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alwaysanangelneverag0d · 1 day ago

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~Fast Break to your heart~Pazzi AU

NWSL Paige x WNBA Azzi

a/n:im so sorry for the wait yall!!!i have a very busy life outside of writing😭😭😭.This is my favourite thing thing ive written on here so far.Also will probably have a song that inspired every chapter at the top.

wc:5.2k(Chapter 4’s gonna be long. This one is more of an important but shorter chapter)

masterlist

Chapter 3:Olive branch

June 2026

For the past three weeks, Azzi had been swallowed whole by the season—and endless stringz of games, both home and away, that had left her exhausted to think about anything but basketball. Her schedule had become a blurred mess of early practices, flights, post-game ice baths, and sponsor obligations that she met with tired eyes and sore limbs. Lately she had barely spent more then a day or two in her own bed. The walls of her apartment began to become a checkpoint more then a home. Only adding to the feeling of this city not being home. And tonight was no exception

She had traded her sneakers for heels this evening. The event was a charity gala held in some swanky hotel —a fundraiser for underfunded girls and women’s youth sport programs across California, something that should’ve lit a fire in her. Giving back to the next generation of kids like her was one of the few things that tugged at her heart strings outside of basketball. But tonight instead of anticipation, she felt a low thrumming dread stirring inside her stomach. Because it wasn’t just the Sparks in attendance. Angel City FC would be there too. Paige’s team

Three weeks ago, Azzi had left Paige on read. She could still feel the quiet shame of it nestled somewhere inbetween her stomach and collarbone. That night in May she had been embrassingly stone-cold sober when she texted her. It was a simple message. Nothing overt. But maybe a little too on the edge of being flirtatious. Then Paige responded. And something inside her clicked back into place, snapped tight like a defensive switch. Paige Bueckers was the exact type of distraction Azzi had spent her entire adult life avoiding. So she did the only thing she knew how to do best: shut the door. Left the message unanswered and opened. Pretended it never happened.

To her own relief—Paige didn’t reach out after that.

And yet somehow she still remained in Azzi’s mind. Not entirely. Not in a loud obnoxious way that made her lose focus—but in quiet moments in bouncing echoes. In the lull of plane rides. In the space between reps. In the minutes before sleep overtook her. Paige lingered. She haunted the peripherals of Azzi’s discipline.

It was absurd. Paige was just a woman. A very attractive, widely rumoured, undeniably captivating woman. Someone Azzi didn’t know and hopefully would never know. But that first night they had met at the soccer pitch she had felt something that stuck.Leaving her on read had been an act of self preservation. A full stop. But it didn’t work like she had expected it to. It didn’t erase anything. It only pushed the thoughts deeper into the depths of her skull,where they buzzed low and constant, yearning to be reconsidered.

Paige Bueckers was annoyingly unforgettable. Like temptation in a stained glass chapel—something beautiful you weren’t supposed to reach for, but still found yourself praying about.

And Azzi Fudd didn’t pray for things like that.

But here she was. Headed to a gala where she might have to see her again.

She stood in front of the mirror, arms folded tightly across her chest,eyes tracing the reflection that stared back. The sleek black dress clung to her in all the right places—elegant but understated, just enough formality for the evening. She let our a slow grounding breath and ran her palms alomg the fabric, smoothing out a set of stubborn wrinkles near her hip. It wasn’t her thing—any of this. The dress, the gala, the delicate jewelry Rickea had talked her into wearing. But she looked amazing. Presentable. Composed

She’d decided hours ago to stay sober tonight. No bubbly champange or whatever other fancy liquor the venue supplied. No loosened limbs and scribbled thoughts. She wanted to be sharp. She told herself i was about professionalism, about representing her team well at an important high profile event. Though, the truth nestled deeper then that. The truth was she needed to keep her head on straight. Clear-blooded and deliberate, no haze to give her any feelings any room to grow wild. No excuses to look across the room and find her.

There was too much expectations to prove this season. Too much at stake this early in her career.

From down the hall,she coukd hear Rickea’s voice rising, teasing someone, her distinct laughter echoing across the walls of the hotel suite they had all gotten ready in. A minute later the door creaked open,and Rickea appeared in her heels and smokey eyeliner, nodding in approval at Azzi’s outfit.

“You clean up alright rookie.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, lips twitching into a smirk. Behind Rickea, two of her teamates—Rae and Dearica. They followed in a flurry of perfume and clicking heels. Together the four of them stepped out into the hall, preparing to soon be paraded in front of donors and cameras for the headlines.

Azzi swallowed hard, squared her shoulders and moved forward.

Control yourself.

——————————————————————

The ballroom glittered in warm golds and soft creams, like something plucked out of a magazine spread—too pristine, too perfect, too much. Chandeliers hung like frozen rain above the room, catching every flicker of light and reflecting it actoss the walls. The air buzzed with polished laughter and the faint hum of a live jazz quaret in the corner. Waiters in black vests weavedthrough the crowd, balancing trays of champagne glasses and food that looked far too delicate to eat.

Azzi moved through it all like she was outside of her body. Composed. Shoulders back. Smiling at the right times, laughing at dry jokes.

She had lost track of her teammates about an hour ago. The four of them had entered together—Rickea in the lead, always a natural in public spaces. But somewhere inbetween the check in, speeches, and the second round of champange they had scattered. Azzi had seen Rae flirting with someone near the silent suction display and Dearica was laughing too loudly at some executives' jokes. She had stuck by Cam’s side most of the night but had eventually lost her as well. Now Cam was in deep conversation with a tall man in a tailored navy suit who looked like the kind of person with “Dr.” in front of his name and a golf course named after his family

Azzi lingered near one of the empty tables, idly sipping her carbonated water,eyes skimming across the room. Everyone looked so at ease, so polished. Like they belonged here. She tugged at the hem of her dress, skin itching underneath the fabric.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Only that she hadn’t seen her yet. She had even seen some of Paige’s teamates. But no Paige

And she wasn’t sure if that was a relief…or a quiet disappointment.

Then her eyes shifted to a corner she hadn’t looked yet—to the one person she attempted to not look for.

And there she was. Tucked into a space on the other side of the room.

Paige.

In a loose black suit,no tie, collar open, hair down in curly waves. Laughing with someone Azzi didn’t recognize—some blonde photographer with an over-polished smile and perfectly manicured hands that were now casually resting on Paige’s forearm.

She blinked once. Then again.

The woman said something that made Paige laugh. That laugh—lazy and low, like she was trying to act like nothing affected her. A laugh Azzi hadn’t been the one provoking. It made her grip on her glass tighten.

Cute.

Guess that’s what Paige is into.Charming,obvious,and conveniently already halfway into her lap

Azzi shifted her weight and forced herself to look somewhere—anywhere—else.

But she couldn’t help it

Her eyes couldn’t help it, pulled like gravity to the way the woman leaned closer and the way Paige leaned away. She did it subtly—not showing interest in the woman, yet still remaining polite

Azzi caught that.

And she hated that she caught it

Because now her jealousy wasn’t clear—it was sharp edged.It wasn’t just that Paige was flirting with someone at the gala

It was a question :Why isn’t she interested?

The woman was beautiful.Someone Paige wouldn’t take a second thought to get into bed. Yet she continued to pull back from the woman. Smiling, but it was one that didn’t reach her eyes. Fabricated. Not like the smile Azzi had seen in that Stanford team photo.

Azzi looked away,shaking her head in attempt to rattle the thoughts loose from her brain.

Cam was most definitely right. Paige is a player. Or maybe she isn’t anymore. Or maybe she’s just…selective of the women she brings into bed? Or maybe i need to stop watching her like she’s mine to figure out..

Azzi took another sip. Bubbles not even bitter like alcohol, but still clawing deep in her throat.

She told herself it didn’t matter.

But her body was already moving—heels clicking a a little too sharply across the floor as she made a beeline for the exit. She needed air. She need space. The kind that didn’t come with forced laughter and champange flutes and Paige Bueckers standing a few feet away, laughing at something that probably wasn’t even that funny.

She didn’t let herself look,not really. Just kept her gaze pinned forward, past the curve of Paige’s shoulder, past the sudden rush of heat toward her own neck, and toward the stairwell tucked near the end or the corridor.

————————————————————————

The rooftop sat just one floor above the gala, but it felt like an entirely different world entirely. Empty. Peaceful. The air was cooler up here—brushed with a hush that made her feel like maybe, just maybe she could finally breathe again.

Azzi leaned against the stone railing,one hand still clutching her half finished water.

She stared out over the city lights gleaming in the dark night sky.Jaw tight

I need to stop

Seriously i need to stop acting like I care.

The woman back inside had been Paige’s type right?? Polished, outgoing, willing to do anything for one night with Paige.

But Paige hadn’t leaned in. She had leaned back

The heat in her chest still hadn’t cooled. If anything she was simmering in it now that she was alone.

God what the hell is wrong with me

I left her on read. Buried it beneath everything.I have a goal to focus on. Basketball. Real pressure. Real expectations. Whatever this simmering was—-it’s a distraction. A distraction I can’t afford

And yet….there was a look in Paige’s eyes.Not the fake warmth she saw Paige giving others at the gala.This one was different.Controlled,yes.But exhausted. Buried under the surface.

She did not want to be talking to that woman.

Azzi saw that clear as day.She tippped her head back and let the edges of cold nip at her jaw.

Why do i care?

She rubbed her thumb against the side of the glass.

I dont want her.She will only confirm what I think of people.

But Paige doesn’t fit into the boxes I keep trying to shove her in.

And that—it scared her more then anything had in years.

She couldn’t have been out there for more than five minutes.

Just enough time for the chill of the wind to bite at her shoulders. Just enough time for her breath to even out, though her thoughts still rumbled underneath the surface.

Then—-

A soft click. The door behind her creaked open, careful and slow.

Azzi didn’t turn.

She didn’t have to.

Azzi felt the shift in the air before she even hesrd the footsteps. A subtle change in atmosphere, like the tension was shifting the second someone you’re trying your hardest not to think about waltzes in. Paige didn’t say anything at first—no casual greeting, no teasing remark to disarm her like Azzi expected. Just the soft thud of a door easing shut and the sound of her moving across the rooftop.

Then stillness. The kind of silence that said: I know you noticed me, and i’m not going anywhere.

Paige settled near the railing, a few feet away, not close enough to be imposing. Not far enough to be ignorable. Like she was leaving space for Azzi to breathe—but still choosing to be near her anyway.

Neither of them spoke. The LA skyline blinked back at them, indifferent and sprawling, the kind of view that made Azzi disappear into her own thoughts.

But she couldn’t disappear. Not with Paige there

“You good?”

Her voice was low. Tentative. Cautious, like she meant it—like she wasn’t just asking out of kindness.

Azzi let the question sit for a moment, not sure if she wanted to answer it truthfully.

“Just needed air“ she said finally, voice even.

Paige didn’t press. She just nodded, eyes fixed towards the nothingness in the distance.

“I get that” she murmured.

There was another small pause before Paige let out a breath, shifting her weight.

“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Crossed a line with the DM’s or something.”

Azzi shook her head—firm.

“You didn’t cross a line” A beat—Then dryly “I’m simply just not interested in being one of your flings Paige.”

Paige blinked, startled by the abrupt honesty.

“That wasn’t my intent,” her tone was firm and controlled now. ”I just wanted to get to know you…thats all.”

“When you liked that post from three years ago—and messaged me back I figured the feeling was mutual.” She gave a faint yet nervous shrug.

“But if i read that wrong, that’s on me”

Azzi looked towards the skyline—lips pressed into something unreadable.

“When I liked your post” she began, fingers skimming the edge of her glass.“I was….looking for something in you.”

The words came soft, almost ashamed to exist in the open air.

“Something that made you more than the version I’d heard about”

She paused letting her gaze follow the distant headlights of a car crawling through the streets below.

“You seem like someone who's bothered by nothing. Someone who doesn’t crack under pressure. I guess I wanted to see if there was anything real underneath that.”

Paige turned to look at her—really looked at her. With blue eyes that were enough to make Azzi feel weak. And smiled

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

It wasn’t a cocky smile. It was curious. And paired with a look that hit Azzi low in the gut—piercing, like she was being studied and seen all at once.

Azzi felt her throat go dry.

In that moment, she didn’t have a clear cut answer. She just shrugged, voice dropping into something small. “I don’t know,” she muttered, more embarrassed by her striking honesty than she had expected.

Somewhere inbetween the space between truth and quiet, they’d moved closer without realizing it. Shoulders nearly brushing. Azzi could feel the heat off Paige’s body this close—could smell her.

A sharp-spice perfume. Not overly feminine, not too masculine. Just… specific. Clean. Edged with something soft and dangerously sweet—vanilla burned at the edges. Made her want to breathe it in like it meant something

She didn’t.

She stayed still. Like touching the moment might set it ablaze.

A silence fell again. Not awkward. But charged. The kind of silence where something could happen if either of them let it.

The city between them murmured along—distant tires against pavement, the hum of a plane overhead.

Then Paige cut through the stillness, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve heard things about you too”She glanced at Azzi, then stumbled over her words when she saw the confusion written on her face.

“God-uh not like bad things.” She chuckled, nervously rubbing her neck. ”Sorry I should have phrased that better.”

“Cam told me good things about you. That you’re kind…Focused. Compassionate”

She exhaled a little voice dipping. “That’s why your coldness threw me.”

Azzi gaze met her’s again—long enough to burn.

“I don’t keep many people close” she stated. Voice firm

And that was the truth.Maybe the truest thing she had uttered all night

She let the silence linger longer before continuing—words coming out slower now,like each one cost her something.

“I shouldn’t have left you on read.” She didn’t look at Paige when she said it. Just focused on the skyline like it was easier to confess to the city then the woman beside her.

“That wasn’t cool.” Azzi started her voice quiet now. “I just..”She exhaled, shaking her head,eyes fixed on a random light in the distance. “ I didn’t know what to do with the way you came across. I’d been hearing things about you for years—media stuff. That you were cold. Calculated.”

She flicked her eyes towards Paige’s again, studying her face in the low light.

“And then we actually met….you were cold. But only to me.”

There was no accusation in her tone—just quiet openness.

Paige nodded, lips tugging into a dry smile “Yeah. We weren’t exactly kind to each other,huh.”

Azzi bit back a smile and nodded—still reserved as ever “No we weren’t.”

A thick pause settled this time in the gap between conversation.

“To be crystal clear” Azzi said, voice sharpening. “I’m not looking for anything with anyone.”

The words were deliberate. Not cruel. Not mean. Just resolute. Immovable—carved with clear intention. The kind that didn’t make space for question.

“I’ve got too much riding on this year. I don’t want confusion, or feelings or…” She paused, pulling her lips together. “Anything that pulls focus. I’m here to play basketball. I’m here to live my dream. That’s it”

Finally she looked deep into Paige’s eyes. No flinch. No apoligizing.

“So whatever this was starting to be—It can’t be. But I could use a friend, if anything. That’s all I've got the room for.”

And just like that the door didn’t just close—but it was locked. Not from anger. Not from fear. Just the discipline of someone who’s learned to protect herself with silence and structure.

Something about it felt final.

Even if it didn’t feel finished.

Paige didn’t flinch at the shutdown. Didn’t push back. Just nodded slowly, accepting the words like they were gospel.

Her expression was unreadable

But her eyes lingered.

“I’m not trying to date you, Azzi”

Her tone wasn’t defensive. Just steady. Controlled in that Paige Bueckers way—but this time there was no smugness in it. Just quiet understanding

“I’m not trying to be anything you have to guard against.”

She looked down, then off to the side, jaw tightening as she chewed on her next thought.

“I’ve got my own shit going on too. I’m not out here trying to start something that makes either of us lose focus.”

Then—after a beat,

“I just wanted to talk to you. That’s all”

There was a shrug,casual but careful .Her voice softened—almost like she was trying to defuse something she hadn’t meant to light in the first place.

Then with a quiet exhale

“But I hear you. If you want to be friends that is all we will ever be.”

And Paige looked like she meant those words.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first.

She just stood there. Eyes fixed on a point beyond Paige’s shoulder, like if she looked directly into her infuriatingly gorgeous face, something might break.

Azzi expected defensiveness. Sarcasm. A cocky quip to brush it off. Something that showcased the player personality Cam and Rickea had so clearly described.

But Paige had taken it with complete understanding. No pushback.

Just with consideration….

And somehow that had made it worse. She was almost hoping Paige would be offended and leave her alone. But no. She wanted to be friends.

I told her I wasn’t looking for her anything.

So why does if feel like i took something away from her?

There was something disarming about how honest Paige had just been. Something unexpected. That soft, careful tone. The way she didn’t even flinch. The way she said I just wanted to talk to you like it actually mattered

Azzi forced her breathing to settle, composing herself

This is the right call.

I don’t have room for something like this

Even if part of me wanted to know what she meant when she said she wanted to know me..

She shifted her stance, eyes following toward Paige once—-just long enough to take in the way she stood in the stillness.At a distance now. Perfume no longer close enough to be breathed in. Hands in her pockets like she wasn’t sure if she should leave or stay. The stillness Paige carried now felt different, less like nonchalance and more like hesitation.

Azzi tore her eyes away again

And for a mere second. Just a breath of one. She wished she didn’t mean the boundary she’d set. Wished she could take it back, or at least soften it. But she didn’t. Because Azzi Fudd didn’t go back on things. Even when something in her soul ached to.

“You drinking tonight?” Azzi asked, voice casual like she hadn’t just cut the thread between them.

Paige shook her head “Nah didn’t feel up to it tonight.”

Azzi nodded, thum brushing a wrinkle at the hem lf her dress.”Me either.”

“But to be honest,” Paige added, huffing a quiet laugh, “this whole kissing up to rich donors thing kinda sucks without it.”

Azzi allowed a smirk “Yeah, I think I’m going home. I’ve done enough sucking up for one night.”

Silence followed—lingering lightly. Not awkward. Just suspened… Like they were both aware the moment was ending and unsure how to land it.

Paige glanced towards the door, then back at Azzi. Her throat bobbed lightly as she swallowd and cleared it, voice nervous when she spoke.

“You—-uh need a ride?”

Azzi looked at her, one brow raising, guarded as ever.

Paige immediately threw up both hands like she was surrendering.

“Not like that.Not—like that, like that”,she rushed out eyes wide

“I meant-like a literal ride. Car wheels transportation. You know.”

Azzi blinked. Slowly

Paige groaned under her breath and ran a hand down her face.

“Jesus. I’m messing this up.” She gestured vaguely between them. “I'm just offering to make sure you get home safe. You don’t have to say yes. No pressure. I know you live in the same building as Cam. And It’s just—she told me earlier that you don’t always call cars after events and I figured, If I'm going that way anyway—-“

She was rambling now,voice pitching slightly higher with every excuse.

Azzi stared at her with arms crossed. Dry. Unamused. But not cold

Paige caught herself mid sentence, laughed once.

“Okay. Okay..Officially shutting up now. The offer’s still there. We can just pretend I didn’t black out in the middle of that sentence.”

She turned half away, stuffing her hands into her pockets again, her mouth twitching like she couldn’t tell whether to grin or wince.

Azzi bit back a smile—barely

Not enough for Paige to see.

But enough for her to feel it.

Azzi exhaled through her nose, soft and quiet.

“I’ll take the ride.”

Paige turned,eyes blinking as if she wasn’t sure she heard her right.

“Yeah?”

Azzi nodded once, arms still crossed.

“But only because I didn’t feel like waiting an hour for an uber. Not because of your tragic sales pitch”

Paige grinned. Fully this time. One that actually reached her eyes. Relief flicking across her face.

God Azzi was grateful she set the boundary when she did. Because seeing Paige smile for real—soft and unguarded, made her feel something dangerous. Something warm, but not sharp. Soft in a way that threatened to unravel her.

“That’s fair I’ll take the pity acceptance”.Then more playfully she added .“ Let the record show i did not mean that flirtatiously. Not flirting at all. Zero percent flirt.”

Azzi gave her a look. The quiet unreadable one she had given Paige the first time they met. But this time—a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

——————-

After long goodbyes and peeling herself away from the open bar chaos, Azzi found her teammates in various stages of drunk delight. Rickea, in particular, was leaning against one of the cocktail tables, flushed with laughter and wine, waving her phone around like a baton.

“Oh my goddd, Paige is driving you homeeee”

Rickea sang, dragging out the vowels like she was witnessing a rom-com

Azzi crossed her arms, deadpan “It’s not like that,” she said, tome clipped but not unkind. “I just need a ride home.”

But the grin Rickea threw her was all mischief. Rae let out a dramatic gasp behind her. Cam bumped shoulders with her like they were back in the lockeroom after a win—eyebrows wiggling.

She rolled her eyes and waved them off with j a muttered, “You all are insufferable.”

Still ,her cheeks flushed just slightly

Eventually after directing Rickea away from the alcohol table and towards a glass of water,she stepped out of the ballroom. When she stepped into the cold air she spotted Paige, leaning against the hood of a sleek white car that screamed money.

Her posture was cool and unreadable. Like the night hadn’t affected her.

It probably didn’t affect her.

They distance between them felt different now—not colder, not closer. Just….real. A silence that no longer ached.

Azzi took a breath, smoothed her dress, and waked toward her.

Paige glanced over, voice low.

“You sure? You don’t have to. I don’t wanna overstep.”

Azzi shook her head.

“You’re not.”

Then after a pause

“It’s just a ride.”

And for once, they both let that be enough.

—————————————————————

The car was silent except for the sounds of soft R&B playing low on the radio. The city lights flickered past, casting long shadows inside the car. Paige’s calm presence beside her was something Azzi couldn’t quite ignore. She kept her gaze mostly to the window, watching the blur of buildings ,but finally she spoke.

“I’d heard about your reputation,” Azzi said, voice low, eyes fixed on the passing lights outside the window. “From Cam.”

Paige glanced over, one veined hand on the wheel, a flicker of amusement in her expression.

“Let me guess, I’m a player right? Lot’s of women. No strings.

Azzi met her eyes, then looked away briefly again “Something like that”

Paige gave a short laugh—quiet, thin. Like it didn’t quite reach her chest. “Yeah. Something like that”

A beat passed. Azzi didn’t press. She didn’t need to

“I can’t afford distractions like that,” she said instead “This is the year I prove myself.”

Paige nodded, her gaze turning back to the road. ”I get that i was number one pick too once.”

Her voice softened, the weight of a memory lingering.

“The pressure’s different when you’re at the top of the draft. You’re not just playing for the hope to win. You’re playing like every game is a article being written on whether or not you deserved it in the first place”

Azzi swallowd, fingers tightening around her clutch bag.

She gets it

She really fucking gets it.

Paige looked at her quickly again, but it lingered long enough.

“You remind me of my rookie year.” There was something quiet in it, reverant almost

And for the first time all night, Azzi felt like someone had seen her.

In that moment she had to remind herself of one thing:

Basketball First. Everything second

“Then maybe you understand why i’m guarded” Azzi commented, tone steady.

Paige’s voice was warm “I do.”

Azzi turned her gaze back towards the city lights,silently repeating her mantra once more

Basketball before anything.

————————————————————-

The car slowed, rolling up to Azzi’s apartment building. The street was quiet, the glow of the outside light casting soft halos on the pavement.

Paige killed the engine and the sudden silence felt heavy.

Azzi reached for her door handle, but Paige was already opening her own ,stepping out first.

“I’ll walk you up.” Paige said quietly

Azzi hesitated a moment then nodded.

They moved side by side, shoulders close but not touching, their footsteps muffled on the pavement.

Under the light Azzi fumbled for her key fob

Paige watched her, eyes steady and soft. This close the height difference was shocking. Azzi’s heels made her already y tall frame tower above Paige, who hadn’t worn any. At 5’8, Paige felt almost small beside her. And maybe, for once, she didn’t mind it.

“Thanks for the ride” Azzi murmured, her voice low.but clear

Paige offered a small smile. “Anytime.”

Paige shifted her weight, sneakers snuffing lightly against conceete.

“Can tonight be a restart? she asked “Let’s pretend May never happened”

Azzi considered her for second before nodding once, sure and simple. “Yeah.”

Paige grinned at that—cheeks pushing up into full apples.

“It’s nice to meet you Azzi,” she said, her voice mock formal but earnest underneath teasing.

Azzi rolled her eyes but extended a hand anyways.

“It’s nice to meet you, Paige.”

Their hands met in a slow, stesdy handshake—-not stiff this time. Not cautious. Just two people deciding to actually meet each other now. No ice, no edge, Just warmth.

When their hands finally slipped apart, It didn’t feel like an ending this time.

Azzi turned and pressed her key fob to the buildings lock. The soft beep broke the quiet.

“Goodnight, Paige” she said, fingers curling around the handle.

“Goodnight, Azzi”

She stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her with quiet formality.

Paige stayed a minute longer on the steps outside. The scent of Azzi’s perfume still lingered faintly in the air.And something else, too

Something like the beginning of something new

————————————————————-

Paige got home later than she expected that night—thanks to traffic, or so she’d said.

But the truth was that, she’d lied to Azzi.

Paige wasn’t headed that way at all. Her place was in the opposite direction—nowhere near downtown L.A. In fact, she lived a solid fourteen minutes out of downtown.

But Azzi didn’t need to know that.

Paige flicked on the soft light of her phone, the quiet once again a familiar blanket. She scrolled absentmindedly through notifications.

azzi35 started following you.

The corner of Paige’s mouth turned into a small smile.

It felt like a small victory and a trap all at once.

She knew better then to read into social media.But something about this felt more different. More vulnerable

Her chest tightened. A flicker or something she didn’t want to let herself acknowledge—-hope.

But with hope still came that cold shadow of doubt.

I can’t get close.

Not again.

She’d built walls so high around herself that sometimes, she herself got lost in the maze of them.

Paige had learned that feelings were dangerous—an open door to being hurt, to being seen as weak. And weakness was something she couldn’t afford.

So she kept her distance. She played the part. The confident, unbreakable player with a reputation that kept people at bay.

This follow from Azzi was a crack in that armour. That she had spent years building. An invitation. An olive branch

And part of her wanted to reach out and grasp it firmly.

But the other part. The part that had been burned before—-warned her to stay back.

To keep the guard up.

The game was far from over. And for now she would play it her way. Careful, controlled, and just close enough to feel alive without being broken.

#pazzi fics #pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige x azzi #uconn wbb #wnba #Spotify

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1968bullittmustang · 15 hours ago

Text

Fired Epstein Prosecutor Maurene Comey Warns Colleagues About Trump’s DOJ: ‘Fear Is The Tool Of A Tyrant’

ByAlison Durkee,

Forbes Staff. Alison is a senior news reporter covering US politics and legal news.

Jul 17, 2025, 01:11pm EDT

Topline

Key Facts

Comey sent a letter to colleagues at the U.S. Attorney’s office for the Southern District of New York, Politico first reported, in which she confirmed she was “summarily fired” from the Justice Department on Wednesday and was not given a reason for her termination.

She prosecuted cases against Epstein and Maxwell, as well as Sean “Diddy” Combs, and is the daughter of former FBI Director James Comey, a longtime foe of President Donald Trump.

The ex-prosecutor warned colleagues in the letter that their practice of doing their work “without fear” is now under threat, writing, “If a career prosecutor can be fired without reason, fear may seep into the decisions of those who remain” and urging colleagues, “Do not let that happen.”

Comey appeared to take aim at the Trump administration, writing, “Fear is the tool of a tyrant, wielded to suppress independent thought.”

Comey’s departure comes as the Justice Department more broadly faces a barrage of criticism from both sides of the aisle for its memo declaring the agency will not release any further files on its investigation into Epstein, which also shot down conspiracy theories regarding the nature of Epstein’s 2019 death in prison and the existence of a “client list” detailing people who took part in his alleged sex trafficking operation.

It’s unclear if Comey’s firing is at all tied to the ongoing controversy over the Epstein files, and it comes as numerous DOJ staff have separately been fired or left the agency voluntarily, with Reuters reporting two-thirds of the staff tasked with defending the administration’s policies have quit.

Surprising Fact

The New York Times reports Comey’s firing may have come from Trump directly. The memo informing her of her termination reportedly cited Article II of the Constitution, which details the president’s powers.

What Did Maurene Comey’s Full Letter Say?

Comey’s full letter, as quoted by Politico, reads:

“Yesterday was unexpectedly my last day in the Office. I was summarily fired via memo from Main Justice that did not give a reason for my termination.

Every person lucky enough to work in this office constantly hears four words to describe our ethos: Without Fear or Favor. Do the right thing, the right way, for the right reasons without fear of retribution and without fear to the powerful.

For the majority of my nearly ten years in SDNY, the hard part seemed to be acting ‘without favor.’ That is, making sure people with access, money, and power were not treated differently than anyone else; and making sure this office remained separate from politics and focused only on the facts and the law. Fear was never really conceivable. We don’t fear bad press; we have the luxury of exceptional security keeping us physically safe; and, so long as we did our work with integrity, we would get to keep serving the public in this office.

But we have entered a new phase where ‘without fear’ may be the challenge. If a career prosecutor can be fired without reason, fear may seep into the decisions of those who remain. Do not let that happen. Fear is the tool of a tyrant, wielded to suppress independent thought. Instead of fear, let this moment fuel the fire that already burns at the heart of this place. A fire of righteous indignation at abuses of power. Of commitment to seek justice for victims. Of dedication to truth above all else.

It has been an honor to fight for those principles by your side.

Maurene”

What To Watch For

The drama over the Epstein files is still unfolding at the Justice Department, and it remains to be seen if the agency will capitulate to Republicans who continue to urge for more documents to be released. (Trump, for his part, has railed against the continued interest in the Epstein files, but has said the DOJ should release any “credible” information.) Comey may also not be the only high-level departure from the agency amid the controversy: many right-wing figures including activist Laura Loomer and commentator Megyn Kelly have called on Attorney General Pam Bondi to resign, though Bondi has so far shown no willingness to do so, and Trump has not expressed displeasure with the attorney general.

Tangent

Comey’s departure also comes amid reports that the FBI has launched an investigation into her father, though it’s unclear what prompted it. James Comey has long been criticized by Trump over his handling of investigations into the 2016 election, and was fired by the president during his first term. Any conduct from Trump’s first term would now be outside a five-year statute of limitations, NBC News notes, however, though James Comey has more recently drawn controversy and outrage from the right for a social media post that said “86 47,” which has been interpreted as a message to “eject” or “remove” Trump. The former FBI director later deleted the image, saying he “posted earlier a picture of some shells I saw today on a beach walk, which I assumed were a political message. I didn't realize some folks associate those numbers with violence. It never occurred to me but I oppose violence of any kind so I took the post down.”

Key Background

Epstein allegedly abused more than 100 women between 2002 and 2018, assembling an alleged network of underage women who were allegedly abused by him and associates. He was indicted in federal court in 2019 for sex trafficking and died in prison later that year, but the financier’s crimes have continued to garner widespread attention. The latest controversy over the Epstein investigation comes after top Trump officials, including FBI Director Kash Patel and deputy Dan Bongino, have long pushed conspiracy theories about a government “cover-up” of files concerning the Epstein investigation, which stoked widespread interest among Trump’s base in those files being released. Bondi and Patel have repeatedly suggested in recent months they would release the government’s files on the investigation, but as of July, there had only been one limited release of documents—which were already largely publicly available. While officials maintained they were prioritizing making the files public, that abruptly came to an end with the memo announcing no further documents would be released. The memo has unleashed a wave of criticism from the right, with numerous Republicans calling for the files to be released and attacking the Trump administration for continuing to withhold them. Trump has decried his supporters for their continued interest in the story, writing on Truth Social on Wednesday that the Epstein story is a “hoax” and saying of supporters who push the issue, “I don’t want their support anymore!”

Firing the prosecutor after knowing/seeing thousands of children were molested/raped on video, then denying the tapes exist, is the undeniable pattern of protecting abusive white men we see in conservative politics every day.

#maurene comey #epstein files #con bondi #evil agent orange #fuckwads of the gop #corruption

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rainandsentences · 16 hours ago

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Always Almost, Conrad

season three!conrad fisher x female!best friend

synopsis: when her chest physically hurts and her heart flutters violently for him, how would she tell him? you don’t tell that stuff to your best friend… do you?

rate: 16+

warnings: angst!

a/n: in honor of tsitp new season… i was literally imagining this as i watched the new episodes. 💀 drop in the comments: team conrad or team jeremiah? 🧐 (i’ll read and judge quietly…)

————————————————————————

The pizza box was open between them, half-eaten and lukewarm, and she watched Conrad pick olives off his slice with the kind of lazy precision that only came after hours in traffic. He looked tired, older in a way that made her heart ache—more grown-up than she ever wanted him to be.

“You know you could just order without olives, right?” she teased, leaning back against the couch cushions, trying to sound light.

He smirked. “And rob you of this precious moment of judgment? Never.”

“Okay, you’re such a pick me.” She scoffs.

“I love all the ingredients this pizza has… except this guys.” He picked up an olive that she grabbed from his hand to eat it after.

“You have no brain.” She looked away.

“More than you? Absolutely.” He chuckles as she pushes him.

“Bitch” She mumbles as he only smiles.

It was always like this now. Comfortable, familiar and relaxed, she still came over without warning and he texted her sometimes dumb when he couldn’t sleep.

They were like that, simple and easy to be around each other. Like they used to do back then…

They’d grown up together, met at second grade in school when he snitched on her over being copying on a test. They were called at the principal office as she killed him with her gaze, after that, she swore to herself that she would hate him forever. The pledge didn’t lasted till third grade when she was paired with him to do a science project, there’s where they became friends and after, the bestest of friends. So they took her to Cousins Beach for the first time in the summer vacations of fifth grade; they introduced her to the Conklins and quickly they were racing down the dock to see who could cannonball the loudest.

As they grew up, things changed between them and all the other participants of the group.

At fourteen she could see how Belly looked at him with awe so she teased him about it.

At sixteen, she barely saw him. He was moody all the time, he started to see other girls in high school but occasionally they had time to hang out.

Then with seventeen, cancer. His bad mood increased as her mom was fighting the horrific battle against the illness.

She lost, and he also lost his spark.

At eighteen, she realized her stomach dropped every time he smiled at her.

She never told him.

Not when Susannah died. Not when he left for Brown. Not when he and Belly finally broke up and she held him in her arms, rubbing circles into his back while he cried like a child.

She stayed, obviously.

Now, he was recently out of med school,few kilometers away, but still called her when his car wouldn’t start or when he forgot how to cook rice. She was living downtown, working finance hours, and pretending she didn’t care that her phone lit up with his name more than anyone else’s.

But it was different now. She was different.

He still talked about Belly sometimes.

Not in the same way—not with longing or pain. But he mentioned her. Little things. How she was doing. How they’d been kids, really.

And every time, she felt it again.

That he would never look at her the way he looked at Belly. Not then. Not now.

Because she heard him.

“how many times you’ve been in love?” “once”

So she started pulling away in the only ways she knew how.

“Busy week, sorry I missed your call.”

“Can’t make dinner, work stuff. Rain check?”

He let her. For a while…

But he was too smart and knew her too well to figure out something was off.

“Did I do something?” he asked one night, voice low, cracking slightly at the end.

She looked up from her phone. They were sitting on his fire escape, city lights buzzing in the distance.

“What? No. Just tired.”

He watched her. “You always say that now.”

She forced a smile. “It’s always true.”

He didn’t push, because he never did. He just passed her the beer they were sharing and leaned his head back against the railing.

She turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears she wasn’t ready to explain.

The night it finally happened, it was raining.

He offered to walk her to her car after dinner. They hadn’t talked much during the meal, both fidgety and off-center. She didn’t know if he felt it too.

She almost didn’t say anything. Almost climbed into her car and drove off into the familiar ache of never knowing.

But she was tired.

Of pretending, of the constant pain in her chest, of her mind.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing his sleeve before he turned away.

He blinked down at her, hair damp and curling at the ends.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now.”

The words left her like a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

He froze.

She kept going, quietly.

“I didn’t say anything because… i know you have been dealing with stuff. And i’ve always supported in everything and i’m glad i’ve been present in almost every step of your life, i know you how much you loved Belly… …And maybe you still do. I could see how happy you were every time you spoke about her, I didn’t want to lose you for some stupidness of mine. But it hurts now, my chest hurts more every day and i had to say it, i need to… i’m sorry, Conrad.”

Conrad swallowed hard. Looked down. Then up.

His eyes were so soft it broke her heart.

“You mean everything to me,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She nodded, a lump in her throat.

“But not like that.”

There it was. Kind. Honest. Crushing.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” he added. “If I loved you the way you deserve to be loved, I’d never stop saying it. But I don’t.”

She smiled, even as her heart cracked open.

“I know.” She chuckles as she cleans the tears from her cheeks.

He hugged her, tight, longer. She closed her eyes enjoying his presence, his scent and his touch. Her mind wondered to a universe where that was normal, where that was her present— but when he let go, her eyes open and she’s back there, to her reality. She stepped back, he looked at her softly, not with pity but with understanding.

“Maybe we need some space,” she whispered.

He nodded. “If that’s what you need.”

She looked at him, memorizing his face like it was the last time. Maybe it was.

“Honestly, I didn’t wanted for this to happen…” She scoffs.

“I don’t want to lose you…” He says softly.

“Me neither.”

Conrad smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes either.

“Be careful.” He says softly.

“Yeah.” She says still crying.

“Do you think… that it could’ve worked out in another life?” She says with a mixture of pain and frustration.

“In another life, maybe.”

Never in this one… Not a chance

“Funny, in this one still hurts.” She smiles at him, looking at his face for a last time, she turned, walked to her car, and didn’t look back.

And for once, he didn’t follow.

And it was okay.

Because it was almost him.

But for her will always be only him.

#fanfic writing #one shot #love #conrad fisher #team conrad #tsitp #tsitp s3 #chris briney #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher fanfic #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp fanfic #tsitp season 3 #connie baby #writers on tumblr

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sugarcubesandinsanity · 2 days ago

Note

Sending in some thoughts on Self-Aware! Phainon, hope you don't mind ><

If player plays HSR on say a laptop, would Phainon be able to see player when HSR is minimised? And can he see what player is doing elsewhere on the laptop? (Same concept with HSR running in the background on mobile) If that's not the case, he would still be able to hear what comes out of their speakers to know what's going on though, right?

Imagine him being able to see what's on their screen, like if they were reading fanfiction of him or scrolling through fanarts... Or if you want to go down the jealous route, maybe he's aware of who's constantly messaging them on social media? Imagine him sending a message that implicates something about an event going on in their life, and player is left panicking when they realise no one else has gotten it before...

COME ON INNNNNN AND TAKE A SEAT BABES i don't bite hehe (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝) 🤍

that was actually my intention all along with this series !! (we interconnected our minds fr) the hsr characters can see EVERYTHING as long as you have the game opened. but they do respect your space and wander off to do their own things. or they just don't care enough to stare at whatever you're browsing. except phainon. he's your most used dps and should be taking his time to rest but no. he stands still, eyes glued onto your expression and the media you're currently consuming.

he wants to know everything about you. your favourite colour. your favourite song. what genre of movies suits your fancy. what's your most googled ao3 tag.

he knows them all by heart. he even writes them down to keep track of your latest interests!

'dear diary,

my precious dawnlight yelled at their screen again today watching, what was it called again? ah, squirt games. i don't know why my darling watches such a show but their reactions are just too cute to resist!'

(I HAD TO.)

you can't keep anything hidden from phainon. he probably knows you more than yourself! he knows what food you're gonna order later. what book is on your mind even though you don't say it out loud. even your sleep schedule has been memorised by him. (it's just the moment you closed the game ngl but let him have his moment)

he can't help but grin whenever he sees your search bar type his name. oh, you minx! he's right there, sweetheart. although the art and writing of him you view is... not appropriate at times, who's he to judge? he's flattered that you view him that way. (he does that too bro) his heart flutters that you take time out of your day to view content with him in it. it reassures him that you love him too.

if you ever, EVER receive a flirtatious message from your irls, they should thank the heavens phainon can't dash out of your screen and find their location. he will reread the text at least 12 times before laughing. this loser thinks he stands a chance with his dawnlight? pathetic.

the next day when you boot up the game, a message is waiting for you.

'a cafe outing is so underwhelming... how about a stroll with me through okhema's markets instead, dawnlight? wouldn't that be far more enjoyable?'

the message is gone when you click on it again.

#🔆 self aware au!#( • ̀ω•́ )✧ tea time w/ sugar !!#જ⁀➴ one cube or two ?#please close hsr if you ever wanna have freaky time #the hsr characters do NOT wanna see what hooha is on that screen #except phainon #hes yo freak #thank u for the ask 🤍

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sugarskies · 3 days ago

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spooning (john's version)

summary: bob sneaks into john's room for cuddles. word count: 962 notes: yes, this is also part of the diversionverse aka a loosely connected series of one-shots that can be read in any order.

He didn’t understand it the first time.

Bob sneaked into his room half past midnight, wearing boxers and an oversized Avengerz t-shirt Alexei gave to him. It wasn’t the first time he’d come in without warning. The difference was that he usually cut right to the chase. He’d pull off his shirt, climb on top of John, and kiss him like it was the last time.

They never talked about feelings. It wasn’t supposed to be about that. They were just using each other, just friends who occasionally fucked to distract each other from self-destructive temptations. So, yes, John was confused when Bob crawled into his bed, wrapped his arms around John’s stomach, and buried his face in his chest without a word.

John held him for a full minute before his confusion took over his mouth and he inelegantly asked if Bob wanted to be fucked. Bob said no and nuzzled deeper into his arms. Neither of them spoke another word for the rest of the night. When John woke up the next morning alone, he felt like something was missing. He worried it was a once in a lifetime event, that he’d never hold Bob like that again.

(And he shouldn’t have cared, because it really wasn’t about feelings. He didn’t have feelings for Bob. Bob was just a really good friend. Yeah, John had been inside him, but it wasn’t like that. They were just fucking. Like when guys in the Army would masturbate together to let off steam.)

Except it wasn’t the last time. It took a few days but then Bob came back again. And again. And then when he didn’t come in for cuddles for a week, John mustered up the courage to go to his room. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, after all. Technically, John had started the whole cuddling thing—albeit unintentionally.

He’d gone into Bob’s room with the intention of asking for a quickie, something he’d done a handful of times before. But when he saw Bob with his perfectly messy hair and his big, cozy sweatshirt, something came over him. He laid down beside Bob, wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him in close to his stomach. And fuck if it wasn’t the best sleep he’d had in years.

They kept doing it after that. Both of them. It wasn’t every night, but it went from some nights to most nights over the course of a month. Either John would crawl into Bob’s bed and spoon him, or Bob would crawl into John’s bed and tuck himself into his arms. That night, it was the latter; Bob nuzzled his face into the crook of John’s bare shoulder, the tips of his fingers digging into his back.

“Are you all right?” asked John, still clinging to the idea that maybe Bob was only in there for comfort. That maybe he was still using him but in a different way. Bob nodded, inhaled deeply as he slid his left leg between John’s. “Just insomnia?”

“No, no reason,” Bob mumbled. He kissed John’s neck, left his lips against his skin for far longer than he needed to. “I like listening to your heartbeat.”

And then John did what he never did, and he kissed the top of Bob’s head while he was still awake. John always kissed Bob before he fell asleep, regardless of whose bed they were in, but he waited until Bob was out first. That night felt different, somehow; like Bob gave him permission through his gentle touch.

It was confusing, the way he felt so comfortable with his arms around Bob. Sometimes he disliked his body. Disliked the way he thought he’d let himself go since the divorce, since everything that happened before that. But the way Bob fit so perfectly against his belly, beneath his arms, made him feel like everything about him was just right.

He wanted to ask if Bob felt the same way. If he felt relief from his dysmorphia when he laid with John, when they curled their bodies around each other. He almost did, but then he reminded himself that they didn’t talk about feelings. They didn’t have feelings for each other. They couldn’t have feelings for each other.

They were just fucking. And kissing. And cuddling. Not because it was romantic but because they were both touch-starved and desperate and found out mostly by accident that their sex was really good. It was good because it wasn’t emotional. It didn’t have anything attached to it. If Bob woke up the next morning and told John he never wanted to do any of it again, he wouldn’t care at all.

(But he would. He would care a lot. It might even break his heart; the same heart Bob was listening to. So, he kissed the top of Bob’s head one more time and pulled him in closer to make sure he knew that John really liked it when they cuddled. Even if he didn’t let himself think about why he liked it when they cuddled.)

“So, you just came in here because…?”

Bob didn’t answer with his words. He moved his left hand to John’s neck, held him just beneath his ear as he turned his lips into the spot between his neck and his shoulder. Bob kissed him once, then just lingered, his mouth slightly open, and his breath warm and ticklish. His eyes drifted shut as he slid back down, kissed John’s collarbone and his right pec before he snuggled back into place.

That was all it took for John to decide that it didn’t matter. He didn’t care why Bob was in his bed or why they held each other so tightly. He only cared that they did.

#i know i said i would write bratty bob but i'm struggling a lil w ideas #and i had kinda a shitty evening and i wanted to write something fluffy for myself. and myself still loves this dynamic for some reason #that said. i am once again apologizing in case no one else cares abt this universe. it has accidentally become very dear to me #maybe. i will write something in this universe of them discussing their body image issues sometime. or maybe one for each. maybe #i think this reads a little strange. but it's just a ramble so idc whatever #sentryagent #voidwalker #sugary content #tumblr exclusive ✨#diversionverse

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ild-rllrcstr · 2 days ago

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Remembrance of you part 5

Lando Norris X You / 3K / slow burn

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 6 / part 7 (coming soon)

SummaryIn this life, he’s a driver and you’re a girl trying not to fall for him, not again. You were supposed to be invisible, a cousin hidden under Ferrari red, tucked safely behind Charles Leclerc’s shadow. But fate never forgets its favourites. Once, in a life long buried by time, you stood on the edge of ruin, torn apart by duty, silence, and a falling legacy. Centuries later, under Monaco's golden sun and the scream of engines, your souls meet again, unaware of the story echoing in their bones. You dream of a forgotten crest, the piercing ache of sadness. He feels it in flashes, a phrase, the way your eyes hold storms and memories. As old symbols surface and the past claws its way into the present, an erased history, and love, quiet, steady, terrifying, beg for a second chance. If fate brings you together over and over, maybe this time, you’ll be brave enough not to run.

Warning To read the chapter without the former ones will be quite confusing. A/N A slightly shorter chapter, but there will be another update tomorrow!

. ݁₊ �� . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹

The carriage wheels creaked over uneven stone as the convoy curved into the southern valley road. You had left the capital at dawn, riding under the pale lavender sky with an entourage of guards, knights, and envoys bound for the neighbouring kingdom, a minor but strategic ally whose loyalty had begun to waver.

Charles led the diplomatic charge, of course, you at his side, and Sir Carlos and Pierre, Charles’ two most trusted political officers. Carlos was sharp-eyed and steel-spined, he could well observe every situations. Pierre was with a voice that could end negotiations with a single pause, but at the sametime very charming when it comes to socialising. It was no wonder Charles kept them close.

But Landric was here, too. Assigned to the royal guard. Assigned, specifically, to you. This was not the first time you travelled with Charles, it was the tense situation that made Charles having to take extra precautions.

You hadn’t spoken much since the garden.

Not because there wasn’t anything to say, but because there was too much, and there were too many eyes.

You’d spent the first leg of the trip mostly in silence, tucked into the cushioned seat of the lead carriage, fingers curled around a scroll of treaty terms, your eyes flicking over the landscape instead of the knight occasionally visible on horseback through the side window.

He always rode near. Not quite beside your carriage, that would draw attention, but close enough that you knew if anything happened, he’d be the first to reach you.

By the third day, the sun was relentless. The procession stopped in a quiet forested clearing to rest before the border crossing. Charles, Carlos and Pierre argued quietly over new terms at the front of the camp. You were left beneath a tree with your papers you could no longer focus on.

And then, from behind, the familiar crunch of boots.

“You’ll ruin your eyes reading in this light,” Landric said, voice softer than usual.

You didn’t look up right away. “That’s what everyone says.”

There was a pause. A shift in weight. “May I ?”

You nodded, and he lowered himself to the grass beside you. For a moment, the world went quiet except for the chirp of cicadas.

You glanced sideways. He wasn’t in armour, just a linen shirt rolled at the sleeves, sun catching on the curve of his neck. He looked… less knightly like this. More human.

“I didn’t know you’d be coming on this trip,” you said.

“I didn’t know until the day before,” he replied. “Charles asked for me directly.”

Your lips quirked. “Or you asked for the assignment.”

He hesitated, just a second too long.

You tilted your head, amused. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He smirked faintly, eyes still on the horizon. “I thought… if I stayed close, maybe we’d speak more.”

Your chest tightened, the air between you thinning. “You could’ve said something sooner.”

“I didn’t know if I was allowed.” His voice dropped then, a low honesty threading through. “You’re not the girl in the hayloft anymore.”

“And you’re not the boy who hid my books under horse blankets,” you whispered.

He looked at you then, fully, and whatever passed between you in that glance was not something the court would have approved of. It wasn’t formal. It wasn’t royal.

But it was real.

“I shouldn’t,” you said, before you even knew what you meant.

“I know,” he said, already knowing what you were trying not to say.

But neither of you moved.

Then, just before the moment could slip into something irreversible, a voice rang from the ridge above.

“Y/N,” Charles called, “we’re setting off again.”

You stood too quickly, brushing invisible dust from your skirts. Landric rose slowly, his expression unreadable.

“We should go,” you said.

He nodded once.

But as you walked ahead, you didn’t miss the way his shadow followed slightly too close behind. Or how, for the rest of the ride, whenever danger felt too near, Landric’s horse was always at your side.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹

The palace of the kingdom was smaller than your own, ornate, with silver ivy creeping up marble columns and flags in deep green fluttering lazily in the breeze. But it had its charm. Its own kind of elegance. More importantly, it held the court you had come to negotiate with: the nobles of House Adrelan.

You had barely stepped down from the carriage before you were swept into formalities. Polite greetings, long-winded welcomes, veiled inspections from lords and ladies who looked at you as if trying to guess how much power you truly held. Your title meant little here. But your presence, a woman advisor travelling with three royals, stirred curiosity.

By dusk, the reception hall was lit with soft lanterns and music. A light feast had been prepared for your arrival. The conversation was stiff at first, but slowly loosened under the influence of wine and carefully placed compliments. You were seated near Charles and the lady in court, while Carlos stood stiff-backed near a pillar, watching everything like a hawk and Pierre charming people with his words.

And then came the shift in your attention, a murmur of interest behind you, a ripple of laughter, and a quick glance across the room.

There he was.

Landric, no longer in armour but in formal tunic and dark embroidered sleeves, stood with a group of young noblewomen by the far column. They had formed a loose circle around him, fans in hand, laughter spilling out too easily. You could tell they didn’t know who he was, not really. To them, he was just a handsome knight with sharp shoulders, storm-blue eyes, and an air of mystery.

One of the ladies leaned in too close, brushing something from his collar. Another giggled and whispered something behind her fan. He gave a small smile, polite, distant, but he didn’t pull away either.

You turned back toward your goblet, face composed.

Charles leaned toward you, amused. “He’s become rather popular, hasn’t he?”

You didn’t answer immediately. “He stands out. And they’re not subtle.”

“He’s not doing anything wrong.”

“I didn’t say he was.”

But something cold curled low in your chest anyway.

You tried to focus on the conversation around you. The terms of the grain trade. The disputed river border. The dancing invitation was extended to Charles. But you could still feel them, those women, their laughter, the way one of them touched Landric’s wrist and tilted her head just so.

It was foolish. You had no claim. You had no right.

Still, when the musicians struck up a livelier tune and the guests began to rise for dancing, you found yourself watching again. Watching too closely.

Landric caught your eye across the room.

And paused.

His smile faded just slightly, his brow furrowing a flicker of confusion. And something else. He excused himself gently from the circle of admirers, stepping back with a bow. One of the women pouted.

But he was already turning. Heading toward you.

You quickly stood. “I need air,” you said to no one in particular, stepping away from the long table, skirts whispering behind you as you exited into the cool night of the palace garden.

The breeze helped. A little. But not enough.

You hated the way your heart was behaving. How easily it was stirred. You were supposed to be focused, composed. Not unravelling in a foreign court over a look. Over a knight.

The heavy wooden door creaked open behind you.

“Are you alright?” came the voice you knew too well.

You didn’t turn. “Don’t you have a fan club to entertain?”

There was a pause. Then the quietest huff of a laugh.

“They asked if I’d like to see the stables,” he said. “Thought I’d be impressed.”

You finally turned to look at him. “Were you?”

“No.” His gaze was steady. “I’ve already seen better.”

You shouldn’t have smiled. But you did.

There it was again, that thread between you. Unspoken, impossible, but always there.

He took a step closer. “You didn’t like it, did you?”

“What?”

“The women.”

You held his gaze. “Why would I care?”

“I don’t know,” he said softly, almost teasing. “But you left.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to dismiss it, to make a clever retort, but no words came. Just the sound of the breeze rustling the ivy above you.

He took one more step. Close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to keep your eyes on his.

“I left because I don’t like games,” you said quietly.

“I don’t either.”

And for a moment, you both stood there, between shadows and moonlight, between diplomacy and something dangerously close to longing, not quite touching, not quite speaking the truth.

Then a bell rang from the tower, the hour calling you both back inside. But something had shifted. The jealousy had cracked something open. And neither of you could pretend it hadn’t.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹

The palace quieted quickly after the evening’s feast. Courtiers retired behind carved doors, musicians packed away their instruments, and only the low hush of wind through the halls remained. You had slipped away again, claiming exhaustion, but you didn’t return to your chambers. Not yet.

You found yourself instead in the smaller library, a circular room tucked behind the guest wing. It was nothing like the grand archives at home, but something was comforting in the scent of parchment and beeswax, the dim flicker of lanterns casting soft amber against the stone.

You traced your fingers along the spines of old volumes. Diplomacy records. Poetry from the Eastern reaches. A treatise on the handling of war horses. That one made you smile. Then there was a noise behind you. Quiet footsteps. Familiar.

You turned, already knowing who it was.

Landric stood just inside the doorway, the flickering light playing over the angles of his face. His coat was gone, shirt unlaced at the collar, curls slightly damp from washing. He looked less like a knight then, and more like the boy you used to share secrets with behind the haystacks.

“You have a gift for disappearing,” he said.

“And you have a gift for finding me,” you replied, though you didn’t sound annoyed.

“I don’t think I ever stopped.”

The room fell into a silence too weighted to be casual. You turned back to the shelf, just to give your hands something to do, to pretend your pulse wasn’t betraying you.

“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” you said, fingers lightly grazing the edges of a book you weren’t reading.

He stepped closer. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You gave a soft laugh. “Because of the wine or the women?”

He didn’t laugh.

“I saw your face when you left the hall,” he said. “

Your eyes met his again. Slower this time.

“That’s dangerous talk now,” you said. “Knowing me.”

He didn’t look away. “It always was.”

The breath caught in your throat. You had spent years learning restraint, how to shape words like weapons and wield them with care. But there was no defence for him when he looked at you like that, open, steady, like he remembered every line of your face from years ago and saw you even more clearly now.

“You were quiet tonight,” he added, voice softer. “Even for you.”

“I’m not used to being… watched.”

“I wasn’t watching.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Weren’t you?”

His lips curved, barely. “Not in a way I’d apologise for.”

That made you step back. Not in retreat, but in breathless realisation. Your hand brushed the corner of the reading table, and for a moment, he reached out, catching your fingers lightly, not quite holding them, just… touching.

“I missed this,” he said.

“This?” you asked, unable to stop your voice from falling into a whisper.

“You. Talking to you. Hearing what you actually think instead of what you’re supposed to say. Being near you, without a title between us.”

There were no guards here. No nobles. No cousins watching from balconies. Just him, and you, and the space between that was shrinking.

“Landric…” you began, but the name ached in your mouth.

He stepped closer, slowly, carefully, until your hands brushed again, more deliberate this time.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” he said gently. “But if there’s even a part of you that still remembers the garden, the books, the way we used to be so care free…”

“I remember all of it,” you said.

And for a moment, there was nothing but breath and heartbeat. You stood there in the library, your fingers resting against his, a whisper of contact that said more than either of you dared aloud.

But you didn’t kiss.

You couldn’t. Not yet.

A door creaked somewhere down the hall. A faint voice, Carlos perhaps, calling for Landric to report at dawn.

He sighed. Not in frustration, but with restraint. Respect.

“I should go,” he whispered.

You nodded, your fingers slipping away from his, but not before you let them linger one second longer than necessary.

As he turned to leave, you said his name, just once.

“Landric.” He stopped.

You didn’t move toward him. Didn’t speak again.

But the way he looked back at you, like a promise, made you think of fires you’d tried too long to smother.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹

The alliance talks ran longer than expected. A second dinner. Too many toasts. A request from the lords to see one of the scrolls you’d referenced, back at the carriage.

You volunteered to fetch it yourself. Charles was deep in conversation, and you needed a moment to clear your head.

It was quiet along the garden path. The moon cast a silver glow over the palace grounds, the trees whispering in the wind. You walked briskly toward the stables, passing the guards stationed near the gates, nodding, familiar faces from your own escort.

Then a sound. Quick. Sharp. Too close.

Before you could turn, a hand closed over your mouth and yanked you into the hedge.

You kicked out, hard, biting down, heart thundering in your chest. But the arms just held you still.

“Stop… stop, it’s me!”

The voice, muffled but unmistakable. You froze.

Landric.

He let go immediately, pulling you behind the stone wall just beyond the garden path. His hand now on your shoulder, not holding you, steadying you.

“What are you…?” you began to whisper, breath wild in your throat.

“Someone followed you from the reception,” he said, eyes scanning the shadows. “He wasn’t one of ours.”

You heard it now, voices, low and clipped, moving too quickly behind the hedge.

He pressed a finger gently to your lips. You didn’t flinch this time.

You stayed like that, breath to breath, backs against the cool stone as the footsteps drew closer. Whoever it was passed just feet from where you stood, speaking in a language not native to this region. From your understanding, they were looking for you.

Then silence. A long one.

Landric waited a full minute before he moved, stepping out first with a blade half-drawn.

“Come with me,” he said.

And you did.

Through the shadows, down a side path, through a servant’s gate in the wall that led to the outer courtyard. No guards. No watchers. Just the two of you, ducking through narrow alleys behind the kitchens until you reached the small stable by your envoy’s carriage. You were amazed at how well he knew the place in such a sort time.

He closed the door behind you.

It was dark, the scent of straw and horses thick in the air.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, voice low but intense. “Not with tensions still hanging. Not with…” He stopped himself.

You stood near the carriage’s side, heart still racing. “Do you think they were after me?”

“I think they didn’t expect me to be watching.”

You were too shaken to hold your usual distance. Too raw to pretend.

“Why were you watching?”

His eyes flicked toward you. “Because one, it’s sort of my job. And two, I didn’t like the way one of those old cousins of the prince kept looking at you. And because I had a feeling you’d walk back alone.”

“That’s not an complete answer.”

He stepped closer.

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

You didn’t back away.

The air between you was different now. No longer laced with suggestion, but need. The kind that boiled just beneath the surface, finally breaking.

“You scared me,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“You could’ve said something.”

“I couldn’t risk them hearing. I couldn’t risk them touching you.”

Your eyes locked.

“And if they had?” you asked. “If they had hurt me?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his hands, now trembling slightly, reached for your wrists. Lightly. Carefully. As if you might still pull away, or break.

“I would’ve killed them,” he said. Not boastful. Not dramatic. Just true.

And then silence again, thick and electric.

Your breathing was still uneven. His hands had moved from your wrists to your fingers, holding them, thumb brushing slowly across your palm.

You didn’t stop him.

“I shouldn’t feel this way,” you whispered. “Not here. Not like this.”

“I know.”

“But I do.”

“I know.”

Then you were kissing him, or maybe he was kissing you, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was desperate. Like years of longing finally had nowhere else to go.

His hand curled at the small of your back. Yours buried in the fabric of his shirt. The hay around you rustled with the movement, the horses restless in their stalls.

You pulled away first, breathless and a little dazed. Landric didn’t chase the kiss, he just looked at you. Really looked at you. As if your face, your breath, your closeness was something sacred.

No words were spoken. There weren’t any that could have fit.

You slipped out of the stables in silence, returning to the manor’s chambers before the world could find you both. But your hands shook as you untied your cloak. You could still feel the warmth of his lips, the quiet storm of restraint in the way he had kissed you, not greedy, not desperate. Just… real.

That night, neither of you slept.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando fanfic #lando imagine #lando x reader #lando x y/n #lando x you #f1 x you #lando norris

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dream-thief-forever-amen · 1 day ago

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Revenged Love Game

Initially started by @biochemjess in this post here. Basically a game to share the moments you've enjoyed most so far in the show while we endure the wait for the next episodes. Feel free to use their categories and/or make your own. Tag to share the love: @biochemjess and @nabi-unveiled that played in this post here.

For myself personally - all my favorite moments happened in the first episode because it did such a phenomenal job of setting up the characters and overall vibe - and I rewatched it about a dozen times.

Scene that sums up the show

Chi Cheng and Guo Chengyu are sitting on a leather couch looking like a GQ photoshoot in what appears to be a gay dive bar (with a big ole tire labeled ABO between them and a diversity pride flag banner over their heads, no less!) - watching their two pythons fight to the death inside of a glass cage. Everyone is talking about how they used to be best friends but have been fighting for years, yet they’re sitting all cozy arms draped behind each other.

Chi Cheng’s snake kills the other and Guo Chengyu stands up and seems to happily admit defeat, throwing money on the crowd of homo gangsters in a showy “nothing can hurt me” manner. Then not be outdone in the world of gay passive aggressive antagonism, Chi Cheng jumps up and does the same thing, showering the boys with cash. Even though he’s the winner he can’t stand to be one upped.

Chi Cheng reminds him of their bet and Gus Chengyu calls over this cute twink and proceeds to pass him off amicably to his frenemy - while the Twink looks totally panicked, Chi Cheng looks all soft in the eyes after Guo called him his “good buddy.”

- and everyone watching at home went “WUUUUUUHHHHH?” (Except those who read the book, but even they were probably a little spellbound by that scene).

It just sets the tone for how this whole show is going to be. Wild. Sexy. Complicated. Full of insane power dynamics. Visual symbolism left and right, front and center. And a lot of unspoken things loudly broadcasted.

What caught my attention

The VIBES. The set designers went above and beyond in this show. I’ve already mentioned the gay snake bar. Did you notice this bit? Cause I did - I’ve done freelance design for film production and it takes work to create non-copyright vibes.

Chi Cheng’s overdramatic snake room? And the absolute gem on the crown being Dr Jiang’s office?! Those cloud lights alone…

Dynamics / Chemistry

This little chatterbox stray cat vibed boy and the low purr confidence of his tamer had chemistry from the start. Their fight on the walkway - where it’s obvious Chi Chang is amused and sizing him up and poor Wuo Suowei is oblivious.

That last scene when Wuo Suowei grabs Chi Cheng’s jacket and starts screaming obscenities - the look of surprise on Chi Cheng’s face? Never has a man wanted to tame a wild creature more than Chi Cheng in this scene. He looks like all the blood in his body just pooled in his nether regions. They were OTP from that second on.

Not that our second couple wasn’t also competing for mad chemistry awards in the first episode.

Our sexy snake fighting bestie walking into the clinic and that eye lock with Dr Jiang? Time stopped. That was an insane moment. Then the docs playful teasing and witty banter, refusing to make anything easy for this handsome stranger with his unflinching confidence. Delicious.

Messy Besties

The doc and Wuo Suowei are so believably young and dumb and adorable. They’re clever in their respective ways and idiots when combined. Plus how lovely to see an out gay guy and his spastic “straight” buddy scheming and goofing around comfortably together? I just love them.

The scene we’re Wuo Suowei is walking around in his underwear is such a moment - cause it perfectly illustrates that though he’s comfortable with his friends sexuality he’s never really thought too much about it nor considered it anything he could be apart of.

Establishing Wuo Suowei as such a lovable naive fool when it comes to same sex attraction is genius - as a lot of the comedy and romance in this show is based on Wuo Suowei trying to get together with a man when he’s never even bothered to think about what that means. The fact he doesn’t watch gay porn until several weeks-months after he’s been chasing after Chi Cheng still makes me laugh.

Bad Boys Who Are Actually Bad

We get a lot of bad boys in dramas. They are allowed to fight, be involved in organized crime, maybe even bully a few people. But there are always unspoken lines these romantic interest bad boys can’t cross. But not in this show!

It was already pretty sus when the two bad boys exchanged a cute twink between them like he was property.

But near the end of episode one, Chi Cheng’s snake gang finds the young guy who helped his dad steal snakes and he just tosses him to his flunkies to be gang raped.

It was beyond the pale and the show made no excuses for it - and hasn’t since.

It’s a rare show that presents such characters without moralizing or telling the audience how to feel about them. Instead it’s like “hey wanna watch this sexy rapist guy fall in love with this cute manipulator boy?” And we all collectively went “yup.”

I think we get too hung up on our lines that can’t be crossed in media and miss out - cause the truth is people cross lines all the time. Some of them never get punished for it but they’ll still change their ways with time. And some of them won’t, even if they were punished for it. When you start asking yourself what are unforgivable crimes - what are justified crimes - what are accidental crimes - what crimes are normalized in our every day lives - are crimes against people who have also committed crimes somehow less valid - crimes against boys versus girls - how old they perpetrator and victim are - and so on - you start getting into good fiction because it forces you to think outside your simplistic views. Which we need more of because humanity is fucking complicated.

So yeah, I’m a big fan of a show that threw so many unexpected and difficult topics at us in its first episode. When you play outside the lines the story will force people to think more abstractly.

#revenged love game #revenged love the series #revenged love #the game to get us through an unexpected hiatus in airing #this was fun

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elvensorceress · 2 hours ago

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fuck it friday

the amazing @sergeantchenford tagged me and posted juicy delicious pining!Buck and unhinged!Eddie 💕💕 go read it! it's !!!!!

here is some more of my in denial post s8 Buck

tagging if anyone wants to share anything @tizniz @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @damnikindaship @exhuastedpigeon @mangonadaeddie @daffi-990 @thelikesofus @chaosandwolves @drmellking @sergeantchenford @blutterlie @glorious-spoon @dangerpronebuddie @sunflower-eddiediaz @beyourownanchor6 @sofa-king-lame @sazanahashi @kejfeblintz @livinginsunnyhell @thekristen999 @thewolvesof1998 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sazanahashi @larry-is-my-anchor1

“When we talked about the speed dating thing, you said it was to find someone you like. Because you don’t have anyone you like right now.”

Buck sips his water and where is he going with this and why does it feel precarious. “Yeah. No one I like. No crushes. No pining. Not in love with anyone.”

Chris looks at him sideways. “What about Dad?”

Buck should have known better than to drink. He was not even drinking. And yet. Somehow bottled water is in his mouth and up his nose and he coughs hard and has to bend to the side and spit onto the ground. Which he would normally not do while sober and in a nice area of the city. But extenuating circumstances here. Very extenuating.

“What— uh— what-what do you mean? What about your dad? I don’t think he has any crushes or feelings for anyone right now either. He rarely ever does. It’s basically your mom and no one else. You know? He doesn’t really like anyone else. He tries to I guess? But you know no one can ever measure up to your mom.”

Chris shakes his head. “No, I know Dad doesn’t like anyone. He doesn’t even like his girlfriends. I knew more about Mari and Miss Flores than he ever did.”

Buck coughs some more and hits his own chest in hopes that it might expel water or— other things someone can drown in. If that’s true however? Yikes. Big yikes. So much yike. “You did? Oh wait, of course you did. Ana was your teacher and he left you with Marisol all the time to hang out with— uh. Other people.”

“Don’t remind me.” Chris gives him a grievous look.

Buck picks up a napkin and wipes off his face and hands and hopes he can indeed forget to remind Chris what he was asking about. And then they will never have to talk about it.

Except Chris shatters that illusion and again asks, “What about Dad though? For you? If you like guys, couldn’t you like Dad?”

Buck really wishes he hadn’t just eaten. He really, really wishes he hadn’t eaten so much and so fast and that it wasn’t so tasty, because now, his stomach just wants to be a washing machine that makes him feel like throwing up. “Your dad is— he’s— straight. So. He’s straight.”

“You’re not. Isn’t that what you just said? You could like anyone. Why couldn’t you like Dad?”

After all that water that went through Buck’s whole head in very unpleasant ways, you’d think his whole mouth wouldn’t be dry, rough, full of sand right now. But it is. What the hell does he say to this? What he wants to do is pick up his water again but have it be beer instead of water. Or something much, much stronger. “It’s not that I couldn’t— It’s not impossible. But he’s straight. So I don’t. Like him. I don’t like him.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at him this time. “You don’t like Dad?”

“No, of course I do.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“Of course I like him. I lov— You know what I mean. I don’t like him like that. Of course I like him in general. He’s my best friend.”

“Okay, but why couldn’t you like him like that?” Chris says with mocking emphasis and then he points at Buck, so much like the way Eddie sometimes does. “Without saying Dad is straight because that has nothing to do with how you feel about him.”

Why do kids have to grow up? Why do they have to turn into teenagers and whole young adults who know and understand things you don’t want them to understand? It’s so much easier when it just goes over their heads.

#buddie wip #jenwyn wip #fic: somebody to love #fuck it friday #buddie #boys please #your son is so tired

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vettelsvee · 1 day ago

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GOODBYES ARE BITTERSWEET | Sebastian Vettel ✩₊˚.⋆ PART 6: SUNSHINE [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

goodbyes are bittersweet masterlist | f1 masterlist

PAIRING: Ferrari Sebastian Vettel x Ex girlfriend!Reader WORD COUNT: 4k SUMMARY: With the help of Seb, Britta and Niall, you are given a second chance to accept the contract you first refused to sign. Also... emotions make you tell Seb a little bit more than you should have about Emily WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of sex, angst TAGLIST: [ I'm modifying it so feel free to tell me if you wanna join <3 ] VEE'S NOTES: Can't believe it's been a whole year since this series was posted! I didn't expect anything from it (specially taking into account not many people read about Seb) and it absolutely blew up, A LOT. Thank you so much to those of you who have been interested in it even when being delayed, and I apologize for not having updated it... too many things happened that made writing difficult for me. But here we are again! Hope you like it and, if so, remember reblogs/likes/comments are appreciated. Thank you so much for reading! <3

“Morning… I have a meeting scheduled with Mr. Taylor at 10:30. I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“One moment, please. I’ll check the info first…”

You offered a shy smile while the receptionist, not much older than you, looked you up and down over the top of her computer screen. She typed steadily, sizing you up without saying a word.

“Yes, they’re expecting you on the fifth floor,” she finally confirmed, handing you a visitor badge and motioning for you to put it on. You did as instructed. “The elevators are at the back of this floor, on your left. There’s only one office, so you won’t have trouble finding it.”

You thanked her and head off.

The elevator was lined entirely with mirrors, reflecting your image from every angle. To make the time go faster, and maybe distract yourself from the nerves, you studied your reflection. The mirrors made you feel slightly self-conscious, but still, you looked.

You dressed formally today: white shirt, black blazer, pencil skirt, matching heels. You weren’t sure if it was the right outfit, but at least it gave the appearance of confidence… even if, deep down, you were still the same girl who ran away and rejected a life-changing contract just weeks ago because fear had frozen you in place.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped, snapping you out of your thoughts. The doors opened to reveal the floor. Just like the receptionist said, there was just one room. And it was much bigger than you expected… High windows, a long meeting table, chairs perfectly aligned… except one, slightly pushed back. A figure sat in it, back turned.

You entered cautiously, adjusting your clothes. Even though your steps were soft, Peter Williams, the director of Capitol Records, noticed your presence the moment you crossed the threshold.

“I see you’ve arrived early, Y/N,” he said, turning toward you. “I’m glad you reconsidered our proposal.”

He extended a hand. You shook it and sat across from him, trying not to look as tense as you felt.

“I wanted to thank you for accepting my proposal… again,” you began, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “I know not everyone gets a second chance, especially in this industry…”

“There was some… pressure. Let’s leave it at that,” he interrupted, eyes narrowing as he assessed you. “It’s impossible to deny that Red has been a phenomenon online, but it’s also impossible for me to take a no for an answer. I don’t expect you to understand that, but we don’t like being left “on read” and rejected only to be begged later, Y/N.”

You met his gaze, even though shame churned in your stomach.

“It wasn’t the right time. I didn’t want to commit if I knew I couldn’t give 100% of myself,” you explained.

“And now you can? Just a few weeks later?”

You didn't reply. Not because you didn’t have an answer, but because you knew, deep down, he was right. He had a point, and you couldn’t deny that.

“Seeing as you’re now committed… I’d like to introduce you to someone before we start talking about everything your life is about to become.”

At his words, the door opened. A tall man, maybe in his fifties, walked in with confident strides. Dark hair, a touch of stubble, rimless glasses and a perfectly tailored suit. Unlike Peter, though, his smile was warm and genuine.

“Y/N, this is Joseph Benson,” Peter introduced. You stood up with more confidence this time and offered your hand first. “From now on, he’ll be your manager. Hand-picked by us. Everything related to PR, public image, media and brand relationships, among others, will go through him.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You smiled back and returned to your seat, now with Benson besides you. He opened the iPad he brought and started scrolling through what looked like the plan, in detail, for your new life.

Peter pulled out a black folder and slid it toward you. You hesitated, unsure, until he clarified:

“This is what we’re offering,” he said, pointing. You opened it slowly, reading as you listened. “Two-year contract, extendable. Full studio album, international distribution, a tour depending on success. Three music videos, including one for Red, with all promotion included.”

“And when would we start? Is there a set date, or…?”

“We want to start now, Y/N.”

“Now, as in…”

“This week,” Peter said bluntly.

Your eyes widened. Peter rolled his. Joseph chuckled quietly, finding your reaction endearing, almost childlike.

“You’ll stay in London until July. We’ll handle everything here. All expenses paid for you and your companions… Rosalie Y/L/N and Emily Y/L/N, right?” You nodded. “We’ll provide a full team: production, vocal coaching, video shoots. We need you present and committed. Joseph’s already working on your schedule.”

You nodded again, forcing yourself to stay calm even when the anxiety began to rise.

“And the promotion part? That’s included too?”

“That’s where I come in,” Joseph replied. “The Red video drops in June, so we’ll start promotion a few weeks earlier. July includes interviews on BBC Radio 1, some big podcasts… and we’re working on something with Red Bull Racing.”

“Red Bull Racing? The Formula 1 team?”

Peter scoffed, already losing patience.

“They offered to sponsor you after you stood us up.”

“The thing is…” Joseph stepped in gently, “they pulled strings. You’ve been invited to sing the national anthem at the German Grand Prix… and to perform afterward. Your first concert of your career, I might add”

“They’ve taken an unusual interest in you, according to…” Peter checked his phone. “Britta Roeske,” he said with a touch of disdain, which you didn’t appreciate. “I guess someone with influence in the sport cares about you. Sebastian Vettel. You know him?”

You tensed.

“Yes. He’s… familiar.”

“Well, that familiar guy you dated for years personally called our office. Multiple times. So did that Britta woman, his PR person or whatever, begging us to give you another damn chance.”

“I didn’t know…”

“When a four-time world champion and Red Bull’s former golden boy speaks highly of their former golden girl, and the team backs him… we listen,” Peter said firmly.

“Niall wrote to us too,” Joseph adds kindly. “You’ve known each other a few years, right?”

“Yes,” you answered. “He was in Heppenheim a few years ago when we…”

“The point is,” Peter cut in, “among Niall, Vettel, his assistant, and Red Bull’s marketing team, they got us back here. We don’t usually give second chances. Especially not to nobodies like you… if we can even call you that, considering your history with that driver…”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to scream. Cry. Stay in the room, and leave it all behind. Peter’s tone made you want to walk out, but the fact that Sebastian went out of his way to help you? That stunned you.

You expected Niall to step in. But Seb? After everything you did? After you broke his heart and disappeared for years?

And he still knew nothing about Emily.

“I understand… I know you’re upset I said no the first time,” you began, choosing your words carefully to avoid sounding desperate. You sigh. “But I didn’t ask anyone to speak on my behalf. I didn’t beg for a second chance.”

“The thing is, Y/N, we don’t like having our time wasted,” Peter said confidently. “So I hope you’re actually ready.”

Silence.

You holded his gaze. Then, you spoke:

“I’ve always been ready, Mr. Williams. Sometimes, though, our inner voice overwhelms us,” you took one last look at the contract, then shut the folder and pushed it toward him. “I accept everything. But I need one thing clear: I want a say in everything. I want to tell my story. And if I can’t do it my way… I won’t be doing it.”

Peter nodded, biting his tongue. He glanced at Joseph, who handed you the iPad with the digital version of the contract. You took a breath and started reading it again, this time more carefully, scrutinizing every clause, every line of fine print that could ruin you if you overlook something important.

“This isn’t a dictatorship, but it’s a business, Y/N,” the director of the label warned while you scrolled. “Be aware of the consequences of every single thing you do. Any decision, even the ones you try to keep secret, can shape the course of your life. I think you already know what I mean…”

You chose to ignore the rudeness laced in his tone. Instead, you gripped the stylus and made a clean, confident stroke in the signature box your manager had pointed out.

“Done.”

Peter stood up. Joseph followed him, so did you, straightening your posture.

“Welcome officially to Capitol Records, Y/N Y/L/N.”

You shook Peter’s hand and, without saying anything else, left the room. Joseph followed, calm and composed, as though he hadn’t noticed the thick tension that had lingered during the entire meeting.

“I can tell you’re really… lost in thought, Y/N.”

You stopped the moment your heels touched the pavement outside the building. Turning, you find him lighting a cigarette. He offered you one. You shook your head politely, though every nerve in your body screamed for the familiar comfort of smoke in your lungs again.

“I’m just… processing,” you replied with a crooked half-smile. “Everything’s so different. I just signed something that could change my entire life, even if only a little, so forgive me if I’m not out here jumping with champagne and drugs.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll celebrate for us both,” Joseph said, blowing the smoke toward the street. “Also, before you go, just know… you don’t have to worry. I’ll be by your side the whole time. I’m not the kind of manager who only shows up on red carpets and claims credit when the artist wins something. I’ll be proud of you throughout the process, not just at the finish line.”

You raise a brow.

“So… are you getting anything out of this?”

He grinned.

“A girl who feels comfortable with her contract, even when everything in her screams to run.”

He gestured vaguely toward the building behind you.

“I know Peter acted like the asshole he usually is, but I’m not like him.”

“I hope not.”

“I also know Niall personally. If he hadn’t seen something in you, he wouldn’t have spoken up. Same goes for Vettel… I don’t know him, but from what I heard from him, from Britta, it says a lot about who you really are, Y/N.”

You looked at him and, for the first time since arriving in London, you felt something new. Not just welcomed… but like your sacrifice might actually be worth it.

Like you might be worth it.

“You know what I like most about you?” Joseph asked, stomping his cigarette out on the pavement.

“That you can market me as a Formula 1 driver’s ex?” you asked dryly while sarcastically. “Because if that’s the case, I really don’t—”

“No. Not at all. That’s exactly what I was not going to say. What I like is that, even if you don’t see your worth yet, you fight for your work. You stood your ground with Peter. Yeah, we’ll have to work on your confidence, and yeah, maybe you were scared the first time we offered the deal… but now you’re here. You didn’t come crawling back. You showed up with your head high. And believe me… that shows.”

You lowered your gaze. The words warmed something in your chest, but they also stinged because you didn’t feel brave or confident.

“I did it to protect someone important to me,” you said, the words escaping before you can stop them. “I was, I am, fully aware of how becoming a public figure might change everything. I want to keep my private life private. But my priority is…”

“I’m guessing Emily. And I’m also guessing she’s your daughter, right?” Joseph cut in, his tone firm but gentle. “Let me make this clear: she will be protected. Any mention of her, any public appearance, will only happen if you allow it. As your manager, I promise her safety and well-being will be just as much of a priority as yours. If that’s what’s been eating at you, don’t let it sink.”

His words hit you with such force you went pale. You were overwhelmed and comforted at the same time, emotions clashing within you like opposing tides.

Joseph seemed to notice and softened his voice again.

“Take the afternoon for yourself. We start tomorrow. First thing: ideas for the Red music video. Then we shoot it. You’ll set the release date, but it can’t clash with the Red Bull shoot. By the way, they’re thrilled with you. Said you perfectly fit the rebellious spirit they like to push.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed for the first time in hours.

“For a girl who rejected their sponsorship, had a kid they don’t even know about, and dumped their favorite driver? That’s what they’re selling?”

“Told you already, girl: you’re more than that,” Joseph says seriously. “And hey… if I can give you one piece of advice, thank him. What he did for you… isn’t normal. Especially not for an ex. And I doubt it was easy.”

“Yeah. Yeah… sure.”

You didn’t say anything else.

You waved goodbye and slipped into the crowd. London swallowed you up like one of its own. You headed toward a nearby square, a small park nestled in the center. Only two people were there.

Rosalie sat on a bench, talking on the phone, eyes fixed on the child playing on the slide.

“Mama!”

The little voice sliced through your heart. Emily rushed toward you, arms flailing, squealing with joy. You barely got your arms open in time before she launched herself at you, peppering your face with kisses.

“Did they say yes, mama?! Are you going to sing the song you always sing at home?!”

You laughed, holding her close, pressing your lips to her soft blonde curls as you walked toward your mother.

“Yes, mäuschen. Mama’s going to record that song. And more songs too.”

“Are you going to be on TV?” Emily asked, eyes wide open.

“Maybe. Do you want mama to be on TV?”

“Yes! Maybe you can even be on it with Sebastian! Remember? The man that drives the fast red car and is Mrs. Heike and Mr. Norbert’s son!”

Rosalie joined you both, grinning. She pulled you and Emily into a hug.

“So… it’s done? You signed?” she asked.

You nodded.

“I have to stay here… at least until July. They said you and Emily can stay too. Expenses covered.”

Your mother studied you.

“And… are you okay with all of it?”

“It’s what I want,” you replied firmly, skirting the real answer.

The three of you strolled through the streets of London, Emily skipping beside you, singing nonsense songs, asking to be picked up or begging to fly between your arms.

“And now what?” your mother wondered. “Do you start the album?”

“Yes. Everything starts tomorrow. I’ve got a manager, Joseph. He’s actually… nice. We’re going to start filming the Red video once the concept’s finalized.”

“And are you ready for all of this?”

You didn’t answer. Being ready felt too small.

“I’m going to do it. For me… and for Emily.”

Rosalie slowed her pace, prompting both you and Emily to do the same.

“And also for Seb, right?”

Her question hit like cold water. You dropped your gaze, suddenly fiddling with your fingers.

“It shouldn’t be, but… yes. Partly, I want to do this for Seb,” you admitted. “He pulled so many strings, and after—”

You stopped. Your emotions swell too close to the surface.

“I was such an idiot for so many years, and now… he does this for me. I don’t know how to thank him,” you continued, trying not to break down.

“Y/N, love… It’s been five years since you left that boy without telling him the truth,” Rosalie said, lowering her voice so Emily wouldn’t hear. “I didn’t agree with your choice back then. And I’m not going to judge you now. But I’m still your mother. And I have to say it: it’s time to stop living this half-truth that only your father, me, Hanna, and Seb’s parents know. It’s eating you alive.”

You felt the tears rising. You looked up, blinking fast, shaking your head like that might keep them from falling.

You couldn’t cry. Not in front of Emily.

You didn’t want her to see you broken.

“You know I want to tell him. But you also know I don’t know how to tell him,” you said quietly. “I don’t know how to say he has a daughter. I don’t know how to explain that I broke up with him thinking it was better for him, because I was afraid of ruining his career, of dragging down our relationship… and that’s exactly what ended up happening.”

Rosalie took your hand gently, still watching Emily as she skipped along the sidewalk, carefully avoiding the cracks.

“Think about it… You have another chance now. If he helped you, if he moved heaven and earth for you… it’s because he still cares. Maybe it’s not love, or not what it used to be, but… something is still something. Even if it’s just crumbs.”

“And what if I tell him and then he hates me? What if he wants nothing to do with her?” you asked, tilting your head slightly toward Emily, mind flooded with worst-case scenarios.

“And what if he does want her? What if he’s always wanted a family, and you were part of that dream… and he didn’t even know about it?”

You were grateful you’d reached the hotel just then because your heart couldn’t carry the weight of it any longer.

You broke down. Tears spilled down your cheeks. Quietly, not dramatically, but heavy with everything you’d kept inside.

The elevator crawled upward, far too slowly for your liking, stretching the moment painfully. Your mother let you cry without saying a word. Emily watched you with worried eyes, then curled up in your lap, holding Rosalie’s hand tightly, yawning.

When the elevator reached the 12th floor, even the doors seemed to open in slow motion. You walked out together, keeping pace with your daughter, who stopped every couple of steps to observe something new.

“Mama, can I sleep with granny tonight?”

Rosalie, a few steps ahead with the room key, turned at the sound of your daughter’s voice. You blinked in confusion.

“With granny? Don’t you want to sleep with me?”

Emily shook her head with a smile.

“Granny told me at the park that if I was good, she’d tell me the story of the giant unicorn. And I was really good all day!”

She clapped her hands with joy, then walked over to you, tugging your hand so you’d crouch down to her level.

“You’re also sad, mama. And you cried a lot earlier… And you have red eyes.”

Her little voice trembled slightly, and when your eyes met hers, something in you shattered. No words were needed. None.

You stood up and looked at your mother, who, with just one glance, told you what she didn’t need to say aloud: call Sebastian.

And for the first time in a long time… you felt ready.

You kissed your daughter’s forehead, told her to be good for grandma, and reminded her that you loved her very much. Then you slid your key card into the reader and entered your room, letting out a deep, slow breath as you closed the door behind you.

After a shower, changing into something comfortable, and dimming the lights so that only your bed was softly illuminated, you sat cross-legged with your phone in hand. Your arms were wrapped tightly around yourself, like a shield.

You opened your contacts. Found his name.

Sebastian.

Without letting yourself think too much sin you were sure you’d back out if you did, you hit the FaceTime button and waited.

You fixed your hair in the reflection as the screen rang… until his face appeared.

“Y/N?”

He looked like he was in his room too. Dark gray t-shirt, hair tousled. His face held a strange mix of surprise, worry, and something warmer.

“Did something happen? Are you okay?” he asked immediately.

“Yeah, sure… I just wanted to talk to you. Are you free? I can call you some other time—”

“For you? I’ll always make time for you, sunshine,” he said, that familiar smile playing on his lips.

You asked how his weekend in Monaco had gone, and he launched into a detailed story. How happy he was to finish second, though he wouldn’t have minded stealing the win from Ricciardo. How he accidentally fell asleep in the Ferrari motorhome and Britta had to search half the Principality to find him. You both laughed and reminisced about the city, the past, the naughty things you used to do…

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You seem… I don’t know… really tired,” he said gently.

“I’m exhausted. That’s all.”

“London, right?” You nodded. “So… that means… you signed the contract.”

Without even having to say another word, he placed his phone down, probably on the nightstand, and stepped out of frame.

And then you heard it: loud clapping.

You laughed. A shaky, emotional sound that dissolved into tears. Not of sadness this time, but of relief. Of gratitude. Of finally letting go.

“There’s no turning back now,” you said, wiping your cheeks.

“Everything starts tomorrow officially and… God, Seb, I still can’t believe it.”

“You did it,” he said, picking the phone back up, his smile proud. “Fuck damn… you’re finally doing what you’ve been saying you wanted to do since… basically forever.”

“You mean we did it,” you corrected. “You’re the one who spoke up for me. When I told you I turned it down without even explaining why, you didn’t let it go. You made it happen. And I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Y/N.”

“Yes, I do!” you said, voice rising as you sat straighter. “You did something I didn’t have the courage to do for years: you gave me a second chance. Seb, for God’s sake… I left you overnight and still, you did this for me.”

Sebastian looked down, rubbing his jaw, a nervous habit you knew all too well. That familiarity stung and soothed you at once.

“When you truly love someone… that doesn’t just go away overnight,” he said finally. “Not even when you don’t understand why they left. Not even when it hurts. Not even when you try to move on and can’t.”

You couldn’t lie. That hit like a gut punch.

And with that came the tears again. Tears made of everything you’d kept locked up since the day you walked away.

“Do you want to know what the album is called?” you asked through your tears.

He tilted his head slightly. “Y/N, you don’t have to tell me if—”

“It’s called Sunshine.”

He didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at you, his face overtaken by emotion and shock.

“Sunshine…” he echoed, barely above a whisper. “Just like I used to call you. God, I just did it a few minutes ago...”

You nodded, crying more now but not hiding any of it.

“Yes. It was because of that… and, also… because that’s how you made me feel. How you still make me feel”

He swallowed hard, visibly shaken. He didn’t ask what you knew he wanted to ask. He didn’t have to.

“Also… because, well, now… I call someone else that. Someone very important to me, who, like you, changed my life completely.”

You watched his expression change, more serious now, but impossible to read. Jealousy? Confusion? A storm of unspoken questions?

He played with his hands, clearly trying to keep calm. But you knew he had sensed it.

You were hiding something from him. Someone.

He knew. He knew you all too well. And you knew it was a matter of time to start revealing the truth. The real, and not modified one.

“It’s a double album,” you continued, slowly now. “One part is inspired by you… and the other by that little person… by a little girl.”

39 notes · View notes

mybeautifulchristianjourney · 2 days ago

Text

She was 24. Fresh out of college.

He was 3 months old. Left in a box outside a hospital with a note that read: “I’m sorry. Please love him.”

No one came for him.

No family. No calls. Just silence.

They called him “Baby Elijah” on the news. But everyone assumed he’d end up in the system.

Except her.

Rachel wasn’t planning on being a mother. She was just volunteering at the hospital nursery.

But the first time she held him, his tiny hand curled around her finger and wouldn’t let go.

Neither did her heart.

The agency told her she was too young. Too single. Too inexperienced.

She told them: “I may not have a husband. I may not have money. But I have love. And he needs that more than anything.”

She adopted Elijah.

Her white skin and his dark brown curls drew stares.

She heard the whispers: “Is that even her child?” “She won’t last a year.” “He’ll resent her.”

But they never saw the way he clung to her during storms. Or how she worked three jobs just to afford his piano lessons.

Or how she cried when he called her “Mom” for the first time.

She raised him on courage, bedtime stories, and unconditional love.

Years passed.

Elijah grew tall, kind, brilliant.

When he turned 18, he got into Harvard. Full scholarship. At the graduation dinner, he stood on stage and said: “Everyone always asked where my real mom was. Well, she’s right here.

The woman who chose me when no one else would. Who gave me a name, a home, a future.

She didn’t give me life… She saved it.”

The room cried.

Rachel cried.

But Elijah just smiled and whispered in her ear: “You’re still holding my hand, Mom. And I’ll never let go.”

46 notes · View notes

blackpantherismyish · 3 hours ago

Text

Steal My Hoodie 💰

Modern!au Elias “Stack” Moore x Black!oc Maya Coleman

Word Count : 5.8k

Authors note: I may have lowkey created my own hyperfixation with Maya and Stack. I thought this was a cute ass lil blurb. There may be a lil smut, you’ll just have to read and see. Maya is definitely me if I had either of these men because I knooow they smell good. I just know it. So to all the hoodies thieves out there, I’m right there with you. Loud and proud 🤣 if you guys have idea you want to see, just send me a DM or submission. K, Byyyye

The house was too damn quiet for a Saturday.

Stack noticed it as soon as he stepped out of the shower. The playlist Maya always had running on low through the Bluetooth speaker was paused. The scent of her expensive body lotion lingered in the hallway like a ghost, but no music, no hum of the dryer, no Maya singing off key to SZA or Kehlani in the kitchen.

Just quiet.

And something was missing—his hoodie.

Stack stood in the bedroom doorway with a towel low on his waist and water still beading down his chest, eyes narrowing at the corner chair by the window.

That’s where he left it. At least, he thought he did.

His favorite hoodie, the black one with the bold red clouds and Japanese lettering down the sleeves, was not there. He’d tossed it there yesterday after work, fully intending to wear it this morning while running errands.

But the chair was bare. No hoodie. No sleeves. No anything.

Stack squinted.

Then tilted his head like the hoodie might magically reappear if he looked from a different angle.

It didn’t.

“Yo…” he muttered, dragging a hand down his beard. “Ain’t no way.”

He stepped out of the bathroom and into the room, checking the floor around the chair, then peeking behind it just in case it slid off. Nothing. He checked the closet next. Folded clothes, laundry basket half full, the same row of sneakers and black tees. Everything else untouched.

Except his hoodie.

“She did not…” he said under his breath.

Maya.

It had her name all over it.

Literally, probably. She’d already claimed two of his hoodies in the last week. One he never saw again, probably living its best life balled up on her side of the bed. The other made a reappearance as a cropped, cinched version of itself when she walked into the living room last Thursday and asked if her new lounge outfit was cute.

It wasn’t new. It was his.

This girl had a whole dresser full of her own clothes. Designer stuff. Soft-ass matching sets. Hoodies that cost almost as much as Stack’s car insurance. And yet she was always stealing his.

Always.

He moved toward the hallway, calling out, “Maya…”

Nothing.

He dried his hands, pulled on a pair of joggers, and padded barefoot into the hall. The sunlight poured in from the kitchen window, casting a soft golden glow across the floorboards.

And right as he passed their guest bathroom?

There she was.

Bare-faced. Hair up in a messy bun. Legs out and lotion-glossed. And wrapped in the hoodie.

His Akatsuki hoodie.

His mouth dropped open.

“Oh, you bold as hell.”

She barely glanced at him as she strolled by, coffee mug in hand. “Good morning to you too sir.”

Stack turned in place, watching her hips sway down the hallway as the hem of the hoodie barely skimmed her upper thighs. It was oversized, hood hanging low on her back, sleeves swallowing her hands. She didn’t look like she’d just stolen something.

She looked like she owned it.

“You really out here stylin’ in my favorite hoodie?” he said, following her toward the kitchen. “Like I wouldn’t notice?”

She sipped her coffee, smiling. “You were in the shower. I got cold.”

“That’s what blankets are for.”

“I’m cold and cute. Let me live.”

Stack leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his bare chest, eyes locked on her like he was trying to solve for x.

“You make a whole damn event outta stealin’ my hoodies.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” he said. “I got a witness list, timestamps, receipts.”

Maya laughed and leaned against the counter, facing him. “You wasn’t wearin’ it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You haven’t worn it in days.”

“I was gonna wear it today.”

She widened her eyes in mock surprise. “Oh. You were gonna wear it after I already looked cute in it? Tragic.”

Stack narrowed his eyes. “You lucky I like how you look in it.”

Maya tilted her head, slowly, smugly. “Oh?”

“Don’t get cocky,” he warned.

But the thing was, he did like it. Too much, actually.

There was something about the way his hoodie hung off her body, too big in the sleeves but snug enough around her hips to pull attention there. Something about the collar slipping off her shoulder, like an open invitation. Like comfort and heat and his all wrapped up in one.

He couldn’t even fake mad.

Still, he had to hold on to some dignity.

“Give it back.”

Maya took another sip of her coffee. “Come take it off me.”

Stack blinked. Then took one slow step into the kitchen, licking his bottom lip.

“You think I won’t?”

“I think you like me in it too much.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just walked up until they were chest to chest, her mug now caught between their bodies, his hand lifting to toy with the oversized sleeve.

He looked down at her mouth. Then her eyes.

Then down again.

“…Yeah. I do.”

Maya didn’t move, just stared up at him over the rim of her mug, smirking like she already knew how the game was gonna end.

Stack’s hands slid slowly to the hem of the hoodie.

“I mean it,” he said, curling the fabric around his knuckles. “Take this off before I do.”

Her eyebrows lifted like a dare. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

He grinned. “It is.”

Maya sipped her coffee like it wasn’t phased by his whole body pressed up against hers, like his bare chest and warm palms weren’t sending shivers up her thighs.

And that’s when he tugged.

Not rough, just enough to lift the hoodie halfway up her torso.

He stopped dead.

His voice dropped into a half-groan, half-laugh:

“Ain’t no way you got my boxers on too.”

Maya grinned, wicked and unbothered, holding the hoodie up herself now like it was no big deal. Stack’s boxers were snug on her hips, hugging just enough to tease and clearly not there for coverage. She rocked on her heel a little. “They’re soft.”

He blinked, staring.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, slowly lowering the hoodie again over her waist like he was covering up a crime scene. “You stole my hoodie, and my boxers, and had the nerve to walk past me like I wasn’t gon’ notice?”

“You didn’t notice ‘til you looked.”

He stepped back with both hands raised in surrender. “See, nah. You outta pocket.”

“You said you liked it!”

“I do! That’s the problem!”

She laughed into her mug, then turned and started walking back down the hall toward the bedroom, hoodie swaying with every step like it was doing it on purpose. Stack trailed behind her, still muttering.

“You got me feelin’ like I gotta put a damn lock on my own closet.”

“Then I’ll steal the key,” Maya called over her shoulder.

They reached the bedroom, sunlight spilling across the bed and floor. She flopped down across the mattress with her coffee still in hand, stretching like she hadn’t just stolen half his closet.

Stack crossed over to the open dressers and pulled out another hoodie.

Gray. Lightweight. Decent backup.

He held it up against himself in the mirror, then looked at Maya sideways. “I ain’t even wanna wear this one today.”

“You look good in gray.”

“I looked better in black with red clouds before you snatched it.”

“You’re cute when you pout.”

“I’m not—” he cut himself off, dropping the gray hoodie on the bed. “Nah, you know what? We’re not doing this.”

She raised a brow. “Doing what?”

“This ‘you keep stealing my hoodies and acting like I’m supposed to be cool with it’ routine.”

“I don’t act like that,” she said sweetly, swirling her coffee. “You are cool with it.”

He grabbed another hoodie. This one navy blue with a white drawstring.

Held it up. Glared at it. Tossed it aside.

Maya watched him from the bed like a cat watching a laser pointer, amused and just a little smug.

Stack turned toward her, arms crossed. “Let’s make a list.”

Maya blinked. “A list?”

“A hoodie list. A draft. You pick the ones you’re claiming permanently..”

She perked up. “Like fantasy football?”

“Like hoodie custody..”

She bit her lip like she was actually considering it. “Okay. But I get first pick.”

“Hell no.”

“‘Lias,” she sang, “I’m already wearing your number one seed. Seems like I won.”

He closed his eyes like he was praying for strength.

“You gon’ make me lock the whole dresser.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You wanna test it?”

She rolled to her side, resting her chin in her palm. “You like when I wear your stuff. Just admit it.”

He paused.

Looked at her. Really looked.

His hoodie on her. His boxers. Her bare legs folded on the comforter. Her mouth soft around the rim of a coffee mug that probably wasn’t hers either.

His chest pulled tight in a way he didn’t expect.

“…Yeah,” he said finally, voice quieter. “I like it.”

“Told you.”

“But I’m still pickin’ a new fit. And you still wrong for this.”

She smiled with zero remorse. “Let’s go through them now. Make it official.��

He pointed at her from across the room. “If you turn this into a whole hoodie draft, I swear—”

“I am. And I’m dressing for the part.”

She stood and pulled the hoodie off just enough to slip it down her shoulders, flashing him bare skin and black waistband before letting it hang again.

“Round one: Maya selects the hoodie she’s already wearing.”

“Obviously.”

“Round two?” she smirked. “You bring ‘em out. I’ll model.”

Stack ran a hand down his face and muttered under his breath, “This shit ain’t even fair.”

Maya stepped in close, lips still curved smugly, her fingers slipping up to the sides of his face as she tugged gently on his beard.

He let her.

Her voice came soft, all sugar-laced tease:

“Oh, baby. You do get visitation rights to all of them.”

Stack blinked. “Do I?”

She smiled sweet. “I gotta give them back once they stop smelling like you.”

That pulled a groan from somewhere low in his chest.

“You sayin’ that like it’s not the most toxic, possessive-ass reason.”

Maya ran her thumb under his jaw, smirking. “You love it.”

He exhaled and kissed her cheek before pulling back with a muttered, “You exhausting,” and heading to the dresser.

“You’re entertained.”

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he pulled open another hoodie drawer and started grabbing. Not just anything this time, specifics. The ones he’d seen disappear slowly from his hangers and end up on her side of the bed. The ones she paraded around the kitchen in, sleeves too long, bare legs and too much attitude.

He tossed the first one onto the bed.

His vintage Tupac hoodie, the charcoal gray one with the blue holographic graphic that said All Eyez On Me.

Maya lit up.

“Ohhh, not Pac,” she said, scooping it up like it was treasure. “This is my favorite one.”

Stack narrowed his eyes. “Exactly. I’ve seen you in it more than I’ve worn it.”

“You should’ve been faster.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t sneak it while I was in the shower.”

“I was cold and nostalgic,” she shrugged, slipping it over her head. It swallowed her whole, and Stack’s fake frustration cracked instantly.

He watched the hoodie drop low on her thighs, soft and oversized, the graphic stretched just enough across her chest to make him forget why he was supposed to be mad.

“You do that on purpose,” he said.

“What?”

“Put on my shit and act like it’s not foreplay.”

Maya grinned. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Stack grabbed the next hoodie, a black one with a neon green “Toonami” logo across the chest. Throwback. Comfy. The one she wore curled up on the couch for anime marathons.

He held it up. “This one too.”

Maya peeled off the Pac hoodie and pulled on the Toonami one instead.

Stack’s jaw twitched. “Yup. You dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Cause I wanna argue but I can’t when you look like that.”

She winked. “So I keep it?”

“Reluctantly.”

Next was the red hoodie with the bleach mark on the side, but more importantly; a graphic of Allen Iverson crossing up Jordan on the front. Stack swore this was the one he was gonna wear the day the Sixers made the playoffs.

Maya had turned it into pajamas.

“Iverson’s comin’ home with me,” she said, shrugging it on.

“Disrespectful.”

“You wasn’t wearin’ it.”

“I was saving it.”

“Well now you’re saving it on me.”

He threw up his hands and walked to the closet for reinforcements.

“Alright. Final round.”

He pulled down a hoodie off the hanger, black with cracked white lettering that read “Trust Nobody But Yourself” across the chest. He turned around and paused.

“Don’t even say it,” he warned.

Maya was already licking her lips.

“Been waitin’ on that one.”

“You’ve already worn it,” he said, pointing like she was caught red-handed.

“I tried it on once.”

“For three days straight.”

Stack shook his head and turned away before she could convince him otherwise.

Too late.

Maya was already peeling off the Iverson hoodie, slow like she was modeling for a damn catalog. She pulled on the black one, turned to the side, hands on hips, and let the sleeves drape.

“You mad?”

Stack stared.

Then walked closer.

“You got a closet full of your own shit,” he muttered. “Silk robes. Cozy sets. Lil’ fluffy things.”

Maya stepped forward, tilting her head as she looked up at him.

“None of that smells like you.”

Stack’s eyes dropped to her lips. Then lower. Then to the bold lettering across her chest.

“You ain’t gon’ fight fair, huh?”

“Never have. Didn’t plan on startin’ either.”

He let his hands fall to her hips, his hoodie soft and warm under his fingers.

“You walk around in my stuff like this,” he whispered, “you gon’ make me do something.”

Maya tilted her head. “Like what?”

Stack leaned in, lips brushing her ear. His voice was low against her ear, steady but with that warning edge.

“Like take ‘em back and hide ‘em from you.”

Maya turned toward him, slow and sweet, her eyes holding his like they had all the time in the world.

“You always talkin’ like that…” she whispered, fingers crawling up his chest. “But you never stop me from gettin’ them.”

“Cause you look too damn good,” he muttered, cupping her waist, hoodie soft under his hands. “I be tryin’ to stay mad, and you be standing there… wearin’ me.”

She bit her lip, smiling. Then pulled him in by the front of his sweats.

Their lips met hard, and suddenly there wasn’t space anymore, just straight body heat.

Maya tasted like her French vanilla and hazelnut morning roast and a little spice, arms curling around his neck while he gripped the back of her thighs. The kiss deepened fast, wet and messy and full of intent. The hoodie bunched in his fists as he backed her toward the edge of the bed, his breath stuttering when she rocked her hips forward against his.

Stack groaned, deep in his throat. “Maya…”

Her hands slid down his abs, tracing the V of his waist, and she smirked against his mouth as she felt him already thickening under the fabric.

“You always get like this when I wear your shit?”

He kissed down her jaw, lips dragging fire across her skin.

“You know I do.”

Maya rolled her hips against him again, her palm dragging over the front of his joggers this time, slow. Just enough pressure to make him grunt through his teeth.

He grabbed her wrist. Held it there.

“Nah… don’t do that.”

“Why not?” she said, innocent as hell. “You were the one groaning like I owe you something.”

“You know I gotta run errands—”

She raised a brow. “So?”

“So I can’t walk into Trader Joe’s bricked up behind this.”

Maya smiled slow, like she’d already made up her mind.

“Then let me help you out.”

Stack stared, chest rising.

“Help me what, Maya.”

She leaned up, lips brushing his as she whispered, “Let me suck the tension out you real quick.”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“You gon’ be focused. Relaxed. You’ll remember what shelves the almond milk on and everything,” she said, hand moving again. Light, taunting strokes through the cotton. “And I’ll still be wearin’ your hoodie.”

Stack exhaled, jaw clenched.

“That’s how you wanna play?”

“Always,” she said, fingers dipping under the waistband now. “Just let me treat you before you run your little Saturday errands, baby.”

Stack laughed once. Dark, low, broken around his need. He looked down at her, hoodie half covering her thighs, lips slick from kissing, face lit up like she was proud of herself for being this damn wicked before noon.

“I swear,” he murmured, running a hand over her hair, “you don’t ever play fair.”

Maya smiled up at him like that was her favorite compliment. Because, honestly it is.

Stack didn’t even remember sitting down.

One minute, Maya was whispering sinful things in his ear, mouth soft, fingers slick against the waistband of his sweats. And the next, he was leaning back on the edge of the bed, breath shallow, watching her drop to her knees between his legs like a worship session.

She was adorned in his hoodie, the scent of him clinging to the fabric like a secret.

One of his favorites, no less.

And she looked like everything he ever needed and had no business deserving.

“You comfortable down there?” he asked, voice rough.

Maya’s smile was slow and wicked. “Getting there.”

She tugged the sweats he had thrown on down with practiced ease, eyes never leaving his as his length sprang free, already growing thick, already twitching from how worked up she’d gotten him.

She exhaled once through her nose like she needed to mentally prepare.

Stack’s head fell back. “See, nah… when you start breathin’ like that—”

“I like my meals fresh,” she murmured, licking her lips. “And you been talkin’ all morning.”

He let out a low laugh, but it caught in his throat the second her mouth wrapped around the head of his dick, warm and slow, with measured precision. Just soft suction and teasing flicks of her tongue that made his thighs flex under her palms.

“Shiiit, Ma—”

She hummed and pulled off with a light pop, hand stroking him slow as her other grazed his thigh.

“Still got errands to run?” she whispered.

Stack looked down at her, eyes hazy. “Barely remember what they were.”

Maya grinned, then licked a slow stripe up his shaft, tongue tracing every vein like she was trying to memorize the shape of him. Her lips wrapped around him again, taking him deeper this time, cheeks hollowing out as she sucked with intention.

Stack groaned low. His hips twitching, and fists balling in the sheets.

She looked up at him while her mouth worked, hoodie sleeves brushing her cheeks, hair falling in soft waves around her face. The image was seared into his brain: his girl, on her knees, in his hoodie, mouth full of him like she belonged nowhere else.

“Gahdamn…”

Maya pushed deeper, swallowing more of him with every pass. Her hands gripped his thighs, and she didn’t stop. Not when he cursed under his breath, not when he muttered her name, or when he choked on his own groan as her nose brushed his lower abdomen.

She pulled back slowly, mouth wet, lips shiny.

“Still focused?” she asked.

He stared at her, fully wrecked.

“Barely functional.”

“Perfect.”

She licked the corner of her mouth, stood slowly, and leaned in to kiss him. Lazy and slow, letting him taste himself on her lips. Stack’s hands found her hips. He didn’t say a word, just held her there, breathing deep, eyes still low and hazy.

Maya smirked and gave his jaw a soft kiss.

“Now go be a responsible man,” she whispered. “I need strawberries.”

His brow arched. “For what?”

“Come back wit them and we can figure sumn out. ”

She gave him one last kiss. Soft, lingering, and smug and turned away, walking off with nothing but his hoodie and a dangerous sway in her step.

Stack was still sitting at the edge of the bed, hand dragging across his beard like it might ground him. He blinked a few times, chest rising slow, eyes dark and locked on Maya where she stood by the doorway—so sinful.

Then he looked down at his own waist.

Then back at her.

“You really gon’ send me to the store like this?”

Maya tilted her head like she didn’t see the problem. “Like what?”

Stack pointed at his lower half. “Warmed up. Hot and bothered.”

She laughed softly, the sound smug as hell. “You’re welcome.”

He stood slowly, pulling his sweats back over the half-hard print still straining beneath the fabric. Adjusted himself. Then looked up at her with that evil glint behind his eyes.

“Now I gotta walk through Trader Joe’s with my dick mad at me.”

“That’s not my fault,” she said sweetly.

“Says the person who was about to have my soul in their mouth then walked off like it was casual?”

Maya leaned against the doorway, one leg cocked just enough for the hoodie to rise on her thigh. Her voice dropped to a hum.

“Well… maybe that’s just motivation to shop fast.”

Stack narrowed his eyes. “Is that right?”

She stepped back into the room, slow and loose, arms crossed as she sauntered up to him. “Mmhm. ‘Cause if you’re quick…”

She stood on her toes, mouth grazing his ear.

“…you can come back and fuck me in your hoodie…”

Her hand slid down his abs, lingering right where he was already twitching again.

“…and I’ll show you what we can do with those strawberries.”

Stack’s jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked concrete.

“You got thirty minutes,” she whispered. “Clock’s ticking, baby.”

He stared at her, hoodie, bare thighs, eyes glowing with filth and blew out a long breath, backing away like a man resisting temptation.

“Don’t text me nothin’ else while I’m gone.”

“Noo promises.”

“Deadass, Maya.”

She winked. “Might send a lil preview, still on the fence about it.”

Stack grabbed his keys and wallet with purpose, muttering under his breath like a man fighting for his life.

“Doin’ me dirty on a Saturday. This is evil work.”

Stack stood in front of the produce section, fists balled in his pockets and jaw tight as hell.

He’d already walked past the strawberries three times. Not because he didn’t see them. He did, in all their ripe, red glory—but because his brain kept short-circuiting.

Thanks to her.

He cursed under his breath and reached for the container at the front, trying to focus. Fresh, not mushy. No bruises. Light check for mold. Get in, get out.

Easy.

His phone buzzed in his hoodie pocket.

He ignored it.

Then it buzzed again.

And again.

Stack muttered a curse and pulled it out. Two messages from Maya.

Maya 🌻 :

I really love this hoodie, It smells the most like you.

Wanna see how I’m keeping busy while you gone?

Stack’s throat dried. He looked around, no one nearby. Just an old couple checking apples and a worker stocking yogurt. He unlocked his phone and tapped the video.

It started blurry.

Then focused.

On her. Lying back against the pillows. Legs spread wide. His black hoodie barely covering her chest, the sleeves bunched at her elbows. One hand holding the phone. The other…

Stack hissed.

Maya’s fingers moved slow over her clit. Lazy circles slick with arousal, her nails catching the light. Her thighs were shaking slightly with her lips parted like she was breathing through it, low and quiet.

The camera tilted, catching her pleasured face in the frame.

She brought two fingers down and spread herself, then rubbed a little faster, just enough for her breath to hitch in the background.

The video cut.

Stack just stood there, rock hard in front of the strawberries, staring at his reflection in the freezer door across the aisle.

His phone buzzed again.

Maya🌻:

Forgot to ask…

Should I wait until you’re back to finish like a good girl?

Or take care of it now?

Stack closed his eyes, hand to his mouth like he was deeply considering his life choices.

He texted back one word:

Stack 💰:

Wait.

She hit back immediately.

Maya🌻:

You sure?

I’m leaking already… 👅

His jaw flexed.

He dropped the strawberries in the cart and power-walked to the front of the store like the block was hot. Screw almond milk. Screw toothpaste. She was gonna pay for this.

Another buzz.

Another text.

Maya🌻:

I’ll be upstairs.. On your pillow.

Drippin’.

Hurry, baby.

Stack handed the cashier a crumpled twenty and didn’t even count the change.

He was already halfway to the car by the time the bag was packed.

The door barely clicked shut behind him before Stack dropped the bag of groceries on the counter, strawberries bouncing once inside before settling.

He didn’t take off his shoes. Didn’t speak.

Just listened.

Upstairs, the softest sound was floating down the hall.

A whimper.

A slick, breathless moan.

His name, dragged out in the softest, filthiest way imaginable.

Stack’s dick was already hard, pressing painfully against the waistband of his sweats, and he hadn’t even seen her yet.

He moved through the house on instinct. Slow. Lethal.

Every step up the stairs was paced with purpose.

When he turned the corner into their bedroom, the air punched straight out of his chest.

Maya was on her back in the center of the bed, legs bent, knees spread, one hand between her thighs, the other gripping the hem of his hoodie bunched at her waist.

The sleeves were pushed up past her elbows.

Her eyes were closed.

Her hips rocked slowly against her own fingers.

“Damn…”

His voice startled her just enough for her eyes to blink open, glassy and half-lidded.

Stack was already walking toward her, his eyes locked on the spot between her thighs, watching her fingers glide in slow, glistening circles.

“You couldn’t wait,” he muttered, voice thick, heated.

“I tried,” she whispered, breath catching. “I was thinking about you then about your mouth… and then the video…”

Stack didn’t wait.

He yanked his joggers down with one hand, freeing himself, his dick hard and slick at the tip. Throbbing from the ride home, from the visual in front of him, from the way her fingers were still moving while she looked him dead in the eye.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

She didn’t.

His hoodie hung loose on her body, and it made something in his chest snap.

He knelt on the bed, didn’t even take the time to climb fully on.

Just wrapped his hand around his length and started stroking slow while watching her, panting through his teeth.

“You touchin’ my shit…”

She whimpered.

“Wearin’ my clothes…”

Her eyes dropped to where he was stroking himself.

“…leakin’ on my bed like you ain’t got a damn conscience.”

Maya moaned softly, rubbing her clit with a faster rhythm now.

“Look at you,” he growled. “All soft and swollen for me… you that greedy, baby?”

She nodded, lips parting. “Mhmm…”

“Thought I told you to wait.”

“You weren’t fast enough,” she whispered, breath hitching as her hips jerked. “I needed it.”

Stack leaned closer, fist working over his shaft as he hovered at the edge of the bed between her thighs.

“You gon’ keep playin’ with me?” he asked, voice barely a growl. “Or you gon’ let me finish what you started?”

Maya didn’t answer with words. She just pulled her fingers away. Slow, wet, glistening and reached for him.

Stack was on her in seconds.

Maya didn’t even get to breathe before Stack’s mouth was on hers. Hot, consuming, his hand tangled in the back of her hoodie as he leaned over her, his weight settling like a promise.

“Keep actin’ like that,” he murmured against her lips, voice thick and low, “and I’ma fuck you like this every time you wear my shit.”

Maya moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer with both hands tangled in his short curls, her thighs spreading even wider for him.

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. Then grabbed the backs of her thighs and pushed her knees up. High, wide, open, with her slick center throbbing right beneath him.

She whimpered at the shift, and he didn’t say a word. Just lined himself up, thick and ready, the head of his length sliding through her wetness once, twice.

Then he sank into her.

Slow. Deep. Stretching her open inch by inch until his hips were flush against her ass and his breath was hissing between his teeth.

Maya cried out, hands scrambling to grip his shoulders.

“Fuck—Stack…”

“That’s what you wanted, right?” he growled in her ear, hips still, letting her feel the weight of him inside. “This what you needed while I was out buying your little strawberries?”

She nodded frantically, eyes wide, lips parted.

“Couldn’t wait to get wrecked in my hoodie…”

He pulled back.

Then slammed into her again, stealing the breath from her lungs.

“…and now I’ma fuck you so deep you’ll think about how it feels everytime you go to steal from my side of the closet..”

He started thrusting in earnest. Deep, unrelenting strokes, dragging her hips up to meet every drive of his. The hoodie bounced slightly on her frame, oversized and open at the neck, sliding up just enough to flash the soft curve of her stomach with every pump of his hips.

Maya’s moans went high and breathless, fingers clawing into his back. Every stroke was a punishment. Every roll of his hips was a reminder.

That she belonged to him.

Stack stayed buried deep, grinding slow, dragging every stroke from the base up, his hips rolling with ruthless precision.

Maya’s breath hitched with every thrust. Her thighs trembled where he held them wide, and her fingers stayed curled in his hoodie, clinging to the fabric over his back like she was holding on for dear life.

“Damn,” he muttered, sweat trailing down his temple, “you so fuckin’ wet.”

She cried out softly, hips jerking up to meet him. “Don’t stop… don’t stop, baby—”

“I ain’t stoppin’ till I feel you cum around me,” he growled, leaning closer, brushing his lips over hers. “You gon’ give me that nut in my hoodie, right?”

Maya nodded, eyes glassy, mouth open.

Stack brought a hand between them, thumb circling her clit in time with the way he rocked into her.

The effect was instant. Her whole body jumped, and her breath turned frantic.

“I feel it,” she gasped. “Oh my god, I feel it—”

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, never breaking rhythm, never looking away. “Don’t fight it.”

Her walls clamped down around him, and her body arched. Head thrown back. Hoodie sliding further up her waist.

“Daaddy—”

“I got you,” he whispered. “I got you, mama. Just let go.”

And she did.

Her climax ripped through her like a tidal wave, hips bucking, thighs shaking in his grip, breath catching on a sob of pleasure. Stack held her through all of it, never stopping, watching her unravel with nothing but love and fire in his gaze.

She looked up at him as she came, like she couldn’t believe how full she felt, how good he made her feel, how seen she was.

He kissed her once. Then twice. Then again softly, his forehead to hers as her body pulsed around him.

And when he came, it was deep and quiet, a low groan pressed into her neck, hips locking against her as he emptied himself inside her with one final thrust.

The room filled with the sound of their breath.

Her legs stayed hooked around his waist.

His forehead rested against hers.

Their hearts thudded against each other’s chests like a syncopated drum. Stack looked down at her. Her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, the hoodie twisted slightly but still clinging to her body like a second skin.

He tucked a curl behind her ear and whispered, “You really mine foreva?”

Maya gave him the faintest smile, dazed and glowing.

“I been yours for a good while now, silly man. Don’t see that changin’ at all.” she whispered back.

He kissed her again, slower this time.

Then laid there with her, still inside, still holding her, as they both floated along their high together.

The air in the room had stilled, heavy with heat and sweetness, like it was exhaling with them.

Stack hadn’t moved much.

He stayed wrapped around her, chest rising against her back, his lips brushing the slope of her shoulder every so often like he couldn’t help it. One hand rested across her stomach. The other traced lazy circles over the bare skin of her thigh, just beneath where his hoodie stopped.

Maya hummed, stretching just enough to press herself deeper into him.

“You good?” he murmured against her skin.

She smiled slow, eyes still closed. “I’m deliciously good.”

Stack chuckled under his breath. “You absolutely are. That’s why I like tasting you.”

“Mmhmm. I bet you do..”

He kissed her shoulder. “You at least gon’ behave next time I catch you stealing hoodies?”

“No,” she said, soft and smug. “I’m probably gonna wear the Kurama one tomorrow.”

He bit her neck gently, enough to make her squirm with a giggle.

“I knew I should’ve locked the drawer.”

“Too late now.” She twisted in his arms just enough to face him, her fingers playing lightly at his chest. “You know what else is too late?”

Stack raised a brow.

“You forgot the almond milk.”

He groaned. “You are not bringing up almond milk while I’m still inside you.”

Maya laughed, warm and sleepy. “I am, because I also remember you sprinting out the house like a man on a mission.”

“I had to. You was ruinin’ me.”

She grinned, tracing a fingertip over his beard. “That’s fair.”

They were quiet for moment, the comfort settling in again. His fingers traced a soft line along her side. Her eyes fluttered.

Then, without warning, she grinned.

“You did get the strawberries though.”

Stack narrowed his eyes. “…Yeah.”

She pulled the hoodie down over her thighs, rolling just a bit in his arms.

“Sooo…” she said, dragging the word out. “When we eatin’ ‘em?”

He looked at her. Her tousled hair, flushed cheeks, completely wrapped in his hoodie, and already plotting her next round of filth.

“You tryna make me lose my damn mind.”

She bit her lip. “Just tryna see if they taste as good off of you as I imagined.”

Stack groaned, burying his face in her neck.

“You ain’t right, Maya.”

She giggled. “But I’m yours tho.”

He kissed her jaw, chest rumbling against her back. “Yeah,” he whispered, “you really are.”

——

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#stack moore #sinners #sinners fanfiction #stack moore x oc #blackpantherismyish #black!oc

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