draft was much anticipated, not only for the fates of their future rookies in the league, but for the fashion, the glitz, the glamour.

and azzi?

she made damn sure she showed up. she pops out in the glittery black dress that hugs her curves perfectly, with her hair styled in curls that cascaded down the expanse of her bare, toned back.

and she came with a statement to make.

she made sure to stay by paige’s side for photos, smiling at her in a way that no longer held back adoration. heart eyes, the fans said. she posed for pictures as paige wrapped her hand around her waist, smiling with a love-sick, dopey grin that only fueled the flutter of butterflies in her stomach.

and if that wasn’t enough, she smiled to herself victoriously as she settled down in her very own seat.

in paige’s table.

she smiled knowingly, already anticipating the craze that is their fans, knowing that some of them doubted she would be there. she was excited to stir chaos, to send the clear message that she’s been by her girlfriend’s side and she’s here to stay. that no matter where she goes, she’ll always be close to follow.

her name wasn’t being called yet, but she looked like the proudest person in the room when paige’s was.

but to her surprise, as the night settled down and they returned to paige’s hotel room, it still wasn’t enough.

she remembers being tangled up in hotel sheets, bare underneath the covers as she ran her fingers through her tussled hair. the night had been nothing but hectic, and she half expected paige to pass out by the time they entered their hotel room with the amount of media, socialisation, and tequil shots she had downed in celebration of her draft night.

safe to say, the night had in fact not gone down that road, and instead ended with paige’s hands wandering and azzi not being able to resist.

cause who was she to deny her number one pick girlfriend? she couldn’t – not when she wanted it just as much. not when paige mouthed at her neck, whispering thanks and gratitude and confessions in a way that made azzi’s heart skip a beat and ignited a warmth in her stomach. she remembers the way paige had glanced up at her from between her legs, looking up as if she was the one who had been drafted. she remembers the gentleness, the passion, and the silent promises between each kiss and each release.

“you okay there baby?” paige had said as she exited the bathroom, her loose button up long gone as she climbed into bed again, quickly wrapping azzi into a warm embrace as she breathes in her scent.

“hm.” she hummed, setting down her phone by her pillow. she was scrolling through social media while paige had gone to clean up, and much to her dismay, her message still wasn’t clear to some.

she reached up to plant a soft kiss to her girlfriend’s lips. “saw some people saying we were ‘bff goals.’” she scrunched her nose, bringing a quiet giggle from paige.

“is that a bad thing?” paige laughs softly, brushing away azzi’s hair to kiss her forehead.

azzi gasped.

“what kinda best friend sits at a draft table and gets hugged first?” azzi shook her head, as if personally offended. “i am very obviously your girlfriend, thank you.”

paige just laughs, eyes fond as azzi sinks deeper in her embrace.

“let’s try again then.”

–

she’d kept the hints going, subtle but steady, while paige threw herself into her rookie season.

likes on tiktok edits, continuously coming to her games, even helping paige settle in texas barely a day after they had been “separated.”

the big one came unexpectedly, on a regular thursday afternoon.

she’d been cleaning her room, hair pulled up and sleeves rolled to her elbows, with paige propped up on facetime. on screen, paige was standing in front of her bathroom mirror, rambling about practice and the new weight room, her voice bright as she pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail.

azzi half-listened. mostly, she stared.

her eyes were fixed on the way paige’s biceps flexed when she tightened her ponytail. the gloss of her lips as she applied balm. the arch of her brow as she talked, animated and glowing.

“ma, you good?” paige smirked when she realised azzi was no longer listening, laughing at the glossy look in azzi’s eyes. “something distracting you?”

azzi coughed and rolled her eyes, though the blush creeping up her neck gave her away. “just admiring what’s mine, that’s all.”

paige smiled, almost shy as her cheeks tint a pretty shade of pink at her girlfriend’s possessiveness. “i miss you, baby.”

azzi’s smirk faded, replaced with something heavier. her voice dropped to a murmur as she sat on the edge of her bed. “i miss you more, p. it’s not the same here without you.”

paige pouted, like she felt it in her chest too. “it’s weird seeing you more on a screen again. i’m so used to just walking downstairs when i missed you.”

“now it’s six hours and a flight just to hug you for a day,” azzi sighed.

paige pouts even harder, sighing dramatically. “i just miss my girl. you’ve been looking too damn fine in my jersey. you trying to kill me?”

and that’s when it hit her.

azzi shot up, rummaging through the clutter on her desk—books, lip gloss tubes, tangled chains – until she found it.

she held up the delicate silver necklace, triumph written all over her face. a small heart charm beside a number 5.

“baby,” paige laughed, eyes lighting up. she knew that face. “what are you planning?”

“you’ll see.” azzi smirked.

see if they can deny this now.

spoiler: they can.

–

the tiktok blew up instantly – a dancing video with suni and anna. but that wasn’t what caught people’s attention.

no, it was the subtle glint of silver that caught the light every time azzi moved, delicate, gleaming, and undeniably there.

from the second the video went live, suni and anna had teased her relentlessly, eyebrows raised, smirks smug.

“oh they’re gonna eat this up,” anna said gleefully as she posted it, watching the likes skyrocket in real time. and azzi beamed, half proud, half smug.

suni leaned over her shoulder with a knowing grin. “you really wore that necklace for this?”

azzi shrugged smugly, beaming like the mastermind she was. “they better catch on this time.”

she thought this was it. they had to get it now.

and for a while, it seemed like they had. comments poured in. likes exploded. azzi refreshed the app every few minutes, heart racing, already imagining the thinkpieces, the ship edits, the finally, we have confirmation!! tweets.

but a few hours later, when she opened her phone, her jaw dropped.

comments flooded in:

“i wear my best friend’s number too lol”

“okay but this could still be platonic?”

“my bestie gave me a necklace like that 🥰”

what the fuck.

azzi slammed her phone face-down onto her bed, letting out a long, dramatic groan.

“you’re fucking lying.” she muttered under her breath, already on her feet and storming down the hallway to kk’s dorm with one mission in mind: complain. violently.

she flung the door open without knocking, mouth open and rants waiting to spill out when she heard it.

paige’s voice, warm and amused, drifting from kk’s phone screen.

“hey, fudd,” kk grinned, turning the phone to reveal paige’s face, all soft lighting and softer smiles. her girlfriend brightens up immediately, smiling that soft smile reserved only for her.

“hey, babe,” paige greeted. but her smile faltered as soon as she took in azzi’s stormy expression.

“uh oh. what happened?”

“oh, you know,” azzi drawled dramatically, flopping down on the edge of kk’s bed like the world’s most exhausted gay. “just the fucking allegations.”

kk blinked. “azzi. they can’t be allegations if you’re actually dating.”

“nah,” paige cut in, already catching on. she chuckled, leaning closer to the camera. “by allegations, she means best friend allegations.”

a beat of silence.

and then kk howled with laughter, doubling over as azzi swatted her shoulder.

“it’s not fucking funny.” she whined, ignoring how paige smiles fondly, eyes crinkling and bright.

“how are we still getting best friend allegations?” azzi rambled, pacing now. “i sat at her draft table. i’ve been in texas more in the last two weeks than my own parents’ house. i’m literally wearing her number around my neck like a promise ring.”

kk wipes a tear that escaped her eyes as she catches her breath, “you kill me, genuinely.”

“shut the fuck up kk.”

“okay, okay,” she wheezed, holding up her hands in surrender. “just be more obvious, then. you know how the internet is. unless you’re holding up a giant neon sign that says ‘i’m in a gay relationship with paige bueckers’ they’re gonna think y’all braid each other’s hair while you watch love island .”

“should i tattoo it on my forehead?” azzi deadpanned. “i’m dating paige bueckers across my fucking hairline?”

“i’d be down,” paige chimed in helpfully.

azzi shot her a look.

paige grinned sheepishly. “sorry.”

kk just rolled her eyes for what had to be the fifth time. “no one said that. just make another tiktok. with paige this time. don’t you literally have a visit planned soon?”

azzi groaned again but nodded, slumping down into kk’s desk chair with a dramatic exhale.

“fine. i guess i’ll try again.”

“aww.” paige cooed at azzi’s jutted lip, clearly dejected at her failed attempt at yet another hard launch. “don’t worry babe, we can do that trend you’ve been wanting.”

azzi’s head snapped up, a hopeful smile dancing on her lips, “really?”

“of course, baby,” paige said, voice low and warm, and if azzi had been any closer, back in her arms where she belongs, she would’ve kissed her silly on the spot.

“ew, gross.” kk gagged, “this feels like watching my parents kiss.”

azzi flipped her off without even looking, already envisioning the tiktok that would put rumours to rest. hopefully. maybe.

they’d stop calling it platonic.

–

the restaurant was bustling with quiet noise – the clink of silverware against ceramic, the soft murmur of conversations blending with occasional bursts of laughter. dim lighting bounced off polished wood and wine glasses, casting everything in a warm glow. it was perfect, not because of the fragrant waft of food everywhere, (although that did help) but because she was here, with her again, back where she belongs.

they were sat on a spacious round table. and even though they were in the middle of the restaurant, surrounded by people and different conversations, azzi barely heard the hum of the world around her.

all she heard was paige.

“and then nai says it’s because i’m pale like casper the ghost. what does that have to do with anything?” paige sighed mid-rant, her hands animated as she recounted something that happened during shootaround, her voice trailing into another tangent about a meme she saw that morning.

and azzi would like to think she was a great girlfriend. she’d say she was attentive and ready to listen. but right now, with her girlfriend so soft and so close to her again? she couldn’t help but stare.

she was watching. warm eyes fixed on paige’s every expression. the way her nose scrunched when she laughed, the way her lashes fluttered when she looked down at her plate, the way her voice softened just slightly whenever she said azzi’s name.

god, it’s sickening how in love she was. maybe kk did have a point.

paige leaned forward suddenly, noticing the face her girlfriend had when she was in her head again. reaching across the table, she laced their fingers together. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

and it was.

her thumb brushed slow circles into the back of azzi’s hand as she watched azzi register her gentle actions.

“anyways,” paige said, a little quieter, a little gentler. “how are you doing, baby? still bothered about the rumours?”

azzi sighed before she could help it, spine straightening at the mention of the issue. paige laughed softly, lifting their hands and pressing a kiss to the smooth skin just below azzi’s knuckles.

“you have no idea.” azzi rolled her eyes, softening slightly at the affection. she fished her phone out to show her girlfriend a screenshot of the many tweets and tiktok comments. “look. best friend, former team-mate, anything but girlfriend. it’s ridiculous!”

a blur of screenshots filled the screen as paige squinted. tweet after tweet, tiktok after tiktok, each one circled or underlined in red like she was building a case. best friend. former teammate. “normal friendship between girls.” platonic. platonic. platonic.

paige cackled at a particular comment. “yall reaching. i look at my best friend the way paige does and we’re not dating.” she read aloud, biting her lip to stop a very inappropriate laugh from escaping.

“someone tell her…” paige started shakily, “if she looks at her best friend the way we look at each other…”

azzi’s hands shoot up to cover her mouth, knowing her girlfriend’s next words.

paige was near tears. “they’re probably-”

“gay.” azzi deadpanned, snickering into her hands as she tried to remain quiet.

paige didn’t even try, doubling into a loud laughter as she hid her face from curious stares.

“gay,” she repeated, muffled into her palms, before peeking back up at azzi with tear-glossed eyes and the widest grin. “god, i love you.”

azzi just huffed, still scrolling. “tell that to the internet.”

she opened tiktok on azzi’s phone, still in her hand with a sly grin. “wanna make it now?”

azzi’s eyes brightened instantly, nodding animatedly as paige leaned in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead.

—

they filmed it first try – azzi tilted her head, eyes wide with innocence. “how much was it?” she mouthed.

paige looked exasperatedly at the camera. “two hundred dollars.”

azzi let out a cute little gasp, a soft smile contrasting paige’s reaction. “that’s not bad!”

azzi could barely contain the shake of her body as she cackled at the slow motion of paige’s reaction. they both cracked up the moment the audio cut, laughter bubbling as paige nuzzled her face into the crook of the younger’s neck. they rewatched it ten times before even moving, paige pointing out how soft azzi looked in her sweater and her innocent smile.

“they gotta get it this time.” paige reassured as azzi typed up her caption.

princess treatment everytime i’m with her. 😇💗 #spoiled

then she hit post.

hard launch.

again.

they got up to stroll to paige’s car, scrolling through the initial reactions. thousands of likes, comments, even videos in response to the tikok flooded in almost initially. paige peeked over azzi’s shoulder as they sat, scrolling, her free hand still tangled with azzi’s.

“see ma?” paige murmured against her ear. “i think they really get it this time.”

azzi beamed, sliding into the passenger seat and sighing at the familiar scent of paige’s car. her favourite car freshener, her laundry detergent, the faintest whiff of her favorite perfume. Home.

“finally,” she whispered, curling into her seat with a grin.

princess treatment indeed.

but later that night, after dinner and after kisses and after laughter faded into quiet, they lay on paige’s couch. azzi was nestled between her legs, back pressed to paige’s chest, scrolling aimlessly on her phone while paige mindlessly played with the end of one of her braids.

“babe?” azzi asked quietly, tone dull.

“hm?” paige kissed her temple.

wordlessly, azzi flipped her phone around and shoved it in her face. paige stared, blinked, then winced.

“oh fuck, you were serious.”

–

“i know that look.” kk narrowed her eyes, watching azzi through the mirror as she twisted her curls into place, securing them with quiet precision.

soft music flowed from kk’s speaker, the low hum of kk’s r&b playlist mixing with the gentle clatter of makeup brushes. paige had a game in connecticut today, and they had decided to get ready together before boarding the team bus to the game.

“whatsoever do you mean, kamorea?” azzi asked, tone syrupy and suspiciously innocent. she didn’t even look up, just kept applying mascara to thick, long lashes that fluttered innocently.

kk squinted, reading between every single line. “nah, don’t play. you’re gonna do something to ruin the internet again aren’t you?”

a smile.

“maybe.”

kk shivers.

–

they had finished the game with a high. dallas took the victory as the crowd went wild – paige had once again scored the most points within the team and god she felt like floating. she exuded an electric energy, that dizzying, dazed smile stretched across her face as her eyes scanned the crowd, searching.

they land on azzi. always azzi.

always azzi, cutting through the overwhelming noise and cheer. it was cheesy to think, but it genuinely felt like those cheesy rom-com movies azzi adored, even years in their relationship. the roar of the arena faded to a hum when their eyes met, and paige’s smile softened like it always did. like she only saw her.

they were ushered out quickly once the game wrapped, fans still screaming, staff buzzing. azzi and kk lingered back in a hallway as the crowd thinned. kk had been filming a vlog the entire day, azzi giggling into the camera, cheeks hurting from smiling as they goofed around, waiting for them to be allowed back to the venue.

“hey, y'all can come back in now.” a staff member had said, halting kk’s rambling to her phone.

“thank you!” kk replied politely before turning to the vlog, tone changing in an instant. “guys, we’re about to go see paige bueckers!” she squealed dramatically like a fan, making azzi roll her eyes and laugh.

kk skipped to paige’s side the second they stepped in, faking stage fright with exaggerated gasps, wringing her hands as paige blinked at her, amused. still, a slow yet fond smile stretched across the blonde’s features at her friend’s theatrics.

she opened her arms, inviting an embrace as kk squealed and jumped into a hug, acting like she’d won a contest. azzi giggled from behind the camera, heart swelling when paige’s eyes flicked up to find hers, warm and instinctive. she opened her mouth to probably call her over for a quick peck before noticing the camera, tilting her head in a silent question.

azzi mouths “she’s vlogging.”

paige nods swiftly in understanding, wrapping her arms around kk as she rants about her first tech. azzi couldn’t help but swoon, heart softening at how paige was just glowing. she was radiant even after a tough game, so full of life as she interacted with the team. everyone adored her, loved her in a way that only pure adoration and respect could bring.

she doesn’t even wanna know how googly-eyed she looked right now, admiring her girlfriend, thinking of everything they went through. years of hiding everything, their affection, their love for each other.

and suddenly, azzi had had enough.

she was not about to sit quietly while the world missed the entire point of the most important thing in her life.

and she knew exactly what to do.

–

she rummaged around her suitcase, looking for the item paige had gifted her months ago.

the phone case.

it was a joke, really. they had been scrolling through social media when paige started giggling at her phone – a case a fan had designed.

“look at this, baby,” paige had grinned, tilting the screen as azzi took a peek. “some fan really made this.”

it was obnoxiously pink, bold letters stamped across it like a headline.

“excuse me,” azzi had scoffed, pouting dramatically. “position’s already filled, thanks.”

but paige had only laughed harder, tapping on the link to buy it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. she bit her lip to stifle her giggles as she silently ordered it, filling in her details with a mischievous smile. it didn’t take long for suspicious silence to get noticed by azzi though, gasping when she saw the screen.

“the fuck?” azzi gasped as paige snickered. “paige.”

“it’s for you,” paige said sweetly, azzi widening her eyes sassily. “you’re welcome.”

“fuck no.”

now though, azzi had never been more thankful for a phone case. “thank the lord for a weird girlfriend.” she muttered under her breath, snapping it onto her phone with a click and smirking as the lettering caught the light. bright pink. unmissable.

so, expect a lil something today.

the three bubbles appeared almost instantly, azzi smiling at how fast paige responded despite her being at practice.

should i be scared?

azzi giggled, biting back a laugh as she typed:

perhaps i’m using the phone case.

a pause.

the phone case? the one you swore you’d never touch?

maybe.

azzi typed with a smirking emoji, giggling as paige replied with a thousand shocked face emojis.

game time.

–

she was getting dolled up with her stylist when she decided to snap the picture. skin glowing from glam, hair curled to perfection by her stylist, the light hitting her skin just right. and yeah, maybe it was intentional that her legs looked perfect in the picture, almost distracting from the actual purpose.

the phone case clear as day with bright pink letters – a loud and proud declaration.

paige bueckers’ girlfriend.

“you menace,” hayley smiled, peeking over her shoulder as azzi typed out the caption.

azzi smirked, cheekbones sharp and eyes playful as she posed one last time in the mirror. “it gets to a point,” she sighed, tossing her hair dramatically, “where i’m like, maybe i do need to spell it out for them.”

hayley laughed, running her hands through curls gently, nodding in agreement. “baby, you’ve spelled it, shouted it, danced it, and now you really put it out there in bright pink letters.”

“real.” azzi nodded in agreement, looking over the story one last time.

post.

and then she waited.

the notifications came in like an avalanche: shocked emojis, screaming replies. fan edits already popping up her for you page with another taylor swift song. she tried not to let her hopes up too much, knowing the pattern from her previous attempts. still, she let herself breathe, heart thumping in her chest like she’d just sprinted across a court.

a buzz cuts through her thoughts, bringing a soft smile to her face.

paige bueckers’girlfriend huh?

azzi could already imagine the proud smirk on paige’s face, fingers dancing across the screen to reply.

you lucky woman.

paige’s reply came instantly.

god, i agree.

and just like that, azzi felt the warmth rush to her cheeks, biting her lip as she tried to calm the way her chest fluttered. she bit her lip, fighting down the stubborn blush paige still managed to coax from her, setting her phone down as she fanned her face. she glanced at hayley, who was definitely watching.

“don’t.” she warned, burying her face in her hands.

“you’re so in love.”

it was a simple sentence. one she’d heard multiple times from fans, friends, and family alike. she heard it when they posted a picture, played a game together, went to a family event together, or when a friend caught them staring at each other for too long. it was written in the way she and paige looked at each other, or in every quiet hug after a tough game, every stolen glance across a crowded room. yet, she couldn’t help but think back to everything – how it had started between them, and how this giddiness had yet to fade. she had a sneaking suspicion it never will.

because it was true. it was real, and it was theirs.

and maybe that was enough, the sure feeling she had when they made eye contact in a crowded room, the softness of paige’s touch even after a rough game, the unwavering support of the people around her and the fans.

that was enough.

she looked at the mirror, still smiling.

“yeah,” azzi whispered, almost to herself.

“i really am.”

[anonf1writer]

the reaction after he stands up for his family — single parent universe

second part to this.

text au. ig post. 2k words. drivers: max, charles, oscar and lando.

note: i promised there would be a second part, and here it is. i tried something different, so i hope i didn’t disappoint (although i have the feeling already this wont be everyones cup of tea, so im sorry in advance!).

thank you to everyone who sent requests that led me to create this cute universe. ive had the greatest time with it, and i know it wouldnt have happened without your ideas. so thank you ❤️

──────────────────

MAX

First, came the soft click of Oliver’s bedroom door, and then the lazy thump of Max’s feet making his way back to you. 

Leaning your side against the kitchen counter, you knew a conversation was coming. From the moment you heard the question and turned the TV off, to the moment Max arrived home with a smile on his face, you knew it wouldn’t be something either of you could ignore. 

“Fucking hell,” he murmured as soon as he stepped into view, both hands running up and down his face. “I can’t remember the last time I wanted to punch someone’s stupid face this fucking much.”

You pressed your lips together and shifted on your feet, stepping away from the counter. This was the first moment alone the two of you had gotten after the race, the first moment without a little boy demanding attention, and the first moment Max was finally letting it all out. The anger, the frustration, the disappointment. So you didn’t want to shush him. You didn’t want to tell him he shouldn’t be cursing and swearing right now, that he should be careful, that he should think before he spoke. It didn’t seem fair to him, especially after he had clearly tried his best to put on a fantastic show in front of your son. 

“Did you watch it?” he asked, voice closer than before.

You nodded, removing the whistling kettle from the hob and stepping towards the empty mugs. “Just saw the video. We were watching it live on TV, but I turned it off as soon as I noticed what was happening.”

“Shit.”

“Oli didn’t hear a thing tho, don’t worry about it.”

You took your time filling the first mug, watching how the tea bag floated and swayed in the water, then eventually sank into the bottom. 

“They were so out of line,” Max said, his voice a quiet whisper in the bright kitchen. “I can’t believe that question even crossed their minds.” 

“I know…” 

“But I caught his name,” Max added. “And I had a meeting with the team as soon as I called the interview off. I’ll make sure that guy doesn’t get a fucking word from me anymore.”

You nodded again, and poured boiling water into the other mug. His mug. 

A moment went by before you felt him. Before he wrapped his arms around your waist, rested his chin on your shoulder, and pressed his chest against your back. 

“You ok?” he asked, voice low and too close to your ear. 

You placed the kettle back in place and nodded, one hand resting on his forearm and the other reaching to touch his face. 

“Yeah…” you said, your body instantly leaning into him. “I’m just… I hate that you had to go through that.”

Max nodded, his facial hair brushing your skin as he moved to kiss your palm. Once, and twice. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “For putting you two in this position.”

At that, you frowned. You dropped your hand and shifted on your feet, turning to properly face him. 

Max’s exhaustion was written all over him. But there was also worry there. Maybe a little bit of fear, too. 

“Hey,” you said, hands cradling his cheeks, eyes firm inside his gaze. “Don’t be silly. What you did for us was amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The way you stood up for us… The fact that you won’t let anyone speak about our son like that… That’s what I care about.” 

He sighed, then leaned in. Forehead resting against yours while he closed his eyes. 

“Our son,” he repeated, like he was savouring the words. 

“Mhmm…” You nodded, slightly. Just for him to feel the movement face to face, skin to skin. “It was really hot, y’know? To see you like that…”

Max smirked. Eyes staying close while he listened to you.

“The way you talked about us… How you got all worked up… When you said ‘that kid is mine’?” You sighed. Loudly than you normally would. Your hands moving down to his neck, shoulders, then back to cradle his face. “And then when you stormed off… Damn you, Max.”

A low, amused chuckle escaped from his chest, his whole body shaking lightly against you. “I should’ve figured you’d like that.”

“You should, yeah…”

You leaned in, then. Your lips barely meeting his before you pulled back again.

Max reacted instantly, taking a step forward and fully pressing you onto the counter, his feet slotting between your legs. “Hate teasing,” he murmured, already crashing your mouths together for a much needier kiss. 

You smiled, his lips barely giving you any time before he was capturing them again. 

And again. 

And again. 

──────────────────

CHARLES

──────────────────

OSCAR

──────────────────

LANDO

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Lando said, leaning against the handrail and watching Olivia run around the synthetic grass of the paddock. Just like you had been doing for the past ten minutes or so. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said. “They were the ones who crossed the line.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts,” you said, curling your lips into a smile just in case someone was watching you. “Like I said, it wasn’t your fault. That’s not up for discussion.”

Next to you, Lando sighed. Loudly. 

You heard it, you felt it. 

His unhappiness with your answer.

So you shifted on your feet, crossed your arms on your chest, and kept your eyes ahead as you said, “You stood up for her. That’s what matters to me. I wish these things didn’t happen at all, but it’s not up to us. We can’t control what others say or do, but we can control how we react to it. And the way you reacted… That’s how I want it to be. So as long as you stand up for her, just like you did today, then you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

For a moment, Lando didn’t talk. Didn’t move. Didn’t react. He just stared ahead, focusing on the little girl that had everyone’s attention as she distributed papaya-unicorn stickers all around. And then, when you thought he would finally speak up, he just coughed and looked away. As if taking a break to organize himself before returning his gaze back to her. 

To your daughter. 

Yours, and his. 

“Should we go inside?” you asked. “Talk inside?”

He shook his head. “She’s having fun… I just… I wanna watch her for a while.”

You nodded, but your heart skipped at that, and you couldn’t help but sigh and take a step closer to him. Unwillingly. Without thinking. 

Elbow almost, almost touching his arm. 

Lando’s whole body stiffened. 

He stretched his legs, straightened his back, and pulled his arms closer to his sides. 

And the tiniest gasp left his mouth. 

Once again, you couldn’t help yourself—you snorted, bringing your hand to cover your mouth and lowering your chin to look down at your feet.

“What?” he asked, quietly. But you could hear the smile in his voice. The amusement. Growing just like yours.

“Shut up,” you said, muffled behind your hand. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

Shaking your head, you held back your laughter and looked up, eyes meeting your oblivious daughter. Happy and full of energy amidst so many strangers. 

You dropped your hand back down to cross your arm around your chest, and after a beat, you murmured, “I can already imagine a video going viral…”

You caught the way he nodded. 

Neither of you ever facing each other.

But keeping the conversation for only the two of you to hear. 

“Lando Norris avoids contact with his girlfriend,” he said. 

And then, you cackled. Dropping your head back and laughing to the sky while bringing both hands to cover your mouth. 

Next to you, Lando chuckled as well, albeit not as hard. The soft sound making its way to you and adding extra warmth to your already heated cheeks. 

He waited until you had calmed down before speaking again, the playfulness hinted in each syllable of each word. “Little do they know… All along, I’m the one who’s been deprived of love.”

“Oh my God,” you grunted and laughed. A mix between disbelief, but also joy. “You’re so dramatic.” 

“Dramatic? Please. I’m just a boy… Standing next to a—”

You gasped and turned your body, leaning onto your side so you could face him. 

“—a girl… Asking her to hold my hand.”

“Lando…”

“Or give me a hug.”

“You do not get to quote my favorite movie back at me.”

He shook his head, eyes still fixed ahead of him. “Just anything,  really.” 

You pressed your lips together and turned back to Olivia, a sigh leaving your chest while you watched her engage in a conversation with some other kids she had met earlier that day. 

“You know that’s not how it works.”

Lando, on the other hand, simply smirked to himself.

“What I know is that you won’t love me in public.” 

“Because you get way too handsy!” you reminded him. “And you don’t know how to kiss me in public. You always end up going for a full make out session. Why is it so hard to keep it simple?”

“Because it’s you!” he laughed. “Can’t help it if you’re irresistible!”

“Yeah, well…” You shrugged. “If you can’t help it, then we stick to my rules.” 

“Fine.” 

“No PDA.”

“I know.”

“That’s all.”

“Yep.”

You sighed. 

He sighed. 

Max and Pietra stepped out of hospitality, both of them stopping to chat with Olivia before she pointed straight at where you were. Lando’s best friend looked at you and nodded with understanding, meanwhile his girlfriend waved and lowered her weight to get Livie’s attention. 

You knew, from that on, that Max and Pietra would keep an eye on her. That they would stay around and give you two a chance to take a little break, like they usually did. 

“I never thought I could get so mad at someone,” Lando blurted out. So out of nowhere that you needed to blink a couple times to make sense of it. “I’m watching her right now and it’s just… Look at her… She’s the cutest child around here… She’s kind to everyone… Makes everyone laugh… Always has the funniest, most random comments… And she’s so sassy and bold in such an adorable way… She’s just perfect. How can they… I mean how can they even ask something like that? I don’t get it.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you found yourself unable to reply.

“I meant what I said, y’know? About being proud of being her dad… I know it’s not on the paper… But I don’t mind that… Like it won’t make me love her any differently… What we have now it’s something I’ve earned, y’know? We’ve built it from scratch… I know you wouldn’t have allowed me to be here if you didn’t mean it… So I just… I can’t imagine my life without you anymore… Both of you. And I hate that they tried to use that against me… Because they knew what they were doing when they asked that… They knew they would touch a nerve…”

The emotions in his voice touched your nerves, your instincts, your need to protect him and stand up for him. And before you knew it, you were already walking. Already stepping away from the handrail, turning to him and closing the distance. Until you were standing in front of him and then close enough to crush your body to his. Wrap your arms around his waist and press your cheek against his chest. 

“Whoa…” Lando stumbled the slightest, the handrail keeping him in place as he placed both arms around your shoulders and kept you close. Close. Close. Close. “Hold on with the PDA, love.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled. “Just take it.”

At that, he chuckled. Chin pressed on your temple and arms squeezing you tightly. 

“Your favorite words.”

“Lando!”

“What?!”

You pinched his hip, and he flinched.

“Heyyy!” he laughed.

You smiled, cheek all nuzzled onto him while the world kept moving around you. While the public walked up and down the paddock. While curious eyes and intruding cameras watched you. 

“I love you,” you said. “And I’m so proud of you. Really. Thank you, for everything you do. For who you are. I can’t imagine our lives without you anymore, too. I don’t want to know what it would be like to go back to a life without you. So again, thank you.”

“Who are you and what—”

“Lando!” 

“Ok, ok,” he laughed. “I’m shy, I get nervous…” 

“I know, but I had to say it.”

He shifted his arms, his hug getting both gentler and tighter at the same time. 

“I love you,” he whispered in your ear. “And I can’t wait to show you how much. But Livie is running up to us right now, so I’ll keep it to myself for now… Just for now.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

──────────────────

[luna-azzurra]

How to Write Long-Distance Friendships

⊹ Most of the friendship lives on screens now. And no, that doesn’t make it less real. It’s TikToks at Midnight, blurry selfies captioned “alive I guess,” a random “thinking of you” that hits harder than a Shakespeare monologue. These tiny, chaotic digital crumbs? That’s modern affection, guys.

⊹ Time zones are the actual villain. Like, congrats, your best friend is awake when you’re half-dead. You get really good at leaving messages in little bottles ( I mean, texts) that’ll wash up on their shore eight hours later. It's strangely poetic, if you ignore how annoying it is.

⊹ Calls turn into special events... You plan them like dinner reservations. Reschedule them like flaky exes and when they do happen, it’s either three hours of emotional unpacking or fifteen minutes of “I love you but my soul is leaking out my ears.” Either way, it counts.

⊹ They don’t know you're right now. Not really, they weren’t there for the coworker who ruined your day or the little bakery you fell in love with. So you have to explain everything, but sometimes you don’t. And that weird little space between what they know and what they don’t? That’s amazing, for Storytelling.

⊹ You start summarizing your life like a newsletter. “Still alive. Work sucks. Ate something questionable.” Not because you don’t want to share (you do) but because it’s hard to cram the full play-by-play into a 30-second voice note between meetings. Distance edits you down, that’s just how it works.

⊹ Big stuff hits differently. The good, the bad, the absolutely unhinged... it all feels heavier when you can’t scream-laugh or ugly-cry in the same room. No amount of phone calls makes up for sitting on the floor together eating cereal out of the box and feeling like maybe the world isn’t ending.

⊹ And yet, the love finds ways. It shows up in birthday texts sent in the wrong time zone, in Venmo notes like “for coffee and emotional damage,” And in playlists with suspiciously specific vibes.

⊹ Some don’t survive the distance. That’s just the truth, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t real or important. And the ones that do? the ones that hang on through all the missed calls and delayed replies and half-finished conversations? Those are steel-reinforced, weirdly telepathic, practically immortal friendships. The kind worth writing about.

[dollyfiles]

pulling off fwb!rafe’s condom during sex

cw: smut, fuck buddies dynamic, p in v, first protected then unprotected sex, creampie, praise, explicit language

“rafe—” you gasped, the back of your head thudding against the pillow as he drove into you, hard and fast, the bed creaking beneath you with every sharp thrust. your hands gripped his shoulders like you were holding on for dear life, nails dragging down his back, a broken moan falling from your lips. “fuck—don’t stop—”

he didn’t. couldn’t. not with the way you were clinging to him like you needed him inside you just to breathe. sweat slicked skin, hair sticking to his forehead, jaw clenched as he tried to keep control, but it was slipping. you made it impossible.

being friends with benefits with rafe cameron meant wild and relentless sex. morning, day, and night. and even when you felt like it couldn’t get any better, there always was this little five percent missing to make it absolutely perfect.

it was this damn rubber that was wrapped tightly around his thick shaft, always keeping that little percentage hidden inside, and waking your curiosity like nothing else.

it was a mutual decision when you both started this little arrangement, of course it was, at least you thought so. rafe on the other hand would’ve loved to just toss that little annoying thing out the window at any given chance.

not that he didn’t care. oh he cared. more than anyone else, that’s why he decided to agree in the first place. just for you and your comfort. and of course you didn’t know that once you guys started hooking up, he went and didn’t dare touch another woman.

not because you two were something exclusive, no. he simply didn’t want to. you were already giving him everything he needed, even if things were just casual. so now, with rafe hitting something deep inside you, you couldn’t help but want more.

you were totally soaked, clenching around him, but your expression said it still wasn’t enough. his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider. the slap of skin echoed through the room, mingling with your breathy moans and the rough rasp of his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

that’s when you stilled beneath him, your thighs tightening around his hips to stop his movements. “pull out.” you demanded and rafe froze mid-thrust, blinking down at you, chest rising fast. “what?” his voice cracked with confusion, panic flickering in his eyes.

“just—” your voice was ragged, pupils blown wide, lips swollen. you were panting, shaking, like your body was on fire. “just do it.” rafe couldn’t help but feel his heart stutter as he pulled back, chest heaving in disappointment. “did i—?”

“no,” you breathed, shaking your head, your hair clinging to your damp forehead. your hand slid between you, fingers curling around the base of his cock. he hissed through his teeth, nearly losing it right then and there. “it’s just—” you looked up at him, eyes blazing. “i want more.”

leaning up, you kissed him hard, tongue brushing his lip before whispering into his mouth, “i want you raw, rafe.” for a long moment rafe didn’t move, he was too stunned, until you started rolling the condom off his cock yourself.

it was slow and deliberate, watching his face the whole time. your fingers were slick, trembling just a little, but your touch was confident, and god if that didn’t undo him. the thin rubber slid off inch by inch, and you tossed it somewhere into the room, reaching for him again like you were starving.

“come on,” you whispered, voice wrecked and dripping with want. “please let me feel you.” and then, without hesitation, he grabbed your hips, dragging you down the bed, and slammed back into you with a raw, guttural groan. you both swore at the same time, almost relieved.

the difference was immediate. no barrier. no distance. your bare cunt hit him like a punch to the gut. it was even wetter and tighter and so much more. you cried out beneath him, hands flying to his back, holding onto him like a vice.

you could feel every single vein of his cock, every time his tip nudged your cervix without any protection. you were soaking him, wrapping around him, dragging him in. “jesus—” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “you feel—fuck—you feel unreal.”

you wrapped your legs higher around him, clawing at his back, pulling him deeper, rougher, harder. “don’t stop,” you begged, your voice cracking. “don’t you fucking stop.”

his rhythm turned brutal, desperate, the kind of pace where none of you cared if the neighbors heard. you met every thrust with a needy whimper, the whole bed shaking as your fingers tangled in his hair, dragging him in for a kiss that was all tongue and teeth.

he slammed into you again and again, chasing that sweet spot, chasing your moans, like he’d die if he couldn’t get more. you were already falling apart under him, body arching, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto.

“i can’t—i’m gonna—” your voice broke off in a gasp, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry. “cum for me,” he growled against your ear, hips snapping faster. “fuck, baby, cum on me.”

and you did. your whole body locked around him like you were pulling him down with you, your poor cunt clenching around him hard that it triggered his own release, hot and overwhelming. he buried himself in you with a rough groan, the feeling of his hot seed inside you making you moan out as your orgasm rolled over you.

both of you collapsed at the same time, panting, completely wrecked, skin slick and sticky with sweat. your legs stayed locked around him, his face buried in your neck, both of you shaking from the aftershocks.

“that,” you whispered hoarsely, barely able to speak, “was so much better.” rafe laughed, breathless and fucked out, brushing a kiss over your chest. “you think we’re done?”

you just smirked, still catching your breath but fingers already sliding slowly down his stomach, teasing his cock again. “i fucking hope not.”

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @isasweetie @rafessecret @littlelamy @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @et6rnalsun @bluemerakis @nemesyaaa @rafekisser @deansbeer @ditzyrafe @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lacyydollette @drewsephrry @angvl3tears @rotapathetic @raahosh

[verstappenverse]

hi! can i request that the reader and max anticipate their first child? he was so worried when the reader had a morning sickness and when the reader was about to deliver the baby? he worried whether he could be a good father or not to their firstborn baby. and how he was so protective, care, and just soft with the reader? thank you! i love your fics anyway, you're doing great! i hope you have a very good day ahead!! xoxo.

What If I Get It Wrong?

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max was never afraid of anything, but fatherhood? That’s a different kind of terrifying. As the two of you prepare for your first child, Max is protective, terrified, and completely in awe, and you watch the man you love fall headfirst into fatherhood. (Requested)

4.1k words / Masterlist

You weren’t expecting it to feel like this, equal parts overwhelming and breathtaking. A surreal mix of the mundane and the extraordinary.

Two faint pink lines on a stick, the distant hum of the bathroom fan. The sound of your shaky breathing as you sit on the edge of the tub, blinking down at something that just shifted the axis of your entire world.

Your hands tremble when you press your palm to your stomach. It’s still flat. Still unchanged. And yet… you already feel different. Maybe not physically, but something inside you is new. Expanding. Blooming.

You had a plan.

Of course you did. You’d always imagined telling Max with a smile too wide to hide, maybe over a fancy private dinner at home with the test tucked inside a gift box or a Red Bull baby onesie folded on his plate. Maybe filming his reaction when he opened it. Something worthy of the moment. Something permanent.

You even started writing a card, got as far as, "You changed my life once. Now—."

But when the door opens that night and Max comes in, home late from some media obligations, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and grumbling about TikTok's and something you can’t quite hear. You don’t even get a word in before he presses a kiss to your cheek. “Sorry I’m late. What’re we having for—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words leap out of you before you even mean to say them. It’s not soft. It’s not poetic. It’s raw and breathless and a little panicked.

The silence is immediate. Thick. His mouth stays open mid-word. His eyes flick to your stomach, then back to your face.

“I—” you start, already flustered, “I was gonna tell you in some big, sweet way, I swear. With a whole surprise and maybe a stupid cake or balloons, I even wrote like half a card and now I’ve just blurted it out like a maniac and—”

“Pregnant,” he interrupts.

You nod. Your voice is a whisper. “Yeah.”

It takes another two seconds before a breathless laugh escapes him. He crosses the room in one long stride, pulling you into his arms. His hands cradle your face like you’re something breakable. “You’re serious?”

You nod, breath caught in your throat. “I took the test three times.”

He looks down at your stomach again. Then back at you. Then exhales a shaky breath that sounds like something breaking open in his chest.

“I’m going to be a dad?”

You bite your lip, eyes filling. “Yeah. You are.”

You nod again, and before you can say another word, he’s kissing you. Slow. Deep. His hand presses instinctively to your belly, protective already, and you feel his body tremble as his forehead rests against yours.

The nerves come quickly.

You’re crouched over the toilet, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain, on what feels like your fifth straight day of relentless nausea. Your stomach rolls again, and you groan, dry heaving into nothing.

Max hovers like a man teetering on the edge of a panic attack. He’s pacing the bathroom floor in bare feet, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other holding your water bottle like it might fix something if he just offers it enough times.

“Should I call someone?” he says for the third time in five minutes. “A hospital? Maybe your mum, I think, maybe Dr. Hendriks? I’ll fly him in. We have the jet, it’s—”

“Max,” you croak, cutting him off mid-spiral. “I’m fine. Just... a bit gross.”

He drops to a crouch beside you so fast you almost flinch. His hand is instantly at your back, warm and steady, rubbing slow circles over your spine like he’s trying to manually ease the nausea out of you.

“You threw up twice, you’ve barley eaten anything since yesterday, and you can’t even stand up straight. This isn’t fine,” he mutters, eyes scanning your face like he’s looking for signs of something worse.

You want to reassure him, but all you can manage is another gag and a feeble wave of your hand.

He makes a frustrated sound under his breath, somewhere between a growl and a groan and presses a kiss to your temple. You feel him shift beside you, still kneeling, still rubbing your back.

You’re pretty sure he was supposed to be on a flight to the Red Bull factory two hours ago. His suitcase is still zipped up in the hallway. His laptop sits forgotten on the kitchen counter next to the tea he brewed for you earlier, the tea you couldn’t even look at, let alone sip.

He didn’t even finish drying his hair. It’s still damp, curling at the edges. There’s a red line pressed into his cheek from where he must’ve fallen asleep beside you on the bathroom floor the night before.

“Max,” you mumble, finally able to lift your head. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, exhausted, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack before the baby’s even here.”

He tries to laugh but it comes out hoarse and half-broken. “I just hate this. Watching you like this. I keep thinking, what if I’m missing something? What if I’m not doing enough?”

You tilt your head up slightly, catching the crease between his brows, the lines of guilt that don’t belong there.

“You made me three kinds of toast this morning,” you murmur. “And cut the crusts off, and you held my hair and Googled ginger remedies until your phone died.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you press a hand to his chest right over the spot where his heart’s racing, fast and wild.

“You’re here,” you whisper. “That’s not useless. That’s everything.”

He exhales shakily, eyes locked on yours and for a second you swear they shine.

“I’m just so scared of getting it wrong,” he admits, barely audible. “This whole dad thing. Taking care of you. It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done, and I keep feeling like I’m already screwing it up.”

“You’re not,” you promise, curling your fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re already the best dad, because you care so much, because you show up.”

The weeks pass in waves. Ultrasounds. Appointments. Cravings that come out of nowhere at 2 a.m. and leave you both laughing in the kitchen in your pajamas, sharing a jar of pickles and toast with peanut butter. There are stretches of calm, slow, quiet mornings when the Monaco sunlight creeps across the bedsheets and Max wraps an arm around your waist, murmuring something sleepy against your neck. And then there are flashes of chaos, bags packed, schedules rearranged, Max on a video call with his race engineers while still rubbing your swollen feet with one hand.

Somehow, amidst it all, you find a rhythm.

You learn to time what you can around Max’s races, his travel, his returns. You count the days until he’s back, until he’s lying beside you again, one hand stretched protectively over your belly like it’s instinct now.

The first time you hear the heartbeat Max looks like someone knocked the air out of him. His mouth parts. His eyes fill.

“She’s real,” he whispers, the words barely making it past his lips. “Our baby is real.”

You haven’t even found out the gender yet, but he says she instinctively, without hesitation, like his heart already knows something the rest of you don’t.

You tease him about it once, smiling as he folds baby clothes that aren’t even needed yet.

“It might be a boy you know?” you say, watching him hold up a tiny lemon-patterned onesie like it’s the crown jewels.

He looks up from the clothes, something quiet and unshakable in his gaze. “Maybe, but I don’t know, I just feel it, every time I picture the future, it’s you... and her.”

You stare at him, your breath catching somewhere in your throat.

“She’s loud,” he continues, grinning now, his accent curling around the softness of his voice. “Talks too much. Bosses me around. Already a little menace. Definitely your child.”

“Excuse me?”

He laughs, quick and boyish, and leans over to press a kiss to your cheek. “You’ll see. She’s gonna have your fire.”

You don’t say it, but the truth sinks deep into your chest, he already loves this baby with his whole being.

He talks to your belly when he thinks you’re asleep. You catch him doing it all the time, quiet, unguarded moments where his world has narrowed down to two things, you and the life you’re creating together.

When you both lie awake at night, hands intertwined under the duvet, whispering about baby names and nursery colors and what kind of parents you want to be, Max is always a little breathless. Like he still can’t believe it’s real. Like he’s terrified and amazed in equal measure.

“She’s going to change everything,” he murmurs once, voice low in the dark.

“She already has,” you whisper back.

He nods slowly, curling into you like he always does, like you’re the only home he’s ever needed.

Max becomes… soft.

In every possible way.

It’s not just the way he handles you now, like you’re something precious and breakable. It’s not just the way he walks slower beside you or watches your face when you stand up too quickly or how he quietly puts your sneakers on for you when your feet start to swell.

It’s in the little things.

He buys three different pregnancy pillows, a full-body one, a C-shaped one, and some strange ergonomic wedge because he isn’t sure which one will help you sleep better. One night you catch him actually reading a parenting blog in bed next to you, blue light from his phone casting shadows across the duvet. He scrolls silently, occasionally muttering things like:

“Did you know babies can hear our voices by week twenty?”

Or,

“Apparently we’re supposed to play music for her.”

Then there’s the night you find him in the nursery.

It’s late. You’d gotten up to grab water and noticed the light was on down the hall. You pad softly to the doorway, heart already warm with affection and there he is.

Max. Standing perfectly still. The crib is built, assembled a few days ago it sits against the far wall now, freshly made up with soft cream sheets and a stuffed lion tucked in the corner.

He’s just staring at it.

Half terror. Half wonder.

“Max?” you say gently, stepping into the room.

He startles a little but doesn’t turn around.

“Do you think I’ll be good at this?” he murmurs.

You cross the room without answering and slide your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek against the cotton of his t-shirt. He reaches for your hands, holds them tightly over his chest.

“You’re already good,” you whisper.

He lets out a long, shaky breath. The kind that sounds like it’s been sitting in his chest for months.

“It’s just…” he starts, and then pauses, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t exactly have the perfect example.”

You nod, letting the silence stretch. You don’t talk about his childhood much but he’s never needed to say much for you to understand. Jos was many things, passionate, driven, ambitious. But he was also sharp around the edges. Affection was earned, not given freely. Max learned young what it meant to perform under pressure. To please. To succeed, or suffer.

“I’m scared I’ll mess her up,” he says, voice quieter now. “That I’ll push too hard. Or expect too much. Or say something I can’t take back. What if she cries and I don’t know how to make it better? What if she needs something I don’t know how to give?”

You pull back just enough to tilt your head and meet his gaze.

“Max, you’re the most patient person I know.”

He snorts, but there’s not much humor in it. “That’s a word I don’t think has ever been used to describe me.”

“You’re patient with people you love,” you correct gently. “With me. You’ve been soft and kind and so careful this whole time, even when I’ve been sick or moody or irrational. You listen. That’s what she’ll see. That’s what she’ll learn.”

You hesitate, then add softly, “I’m scared too, you know.”

His brows draw together, surprised. Maybe he hadn’t realised, maybe you’ve hidden it well. “You are?”

You nod. “Every single day. I lie in bed and think about how much we don’t know yet. About how overwhelming it all feels sometimes. What if I’m not enough? What if she needs more than I can give?”

His arms tighten around you instinctively, like he’s trying to hold the fear out of your body.

“But then I see you,” you whisper. “And I remember… we don’t have to do any of it alone, and that makes all the difference.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

He just turns in your arms, eyes a little wet, and rests his forehead against yours.

“I don’t want to get it wrong,” he breathes. “Not with her. Not with you.”

“You won’t,” you whisper. “But if you ever feel like you are, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He nods slowly. Swallows. “Promise me you’ll tell me if I ever forget, if I ever slip. If I start to become…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

“I promise, but I already know I won’t need to.” you say, holding his face in your hands.

You kiss him then, soft and sure, and he kisses you back like your faith in him is something he never wants to let go of. And in the stillness of that nursery, with your belly pressed to his and the crib waiting quietly behind you, Max lets the fear settle… just a little.

Maybe it’s okay to be scared, as long as neither of you is scared alone.

The last month is the hardest.

Your back feels like it’s been replaced by concrete. Your feet have swollen so much you’ve officially retired every pair of shoes you own except one pair of very ugly slides. You cry at everything, a dog food commercial, a voicemail from your mum, Max just looking at you across the kitchen.

You’re tired in ways you didn’t know were possible. Your body feels like it’s working overtime to grow a person and also remind you of gravity’s cruelest tricks.

Max, meanwhile, has entered full protective mode. As if the impending arrival of your daughter has turned every single instinct inside him up to eleven.

He won’t let you lift anything.

Not a grocery bag. Not a chair. Not even your own overnight hospital bag.

You once reached for a water bottle and he appeared out of thin air swiping it out of your reach with a sharp, scandalized look.

“Max,” you deadpanned, “I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.”

“I’m aware,” he muttered, already unscrewing the cap and handing it to you like a peace offering.

“You think the baby’s going to fall out if I hold a Fiji bottle?”

“No,” he said seriously, “but why take the risk.”

You rolled your eyes then. You do it often now. But secretly?

You love it.

You love how protective he is. How he walks slightly behind you in crowds, like a buffer. How he started driving ten kilometers under the limit the second you entered your third trimester, even though he used to complain that Monaco traffic was basically just expensive cars parked in motion.

You love how he fusses, quietly but constantly. How he now triple-checks that your favorite snack is stocked before leaving the apartment, how he installed a nightlight in the hallway so you wouldn't trip during your nightly bathroom trips. How he downloaded six different white noise apps on his phone so you could try them out in bed. "For practice," he said, “in case she’s fussy.”

But what really gets you, what makes your chest ache with something warm and vast and impossible to describe is the way his face changes every time you talk about the baby.

A softening around his eyes. A slight tilt of his head. The more you speak about her name, about what she might look like, about whether she’ll like racing or painting or maybe dinosaurs, the more he leans in.

He’s never looked at you like this before. Not when he’s on the podium. Not even after winning his first championship. This? This is different.

This is awe. This is devotion. This is Max Verstappen world-class driver, famously unshakeable completely and utterly undone by the thought of his daughter.

He leans down and kisses your skin. “She’s going to wreck me isn’t she?”

“She already has.”

He looks up at you, eyes shining under the soft lamp light, and for once he doesn’t have a smart reply.

Then the day finally comes.

You wake at 3:13 a.m. with a pressure in your abdomen that steals your breath. It isn’t sharp, not at first. Just a heavy, aching pull deep in your core, like gravity has shifted suddenly inside you.

For a moment you think it’s another false alarm.

You shift under the covers, already rehearsing the mental checklist your doctor gave you: hydration, time the contractions, don’t panic. You ease out of bed, try walking to the bathroom, just like they said to do when you’re not sure it’s real yet, but then the pain tightens, sharp and low and unmistakable. It doesn’t come and go. It grips.

Just like that you know.

You shuffle back to the bed and place a trembling hand on Max’s chest.

“Max.”

He jolts upright as if someone’s fired a starter pistol. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it time?”

His voice is gravelly with sleep, but his body is already moving.

You nod, barely able to get the words out through the rising wave of pain.

“Okay. Okay. Alright, okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, as he flings the covers off and springs into motion.

What follows is like watching a pit stop in human form.

Max moves with sharp, terrifying focus. He’s already helped you into the comfiest clothes he can find, sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts, before you even finish brushing your teeth. He pulls the hospital bag from the front closet, double-checks its contents, grabs your water bottle, chargers, snacks, the car keys.

But the entire time, his hands are shaking.

You notice it in the way he fumbles with the seatbelt when helping you into the car. In the way he presses the elevator button three times like it’ll come faster.

By the time he’s in the driver’s seat, knuckles white on the steering wheel, you’re gripping the side of the door, breathing through another contraction.

“Max,” you whisper, chest rising and falling in short bursts. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing, you need to breath.” he says quickly, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror even though the road is deserted.

“No, you’re hyperventilating.”

“I’m not, maybe a little,” he admits, cheeks flushed. He loosens his grip on the wheel, forces one deep inhale through his nose.

You reach across the console and take his hand, squeezing through the contraction.

“You’re going to be amazing,” you say through gritted teeth.

He glances at you, eyes shining under the dashboard light. “You’re the one doing the hard part.”

You laugh sort of. It’s half a wheeze, half a whimper. “Hard doesn’t even cover it.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles at the next red light. “Just keep holding on. I’m right here.”

The labour is long.

Twenty hours of chaos and calm. Of excruciating pain and quiet moments in between, your hand curled tight in Max’s.

He never leaves your side.

“I love you,” he says every few minutes, even when you’re too far gone to reply. “You’re doing so good. You’re so strong.”

He hovers beside you, whispering soft encouragements, brushing sweat from your forehead with shaking fingers.

And then, after everything, comes silence.

The kind that feels holy.

The room stills. You collapse against the pillows, exhausted and trembling. And then it happens.

A sound. Fragile. Piercing.

A cry.

Your baby’s first breath shatters the stillness, high-pitched and perfect and real.

Max sags beside you like his legs can’t hold him anymore. He buries his face in your shoulder, and for the first time since you’ve known him, since the earliest days of cautious flirtation and long-distance calls, since the podiums and the plane rides and the quiet "I love you"s you feel him cry.

“She’s here,” he chokes out. His whole body shakes. “She’s really here.”

When the nurse places your daughter on your chest, something in you clicks into place. She’s tiny. Wrinkled. Red-faced and slippery and making the most outraged little sounds, but she’s perfect. She’s yours.

And Max… Max looks like he’s been struck by lightning. He can’t move at first. Just stands there, one hand braced on the edge of the bed, the other hovering like he’s afraid to touch her. His face is wet with tears. He looks shell-shocked.

“She’s…” he starts, but he can’t finish. His voice breaks again.

You reach for his hand and guide it gently to her. His fingertips brush her hand and her tiny fingers curl around his pinky, as if she already knows him.

“Hi, kleine meid,” he whispers. “I’m your dada.”

Just like that he’s gone.

Hopelessly, entirely, irreversibly in love.

Later, after the visitors come and go after your families cry over tiny fingers and kiss your cheeks with soft, trembling mouths, after nurses shuffle in and out with gentle voices and kind hands the hospital room falls quiet again.

Just the three of you now. The soft hum of machines. The muffled hallway beyond the door. The gentle rustle of a newborn’s breath in the bassinet beside the bed.

Max lies beside you on the narrow hospital bed, somehow fitting his long frame against yours like puzzle pieces. One arm is curled protectively around your back, anchoring you to his chest. The other hand rests on the side of the bassinet, fingers still.

You watch him as he stares at her. He hasn’t looked away in over twenty minutes.

Not since the nurse gently wheeled her over and whispered, “She’s all yours now.”

“She’s got your nose,” you murmur sleepily, the exhaustion pulling at you like a tide, but the kind you’d wade into again without question.

Max smiles, slow and full and a little dazed. His eyes are glassy, bloodshot from lack of sleep and tears he no longer bothers hiding.

“Poor thing,” he says softly.

You chuckle, too tired for more than a breathy laugh. “She’s lucky.”

He looks over to you, his gaze heavy with affection. He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, lingering there like he’s silently thanking the universe for bringing you through it.

“No,” he murmurs against your skin. “I’m the lucky one.”

You curl into his chest a little deeper, feeling the solid beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His hoodie smells like hospital linen and baby powder and Max, warm, worn-in, familiar.

“You were worried,” you say quietly, almost to yourself.

He nods without hesitation. “Terrified.”

There’s no bravado in his voice now. No need to pretend.

He exhales, glancing back at your daughter. “I’ve been trying to imagine this moment for months. Her face. The sound she’d make. Whether I’d be good enough for her.” His fingers flex slightly against the edge of the bassinet, just brushing the corner. “And now she’s here. And I just keep thinking… how do I live up to her?”

“Still scared?” you whisper.

He hesitates. “Yeah.”

He glances down at the baby again. She’s sleeping now, her tiny fist curled near her cheek, lips parted in a soft, steady rhythm.

“But it’s different now,” he adds. “I think… how is she real? How did we make her? How is she breathing and blinking and making those tiny sounds like it’s the most normal thing in the world?” His voice catches. “How do I ever make sure she knows how much I love her?”

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his. He grips yours back immediately, tight, like he needs to feel your pulse to believe any of this is real.

“She already knows,” you whisper. “She’s felt it. She’s felt it every time you talked to her. Every time you rubbed my back or held my hair or teared up during an ultrasound.”

Max looks at you then, and you see it all, the vulnerability, the devotion, the pure, unfiltered wonder that hasn’t left him since the moment she arrived.

You smile through the tears clouding your lashes.

“We’re in this together,” you say.

He nods. “Always.”

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @brokenvines-wiltingflowers @leto-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @treatallwithkindness @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @valevv30 @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @lenamds @blueskies4everxo @teamnovalak

[yunalinwrites]

one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

[onetwistedmiracle]

Um, yes. Parents allowed their kids to roam freely in the 70's and 80's.

I'm a GenXer born in 1968. I had only one sibling and he is profoundly disabled with autism (basically non-verbal, has lived in a group home since he was 18) so he had a nanny starting when I was about 13 and after that I was more supervised than most of my peers. Nonetheless, ages 7 through 12 I could leave my home in the morning on a day when there was no school and not return until dinner. I had a watch from a very young age.

My parents told me not to leave the island (small residential island near Savannah, GA) and I obeyed them, but if I had disobeyed they wouldn't have known unless something had happened to me. They may or may not have had phone numbers for most of the houses I was likely to walk or bike to, but those were landlines, obviously, and only got answered when both possible and convenient.

These clips on youtube? Are not fake.

As I once said to a snarly Boomer when my own kids were still fairly small (I have 3 GenZ kids, now all in their 20s): "Nancy, when you were raising children, if something happened people would cry with you and bring you a casserole. Now if something happens, Mommy goes to jail."

Times have CHANGED.

And as @lightandwinged brings up, it is hardly true that children didn't get hurt back then. I was once sexually assaulted while walking home. A friend's little brother touched a spinning ... machine (I wish I could tell you what it was) installed in his backyard and lost the tips of three fingers. I have two friends my own age who grew up elsewhere in the USA who were both, separately, snatched up by a stranger and sexually assaulted.

I was myself once walking home (different story from the first sexual assault, sigh) and realized I was being followed by a car. I went to the first friend's house I could and called my mother to ask her to pick me up so I wouldn't have to risk whatever that driver might have had in mind. I felt lucky she was home to answer the phone.

Younger people will probably have difficulty believing this, but my mother refused to drive less than a mile to come get me, though I explained about the suspicious car. She told me I was making up a story so I wouldn't have to walk home. She called me lazy. She was not abusive. She was generally a good mother. But she was quite sure, on that occasion, that it was infinitely more likely that I was a lazy asshole than a child in any danger from a suspicious stranger.

Luckily my friends' parents were willing to let me hang out for a while, and by the time I felt safe to leave and try walking home again, the car was gone.

So it isn't that kids never got hurt back then. It isn't that kids never got deliberately targeted by bad people and therefore hurt, either. It's just that it was assumed "normal" and "ordinary" and even "correct" that children were given a great deal more freedom and autonomy.

I think it may well be because children are considered more "valuable" now, but in the way of gold or diamonds, unfortunately. Children are a valuable commodity. A valuable product. Not really so much in the way of "all human life is precious" and definitely not in the way of "every child needs every possible opportunity to grow into the most amazing adult they have the potential to become." If it were one of those we'd find ways to balance this equation. Because children do benefit from freedom and the ability to take some risks. They benefit quite a lot.

This is a legitimate and damaging cultural shift for all involved parties and it needs to be addressed.

[batsandbirdbrains]

Ok Dick biting Hal as a kid has got to be one of my favorite headcanons of all time. Like atp it IS canon to me. But now I’m imagining Dick biting all the members of the JL at least once because they’ve done something that’s either pissed him off, or pissed Bruce off. Hal is obviously bitten first and everyone thinks he’s exaggerating or being a big baby about how much it hurts. Then Clark gets bitten because Bruce got hurt on a JL mission where Clark was supposed to be watching his back. And to be fair, Dick growled at him before he bit, which was far more warning than Hal had received. When Dick sinks his teeth - some of which are still baby teeth - into Clark’s meaty, Kryptonian arm, it shouldn’t hurt. But somehow Clark is tearing up as he lets out a pained howl. It takes both Aquaman and the Flash to remove Dick. Clark doesn’t use that arm for two days, wincing every time he jostles it. How and why Dick bites the others is up for interpretation. Eventually, once all of them have been bitten, they call a meeting about it. Not to get him to stop or anything, just to figure out why it hurts so fucking much. They’re all throwing out various theories when someone says “No seriously, what hell does that kid put into his bites?” when Dick emerges from the shadows and says, deadpan, “Vengeance.” before cackling evilly and disappearing. They all shudder before deciding to never piss him off or talk about his biting ever again.

Also now I’m kind of imagining Dick and Slade fighting for the first time when Dick is just a little gremlin and Slade is like “pffft as if this fourth grader could beat me” only to panic when said fourth grader sinks his teeth into him so hard that he still has the scar years later.

I'm imagining Bruce seeing how Dick's go-to attack is to bite people, and he immediately makes a specialized mouth guard for him. It perfectly molds to his teeth, but it's extra sharp and leaves a different imprint than Dick's actual bite. Mostly so no one can compare dental records or anything to the scars that Dick will no doubt leave on many, many people. It has to be updated regularly when Dick is still young because of him losing his baby teeth.

The first time Dick bites Superman is because he brought Batman back to the Batcave in terrible shape. They'd been on a mission together, it was supposed to be quick, easy, no big deal. And now Dr. Leslie and Alfred are working on him in the Batcave medbay, and Dick just turns to Superman with tears and rage in his eyes. And he launches himself at him and attacks.

Clark yelps as soon as he realizes ouch, he can feel that! What the hell!

"Dick! Dick, let go!"

"You promised you'd bring him back home safe!" Dick cries, but his words are muffled, his teeth still sinking into Clark's arm. "He got hurt!"

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Clark says quickly. "But he's going to be fine, Dickie, it's mostly just a broken arm and a concussion!"

Dick is growling and hanging off Clark's arm, until Alfred comes out and announces that Bruce is ready to for visitors. Dick unlatches quickly, then scampers over to Alfred, still sniffling. As soon as he catches sight of Bruce, he starts whining and crying and cuddles next to him on the bed.

Clark never makes fun of Hal for the ankle guards again. Dick really does have crazy sharp teeth. Clark's arm is bruised for days around the puncture marks, and he's left with a scar on his arm in the shape of Dick's mouth.

A few months later, Dick has started hanging out with Garth a lot. They become pals. Very good friends. Best friends, almost.

And Garth hangs out with him one day and looks so glum and down in the dumps and says how Aquaman was mean to him during training, but it's okay, it was Garth's own fault. That doesn't sit well with Dick. No one makes his friends upset and gets away with it.

The next time Dick accompanies Bruce to the Watchtower, Dick locks in on Aquaman and chomps right on his arm. Like eating a fish stick. Aquaman yelps and tries to pry him off, asking him what happened and what's wrong and why the hell is Robin biting him?

"Don't be mean to my friends!" is all Dick says before he stomps off to go back to Batman's side. Before he reaches Batman fully, he turns and locks eyes with Aquaman, making that creepy I've got my eye on you gesture. It sends a shiver down Aquaman's spine.

He bites pretty much every other JL member for various reasons between the ages of 8-11. When they eventually call a meeting for it, Batman just stares at all of them with an unimpressed look.

"Perhaps you should try not upsetting him," Batman tells them, then turns on his heel and leaves. Dick, who'd been hiding under Batman's cape, grins at all of them and sends a taunting little wave before the cape covers him up again.

Dick first encounters Deathstroke at the ripe age of nine. During said encounter, Dick is terrified. Deathstroke is talking about wanting to make Dick his apprentice, how he's going to steal him from right under the Bat's nose, and Dick panics.

And he resorts to biting the exposed skin he sees when Deathstroke tries to nab him by his cape.

He damn near bites Deathstroke's hand clean off at the wrist. It startles Slade so bad that he shouts, throws Dick off to the side, and is distracted just long enough for Dick to run away and get back to the Batmobile.

Dick is panting and a little freaked out as he relays the story to Bruce from the safety of the Batmobile as Bruce drives them home. Bruce reaches over and pats Dick's head, his own heart beating so hard in his chest.

"Good job, chum," Bruce says softly. "Use every weapon you have. Always."

Dick nods his head, wrapping his cape tight around him.

[lilirae00]

Hard Launch - Part 1

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 3k

Warnings: just fluff, enjoy :)

a/n & update: decided to make this a two-parter because I loved the idea of how they handle the launch, so part 2 coming up soon.

——

The Dallas Wings had just closed out one of their biggest wins of the season. The energy in the arena buzzed like electricity still trapped in the rafters. Paige was riding high off the adrenaline and her first career triple-double—twenty-two points, ten assists, eleven rebounds, and three steals—and now she was heading straight into the post-game press conference.

She should’ve been focused on the game breakdown. But all she could think about was the girl in the front row wearing her jersey.

Azzi.

Azzi had flown in earlier that morning, slipping into town just in time for tipoff. And now there she was—sitting courtside like a secret Paige couldn’t keep much longer. Her long legs crossed, curls pulled back in a half-ponytail, and Paige’s blue #5 jersey hanging oversized on her frame like it belonged there.

Which it did.

Paige had tried not to look too much during the game. Had tried not to stare. Had tried to stay composed when Azzi smiled at her after a tough finish at the rim. She didn’t want to give anything away.

But she was already too far gone.

Now, seated at the table with the mic in front of her, bright lights overhead and cameras rolling, Paige took a sip from her water bottle and shifted in her chair. Reporters peppered her with the usual questions—game strategy, her chemistry with her teammates, how she feels about her triple-double.

And then a different voice cut through.

“Paige, there’s been some buzz online recently—not just about Azzi Fudd sitting courtside again tonight in your jersey, but about a photo she posted a few weeks ago. Fans noticed the phone case she was holding said ‘Paige Bueckers’ girlfriend.’ Do you want to comment on your relationship with her?”

It hit like a full-body static shock.

Paige blinked. The words came before she could stop them.

“I mean… it’s not a secret,” she said, her voice a little softer than usual. “She’s… she’s someone really important to me.”

A few reporters smiled knowingly. Some just raised their brows and started typing.

“I guess if you’re asking if we’re together… yeah. We are,” Paige added with a nervous laugh. “And I’m lucky as hell.”

There was a pause. Not uncomfortable—just charged. And then came the next question, and the conference moved on like nothing happened.

But Paige’s heart was pounding like it had just sprinted a full-court press.

—-

She slipped out of the press room five minutes later, ditching the rest of her team’s entourage to head back toward the tunnel. Her hands were jammed in her pockets, and her hoodie was pulled up over her bun like a kid trying not to get caught skipping school.

When she rounded the corner and spotted Azzi waiting near the bench, that nervous beat inside her exploded.

Azzi was standing casually, still wearing the jersey, arms crossed and eyes locked right on her. Paige stopped short a few feet away.

“Hey,” she said.

Azzi tilted her head, lips curling into something equal parts amused and affectionate. “Hey.”

“Sooo… I might’ve… hard launched us.”

“In the press conference?” Azzi asked with a hint of surprise.

Paige nodded slowly. “Like… national media hard launched.”

Azzi walked forward, closing the distance between them. “What’d you say?”

“That you’re important to me.” Paige looked down, then back up. “That we’re together. And that I’m lucky.”

Azzi’s smile deepened. “You are.”

Paige let out a breathy laugh. “Don’t gas me up right now, I’m freaking out.”

“You’re fine.” Azzi reached up, gently pulling Paige’s hoodie back. “You looked hot tonight, by the way.”

“I scored twenty-two points,” Paige said, mostly to hide how much her cheeks were burning.

“And you still couldn’t stop looking at me,” Azzi teased.

“Not my fault you looked like a walking fantasy in my jersey.”

Azzi leaned in, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “I love you.”

Paige stilled. Not because it was the first time—it wasn’t—but because it always landed with the same quiet force.

“I love you too,” she said. “Even when you make me sweat bullets in front of a dozen reporters.”

Azzi laughed and took her hand. “Let ‘em sweat. You’ve got nothing to hide anymore.”

—-

They kicked off their shoes the second they walked into the apartment. Paige dropped her bag by the door and tugged off her hoodie, the post-game haze finally catching up to her. Azzi didn’t say much—just beelined to the couch, where she threw herself down, still wearing Paige’s Wings jersey and looking completely at home.

Paige walked past the kitchen. “You want tea?”

“Nope,” Azzi called, already pulling out her phone. “I want the internet.”

Paige groaned, spinning on her heel. “Please tell me you’re not checking Twitter.”

“I am absolutely checking Twitter,” Azzi said, already scrolling. “We’re trending.”

“Kill me.”

Azzi grinned. “Okay wait—listen to this one. ‘Paige Bueckers dropping “she’s someone really important to me” like she wasn’t about to break every sapphic heart in America.’ And—wait—‘Hard launched like a NASA rocket and I’m here for it.’”

Paige flopped down next to her and let her head fall into Azzi’s lap. “Why do I sound like I was about to propose?”

“Because you kind of did,” Azzi said, brushing fingers through her hair. “You were nervous. But it was adorable.”

“I was losing my mind,” Paige muttered into her thigh. “I think I blacked out after I said ‘important.’”

Azzi laughed. “You said you were ‘lucky as hell’”

“God.”

“You want a massage? I feel like that level of emotional panic requires some kind of body work.”

Paige grinned into her lap. “Maybe. But only if I can pretend I’m not seeing every post about us.”

Azzi kept scrolling with one hand while the other gently worked at the knots in Paige’s shoulders.

She continued to read the tweets out loud so Paige could hear.

@wnbafanatic: UMMM PAIGE BUECKERS JUST CASUALLY CAME OUT AND SAID AZZI IS HER GIRLFRIEND???

@wingsupdates: Paige saying she’s “lucky as hell” re: Azzi has me kicking my feet.

@queerhoops: We finally got the #Pazzi confirmation we needed and DESERVED. 🥹🏀💙

@barstoolcollege: Paige & Azzi might be the power couple of the decade.

@pazzi4life: Yeah okay, fork found in kitchen. We been known, Paige. 🥹

Paige sighed and turned over to sit up beside her. “Okay. Real talk?”

Azzi nodded, instantly setting her phone aside.

“I wasn’t scared to tell our parents when we did. Or our friends. Or the team. I mean, they already knew,” Paige said, pulling the blanket up over both their legs. “I was scared to tell… them.”

“The world?”

“Yeah. The internet. The fans. The media. All of it.”

Azzi watched her, quiet.

“I’ve spent my whole life being ‘Paige Bueckers,’ you know? This brand, this idea, this… golden girl. I didn’t know how people would take it if I let them see you. Us.”

“You didn’t want to break the illusion,” Azzi said gently.

“I didn’t want to give them something to tear apart.”

Azzi leaned closer. “I get it. It’s not nothing, coming out publicly. Especially in our position.”

Paige looked down at their hands. “I didn’t want anyone to ruin this.”

Azzi squeezed her fingers. “Then don’t let them. They don’t get to touch this unless we let them.”

Paige exhaled. “You’re so sure.”

“I am,” Azzi said. “Because I love you. And I’m not scared of people seeing that.”

Paige was quiet for a beat. “I think I am… but I’m done hiding more than I’m scared of being seen.”

Azzi smiled. “Then we’re good.”

They leaned into each other, kissing slowly, wrapped up in warmth and familiarity. The rest of the world faded out with each soft brush of lips, each lazy laugh between kisses. Eventually, Azzi tugged Paige down with her, their bodies curling together beneath the blanket.

Paige shifted so her hand brushed under the hem of the jersey Azzi was wearing. Azzi responded instantly, deepening the kiss, hands moving to Paige’s waist.

“I meant what I said,” Paige whispered into her mouth. “You’re mine.”

Azzi’s breath hitched. “Then show me.”

—-

Paige stirred awake to sunlight leaking through her bedroom curtains, warm and golden across the sheets. For a minute, she didn’t move—just let herself feel the weight of Azzi’s arm across her stomach, the soft rise and fall of her girlfriend’s breath at her shoulder.

Everything was still. Quiet. Safe.

And then it hit her.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, eyes widening.

Azzi blinked awake beside her. “Mmm?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Paige turned her head slowly. “I said it. Out loud. On record. In a press conference. That we’re together.”

Azzi smiled into the pillow, eyes still mostly closed. “You did.”

Paige groaned and rolled onto her back, covering her face with both hands. “I hard launched us in front of the national media.”

Azzi laughed now, fully awake. “And it was kind of perfect.”

Paige peeked through her fingers. “Was it?”

Azzi propped herself up on one elbow. “Yeah. You were honest. Sweet. Brave.”

Paige went quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t trying to be brave. It just slipped out. But then afterward, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the people who are gonna have opinions about it.”

Azzi’s smile softened. “You wanna talk about it?”

Paige exhaled, turning onto her side to face her. “It’s not that I didn’t want people to know. I just… we’re already so visible, you know? Everything we do gets watched, commented on, judged. Coming out—publicly—it feels like giving people even more to pick apart.”

Azzi nodded slowly, eyes full of understanding. “I get it. I felt the same way.”

“When you asked me if you could post the phone case selfie, you were so sure. Were you not worried?” Paige asked.

Azzi smiled. “I was, but I wanted you to know I was ready, even if you weren’t yet.”

Paige’s heart clenched a little at that. “You weren’t trying to speed up the launch?”

“No,” Azzi said immediately. “I just didn’t want you to think I was ashamed or hiding.”

“I never thought that,” Paige said softly. “I’ve just been scared. Not of being with you—never that. Just scared of what people might say. The fallout. The attention.”

Azzi reached out and laced their fingers together. “The people who love us already know. The rest will catch up or get over it.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then we still have us,” Azzi said. “And I think that’s enough.”

Paige nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I think it is too.”

Azzi leaned in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve got practice soon, rookie. Better get moving.”

Paige groaned again. “Think if I fake a sprained ankle, Coach’ll let me skip it?”

“Not a chance.”

—-

Practice was in full swing when Paige jogged into the gym, hair still damp from her shower and a faint flush clinging to her cheeks that had nothing to do with running drills.

Arike was the first to greet her.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Paige ‘lucky as hell’ Bueckers,” she teased, grinning from across the court.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Oh god. Not you too.”

“Rook, the entire internet is quoting you.”

Dijonai walked by and bumped her shoulder. “That was a hell of a hard launch.”

Lyss followed, looping her arm around Paige. “More like a detonation.”

Paige groaned. “Y’all are relentless.”

“Hey,” Arike said, smirking. “We’ve known about you two forever. You just made it public. We’ve been sitting on our hands not tagging Azzi in thirst tweets out of respect.”

“You’re welcome,” Dijonai added with a wink.

Lyss leaned in. “But for real… we’re proud of you.”

Paige looked around at her teammates—all smirking, playful, and totally in her corner.

“Thanks,” she said, meaning it.

And just like that, they were back to business. But Paige felt different. Lighter. Stronger. Seen.

And lucky as hell.

—-

Later that week, Paige and Azzi were getting ready for a charity gala. The apartment smelled like curling iron heat and perfume. Music played low in the background, a chill playlist on shuffle while the girls moved around each other—Azzi perched at the vanity in a silk champagne dress, Paige pacing near the closet in a deep navy suit that clung to her frame in all the right places.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the floor,” Azzi teased, watching Paige pace.

Paige paused mid-step and met her eyes in the mirror. “You look so good it’s actually stressful.”

Azzi smirked as she added a dab of highlighter to her cheekbones. “We’re just going to a gala.”

“We’re going to a gala sponsored by my team, where we’ll walk a red carpet together, as a couple, for the first time,” Paige countered, adjusting her cuff links. “I think stress is valid.”

Azzi stood and walked over, smoothing down Paige’s lapel with practiced ease. “Then let me help you chill out.”

She leaned in and kissed her—softly, just a breath of pressure—and Paige visibly relaxed.

“You ready now?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. Let’s blow up the internet.”

—-

The car rolled up to the venue entrance, where a navy carpet stretched out under bright lights and a flurry of camera flashes. Other players and VIPs were already arriving in designer fits and sparkling gowns, but the energy shifted the moment Paige stepped out in her suit.

A few cameras flicked toward her—then froze when Azzi followed, hand sliding into Paige’s as they walked.

There was no hiding it tonight.

Photographers lit up like fireworks.

“Paige! Over here!”

“Azzi, give us a smile!”

“Ladies, together, please—look this way!”

Azzi felt Paige squeeze her hand.

“You okay?” she whispered.

Paige looked at her and smiled, “yeah let’s do this.”

Paige kept Azzi close, one hand securely on her waist as they posed together in front of the Dallas Wings media wall. When Azzi leaned in to say something, a photo caught Paige mid-laugh, head tilted, entirely smitten.

“Y’all are trending already,” muttered one of the Wings’ PR staff with a grin, holding up her phone.

As they made their way inside, Paige felt the nerves start to dissipate—not because the cameras stopped, but because Azzi was calm. Confident. Like this was just another date night. Like it was safe.

The event buzzed with Dallas media, corporate sponsors, and familiar WNBA faces. Paige and Azzi moved from group to group—greeting Wings staff, chatting with teammates and partners, posing for a few more photos inside.

“Paige, wow,” said the team’s marketing director as she shook her hand. “You clean up nice. And Azzi—so great to finally meet you in person. We’ve seen you at games, of course, but it’s nice to put a name to the face.”

Azzi smiled graciously. “Likewise.”

“You two look amazing together,” the woman added, almost in a hushed tone, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to say it.

“Thanks,” Paige said, squeezing Azzi’s hand. “We feel amazing together.”

A few feet away, one of the event’s older donors—a man in a crisp gray suit—caught sight of them and leaned in toward a colleague. “Oh, that’s Bueckers’ friend. The UConn kid.”

Paige heard it.

Azzi did too.

And while Azzi gave the man a gracious nod as they walked past, Paige didn’t let it slide.

She slowed, turned slightly, and said loud enough to be heard: “Actually, this is my girlfriend. Not just a friend. I know the difference.”

The man stammered—something about meaning no offense—but Paige was already walking away, Azzi’s hand tucked tightly in hers.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Azzi said quietly.

“I wanted to,” Paige replied. “I’m not letting anyone downplay what we are. Not anymore.”

—-

They collapsed into the Uber like they were finally exhaling after holding it in all night. Paige tugged her tie loose while Azzi kicked off her heels and tucked them beside her on the seat, her bare feet sliding over the leather.

Azzi leaned back, dress pooled around her thighs, and opened her phone. The screen lit up instantly.

“Oh my god. We’re everywhere,” she said, scrolling through mentions. “Twitter. TikTok. WNBA Reddit. There’s a clip of you calling me your girlfriend with this dramatic music under it. The lesbians are unwell.”

Paige grinned and rested her head against the cool window, one arm casually draped across Azzi’s lap. “Good. Let ’em spiral.”

Azzi clicked over to her camera roll and scrolled until she landed on the photo—the one from the carpet where Paige had her arm wrapped tight around Azzi’s waist, both of them looking at each other instead of the camera, smiling like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

She held it up. “What about this one?”

Paige glanced over and immediately nodded. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“We posting it?”

“Together?”

Azzi smiled. “Hardest of hard launches. No going back.”

Paige sat up and reached for her phone too. “Let’s do it.”

They sat side by side in the dark Uber, phones glowing between them as they each uploaded the photo.

Azzi typed first:

“Couldn’t be prouder to stand beside you, on and off the court 💙 #HardLaunch”

Paige stared at her screen for a beat, then typed:

“Took my shot & she said yes 🥹 #LuckyAsHell”

They looked at each other and tapped post at the same time.

Seconds later, their phones lit up in tandem—likes, comments, reposts already flowing in like a tidal wave. But for once, Paige didn’t care what any of them said.

Azzi leaned into her side. “How do you feel?”

Paige turned toward her and answered without hesitation. “Like I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life.”

Azzi’s lips curled. “Not even your triple double last week?”

“Not even close.”

She took Azzi’s hand, threading their fingers together.

“Tonight,” Paige said, eyes locked on her, voice low and warm, “you made me feel like the most complete version of myself. And it’s not because of the cameras or the suits or the headlines. It’s just… you. You make me feel like I don’t have to hide any part of me.”

Azzi swallowed, visibly moved.

Paige leaned in and kissed her—soft, but certain.

They pulled back only when the driver cleared his throat and announced, “You’re home.”

But in Paige’s head, the word didn’t mean the apartment.

It meant the girl sitting next to her.

[1lovewony]

Unseen Angles (Wonyoung x Male Reader)

In the bustling airport, the air was filled with a mix of anticipation and nostalgia. It had been three years since IVE debuted, and I, a dedicated fan-site photographer, had been there every step of the way. My camera had captured countless moments of Jang Wonyoung and her members, but Wonyoung held a special place in my heart. Her charisma, talent, and beauty had always drawn me in, and today was no different.

The airport was unusually quiet for an IVE departure, with only a few fan-sites and fans present. This rarity allowed for a closer interaction with the girls, and I took full advantage, snapping photos of Wonyoung from every angle. Her laughter, her smiles, and her playful banter with her members—it was all captured through my lens.

As I focused on Wonyoung, I felt a sudden trip, my foot catching on an uneven surface. I stumbled, my camera flying from my hands as I braced for impact. Pain shot through my knee, and I felt a warm trickle of blood. Wonyoung, ever the quick thinker, rushed to my side, her eyes wide with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with worry as she helped me up. Her manager, noticing the commotion, hurried over, her expression serious as she assessed the situation.

"I'm fine," I assured them, though the sting in my knee told a different story. Wonyoung's manager called for medical assistance, and before I knew it, I was being escorted to the airport's medical room. Wonyoung followed, her presence a comforting anchor in the chaos.

The medical room was small but well-equipped. A nurse cleaned and bandaged my knee, her efficient movements belied by the gentle touch. Wonyoung and her manager waited outside, their worried expressions visible through the glass door. Once the nurse finished, she left me with a list of instructions and a smile.

Wonyoung and her manager entered, their faces a mix of relief and concern. "How are you feeling?" Wonyoung asked, her voice soft. I assured her I was fine, just a little shaken. Her manager nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "We're glad you're okay. Can we get your contact information? We want to make sure you're alright," she said, handing me a pen and a notepad.

A few days later, I received a text from an anonymous number. It was Wonyoung, checking in on me. I was surprised but touched by her gesture. Our conversation flowed easily, and before I knew it, she was inviting me to their building, Starship.

The day of the visit, I was a bundle of nerves. Wonyoung greeted me at the entrance, her smile warm and inviting. She led me through the bustling halls, her presence commanding respect and admiration from everyone we passed. We reached a private room, and she closed the door behind us, the click echoing in the sudden silence.

"Take a seat," she said, gesturing to a comfortable chair. I complied, my heart pounding in my chest. "I want you to take some exclusive photos of me," she said, her voice steady and confident. "But first, let's make sure you're comfortable."

She moved to a small fridge in the corner and pulled out two bottles of water, handing one to me. I took a sip, the cool liquid doing little to calm my nerves. Wonyoung sat across from me, her eyes never leaving mine. "You've been a great fan, and I appreciate your support. Today, I want to give you something special."

I nodded, unsure of what to expect. Wonyoung stood up and moved to a closet, pulling out a camera bag. She handed it to me, and I unzipped it, revealing a professional-grade camera. "This is for you to use today," she said. "I trust you'll take good care of it."

I nodded, my hands trembling slightly as I took the camera out of the bag. Wonyoung smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Now, let's get started," she said, turning her back to me. She slowly peeled off her jacket, revealing a simple white tank top underneath. My breath hitched as she turned to face me, her eyes locked on mine.

She reached for the hem of her tank top, pulling it off in one smooth motion. I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Her breasts were perfect, round and firm, her nipples hardening under my gaze. She stepped out of her skirt, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lacy black thong. I raised the camera, my hands shaking as I focused on her.

"Take your time," she said, her voice a sultry purr. "Get comfortable with the camera first."

I nodded, snapping a few shots as she posed for me. Her confidence was intoxicating, and I found myself relaxing, the camera becoming an extension of my body. I moved around her, capturing every angle, every curve. Her skin glowed under the soft lighting, and I couldn't help but feel honored to be the one behind the lens.

After what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Wonyoung stepped closer, her body almost touching mine. "Enough with the photos for now," she whispered, her breath hot on my neck. "I want to feel your touch."

I lowered the camera, my heart pounding in my ears. Wonyoung's hands found their way to my chest, her fingers tracing the contours of my muscles through my shirt. I reached out, tentatively touching her hip, my thumb brushing against the lace of her thong. She shivered, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Emboldened, I let my hands explore her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. Her skin was soft and warm, and I couldn't get enough. Wonyoung's hands moved to my belt, her fingers deftly unbuckling it. She pushed my pants down, my erection springing free, straining against my boxers.

She looked down, a smirk playing on her lips. "Someone's eager," she teased, her hand wrapping around my length through the fabric. I groaned, my hips bucking into her touch. She pushed my boxers down, her eyes never leaving mine as she took me in her hand, stroking me slowly.

I reached out, cupping her breast, my thumb brushing against her nipple. She gasped, her head falling back, exposing the delicate column of her throat. I leaned in, my lips capturing hers in a fierce kiss. Our tongues danced, exploring each other's mouths with a hunger that had been building for years.

Wonyoung's hand continued to stroke me, her touch sending waves of pleasure through my body. I broke the kiss, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "Wonyoung," I whispered, my voice hoarse with desire. "I want you."

She smiled, a wicked glint in her eye. "Then take me," she said, her voice a challenge. She turned, bending over the chair, her perfect ass on display. I grabbed a condom from my wallet, rolling it on quickly before positioning myself at her entrance.

I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, her tight heat enveloping me. She moaned, her hands gripping the chair for support. I started to move, my hips thrusting against hers, our bodies slapping together in a primal rhythm. Wonyoung met me thrust for thrust, her moans filling the room, spurring me on.

I reached around, my fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in slow circles. She cried out, her body tensing as I brought her to the edge. I increased my pace, my body slamming into hers, chasing my own release. Wonyoung came first, her body convulsing around me, her screams of pleasure music to my ears.

With a final thrust, I followed her over the edge, my body shaking with the force of my orgasm. I collapsed on top of her, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. We stayed like that for a moment, our hearts slowing, our bodies cooling.

I pulled out, disposing of the condom before turning to face Wonyoung. She was smiling, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "That was… incredible," I said, my voice hoarse. She laughed, a soft, content sound. "You're not so bad yourself," she replied, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest.

We stayed like that for a while, our bodies entwined, our breaths syncing. Eventually, Wonyoung sat up, her eyes meeting mine. "We should get cleaned up," she said, her voice gentle. I nodded, a small smile playing on my lips. "Yeah, we should."

She led me to a small en-suite bathroom, where we took our time washing each other, our touches gentle and exploratory. We dried off, our bodies still humming with residual pleasure. Wonyoung handed me a robe, slipping into one herself. We returned to the main room, our steps slow and lazy.

Wonyoung sat on the chair, patting her lap. I hesitated for a moment before sitting, my back to her chest. She wrapped her arms around me, her chin resting on my shoulder. "You're special to me, you know that?" she said, her voice soft. I leaned into her, a content sigh escaping my lips. "I know," I replied, my voice equally soft.

We stayed like that for a while, our bodies molded together, our breaths syncing. Eventually, Wonyoung's stomach rumbled, breaking the silence. She laughed, a soft, embarrassed sound. "I guess we worked up an appetite," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. I turned to face her, a smirk on my lips. "I could go for some food," I agreed, my stomach rumbling in response.

Wonyoung stood, pulling me up with her. "Let's see what we can find," she said, her hand in mine as she led me out of the room. We ended up in the kitchen, raiding the fridge and cupboards for snacks. We sat at the counter, our plates piled high with food, our conversation flowing easily.

"So, how did you get into photography?" Wonyoung asked, her mouth full of pizza. I swallowed my bite, a small smile playing on my lips. "I've always had an interest in it, but it was seeing IVE perform that really sparked something in me. I wanted to capture your journey, your growth. It's been incredible to watch."

Wonyoung's eyes softened, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'm glad I could inspire you," she said, her voice genuine. "And I'm glad you were there to capture it all."

We continued to talk, our conversation ranging from light and fluffy to deep and meaningful. It was easy, natural, and I found myself opening up to her in a way I never had with anyone else. Wonyoung listened, her eyes never leaving mine, her presence grounding and comforting.

As the night wore on, our conversation turned to more intimate topics. Wonyoung talked about her dreams, her fears, her hopes for the future. I listened, my heart aching for her, my admiration growing with each word. She was more than just a idol to me now; she was a friend, a confidant, a lover.

Eventually, the conversation turned to us, to what this meant for our relationship. Wonyoung took my hand, her fingers tracing patterns on my palm. "I care about you," she said, her voice soft but steady. "More than I can express. But I need you to know that this… us… it's complicated."

I nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I know," I replied, my voice equally soft. "But I also know that what we have is real. And I'm willing to face whatever complications come our way."

Wonyoung's eyes shone with unshed tears, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'm glad to hear you say that," she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Because I feel the same way."

We stayed like that for a while, our hands entwined, our eyes locked on each other. Eventually, Wonyoung stood, pulling me up with her. "Come on," she said, her voice gentle. "Let's get some rest."

She led me back to the room, our steps slow and lazy. We climbed into bed, our bodies molding together, our breaths syncing. I pulled Wonyoung close, my chin resting on her head, my arms wrapped around her. "I'm glad I met you," I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion.

Wonyoung looked up at me, a small smile playing on her lips. "Me too," she replied, her voice equally soft. "Me too."

And with that, we drifted off to sleep, our bodies entwined, our hearts full, our futures uncertain but promising. The room was filled with the soft sounds of our breathing, the occasional rustle of sheets, and the distant hum of the city outside. It was a perfect moment, a testament to the connection we shared, and a promise of more to come.

As I lay there, holding Wonyoung in my arms, I couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment and fulfillment. I had started the day as a fan, a photographer, and ended it as so much more. Wonyoung had given me a gift, a memory that I would cherish for the rest of my life. And as I drifted off to sleep, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together. AN: I love wonyoung

[demie90s]

Can you write a reader x UConn team and reader has like no filter like they could be in the most serious moment and reader would say something out of pocket

Why she got a mic?

UConn WBB Team x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Me. The team’s walking HR violation. No matter the mood, you will say something that has the whole team side-eyeing, laughing, or questioning reality.

Word Count: ~ 0.5k

Genre: Comedy, Team Fluff, Mild Crack

Warnings: Cussing, chaos, suggestiveness, mentions of thirst, reader being out of pocket at all times

The mic wasn’t even all the way clipped to your jersey before you started talking.

“So like…y’all gon’ feed us after this right? ‘Cause I don’t wanna sound ungrateful but that little fruit tray y’all gave us pregame made me feel like a parrot.”

You were dead serious. Meanwhile, the rest of the UConn team was already doing synchronized neck turns to Geno, who stared ahead like maybe if he focused hard enough he could astral project into retirement.

The reporter chuckled awkwardly. “Right, well—uh—let’s talk about the game. You had a breakout performance in the third quarter. What clicked?”

You nodded solemnly. “I had to pee real bad so I was tryna hurry up and get off the court. Y’all saw me running? That was urgency. It’s called motivation.”

Laughter broke out across the room. Aubrey dropped her head into her hands. Nika was crying silently.

Someone else raised their hand—braver than most.

“You guys really shut down USC’s offense tonight. What went into that defensive game plan?”

You tilted your head. “I mean, yeah. I saw that. USC good and all…but not as good as us so like…I don’t really care. Sorry.”

Caroline leaned in with a PR-smile. “What she means is we watched a lot of film and trusted each other—”

“No,” you cut in. “That’s not what I meant. I said what I said.”

The reporter blinked. “A-And uh—Aubrey, you had a great night on the boards…”

You slouched in your chair. “Yeah, and yet still no date.”

Aubrey snapped her head toward you. “Yo—”

“I told her, I said, ‘If God see fit and we win tonight, you gon’ say yes’—and we did. We won. And she still didn’t say yes. So she fake but that’s between her and the Lord.”

KK was wheezing. “You need help.”

You turned to her calmly. “Nah I need a girlfriend. Two different things.”

The reporter next to the stage was beet red now, trying not to laugh into their notes. “Okay, uh…next question—what was going through your mind during that final play?”

You crossed one leg over the other like this was Oprah. “I was thinking, if the world ended right then, we’d all go with it, so I might as well go out with a win. That’s real.”

Geno rubbed his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

You leaned into the mic again, like a closing statement. “Thank you. And please remember to feed athletes. We is hungry.”

The PR rep jumped in so fast her paper nearly flew off the table. “That’s it! Thanks so much, everyone!”

The moment y’all stepped backstage, Geno turned slowly.

“You know they record those, right?”

“Yeah Coach.”

“And they post them.”

“Mmhm.”

“You’re going to get us sued.”

You gave him your most sincere expression. “It’s okay. I got a lil savings.”

He looked like he aged ten years in five seconds.

Behind you, Aubrey shoved your shoulder, laughing. “Yo are you alright.”

You shrugged. “I’m just honest. And single. And hungry. Somebody gone address it.”

Just like that, you were back in the locker room, already hyping yourself up for post-game food and probably more chaos. Because filters are for water—not for you.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[mustyrosewater]

𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐

𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖐 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖝 𝖆𝖋𝖆𝖇!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 14.7k

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: you met your best friend julia in highschool two years before graduation, you kissed her older brother on halloween, logic says that four years later, you would completely forget about something like that, right?

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: mutual pining, a little bit of angst, mentions of a cheating boyfriend, drunk kisses, rated n for nasty, SMUT, cursing, cliche in the form of falling for your best friends older brother. also julia is a lesbian no i don’t take criticism.

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: hey gang, so, in an attempt to write something small before releasing another chapter of an ongoing series, somehow i managed to turn this into a 14k word slow burn, please enjoy and as always comment and reblog to show your support! it means the world to me! also massive thanks to @babybluebex for brainstorming all of this with me including being the one who came up with the idea that erik drove a 2005 ford taurus post graduation.

It hadn’t been something you expected when you became friends with Julia, being paired together for a project by your teacher in eleventh grade had seemed to be some sort of divine intervention.

Initially, you’d been apprehensive; Julia was hardly the type of person you would be drawn to, her blonde hair and tan being a more than enough difference to your own more alternative choice of dress and appearance, yet somehow, a friendship bloomed quite promptly.

She’d been so sweet, offering you gum while you sat together and cracking jokes that actually made you laugh, not at all the dense popular girl stereotype you’d unfairly constructed of her inside your own mind. Julia actually evidently loved hanging out with you, and you with her.

Where you’d first spent time with each other out of obligation, sitting together in the library to study together or inviting her around to your house to work on the project, it then turned into going to the mall together and sitting together at lunch so that she could bitch about her brothers and laugh about things with you.

The first you’d heard of her brothers was purely by mention when you were studying together in the public library after school, Julia’s phone had vibrated, and she opened it up only to chuckle and type something back.

“Who’s that?” you’d asked curiously, peering your head over with a smirk, initially thinking that maybe it was a boy, someone she’d been flirting back and forth with.

“Just my brothers.” she’d laughed, turning her phone around to reveal the photo that had seemingly been taken from the inside of a car, two males varying in age making silly faces at the camera as the older brother drove, the photo seemingly taken by the younger.

“Oh, i didn’t know you had any siblings.” you’d responded, nodding your head as you looked back at the photo.

“Yeah well, Erik already graduated, and Bobby’s three years younger than me.” Julia explained, shrugging her shoulders as she closed her laptop and began placing things in her bag, humming to herself.

“They’re actually on the way to get me now. Do you need a lift?” She’d offered, smiling across at you in that way that was always contagious, leaving you unable to stop your own smile from crawling across your features.

Mulling the offer over in your head, you bit your lip and tapped your pencil against the table, trying to decide whether or not you wanted to stay a bit longer. It was pretty late after all, just now starting to get dark outside, even if it was only about six thirty, even more of a marker that summer was starting to finish up.

“If that's okay?” you finally asked, starting to pack up your own things as Julia nodded brightly and excitedly, holding out her hand for you as soon as you stood, which you took in your own, swinging your interlocked hands together as you exited the library.

“You should sleep over!” she offered, seeming like she was excited by the idea as she gripped your hand tighter, only spurring on a laugh from you. “We can watch that stupid movie, fuck what was it called..” she trailed off, placing a hand on her forehead as she tried to remember.

Snapping her fingers, she pointed a finger at you as her eyes brightened up, “After! The one that was like a fucked up Harry Styles fanfiction!”

Rolling your eyes, you groaned audibly and tilted your head back, looking back at her as she nodded in tandem with you shaking your head.

“Jesus christ, no, Julia.” you laughed through your words, still holding her hand as you stood by the entrance of the library and waited for your lift to arrive.

“I’ll sleepover, but we’re not watching that movie.”

Seemingly only excited that you said yes to the sleepover, Julia did what could only be described as a little happy dance, balancing her books in one hand as she held yours with her other.

“Oh my god, im so excited, i’ll get Erik to order us pizza.”

As if it were a speak of the devil type summoning, the sound of what could only be described as a tin man gargling nails began to sound out in the distance, your brows furrowing as you looked around the almost abandoned parking lot for the source of the sound.

Coming peeling around the corner, the silver car that looked to be a model that was over a decade old pulled into the parking lot of the library, its motor sounding like the depths of hell and the tires skidding slightly as the driver turned.

The sound of metal music blaring only got louder as the car got closer. You could see the passenger side window rolling down when it finally pulled up in front of you, Julia walking down the steps with a large grin as she waved.

You were hesitant as you stepped after her, part of you worried that this car could blow up any second based on the sound, much less hesitant to get inside based on the way her brother was driving.

“My friend’s coming over to stay.” she spoke matter-of-factly, opening the back door and leaning in to seemingly brush trash away, old cigarette packets and McDonald's bags.

When she shuffled her way into the backseat, you leaned in to finally catch a glance at these lucrative brothers, the youngest of whom in the front passenger seat couldn’t have been any older than fifteen, waved at you and grinned, looking like the nicest kid you’ve ever seen in your life.

The older brother, the one in the driver's seat with one hand resting on the steering wheel, only spared a glance at you as you got in, buckling your seat belt.

“Did you ask dad?” he spoke pointedly, looking at Julia through the rear-view mirror with his eyebrows raised, only for Julia to roll her own eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Dad doesn’t care.” she responded, her tone laced with an overwhelming sense of sass that for a moment you wondered if she even got along with her brother.

Just as you thought an argument was potentially going to start between the siblings, the eldest brother, Erik, shrugged his shoulders before putting the clutch into drive.

“Works for me.”

Before you even got the chance to open your mouth to thank him for giving you a ride, you were gripping the passenger door for dear life as he spun the steering wheel and turned the radio back up, peeling out of the library parking lot like he was drag racing.

When looking over at Julia, she only laughed at your nervous expression, evidently used to her brothers' more than lenient view on traffic laws and speeding limits.

Managing to make it to the Campbell family home without crashing, even if your legs felt wobbly getting out of the absolute death trap that was Erik’s 2005 ford taurus, you and Julia retired to her bedroom and began to settle in for a movie night, even if she’d gone ahead and put on that stupid after movie anyway.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t finding yourself even slightly pulled in by the awful plot and acting, turning into a hate watch as you sat on the bed with Julia.

“This is horrible.” she wheezed as you sat shoulder to shoulder, shovelling popcorn into your mouths together.

You shrugged your shoulders, tilting your head as a scene with the main male lead played on the screen, a horrid rendition of a Harry Styles knockoff, though the tattoos weren’t bad.

“He’s kinda hot.” you mused, unable to stop yourself from cracking up as you watched Julia’s face contort into a look of judgment and horror all at once.

“Ew! He literally looks like my brother!” she cried, holding her hand out at the screen for extra emphasis.

The sudden realization of the shared resemblance between the two men made you almost spit out your popcorn with laughter, leaning over the side of the bed to cough as you both laughed until your stomachs hurt.

This was always going to be the sign that you and Julia were going to be best friends for the rest of your lives, only with her did you ever laugh so hard that you got lightheaded or feel comfortable telling even your deepest thoughts.

The rest of that same year had been more than enough time for you to wedge your way into the Campbells’ lives, coming around almost every week, her parents loved you, always overjoyed when you came around to the point it was like you lived there half the time.

Dinner sat with the rest of her family, or barbecues out in the backyard when the weather was warm, there was so much effort on her and her family’s part to include you.

It made your heart soar.

So much of your time was spent by Julia’s side, whether it was playing video games with Bobby or the pair of you begging Erik for a lift to the mall, the pair of you putting all of your power to be annoying together to eventually get him to cave every time.

“Ok, Ok, if i take you to the mall, will you both shut the fuck up and leave me alone.” he’d groan from where he sat on his bed, the pair of you nodding excitedly from where you’d stuck your heads into his room.

Howard had seemed to recognise parts of himself in you, even if you didn’t say it, you both knew that the Campbells were the closest thing to family you had. With your mother’s tight work schedule, the only family member you had was barely home half of the time, leaving you to essentially need to function on your own.

The Campbells’ family home became your safe haven, to the point that the guest room started becoming your go-to bedroom when you came to sleep over. Your possessions and clothes were starting to be left in there to the point that it was hardly even a guest room anymore.

Within a year, you’d been accepted as an extra family member.

Even your eighteenth birthday had been spent with the Campbells, who’d gone to the trouble to get you a cake and prepare a little barbecue with some small decorations.

As much as they might have thought it was small, you hugged Julia behind closed doors and cried softly in her arms, so thankful to have her in your life to the point of tears.

Bobby and Erik had even gone to the trouble to get you a present, Bobby handing it to you sheepishly as Erik stood behind him with his hands in his pockets.

You hugged Bobby tightly and resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks, the now sixteen-year-old looking awfully proud of himself.

“Alright, come here..” you’d heard Erik say, laughing together as he pulled you into a one-armed side hug, his desire to put forward a nonchalant nature betraying him as soon as he’d seen your eyes start to fog up all over again.

While they might not have thought it was anything special, the little Claire’s necklace never left your neck from that day onwards, even when the chain started to rust, you just got a new one.

The little skull and crossbones were a pretty obvious nod to your alternative choice of wear, something that you and Julia always thought was funny, the stark difference between your two styles always being a point of conversation.

It only made sense that when Erik needed somebody to practise on when he started getting trained to be a body piercer by the tattoo shop in town, Julia had come to you.

“Fuck no.”

“Please! He just needs to do a nose, then they can upskill him, he only needs one person!”

Julia sat across from you in the food court, her arms outstretched towards you as he gripped your wrists and shook them softly.

“I’m not letting your brother come anywhere near me with a needle!” you argued, pulling your hands away from her, only for Julia to put her hands together in a motion that looked similar to either prayer or begging.

“Come onnnn! He won’t stop bugging me about it! If he can’t get his certificate, he’s gonna be miserable, and I’m the one that’s gonna have to deal with it.”

You sat and stared for a few moments, biting your lip, obviously a free nose piercing wasn’t something you would normally turn down, considering you wanted it for ages, but the idea of letting Erik do it only filled you with anxiety.

It would look pretty sweet, though.

Holding up a pointed index finger, you watched Julia’s expression light up with hope.

“You have to hold my hand.”

Your confirmation made Julia practically jump out of her seat, pulling you into a hug and rocking you back and forth as you tried to push her off.

“Thank you!” she cried out.

That was how you then found yourself lying back in the black leather chair in the tattoo studio Erik was currently apprenticing at, Julia sat by your side and gripping your hand tightly as Erik used a marker to put a little dot on your nose.

“Please don't kill me.” you whispered, only producing a chuckle out of him as he rolled his stool back to reach for the sterilized needle on his side table.

“I make no promises.” he spoke softly, only to receive a smack on the shoulder from Julia.

“Shut up, she’s already nervous.”

When he finally pushed the needle through, you shut your eyes and squeezed Julia’s hand so hard that you thought you might hurt her, trying to maintain a steadiness to your breathing as he put the jewelry through, a plain silver stud.

Maybe it was a good way to celebrate being eighteen, being able to sign off on your own piercing, just so happened that it was convenient timing to be around the same time Erik needed a guinea pig.

Rising from the leather seat slowly, as instructed, you could already see Julia smiling brightly as she leaned in to have a closer look.

“Look’s hot.” she mused, only resulting in you rolling your eyes.

“Shut up.” you chuckled, pushing her shoulder slightly so that you could pick up the mirror Erik was handing you, holding it up to your face and beholding the small silver stud that was now sticking through your nose.

You loved it, of course you did, and it was difficult to hide that, considering the massive grin coming across your face, turning your view to where Erik sat, satisfied with his work.

“Well, you’re not dead.” he stated with a smirk, tossing the used needle in a jar. “Guess that means I did a good job.”

Shaking your head, you pushed yourself off of the black leather chair and reached forward to take Julia’s hand in your own, grabbing your bag off her shoulder and swinging it over your own.

“Thank you, Erikkkk..” you mused, swinging Julia’s hand in your own as you headed for the exit, swinging the studio door open with a ring of the bell and walking out, laughing with Julia as you did.

-

Halloween was always something you’d loved as a child, fond memories of fake blood and jack o lanterns that still brought warmth to your heart even now.

Obviously the holiday and its activities seemed to take a sharp turn when you turned eighteen, the party you and Julia had been invited to promising to be a “rager.” or at least that’s what Julia had said.

Her bluetooth speaker had thrilled blasting out of it as the pair of you got ready together, finally looking at yourself in the floor length mirror, your mouth hanging open at the costume she’d convinced you buy.

“Julia, I can’t wear this.” you spoke, turning to look at where she was sitting on the floor applying mascara with her hand mirror, her head turning to look at you as she looked you over and shook her head.

“It’s perfect, I was right.”

Her words only brought a huff from you, the short skirt and fishnets seeming an odd match for the red hooded cape and corset, a crude version of a sexed up red riding hood.

As much as you wanted to pull it off of your body and opt for something else, maybe even something that was genuinely scary, you knew there was no arguing with Julia, especially when she had set her mind on something.

Apparently her mission for the night was to get you laid, at least that’s what it seemed based on what she’d picked for you.

You knew there was a girl that was going to be at the party that Julia had her eyes on, the pair of them having been exchanging flirty text messages for a few weeks now, so you were wholeheartedly supportive of that.

“Oh yeah, don’t forget to ask Erik if he’ll buy us some booze.” she mused, applying a coat of lip gloss and adjusting the sleeping beauty costume she’d changed into.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just drink the beer in the fridge downstairs, didn’t your dad say we were allowed to?”

Howard was an executive for a local brewery, and in turn, always had access to a stupid amount of beer, tucked away in a fridge downstairs that he’d given you both express permission to take from for the night, along with the promise of drinking responsibly.

“I’m not drinking beer all night, besides, Erik already agreed to drop us off, not that big of a deal for him to stop and get us a bottle of vodka or something.”

You didn’t realise you’d already had a lift organised, assuming that you’d either walk or get picked up by somebody else in attendance, but you weren’t complaining, the boots you were wearing with this outfit certainly weren’t made for walking.

“Can you go ask him, please? I have to finish doing my hair.” Julia mused, her eyes not turning away from the mirror as she plugged in her curling iron.

Rolling your eyes, you nodded, walking out of her bedroom and taking the eight steps down the hallway to bring yourself to Erik’s closed door, a sign reading “KEEP OUT.” greeting you.

Rapping your fist on the door, you heard shuffling for a few moments, footsteps getting closer before the door finally opened, Erik’s grumpy face awaiting you.

His expression shifted rather quickly when he saw your outfit, his brows furrowing and his lip curling in a look that read nothing but judgement.

“Seriously?” he breathed with a scoff, his response making you cross your arms and feel just a tad bit more self conscious.

“Julia made me wear it.”

Your reasoning seemed to leave him unconvinced as he leaned on the door frame.

“Yeah, well, it looks like it’s missing some fabric.” he spoke, reaching forward to pull softly at one of the sleeves, bringing it up to try and cover more of you. “You’re not gonna wear a jacket or anything?”

His voice held the slightest bit of concern, but you brushed it off with a sigh, tapping your foot impatiently against the hardwood floor.

“Can you buy us a bottle of vodka?” you asked, only for Erik’s brows to furrow just as the sound of Julia’s footsteps started to come in behind you.

“Pleeaasee!” she begged, a bottle of beer in each hand, one of which she promptly handed to you, which you took a tip of and curled your face up in a cringed expression, made sense why she didn’t wanna drink this all night.

“Dad gave you permission to drink from the fridge didn’t he? so why is it my problem?”

Julia let out a groan, hand reaching into her purse as she ruffled around and eventually pulled out a fifty dollar bill which she passed over your shoulder and held out to her brother.

“You can keep the change, just please, I can't drink this shit all night.”

As the pair of you stood in front of Erik, making a show of making puppy dog eyes at him, he seemed unconvinced until he took another look over at you, his expression changing just the slightest when he looked down at you, only to sigh and take the bill from his sisters hand, signalling that he agreed.

-

Pulling up to the house, you and Julia sat in the backseat of Erik’s car, multicoloured lights in the windows and music already blaring out.

Julia’s hand in your own, you opened the door and crawled out of the car, almost tripping over as you exited, only eliciting loud laughter from you and Julia, already a little bit tipsy off the vodka you’d both been taking turns sipping at.

Turning back to face the car, you both waved at Erik as you stumbled onto the sidewalk, leaning in each other.

“Thanks Erik, we love you!” Julia yelled, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Alright, Just be careful! Ok?” he yelled out to the pair of you, taking one final look at you before he pulled away and drove away, leaving you and Julia to your party.

The night consisted of the usual shenanigans, jell-o shots and dancing to shitty music, far too many drunken selfies taken in your costumes as you and Julia celebrated your last Halloween as highschool students.

It was coming around to almost one in the morning when you were letting one of the guys from your science class suck on your neck, pushed against a wall outside and giggling to yourself as his hands gripped your hips.

It wasn’t anything special, just a drunken make out at a party as was the usual, letting out soft exhales and moans as you ran your fingers through his stubble.

Julia and you had been separated when she’d pulled you aside to tell you she was going to say hi to the girl she’d been texting with, also known as, i’m going to go make out in the bathroom with this girl, which you had no problem with.

Just as the boy from your science class hands began to wander, you heard your name being called out, your head turning to look in the direction of Julia drunkenly calling out for you.

Pushing him off of you, you laughed softly at his insulted look, putting a hand flat on his chest as you wished him a good night and walked away, going on the direction that Julia’s voice was coming from.

While it initially took a little bit searching, you eventually found where she was standing by the back door, your arms outstretching and a wide smile on your face when you spotted each other.

Grinning like a pair of idiots, you used each other as support as you walked back through the house, more than intent on heading home for night, knowing exactly who you would be calling to drive you.

As the pair of you sat on the sidewalk, now shivering in the october weather but not seeming to have a care in the world, you wheezed as you watched Julia struggling to get out her phone, paired with a sloppy attempt at tapping Erik’s name in the contacts.

Listening to the phone ring, Julia’s head found its place comfortably on your shoulder, the two of you swaying softly as you waited for her brother to pick up the phone.

You knew Erik wouldn’t have been asleep by now, he’d always been a night owl for as long as you’d known him, even now that he worked full time at the tattoo shop, so it was hardly surprising when he picked up relatively quickly, sounding wide awake.

“What is it?”

His annoyed voice only made you and Julia snicker, the state you were both in making everything seem hilarious, especially when it was coming from her older brother.

“Erikkkk…” Julia spoke in a little sing song voice, making you laugh even harder in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t even breathe properly.

“Come pick us up!” you continued for Julia, leaning towards the phone to make sure the receiver could pick up your voice. “It’s cold and we’re drunk!”

Initially you could hear an audibly annoyed sign coming from the phone, but it seemed Erik knew better than to try and say no, especially considering that he’d been explicitly told by Howard to pick the two of you up if you rang.

“I’ll be there in ten.” he spoke, “I swear to god if either of you vomit in my car, I’ll kill you.”

His warning was ignored, only a resounding cheer from you and Julia as you watched her try to hang up the phone sloppily.

“I can’t hang up, you do it.” she said through her laughter, handing the phone to you.

“Love you, Erik.” you slurred slightly, a giggle leaving your throat as you hung up the phone.

He said he’d be there in ten, but he made it in eight.

Helping Julia into the car first, when he turned to help you, his eyes drifted to your neck immediately, focusing in on the purple marks along your skin, seeming to visibly stiffen and take in a sharp breath when he saw them.

Too drunk to notice or care, you just let him help you into the car and laid your head against Julia’s shoulder, the pair of you smiling like idiots and occasionally giggling to yourselves as Erik drove you home silently, seeming slightly more ticked off than you would have expected.

When you finally arrived home, Julia had managed to get out of the car without too much of a struggle and make her way back inside, leaving Erik to help guide you up the path to the front door, his hand resting on your back.

As you tried your hardest to sneak back inside the house quietly even with your inebriated state, you expected Erik to find the sight of you this drunk to be more amusing, yet when you looked at him as you laughed, his face was stone cold, his eyes straight ahead.

It made the smile fall off of your face as you finally made it to the guest room, turning to look up at him as you stood in the doorway, grabbing his upper arm when he went to try turning and walking away without a word.

When you’d grabbed him, he turned, but he didn’t look at you, keeping his eyes trained in the ground as he stood there.

“What is it?” you asked, stepping closer and using the hand on his upper arm to try and rub his shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have called you, we just didn’t wanna walk home and-“

“It’s not that.” he interrupted, finally looking down at you, his eyes once again going to the marks across your neck, clearly showing what he was annoyed about yet not saying a word.

Furrowing your brows, you were confused, he was clearly annoyed about something yet he wasn’t even willing to explain himself? that wasn’t your problem.

“If you’re not gonna tell me what’s wrong, then how am i supposed to fix it?”

Your hand reached up to grip his chin between your thumb and your index finger, forcing him to look at you, offering up a smile in the hopes of him actually explaining rather than just brooding.

He was twenty three now, his face had taken on just a little bit of stubble and he’d cut his hair a bit shorter from when you met him, now that he was working at the tattoo studio, he’d gotten his ears pierced, the thick rings hanging from his lobes.

When he’d mentioned wanting to get his septum pierced, you disagreed, but you had a feeling he was planning on doing it anyway.

You weren’t entirely sure why you did it, maybe it was the alcohol, or the leftover adrenaline from making out with a stranger, but you got on your tippy toes and put a hand on Erik’s cheek, capturing his lips in a kiss that had him letting out a small sound of shock.

Any second now, he was gonna push you away, let you down easily and let you live out the embarrassment of kissing your best friend's brother.

Until he didn’t, instead, Erik’s hands were immediately on your hips, pushing you into the guest room and pushing the door closed as he did.

His face was warm, his cheeks seeming to be burning up as you both held your eyes shut and let a sloppy make out begin to take place, just as you had been doing before, except as opposed to the boy from your science class, Erik seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

His hands squeezed your hips tightly, his tongue immediately pushing its way into your mouth without hesitation.

You felt like your nerves were on fire as he pushed you against the wall, holding you against it with a strength that only made you want more of him, desperately.

It had seemed that your hand guiding itself down his body before finally running your fingers along the hard tent in his jeans had only resulted in the harsh reality of the situation coming crashing back down on the pair of you.

Where you were, who you were currently kissing, as well as who you were.

Never before had you ever seen Erik pull away so quickly, taking a step back and looking at you, taking in the sight before him of you panting with swollen lips in your skimpy little halloween costume.

Shaking his head, he took another step away from you, a hand coming to wipe his face as he turned for the door.

He didn’t say anything when he left, opening the door and walking out, closing it behind him as you listened to his footsteps getting quieter and quieter as he walked away and back upstairs to his room.

As you stood there, it dawned on you that you had absolutely no clue why you’d done that, maybe you were just still too drunk to realise why kissing your best friends older brother was a really fucking bad idea.

Even more so, you had no idea why the rejection had stung as much as it had, tears beginning to prick at your eyes as you took in a shaky breath and started to rip off the costume that was now feeling more constricting than anything else.

He didn’t talk to you the next morning, wouldn’t even look at you when he walked into the kitchen for breakfast with the rest of the family, just grabbed a juice out of the fridge and went back to his room.

Your brain was swimming with the possibilities of what he must be thinking of you, who gets that drunk and kisses someone’s brother with no fear of the repercussions, did he think you were a slut?

For some reason, the thought that he felt that way about you just made you even more upset.

Life continued on after that halloween, you and Julia’s friendship stayed the same, and eventually both you and Erik just continued on as you always had, electing to both ignore the kiss as if it had never happened.

You never spoke about it, and seemingly had no intention to.

Julia started at college, you didn’t, but even as Julia’s free time dwindled, you were still around at the Campbell’s house fairly often, even if it wasn’t for sleepovers anymore.

As often as her schedule would let you, you and Julia still spent time together as often as possible, oftentimes meeting her on campus to have lunch together, or even just to sit with her while she studied in the library, even if it meant sitting on your phone in silence.

Initially, the closest you and Erik ever got to addressing what happened was an awkward smile when the two of you crossed paths in the house, but eventually, things returned to the way they were, a comfortable friendship was reestablished between the two of you, which allowed for matches of Mortal Kombat to become a common past time while you waited for Julia to finish classes for the day, or even messaging him to ask for a lift when he finished work when you were going to visit Julia at the house.

You even let him pierce you a few more times, unable to hide your expression when you’d walked into the shop, only to see he’d gone ahead and gotten his septum pierced.

“I thought I was gonna hate it.” you mused as he got his supplies ready, marking up the other end of your nose to prepare you for getting your other nostril done.

“Does that mean you like it?” he asked with a laugh, the two of you now more than used to this routine to just talk casually while he lined up the needle.

“No I- jesus, ow. No, I don’t.”

You tried not to scrunch your nose as he pushed the jewellery in, holding the mirror up to look at the two perfectly lined up matching studs now sitting on your nose.

“Too bad, it’s not going anywhere.” he shrugged his shoulders, rolling away in his chair and taking off the black latex gloves he’d been wearing.

“I thought you thrived off my approval.” you spoke sarcastically, tilting your head as you stood, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Oh I do, I just don’t care.”

His response incited a laugh from you, rolling your eyes as you reached for your purse, opening it and beginning to rifle through the bills sitting inside.

“Don’t worry about it.” Erik spoke, waving his hand at you as he began to clean off the chair and prepare for the next client.

“Erik, I can’t not pay you, won’t you get in the shit with your boss?”

Struggling his shoulders, he continued laying out his tattoo supplies, wrapping the gun as he spoke.

“Call it an early birthday present.”

Part of you was touched that he remembered your birthday was coming up soon, but considering that Julia had probably already been talking about it, you suddenly weren’t surprised.

Letting out a stubborn sigh, you just shook your head and put your purse back in your bag, turning to walk out.

“Thaaaanks Erik.”

Ever since he’d given you your first piercing, it just became the norm to always give him the same thank you in the same sing-song tone.

You weren’t teenagers anymore, hell, Erik was turning twenty six in may, but even now, so many years later, neither of you wanted to address the unspoken ‘thing’ you two had, whatever you could call it.

Sometimes you could have sworn Julia knew, she always was more observant than she let on, and there was only so many times the glances shared between you and Erik were going to go left unnoticed.

You couldn’t pretend you hadn’t noticed the look he’d given you when he pierced your tongue for your twenty-first birthday, or how hard he’d gripped his coffee mug when he watched you cry to Julia over your boyfriend cheating on you.

It was pathetic really, to be crying in your best friends arms over a relationship that hadn’t even lasted a full year, but when you’d found the pictures on his phone of other girls, and the messages he’d been exchanging, it still wrecked you to what felt like the point of no return.

Julia seemed to save the i told you so’s and just let you cry it out in her arms in her bedroom, as much as she’d always hated your boyfriend, especially the way he treated you, she understood that right now you were in pain.

You weren’t concerned about Erik standing in the doorway, if anything, it was nice to have two people to vent to, especially when it was him who came and picked you up with Julia when you’d called her in tears.

“I found the photo’s on his fucking phone.” you sniffled, wiping your red and puffy eyes with you sleeves as Julia rubbed your back. “He’s been fucking other girls since we got together.”

Your voice broke as you finished your sentence, seeing Julia shaking her head out of the corner of your eye, Erik muttering something to himself that you couldn’t quite hear, but enough to understand he was pissed on your behalf.

“What a lowlife.” you heard Erik scoff, his comment bringing a soft laugh out of you surprisingly, nodding your head in agreement as you sniffled.

“I wish I was gay so that we could just be girlfriends.” you laughed through your tears, inciting a laugh out of Julia.

She held you in your arms and let you cry it out for the rest of that night, and even though Erik went back to his room, you could tell what had happened had upset him.

You’d gone to his room and knocked on the door later that night when you finally started to calm down, leaning in the door frame and offering a soft smile, as exhausted as you were.

“Thank you for coming to get me today.” you started when he looked up from his book, picking at your sleeve as you stood in his doorway.

“Of course,” he started, sitting up and putting his book to the side “Didn’t really want you spending another second at that assholes place.” he shrugged his shoulders, resting his elbows on his knees.

Nodding your head, you sniffled slightly and rubbed at your eye, willing any other tears away when Erik stood up from his bed.

“Hey, hey.” he said softly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, “Please don’t cry, especially not over someone like him. I hate seeing you cry.”

You let Erik pull you into his arms, not quite crying, but still shaking and shutting your eyes tightly.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong.” you whispered, Erik resting his chin on the top of your head as he rocked you softly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” he reassured you, simple yet effective, enough to have you nodding your head as he held you.

That was just over a year and a half ago, but it was still fresh in your mind.

As much as it was likely that the Campbell’s had something planned for your birthday, you decided you could find some comfort in your own company a few days before your birthday, maybe that was why you’d ended up in the bar in town, a cocktail nursed between your fingers as you watched a live band performing.

The bar was known for a more alternative crowd, fitting the bill for you anyway, and with the addition of live music for the night, it was a nice way to spend your free time.

It was reasonably packed for the show, taking you at least five minutes just to travel from one end to the other after getting your drink, needing to weave through people before you’d ended up in your comfortable little corner by one of the pillars.

When you’d been approached by the stranger, a smirk on his face and a confidence that you initially found off putting, his not very subtle flirting and willingness to playfully persevere despite your cold response, eventually he went from annoying to endearing.

You talked about all the basic topics, music, movies, anything really; he was very clearly just biding his time until you agreed to let him stick his tongue down your throat, which lucky for him, you eventually caved and let him.

What was a little pre birthday make out with a stranger after all.

He had you with your back against the pillar as he kissed you softly, a smile present on both of your lips as his hands found their way to your hips and yours became tangled in his hair.

It was really only by chance that your eyes had begun to scan the bar when he started to kiss along your jawline, your head turning to allow him access and your eyes opening lazily.

Fuck. Oh fuck.

There he was, leaning against the bar, a beer having been long forgotten in his hand, presently staring absolute daggers at the pair of you.

Erik’s glare wasn’t necessarily focused on you as it was on the guy that was presently all over you.

You were so sick of this, so tired of pretending that you never stopped thinking about the kiss you’d shared so many years ago on halloween, sick of the way he looked at you and just let the two of you pretend that there was nothing there purely just because he was your best friend's brother.

The eye contact you made with him was pointed, your mouth falling open in a gasp as a particularly sweet spot in between your neck and your jaw was caught between the strangers lips, yet you kept your eyes on Erik, who looked straight back at you.

Even from the distance, you could see him gripping his beer bottle just a little tighter, like he knew exactly what you were doing.

There wasn’t any room to pretend, you even let a few little soft moans leave you as you shut your eyes again, turning back to face the stranger again and kiss him in a way that was entirely just for show, hoping to incite some sort of jealous rage within Erik, so that might stop pretending and actually just take the plunge.

So many years spent pretending like you hadn’t developed something for him that extended beyond the reaches of just being friends, the tears you’d cried after he left the room on halloween, the way that you’d closed your eyes and wished it was him when your first real boyfriend took your virginity.

And yet, just as you’d feared, he did nothing.

Pushing the stranger off of you, you felt a pang in your heart, refusing to even speak a word in response to his questioning as to why you’d stopped, even when he’d called you a “fuckin’ tease.” as you walked away, pushing your way through the crowd and headed for the door.

The night air was cold, tears pricked at your eyes but you ignored them, only pulled your jacket closer to your body and began taking steps away from the bar and onto the sidewalk.

You didn’t even want to believe that you were hearing the sound of the bar door opening, your name being called and accompanied by fast footsteps; it wasn’t until a hand grabbed your shoulder and you were forced to turn and look at the perpetrator that you were face to face with those same icy blue eyes looking down at you.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his tone accusatory as if he didn’t know exactly what was happening back there in the bar, the way you were begging for him in every single way other than verbally.

“I’m tired of doing this, Erik.” you spoke, running a hand over your face as the two of you stood there in the cold.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You know exactly what i’m talking about.” you started, “are we just going to dance around this forever? pretend like it doesn’t exist? pretend that whenever i hear about you having some new little girlfriend for the week that i don’t die a little bit inside?”

By the way his face began to shift, you knew that he was well aware of what you meant, seemingly unable to find the words to say as he opened his mouth to speak, only for nothing to come out.

“We can’t.” was all he said when he finally spoke, his eyes remaining trained on you, hands staying stuck at his sides.

Your face contorted, a deep sigh leaving your lips as you shook your head, trying so hard to fight the way that your bottom lip was starting to wobble.

“We could.” you countered, bringing your hands to your pockets. “But you’re just a coward.”

You knew you didn’t mean that, but the pain in your chest was bringing fourth emotion that you’d had no way of getting out until now, so many things you’d wanted to say but never got the chance to.

Part of you wanted him to chase you, run after you calling your name like in the movies, but he didn’t, he just let you walk away, like he always did.

You’d regretted what you said as soon as you turned and walked away, feeling yourself already starting to sob quietly to yourself, wiping the tears from your eyes with your sleeve.

After that night, you hadn’t been round to the Campbell house for days, Julia had messaged you when she was free, offering to come and get you so that you could hang out, but you just lied through your teeth and told her you were busy.

It hurt to treat your best friend this way, but you were just too torn up to care, the risk of seeing Erik and having any chance of an interaction with him was just too much, more than you were willing to take.

Just as before, you were certain Julia had some idea as to what was going on, when you’d spoken to her on the phone and you’d said you weren’t feeling too good, she sounded too knowing for her own good when she said goodbye, like she had something she needed to go do, she sounded determined.

You just went to work and came home, the next three days being a slow moving blur of feeling nothing and then the next minute feeling everything.

It was exhausting pretending for so many years that you hadn’t felt the way that you did about Erik, pushing it down and acting normal.

Of course you had thought about how it would affect your friendship with Julia, it was one of only things you thought about every time Erik crawled his way into your thoughts, the potential for such a betrayal made you feel ill, but then the other part of you, the part that had known Julia for almost six years at this point, wondered if she would have accepted it, embraced it even.

Just as you were thinking of her, your phone began to buzz next to you on your bed, ripping you out of your thoughts and seeing the image of a photo you and Julia had taken together at a party as her contact floated above it.

With a sigh, you swiped to answer the call and put the phone to your ear, Julia’s voice immediately coming through.

“Happy Birthday!” she cheered, your brows scrunching together as you realised that you’d just forgotten your own birthday entirely.

“Holy shit.” you laughed softly, rubbing your eye as you sat up. “I didn’t even realise, I forgot my own birthday.”

Her laughter rang through, unable to stop a smile coming across your features no matter how hard you tried.

“When are you coming around? we got a cake for you and everything, well, mom did at least.” she explained, causing you to look over to your clock and see it was already one in the afternoon. Jesus.

“Uh, i’ll be around in like twenty, just let me have a shower.” you responded, standing up and reaching for the towel hanging on your door.

“Do you want me to ask Erik to come get you?”

The mention of his name had you stiffening up, the grip on your phone getting tighter as you walked into the bathroom.

“No.” you said flatly, only to correct yourself “I mean, i think i’ll just walk, i need the fresh air.”

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Julie said goodbye and hung up the call, letting you turn the faucet and get the shower going.

-

The Campbell’s family home was always welcoming, even just walking in, it always felt warm, that was something you couldn’t deny.

It spoke volumes that they’d organised a birthday celebration for you, the only people that ever did, having not spoken to your mother since you graduated, it seemed they were the only family you had left.

When you’d walked around to the backyard, Julia was the first person to spot you, running to you with open arms and birthday wishes, pulling you in for a tight hug.

“You need to talk to Erik, he’s miserable.” she whispered to you as she hugged you, ignoring your confused face when she pulled away and took your hand, guiding you to where the rest of the family were.

Choosing not to address what she had said, you let yourself accept hugs and birthday wishes from Bobby, saying your hello’s to Howard and receiving a kiss on the cheek from Brenda.

You and Erik didn’t even look at each other.

He was sat on one of the outside chairs, nursing a beer which he took occasional sips at, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

It was obvious to everybody around you that you were seemingly giving one another the silent treatment, yet they didn’t say anything, just allowed the festivities to continue as Howard worked at the grill and Julia handed you a white claw.

However you managed it, you’d been able to spend almost your entire birthday celebration without saying a word to Erik, even when Bobby and Julia had handed you a present that was labelled to have come from all three Campbell siblings, he still stood at a distance, talking to his dad or sulking a few meters away.

You knew completely that it was immature, to put this much effort into not even talking to him purely due to rejection, but the other part of you, that eighteen year old girl that cried herself to sleep after the boy she liked kissed her and ran out of the room? she was still there, and she was hurt.

By the time it all started to wrap up, Julia had already convinced you to stay the night, even if you were hesitant, she seemed adamant, giving you a look that seemed to imply that she knew exactly why you’d been acting so miserable, especially considering what she’d said to you when you’d arrived.

Wishing your goodnights to Howard and Brenda, you helped Bobby clean up while Julia packed up the leftovers, and yet during this entire time, Erik still sat outside, now nursing a cigarette between his fingers as she sat on the porch swing.

At first, you were going to turn around and go to bed, let him wallow out there and regret what was literally his decision in the first place, but when you turned, you came face to face with Julia, who had a brow quirked as she looked at you.

“Get out there,” she spoke with a hushed tone, pointing to the back door “and talk to him.”

You wanted to argue against it, really you did, but just as it had always been and will continue to be, there was no arguing with Julia.

Stepping out into the backyard that was now only lit up by garden lights, you could see Erik in the distance, the small orange glow on his cigarette lighting up his face as he inhaled.

Without saying a word, you came and sat down next to him, keeping your eyes forward as he did the same, the pair of you being too stubborn to speak at first.

As the silence grew, you huffed and crossed your arms, looking out at the garden that Brenda was so proud of.

“Julia told me to come out here and talk to you.” you finally broke, unable to stand just sitting there in the overwhelming tension any longer.

“She told *me* to talk to *you*.”

Erik’s response made you exhale out of your nose in a sort of soft laugh, at least only as much as you could laugh in that moment; it just made perfect sense that eventually Julia caught on to what was happening between you, it was bound to happen.

“I had a feeling she figured it out.” you mentioned, only for Erik to nod his head.

“She knew when i came home after the bar, said i looked like a kicked puppy.” he mused, a soft smile now falling across his features as he turned his head to look at you for the first time since you’d sat down next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Your apology had him shaking his head and sighing.

“I’m the one that should be sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“Which part, kissing me and then pretending it never happened? or friendzoning me for almost four years straight?”

It was crazy just how quickly the tension between you melted away when you finally started talking. Letting it boil in silence had probably been the least wise course of action, but you were anything if not stubborn.

“Both I guess?”

Letting out a small laugh, you let him continue.

“I’m not sorry about pulling away on halloween though, you were drunk, i wasn’t about to be the monster that screwed his little sisters shitfaced best friend.”

Seeming to let the last bit of tension fade away, he turned to face you completely, resting his elbow on the back on the porch swing.

“Even if she really wanted you to.” you said softly with a laugh, acknowledging that was the easy part, of course it had been a smart thing to do, considering Julia probably would have killed him if that were to have happened.

“Especially if she really wanted me to, of course you’d have to be drunk to wanna kiss this face.” he joked, pointing to his face with his index finger.

Shaking your head, you ran your hand along his arm that was resting in the backrest, furrowing your brows.

“I don’t know about that, i’m pretty sober.” you replied lazily, tilting your head as you smiled at each other “I still wouldn’t say no to a kiss if you’re offering.”

That seemed to add another layer of realism to it all, the reminder of who you both were, and the connection between you.

Julia had seemed to make it clear that you had her blessing, why else would she order you outside to talk to her brother, when she seemed to already know exactly what was happening when Erik had come home from the bar that night.

It was the sudden realisation that right here, right now, there was absolutely nothing stopping you anymore, that you’d effectively been given the green light.

So when that smile on Erik’s face only grew, it seemed like a knee jerk reaction as you both leaned in, hands coming to rest on each others cheeks as for the first time in almost four years, you laid a kiss against Erik’s lips, at least one that was going to be reciprocated without question.

Would it have cliche to say that it truly did feel like fireworks going off in your chest? like his fingertips were made of lightning as they rested against your neck, the thickly feeling of his facial hair not bothering you in the slightest.

God, he smelled like cigarettes and cheap cologne, but in the best way possible, just the same as he’d smelled when you first kissed him when you were eighteen, like nothing had changed at all since then.

But that was definitely a lie. Four years was a long time, a lot can happen in that time, lots of life to be experienced, and you were a very different person when compared to the version of yourself who was only just on the brink of graduating.

At first it felt like being stuck in this weird sort of limbo, you just kissed him softly like he was going to be spooked and run away like last time, some small part of your brain fearing it was going to happen all over again; yet when his hands fell to your waist and pulled you in closer, it felt like confirmation that he wasn’t planning on letting you go anywhere.

Finally breaking for air, you kept your foreheads connected, soft pants against each others lips while the pair of you just sat there and took one another in.

“Julia’s gonna kill us.” Erik breathed out with a soft laugh, the mention of it suddenly making you pull away and turn your head in the direction of the house.

As you both turned your attention back to the kitchen window, the sight of two heads quickly ducking out of view made it pretty clear that both of Erik’s siblings had been watching from a distance, seemingly to make sure everything went down smoothly.

Shaking your head, you turned back to Erik with a smile, your arms coming to wrap about his neck.

“Something tells me she had this all planned out from the beginning.” you spoke, just about to lean in to capture another kiss from Erik’s lips before his attention was caught by something around your neck, his hand coming up to wrap his fingers around the claire’s skull and cross bone necklace him and Bobby had gotten you almost five years ago now, which had now fallen out of its place hidden under your shirt.

He ran his thumb over the worn down metal, most of the details almost unrecognisable after so many years of wear, his smile growing as he chuckled.

“I can’t believe you still wear this thing.” he sighed, his eyes looking back up at you; his smirk definitely seemed to reveal that there was at least some small bit of satisfaction on his part, knowing you walked around with a necklace he got you around your neck.

“My ex hated it.” you laughed, leaning forward to east your forehead on his shoulder to try and shield the blush now steadily starting to form on your cheeks. “He told me it was weird to wear a necklace that my friend's brother got me, I think he was jealous of you?”

You heard Erik scoff, pulling away to see him rolling his eyes. “I literally met him once and he acted like he was ready to fight me any second, stupid.” he muttered the last part, only to lean forward and steal another kiss from you.

“Maybe he had a reason to feel threatened after all.” you spoke against his lips, allowing yourself to just sit back and enjoy the feeling of having your lips and face peppered with long overdue kisses.

“Mhm, maybe.” he laughed, bringing your face forward to lay a kiss on your forehead, letting you shut your eyes and melt into the feeling of him wrapping his arms around you and holding you there in a hug.

“He’d feel even worse if he knew what i’m gonna do to do as soon as we get back upstairs and in my room though.”

His sudden boldness had your head flying back, looking across at him as your face shifted from a look of shock, into an expression that resembled the exact image of a horned up teenager, biting your lip and leaning forward to put a hand on his jean clad thigh.

Quirking an eyebrow at you, he let his hands squeeze your waist just a little bit tighter, his voice taking on a deeper and slightly more serious tone.

“You really shouldn’t have tried so hard to make me jealous back in the bar the other day.” he started, pulling you up with him as he stood, his grip on you tight like a vice. “Cause now i’m gonna do exactly what i wanted to do when i had to sit there and watch that fucker throw himself all over you.”

Without any other word exchanged, the pair of you were walking back into the house, hands gripped together.

The lights in the kitchen had been turned off by the time you made your way back inside, the rest of the Campbell’s seemingly excusing themselves into their respective rooms to go to sleep, providing a quick and easy uninterrupted party back up to Erik’s room.

It would have been a lie to say it didn’t feel like an adrenaline rush to practically be sneaking into his bedroom quietly, something you’d definitely thought about on more than one occasion, the thrill that would have come with sneaking around with your best friend's brother.

As much as she must have known exactly what she was doing, there was still some mischievous undertone to it all as Erik shut his bedroom door quietly and turned to face you.

With only his lamp illuminating the bedroom, it was dim but still light enough to make out his face clearly, even more so when he took the few small steps across the carpeted floor to now stand in front of you, looking down at you like you were something to be devoured.

“Do you have any idea how hard I jerked my cock when you left for that halloween party? When I watched you get out of my car in that outfit?”

His voice was rugged and deep, already resulting in your body starting to have a physical reaction, shivering as he stood over you, not too unlike the big bad wolf to your little red riding hood.

Biting your lip, you let your hand reach forward to trace your index finger over his belt buckle, watching him take in a sharp breath.

“Is this a good time to tell you it still fits?” you asked, tilting your head and doing your very best to look up at him with the innocent puppy dog eyes that you already knew drove him wild.

The sound he let out could truly not be described as anything other than a growl, a deep rumble from deep within his chest that had a shiver running along your spine.

Without another word, Erik leaned down to capture you in another kiss, except this was unlike the soft pecks you’d exchanged in the garden, this kiss was hungry, not too unlike the one you’d exchanged on halloween, you could tell from the way he began to grab at you that he was just as desperate as you were.

This was years of buildup now seeming to come spilling over, like the lid had well and truly been blown off and now it was all coming out in a wave, sexual frustration and jealousy for someone that you hadn’t even dated.

His hands molded to your body like they knew it instantly, knowing exactly where to hold you and where the little spots were that made you let out those little sounds that were like music to his ears.

Guiding you to the bed had been easy work, and when the backs of your knees touched it, he shoved you down before you could sit, landing on your back with a soft “Oomph!”

Standing above you now, you could only watch as Erik looked down at you, watch as he reached down to lazily pull at his belt until it became undone, unbuttoning his jeans and letting them sit open and undone around his hips before he kneeled on the bed.

The moment his hands were back on you again, running up your sides and coming to your chest, he didn’t seem shy or hesitant in the slightest, squeezing at one of your tits with no shame, running his thumb back and forth over your peaked nipple through the fabric of your shirt.

Letting out a small whimper, your hands came to shield yourself out of instinct, only to be met with a sudden and harsh resistance in the form of Erik’s free hand gripping your wrist and wrenching it away from yourself.

“Don’t try it.” he warned.

This was a version of Erik you hadn’t seen first hand, you’d always known him as sweet and caring towards you, but there were definitely times where you could see something behind his eyes when he looked at you.

You’d seen it in the bar when he glared, the darkness that overtook his entire being. It would have been a lie if you said it wasn’t a thrill.

As if it was bringing something out of you as well, you couldn’t stop the way you looked up at him, the puppy dog eyes seeming like a completely natural reflex as you couldn’t fight the whimper that came out of you when he gripped your wrist so hard it almost hurt.

There seemed to be something unspoken between the pair of you over those years of pretending you didn’t want each other, something extended beyond feelings and presented itself as more of just this feeling that neither of you could doubt, this understanding that when the pair of you came together, there was going to be flames.

The hand that wasn’t gripping your wrist continued to touch you, pinching your nipple between his index finger and thumb, twisting slightly just to look down at the way you whimpered, letting yourself surrender to the headspace completely.

As you tried to turn your body away, be just wrenched you back to face him even harder, his free hand coming to grab your face and force you to look up at him, squeezing your cheeks so hard your lips pressed together like a fish.

“You’re really gonna be like that?” he breathed with a soft laugh, like he didn’t take you seriously as tall, almost like your attempts to pull away from him were entirely in vain.

It’d had never been like this with old boyfriends, missionary where you’d laid there like a goldfish and let them finish up, or even when they’d pathetically beg you suck their dicks; No, there was something playing within you that wanted Erik fired up, like getting him annoyed was all part of the fun.

Trying to pull your wrist away from his grip, even if it was futile, you let out a small grumble, looking up at him in a way that more than put across the attitude you were purposely giving him, like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Be like that if you want Princess, works for me.” he spoke lowly leaning in to look down at you in a way that just read as “you asked for this.”

Without another warning, Erik’s hand was disappearing up your skirt, his fingers starting to rub up and down your panties with little to no mercy or warning, your mouth opening to let out a sound only to be promptly stopped by Erik’s other hand clamping over your mouth.

His fingers were skilled, running along your fabric covered slit with a precision that was above what you even thought possible for a guy, like he knew exactly where to touch you in a way that immediately had you whining against his hand.

It didn’t take long for your panties to be pushed aside only to make room for his fingers to start gliding through your wetness, promptly soaking his hand as you tried to close your legs out of reflex, only to clamp down on either sides of him, using his body to keep you open for him.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he mused, a dry laugh leaving his lips as he looked down at you, once again giving you no warning as he pushed two fingers straight inside you, gifting you no patience on his part as he wasted no time pushing them inside you up to the knuckle.

Your muffled cry only served to egg him on further, the feeling of your hips trying to pull away from his fingers and your back arching spurring on a slightly cruel smirk across his features.

“You’re that fucking wound up just from my fingers inside you? Seriously?” his tone was mocking at best, leaving you only able to look up at him with eyes that were starting to grow misty as he fucked you with his fingers at a pace that almost hurt, but in the best way conceivable.

God, it was almost embarrassing how much your body reacted to him, the sounds you were making against his hand purely from his touch, you were acting like a cock hungry slut, but it seemed that it was exactly how Erik wanted you, especially when he ripped his fingers out of you out of nowhere with seemingly no warning, the pathetic sound you made at the absence that left you clenching around nothing.

He lifted his fingers up so that they were held right in your face, the sticky mess on his fingers glistening as he spread his fingers to show it off.

“Look at that..” he breathed, letting out an exhaled chuckle as he stared at it like he was almost in a trance, only to open his mouth and suck your mess off of his fingers with the most atrociously sloppy sound you’d ever heard, pulling them out of his mouth again and looking down at you. “Like fuckin’ honey.”

That image along was enough to have your whole body shivering, watching him slurp on his fingers, sucking your own essence off of them like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted; where you legs had been attempting to close before hand, your own body began to betray you, your hips lifting off of the bed as you let out a desperate sound, chasing after his touch again.

Seeing your response to losing the feeling of him, Erik only seemed to find amusement from the way you were whimpering and trying to find any sort of relief, his solution being to bring his hand back down to your pussy, yet only letting his finger tips begin to ghost over your clit, hardly making any contact, nowhere near enough as far as you were concerned.

All you could do was let out sounds of protest, your hands desperately fighting to break free from where he was holding them down with only one hand, his strength and ability to overpower you being more than enough needed to keep you right where he wanted to.

“Whats wrong, princess..?” he cooed at you, mocking you as he kept his face close to yours, continuing his string of almost touching you as he waited to see how long it would take for you to break. “Something you want? You want me to touch you?”

With his hand still held over your mouth, it wasn’t exactly easy to verbalise your answer, but a whimper that came out sounding more like a rugged groan and the nodding of your head, all paired up with the desperation of your eyes that were blown out to the size of dinner plates, he seemed to understand the message clear enough.

Just as he’d done before, he gave you no warning when he plunged his fingers back inside you, fucking you with them with a starting pace that had your eye’s rolling back into your head, practically crying out into his hand the sudden jump from feeling barely anything to being heinously overstimulated, your brain was beginning to turn to mush, you were becoming putty in his fingers.

You’d always imagined it might be something like this to a degree, but fucking yourself with you fingers late and night and shutting your eyes pretending it was him was practically nothing when compared to what was happening right then and there, the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter as you felt yourself starting to go numb.

“You gonna cum?” he teased, “Gonna gush all over my fingers like a nasty little slut? Fuuuuck, look at you, you can’t even hear what im saying.”

He was correct of course, anything he was saying to you was coming out as white noise as you finally felt you body coming loose around him, pulsing around his fingers as you let out obscene muffled noises and felt your toes curling, swearing for a moment or two that you went blind on one eye.

You were still in a daze when his hand came off of your mouth, taking in a deep breath of air that you hadn’t even realised was being kept from you, silence except for the sound of your panting.

Numb to the world around you, you hardly even felt real for the first ten seconds of laying there, feeling a few soft kisses peppering your forehead accompanied by a hand on your cheek.

“Hey now, come back to me..” Erik’s soft voice rang out, a small laugh following after it, finally starting to come back down to reality to see him looking down at you like he thought that state he’d left you in was hilarious.

You couldn’t form words, but he seemed to realise your eyes were focusing back in on him, his thumb running along your cheek as he tilted his head.

“You okay?” he whispered, watching you let out a small hum and a nod, one of your shaky hands coming up to grip his shoulder, almost in an attempt to ground yourself.

When you gave him another nodded, the hand that was on your cheek proceeded to give it a soft encouraging pat, a smile remaing on Erik’s face as he sat back and gripped your hips.

“Can I fuck you princess? Is that what you want?”

His question had you biting your lip as you looked up at him, the way his hands rubbed the tops of thigh’s slowly and softly, his own little way of keeping you grounded and comforted, seeking out permission from you before he went any further, that was the Erik that had always taken care of you, even if from a respectful distance.

“Please..” was the first word you’d managed to get out, your voice slightly croaky but clear enough that he definitely understood, causing him to let out a low groan at just how pathetically you begged for it.

With the jeans that were already undone, it hadn’t taken him much effort to pull them down to his knees, his grey boxers leaving nothing to the imagination as you pushed yourself up on your elbows, your bottom lip being caught between your teeth as soon as you saw the length and size you were about to be working with.

The only way you could have been described in that moment was a bitch in heat, desperate and needy in a way that couldn’t be described in words.

Then as if you weren’t already cock hungry enough, even just from seeing the tattooed barb wire on his v-line, or the dark hair creepy out of the boxers and up towards his belly button; As he pulled himself out and lazily pumped himself, your mouth fell open, the whimper leaving your throat being so pathetic that you were almost ashamed.

Looking down at his own cock, Erik let out a throaty laugh, continuing to continued to slowly drag his hand up and down his shaft when he looked back up at you, realising what it was that had constituted the noise from you.

“You like it?” he teased, running his thumb over the top of the thick curved barbell, letting you stare at it for a few more seconds before he put a hand on your knee.

“You want it?” he asked, his hand gliding down to rest on your hip.

When you nodded, he smiled and lifted your hips, turning you over slowly so that your ass was up in the air, your cheek coming to rest snugly against the sheets as he placed his hand flat inbetween your shoulder blades to push your upper body down.

“That’s it, I’ve got you..” he reassured, his hand coming to glide over your ass cheek, admiring the view for a few sweet seconds, letting you enjoy the feeling of a soft touch against your skin, at least for a few seconds.

**THWACK**

You were lucky your face was in the sheets, otherwise the sound of you crying out would have been audible throughout the whole house, the sharp pain of Erik’s hand coming down to spank you barely even registering before he was sending another one down on your skin.

The kicking of your legs was futile, the whimpers leaving your throat seeming to produce little mercy from Erik as he let down one more harsh smack, just as you felt his tip starting to run up and down your entrance, the cold metal of his piercing making you jump.

“You gonna let me fuck this pussy? Huh?” he grunted, making a point to push just his tip inside you, barely even penetrating you to begin with. “Gonna let me fill it up with my cum? You gonna take it all?”

His words, along with the unbearable teasing, had you pushing your ass back against him, desperate for him to push himself deeper inside you, only for him to back away each time you tried to your dismay, a desperate whimper emerging from your throat each time.

“Pretty baby wants dick so bad..” he cooed, almost as if he genuinely felt sorry for you, but you both knew better, the more you were begging for him, the better it was.

Not as harshly as he had pushed his fingers inside you, Erik gripped your hips, pushing himself in at a fast enough speed that had you gasping, but didn’t hurt by any means, telling you that beneath the show he was putting on, he still was making sure not to hurt you, at least not in a way that you didn’t want him to.

Your gasp was quickly offset with a soft cry, your eyes squeezing shut as his cock invaded your insides, pushing through without resistance as your wetness let him glide inside fairly easily.

It was a little bit of a push before Erik finally sunk inside you completely, when his hips finally made contact with your ass, bottoming out with a deep groan that had him tipping his head back and shutting his eyes.

“Fuuuuck..” he groaned, you could feel the way his grip on your hips tightened, along with the way his cock twitched inside you; just as much as you could feel him fighting back his instinct to move, fighting back his desire to pound into you with no mercy until you were ready.

“Just..” he breathed “Tell me when I can start moving princess..”

The way he was able to switch back and forth between cruel and caring was just so painfully Erik, just as it always was with him, one minute he’d act like he was bothered by your very presence, then you’d give him those same puppy dog eyes and he’d be left unable to say no to you.

Turning your head and straining your neck to look back at him, your mouth hung open for a few moments as you let yourself finish getting used to the stretch, as well as the feeling of his piercing tickling right against that sweet spot inside you, every time he moved in the slightest it sent lighting through you, unable to hide your whimpers.

Opening your eyes back up, you gave him a nod, preparing yourself for what was no doubt going to be a brutal pace that he was about to set.

He started out slow, giving you a chance to make sure he wasn’t hurting you, gradually gathering up speed which only made your moans grow louder, giving you no choice but you let your face fall back against the sheets to make sure it was muffled, eventually he was pistoning inside you, a concentrated rhythm being followed as he gripped your hips so tightly it stung.

Risking a look back, you turned your head only to be greeted by the sight of Erik thrusting into you, staring down at the sight of himself coming in and out of you as his mouth hung open, low groans and grunts leaving his chest.

As if he had felt your eyes on him, Erik looked up, meeting your gaze which only seemed to stir him further, biting his lip as he leaned forward and reached to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing you to arch your back and stare up at the wall, letting him fuck you so hard no sound was even coming out of you anymore, just leaving your mouth hanging open and your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“Thaaaats it.. fucking take it like a dirty fucking cockslut…” his words sounded just as desperate as you had previously, breathed out and slightly higher pitched in a way that told you he was feeling it all just as much as you were. “Fuck, fuck, wanted to have you like this for so long… wanted you on my bed spread out just like this..”

Memories of touching yourself just to the very idea of something like this happening came flooding in, laying there in your bed back at home and closing your eyes and picturing Erik in your head, wondering if he ever thought about you in the way you thought about him.

Now here you were getting confirmation that he’d wanted you for just as long as you’d wanted him, years of frustration and pining finally being thrown out of the window as you were actually there, bent over for him and letting him fuck you like a whore, pent up urges years in the making fuelling the way he jack hammered into you.

“Shit.. turn over..” he grunted, pulling out of you and gripping your shoulder in his hand to flip you onto your back before you could even compute what he was asking you. “Need to see those eyes..”

Letting Erik manhandle you into whatever position he wanted, you couldn’t stop yourself from lifting your head to get a glimpse of him lining himself back up, unable to stop your legs from shivering and your mouth falling open with a whine when you pushed his cock back inside you.

Bringing you gaze back up to where he was kneeling above you, you stared into each others eyes, making a point to put on those same puppy dog eyes that got him every time, feeling him begin to fuck you noticeably harder when you looked up at him.

“Fuck.. yes.. look at me..” he groaned, his hands coming to rest on the backs of your knees, pushing to where your knees were almost touching your shoulders, folding you in a way that allowed for a whole new angle, unable to hide the way your face contorted and your brows turned upwards.

Your head tipped back, soft cries being the only sound you were capable of making anymore, so completely and totally fucked out to the point that you could hardly even form any proper thoughts.

A hand came to rest on your cheek, your head coming forward and your eyes opening again to see Erik looking right in the verge himself just as you were, his eyes staring down at you intensely as he seemed to be chasing your gaze.

“Please don’t stop looking at me..” he begged, the dominant nature he had taken on previously becoming replaced by the unbearable urge to cum, chasing his release desperately.

The way you were gripping at each other, your hands coming up to rest on either side of his face, you silence each other in the form of a kiss, Erik’s moans into your mouth seeming to be exactly what was needed to push you over the edge, wrapping your arms around his neck as you cried out, tucking your face in his neck as you began to pulse, soaking his dick and squeezing it tightly in a way that had his thrusts turning shallow, barely even pulling out of you before he was pushing back in.

Your hand found its way to the back of his head, tangling your fingers into the tufts of dark hair and gripping whatever you could as you practically sobbed against his shoulder, your legs shaking as your pussy squeezed him.

Pulling on his hair and cumming around his cock proved to be exactly what was needed to push Erik over the edge he’d been chasing, feeling his thrusts stiffen and stop and start randomly as he painted your walls with cum, starting to leak out of you already.

His moans we’re high pitched, his hips going from ramming against your own to softly and slowly rolling deeply, riding out his orgasm bit by bit as you felt his body starting to give way, letting him collapse on top of you and into your arms.

Each time his hips moved again the slightest bit, you whimpered, gripping his hair again and squeezing his hips with your legs, still highly sensitive from the way he’d been mercilessly fucking you only moments ago.

You had no idea how long you both laid there on his bed, letting his thick cum leak out of you as he sat inside you, resting his forehead on your chest and panting deeply, trying to come down from his high before you both felt even semi conscious again.

When it finally felt real again, like you had floated back down into your physical bodies once again, you looked at Erik and couldn’t fight back the smile that made its way onto your features, apparently contagious as Erik let out a soft laugh and leaned forward to capture your lips in a soft kiss, the sudden movement making you whimper against his lips that had him pulling back suddenly.

“Shit, sorry.” he wheezed, pushing his weight off of you and slowly pulling his now soft dick out of you with a sharp hiss through his teeth.

Pulling his grey boxers back over his hips, he moved back down to lay next to you on his back, turning his head to look over at you and reaching out to slowly pull you against him, letting you rest your head on his chest.

“I’ve got you..” he whispered, letting you lay there and recover slowly but surely, letting your eyes open and close softly as the exhaustion finally started to claim you.

When you shut your eyes, you didn’t even realise you’d fallen asleep until you woke up to a hand on your face, having now been tucked into the covers while Erik got up and fetched a washcloth from the bathroom.

“Shh..shh, it’s okay, it’s just me..” he whispered when you’d fussed softly, running his thumb along your cheek and letting you open your eyes slowly to see him standing there.

You let him clean you off softly, feeling him take care to be as gentle as he could before discarding the cloth and pulling a pair of his own sweat pants and shirt over you while you faded in and out of consciousness.

Finally as he crawled back into bed with you, you didn’t hesitate to roll back into his arms, feeling them wrap around you as a kiss was laid on the top of your head.

“You have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to do that..” he whispered against your temple as you clung to his body heat, letting him trace little shapes along your back with his finger tips.

“Just wish you hadn’t waited as long as you did..” you whispered back, a soft exhale of a laugh leaving him.

“Good things come to those who wait?” he offered up, only receiving a soft smack against his arm from you which only made him laugh more.

“Yeah, okay, I deserved that one.” he wheezed as he just pulled you closer against him, taking a deep inhale of your scent and exhaling with a satisfied hum.

“Hope you know that now that i’ve got you, i’m never letting you go.” his last words to you before you both started to fall asleep, snoring softly in each others arms in his bed, something you’d both waited almost four years to do, finally happening here and now.

[dmitriene]

Maybe something with poor birdie having an anorgasmia (unable to cum or it taking a long time) and price (or whoever you want to write for) trying to fix it

i apologize it took me so long to finally write, but i do hope you'll see this and enjoy!

cw: anorgasmia, some stress and mentions of unhealthy relationships, john doesn't cures reader but they find a way to work, sex and comfort, strangers to lovers or something similar, my knowledge of the disorder comes from internet.

any disorder can make a person feel different, broken, wrong — not like everyone else, not as expected, and even if it is a trifle that can be cured, worked out, or just needs more effort, it will still make many people treat you with a kind of hostility, consider you as if you were an object of study under a microscope, and you are no exception.

anorgasmia shouldn't have been the problem that it really turned out to be, because there's nothing unusual or really terrible about having difficulty having an orgasm, you need a little more time, a little more attention, understanding, because the pleasure of sex doesn't go away, it's just that your body's reaction is slightly different.

or so you thought, but all your relationships collapsed like sand towers, washed away by the tide as soon as you failed to give your partner the expected reaction, sobbing moans, rolling, wet eyes and shaking from the spasms of a strong orgasm thighs, no, with most of them it either did not exist, or it was not so expectedly grandiose, a small splash, a little trembling all over the body, then silence and a dissatisfied grimace on the face, looming over you in anticipation.

dysfunctional, they spat bile and animalistic hisses, as if it was kind of an insult to them, although you never threw it on them, you know it's just your problem, let them know, looking at the sparkling eyes and proudly puffing chest — when they said that you slept with the wrong people, that they will definitely be able to make you drown in your climax and unearthly pleasure, but in the end, everything is the same.

you didn't let it parasitize your mental health, but you stopped looking for sex and turned away any attempts to start a relationship, preferring to therapy and numerous consultations, learning different techniques of self stimulation, erotic media and countless sex toys, and little by little, it became easier, but still, you were different, your pleasure more imperceptible, easy flowing, a short flicker, until you met john at another boredom night.

johathan price, as he introduced himself, is a charming man — a type that is found in romcoms, easy going, charming, a man big and strong, adorned with his age in the form of gray hair the color of cigarette ashes, neat beard and a mustache, deep wrinkles in the corners of his purest blue eyes, softness in the once steel strong muscles, which are now protected by a small weight, smoky laughter, scars on his arms and body that speak of the years spent on the battlefield, and yet he lost neither his beauty nor his sanity.

a natural, he communicates with a special ease that attracts the attention of everyone around him, as if a charm has been unleashed in the room, tactile, and his physical contact most likely confused more than one innocent young lamb, and you are no exception, not in front of him, not when he has already managed to see all your innermost secrets, seep through locked doors and rusty keyholes, undressing you layer by layer, sweet speech, warm drinks, a heavy and warm hand on your knee until you give in.

you promised, but john's kisses are as tart as whiskey and cigars, sweeter than honey and candies that burn the palate, his touches are deep, digging nails and fingers into the softness of the flesh, and at the same time stroking along all the curves, softening, he smells of something woody sea, tickling the nose and neck, where his beard scratches sensitively, chasing the kisses and bites, blossoming flowers of hickeys left behind, making you arch towards him pliantly, cling to his broad shoulders and strong forearms.

john lays you out in front of him more easily than poker cards, puts you back together easier than tetris, looks at a naked, vulnerable body with an undisguised, smoldering desire and a clear plan, not allowing himself a drop of pleasure until he satisfies you in the first place, no matter how hurting his cock looks, swollen and blazing rudy, beading pearls of leaking precum, heavy between his hairy legs, bracketing yours, as if to cage.

even when you pull at his hair, sighing languidly and moaning softly — telling him that it will take too long, it's not worth it, his growl shuts you up with a shudder of your spine, his calloused fingers running through the sopping mess of your cunt, stroking the folds, slippery and wet, fluttering at the touch along with the clench of your hole, needy and pulsating, eager for his hands and mouth as he get's to his work.

slick smeared all the way up to your labia, glistening all over your flesh, your thighs, as john's thumb runs up your sex in wonder, assessing, staining sticky and salty, savoring your tiny reactions, little twitches, shudders, sensitive keens from above, relaxing you to the point where you slip along the edges of your bubble, hazy and malleable, and only then he gives your cunt his mouth.

licking hungrily up the seam of your cunt, the savory taste coating his tongue right away, pulling a thundering groan, as he laves over, sucking at the hardened little nub he bumps into, slurping in his hot, drooling mouth, as your slick starts matting his messed beard, while you throb beneath his swelling lips, making him alternate between sucking and lapping up what slick gushes from you in shining rivulets, your body brimming with need, pleasure rolling in, arousal so sudden and strong your blood feels thick with it.

it's comes harder, this time, maybe because you denied yourself a person's sexual contact for too long, but this time, you cum with your legs clamping tight from being unable to fight this electricity, zapping through your whole body as you flood john's mouth with your slick, your back bowing, crumpling the sheets below as you almost hit your head against the headboard, his warm palm settling over the top, shielding, as you hiccup a chorus of moans, under the rasping coo of his voice, no note of being full of himself, cocky, just sweet encouragement of you.

only then, when sure that you've been at the throes of your pleasure, john acknowledges the bobbing weight of his painfully engorged, hard cock, wrapping a calloused palm around the length, slicked from the amount of pre his skin is coated in, jerking once, twice, thumbing against his slit with a huffed grunt of pleasure, before lining towards your gaping hole, the messy curls of his pubic hair brushing against your tingling, now sensitive skin, as you stretch around the girth of him, feeded gently till he's bottoming out.

mind still sluggish with lust, you push your his hips down, trying to take more, to make the deliciously slow thrusts turn into something more, rougher, as your blood sings for it, so john pulls back, lifts your hips, grip more bruising, and blessedly pumps you deep, crowding, cocooning you with his big, brawny body, snapping his broad hips harder and harder, the force echoing as a slaps of skin on skin, the wet squelches, the once again growing pressure inside your stomach is immaculate, heavy.

bodies flush together, john rocks gently into your tight heat, trying to prolong this pleasure, feeling, how you get closer again, so much quicker than any usual, the feeling of it overwhelming you, making your body trash, head hitting the pillows beneath, but he's heavy over your body, and it's comforts you, in a way, as chapped lips kiss your shoulder, and then he nuzzles against your temple.

breathing you in, smearing away your sweat, as you tremble with the need to cum, gasping for it, rocking, clenching with a shuddering twitch of your hips, sensitive and primed for another orgasm, and when your head rolls back with an arch of your kiss bitten neck, white hot pleasure blurring your vision, your every muscle tenses and then you come again, erupting in what feels like a torrent, and john whispers only lulling comfort and proud syllables, groaning deep as he cums himself, shuddering with you.

you're left feeling spent, muscles going lax, sagging into the mattress and crumpled bedding below, it's like your mind gotten into submission, too knocked out by onslaught of all the feelings that your system shut down, and you won't even move to rise up, john's breath coming up close, hard and puffing, as he kisses the marks over your throat as you recover, white spots still dotting the vision, legs unresponsive, so you just curl, and he drags his mouth over your warm skin, each kiss as a reward.

he won't say too much, wouldn't even bring what happened during sex, he has no permission to, no control over your body, it's only your merit that you trusted, relaxed, let the pleasure slip through your fingertips and climb higher, even if slowly, john just happened to be there at the right time, and he won't oblige you to anything, as you slowly fall asleep in his arms — but if you'll linger in the morning instead of disappearing away, he won't mind cooking you breakfast.

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