#it's my way to show you that i think about you and send you my love🌷

[neellscapsule]

a resounding heart attack

summary | there are three romance rules you have to follow: don't date coworkers, don't fall in love with flirty people, and never show how whipped you actually are. clark fails the three of them.

pairing | clark kent x wayne!female!reader

warnings / tags | pure fluff with a bit of suggestive stuff (language & actions), but nothing actually happening except lingerie photos that reader does not send but they are from a production :D. reader is a menace but gotham loves her ??? she's actually so cheeky so flirty so everything (just one chance pls). clark is blushing mess especially when it comes to her. mentions to a sad childhood because reader it's literally a wayne ?????

word count | 4.9k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first language so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

i've written this with david!clark on my mind but you can picture him hoverer you want. i also believe in battinson agenda for this specific version of clark :D

THERE ARE LITTLE THINGS IN THE WORLD THAT CAN AFFECT CLARK KENT.

All the types of Kryptonite disturb him in different ways. Red sun weakens him, dulling his strength and senses until he almost forgets what it feels like to be invulnerable. Magic does a number on him too, inexplicable and chaotic, like trying to hold onto smoke with bare hands. Other aliens with tech far beyond Earth’s understanding have hurt him, too. Kara once punched his arm and left it all purple — it healed fast, but it still hurt.  

There are, indeed, little things that can affect him. 

But you? 

You are at the top of that list.

He does not remember his heart beating that fast, almost inhumanly, on the edge of being impossible. Does not remember his cheeks ever being so red, his clumsiness bordering on being considered the dumbest man on Earth. Once he dropped his entire mug of coffee on his slacks just because you called him “Smallville” with that mischievous little smirk. 

Jimmy, Lois and practically everyone just laugh at him, his quirks, but he can't help it.

He can't help how much you affect him. Can't help how much he likes you. 

In his defense, there's no way he was able to not like you. Not only because he —and at least half the population— thinks you are hot. You are hot. Very much. He’s not going to lie to himself about that. The kind of beautiful that doesn’t feel like it was made for the front page of a magazine, but the kind that stuns you mid-sentence because of how effortless it is. You laugh too loudly sometimes, you talk with your hands, and you make eye contact like it’s a dare.

But it’s more than that.

You’re smart. Sharp as broken glass. Your writing is electric, biting in the way that Gothamites tend to be—your byline alone has caused five resignations, two public apologies, and one lawsuit (which the Daily Planet won). Not even Perry crosses you, that must count for something. You flirt with everyone, but with him, it’s different. You save your cheekiest lines, your softest smirks, your most infuriating whispers for him—as if you know how easily he folds.

The worst thing is not that you work together. No. Clark has a complete and long list about the worst —best— part of working with you.

In the first place, is that you share the same space with him. Your desks are pressed together, both of you facing one another, screens lit up, voices low as you trade edits, ideas, and insults. Your heel taps his shoe sometimes—grazing more than stepping. He’s convinced you don’t even notice it, that it’s just a habit, something subconscious.

From his seat, he sees you clearly. Memorizes your expressions like a song stuck on repeat. The way your eyes narrow when something doesn’t sit right. The sharp inhale before you pounce on a lead. You scrunch your nose when someone makes a poor argument, like it physically pains you to hear idiocy. You press your tongue briefly between your lips when you're deep in thought, which he pretends not to see but always does. You smile—oh, when you smile—it hits like sunlight through lead glass. Blinding. Honest. Beautiful.

The two of you share a corkboard pinned to the wall. His side is sparse—some clippings, a "Mighty Crabjoys" movie poster, and a coffee-stained sheet of work hours he never took down. But yours? Yours is filled to the brim, despite not being much space.

A series of colorful letters that spell your name, doodles, a Gotham National University pennant, and a printed photo of a night out with everyone —Lois, Jimmy, Steve, Cat, you, and himself included.

He hears the click of your heels before anyone else does.

It’s the kind of sound that parts his thoughts in two, makes them flutter like loose pages in a breeze. Sharp, rhythmic, deliberate. You don’t walk through the bullpen—you arrive. And every step pulls the air taut around him like fishing line. 

He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you. His entire body already knows. His hearing adjusts itself before he can think better of it—your heartbeat, lighter than most, steady and confident, like it owns time. Like it’s never once skipped or stalled the way his just did.

You turn the corner and he’s already looking, caught in the act—he knows you catch him. You always do.

You enter the Daily Planet like you own it, and in some subtle way, you do. Not because of your name. You don’t need money or threats to command a room. You have something worse. Charisma. Ease. Danger. Power in a smile that knows it has claws and doesn’t care to hide them.

Your skirt is black and short—unreasonably so. Illegal in several states, maybe. Certainly illegal in Clark’s heart, because it just stopped beating. Your white stockings gleam slightly under the lights, spotless and smooth and devastating. You’ve tucked your ironed shirt into your waistline like some kind of cruel, beautiful war crime. Gold glints from your ears, your wrist, the edge of your collar. Not fake gold, not plated. Real. Heavy. Old money.

You wear your wealth the same way you wear your grin—like a challenge.

You look over, the corner of your mouth curling, and say, just for him, “Good morning, Smallville.”

Smallville.

He could snap the pen in his hand if he weren’t careful. You say it so softly. So wickedly. Like you know. Like you know that he’s already halfway undone and you’re just playing with the bow.

Clark already had your coffee in his hand—he'd been holding it since 7:43 AM, exactly three minutes after he arrived. Two sugars, no cream. Lid slightly ajar because you said it kept the flavor from suffocating. He didn’t really understand what that meant, but he listened. He always listened.

He handed it to you with trembling fingers.

“Good morning,” he says, trying not to clear his throat.

You sit down, smooth the back of your skirt behind you with grace and muscle memory, and lean to the side, setting your bag against the leg of your desk. Your voice is light as you bring your phone to your ear again. He doesn’t mean to listen. But he hears everything. He always does.

“Alfred,” you say warmly. “Yes, I got here. No, no traffic, thank god. Yes, I remembered my meeting with Lucius over the computer. No, I’m not eating fast food for lunch. No— No, I will not talk to Bruce unless he sends Dickie over for the weekend. I already told him that.”

Clark’s cheeks heat just listening to you talk. Not because of what you’re saying. But because of how you sound when you say it. Comfortable. Confident. Unfiltered. Even the way you say Alfred is affectionate and biting at the same time. Gotham to your core.

“Alright, Alfie. Gotta go. No, I’m not drinking too much caffeine. That’s a lie and you know it. Bye.”

You hang up and turn your attention to the rest of the room, sweeping your gaze around the bullpen like a queen taking inventory of her court.

“What’d I miss?” you ask, reaching for your coffee.

Lois, across from you, didn’t look up from her monitor. “You missed Jimmy flirting with Marcie from legal. Again.”

Jimmy Olsen, from the far side of the square of desks, turned his chair with all the mock indignation of someone deeply unashamed. “I wasn’t flirting. I was complimenting her boots.”

“You told her she had the stride of an Amazon warrior,” Lois deadpanned.

“Well, she does!” Jimmy said, throwing up his hands. “That’s empowering. I’m being supportive.”

You sipped your coffee, giving Clark a wink over the rim. “You’re one scandal away from a harassment workshop, Olsen.”

“Pffft. I’ve dated half the women on this floor.”

“Exactly.”

Lois snorted, and Clark tried very hard not to laugh. He tried even harder not to stare.

It was pointless.

You leaned back in your chair, arching slightly as you stretched—your blouse pulling just enough to make Clark look away before he went blind from the effort it took not to look. You tapped your pen against your lower lip as you glanced at the whiteboard across the bullpen.

“I see no one’s updated the lead stories,” you said casually. “So we’re still pretending the mayor’s brother being caught in a LexCorp-funded apartment with two unlicensed bounty hunters isn’t news?”

Perry White’s voice roared from his glass office. “I’m waiting on confirmation before we blast that one, Wayne!”

“Oh, sorry,” you replied, not even looking at him. “I forgot the Planet’s new slogan: ‘Cowards First.’”

Clark coughed to cover his laugh, and Lois shook her head, grinning.

“Do you wake up and choose violence or is it just muscle memory at this point?” Lois asked, not even hiding the fondness in her tone.

“Neither,” you said, rolling your chair closer to the below edge of the desk. Your knees brushed his. He stopped breathing. “I wake up and check if Gotham’s still a hellhole. Then I make myself look nice for Smallville here.”

You smiled at him, devilish. Clark’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.

Jimmy leaned over the desk, pointing between the two of you. “This,” he said, “this is why I never bother flirting with you. I don’t like losing.”

“Oh, lover boy,” you purred. “No one even asked you to compete.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “And I never will again. Lesson learned.”

Lois chuckled, returning to her screen. “Good. Maybe now you’ll actually write your piece on the sewage reform bill.”

Jimmy groaned. “Please. Why do I always get the sexy stuff?”

Clark finally found his voice. “Because last time you covered a robbery, you took a selfie with the suspect.”

“He was holding the stolen merchandise!” Jimmy argued. “What was I supposed to do—ignore the story?”

You shook your head with a dramatic sigh. “You’re the reason Perry has a ‘No Selfies at Crime Scenes’ memo pinned to the break room door.”

Clark smiles, ducking his head toward his screen, pretending to reread a paragraph he’s already proofed twice. But your heel taps his shoe under the desk—lightly, casually—and the impact goes straight to his ribcage.

You sip your coffee and sigh happily. “Mm. You got the vanilla right this time.”

“I, uh—yeah,” Clark says. “I remembered.”

“Of course you did.” You grin, crossing one leg over the other. “You always do.”

He forces his eyes to his monitor. His vision is fine, of course. Superfine. He could read microscopic text if he wanted. Right now, though, even large font blurs when you look at him like that.

Lois finally glances up and gives you a once-over. “Did you steal that skirt from a teenager?”

You make a scandalized noise. “Lois Lane. Jealousy is unbecoming.”

“I’m just worried HR is gonna pass out in the hallway.”

“Please. HR loves me. They send me memes.”

Jimmy leans over the divider. “Is it true you threatened that CEO with a bottle of wine?”

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Technically, I described what a bottle of wine could do in the hands of a woman from Gotham. The threat was implied.”

Lois huffed. “God, you two are unbearable before ten.”

You wink. “We’re unbearable after ten, too. Just more caffeinated.”

A comfortable hum settles into the bullpen after that. Everyone returns to work—Lois muttering to herself, Jimmy editing photos, the low murmur of keyboards and printer hums filling the space. Clark focuses on his article, or at least pretends to. The screen glows back at him, a half-finished headline blinking expectantly. He tries again.

From his seat, he can see you—your expression flickering through a dozen small emotions as you scroll through your inbox, narrowing your eyes, muttering curses at editors, grinning when Jimmy shows you a ridiculous photo of a dog wearing sunglasses. He watches you like a man stranded in the desert watches a thundercloud. With reverence. With thirst.

It’s stupid, probably. This crush. This...thing.

But then again, everything about you is a little bit dangerous. A little bit impossible.

And still—he wants it. Wants you. Wants this part of his life that feels so close to normal, even if it isn’t.

Because you don’t know.

You don’t know who he is. What he is. You flirt with him like he’s just a man. You smile at him like he’s not carrying the weight of ten thousand secrets on his spine. And when your heel brushes his shoe again, just lightly, he lets himself smile back.

Just a little.

Just enough to make it through the rest of the day.

Moving to Metropolis had been a choice . . . unexpected to everyone close to you. Well, you didn't have many close people back on Gotham that weren't your brother, Alfred, and Dick. And Dick was your nephew, so that must say something. 

Growing up as orphans took its toll on you and your brother, but each of you took different paths. While Bruce trained in his youth to become Gotham's vigilante—the glorious Dark Knight—adopting Dick while on it, you had become more of a celebrity, always the center of attention. 

When you came of age, you became a model —while studying multiple careers: you were fascinated with the aspect of having many degrees since you could remember— and it wasn't until you moved to Metropolis several years later that you abandoned your career altogether.

It wasn't that you didn't enjoy it. You really enjoyed being a model. Especially when the shoot wasn't shared—the modeling world was very competitive, and quite exhausting, too.

But it wasn't enough.

You went to therapy for many years. Your brother hadn't been able to be convinced, but Alfred had insisted so much that you had no way of refusing. And it was in one of your last sessions that your psychologist had mentioned something about a new lease on life.

Perhaps she didn't mean exactly moving to another city, but you took it like that.

Gotham had been your cradle and your crypt. It raised you, starved you, scarred you. It made you what you are. But it also stole a piece of you when it took your parents. You were only eight, and you still remember the scream your brother made—guttural, inhuman—as he held your tiny shoulders and covered your eyes. He’d been just a kid, too.

You loved Bruce, deeply. You respected what he became. But the way he chose to fight back… it wasn’t your way.

You had to find your own.

That's how you ended up in Metropolis, with an excellent letter of recommendation (or rather, a favor) that led you right to where you are now. You lived well, combining the money from your last name with your salary, in a safe area, on the top floor of a tall building.

Metropolis differed vastly from Gotham. While Gotham rarely saw a ray of sunlight, Metropolis seemed flooded with it. There weren't as many villains as in your hometown either, but the ones that did exist were either pure aliens or completely enhanced. Meta-humans, they called them.

And here they didn't have a vigilante. They had a hero.

Superman.

Your brother doesn't especially likes him. Doesn't hate him either way. He just wants you safe, and if Superman is there to protect all of Metropolis, then he must be there to protect you as well. 

You don't worry much about it. If it's about burglars, you have a gun, a taser and a pepper spray so powerful that you could be arrested in at least five countries. If it's about aliens . . . well, you had a good life.

Lunch breaks at the Daily Planet were a coin toss. Sometimes, you barely got a fifteen-minute window to scarf down a protein bar between deadlines and chaos. Other times, like today, you managed to sneak out with Lois Lane—two of the sharpest tongues in the city wrapped in designer sunglasses and sarcasm, tucked into a booth in a tiny diner four blocks from the office.

You liked this place. A hole-in-the-wall with cracking linoleum and a grumpy waitress who called everyone “sweetheart” and meant it in a way that could also mean “dumbass.” The coffee was terrible, but the fries? Perfect. Greasy, salty, served on cracked white plates with tiny cups of spicy ketchup. You and Lois had claimed the corner booth months ago, and no one had dared to sit there since.

You pulled your sunglasses off your head, tossing them onto the table as you sank into the squeaky vinyl seat.

“I swear to god,” you muttered, unbuttoning the top of your blouse to breathe, “if Perry gives me one more rewrite on that Luthor piece, I’m going to throw myself out a window.”

Lois smirked over the rim of her iced tea. “He only pushes you because your drafts are so clean. You know he likes to feel like he’s doing something.”

“Yeah? Next time he wants to feel productive, he can scrub the bathrooms.” You stabbed a fry. “He’s lucky I don’t invoice him for every time he makes me put a period after LexCorp instead of Lexcorp.”

Lois’s laugh was soft, knowing, the kind that made her seem lighter than she ever let herself be at work. “You need a vacation.”

“I need a raise.”

“You’re already rich.”

You shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want Perry’s money too. I’m a capitalist pig. I want your money while we’re at it.”

Lois chuckled again, shaking her head. “Gotham.”

“Damn right.”

It was easy, this. Effortless. You’d always gotten along well with women—grew up around men who didn’t talk about their feelings and a brother who bottled everything up until it cracked through his ribs—but Lois? Lois was like steel wrapped in velvet. Smart, intense, loyal to a fault. You liked her immediately. She reminded you of a fox—sharp, beautiful, and always watching.

You weren’t sure when you’d become best friends. It had just… happened. Shared assignments turned into late-night editing sessions, which turned into wine-fueled gossip nights, which eventually became something deeper. It felt good to have someone like her. 

She didn’t care that you were a Wayne. She didn’t care about Gotham. You were just you to her. You hadn’t had that in years.

“So,” Lois said, her voice carrying that sharp edge she got when she was gearing up to dissect something, “are we gonna talk about it or do I have to drag it out of you?”

You blinked at her. “Talk about what?”

She gave you a look. The Lois Lane look. The one that could strip paint from a wall and force you to confess crimes you hadn’t even committed.

“Oh no,” you said, pointing a fry at her like a weapon. “I am not talking about it.”

“You are absolutely talking about it,” she countered. “Because you’ve been mooning over him like a teenage girl with a crush on her math teacher, and I’m this close to staging an intervention.”

Your entire body went hot, like she’d just shouted the truth to the whole diner. “Lois—”

“Don’t Lois me,” she said firmly. “You are painfully, pathetically, devastatingly whipped for Clark Kent, and it’s embarrassing for both of us at this point.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I am not whipped.”

“You’re whipped,” she said again, sipping her tea with infuriating calm. “You’re so whipped you buy your outfits based on how you think he’ll react. I saw you this morning. That skirt? That was a weapon of mass destruction.”

You peeked through your fingers at her. “Okay, first of all, I looked amazing. And second of all…” You hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah, maybe I wanted him to notice.”

Lois leaned forward, smug. “And did he?”

You hated that she was making you say it out loud. “He… looked at me.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes!” you hissed. “Lois, it’s Clark. He looks at everyone like they hung the moon. That man probably blushes at Perry when he’s in a good mood.”

Lois laughed so hard she nearly choked on her tea. “Okay, first, I wish I could un-hear that mental image. Second, you’re wrong. Clark doesn’t look at me like that. Or Jimmy. Or anyone. He looks at you like that.”

You snorted, leaning back against the booth. “He’s just… nervous. He’s nervous around everyone. That’s his thing. He’s like a giant golden retriever with anxiety.”

Lois leveled you with another one of her patented, withering stares. “You’re an idiot.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly. “I work hard at it.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Y/N. He likes you. He’s just shy. Painfully shy. The man can barely string a sentence together when you’re around.”

Your heart gave an unhelpful little flutter, and you immediately tried to squash it. “Or he’s just… shy in general.”

“No,” Lois said flatly. “Trust me, I’ve known him for years. He’s quiet, but he’s not shy. He’s the kind of guy who’s comfortable letting everyone else take the spotlight. Except with you. You short-circuit him.”

You stared at her, trying to will yourself not to hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope led to heartbreak. And you’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. “You really think he likes me?”

Lois smirked. “I know he likes you. You could cut the tension between you two with a butter knife. Honestly, it’s nauseating.”

You bit your lip, fiddling with your straw. “He’s just… I don’t know. He’s Clark. He’s kind, and sweet, and ridiculously good-looking, and—”

“And you’re crazy about him,” Lois supplied.

“Shut up.”

“You are,” she said, grinning like the devil. “You’re so gone for him it’s painful.”

You shoved a fry in your mouth to avoid answering, chewing furiously. But she wasn’t wrong. Clark Kent had somehow managed to completely undo you. Which was ridiculous, because you’d grown up surrounded by some of the most intimidating, impressive men on the planet. Bruce. Alfred. Hell, you had met the most attractive men on Earth while being a model…

Clark Kent made your heart beat like you were sixteen again.

“He’s so fucking cute.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“Violently.” You popped another fry into your mouth. “Do you think he knows? Like, knows?”

Lois blinked at you over her straw. “Are you serious?”

“I mean… I flirt with him a lot.”

“You practically sit on his desk and purr.”

“He never flirts back.”

Lois put her drink down with a thunk. “Y/N. He stutters when you look at him. He spilled an entire latte on his lap last week because you called him Smallville.”

You tilted your head, considering. “Okay, but—he’s like that with everyone, isn’t he?”

“No. He’s not. He’s awkward, sure, but with you? It’s different. What I'm saying is that Clark Kent is terminally down bad for you. And has been since you showed up at the Planet for the first time in Prada heels and a war crime of a pencil skirt.”

You smiled, teeth flashing. “So you noticed that skirt.”

“Everyone noticed that skirt. Including HR.”

“Still not my shortest.”

Lois rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. And half the office thinks you’re already dating.”

You blinked. “They do?”

“Of course they do,” she said. “You two sit practically on top of each other all day. You bring him coffee, he brings you bagels, you touch his leg under the desk, he turns the color of a tomato… it’s a whole thing.”

You buried your face in your hands again, frustrated with yourself. “I’m going to die.”

Lois grinned wickedly. “Or you’re going to kiss him. Your choice.”

The walk back to the Daily Planet is slow, heavy with the weight of too many fries and just enough gossip to give the next hour of productivity a fighting chance. You and Lois move together the way you always do—shoulder to shoulder, stride for stride, two women used to commanding space and rarely apologizing for it.

Lois is telling you about a source she has in the Mayor’s office—a guy who apparently sweats like a faucet when asked about Luthor’s latest construction contracts.

“You should see him,” she says, half-laughing as you both round the corner. “One mention of ‘independent oversight’ and the man’s upper lip turns into Niagara Falls.”

You snort, adjusting your sunglasses on top of your head. “I’ll go with you next time. I’ve been told I have a very disarming presence.”

“Oh, you disarm alright,” Lois mutters, pushing open the lobby doors. “Mostly by blowing people’s equilibrium to hell.”

“Why thank you,” you grin. “I do my best.”

You ride the elevator up with the kind of easy silence only best friends share. Lois doesn’t press, not anymore. She’s said her piece about Clark—twice—and now she’s letting the cards fall where they may. Which is good. Because your heart is still somewhere back in that booth, fluttering like a moth caught in a lampshade.

The bullpen is quieter now, the post-lunch lull settling in. Phones ring, keys clack, and the occasional shout from Perry’s office cuts through like a cleaver. Jimmy’s at his desk, editing something with his headphones on. Lois splits off with a “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” and you answer with “That’s a very short list,” earning a wink and a wave as she disappears.

You move through the bullpen with purpose—heels tapping soft but steady—and you’re halfway to your desk when something catches your eye. Or rather, someone.

Clark.

He’s exactly where you left him: sitting ramrod straight, tie slightly loosened now, glasses perched just so, brow furrowed in concentration. From behind, he looks painfully composed. Too composed. The kind of composed that only comes from total panic.

And the screen in front of him?

Well.

That’s your face.

Your body.

A high-resolution photo splashed across his monitor, larger than life. You in pale green lingerie, draped across a white velvet couch, lips parted, hair tousled, gaze direct. The photo is a couple years old, but unmistakably you. From a Gotham editorial that never ran publicly, just teased in hush-hush corners of the internet and fashion magazines. A private, exclusive shoot—back when you still occasionally let stylists talk you into anything.

It wasn’t obscene, not exactly, but it was… suggestive.

Clark Kent is staring at it like it might explode.

You stop walking.

Then, slowly, carefully, like a predator who’s just spotted something delicious, you change course. You drift behind his desk with feigned nonchalance, the lazy curl of a smirk already blooming on your lips. He hasn’t noticed yet. He’s too focused. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

You lean in close. Not too close—just enough. Close enough to breathe the same air. Close enough that he can feel the softness of your blouse graze the back of his shoulder. You rest your chin on the slope between his collar and the thick fabric of his suit jacket. He froze, every muscle going tight as though you’d just hit him with a Taser.

Your voice is warm honey when you speak.

“Well, well. I didn’t know I had a fan club.”

Clark jerks like he’s been electrocuted.

“Y-Y/N—!” His voice pitches up. He fumbles for the keyboard like it might save him, slamming a key—probably Escape, poor thing—but it only zooms the photo in further. Right on your midriff.

You raise an eyebrow, still resting your chin on him like you belong there. “Nice monitor, Smallville. That screen quality’s amazing. Did the Planet get new tech or are you just… investing in some private research?”

“I—No, I didn’t—This isn’t—” he’s turning bright red, hands practically slamming at the keys now in pure panic. The image disappears with a blur of motion, but the damage is done. The shade of him. Scarlet all the way up to his ears. You swear even the back of his neck is blushing. 

You grin, slow and wicked.

“Relax,” you murmur near his ear. “It’s not like I’m offended. I’d say I’m flattered.”

Clark makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a strangled gasp.

You step around his chair, finally moving to stand in front of him. Not that it helps. You’re still too close—just standing, slightly leaning into the wood. And you’re looking at him now. Really looking. Fingers resting lazily on the edge of his desk, eyes soft but unreadable.

“That’s an old photo,” you said conversationally, eyes flicking toward the screen. “At least two years, maybe three. I’m impressed you dug it up.”

He made a strangled noise. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Oh, sure,” you interrupted again, smirking. “You just… accidentally stumbled across me in lingerie on a random Tuesday afternoon. Happens all the time.”

“Y/N,” he said, his voice rough with mortification. “I can explain—”

You tilt your head.

“But between you and me,” you say, voice low, “there are… better views than that photo.”

Clark blinks rapidly, shoulders so stiff they could crack. “Better—?”

You let the silence stretch, letting him squirm just a little longer. Watching him. Watching how hard he tries not to look at your mouth. Your legs. Anywhere but your eyes. He fails, beautifully.

You smile—real slow, like it knows too much.

“I mean,” you shrug, feigning innocence, “if you want an updated photoshoot, all you have to do is ask. I’m very cooperative when properly motivated.”

The sound that escaped him wasn’t even a word. More like a faint, startled noise from the back of his throat.

You straightened up at last, letting him breathe, and smoothed your skirt with a practiced flick of your fingers. “Anyway,” you said breezily, as though you hadn’t just completely destroyed him in front of his own computer. “I should get back to work.”

Clark turned slowly in his chair, wide-eyed and still visibly reeling, his tie slightly askew. “Y/N, I—”

You held up a hand, cutting him off. “No need to explain, Smallville. Really. Just… try not to get distracted, hmm? Perry would hate for you to miss a deadline because you were staring at my legs on a screen.”

You gave him one last, devastating smile before gliding toward your desk, heels clicking softly on the floor. Behind you, you could feel his gaze follow you like a physical thing, hot and helpless and utterly, wonderfully Clark.

Yeah, maybe Lois was right.

[pbaz7]

ONE SHOT: EXIT 42 PART 2

paige x azzi

word count: 19k

a/n: i don't know why I wrote part one thinking my anons would let me get away with only writing one part. here's the heavily requested part two of the random au i came up with. i need a heavy dose of affirmation these days so i'd be extremely grateful if i could get some thoughts and a few live reacts on this one. i hope i didn't disappoint with part two 🫶🏼 feel free to let me know if there's typos!

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For two months, Azzi and Paige made a rhythm out of distance.

Azzi texted more often than she ever had with anyone and found herself smiling at her phone more than she wanted to admit. She’d text little random things, updates about her day. Sometimes it was full paragraphs when she had a lot on her mind and she knew she didn’t have to pretend to be anything she wasn’t with Paige.

Paige usually took her time to reply because it took her more of a conscious effort to remember her phone existed. Initially Azzi flinched at the lull in responses, checking their message thread often like she was owed urgency. Eventually she started to connect the dots that would always respond. 

Usually it was at the end of the day. She would make her appearance  in the thread with a picture from her day. Once a dusky sky leaking a beautiful lavender behind a slatted fence, another time it was the horses under a large Texas ash tree while the dogs were asleep on their backs. She’d always respond with a string of her messages responding to everything Azzi sent before sending her own thoughts about the day. 

"Mrs. Emory asked about you again today."

"I think Stew misses you. Keeps on running to the guest room.”

"Too hot to wear black out here today. Even my boots were sweating."

Each message made Azzi ache in a strange, shapeless way that longing for another person does.

Azzi likes that Paige never pries her for information. Even when Azzi’s messages showed signs of her lifestyle: the glam team tending to her when she sent a selfie, tired replies at odd hours. It was a quiet agreement they easily fell into; if Paige didn’t ask, Azzi didn’t have to lie or dodge.

They also had a few FaceTimes here and there. The calls were usually late with Paige already under her covers and the dogs laying close by on their dog beds. Every time they spoke her voice was always hoarse, like her long day hadn’t let go of her yet.

“Was just about to call it a night,” she’d say, but each time she followed up with a grin that showed she was waiting for Azzi to call.

Azzi was usually just getting home and as she threw her keys on the island she’d say, “Sure you were.”

Because they were both tired from their days the conversations were never too long and they always ended slower than they started. Paige had a way of making even a goodbye stretch with how calm she was. 

“Alright then, goodnight sweetheart”, her finger nowhere near the end call button. Words like that always got to Azzi because Paige’s Southern cadence made everything sound like she was flirting. Azzi swears she tried not to read too far into it…Keywords tried because unfortunately for her most days she failed

Because sometimes Paige would say something simple like, “That color looks amazing on you,” without second guessing how it came off. Azzi lost count of the times she heard Paige say “Wish you could sit with me to watch this sunset,” and mean it so plainly it reminded Azzi of a white bare room that she could paint pastels into.

The only problem is Paige would toss in a “ma’am” just to tease her but on her end Azzi was left wondering how she meant it. She didn’t know if it was from Paige being raised by her grandmother or if there was something more threading through the seams.

However Paige felt, whether she felt anything for Azzi at all, no one could deny that there was  something growing like kudzu between their words.

On a specific occasion during one of their later calls Paige was stuck between sleep and conciseness while Azzi was still fully dressed, streetlight’s eclipsing her living room in amber.

“I want to see you,” Azzi said, as she moved around her kitchen to go to the couch. “In person I mean.”

Paige blinked her eyes open slowly, voice honeyed from sleep. “Yeah?” 

Azzi nodded, pushing her knees up on the couch to get more comfortable. “You let me be a part of your world for a weekend. I feel like it might be time for you to come see mine.”

Paige grinned against her pillows, the apples of her cheeks getting a little rosie. “You plannin on getting me lost in a city?”

Azzi grinned. “You wouldn’t last five minutes without me, country girl.”

“Mmm,” Paige hummed, rolling onto her back. “Bet I’d last six.”

What surprised Azzi after that call was that Paige didn’t need much convincing. There was no hemming and hawing, just Paige mumbling, “lemme figure a few things out darlin” and a promise to have an update for her soon.

Over the next few days, Paige tied up her responsibilities to make sure everything was in place for the weekend. She called one of her good friends Ashlynn to stay at the house and tend to the animals, made sure she separated Mrs. Emory's meds after mowing the lawn, and fixed the Langston's broken water heater and got them groceries.

The last thing she did was swap her truck for her friend’s Ford F-150 Raptor. “So you don’t rattle the doors off your beauty on I-35,” Jeff teased as he tossed her the keys that morning.

…

By the time Paige rolled into Dallas, the sky was yawning pink behind her. The city bloomed alive in front of her. Instead of soft trees melting into the sky, buildings rose sharply against the horizon, their glass facades catching the last of the sunlight like magnifying glasses, casting heat in every angled direction. It was louder here. Not even in just volume, the energy felt more frenzied. Everything felt like it was buzzing. People moved impatiently, everyone caught up in their own stories.

Azzi's high rise apartment was taller than the rest of the buildings, planted right in the heart of the city where someone of her caliber belonged. Paige followed the instructions Azzi sent her that morning to get into the garage. 

She circled around the maze until she got to the level that belonged to Azzi and pulled the Raptor right next to her pink coupe. The engine rumbled to a stop and Paige just sat there for a few moments to take a breather. One of her hands was still on the gear shift, while she rubbed the back of her neck with the other one. Eventually she let out a long breath and picked up her phone to call Azzi.

It rang once before she heard Azzi answer. “I’m in your garage, sweetheart.”

She could hear Azzi’s smile through the phone. “Stay there, I’m coming down.”

By the time Paige got out of the truck and got her duffle bag from the backseat elevator doors across the garage were sliding open.

When Azzi stepped out of the elevator the fluorescent lights in the ceiling caught the silver hoops in her ears and the waist chain peeking out from underneath her cropped hoodie. Her hair was pulled up, curls piled high with a few tendrils purposefully left out to frame her features. When she got close enough, Paige caught on to the smell of jasmine and vanilla radiating from her skin. Warm and sweet just like she remembered.

Paige was standing next to the truck, watching her with a softened look. Appreciative of her but never greedy, never ill-mannered. Azzi was doing her own version of the same thing. Her eyes drifted from the worn blue jeans, to the white t-shirt underneath the open blue flannel that brought out the color in her eyes even under the garage lights. A silver cross chain resting just above her collarbone.

Azzi’s lips parted in an unintentional smile before she spoke. “Hi.”

Paige’s grin mirrored hers as soon as she heard Azzi’s voice. “Hi, sweetheart.”

The words landed a little differently in person. Azzi felt them wrap around her chest like a honey dipper dunked deeply into a pit of honey, coming out golden. The warmth of it coated her ribs, drizzled down and settled somewhere behind her sternum. “I missed hearing that,” she said, a little bashfully.

Paige gave her another crooked grin, saying everything with her eyes. When Azzi reached for her bag, Paige tightened her hand around the leather, shaking her head no like Azzi should know better. Azzi sighed before they walked beside each other as they made their way to the private elevator.

The ride was quick and pretty quiet the entire time. Paige all of a sudden felt a little shy.

When the elevator doors opened into Azzi’s apartment Paige stepped out first.

Just off the initial view alone it was apparent how expansive the space was. The ceilings were high enough to have another floor and light wood stretched across the open floor plan, all bathed in natural light. Floor to ceiling windows wrapped around almost every wall, offering a full view of the Dallas skyline.

It felt like the complete opposite of the farmhouse. There were no creaky floors, or the sound of animals just outside the back door. The clutter was minimal and Azzi had an earth toned throw blanket over the couch. The house was completely modernized but there were small sprinkles of Azzi throughout that Paige wanted to help her expand on. 

Paige set her bag down on a wooden bench near the elevator, sliding her boots off as her eyes moved around the space.

Azzi watched her take it in. Observing her reaction to the quiet luxury of the place, but the more she watched the more indifferent Paige seemed which made her heart swell a little before she decided to just outwardly ask. “You good?”

Paige nodded once, slowly. “Yup,” she said. “Just…big.”

Azzi laughed. “It’s not that big.”

Paige glanced at her before her eyes drifted toward the windows again. “Darlin, I can see the clouds through your windows.”

Before Azzi could tease her about it, a voice called her name. “Azzi.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted, completely forgetting people were still there. “Oh right,” she mumbled under her breath, then cleared her throat and walked toward the kitchen, grabbing Paige’s attention to tell her to follow.

They walked in to see two people standing near the oversized kitchen island. Katie, Azzi’s mother,and  Azzi’s manager, were mid conversation, when they walked in but stopped when they saw Paige walking in with Azzi.

“This is my mom,” Azzi said, one hand brushing Paige’s lower back as she stepped forward to introduce them.

Katie offered Paige her hand, making sure to give her a kind smile as she did. Paige shook Katie’s hand, her own natural grin sliding into place. “It’s really nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Katie tilted her head, already charmed into giving her a genuine smile. “Oh, you don’t have to call me that. Katie’s just fine.”

Paige’s grin widened. “If I did that ma’am, my grandmother would haunt my dreams,” she said, letting out a short laugh.

That made both Fudd women laugh. Katie’s a little fuller, while Azzi’s was softer but a little more affected.

“And this is my manager, Skye,” Azzi added, glancing over at the young woman beside her mother, who had been watching Paige and Azzi both with interest.

Paige turned and extended her hand again. “Nice to meet you, as well,” she said, just as respectfully.

Skye shook her hand with a slight smile in Azzi’s direction. “You’ve got manners, I’ll give you that.”

Paige tipped her chin in modest agreement and a silent thank you.

Katie looked between Azzi and Paige as she threw her hair into a ponytail. “So Azzi told me about the little car situation,” she said, laughing a little. “That she ended up staying on your farm for a few days?”

Paige nodded. Her posture was much more relaxed than everyone else, like she was still standing on open land instead of expensive wooden floors. “Yes ma’am that’s right,” she said, glancing toward Azzi. “Had to make sure she didn’t try to ride the tractor out of there,” she added charmingly.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but Paige kept going. “She was a natural on a horse, though.”

Katie raised her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. “Is that so?”

Azzi shrugged, pretending not to smile. “I held on and didn’t fall. That counts for something.”

“She did a lot more than that. Everything counts for a lot when it comes to ridin Rosie,” Paige said, the natural flirtatious drawl she has with Azzi forming on the edges of her words.

Skye noticed something more than just Paige complimenting horseback riding and looked at Azzi with one of her eyebrows raised.

Azzi ignored it.

Behind them, Paige had drifted toward the windows, soaking in the view in front of her.

Katie and Skye started gathering their things, sensing that Azzi most likely wanted to be alone.

“Alright,” Katie said, scrolling through her calendar app. “Your car service for the morning will be downstairs by four thirty, glam’s at five. It’ll be the same team as always.”

Azzi nodded, listening but watching Paige lean her forehead closer to the window to see the lines of traffic two dozen floors below.

Skye added, “I’ll meet you at the Dallas News studio to record the GMA segment and then we may or may not have to stop by the arena for—”

Azzi cut in smoothly, “Actually, can you just text me everything?”

Skye blinked in slight shock, caught mid sentence. “Uh yeah, sure of course.”

Katie, who was a little oblivious, kept going. “Just make sure you stretch tonight honey. You’re not gonna want to be stiff tomorrow morning after all the drills you—”

Azzi’s voice cut in again casually. “I know mom, I got it.” Azzi looked toward Paige and she was still seemingly entertained by the windows, not caring about the conversation going on behind her. Azzi silently thanked the universe that Paige wasn’t nosey. 

“Ok we’ll get out of your hair. Call if you need anything,” Katie said.

Azzi nodded, leaning down to give her mom a hug. Katie kissed her cheek, then turned to Paige. “It was really nice meeting you, Paige.”

Paige turned around, the city still glittering behind her. “Pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

Katie gave her a warm smile before stepping toward the elevator with Skye. When the two of them left it left the apartment quieter and the energy a little lighter.

“You want something to drink?”

Paige wandered back toward the island. “Some cold water would be amazing.”

Azzi pulled a glass from the cabinet and walked to the refrigerator to fill it with cold water. Her back was to Paige but her awareness was trained entirely on her presence. The air felt different with Paige in her space. 

When she turned around and held the glass out, Paige took it saying, “Thank you,” their fingers brushing in the exchange.

Azzi watched as Paige brought the glass to her lips, tilted her head back slightly, throat bobbing as she drank. Her lashes fluttered before they settled and when she lowered the glass her eyes flicked toward Azzi.

“You alright?” Paige asked when she noticed Azzi looking.

Azzi blinked, realizing she’d been caught staring and all of a sudden she felt more like a schoolgirl with a crush than the 24 year old millionaire she was. “Yeah,” she said, trying to shake off the giddy feeling, adding a joke to mask the truth, “you just drink water a little dramatically, didn’t realize that was a thing.”

Paige grinned. “Is that so?”

Azzi shrugged as she moved to one of the seats at the island, adding some space to calm her chest but not too much. Her smile stayed put even as she looked down at the smooth marble countertop. “Apparently so.”

The space got quiet again, but it wasn’t empty. Their energy, whatever it was, hung between them. Azzi’s apartment, typically completely spacious and serene, suddenly felt smaller, cozier.

Paige watched Azzi in a way that made the younger girl more aware of herself. Her hands, her breathing, the way her foot tapped against the footrest of the stool. After a few seconds, Paige noticed her fidgeting a little so she asked, “Am I making you uncomfortable, sweetheart?”

Azzi’s eyes flew up. “No,” she said, maybe too quickly. Then she calmed her voice. “No, not at all.”

Paige continued to study her, patience in her eyes. “What is it then?”

Azzi rested her chin on the palm of her hand, fingers curled under her jaw. “You just have a…presence.” 

Paige nodded.

Azzi’s gaze dropped, then moved back up. She looked a little embarrassed, like even trying to explain was making her feel more than she wanted to. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Everything on the farm felt natural. Like I knew how to just be around you there. Now you’re here, in my space, and it’s different because I’m different here. It’s not bad just—” she let out a long breath. “I don’t fully remember how we moved around each other but I want to. I’ve been excited about this. I just guess I’m a little in my head.”

Paige’s eyes softened at her in a way that made Azzi’s chest ache again. “There’s no right or wrong way to act around me, sweetheart,” she said. “You don’t gotta perform or be anything you don’t wanna be. Just tell me what you need.”

“I kinda wanted a hug when you got here.”

Paige set her glass down on the counter before walking around the island. Azzi stood up when she got close, like her body had been waiting for an excuse to move toward Paige.

She relaxed into Paige arms like warm tea meeting the base of a hoarse sore throat. Soothing in a way that felt necessary for her survival. The cool air conditioning whispering through the apartment highlighted just how warm Paige’s body was against hers. Azzi closed her eyes and let her head rest on Paige’s shoulder.

Paige kept her hands in the middle of Azzi’s back, rubbing her thumb between her shoulder blades. “We gotta get you to slow down in the city too, darlin’,” she whispered, her voice close enough to Azzi’s ear to vibrate through her chest.

Azzi smiled into the hug. “Think I might need you to teach me how.”

Paige chuckled under her breath. “First step’s already done.” 

Azzi gave Paige a quick squeeze before pulling back, her hands trailing down Paige’s arms before falling to her own sides. She took a step back, eyes skimming over Paige again with a small grin. “So this is your version of dressing up, hm?” she teased. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything besides a white tee or a tank top. The flannel’s definitely a nice surprise.”

“That’s ‘cause 85% of my closet is plain tees. The other 15% is…flannels and other shirts I wear when someone fancy invites me to the city.”

Azzi laughed at the concept of being fancy. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Still charming,” Paige said, with a grin.

Azzi didn’t bother denying it as she moved back to her seat at the island, gesturing for Paige to do the same. “Unfortunately we picked a weekend that’s a little packed for me tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I heard. Seems you’re a busy woman darlin’.”

Azzi laughed, the sound angelic to Paige’s ears. “If it’s okay with you, I want you to come with me tomorrow. See what my day to day looks like.”

There was a very brief Paise before Paige asked, “Is that something you’d want?”

Azzi looked at her understanding the question wasn’t as surface level as it seemed. Paige didn’t care for the logistics of the whole thing. She wanted to know if Azzi was ready to open her up to that part of her life. 

Azzi’s tone was more curious than accusatory when she asked, “Why haven’t you ever asked me what I do? Or looked into it for that matter.”

“Because if it was somethin you wanted to dictate how we interacted you’d tell me on your own accord.”

“I play basketball,” Azzi said plainly. “Professionally I mean.”

Paige nodded, storing that fact about Azzi with the rest of them. Azzi kept going. “I’m in the WNBA, which I’m sure you probably don’t care about but my first season ended not too long ago. Right before I ended up on the farm actually.”

Paige grinned at Azzi’s small ramble before offering a simple, “That’s amazing Azzi.”

Azzi nodded once, but her smile didn’t come and she kept rambling a little. “It is and it isn’t. It’s been my dream my entire life. But it’s also been a little exhausting. Like, for the past year every part of me has been stretched thin. My body, mind, everything.”

She squeezed the bridge of her nose with two fingers to calm herself down. “The travel, the overnight change in the life and people I’ve known since I was 18, the spotlight, expecting to save a franchise overnight…all of it just moves so fast. Sometimes it feels like I don’t even get to just be in the life I worked so hard for. I’m just constantly managing it. Trying to stay afloat so my name isn’t in headlines for not living up to expectations.”

Paige leaned back in the chair to keep her posture open. “Is that why you’ve been avoidin it with me?”

Azzi nodded. “Part of it is just—” She paused, trying to figure out what she wanted to say fully. “I wanted to experience being with someone who didn’t know anything about that version of me. I just wanted to be Azzi with you. Doing that has given me some of the best days I’ve had in a really long time.”

Paige smiled at her, wanting to reach out to touch her but deciding to keep her hands to herself. “Then you’ll always just be Azzi with me, yeah?”

Azzi’s smile came slowly when she heard Paige say that, like it had to let the seed be planted and bloom through her chest before she fully processed it. 

“You successfully ridin Rosie is probably more impressive than anything else in my book anyway,” Paige added to lighten Azzi’s eyes.

That made Azzi snort which caused a loud laugh to burst from her chest as she exhaled the tension she was holding in her shoulders.

Azzi leaned back against her chair, warmth pooling in her brown eyes. “Are you hungry? I can cook for you.”

Paige smiled at the offer. “How about you go get a little comfortable first?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, pushing herself upright as her hoops shimmered under the kitchen lights. “What, you don’t like me in this?”

Paige caught the bait easily, but she didn’t play into it the way she knew Azzi. Instead, she softened her voice, intending to make her words sound as genuine as possible as she looked at Azzi.  “You’d look lovely in anything, beautiful. I just want you to be comfortable in your own home before you start tendin’ to me is all.”

The words made Azzi go still for a second. Before her fingers started playing with the strings of the cropped hoodie a little nervously her smile bashful now that Paige moved past every version of flirting she knew hot to deflect. She bit her bottom lip before whispering, “I’ll be right back.”

When Azzi came back to the kitchen her curls were looser and her skin was bare skin bare. She had on a slightly oversized t-shirt and short cotton shorts. Her face showed her youth without the makeup.

Paige was sitting on the couch, her body angled toward the melting skyline. The city shimmered through the windows, soft purples and deepening blue streaked with gold as the sun dipped lower behind the other buildings.

Azzi’s voice traveled from behind her. “You like the view?��

Paige smiled at the glass before she turned her head. “I do now.”

Azzi flushed just enough to notice it, brushing past it huffing as she walked into the kitchen. She washed her hands under the faucet, drying them before opening the fridge and scanning the shelves.

By the time she stood back up with a few ingredients in her hand, Paige had moved from the couch to the kitchen, rolling her sleeves up.

“What are you doing?”

Paige was at the sink washing her hands. “I’m helpin’ you cook.”

Azzi was already shaking her head no. “You don’t need to do that.”

“You wanna cook alone while I just sit around in your apartment, sweetheart?” Paige said. Her voice had that familiar southern twang that made Azzi feel like she was standing in a field somewhere rather than in the middle of a luxury high rise. Paige dried her hands casually, keeping her eyes on Azzi. “Doesn’t feel right to me.”

Azzi crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. “If I remember that’s exactly what you made me do at the farm.”

Paige tilted her head, grinning. “That was different.”

“Was it?”

“Yes ma’am I was lettin’ you show off those fine manners of yours sitting at my table.”

Azzi squinted her eyes, giving Paige a skeptical look before she handed her a cutting board. “Mmm I see. Well we’re making tomato sauce, so…” She gestured vaguely toward Paige’s chest. “You might wanna lose the shirt.” 

Both of Paige’s eyebrows lifted in shock. But she was always one to follow directions so she stepped toward the island and turned away, tugging the flannel off first, before she pulled the white tee over her head. That left her in a black sports bra, and her jeans that were low enough to show the band of her Calvin’s at her waist.

Azzi looked away immediately, staring a little too hard at the tomatoes on the counter. Suddenly peeling garlic was the most important thing in the world.

“You alright over there?”

Azzi nodded, still not looking up. “Yeah, fine. Just don’t blame me if you get splashed in the stomach.”

Paige laughed, stepping next to her and picking up the knife. “Yes ma’am.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, “Stop calling me that.”

Paige chuckled.

As they cooked they fell into an easy flow without needing to speak too much. Azzi handed Paige things she needed chopped and Paige picked up on Azzi’s movements and what she needed like she’d watch her move around a kitchen in a thousand lifetimes. 

There was fresh pasta dough resting under a cloth and when it was ready Azzi rolled it out on the floured counter while Paige shaped the turkey meatballs. Early on Azzi realized she needed to be slick when it came to handing Paige the vegetables after sliding her zucchini and putting spinach in the pot. 

Paige had suspiciously eyed the growing pile of greens. “How many vegetables you plan on sliding to me?”

Azzi smirked, not looking up. “You’re not getting out of it so just go ahead and cut them.”

Paige grinned. “You gonna tell me you’re putting kale in there too?”

Azzi didn’t answer, just added another handful of spinach into the sauce with a smile on her face.

While the meatballs were browning in the pan, Azzi reached for her phone to put on some music, soft R&B floating through her built-in speakers throughout the apartment.

Azzi started to hum under her breath while Paige wiped her hands on a towel and leaned against the counter to watch Azzi slot the pasta through the machine.

When Azzi turned around to stir the sauce she took note of Paige looking at her. “You’ve done this before,” Azzi said, glancing at the uniform shape of the meatballs sizzling in a pan.

Paige shrugged modestly. “Used to help my grandma make fresh pasta every few Sundays. We didn’t do turkey though, that’s all you.”

Azzi smiled, her eyes softening as she glanced over at Paige. “Did she teach you everything?”

“Yeah mostly,” Paige said quietly. “Taught me a lot of what I know. Being kind, respectful, takin’ care of folks who need takin’ care of.”

Azzi nodded, making sure she kept her eyes on Paige to let her know she was listening. “I wish I could’ve met her.”

Paige’s smile was faint. “I’m sure she would’ve loved you. Tell you all about how amazing you are every chance she’d get.”

After Paige said that a moment lingered between them. It was a little more taut than usual and neither one of them wanted to be the one to break it. There was something comforting about the moment, in the way both of them just wanted to exist in it.

But then a bit of sauce splattered up from the pot and landed on Paige’s stomach making her flinch at the stinging sensation.

Azzi laughed as she pointed at Paige. “See?! Your shirt would’ve been ruined.”

Paige chuckled, wiping the spot with a napkin “Might’ve been worth it over getting popped.”

Azzi grabbed the bundle of pasta and dropped it into the pot of boiling water, the steam rising and curling around her jawline. “Fresh pasta only takes a few minutes,” she said to Paige. “So it should be done soon.”

Paige reached into a cabinet and pulled out two plates. “These okay?”

“Perfect.”

Azzi turned off the heat and wiped her hands on a towel. “Go sit,” she said, nodding toward the general direction of her table.

Paige nodded before going to discover the dining area.

When she found it the table was the perfect size for maybe six people and she could tell it was made of rich dark wood. There was a muted olive runner that went across the middle and overhead there was a glass chandelier that spilled down from the ceiling.

The artwork on the walls was a mix of aesthetic memories. There were a few framed black and white pictures of what looked like memories. Azzi with friends, family, teammates. The apartment’s wide windows allowed for light to stretch into this portion of the house, letting in the last of the sky's watercolor hues.

Paige was still taking everything in when Azzi walked over holding two plates and a bottle. Azzi put the plate in front of Paige first, then set down a cold Lone Star next to it.

Paige’s eyes flicked to the bottle, then up to Azzi’s face. “You got beer for me?”

Azzi shrugged, trying not to put too much attention on the fact. “Figured I should have something for you to drink besides water.”

Paige leaned back in her chair to stretch her arms above her head, unable to hide her smile. “That’s real thoughtful of you. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Azzi sat down across from her, reaching for her fork. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t tasted the food yet.”

Paige kept her eyes on Azzi as she picked up her fork. “I got the strange feelin’ that I’m gonna like everything you feed me.”

Azzi’s cheeks warmed at where her brain went before she took her first bite to distract herself, letting the silence settle between them. 

For the most part dinner wasn’t too eventful. They talked about Azzi’s day before Paige got there and Paige’s drive to the city. When that was done they talked about whatever came to mind, just basking in the presence of one another again. When they were eating Azzi stood up first and grabbed their plates. 

“Let me take that,” Paige offered. 

Azzi shook her head no.

“You sure?”

Azzi smiled. “Yes I’m sure. Go take a shower and wind down. I put towels in the guest room for you.”

Paige squinted at her, about to say something but Azzi spoke before she could. “Don’t be hard headed.” 

Paige grinned, deciding not to fight Azzi on it anymore as she pushed her chair back. “Alright then, yes ma’am.” Azzi threw a napkin at her back as she walked away, making Paige laugh.

Azzi walked toward the kitchen to start cleaning up. She rinsed everything in the sink before sliding them into the dishwasher. When she turned around to wipe off the counters, she saw Paige’s shoes by the elevator and her shirts draped over one of the island chairs. The simpleness of it all made her smile. The small evidence that Paige was here in her space. 

The dishwasher hummed lowly, the only rhythm inside the quiet home. Most of the lights were off, except for the lamp next to the couch that gave the living room a soft pool of light. Azzi was curled into the corner of the large sectional as she read. It was a book she’d read before but she kept returning to it, finding something new to love about it each time.

The city outside the windows was quieter now, distant headlights flickering like fireflies instead of angry wasps in traffic. 

She heard the door to the guest room open before Paige made her way toward the living room. Azzi glanced up from the book when Paige came into view towel drying her hair the smell of eucalyptus drifting behind her.

“Hey,” Paige said quietly, coming around the couch.

Azzi dog eared her page. “Hey.”

“Just comin to say goodnight.” Paige hovered for a second before sitting on the couch next to Azzi, leaving a respectful amount of space between them.

Azzi smiled gently. “The shower was alright?”

“Fresh as I’ll ever be.” Paige nodded toward the book in her lap. “What’re you readin’?”

Azzi held it up for her to see.

Paige squinted at the cover before grinning. “Is that the one you said makes you cry every time you read it?”

Azzi laughed through her nose. “Maybe.”

Paige hummed and leaned back, looking toward the windows.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Azzi said, almost out of nowhere.

Paige looked at her, memorizing the way she looked under the warm glow of the lamp. Then she smiled. “I am too.” She stood up after that, stretching her arms back again. “I’ll get outta your way. Long day tomorrow, right?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah.”

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

“You too, Paige.”

Azzi watched until Paige disappeared down the hall, the sound of the door closing behind her. She sat there for a few more minutes, letting her heart move slow without any interruptions. Eventually, she turned off the lamp and walked toward her room, ready to call it a night.

…

It was around 11:30PM, but Paige still couldn’t fall asleep.

She was laying on her back in the guest room, eyes tracing the lights that bled through the windows. The blinds were drawn, but they weren’t blackout so the slats could only do so much to dim the city lights. A car horn blared in the distance, and Paige’s eyebrows furrowed. She rolled onto her side and pulled the covers tighter around herself. Then she rolled onto her back again. Then her other side.

Paige was used to complete darkness and silence so full if you listened close enough you could hear the insects breathing. Even the air was different in the city; a lot less still, wired by electricity.

She let out a long exhale and stared at the ceiling for a few more minutes. Eventually, the restlessness won and she slipped out of bed. Her bare feet padded across the cool floors as she walked to the kitchen for some water, hoping to find peace in another area of the apartment.

Paige was surprised when she saw that Azzi was still awake. The living room light was off, but the glow from the kitchen under cabinet lights spilled out to outline her silhouette. Azzi was curled into the same corner of the couch with a cup cradled in her hands. Her gaze was distant until she noticed Paige step into view.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Paige offered her a sheepish grin. “Didn’t realize how loud the world can be when you’re used to only hearin’ crickets.”

Azzi nodded. “I get that.”

Paige’s eyes moved over Azzi slowly before glancing down at herself in just a sports bra and boxers. “I’m sorry. If I knew you were still up, I would’ve put more on,” she said, brushing a hand across her arm, suddenly aware of how bare she was.

Azzi waved her off. “You’re fine. It’s your house too this weekend.”

Paige smiled at that and sat down, keeping a few inches of cushion between them. “What’s goin’ on with you, sweetheart?”

Azzi hesitated before offering a shrug. “Just cold by myself in my room. Trying to warm up.”

The answer felt simple but the way Azzi said it hinted at a different meaning so Paige didn’t push. She just nodded, letting the silence hold what didn’t need to be said out loud.

She tilted her chin toward the mug in Azzi’s hands. “That’s the yerbamante you always drinking?” Her accent curled around the words making Azzi laugh and lean her head back against the couch. 

“Yerba Mate,” Azzi corrected. “And no, it’s not, thank you very much. This is just chamomile.”

Paige grinned at her, swiping her tongue across her bottom lip.

Azzi turned to look at her as she sipped from her cup. “You want me to make you some? It’ll help you sleep.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Paige said, her tone reflecting her gratitude.

Azzi gave her a soft smile and pushed herself up from the couch. She moved through the kitchen to pull down a second mug before pouring warm water into it from the kettle. She glanced over her shoulder. “You want anything in it? Honey, lemon, agave?”

Paige looked at her from the couch. “No need for all that extra stuff ’M sure the way you made it is perfect.”

Azzi finished steeping the tea with a smile on her face that she failed to hide. Once she was done she brought the second mug over, handing it to Paige with both hands.

“Thank you darlin,” Paige whispered.

Azzi sat down a little closer this time making their knees bump a little when she got comfortable. 

Paige lifted the mug to take a sip and Azzi’s eyes lingered on her, catching something beneath the hem of her sports bra right near her ribs. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Azzi said.

Paige looked down, usually forgetting it was there. “Matthew 25:35–40,” she answered, putting her mug down for a second on the table. She lifted the band of her sports bra for Azzi to see the delicate cursive along her skin.

Azzi’s eyes traced the verse. “What does it mean?”

“ ‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you invited me in. Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”

Azzi looked at her for a while like something clicked into place for her at that moment. Instead of voicing her own thoughts she said, “I’ve noticed religion’s important to you.”

“It’s helped me with a lot,” Paige said. “Part of how I was raised with my grandmother. I feel like a lot of religion is just helpin’ people, being honest and livin with the right intentions. I live by those things more than anything. Try to, anyway I mean.”

Azzi’s eyes didn’t leave her. “I can tell,” she said softly.

Paige grinned while a faint blush rose up her neck. “You’re flatterin’ me.”

“I’m not.”

Paige noticed their lingering gazes becoming more common but she held it before she looked away, just from needing a second to breathe. They both sipped their tea, not bothered by the silence as they looked out the window.

After about five minutes or so Azzi spoke first. “Have you ever had a serious relationship?”

Paige shifted to get more comfortable causing them to get a little closer as she subtly leaned toward Azzi.

“I fell for the whole high school sweetheart thing,” Paige said, laughing a little. “Y’know the way everybody likes to do in the South. We were friends first, grew up together. I asked her to homecomin my sophomore year.”

Azzi sipped her tea as she listened.

“Stayed together all through high school and most of my first year of college. At that point we were together for the comfort of knowin somebody and we both realized it. Ended things before it could get messy.”

Paige reached for her mug again, taking a sip before she kept going. “Never really met anyone after that cause of the whole college scene.”

“Too many keg stands?” Azzi asked, leaning her head back on the back of the couch but turning to look at Paige.

Paige grinned at her. “Something like that. I just respected women too much to pretend I didn’t care about ‘em for a night. That whole scene never sat right with me.”

Azzi let out a quiet snort. “You’re a rare one.”

Paige shrugged like she didn’t think it was much. “Once I got settled on the farm, all the elders made it their personal goal to marry me off. Mrs. Emory swore up and down she had the perfect girl for me.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What happened with that one?”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “Never got around to meetin’ her.” Paige leaned back against the couch and turned her head sideways at Azzi. Their positions mirrored each other before she kept going. “Then this brown eyed girl from Dallas got stuck in the country and changed her mind.”

Azzi blinked, a smile pulling at her muscles before Paige finished the sentence.

“Said I should focus on gettin’ to know her instead.”

Azzi’s smile came slowly. Something flickering in her eyes as Paige’s words took shape behind them. “And what do you think about that?”

Paige didn’t rush to answer. Opting to look at Azzi from this new angle instead. The curve of her cheekbone in the low lighting, the faint crease between her eyebrows that always showed when she was trying to hold herself still. Paige gave her a small smile when she was done, meeting her gaze. “I think I’m way outta my league but everything I’ve gotten to know about her so far has shown me how incredible she is.”

“I don’t think anybody could be out of your league,” Azzi said, eyes locked on Paige like she couldn’t look away if she wanted to.

They sat in that mirrored position for a while just watching one another, a silent conversation passing between them. Azzi’s eyes dipped to Paige’s lips before immediately coming back up, just in time to catch the way Paige’s gaze softened.

Their bodies leaned in by muscle memory alone before Paige paused. She whispered considering how close Azzi’s face was to hers. “I can’t kiss you, darlin’.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted, her tone matching the furrow between them. “Why not?”

Paige took in a slow breath. “’Cause I was raised with manners and because I respect you.”

Azzi tilted her head closer, grinning as she whispered, “I think kissing me is probably the most respectful thing you could do right now.”

That pulled a laugh from the back of Paige’s throat. She reached out, brushing her fingers against Azzi’s temple to tuck a loose curl behind her ear.

Azzi closed her eyes for just a second, leaning into the touch without thinking. That small motion made Paige’s fingers linger longer than she needed to. The softness of Azzi’s skin, the warmth now radiating off of her grounded Paige, held her there for a few extra heartbeats. “You should get some rest,” she murmured, almost like she didn’t fully want to say it. “Long day tomorrow, right?”

Azzi opened her eyes and gave the smallest nod, keeping her gaze on Paige as she pulled her hand away.

Paige gave her a gentle smile before she got up from the couch. She leaned down to press a tender kiss to the area right where Azzi’s hairline met her forehead. When Paige straightened her posture she picked up both of their mugs with one hand and carried them to the kitchen. 

When she got back she paused at the edge of the couch. “Good night.” 

Azzi’s voice met hers like a whisper on a still lake. “Good night, Paige.”

…

A few hours later, the world was cloaked in early morning fog when Paige stepped out of the guest room. She had on washed Abercrombie & Fitch camo pants and of course a plain white tee shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a low, messy bun and she’d thrown a trucker hat over it. Her glasses in place instead of her usual contacts with how early it was.

Azzi was barefoot in the kitchen with sweatpants and a cropped shirt on. Her face bare and somehow more beautiful in the early morning.

They met each other’s eyes across the open space, both of them wearing a sleepy smile, reserved for people who felt good in each other’s presence before words left their mouths.

Paige’s voice was a little horse still when she said, “Good mornin’ sweetheart.”

Azzi handed her a tall glass as soon as she was close enough. “Morning.” 

Paige took the green smoothie, holding it at eye level as she inspected it.

Azzi laughed when she saw what Paige was doing. “Don’t start,” she warned. “Just drink it.”

Paige side eyed her a little, but the corners of her mouth twitched as she brought the glass to her lips taking a cautious sip of the smoothie. When it landed on her tongue she pulled the glass away squinting at it again. “You put kale in this?”

“I did.”

Paige sighed dramatically, sitting down at one of the island stools. “Figures.”

Azzi leaned back against the counter, watching Paige take another sip despite herself.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Paige asked.

“I have a small recorded segment for GMA at the Dallas News Studio” she said, ticking it off on her fingers. “Might have to do a shoot for next season’s jerseys but that’s still up in the air. Then just a few quick endorsement videos for a skincare brand, and I think that’s it. Unless Skye decides to slide something else on my calendar last minute like she loves to do.”

“You said ‘I think that’s it’ like that’s not already a full day.”

Azzi shrugged, picking up her own smoothie to finish it. “I’m used to it.”

When she was done she placed the glass in the sink. “By the way, they had to schedule a car to pick us up. I still haven’t gotten the oil changed on mine.”

Paige raised her eyebrow. “The oil I told you to change two weeks ago?”

“I’m just a girl,” Azzi said, smiling to flash her dimples.

Paige hummed. “You are. But we can just take the truck.”

Azzi opened her mouth to object, but Paige kept going. “If we’ve got time later, I’ll change your oil for you and rotate your tires.”

“You don’t have to do all that. I can just hire someone like I was supposed to.”

“I know you can,” Paige said, standing up to rinse her glass. “But I’m here so I can do it.”

It was too early for Azzi to argue so she just agreed for the sake of seeing Paige fixing her car again. Azzi canceled the chauffeur for the morning and they stepped into the elevator. Azzi leaned against the wall, scrolling on her phone while Paige stood next to her with her hands in her pockets.

When they got off Paige walked ahead of Azzi slightly, unlocking the truck as she walked toward the passenger side. She pulled the door open and offered Azzi her hand. Azzi smiled at the gesture, slipping her hand into Paige’s, letting her help her step up into the truck. Once Azzi was settled, Paige shut the door and walked toward the driver's side.

…

After about 20 minutes of driving Paige eased the truck to a stop in front of the valet stand. Before the attendant could come out of the building, she was getting out and walking around to open the door for Azzi again.

Azzi looked down at her with a smile when she saw Paige offer her hand again. “You know I can get out of a truck by myself, right?”

Paige grinned at her. “I’m sure you can but that’s not the point.”

Azzi just slipped her hand into Paige’s and let her help her down.

Inside the building, Skye was waiting near the elevator, scrolling through something on her phone with her planner tucked under one arm. She looked up when she heard Azzi walk in. 

“You’re late,” she said in a tone that was more of a reflex than real annoyance. “Morning.”

Azzi was used to her friend's rigidness when it came to scheduling. “Good morning.”

Paige slowed down to greet her properly, her manners showing despite everyone else being in a bit of a frenzy. “Good mornin.’ How are you?”

Skye glanced back, momentarily surprised by the courtesy. “I’m good, thanks. Hope y’all got some sleep.”

All three of them stepped into the elevator. Paige stood near the back with her hands in her pockets watching the floor numbers tick up. Azzi was standing right in front of her toward the side a little bit as her fingers flew across her phone screen as she responded to texts. It wasn’t intentional, but the space between her and Paige was pretty narrow and Azzi barely noticed how every time she sent a message her arm brushed against Paige’s chest. 

Azzi glanced up from her phone to see Skye shooting her a subtle look. She had one eyebrow raised and her eyes flicked from Paige to Azzi for emphasis. Azzi blinked at her waiting for her to say something, but she never said anything, just went back to her own phone.

The elevator opened and as soon the three of them walked to Azzi’s glam room it was filled with energy. Hair and makeup were already there with their carts turning on vanity lights. Her stylist was unzipping garment bags and putting pieces on racks and there were a couple of BTS cameras already stationed throughout the room. 

Azzi stepped in first, offering a few good mornings to all the familiar faces. She made her way to the chair centered in front of the vanity and set her bag down on the table.

Behind her Paige moved a lot slower as her eyes scanned the room as she tried to make sense of a world that moved a few clicks faster than what she was used to. She didn’t seem in the midst of it all but anyone looking from the outside could see the contrast in her calm presence versus the fury of the room around her.

Azzi turned around and saw Paige looking around. She smiled at her before calling her name to get her attention. “You can sit here,” she said, gesturing to the seat next to hers.

Before Azzi could say more, Skye walked up to her, tilting her head to a quieter part of the room. “Let me talk to you real quick.” Azzi looked confused but followed her anyway. 

Skye lowered her voice to keep what she needed to say between them. “What’s going on there?” she asked, referring to Paige, who had just picked up a newspaper that was sitting on the table.

Azzi kept her expression neutral for once. “Nothing.”

“Uh huh. Do we need an NDA?”

“No.”

Skye looked slightly unconvinced. “Are you sure? We’re going to be doing a lot that’s not necessarily public today. You trust the extra eyes one hundred percent?”

Azzi turned her head and couldn’t help the big grin that pulled at her face when she saw Paige reading the comic section of the paper. “Paige?”

Paige perked up when she heard Azzi call her name. “Yeah?”

“Where’s your phone?”

Paige patted her pockets with both hands, narrowing her eyes when she didn’t feel it. She looked back at Azzi with a sheepish grin. “I might’ve left it at your place. Too busy drinkin that kale.”

Azzi laughed telling her it was fine before she turned back toward Skye. “See? No NDA necessary. In case you can’t tell she’s more of the off the grid type.”

After Skye was satisfied Azzi went back to sit in her chair as the glam team got to work. One of them started sectioning off her curls while the makeup artist patted moisturizer into her skin. A mellow playlist was playing from someone’s speaker to fill the space.

For the first thirty minutes or so no one really spoke considering how early it was. Azzi scrolled through her phone absently while Paige read through each section of the newspaper. She was such a stark contrast to everything around them that Azzi had to sneak a picture. When she was done she put her phone on her lap before getting Paige’s attention. “You’re such an old man.”

Paige looked up from the paper smiling at Azzi. “How else am I supposed to keep up with what’s goin’ on in the world?”

“I don’t know, maybe joining the 21st century like everybody else?”

Paige leaned back in the chair, shaking her head. “Old fashioned way’s always better. Doesn’t have a phone yellin’ in my pocket every five minutes.”

Azzi was about to tell Paige about DND when her stylist came over holding a binder full of wardrobe options. “Pick a few of your favorites for today.” 

Azzi took it and flipped through it slowly. She looked at a couple of the options closer than others before she turned the binder toward Skye. “What’s your favorite?”

Skye didn’t even need to look up from her phone, already knowing the options. “The fitted cream jacket, page nine.”

Azzi flipped to it and nodded. Then she turned toward Paige and swiveled the binder in her direction. “Alright, your turn. Which one do you like?”

Paige gave her a charming smile. “I like whichever one you like.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “That’s not what I asked you.”

Paige shrugged, folding the newspaper in half and putting it on her lap. “Which one do you like?”

Azzi flipped through a few pages before she landed on the one that caught her attention.  “This one. The pastel blue vest is nice.”

Paige leaned forward, taking another look. “Alright let me see it again.”

Azzi turned the binder back toward her and Paige pointed at the same light blue vest she had chosen two seconds ago. “I love this one,” she said grinning.

“You’re just picking that one because I did.”

Paige didn’t have any reason to deny it as she nodded. “You’re the one wearin’ it. If you like it I love it and that’s what you should put on.”

Azzi bit her bottom lip hard, fighting off the smile that tried to bloom. Her brown eyes stayed on Paige until her head was turned by her hairstylist.

“I want the cream pants and the light blue tweed vest,” she called out to her stylist.

Even though Azzi couldn’t see the stylist nod she was already pulling the pieces off the rack. Once she saw how the two pieces complemented one another she started laying out jewelry to add to the look.

Azzi snuck a quick glance to Paige as she went back to the paper in her lap.

Once Azzi’s glam was fully done a production assistant approached her with a black mic pack that they clipped to the back of her pants. 

“Are you nervous?” Paige asked from behind Azzi’s chair, sipping on a bottle of water. 

Azzi glanced at her through the mirror. “For what?”

Paige shrugged. “I don’t know sweetheart. All the cameras, random questions, all these people buzzin’ around you like bees in a jar.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath, eyes softening a little at Paige’s innocence about it all. “I’m used to it at this point. But I don’t hate having you here to calm my nerves.”

That made Paige smile like a kid on Christmas morning. 

In the middle of the conversation a stylist approached with some heels in her hand ready to bend down to put them on for Azzi. “You want me to—”

“I can do it,” Paige interrupted politely, already moving in front of Azzi who had stood up to put them on herself. Azzi closed her eyes to stop her reeling brain when she saw Paige kneel in front of her, pulling the stuffing paper out of the heels. Azzi opened her mouth to say something but her voice had gone quiet so she just closed it. 

Paige held Azzi’s calf softly as she slid on the first heel, Azzi’s hand coming to rest on Paige’s shoulder to keep her balance. Her fingertips curled into the cotton of Paige’s shirt as she held on.

Once both heels were on, Paige looked up from where she was kneeled and found Azzi’s eyes already on her. Azzi’s hand was still holding onto her shoulder even though both legs were even now and the physical touch along with the positioning made the air between them a little tense.

Skye cleared her throat from the other side of the room silently reminding Azzi that there were people not a part of her personal team moving around the area.

Azzi blinked and broke the stare before she straightened her posture and took a small step back, rubbing her palms on her thighs as she did. Paige stood up next, stepping back to give her more space.

Azzi turned on her heel, doing a slow spin in place, a grin forming as she looked over her shoulder. “Well how do I look?”

Paige grinned, tilting her head as she "assessed" Azzi’s outfit. “Folks at GMA don’t know their mornin’s about to be graced by an angel.”

Azzi’s face and neck warmed as she dropped her chin, trying to hide her smile behind her hand. “Stop,” she mumbled under her breath, laughing as she turned away from Paige. 

“I’m serious.”

“Azzi, cameras are ready,” Skye said as she ran through a list in her head before Azzi walked out. 

Azzi nodded as she started walking to the door but she realized halfway there her phone was still in her hand. She turned around and took a few quick steps back to Paige. “Can you hold this for me please?”

Paige took and slid it into her pocket. “Good luck out there.”

Azzi smiled and gave Paige a quick wink before she was turning around and walking through the door. Rolling her shoulders back as she got herself ready to be in front of a camera. 

As soon as Azzi’s segment started it was clear she was someone born to be in front of a camera. She was a natural in every sense; poised without being stiff and full of charisma that made even the scripted moments feel personal. Her energy was just always contagious, allowing her to make the most polished sets feel warm and personal.

One of the hosts smiled, turning toward her. “So, first of all, Azzi, what a season. You’ve been everywhere lately, and your rookie season was just absolutely incredible. What’s been the biggest lesson or takeaway for you this year?”

Azzi nodded as she listened, her fingers laced in her lap. “Honestly…I think this season just taught me how to lead in a new way. Not just on the court, but off of it. I’m not the loudest in a room but there were moments where I had to trust my voice more, learn how to balance being present for my team while also protecting myself and what I needed.”

The other host chimed in, “And physically, I mean wow, you looked stronger than ever. As a rookie you were out there giving vets what you guys like to call, ‘welcome to the league moments.’ How are you feeling now?”

Azzi chuckled. “I feel good. Tired but in the best way. I gave everything I had to the season because that’s really the only way I know how to play.”

“Fair enough,” the host said. “So how did you wind down after it was all wrapped up? We see you everywhere these days doing events left and right. How do you recharge?”

Azzi’s smile was completely genuine and natural from this question. “I actually spent some time out of the city,” she said “It was amazing…a sort of reset from the rest of the world. Definitely something I’m going to try to do more often.”

“Oh? What was your favorite part?”

There was a pause before she answered, her brain naturally going one direction before she had to pivot to a PR response. “I, uh…I learned I’m actually kind of good at riding a horse,” she said, laughing a little. “So that’s definitely something I plan on doing again.”

Behind the cameras, Paige leaned against a wall with her arms crossed. When Azzi said that she grinned a little from the corner of her mouth, as she stored that new information away. Skye, who was standing nearby glanced at Paige but didn’t say anything.

The segment wrapped with a few more light questions. Azzi talked about how the fans in Dallas had immediately shown up for her, how the city had embraced her like one of its own. They touched on the community, the culture, the energy on game days and the new facility. She grinned when one of the anchors joked about the crowd chanting her name.

“We hear them every game,” Azzi said. “And I hear them. I really do. That kind of love sticks with you.”

“Clearly, Dallas is lucky to have you,” the host said as the segment began to fade out. “We’ll all be watching next season. Don’t keep us waiting too long.” Azzi gave the camera a smile and wave until they cut to another segment.

She stepped out of frame, relaxing her posture now that she was off air. Azzi saw Paige standing near the walk and started walking toward her.

Paige grinned and opened her mouth and Azzi just knew she was about to say something charming but she had to reach her hand out quickly to pause her.

“Wait hold on,” Azzi said, brushing her fingers over the mic still clipped to her vest. She turned toward one of the crew members nearby and pointed at the mic with an apologetic smile. “Can you take this off for me?”

They nodded, stepping forward to unclip the mic for her, coiling the wire and grabbing the transmitter. Once it was off Azzi turned back toward Paige and guided her back toward her glam room away from the buzz of the set.

She shut the door behind them and as soon as she sat on the couch she was pulling off her heels.  Paige sat in the armchair across from spreading her legs to get comfortable. When she smiled at Azzi, Azzi’s face mirrored herself immediately. “Can I flirt with you now?”

The door cracked open again and Skye slipped in. Her expression said enough for Azzi before she even spoke.

Azzi groaned and tipped her head back in frustration. Not only from interruption but whatever she knew was about to come out of Skye’s mouth. “What is it,” she said flatly.

“I moved around the shoot for the new jerseys and your endorsement recordings,” Skye said, walking further into the room.

“But…?”

Skye gave her a look that just almost passed for apologetic if Azzi hadn’t known her since college. “But you’re going to have to take Aziaha’s place at the event tonight. She can’t make it, and they need someone from the team to show face.”

Azzi rubbed her temples. “What kind of event?”

“Some league dinner thing. Media, sponsors, donors. Just the usual buttoned up crowd. You won’t have to stay long. Literally just wave at the camera when they mention the Wings, eat dinner and you can go. They just need someone there.” She paused, then added, “Preferably someone who didn’t have a negative plus minus this season, so...”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “You’re shady.”

Skye lifted her hands. “Just the messenger.”

Azzi sighed, leaning further into the couch like the weight of her day was starting to press on her like always. “What time is the event?”

“Carpet starts around 7:30. You don’t need to show up until eight,” Skye said, flipping to a page in her planner. “I’ll have glam come to your place around six-thirty so you don’t have to travel.”

Azzi nodded, already mentally shifting her schedule. “Paige needs styling.”

Paige looked completely caught off guard. “Wait, excuse me darlin’?”

Azzi turned to her. “You’re coming with me to the event.”

Paige sat up a little straighter, the corners of her mouth twitching because she wasn’t sure if she wanted to argue or smile. “You don’t need to worry about puttin’ clothes on me.”

Azzi tilted her head playfully. “Paige you didn’t bring anything other than flannels, carhartt shirts, and white tees.”

Paige grinned as she thought about it. “Ok that’s fair.”

Skye stopped herself from laughing, tapping a note into her phone. “I’ll make sure styling brings some options for her. Paige, how tall are you?”

Paige glanced at her. “’Round 6'1.”

Skye didn’t look up from her planner as she said, “Mmm. 6’1s tall.” She looked up pointedly at Azzi.

Azzi rolled her eyes, catching the implication but choosing not to dignify it.

“Alright like I said, I’ll have glam come to the loft around six-thirty. Actually I’m going to do six to give them some extra time. The car will be there by seven thirty, seven fourty-ish to give you time to pull up right at eight.” As she started heading for the door Skye added one more thing, “And Azzi don’t disappear before then. They already have your name on the lineup.”

Azzi waved her hand. “Yeah alright I’m not going anywhere.”

“Alright,” Skye said, halfway out the door. “I’ll talk to you tonight.”

Once the door shut behind her, Azzi let her head fall back against the couch and she let out a long sigh. Paige reached over and tapped her knee gently. “Still glad you brought me along?” 

Azzi cracked one of her eyes open, grinning despite her slight frustration. “Ask me again after I see what they dress you in.”

When Paige and Azzi stepped outside, Texas was starting to warm the pavement. The front of the studio had a small group of fans gathered behind a yellow tape barrier, a few holding signs while others started recording as soon as they saw Azzi.

Azzi paused next to Paige nodding toward them. “I’m just gonna go sign a few things.”

“Go ahead. I’ll get the truck.”

Paige walked off with Azzi’s bag just as the valet pulled up with the truck. The fans’ eyes briefly followed her before they returned their attention to Azzi.

As Azzi started signing things and taking pictures Paige leaned against the passenger door with her arms crossed. She looked up toward the sky trying to get some of the sun she’d been missing, content when she felt it warming her face.  

A few fans caught onto her being there with Azzi and discreetly angled their phones toward her. When Azzi finished speaking to everyone she gave the group a quick wave before she walked toward the truck. Paige opened the door for her, of course holding out her hand to help her get in. Azzi took it and stepped in mumbled a shy, “thank you,” holding Paige’s arm for balance. 

By the time the truck pulled off, the internet and fans had already done what they do best.

[X/Twitter Post - @/hoopstarzdaily] 📹| Azzi Fudd stopped to sign for fans outside the Dallas News studio this morning but who's that mystery girl helping her get in the truck? 👀🐎

💬 @/depressedwingsfan what’s the saying…save a horse, ride a cowboy 😭

💬 @/azfuddfan35 hold onnnn wasn’t she just on live TV talking about how she just learned how to ride a horse?? let me find out 👀

Inside the truck, Paige had one hand loosely on the wheel as they pulled away from the studio. “You gonna let me put some food in your stomach, sweetheart?”

Azzi turned to look at Paige. “You feeding me now?”

“I mean,” Paige shrugged, grinning, “I did just wake up at 4AM for you. Feels like the least you could do is let me feed you.”

“That logic’s questionable but ok.” After scrolling for a few minutes Azzi tapped on a spot and the car's map rerouted. “I’ve been craving this place.”

Paige checked the screen and nodded.

It only took a few more minutes before Paige was pulling into a small local spot with an outdoor walk up window. When they got their food in to-go containers Paige turned toward Azzi. “You mind if we eat out back?” she asked, nodding toward the truck bed. “Kinda miss bein’ out in the sun.”

Azzi looked amused at the concept of missing the Texas sun. “Yeah of course but you say that like you’ve been trapped underground for six years.”

Paige just grinned and popped the tailgate open. “Not underground. Just inside too long.”

She hopped into the trunk bed first putting the food down before she turned around to help Azzi step up. Azzi hesitated for a quick second, feeling like a damsel in Paige’s presence before remembering she was an athlete. She grabbed Paige’s hand and let her guide her up before settling next to her to open their food containers. 

The bed of the truck was warm underneath them after being hit by the Texas sun. The two of them always started in a quiet limbo so Azzi leaned back as she ate, enjoying the warmth hitting her skin. Paige was next to her with her shoes off and her long legs stretched out. She was as comfortable here as she’d be anywhere.

The city rarely let Azzi breathe. Being here usually meant constant movement for her. Always somewhere to be, someone to call, things to check off. Her days sped by her in 2x speed, her life pulled along by a current whether she was ready or not. But sitting in the back of the pickup truck with Paige next to her made everything feel still. Like the city had pressed pause for her so she could take a breath. So she could glide with the current instead of being consumed by it. 

Azzi didn’t know how Paige did it. How she made her feel so calm, subtly anchoring her to moments without being obvious about it. Azzi hadn’t even realized how tense she’d been until her shoulders relaxed when she felt the sun, how tight her chest felt until it eased open just from being around Paige.

The thought that Paige would be gone soon drifted to her consciousness. That she’d be right back to being everywhere and nowhere at once. Azzi shoved the thought aside before it could take shape.

She took another bite of her food before she glanced sideways. “So…” she said, casually, “is this a date?”

Paige turned her head toward Azzi grinning at the question as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You think I’d take you on a date and make you eat in the back of a pickup truck?”

Azzi laughed. “I mean you did pay for both of us.”

“That’s just manners.” Paige said, leaning back on her palms. “If this were a date, I’d be a whole lot more respectful.”

Azzi’s eyebrow arched, a little curious now. “Respectful?”

“Yeah. I’d pick you up properly, have some nice flowers for you, take you somewhere nice.”

“Ohh, so flowers are mandatory for our first date?”

“Absolutely,” Paige said, with a smile on her face at Azzi’s implication of their absolutely being a first date. “Big, bright ones too. Not those sad grocery store bouquets.”

Azzi laughed quietly as she went back to eating. Paige had finished already but she waited patiently for Azzi to finish her food.

When Azzi was done she wiped her hands before laying her head on Paige’s shoulder. “Is this okay?” Azzi asked softly. Her tone was a little unsure.

Paige angled her head toward Azzi. “’Course it is, sweetheart.”

They sat like that for a while, letting the sun warm their skin as the occasional car flew past. The moment felt like being outside of time, the world continuing on without them.

“Can I be honest with you?”

Paige nodded once. “Always.”

Azzi hesitated before just deciding to be honest, realizing there was no need to be overly polished. “I have feelings for you.”

“It’s weird,” she added quickly, not looking at Paige yet. “I mean I know we talk a lot but we’ve physically spent less than a week together. That’s not usually how I operate. I don’t do fast or feelings really…”

Paige looked down at her. “You’re not the only one feelin’ it. You know how I am. I take my time, move slow and let the world move around me.” She smiled in the middle of her words. “But you make my heart race like nobody’s business.”

Azzi let out a short laugh, the slight weight of the moment breaking to let some light in. “You’re such an old lady,” she teased, bumping her shoulder against Paige’s.

Paige laughed too, making her head tip back. “Excuse me for bein’ old school. What ya’ll like to say these days? You want me to have some more rizz?”

Azzi burst out laughing. “You have plenty, no need to ever say that again.”

Paige grinned. “What? You don’t like it?”

“Not even a little bit,” Azzi teased, still laughing.

“Tough crowd.” Paige said, chuckling as she took a sip of her water.

They talked a little longer the conversation wondering to random topics until Paige stretched out her legs and looked over at Azzi again. “C’mon,” she said gently, nudging her knee. “We should head back. I gotta take care of your car before it gets too late.”

Azzi stood up with her cup in her hand. She sipped from her straw as she said, “You sure you don’t wanna let a real mechanic handle it?”

“I am a real mechanic, sweetheart. Just don’t charge you hourly.”

Azzi shook her head, smiling as she let Paige help her down.

They made a quick stop at an AutoZone on the way back to Azzi’s place so Paige could grab a few things she needed. When they got back to Azzi’s building, Paige didn’t bother heading upstairs. She pulled into one of Azzi's designated garage spots and turned off the engine.

“You don’t want to change first?” Azzi asked as she stepped out of the truck.

Paige shut her door and moved to the truck bed to grab the toolbox and two jacks tucked in the weatherproof container. “I get the feeling if I go up there, I’ll get distracted.”

Azzi crossed her arms, leaning against the truck. “So I’ll just stand here quietly then.”

Paige smirked, shaking her head as she circled back to the driver’s side. She pulled the door open and leaned in to turn the truck back on. “You can sit in there looking pretty and play some nice music for us,” she offered over her shoulder.

Paige stepped back from the truck and peeled off her white tee leaving her in a tank top. She held the shirt out toward Azzi who had just gotten settled into the driver’s seat. “And you can hold this for safekeepin’ too.”

Azzi took it from her with a smirk. “Mmm. You just like having me hold your stuff.”

“Can’t think of anyone better.”

Paige jacked up the car before sliding jack stands in place for support. She grabbed the closed lid pan and slid underneath the car to unbolt the drain plug letting the old oil stream out.

Azzi had her legs crossed in the driver’s seat, watching Paige with satisfaction even though she had no idea what was being done underneath the car. 

“You know sweetheart,” Paige’s voice echoed under the car, “there’s somethin’ I could use some help with.”

“Oh? You want me to get under there with you? Risk my whole outfit?”

There was a laugh from underneath the car before Paige’s voice came again. “Just need you to hand me that new oil filter I got at the store.”

Azzi hopped out of the truck and grabbed the new oil filter, crouching down to pass it to her. Paige’s fingers brushed Azzi’s as she took it making sure she didn’t get any oil on her. When she slid from under the car, she had a streak of grime on her forearm and a light sheen of sweat across her collarbone.

Azzi blinked a few times. Paige wiped her hands on a rag without looking up. “You’re starin’,” she said, not needing to see the expression on Azzi’s face to know it. Azzi folded her arms, trying to play it off. “I’m just making sure you did it right.”

“Ss that what you’re callin’ it?” Paige grinned, tossing the rag down before she picked up the fresh oil to refill it. “‘M just sayin. Ain’t nobody ever looked at me changin’ oil like I was out here modeling for one of your magazines.”

“Now that you mention it, I’d probably thoroughly enjoy that.”

Paige paused when she processed what Azzi meant. She couldn’t do anything but shake her head as she capped the oil and moved on to the tires.

She made quick work of loosening the lugs and getting the tires rotated. Instead of getting back in the driver’s seat Azzi was leaning on the truck and she caught herself chewing on her bottom lip as she watched more often than not.

By the time Paige lowered the car back down and stood up, brushing her hands on her pants, Azzi’s eyes were a little dazed.

“You alright over there, sweetheart?”

Azzi smiled as she trailed her eyes up to meet Paige’s. “I’m definitely more than alright.”

Paige turned around to hide the heat rising to her cheeks as she leaned down to grab the new windshield wipers she got. Once she got the color of her cheeks back to normal she said, “C’mere,” nodding toward the front of the car. “Wanna show you how to do this part.”

Azzi pushed off the truck and walked over, standing next to Paige as she pulled the blade so it sat straight up.

“So,” Paige said, motioning toward the hook and latch setup, “this part right here? That’s what locks the blade onto the arm. All you really gotta do is pull down gently and it’ll slide right odd.” She demonstrated slowly, releasing the clip with her thumb and sliding the old blade off. Azzi watched before Paige gestured to the other side.

“Alright. Your turn.”

Azzi stepped around to the other side, carefully lifting the arm of the other wiper. She copied what Paige did, pressing the latch, but the blade didn’t budge. “It’s stuck,” she mumbled.

Paige came up next to her to fold her warm over Azzi’s. “Here,” she said, guiding her fingers down a little lower. “You gotta press right here. Feel that little give when you press in?”

Azzi nodded and with Paige’s help, the old blade slipped free.

Paige grinned. “You’re a natural.” She handed her the new blade. “Slide it up this time, put it under the hook first, just like I showed you and you’ll hear it click into place.”

Azzi lined it up and pushed up gently. It resisted for a second before she used a little more force and it clicked into place.

“There you go.” Paige tapped the hood of the car. “Wipers are officially brand new.”

Paige put everything away before they headed upstairs. The elevator barely closed behind them in the apartment when Azzi heard Paige say something about needing a shower as she headed toward the guest room. Azzi smiled to herself, still faintly buzzed off the sight of Paige under her car.

Azzi was getting water from the kitchen when she heard someone knock on her door. Azzi was confused as she walked to the door and looked through the peephole. “What the hell.” She pulled the door open to see Caroline standing there. 

Caroline stepped into the apartment, “I was in the neighborhood and I figured we could go get drinks or something. I’ve been so bored.”

Azzi forced a smile, stepping aside to let her in. “Yeah, um…you could’ve texted.”

Caroline dropped her bag on the island, but her movements slowed down the more her eyes scanned the room making her eyebrows crease. She saw Paige’s white tee and flannel from last night thrown over the back of the chair. Her gaze shifted again and paused when she saw another white tee on the island, Paige’s Von Dutch hat on top of it. Then she processed the sound of the water coming from the guest bathroom. She looked back at Azzi slowly. “Do you have company?”

Azzi blinked. “What? No..I mean…yes, but—” She cleared her throat, trying to make it sound light. “Yeah. Just Paige.”

Both of Caroline's eyebrows shot up. “Like blonde country girl with the farm? That Paige?”

Azzi gave a small nod, hoping her expression stayed unreadable. “Yeah. She’s visiting for the weekend.”

“I didn’t know y’all kept in touch,” Caroline said.

“We did,” Azzi said, then added a little quickly, “I mean we do. Just here and there, you know.”

Caroline hummed, still not moving. “Rightt.”

Azzi glanced down the hall, pulse skipping a little at the thought of Paige stepping out of the guest room unaware that Azzi had company. She turned back to Caroline, suddenly very antsy.

“Listen, I would love to catch up Car,” she said, walking toward the front door, “but we’re probably about to just take a nap. It’s been a long day and I have an event later.”

“Y’all already ate?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, hand already holding the doorknob. “And you know how she is, early riser, early sleeper. Farmer stuff. Probably needs a nap before later.”

Caroline laughed under her breath. “Mmhm. Right farmer stuff.”

Azzi held the door open, giving her the most gracious please-please-leave-before-she-walks-out-in-a-towel look she could muster.

Caroline grabbed her bag. “Well, alright then. Tell Farmer Paige I said hi.”

“I will,” Azzi said, gently nudging her out.

“And maybe next time I’ll text first. Seems you’ll be a little more private these days,” Caroline said, stepping into the hallway.

“Maybe. I love you, I’ll call you tomorrow," Azzi said, closing the door the moment Caroline was out of sight.

About five minutes later Paige stepped out of the guest room, tugging on a fresh shirt when she saw Azzi scrolling through movie options on the TV. 

“You don’t even like romcoms,” Paige said as she walked toward the couch.

“I never said that.”

“You implied it. Twice. Just last week actually.”

Azzi shrugged. “Maybe I was lying to save face.”

Paige sat down as they tried to find a movie to turn on. It only took a few minutes, and Azzi pouting at Paige for the first time for the blonde to cave and let Azzi pick some cheesy movie. 

They ended up laying on the couch, with the lights turned off and a soft throw blanket spread across both of their laps. They weren’t cuddling, exactly but they weren’t far from it either.

When a particularly cheesy scene played, Azzi turned her head to catch Paige trying not to laugh.

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” Azzi teased.

“Not unless the dog dies.”

“Mm. You sure? Thought I saw a little lip quiver over there.”

“I’ll throw this pillow at you sweetheart.”

Azzi smirked. “No you wouldn’t.”

The banter faded as their attention went back to the movie, a shared smile spreading between them. Azzi fell asleep for maybe twenty minutes at one point during the movie and when she woke up the movie’s final act was picking up. Azzi’s fingers found a loose thread on the throw blanket and absentmindedly twisted it between her fingers to keep herself awake, occasionally brushing against Paige’s knee. 

Paige looked down when she noticed her moving and whispering, “Hey sleepy head.”

Azzi smiled to herself but didn’t say anything.

As soon as the credits rolled there was a gentle knock on Azzi’s door. 

Azzi pushed herself upright to turn on the light. “That’s probably glam.”

Paige stayed reclined with her arms crossed behind her head as Azzi walked off to open the door. 

…

When everything was up and running the room smelled like setting spray and the flat irons as  R&B music filtering through the room. Azzi was sitting comfortably in one of her chairs with her phone in one hand as she scrolled through instagram as a stylist carefully straightened her edges.

She didn’t look up until one of the stylists helping Paige came around the corner and called out playfully, “Your blondie’s hard to please Azzi.”

Azzi looked up from her phone with a smile. “What’s wrong?”

“She thinks all the tailored pants are ‘too tight,’” the stylist said, laughing a little. “Like, ma’am. That’s what tailored pants are supposed to do.”

Azzi laughed, putting her phone down for a second as she turned her attention to the rolling rack nearby. “Let me see the options.”

The stylist started showing her a few pants she was considering and when she was done Azzi said, “Let me see those black Louis Vuitton ones. Third hanger in.”

The stylist passed them to her and Azzi held them up by the waistband, folding them to inspect the ankles before saying, “She should be fine with these.”

The stylist took them from her. “That’s what you think.”

Azzi laughed. “Just tell her I like them if she argues.”

The stylist was walking back around the corner. “Oop. Say less.”

Azzi leaned back in her chair as the makeup artist started on her eyeliner, a small grin still on her face as she imagined Paige standing in the other room probably judging the pants for being two centimeters too short. Somehow, it only made Azzi more endeared.

As glam was wrapping up Azzi was standing up as the stylists were making small final tweaks to her black dress. She adjusted the delicate drape across her chest so enough cleavage showed without doing too much. Her straightened hair was swept to one side so they could put a simple tennis necklace around her neck to rest against her collarbone.

When they were done Azzi glanced in the mirror and gave a satisfied nod.

A few steps behind her, the sound of shoes echoed against the floor.

Paige was walking around the corner with the black Louis Vuitton, a button up tucked in neatly, the first two buttons left open. Her hair was down in natural waves, and a tennis necklace also rested around her neck. She tugged at one of the sleeve cuffs as she walked in, adjusting it distractedly until her eyes landed on Azzi.

She froze for a second. Blinked once a little quickly. Then again, slower.

“Well, damn…” Paige said under her breath, catching herself and standing up a little straighter, clearing her throat. “I mean—sorry. Um. You look…wow.”

Azzi didn’t turn around from the mirror right away. She just smirked faintly at her through the mirror. “You like?”

Paige laughed, hand rubbing the back of her neck as she stepped closer. “Sweetheart, I’m tryin’ real hard to be respectful right now, but you’re makin’ it near impossible.”

Azzi turned around after hearing that, deeply enjoying the effect she was having on her. Paige’s eyes were locked on her face and only her face as if that was the only safe place for her to look. Even then, Azzi caught the subtle dilation in Paige’s blue eyes, that faint darkness around the iris that gave her away. The corner of Azzi’s mouth twitched as she took a step closer.

Paige held her ground but her eyes fluttered closed when Azzi’s perfume consumed her space.

Azzi reached up to “fix” Paige’s collar. Making sure she didn’t break eye contact as she did it, her makeup casting a soft smokiness over her eyes, making them look deeper. Paige took a deep breath as her eyes finally swept down Azzi’s figure before snapping back up to look somewhere over Azzi’s shoulder, trying to pretend she wasn’t spiraling a little.

“You smell amazing, darlin’,” Paige murmured.

Azzi smiled at the compliment before she mercifully took a step back, easing the tension for both of them. Her eyes dropped as she let herself take in Paige’s full look. The black Louis Vuitton fit her just right, and the hem of the pants sat perfectly over the Prada shoes that gave Paige a few extra inches, still leaving her taller than Azzi even with heels on.

“You clean up nice, country girl,” she said as she walked away to grab her clutch off the island.

Paige blinked and her eyes couldn’t help but trail after her, and when Azzi turned around again, she caught her. Paige tried to look away, but it was too late.

Azzi stopped herself from grinning, the tip of her tongue brushing the inside of her cheek. “You gonna make it through the night?”

Paige let out a breathy laugh and exhaled hard. “I’m sorry sweetheart,” she said genuinely, a little embarrassed. “I really am tryin’ to be respectful.”

Azzi crossed the short distance between them. “It’s fine,” she clarified, dropping her gaze to Paige’s lips for a second. “I like it.”

Paige stood still like Azzi had just flipped the table on her and she had no idea what to do with her hands so she put them in her pockets.

Somewhere down the hall, someone called out to let Azzi know the car was here for them.

Azzi walked ahead of Paige, swaying her hips a little more than usual. Paige swallowed harshly, shaking her head to herself as she mumbled, “Lord please have mercy.”

…

Luckily for Azzi, Skye hadn’t exaggerated. It really was just a league dinner. Azzi didn’t have to give any speeches or red carpet interviews, just smile for the usual cameras.

Azzi stepped out of the black SUV by herself, pausing at the designated photo line. The lights flashed like usual, the photographers called her name, and she smiled just enough to get through it without looking bored before she was able to duck past the ropes.

Someone from the venue had already come to escort Paige to the ballroom when they got there. Paige didn’t look like she belonged in an event like this. She was too composed for such a high networking event that had everyone else a little on edge, but at the same time, she looked good amongst everyone. So good that occasionally people walking past did a double take.

By the time Azzi made it to the ballroom, Paige was already at their table, observing the people around the room.

When Paige saw Azzi approaching the table she stood up to pull Azzi’s chair out for her. 

Azzi smiled and said, “Thank you.” Smoothing out the front of her dress before sitting down.

Paige helped slide her chair in before she moved to sit back in her own chair.

Across from them Curt and the new head coach of the Wings were talking. Azzi’s smile thinned slightly as she acknowledged them with a nod making sure she offered enough to seem polite—but not enough to invite real conversation. She could feel Paige glance at her, picking up on the shift in her energy.

Once the quick greetings were over and Azzi had given the required “It’s good to see you again,” Azzi turned her attention back to Paige.

She leaned a little closer toward her so nobody else could hear. “Please tell me you already figured out the sweet treats they have.”

Paige grinned, dipping her head toward Azzi’s ear. “There’s a chocolate mousse situation on the corner table. I even saw they had some nutella for your strawberries.”

Azzi laughed, easing back in her seat. “See, that’s why I brought you.”

Paige got a little closer, lips barely brushing the shell of Azzi’s ear. “That the only reason?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow at the comment, turning to look at Paige closely. “For now.”

Paige tapped her finger against the table, trying to look unaffected. “I’ll take that.”

“Good evening, everyone,” someone greeted through the mic with a polished voice. “We’re honored to be joined tonight by some of Dallas’ finest across leagues, sports, and generations.”

A few polite claps followed as he began listing notable attendees. “Representing FC Dallas, we have Luciana Acosta,” the list went on with cameras panning to different tables, each athlete smiling like they were supposed to.

When the camera shifted towards the Wings table, the host’s voice got a little more upbeat. “And gracing us tonight with her presence tonight, fresh off an incredible season, we have the lovely Rookie of the Year from the Dallas Wings Azzi Fudd.”

Azzi’s expression didn’t falter at the compliment. She offered a dimpled smile and a quick wave to the nearest camera lens, the room’s applause getting a little louder for her. The camera lingered before panning away to another table.

“You always make it look easy,” Paige whispered so she didn’t interrupt the evening.

Azzi smiled. “Someone has to.”

Not long after the host spoke, waitstaff started gliding between tables, with trays of red and white wine, champagne, or sparkling water for guests.

One of them stepped toward their table, offering Paige a glass of white wine. She reached for it out of politeness, but Azzi caught the server’s attention  politely.

“Would it be possible to swap that for a beer?” Azzi asked with a warm smile.

The waiter nodded. “Of course. Do you have a preference?”

“Do you have Lone Star?”

The server gave an apologetic shake of his head. “No ma’am, but we do have Shiner Bock, Modelo, and Stella.”

Azzi nodded once. “Umm let’s go with a Shiner Bock please.”

“Coming right up,” he said, disappearing with Paige’s untouched wine.

Paige leaned back in her chair, doing an awful job at hiding her grin. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Azzi said casually, nudging a piece of unseasoned carrot with her fork.

Paige leaned in to whisper. “Promise I’ll take you to get some real food after this.”

That got a quiet laugh from Azzi as the server returned, setting the cold beer in front of Paige. Paige gave him a small nod. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

She took a swig of it before tilting it toward Azzi. Azzi gave her a look shaking her head no. 

 “You sure? This one’s a little sweeter. Has a small taste of caramel you’d like.”

“We’ve been over this.”

Paige gave her a boyish grin, that was a little too charming to say no to. “This one’s different, I swear.”

“Paige,” Azzi warned with no real backbone.

Paige’s blue eyes sparkled as she said, “Yes, darlin’?”

Azzi rolled her eyes but reached for the bottle anyway. She took a small skeptical sip. When the taste hit her tongue it was more gentle than she expected and for once she didn’t make a face. She passed it back. “Okay. That one wasn’t that bad.”

Paige grinned like she won a bet. “Knew you had a little Texas in you.”

Azzi snorted. “You’re so lucky you’re on my good side.”

Paige lifted the beer in a toast to herself. “To luck, then.”

Azzi glanced around, noticing the shift in the environment as guests started mingling with each other with the cocktail hour. “You wanna do the whole schmooze and smile thing?” she asked.

Paige stood up, offering her hand to help Azzi stand. “Not even a little.”

“Good. Let’s go before somebody tries to corner me into talking about sponsoring the team.”

“Too late,” Paige mumbled, subtly tilting her head toward a man in a navy suit who was eyeing them from his table across the room.

Azzi followed her gaze and unfortunately made direct eye contact with him. She snapped her attention away as soon as she saw him and wrapped her fingers tighter around Paige’s. “Alright we’re leaving,” she said as they slipped toward the exit. 

When they got back to Azzi’s place, Azzi barely had time to take off her heels before Paige was grabbing the truck keys off the counter so they could go get some food. Azzi smiled and let Paige carry her to the truck after insisting they didn’t have time for Azzi to put on her shoes until she got in the car.  

They pulled into a late night fast food spot with a glowing sign and no line. Azzi wanted to eat in the truck bed again so Paige laid down a blanket that was kept tucked behind the seat considering the cost of the clothes they had on.

They ate out of the paper bags and laughed at shit that wasn’t even funny.  Occasionally Paige would have to reach over and push Azzi’s hair out of her face when a warm breeze would push past them.

Once the food was gone and the night was starting to get a little cooler, they climbed down and drove back to Azzi’s apartment in silence. Azzi leaned on Paige the entire drive back as she watched the city speed by.

When they got back the apartment was dim, the evening winding down naturally.

“Goodnight,” Paige said at the guestroom hall, already unbuttoning her shirt.

Azzi smiled at her as she walked toward her room. “Goodnight, P.”

Paige disappeared into the guest room and Azzi into hers. They both showered, slipped into something softer, and fell into their beds. They were exhausted in that oddly peaceful way.

Azzi laid on her back with one arm folded under her head, eyes wide open in the dark.

It had been maybe 45 minutes but the room felt too quiet. The noise of the day had faded into silence. No more laughter echoing around them from the truck bed, no Paige teasing her over trying to steal her last fry when in reality Azzi could’ve just taken it. Just complete stillness. The kind of stillness Azzi would’ve killed for any other day but today it felt like a hole that Paige had carved only for her to fill.

Azzi turned, letting the cool sheets brush over her skin like they always did. But they felt colder tonight so she forced herself to stop moving and closed her eyes. The day played on a loop behind her eyelids, warming her up from the inside. 

It had been a long time since Azzi felt this warm. She felt it lingering her chest, replacing the parts of her where things tended to stay locked up, shelved behind sarcasm and distractions. She looked over at the pillow next to her. It laid flat and undisturbed like always. She exhaled through her nose and turned onto her side, curling into herself like she could make the space feel smaller.

The longer she laid there, the more she realized she didn’t want the night to end like this. Not with her here and Paige just across the hall. Not with all these feelings left suspended between them.

She was about to get up when she heard a soft knock at her door. She slid out of bed faster than she could think, her feet hitting the floor before her brain processed the sound. When she pulled it open she saw Paige standing there looking a little unsure. There was something hesitant about her posture, the way her weight shifted on her feet like she was second guessing herself in real time.

Azzi saw the uncertainty and decided to speak first. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” Her voice caught, and she stopped speaking all together, eyes flicking toward the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep, sweetheart.” She turned around like she planned to walk away, but Azzi’s hand reached to catch her wrist. Paige stopped moving when she felt Azzi grab her and turned back around letting out a sigh. “Hey,” she tried again.

Azzi smiled at her. “Hi.”

Paige glanced at her, then dropped her gaze. “I couldn’t sleep again,” she admitted. “I was hopin’ you’d be on the couch again but you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t,” Azzi replied softly, still holding her hand.

Paige nodded like she understood, but then added, “I just…I remembered how you like to talk at night. How that one time you made me stay on the phone with you for hours ‘cause you didn’t wanna be alone.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, biting her cheek so she didn’t smile. “You came to my room at one in the morning just to talk?”

There was a pause, filled with the tension that had been hovering between something old and something dangerously close to new. Paige grinned, as she said, “I promise that’s all it is.”

“That’s the problem,” Azzi teased, before interlacing her fingers with Paige’s and gently pulling her into the room. She shut the door behind them and led her toward the bed, the ambient light spilling through the windows brushing her tan skin in gold and shadows. Paige looked around like she needed something to focus on, “This feels a little more tense than just talkin’, darlin’.”

“That’s because your head’s in the gutter,” Azzi said without looking toward her.

That earned her a crooked smile from Paige, who said nothing as Azzi climbed into the bed first, settling on her side. Paige followed her lead, lying on her back next to her with both hands tucked behind her head.

There was a few minutes of comfortable silence between them; comfortable, warm even. Azzi's gaze wandered across the angles of Paige’s face, the way the light danced over her sharp jaw, the slight part in her lips, the rise and fall of her chest. Paige’s eyes flicked toward her, a small smile twitching at her lips when she caught her looking.

“So what do you wanna talk about?” Paige asked.

Azzi, making a habit of not answering Paige’s questions, just kept looking at her. Like she was trying to configure if Paige being here was real or some scene she was drawing up from her imagination. But then their eyes locked again, and the moment bent a little in her chest letting her know it was in fact real. .

“Maybe let’s talk about what you lookin’ at me like that means,” Paige added.

Azzi's voice was quiet when she answered. “It means what I’ve been telling you all weekend.”

Paige shifted her arm and brought her hand up to gently brush the side of Azzi’s face, keeping her fingertips gentle against her delicate skin, reverent in the way she traced the line of her cheek. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, Azzi.”

“You can’t say things like that to a woman you’re refusing to kiss.”

Paige’s thumb paused at her jaw, her smile tugging back in. “I’m not refusin’,” she whispered. “I’m just tryin’ to make sure when I do it, it’s not ‘cause you’re tired, or lonely, or layin’ in the dark. I want it to count for somethin’ more than that.”

Azzi stared at her, struck by the softness in Paige’s voice. “I want it to be somethin’ you want all the time and not just sometimes sweetheart.”

They were simple words. Not overly poetic or dressed up in metaphors and similes like writers like to do. Just simple words that she wanted Azzi to understand.

Yet, they made Azzi feel like her whole body was slowly being set alight. Her skin prickled with awareness, a hum starting deep in her core and rising like static to her chest, her neck, the tips of her fingers. It was the warmth she’d been craving for years and when she found it there was tension under it, that craved her just as much..

Paige wasn’t just saying she wanted to kiss her. She was telling Azzi she could, right now, easily. But she wouldn’t until Azzi was sure. It was juvenile, in theory. The idea of aching just to be kissed. But Azzi couldn’t remember the last time something as simple as anticipation made her feel this shaken.

She could feel her heart pounding not just in her chest, but in her throat, behind her knees, between her legs. Her whole body was suddenly aware of Paige. How she sounded, smelled, the heat always radiating off of her like temptation. LIke the apple from the Garden of Eden.

Azzi swallowed, keeping her gaze on those damn blue eyes that never stopped looking at her like she was it. With a voice barely an octave above a breath, she whispered, “I need you to stop talking.”

Paige took in her appearance, the dilation in her eyes, being so in tune with the moment that she felt like she could see the nerves radiating off of Azz’s skin. “Maybe we should go to bed,” she whispered.

Azzi nodded slowly.

Paige leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, love.” 

She started to shift, getting ready to push herself up from the bed, but Azzi caught her wrist gently.

“Stay?” she asked.

Paige looked down at her wordlessly asking if that was a good idea.

Azzi met her gaze and said quietly, “I don’t want to be cold.” Then added quickly, “I just want to be close to you.”

Paige nodded and settled back into the bed.

“Can you hold me?” Azzi asked, more tentative than she meant to sound.

“We can lay however you need.”

Azzi shifted closer until her head rested on Paige’s chest, the steady beat of her heart beneath her. She slipped one leg over Paige’s and winded her arm around her waist. Paige’s hand found a respectful place at Azzi’s hip, the warmth of her palm felt through the cotton of Azzi’s shirt. “That okay?” Paige asked, referring to her hand placement.

Azzi nodded into her chest. “Yes,” she whispered. “Goodnight.”

Paige smiled, brushing her thumb gently along Azzi’s side. “Goodnight, Azzi.”

With the rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat beating calmly under her ear, Azzi let her body soften. The tightness in her chest uncoiled, thoughts quieted. 

…

Azzi woke up draped fully across Paige, both of her legs tangled around her waist and her face tucked into the curve of Paige’s neck. 

The buzzing of Azzi’s phone was a little insistent rattling against the nightstand. Paige stirred from the sound first. “Sweetheart your phone’s ringing,” she mumbled, the rasp in her voice sending a quiet thrill through Azzi even before she was fully awake.

Azzi groaned into Paige’s neck, reaching out blindly and fumbled for the phone. She swiped to answer without looking to see who it was.

“Azzi,” Skye’s voice traveled through the speaker sharply and way too awake for Azzi’s liking, “you’re supposed to be at the jersey shoot in an hour. Please don’t stress me out.”

Azzi blinked once, still half asleep. “Okay,” she said simply and hung up.

Calmness settled around the room again. Azzi whispered into Paige’s skin, “We should run away. Leave my phone behind.”

Paige let out a sleepy laugh that vibrated through her chest, arms still cradling Azzi in position. Azzi closed her eyes again, breathing in the sound of Paige’s laugh, how she felt wrapped in her arms, how it felt to be wrapped around her scent in her own bed. Azzi silently told herself that sound was her favorite thing to hear first thing in the morning. That beautiful laugh that made her chest flutter. 

Eventually, she sighed and reluctantly pulled herself out of the warmth they’d made. She made sure she looked over her shoulder when she got out of bed. Paige still stretched out in her sheets, blonde hair a mess against the pillows, with an arm flung above her head shielding her blue eyes from the morning light.

Azzi took the mental picture and tucked it away somewhere private just for her.

They moved through their morning in parallel. Paige folded clothes into her duffle bag methodically, like dragging it out could delay the inevitable. Azzi blended up her smoothie in the kitchen, then made a second one, pouring it into a to-go cup Paige could take on the road.

They didn’t say much as they made their way to the garage. There wasn’t anything either of them knew how to say that wouldn’t make it harder.

In the garage, Paige tossed her bag in the backseat of the truck before walking Azzi to her car. Azzi stood by the driver’s side with her keys in hand, chewing the inside of her cheek like she didn’t trust herself to speak first.

Paige noticed like always. “Can I give you a hug?”

As soon as Azzi nodded Paige stepped into her space and wrapped her arms around her. Azzi let herself melt into it, let her face press into Paige’s shoulder, curling her arms tight around her shoulders like she could hold time in place if she tried hard enough. 

“You okay?”

Azzi nodded but it was the nod you gave when you were trying to lie to yourself to feel better in a moment that felt like hell.

Paige’s eyebrows pulled together in that gentle way she always looked at Azzi. “What can I do?”

“I’m not tired. Or lonely. Or laying in the dark.”

It took Paige a second to register her own words being echoed back to her but when she did she smiled. “Are you sure?”

Azzi nodded. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

Paige tilted her head, studying her features. “You askin’ me to kiss you?”

Azzi gave the smallest smile. “I think I’ve been asking all weekend.”

That made Paige laugh under her breath. “Damn. I’ve been tryin’ to be the good guy all weekend.”

“You still are,” Azzi said. “But if you don’t kiss me now, I’m gonna think you don’t want to.”

Paige’s expression shifted into surprise, like the idea had never even crossed her mind. “Sweetheart, I’ve wanted to kiss you since you walked out of that elevator with that gorgeous smile of yours when I first got here.”

“Please just do it before I lose my mind then.”

For a second, neither of them moved as Paige assessed the situation. The garage around them was quiet and Azzi could hear the sound of Dallas waking up outside. It made the moment feel suspended.

Paige leaned in slowly, giving Azzi every chance she possibly could to pull back. When their lips connected there weren’t sparks but they fit perfectly.

Their lips found each other like it was something they'd done in a thousand lifetimes before this one. Azzi’s mouth was warm, pliant. Paige's lips tasted faintly of the smoothie Azzi had made her that morning. Sweet with cool berries and a trace of mint instead of kale. Azzi could taste the berries faintly on Paige’s tongue when they lingered longer than planned.

Paige led the kiss while somehow letting Azzi lead. Like she was reading her in real time, adapting to her reactions and what she wanted, offering without pressing. Azzi sighed into her mouth and the kiss deepened slightly, both of them tilting their heads and swelling their tongues gently together, a moment of softness melting into the sincere ache that they each were feeling before they pulled apart.

When they separated, Paige looked at Azzi and said, “Well there goes my whole bein’ respectful plan.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “That was respectful,” she whispered.

“You sure?”

Azzi leaned in again, pressing a kiss to the corner of Paige’s mouth this time. “Positive.”

Paige grinned at the gesture. “I’m glad you opened the door last night.”

“I’m glad you knocked.”

Neither moved for a moment. Then Azzi’s phone buzzed again loudly against the calmness radiating between them. It rattled against her palm reminding her of everything outside of this little bubble. Azzi silenced it without checking the screen.

They shared one more hug, longer this time before Paige opened Azzi’s car door for her. Azzi gave her a soft look as she climbed in, rolling down the window.

“I’ll call you tonight?” she said, like she already missed her.

Paige leaned down putting her hand on the roof of the car and gave her that easy grin. She grabbed Azzi’s jaw gently kissing her one more time. “I’ll call you tonight, sweetheart.’” she said, blue eyes sparkling.

Azzi blushed as she nodded. 

Paige winked at her and tapped the roof twice before she turned toward her truck. Azzi watched her climb in, start the engine, and drive off leaving the garage a little quieter, and Azzi’s heart a little louder.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Salutations, my liege

For 141 what if series..

...may i ask something silly— perhaps.. having a steamy flirt texting with them, and when they asked for a scandalous picture, reader send a rickroll-

...im sorry-

Absolutely you can! Yes, it's a bit naughty, but it's mostly silliness, and making the guys stress for no reason. Because, why not?

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (mdni): swearing, dirty talk, sexting, humor, pranks & shenanigans, established relationship

Word Count: 1.1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John is at work. But that doesn’t stop him. The texts come in one after the other.

Do you know how hard I am?

Been thinking about you all day.

Can hardly wait for later.

You take my cock so well.

You reply back with equal steam, describing all the ways you want him to fuck you. No detail is left unsaid. It is a lecherous image you paint for him. But fuck is it fun. The man will come home pent up, pouncing on you the moment he’s through the door.

The next text from John comes a full minute later.

Send me a picture.

Send a picture? You could. The potential of his coworkers seeing it over his shoulder isn’t something you’re particularly interested in though. Then again, telling John how horny you are isn’t enough. He might be on you the second he comes home, but you could do with a little roughness. A bit of punishment. Making John turned on and frustrated is always a sure bet you’ll receive what you want.

Opening YouTube, you find the song you’re looking for. A catchy song from the 80’s that’s now a viral trend.

Get ready, big boy, you reply.

You snap a quick, teasing photo. Sending it off.

I’m fucking ready, replies John instantly.

A swoosh, and the link is sent.

You wait. Laugh into your hand. A full minute passes. Then another. Finally, a text comes in.

Send the real thing or I’m coming home early.

You lock your phone, and set it aside, grinning madly as you wait for John to pull into the drive.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Separation has never stopped you. Simon might be elsewhere, but the two of you find time to indulge in every horny urge.

I’m gonna suck your cock until you look like an empty Capri Sun.

You laugh at yourself for texting him that, but as much as he seems aloof, Simon has a wicked sense of humor.

His response is immediate. You can try.

You snort, fingers poised to type out a return message, but the three little bubbles appear on his side.

Lube up the dildo. Suck it off. Send me a video.

You nearly choke on your own salvia. The idea of that is fucking salacious. And as much as you’d like to, you’re also feeling a bit lazy. You’re cozied up on the sofa, covered by a fluffy blanket. Instead of indulging him, you can be a bit of a shit, poking his buttons because it amuses him as much as it amuses you.

The video you do record is easy enough. It looks like you’re about to do the exact thing Simon wants, but with just a quick edit, the screen fades to black, and a certain 80’s hit appears in its place.

It’s hilarious. Sensational. Gold star to you!

You send it off, locking your phone, deciding that you’ll veg out to some mindless television and go to bed at a decent time for once. Simon doesn’t respond to your text, which is odd, but not unusual.

It’s not until after you’ve made yourself dinner that you find out why.

“You never sent me the video.”

Simon’s voice comes from nowhere. You scream, drop your bowl of pasta, and spin around, wielding the fork like a weapon.

“Where the fuck did you come from?”

Simon shrugs. “I have my ways.”

“Simon,” you warn.

His mouth stretches into the faintest hint of a smirk. “And I thought I’d come for the real thing.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is a dog. Hungry. Wanton. If he could, he’d probably live in your skin. Which is why he’s always texting you, sending dirty messages.

Touch yourself. Show me.

You could show him. Snap a few pictures of you pleasing yourself and send them off in intervals to prolong the teasing. It would work him up. Work you up. But there is a better option. An option that’ll drive Johnny crazy—that’ll make him more desperate for what he’s asking for.

You want a picture, you text out.

Aye. Course I do.

Not like he’s gone without. The two of you have exchanged countless photos, and it’s entirely likely that most of the photos saved to his phone are of you. Naughty ones, specifically. Johnny enjoys having them for when he’s gone for long periods of time. A little treat for him, but more like masturbation material.

It’s easy to manipulate a few files, find a GIF online of what you’re looking for. Via text won’t work. You opt for email. It may confuse him, but knowing Johnny, he’ll just be happy you’re sending a naked photo. Not that it is.

It isn’t. It’s you trolling him because he’s always doing it to you.

The email is sent off with a swoosh. You patiently wait, expecting him to reply back with a snarky response.

But when your phone starts to buzz, the screen showing not a phone call but a video chat, you know Johnny means business.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

My dick is so hard.

You taking it when I come home?

Want to see you bounce on it.

You’re grinning like an idiot as Kyle’s texts come in. Kyle doesn’t usually engage in phone sex or dirty talk over text. This is a bit of a treat, and you’re enjoying it, sending back messages that are just as filthy. Kyle isn’t shy about sex, but sometimes it’s nice to see him squirm.

Send a picture. I wanna see you.

He’s too sweet for his own good. And while you’d oblige him otherwise, you also see an opportunity. Why not poke at him a bit. Have some silly fun. What you send him is not a nude.

And Kyle’s response is not a text but a phone call.

You answer. Put it on speaker.

“Did you just send me a Josh Hutcherson fan cam vid set to a cover of Flo Rida’s ‘Whistle?’”

“Didn’t know you were so hip, Kyle.”

“I’m on social media,” he mumbles. He clears his throat. “I still want that photo.”

“Hm. Yeah. Sure thing,” you reply nonchalantly. Kyle says your name with a sternness that excites you. “Have to go!” you say with a bit too much cheer.

Without waiting for his reply, you end the call, and tucking the phone underneath the pillow as it begins to buzz again.

[tbaluver]

omg hi! first and foremost, I LITERALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS LIKE THEY LITERALLY HAVE ME KICKING MY FEET IN THE AIR, since i especially loved your lads dad genre, i was wondering if you would like to write about a situation that i came across tiktok just now, BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO IT IF YOU WANT TO! idk why but my baby fever is really taking a toll on me, and i would love to read more fluff that would instantly melt my heart hehe <333 hope you are doing well!

this is the link of the tiktok hehe: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSSY4VH8f/

Sending Them A Mama + Baby Pic- The Love And DeepSpace Men

featuring ( in order ): xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb genre: fluff fluff a/n: hihi luv ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ THANK YEW SM MWAH perhaps im doing my job right ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ im doing well and i hope you are too ! and are you kidding me I LOVEEE writing them as papas whenever i can ! they would be perfect dads I JUST KNOW IT however i hope i did this justice (•̀ᴗ•́ )و anyways enjoy reading my luvs (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

The mission he was on felt like an eternity. His mind often drifted to how he could have you and his baby boy in his arms right now. And as if you read his mind, the notification ping grabbed his attention. His expression softens the moment he opens the photo of you and your baby boy. It looks like your son had just woken up, with messy hair and a sleepy smile on his face. A quiet laugh slips from his lips and he didn’t realize how much he missed you both until now. All he can think about is how adorable the two of you look together and how much longer he has in this mission to be there with you both.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎: Did U guys have a good nap?

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎: He must be really happy to wake up and see U

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎: Can I join U guys too

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎: I’ll bring snacks

Zayne:

He might just be the happiest man on break in the whole hospital right now. It's as if the weight on his shoulders were lifted the moment he sees you two curled up together and greeting him with a smile. He’s already saving the photo(s), depending on how many you sent. There’s a good chance one is becoming his lockscreen, homescreen, or even your contact photo. That way, every time you call or message him, he’s reminded of his beautiful wife and daughter.

☃︎: She seems to be in a good mood.

☃︎: That would only make sense because you’re there with her. I would react the same as well.

☃︎: She must’ve gotten that from me.

Rafayel:

There’s a big pout and watery eyes on this fishie’s face from the cuteness of the pictures you sent, all while he’s stuck in public at this stupid art exhibition Thomas dragged him to. Eventually, Thomas scolds him for not mingling with the guest since that could potentially mean fewer sales, but Rafayel couldn’t care less. His beloved wife and his lil glubs are always his first priority. He manages to slip away from everyone to text you back, but most likely will facetime you right after.

𓆟: cutie why do you all have to extraa cute when i'm not there .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

𓆟: *sends a pouting papa rafayel pic*

𓆟: here make sure to show them this so they don’t forget me too

𓆟: and tell my lil glubs i miss them so so much ( ᵒ ૩ᵕ )♡*

Sylus:

Sylus sits bored and uninterested, watching the other members he’s negotiating with huddle together, whispering as they scramble to come up with a way to convince him to take the deal. He waits patiently, tapping the side of his whiskey glass until a ping pulls his attention to his phone. A soft chuckle escapes past his lips as he opens it and finds a photo of you and his baby girl lying together. He thinks it's adorable, from the way his baby girl shows off her gummy smile at you instead of facing the camera. He smiles to himself that the negotiators might mistake it as if he's ready to seal the deal. He looks at the photo in awe, zooming in as close as he can, his eyes and heart softening at the sight of the two of you.

𓅪: Our little dove seems to be interested in shiny things lately.

𓅪: And look at that. She’s more interested in you than the camera.

𓅪: You must be glowing more than usual sweetie.

Caleb:

This man LOVES being a father and a husband so much. The moment he catches a glimpse of the notification and sees two familiar figures he cherishes more than anything in the world, he puts the ship on autopilot. Without hesitation, he swipes up to open the photo to be greeted by his two babies, you and your son, smiling back at him. He looks at the picture in absolute awe, his heart throbbing like it might explode. He thinks this one might top every single baby photo ever ( he says this every time a new photo comes out )

✈︎: i’ve been staring at this pic for a while and it’s making me sad ):

✈︎: i might land at the next stop and fly myself back

✈︎: and join you guys :D

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯:

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! The Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

ʚɞ Others places you can find me:

Wattpad

Twitter ( but idk how to use it or interact with people )

[queen-of-gotham]

Flirtationship

Synopsis: in which you’re a big flirt with them 😍

Notes from the Batcave: everyone in this writing is of age! for ✨this✨ request! Enjoy!

Bruce Wayne

You flirt with zero fear.

“You always this broody or do I just bring it out of you?”

He stares at you like he’s trying to analyze the feeling in his chest, and you just wink and walk off.

You’ve called him “Batman” in a flirty whisper in public, and he’s barely kept his composure.

“Careful, Mr. Wayne. I might start thinking you’re into me.”

“You’d be right.”

He says it so quietly you almost don’t hear it, but now you’re the one flustered.

You like to brush your hand against his chest when you pass. You call him “Big Guy” and “Bossman,” and every time he gives you that sharp side-eye that says stop… but he never actually tells you to stop.

When he does flirt back, it’s devastatingly subtle: a hand on your lower back, a ghost of a smirk, a softly murmured “You look dangerous in that outfit.”

Dick Grayson

He’s used to being the charming one. The flirt. The smooth talker.

Until you walk in with that cocky smirk and playful energy that knocks him sideways.

You call him “Pretty Boy” once and he absolutely chokes. You never stop.

“Don’t look at me like that, Grayson. You’ll fall in love.”

“Too late,” he mutters, before realizing what he said.

You’re constantly finding excuses to touch him… adjusting his tie, brushing lint off his shoulder, guiding him with a hand at the small of his back. He. Is. Spiraling.

He flirts back, but you always just one-up him, leaving him a little bit flushed and a lotta bit obsessed.

Jason Todd

He pretends your flirting doesn’t get to him. He tries to be cool. He fails.

“Didn’t realize we were playing ‘who can be more attractive today,’ but I concede.”

“Shut up,” he says gruffly, but the tips of his ears go red.

You lean against his bike, legs crossed, waiting for him to show up like you’re in a movie. He doesn’t know whether to kiss you or run.

“Careful, Red. I might just fall for you if you keep scowling like that.”

“You wish.”

He does wish, though. And he’s thinking about kissing you all the time.

One day, you brush a thumb over his lip and say, “Bet you’re a good kisser.” His brain completely stops working.

Tim Drake

Tim.exe has stopped responding.

You flirt with the precision of a sniper and he is Not Prepared.

You send him coffee orders with cheeky messages like “thought of you when I saw ‘tired but hot’ written on the cup.”

He blushes so easily it’s a game at this point.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”

“Trying? Sweetheart, I’m succeeding.”

Tim has no clue how to counter this. He starts bringing you coffee back just to keep talking to you.

You brush his hand and he straight-up drops his tablet. It shatters. He blames sleep deprivation. He is lying.

Duke Thomas

Duke’s usually the one with swagger. He’s clever, confident, and quick on his feet.

Until you walk in with that confident smile and say,

“Damn, you always this fine, or is today just my lucky day?”

Cue internal screaming. His cool is gone.

He starts stammering, trying to match your energy, “Uh, well- you look- you too!”

You call him “Sunshine” and “Golden Boy” and “Light of my life.” It’s a joke. Kind of.

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be. I like the way you look at me.”

You lean in close when you talk. You love catching him off guard. He starts fidgeting with his gloves or tugging his sleeve, anything to ground himself.

Once, after a long mission, you patch him up and say,

“You’re lucky I like you. Otherwise I’d charge for this.”

“Wait- you like me?”

You grin. “Obviously. You’re hot and heroic. What’s not to like?”

He blushes so hard, even his ears go red.

He absolutely writes poetry about you in his phone Notes app and never lets you see it. (You know it’s there. You’re just waiting for the right time to ask.)

Damian Wayne

You’re the only person who flirts with him so openly and lives.

At first, he thinks you’re mocking him. But no, you just think his scowl is hot.

“You keep glaring like that, Dami, and I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

“Tch. Foolish.”

He definitely does.

You call him “Handsome” just to watch the way his jaw tenses.

“You look good in green. Brings out your eyes.”

He rolls his eyes but his ears turn crimson.

He pretends he hates it. He secretly waits for you to do it every time you’re around.

You challenge him to spar and say, “If I win, you take me on a date.”

He refuses to answer. (He doesn’t refuse the date.)

Roy Harper

You match his flirt-for-flirt, beat-for-beat, and then take it up a notch.

“You gonna ask me out or just keep looking at my mouth every time I talk?”

“…damn.”

He’s cocky. You’re cockier. He loves it.

He calls you “Trouble” and you call him “Daddy” once and he chokes.

You lean in close during stakeouts, whisper in his ear like you’re just sharing info, then blow on his neck as you pull away.

He’s about to die.

“I know you think you’re smooth, Harper. But I’m better.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Winner picks the first date location.”

Now he’s trying so hard to impress you, it’s ridiculous.

You catch him staring and say, “If you’re not gonna kiss me, stop looking at me like that.”

He kisses you. Immediately.

Kyle Rayner

Kyle is a flirt by default, but the moment you start turning it around on him? He short circuits.

You say things like, “Damn, how do you not have a date tonight looking like that?”

And he’s like, “Wh- huh??”

He absolutely tries to match your energy. You tease him once about his tight GL suit and he starts showing off with poses, until you call one of them “cute” and now he’s fully blushing.

You tell him he’s got “bedroom eyes” and he walks into a lamp post.

“Y’know, Kyle… if you asked nicely, I might just say yes.”

“To… to what?”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

He drops his ring. He plays it off. He fails.

You send him selfies captioned: “Thought you might need inspiration for your next piece 🖤”

He doesn’t sleep that night. He draws you instead.

Wally West

This man is all talk until you flirt back.

You call him “Speedy” with a smirk and he nearly combusts.

“Wow. Someone’s looking fast and fine today.”

“I-me?? I-yeah-thank you???”

You call him “Heartbreaker” and he goes red immediately.

You accidentally (not accidentally) say “So when’s our date?” after a mission and he spends the next three hours wondering if you were serious.

He follows you around like a puppy but gets tongue tied the second you compliment him.

You touch his arm when you laugh and he stares at your hand like it’s a sacred object.

You tell him he’s cute when he’s flustered. Now he’s always flustered.

One time you say “Wanna come over? I make great pasta and terrible decisions,” and he sprints to your house before you even send the address.

✨Join The Taglist✨

⭐️DCU Masterlist⭐️ 🦇Return to the Batcave🦇

[malsmind]

⌗ — birthday fic (2) ᯓ matt sturniolo

𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

contains➛ ⋆ established relationship ⋆ matt being the cutest mf ever ⋆

𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦!

you didn’t tell him where you were going. just tugged him out of the house early with a hot coffee in one hand and your fingers tangled in the other. he grumbled a little about the weather—gray sky, light drizzle, cool breeze—but followed you anyway. he always followed you, even when he didn’t know the why. you turned the corner, passed a quiet stretch of shops, and finally stopped in front of a place with fogged windows and a little wooden sign that read:

“A Sanctuary Cafe — open 8am–7pm”

matt blinked. then blinked again.

“wait—oh my god.” he turned to you, eyes suddenly wide, soft, so alive. “i never knew they had one here??”

you grinned. “they didn’t. it opened a few months ago.”

his whole face lit up. and it was rare, to see him like that. not just smiling—but genuinely glowing. like something inside him cracked open in the best way.

you pushed the door open. the bell jingled softly. immediately, the smell of coffee and pancakes hit you. and the quiet sounds of paws padding across hardwood. a little ginger cat wound around your legs like it owned the place. another one blinked at you from a high shelf, tail flicking. matt froze in the doorway.

“baby.”

“yeah?”

“i’m gonna cry.”

you laughed and pulled him inside.

he forgot all about the food when you were sat down and it was standing infront of you both on the table. you ordered breakfast for both of you while he knelt on the floor with a sleepy cat curled in his lap, whispering to it like it was a newborn baby.

“his name is beanie,” the barista said, setting down your drinks.

matt nodded solemnly. “he’s my son now.”

you bit back a laugh and handed him his coffee. he barely touched it. just kept cuddling the cats, scratching behind their ears, letting them crawl into his hoodie. there was one that kept climbing up to his shoulder and flopping down like a scarf. he didn’t even flinch—just let it happen, head tilted so it wouldn’t fall.

“your pancakes are getting cold,” you murmured, nudging him with your foot.

he glanced up from the cat in his lap. “i didn’t come here to eat.”

you shook your head and smiled, taking a sip of your drink. by far the best $90 you’ve ever spent.

after an hour or so, the rain had picked up a little. you left the cafe hand in hand, matt’s hoodie dusted in cat fur and his grin permanent. he looked younger like this. softer. like something had settled in his chest. you walked in silence for a bit, shoes tapping gently against wet pavement, the distant sounds of the city muffled by the drizzle.

“baby…” he said suddenly, squeezing your hand. “so that mean we can get a cat?”

you looked at him sideways. his smile was huge. hopeful. just glowing.

you snorted. “maybe for your next birthday.”

he pouted. “that’s a whole year away.”

“you’ll survive.”

“debatable.”

but he didn’t press. just kept holding your hand, swinging it slightly between you as the rain drizzled down and the world stayed soft around the edges. he didn’t stop talking about the cats the rest of the day.

showed everyone pictures. made you send him the ones you took. kept brushing fur off his hoodie like it was a badge of honor. and when you curled up together that night, full and warm and tired from the day, he whispered:

“that was the best birthday.”

you kissed his hair. “yeah?”

he nodded against your shoulder. “i think beanie changed my life.”

[serenity-loves-red]

hii, I really love your fanfic! and I hope you know that. I'm curious, what if (reader) invited someone to thier house (in context, them and thier friend who was invited seemed very close) what would Blue and Princess be like?

and thank you for all your hard work! i hope you have a great week, and don't forget to take a rest.

sorry for my bad grammar because english is not my first language

@kiraaa143 @liiilylooolyy @littlepiecefpeace

Meet and greet with other people in da world 🌍anyways the amount of asks in my inbox is pilling up and starting to scare meeee 😰 send help chat🤧😮‍💨

Imagine:

Since morning, you had been busy cleaning the house, tidying up all nooks and crannies. Phainon had walked up to you, pawing your legs to notify his presence. He wanted to ask why the sudden clean up when you carried him over, ruffled his fur for any sheddings.

“There you are Blue!“ you said, carrying him to find Princess. “Let’s find Princess so we can brush your furs together.”

Phainon tilted his head and meowed, pawing at your chest when you didn’t immediately replied. “…hmm? Be a good boy Blue. We have guests later to we have to tidying up the place. That means no sheddings too.” You pointed out.

You saw Princess curled comfortably on the pillows of your bed. When you called out, he jolted awake looking startled, as if you saw something you shouldn’t. “Uh hey?” You greeted hesitantly. “Not the reaction I imagined but c’mere.”

You gave him a pet to calm his nerves down before carrying him on your other arm. Mydei gave Phainon a what-is-happening look as if he hasn’t just had his not-so-secret exposed.

Feeling embarrassed, Mydei continued as if nothing happened and pressed on for answers. “Well?”

Play it cool, Mydei. Play it all cool, Mydeimos.

“…we’ll be having guests over so they had been cleaning the house. And now they want to brush our furs so no sheddings.” Phainon replied and gave Mydei a pointed look. “So Mydeimos, who would have thought that you–“

Mydei pawed Phainon’s face. “Shut. Up.”

Mydei curled next to your lap while Phainon curled shamelessly on top of it. You rested your hand on top of their head and back while animatedly talking to your guests.

Your friends, you introduced them a while ago. And since then you hardly payed them any attention aside from the constant pats and brushes on their body.

At first, Phainon and Mydei–albeit the latter is reluctant to admitted– is looking forward to meet these guests of yours. In this way, aren’t they going to know you better by observing your interactions, aren’t they not? That was supposed to be it.

But now, seeing how your supposed attention was theirs to begin with is now starting to go astray? Both Phainon and Mydei can’t help but feel bitter all of a sudden. So when one of your friend’s curiously asked to pet Phainon, he hissed, paw raised ready to scratch.

“Whoa–“ you exclaimed. “Sorry, he isn’t usually like that.” You explained, scratching Phainon’s ear to calm him down. “I mean–he’s friendly but I guess he isn’t used to strangers in the house.”

Your friend just laughed while the other looked at Princess. “What about him? That’s Princess right?” They pointed out at the Pomeranian curled next to you.

Mydei, hearing his name looked at them, then barred his mouth and growled. “Yeah– this one.” You immediately interrupted and pet him too. “I suggest not petting this one or even think of doing so. He’s a bit feisty when shy to say the least. But I can show you the hamsters, they’re far more cute and friendly than these two.” You said and pointed out to the pen the hamsters are in.

Your friends excitedly went, leaving you alone with Blue and Princess who keeps looking at your friends passively.

“What’s up with you two now?” You addressed them both.

I don’t like them, when will they go? Phainon meowed at you, whining which Mydei followed suit and barked, nipping at your thighs for even bringing those people in. He doesn’t like them, why would you even let them go near Lady Tribios, what if they got hurt?

“You two behave okay? They’ll be staying for the night so for the mean time, you will have to sleep in the living room.” You said and placed Princess on the couch and left, following your friends.

Phainon and Mydei look at you in bewilderment. Those friend of yours took your attention, dared to pet them and now they are going to stay for the night? And you’ll even kick them out of your shared room to accommodate them?!

The audacity! As if they will let that happen without a fight!

Taglist: @speedycoffeedelight @kiransalt @sunsethw4 @wispfish @syntaxandpi @hoo-hoo @aerisevx @wixsvem @reminiscingthesea @hquntinghunter @n8mareee @larettajudith @vashyuu @superbfuryfest @shio225 @line-viper @hiqhkey @fuji-sen @takeyomikamakura @raaawwwr @hoshinosama @shonwithnohope @naOyak1 @whatamoodhoney @violetisreadinghush @shio225 @blushho @bloodrrose @kazudare @monoclesnapple @elymint @lovesickdaydreamss @mangooes @ra404 @knufd @shiholyn @toyomittsuu @O-uchi @redheadedsilly @ofcdimi @wegottastayfocus

[fiastomatocheek]

NO DETOUR TOO FAR

requested: yes | req: dating quinn comes with getting the most random calls from jack and luke all the time because you’re the older sister they never had — but when one night luke and jack call you and tell you how everything’s going to shit in jersey because they’re both injured now, you and quinn get on a plane to help both of them, without a second thought.

pairing: quinn hughes x f!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, found family, domestic.

warnings: emotional vulnerability, mild injury descriptions, a few curse words (optional and mild), mentions of post-surgery recovery.

summary: dating quinn means loving him deeply but it also means becoming the older sister jack and luke never had. from random late-night cooking calls to emotional hockey check-ins, they’ve slowly become part of your heart, too. so when both brothers suffer injuries that threaten more than just their seasons, you and quinn don’t hesitate for a second. you catch the first flight to new jersey, armed with fluffy pancakes, jasmine tea, and the kind of love that never needs to be spoken to be understood.

fia’s note: dearest to my lovely readers, i’ve decided i’m going to start calling you all my sweet tomatoes because why not? it’s cute, and honestly, it fits the vibe 🍅💌 this fic was actually a request from back in may (i know, i know, it’s been a minute 😭), but i finally got around to finishing it, and i really hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. sending love always, xx.

tagging team fia ! — @fallinallincurls @dancerbailey3 @falsehood-03 @mashmashi @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka @smiley-roos @silvenyy @bd147ms @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @ruinix @when-im-with-you @puckinghughes @definitelynotdomanique @quinnintheabyss

fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | yap & fic

“Quinn,”

“Sometimes I think Jack and Luke are the little brothers I never knew I needed,” you murmured, breaking the comfortable silence.

The mug in your hands, your feet were tucked under you on the plush couch, and Quinn’s arm rested comfortably over your shoulders.

Quinn chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated through his chest.

“They think of you like that too, you know. Jack’s always asking if you’re coming to the next family thing. And Luke? He’s got this weird sixth sense for when something’s off with us. Like if you don’t show up to a game or miss a FaceTime, he’s convinced I screwed up somehow.”

You laughed into your tea.

“He’s not entirely wrong to suspect you.”

Quinn rolled his eyes, feigning offense. “I never do anything wrong.”

“Oh, really? That time you forgot our anniversary?” you teased, arching a brow.

He groaned, tilting his head back against the couch.

“Okay, one time.”

“One very memorable time,” you shot back, smirking.

He gave you a playful nudge, but the moment softened into something quieter, more intimate.

“Seriously, though,” he said, his voice gentle.

“They love you. You make it easy for them. You pick up every call, even the one where Jack asked how to boil broccoli at 1 a.m.”

You snorted, the memory vivid. “He said it was ‘urgent.’ Like life-or-death broccoli.”

“Don’t forget Luke’s emergency brownies,” Quinn added, grinning.

“He’s still convinced yours are magic.”

“I told him to wait eleven minutes before checking on them. He peeked at nine. Rookie mistake.”

You leaned into Quinn’s side, your heart swelling at the thought of the Hughes brothers. Jack would always calling you for everything from fashion advice to how to fix a botched smoothie. Luke’s quieter, more thoughtful check-ins, texting you about laundry detergent because it ‘smelled like home.’ They’d woven themselves into your life in the same effortless, comforting way family does, a messy, ridiculous, and irreplaceable.

Your phone rang on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with Jack’s name. It wasn’t unusual for Jack to call at odd hours, but something about the late hour made your stomach twist faintly.

You picked up before the second ring.

“Hey, Jacky. What’s up?”

His voice on the other end wasn’t the usual boisterous hum you’d grown used to. It was almost like a low, tired, and fragile.

“Hey… how are you and Q?”

You sat up straighter, concern creeping in.

“We’re good. About to head to the store for some groceries. You okay?”

There was a pause, too long for Jack, who usually filled every silence with a quip or a story. Then he exhaled, a shaky sound.

“Not really. Luke and I… we’re both out. Shoulder surgeries. Both of us. It’s… it’s been rough. For both of us.”

Your heart sank. You glanced at Quinn, whose expression had shifted to one of quiet alarm, his hand tightening slightly on your shoulder as he leaned in to listen.

“Are you… are you guys coming to Jersey anytime soon?”

Jack asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“I know it’s a lot, but it’s been bad. Luke’s trying to act chill, but I can tell he’s not. And I just… I don’t know. Thought maybe seeing you both might help.”

Your voice was steady, even as your chest ached.

“We’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

Jack’s breath hitched on the other end.

“Wait… seriously? Just like that?”

“Of course, Jack. Don’t be silly. You guys are family.”

You hung up and turned to Quinn, who was already on his feet, grabbing his phone.

“We’re going,” you said, not a question but a statement.

“Already booking the flights,” he replied, his fingers flying over his phone screen.

“Let’s pack and head to the airport tonight.”

Five hours later, with barely enough sleep and two carry-ons stuffed with essentials, your homemade pancake mix, a few of Quinn’s games for the boys, and a small tin of your ‘magic’ brownie recipe, you and Quinn landed in New Jersey just as the sun began to rise.

The Uber driver dropped you off outside Jack and Luke’s shared apartment, you pulled out the spare key Jack had insisted you keep ‘In case of emergencies… or if I lock myself out again’, gave it to Quinn and pushed open the door quietly.

Jack and Luke’s apartment smelled like burnt, probably Jack’s latest attempt at ‘cooking.’ You smiled despite yourself, but the sight in the living room stopped you in your tracks.

Jack and Luke were sprawled across the couch, both fast asleep, their slung-up shoulders propped awkwardly on pillows. Jack’s mouth was slightly open, a faint snore escaping, while Luke’s head was tilted at an angle that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Their faces, even in sleep, carried a weight of vulnerable, exhausted, and unmistakably young.

You set your bag down gently, motioning for Quinn to unpack the essentials in the guest room while you tied your hair up and headed for the kitchen. You knew the drill. Flour, eggs, baking powder, a pinch of salt. The butter sizzled in the pan, and the familiar sound of mixing batter and flipping pancakes. You drizzled honey over each one, just the way Jack and Luke liked them, the golden syrup catching the light.

“You’re here,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep and relief.

“I told you we would be,”

You said, crossing the kitchen to pull him into a careful side hug, mindful of his shoulder.

“Go sit. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

Quinn emerged from the guest room just as Luke shuffled in, rubbing his eyes with his good hand.

“Smells like your pancakes,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s because they are,” you replied.

“Come on, sit.”

The four of you gathered at the small dining table, plates stacked with warm pancakes and a pot of jasmine tea in the center. For a moment, no one spoke, just the soft clinks of forks against plates and the slow, deliberate chewing of warm food.

Jack broke the silence first.

“I feel like shit,” he admitted, staring at his plate.

“Like… not just physically. But like I let everyone down. The team. The fans. Ourselves.”

Luke swallowed, his eyes fixed on his mug.

“Yeah. I keep thinking I could’ve done something different. Dodged a hit, maybe. Or… I don’t know. I just feel useless.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over both of theirs, your grip firm but gentle.

“Do you know how proud we are of you?” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

“You’ve been playing this game since you could barely walk. You’ve given your heart to it, every single day. A surgery doesn’t change that. It doesn’t change who you are.”

Quinn nodded, his expression steady but fierce.

“She’s right. This isn’t the end of anything. It’s just a detour. You’re still Jack and Luke Hughes, and you’re still two of the best people we know.”

You squeezed their hands.

“You’re not just hockey players. You’re good men. Kind, funny, loving little brothers we both adore. And if all you ever did was call us at 2 a.m. to ask how to boil broccoli again, we’d still be proud.”

Jack’s eyes glistened, and he looked away quickly, trying to hide it. Luke wasn’t as subtle a single tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away with the back of his good hand, a small, sheepish smile breaking through.

“I wish you guys could stay until we’re better,” Luke mumbled, his voice barely audible.

You exchanged a glance with Quinn, your heart aching at the vulnerability in Luke’s words.

“We wish we could, too,” you said softly.

“But we’ll be here as long as we can. And when we’re not…”

Quinn leaned in, his voice warm but firm.

“We’ll FaceTime everyday if you want. Or every other day. Four times a week minimum. Deal?”

Jack and Luke both nodded, their smiles returning slowly, tentative but real. For now, the surgeries, the rehab, the disappointment they could wait. Because this? This was family.

One evening, as the four of you sat on the couch with a pile of blankets and a muted hockey game on in the background, Jack turned to you.

“You know, I was kinda joking when I asked you to come. I didn’t think you’d actually drop everything.”

You raised an eyebrow,

“And miss the chance to nag you in person? Never.”

Luke laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in days.

“You’re stuck with us now, you know. No escaping.”

Quinn draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“Good. We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Days turned into a week, you and Quinn helped the boys navigate their new routines from physical therapy appointments, medication schedules, and the occasional emotional breakdown. You taught Jack how to make a proper smoothie (no more blending entire bananas with the peel on), and you sat with Luke during his quieter moments, letting him talk when he was ready and staying silent when he wasn’t.

When it was time to head back to Vancouver, the goodbye was harder than you expected. Jack hugged you tightly, his good arm squeezing you like he didn’t want to let go. Luke with his hug was just as fierce, his face buried in your shoulder for a moment longer than usual.

“Call us,”

You said, pointing at them as you and Quinn stood in the doorway.

“Anytime. For anything.”

“Even broccoli emergencies?” Jack asked, a glimmer of his old mischief returning.

“Especially broccoli emergencies,” you replied, grinning.

As the door closed behind you, you felt Quinn’s hand slip into yours, his grip so steady.

“You’re pretty good at this big sister thing,” he said quietly.

You smiled, leaning into him as you walked toward the Uber.

“Only because I’ve got the best partner in crime.”

Flight home, both of you lost in thought. You knew Jack and Luke would be okay but more than that, they had you and Quinn, and that was a bond no injury could break.

[fandom-blahs]

Yes exactly!

I'll add an example to hopefully cement why you really need to check out the media yourself and come to your own conclusion, reading other people's thoughts is helpful but you need to decide for yourself at times.

I noticed that when the discussion revolves around Muslim (esp women) representation, "muslimtok" or any adjacent communities will call out or label a show as problematic is the character is a a less than a perfect conservative Muslim.

It's one of the things I find very novel about Western portrayals at times, there's no religious or moral authority browbeating creatives. Yes it's icky and messy because people are messy and complicated but a hijabi character drinking alcohol is not islamophobic nor is orientalist and def not an endorsement of that behaviour.

Ladybits, while it doesn't have female characters drinking alcohol, has a colourful cast of characters that heavily deviate from the norm. I haven't even seen a portrayal like this in my own Muslim-majority country (which usually has female character deviating from the norm at a rate that would send these conservatives in a frenzy). Online it was pretty much attacked and labelled as offensive because the characters played music and don't you know? That's Islamophobic! The West is trying to cause ruin in our own countries and diaspora communities because female characters playing music! Oh the shame!!! so haram!!

So yes you really do need to go out of your own way to interact with the thing and see if it's offensive lest you be swarmed with conservatives telling you how to think, even though you would never give the time of day to conservatives in your own country/community.

"can someone tell me if this show is offensive?" "do you guys think this ship is problematic-"

i am begging you to go and find the answers for these questions yourself. stop asking other people to do literary analysis for you. think critically. figure out yourself if you like that ship, or if you like that show. stop letting your joy be determined by majority vote.

yes, stay safe, look up trigger warnings, ask friends for help avoiding specific things you know will make you viscerally uncomfortable - but if you've already watched the show, you don't need to be asking people if it's ok for you to like it. make up your own damn mind!

[wendichester]

I'm physically ill after finding out that Azazel set up a chessboard to prepare Sam for Lucifer, ever since college. This man never catches a break at all, and the fact that everything was inevitable from the beginning makes me so sad :(

Can I ask you to write a reader that is sort of like a glitch in the system, allowing Sam to have something real with. The one variable Azazel never saw coming. Demons keep failing to kill them. Not because they're powerful, but because they're irrelevant to the plan, and thus, their prophecies can’t see them. Reader doesn't even notice because every day is just normal and mundane.

(For the love of god, Sam deserves to have one single thing that isn't ripped away from him, just because of his existence😭)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 the unwritten line,

pairing. sam winchester x reader ( gn )

wordcount. 581 genre. comfort

warnings. canon-typical angst references (azazel’s manipulation, sam’s trauma, lucifer stuff), existential dread vibes, fluffy comfort to balance it out, protective sam, reader is the soft little anomaly that breaks fate, slightly melancholic, but very healing

Sam stares at you like you’re a secret. Like somehow, you don’t make sense.

Not in the “you’re weird” kind of way. Not even in the “you’re too good to be real” kind of way—which, okay, you’ve caught him mumbling that once or twice when he thinks you’re asleep. No. This is something else. This is deeper. Quiet. Unsettled.

“You okay?” you ask, brushing your hand over his arm. He hasn’t touched his coffee in fifteen minutes. It’s gone cold.

Sam blinks, like you startled him. Then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Just… thinking.”

You sit across from him, sleepy in your hoodie, a little crumb stuck to your lip from breakfast. There’s a flickering candle burning low on the table—not for a ritual, not for protection, not for anything supernatural. Just because you like the smell. “Thinking about what?”

Sam opens his mouth, then closes it again. You watch the war happen on his face. He doesn’t want to tell you. But he will—because he always does.

“Azazel,” he says finally. Quiet. Barely above the hum of the fridge. “And how early it started.”

You set your mug down gently. He doesn’t look at you.

“Feels like… I never had a shot,” he admits. “Everything. The demon blood, Jess, my choices—” He swallows, like the taste of it burns. “It was all leading there. To Lucifer. To the cage. And I just—I keep thinking…” His voice falters. “There’s no version of my life where I get to live it.”

You reach across the table. You don’t say anything yet—just touch his hand. Your thumb traces a circle across his knuckles, over the scar he got during a salt-and-burn gone wrong. His hand tightens around yours.

“But then there’s you,” he says, like the words are being pulled from somewhere deep. ���And you… you’re not in the plan.”

You blink. “What plan?”

“Exactly.” He lets out a laugh that doesn’t quite land. “Demons don’t know what to do with you. You show up in visions—if they even show you at all—like static. Like a glitch. They send hellhounds? You’re out buying eggs. Possessed mailman tries to kill you? Trips over his own shoelaces and knocks himself out. You keep slipping through, like the universe forgot to write you in.”

You furrow your brow. “I mean, I’m not that forgettable…”

“No. That’s not what I mean.” He looks at you now, really looks. “You’re real. You laugh at my stupid jokes. You get excited about pancakes. You hum to the radio even when you don’t know the lyrics. You’re… human. In a way I’ve never really been allowed to be. And I think…” He trails off again, swallows thickly. “I think you’re the first thing in my life that wasn’t designed to hurt me.”

Your breath catches. The weight of his words hits hard, then softens—like snowfall, slow and quiet, but inescapable.

“I’m not part of any prophecy,” you say, reaching to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I’m not powerful. I’m not chosen. I just… exist.”

Sam smiles faintly. “Exactly.”

“And you still want me around?”

He looks at you like you hung the moon. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt like mine.”

The candle sputters a little in the background. Your coffee’s gone cold. Somewhere out there, demons probably still whisper about destiny and vessels and chaos.

But here, across the table, Sam Winchester smiles—like for the first time, fate forgot to interfere.

And that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; support my work .ᐟ

[yuujispunches]

More than comfortable ~ M.F.

Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

Summary: A quiet night in might soften Megumi just enough for him to be clingy, only if it’s with you.

CW (content warning): literally nothing, this is just tooth rotting fluff.

AN: Hi guys! I’m finally back after so long hahahah I’m sorry for neglecting you for so long but I had a writers block and thought I’d take some time off while I was starting my summer vacations. I still have a few trips planned but I’ll try to get through my requests and post a few works here hahahah. English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

The faint hum of the television filled the room in a quiet murmur, casting soft colors against the darkened walls as the latest episode of some long-forgotten show played in the background. The blinds were half-closed, the sky outside painted in hues of late afternoon, tipping lazily toward evening. Everything about this moment was the definition of comfortable, the way the air settled warm against your skin, the weight of the blankets across your legs, and most of all, the solid, very much present warmth of Megumi Fushiguro curled up behind you in bed.

You hadn’t intended to get this cozy. It had started with just watching something together, a small shared indulgence between missions and mayhem. But then Megumi had pulled you into bed, under the guise of “getting more comfortable,” he’d claimed, and you hadn’t really fought it. Who were you to resist the rare occasion when Megumi asked for affection rather than quietly hoping for it?

He lay behind you now, arms draped lazily around your waist, chin nudged softly into the crook of your shoulder. You could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breath against your neck, each exhale warm and ticklish. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was insistent, the kind of hold that told you without words: I’m not letting go any time soon.

You smirked to yourself, glancing at the screen but not really watching it. It wasn’t the show that held your attention. It was the way Megumi had slowly but surely been shifting closer over the last thirty minutes. First, it was a hand on your waist. Then that hand had slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers cool and possessive against your bare skin. Then he’d pulled you closer, inch by inch, until your back was flush with his chest.

You hadn’t said anything. Not yet. But you were very aware.

Especially now, as one of his hands slipped up to brush gently over your ribs, fingers spreading out as if to mold you closer against him.

You bit back a grin. He was trying to be subtle, and failing miserably.

“You good back there?” You asked, voice casual but teasing as you wiggled slightly.

Megumi made a low sound in his throat. “Mhm.”

“You sure?” You pressed. “You’ve been inching closer for the last thirty minutes. I thought maybe you were cold.”

“Not cold.” He muttered, the tip of his nose brushing just under your jaw. “Just... comfortable.”

You turned your head a bit, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. “Comfortable, huh?”

His only response was to tighten his hold just a fraction. If you didn’t know him better, you might’ve missed the slight rise in color along his cheekbones. But you did know him. You knew every shift in his voice, every flicker in his expression. And this? This was Megumi being quietly, hopelessly clingy.

You grinned.

“Megumi Fushiguro.” You sing-songed, dragging your fingers lightly down the arm wrapped around your waist. “Are you being needy?”

His body stiffened for half a second, then relaxed. He didn’t answer.

So you turned in his arms, facing him now, your legs brushing against his under the blanket. He didn’t pull away. In fact, he pulled you closer without hesitation, thigh sliding between yours and arms wrapping around your back instead. His eyes met yours for a second, and you could see the quiet plea there, even if his mouth stayed silent.

“You are being needy.” You said, softer this time. You reached up and lightly traced your fingers over the line of his collarbone, letting them trail lazily across his chest.

He exhaled slowly, barely a sound, but his eyelids fluttered a little, and you swore you felt him melt just the tiniest bit.

Your fingers continued, dancing along the planes of his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt, sketching invisible shapes, patterns, swirls.

A quiet hum escaped him.

He tucked his head a little closer to yours, one hand curling gently into your side. “That feels nice.”

“Mhm.” You smiled. “You like that?”

“Yeah.” He practically purred.

You kept going, watching the way his expression softened more with every pass of your fingers. His eyes were half-lidded now, completely focused on your touch. When you stopped for just a second to shift your arm, he reacted instantly, nudging forward, cheek pressing to your shoulder, breath warm against your collarbone.

You laughed quietly. “You could just ask, you know.”

He didn’t lift his head. “Asking’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, baby.” You leaned down slightly, lips brushing his temple. “You’ve literally dragged me into bed, clung to me like a koala, and made sad noises when I stopped petting you. I think we’re past embarrassing.”

“I didn’t make sad noises.”

“You absolutely did.”

He groaned low in his throat, burying his face more fully against your skin. “I hate you.”

You chuckled, curling your hand back over his chest again, resuming the slow patterns. “Liar.”

“Mhm.” He didn’t argue further. If anything, he pulled you closer, as if he could fuse you together if he tried hard enough.

You stayed like that for a while, cuddled together in the tangle of sheets, the soft flicker of the television casting shadows over the both of you. Megumi was peaceful, you realized. There was always a part of him that carried tension, like he was constantly preparing for the next disaster. But here, in this moment, with you in his arms and your touch gentle against his skin, he let go.

It was rare. Precious and deeply, deeply adorable.

He made a little noise again when your fingers paused.

You raised a brow. “That again?”

“Keep going.” He mumbled, barely audible.

You teased. “Please keep going.”

He lifted his head just enough to give you a look, pink-eared, grumpy-sweet. “Don’t push it.”

You just laughed, kissing the tip of his nose before continuing your gentle ministrations.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours, you weren’t keeping track. The warmth of the blankets, the hush of the room, and the constant contact had lulled both of you into a slow, syrupy calm.

You stretched a little at one point, shifting to get a drink of water from the bedside table, but the second you started moving, Megumi clung tighter.

“Where are you going?”

You blinked. “Just grabbing my water.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” He curled around you more securely, dragging you back against him. “Not done.”

You snorted. “Not done with what?”

“With this.”

You turned halfway in his arms again. “Fushiguro, are you saying you haven’t had enough hugs yet?”

He looked you dead in the eye, all earnest seriousness. “Yes. You’re not allowed to move yet.”

You nearly melted right then and there.

“Okay, okay.” You whispered, letting him pull you back down. “I’ll stay.”

His lips brushed the side of your neck. “Good.”

“You’re so clingy tonight.” You murmured, grinning as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

“You don’t mind.” He muttered, almost smug.

“I don’t.” You agreed. “I really, really don’t.”

You spent the next little while trading soft kisses and whispers, hands gently tracing over each other's arms, shoulders, cheeks. Megumi held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth and maybe you were. He sighed every time you kissed his temple or carded your fingers through his hair, like each touch grounded him in ways words never could.

“Y’know.” You whispered at one point, “You’re lucky I love you, because this level of clinginess would be criminal coming from anyone else.”

Megumi hummed. “I am lucky.”

Your heart stuttered a little at that.

“You never say things like that out loud.” You murmured, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

His voice was quiet, low and slightly hoarse. “I do when it’s just us.”

That made something warm and soft bloom in your chest, so full and deep that you leaned in to kiss him slow and sweet. He kissed back, sleepy and sincere, one hand cupping your cheek like you were made of something fragile and precious.

You pulled back only a little, your lips barely brushing his. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He said easily, the words slipping out like they’d been waiting forever.

You smiled against his mouth and kissed him again, more lingering this time.

Eventually, you shifted just slightly to get more comfortable again, but Megumi made a small, scandalized noise and physically anchored you in place.

“You’re not allowed to move.” He grumbled. “You belong here now.”

You laughed, pressing your face into his chest as you gave up entirely.

“Fine.” You said, voice muffled. “I guess I belong to you now.”

“Always did.” He mumbled.

And that was how you spent the rest of the evening. Curled in bed, limbs tangled, the world reduced to the quiet hum of affection and the steady beat of each other's hearts. Whatever chaos waited outside this room, it didn’t matter. Not here. Not now.

Megumi Fushiguro had you in his arms, and he wasn’t letting go.

Tags: @hawkwithsocks @pickledsoda @savagecatsuga @suna-yoshihara @grignardsreagent @noooo-onee

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added in future works! :)

[blondykebarbie]

hii, you asked for prompts for nanny!reader and i'm wondering if you'd write something where reader goes to a double date with her friend or something (she doesn't know her date and her friend set them up, she's not really interested and it's not going well), and either james shows up there after work and recognizes her or she comes home and has to explain to james and harry why she's in a low mood?

no worries if not ofc, and sorry if it sounded confusing

ceo!dilf!james potter x nanny!fem!reader (PART FIVE)

WC: 3.3k

CW: age gap (reader is 22 and James is 32); men (ew); allusion to previous toxic relationship; possessive!james; Mary is reader's age instead of James' for the sake of the plot

Summary: your best friend Mary convinces you to go on a date. neither you nor james are happy about it

A/n: omg yes, yes! thanks for the request, I love it so so much!! i altered it a little bit so that james secretly finds out and he can be protective, hope that's okay!

Series Masterlist

--

“Babes,” your best friend, Mary, croons through the phone, “you can’t keep doing this. He’s your boss for god’s sake.”

You groan and flip onto your stomach, kicking your legs back and forth gently to help the nail polish dry faster, “I know, Mary, I know. I’ve been trying. But just when I convince myself that it’s all in my head, he says or does something that completely unravels all my logic.”

Ever since you and James shared a bed a few nights ago, per Harry’s request, thank you very much, you’ve been in a bit of a tizzy. While your boss may not have realized it, you’d heard the few murmured words that slipped past his lips right before he fell asleep- I care about you too. To be frank, it’d sent you into a state of shock and you hadn’t gotten much sleep that night or the nights following. 

You can’t stop thinking about the incident. Did he mean to say it? What way did he mean it? Did it mean he cares about you as a person? As an employee? As a friend? As something…more?

“ARGH!” you screech, burying your face in your pillow.

“You need to get out there. Talk to people that aren’t ten years your senior or nearly twenty years your junior,” Mary announces, as if it were such a simple thing to do. 

“I tried that. Do you not remember the Jackson incident?”

Your curly haired friend sighs loudly into the speaker, “that doesn’t count and we both know it. You need to get out of that house, hun, loosen up.”

“Don’t-”

“You need to go on a date.”

The word sends a shiver down your spine and you scoff, “Over my dead body.”

“Come on! It could be fun! You haven’t dated in, like, ages,” Mary pleads.

“And there’s a good reason for that too. We saw how my last relationship went, and I don’t want to repeat that again. It’s not worth it.” 

You say the last part quietly, less than pleasant memories of your ex resurfacing in your brain.

Your best friend’s voice softens too, “Babes, you know not all guys are like Garrett…nor like Jackson.”

A lump settles in your throat and you blink back tears, “I know, but…”

You trail off, focusing all of your attention on dutifully painting your fingernails a soft, shimmery pink. Mary is kind enough to not immediately fill the silence. 

She sighs gently, though the sound is only filled with concern and love, “Okay, okay, what if we do a double date? I’ll set us both up, make sure they both seem like decent guys, and drive us to and from the restaurant? If at any time you feel like it’s going bad or you’re uncomfortable, just say the word and we’ll leave.”

You swallow thickly, thinking over her proposition. Honestly, it does sound remarkably better than going on a blind date alone or with someone you’ve met on the apps. Anyhow, Mary’s right- you do need to get out there, both because it’s been far too long and also because you have to forget about your boss. Whatever your complicated feelings for James are, they can’t continue. He’s your boss. He’s a decade older than you. He’s rich. He has a kid. For Christ's sake, he’s been married. Anyways, he’s too good for someone like you and would never go for you.

You cap the bottle of polish and blow on your nails gently, “Okay, fine, Mary. I’ll go on one date so long as I’m promised that out.”

She squeals into the phone so shrilly your speaker crackles and you can’t help but giggle in spite of yourself, “alright, that’s enough. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you kidding?! It’s a HUGE deal. I’m so excited for you us, babes. I’ll pick you up at six on Saturday and we’ll go to Nando’s, your favorite, mmkay? I love you!”

You sigh fondly, “yeah, okay, okay. I love you too. I’ll see you then.”

The call ends and you bury your face back into your pillow dramatically. What had you gotten yourself into?

-- 

James hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, honest. It just, well, happened. Although you have the night off, and he absolutely respects that, Harry had been begging him to ask you to join them for a movie. He eventually relented, figuring there was no harm in asking. If you said no, you said no. By asking, James could, at least, quiet his son’s incessant badgering and, at best, get a yes from you (which he selfishly, hoped for). Could he really be faulted for wanting to spend every ounce of free time he had with you and Harry? 

As James approached your door he could hear the murmurings of your voice through the thick wood as you talked on the phone. He was content to wait for you to finish your call, assuming it didn’t take too long. Luckily, it hadn’t, but the length of your conversation ceased to matter when he heard its contents. James, sincerely, wasn’t trying to actively listen in on your conversation, but the door wasn’t that sound proof and you weren’t exactly talking quietly. In fact, to him, the words seemed to ring through the walls clear as day-  Okay, fine, Mary. I’ll go on one date so long as I’m promised that out.

His heart dropped into his stomach- a date?

This wasn’t part of the plan. Whatever fantasy-dreamworld plan he’d come up with in his head. The one where you two got together and raised Harry and eventually got married and had more of your own. Sure, it’s just one date, but that’s all it ever is until, suddenly, he’s sitting on the bride’s side at your wedding, your resignation still echoing in his ears. 

James is so befuddled by this new development that he barely picks up on the rest of the conversation besides three key words: 6 o’clock, Saturday, Nando’s.

Somehow, he stumbles his way back downstairs. It’s only when he’s met with Harry’s big, green doe eyes and little pout that he remembers why he’d even gone up to your room in the first place.

Despite the fact that he grew up wealthy and privileged, with the most loving parents in the world and a whole company waiting for him after university, James had always considered himself a fairly kind, thoughtful, well rounded person. Yet, at this moment, all that character goes out the window. He wants what’s his, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you.

--

You honestly think you might throw up. For the tenth time in the last twenty minutes, you smooth your hands down the sides of your dark blue, satin skirt. If there were any wrinkles left in the fabric, which there weren’t, because you’d meticulously obsessed over the article of clothing all morning, they were certainly gone now. Although you trust Mary with your life, you’re incredibly nervous for this double date. It’s been nearly a year since you’ve been on a date at all, and just over three since you’ve been on a first date. You and Garrett had been together for about three and a half years – almost the entirety of university. You’d been so sure the two of you were going to get married, but, as things tend to do, it all fell apart a few months before graduation when you learned your ex-boyfriend was not at all who you thought he was. It ended so badly that you’d sworn off dating for the time being. You didn’t want to risk putting yourself out there and getting hurt again. Still, you knew Mary was right- you couldn’t avoid it forever.

You sit on the couch in the sitting room, only half paying attention to Harry as he explains to you some game he’s made up for himself. Your phone sits pressed against your thigh as you anxiously await a text from your best friend telling you she’s arrived. Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, James had been free this evening and had assured you that you would without a doubt have the night off to do as you pleased. You hadn’t bothered going into much detail about your plans, not really wanting to share with your crush that you had a date with another man. All he knew was that you were hanging out with Mary and that you were really worried about the wrinkles on your skirt.

Finally, your phone buzzes a few minutes after six. You shoot up, anxiously shoving your phone in your purse and swinging it over your shoulder.

James, who’s sitting on the couch next to you, looks up from where he’s been watching Harry, “is she here?”

You nod, exhaling shakily, “yep! I, uh, don’t know how long I’ll be out tonight, but if you need anything at all, just-”

The brunette cuts you off, standing and coming to your side. He hovers his hand over the small of your back and gently begins to usher you towards the door, “don’t worry about us, sweetheart. Harry and I will get on just fine. You have lots of fun and call me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all, even if it’s late and you think you’ll be bothering me.“

James unlocks the door and opens it for you, squeezing your waist gently before stepping back, “have a good time!”

You murmur a thank you and goodbye quickly before rushing out the door, as if trying to run away from the butterflies he set off in your stomach with a simple touch. You hop into the passenger side of Mary’s little yellow bug and shut the door resoundly. As you buckle your seatbelt, your best friend peers out her window and up at the Potter Manor.

She whistles slowly, “damn, you weren’t lying. Even from here I can tell that Mr. Potter is a smoke show.”

Your face heats and you smack her arm before letting your gaze follow hers. James stands in the doorway, forearms on display in a worn, gray T-shirt, looking absolutely delicious. He waves lazily and Mary returns the gesture, a shit-eating smirk on her face. You groan loudly and wave back embarrassedly, murmuring under your breath for her to drive.

She finally obliges and puts the car in drive, heading off to your destination.

“Maybe I was wrong,” she teases, “maybe we should turn this car back around so that you can go flirt it up with Mr. rich hot guy.”

“Mary!” you whine pitifully.

Your best friend raises her hands in surrender, “Okay, okay. I’ll stop, I’m sorry.”

Her brown eyes glance to you as she drives, “you nervous?”

You glare at her, unamused, “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“Okay, ouch, the claws are out tonight.”

You exhale, apologetically, “I’m sorry, I just am really nervous. What if I’ve forgotten how to date or something?”

Mary reaches over and squeezes your thigh assuredly, “that’s not something you can forget how to do. Plus, you’re a catch- sexy, smart, and witty. You’ll be great and, remember, you have me there as a wing woman. So just relax, enjoy some free food and drinks, and maybe have a good time with this guy.”

You fiddle with the hem of your skirt, “and what if I don’t have a good time with this guy?”

She shrugs, her curls bouncing “then you don’t, and that’s okay. And, like I said, you still get free drinks and food out of it. And quality time with your favorite person.”

“But Harry isn’t here.”

The brunette gasps, “Okay, rude. I can’t believe I’ve been replaced by a four-year-old.”

“To be fair, he’s a really cute four-year-old.”

--

James is only a little ashamed to admit that he’s using his very cute, adorably earnest, four year-old son to ruin your date tonight. So far, everything is going according to plan. You’d asked James for tonight off the same day he’d heard your phone call and, of course, he’d said yes. Although James didn’t want you going on this date with a random guy, he also knew keeping you locked up in his nice home with his sweet kid wasn’t going to ultimately win your affections; he needed you to get out there and see what little all the other men had to offer.

James hadn’t asked about your plans either, and, luckily, you hadn’t offered up any details. It was just as he’d hoped – if he didn’t know about your plans then he had plausible deniability. It would just happen to be a coincidence that he and Harry showed up at the same restaurant you were having your date at. It wouldn’t be suspicious either, because it’s not like it was uncommon for a father to take his son out to dinner at Nando’s on a Saturday night.

He waits thirty minutes after you leave, anxiously fidgeting on the couch the whole time, before suggesting a dinner night out with Harry. The little boy eagerly agrees, zooming off to put on his lightup shoes so they could go. Once they’re both buckled into James’ black Ferrari they head off, only speeding a little. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this revved up to go to a Nando’s. 

By the time they pull up to the restaurant his hands are sweating. Though James wants to ruin your date, he doesn’t want you to hate him either. He knows he has to go about this the exact right way or he might lose you entirely. Harry, at least, distracts him from his nerves a little. The boy’s nearly bouncing off the walls with excitement, tugging James behind him as he runs towards the front doors. 

“Woah, buddy, calm down. Don’t want you tripping and getting hurt,” he corrects gently.

Harry huffs dramatically but obliges his dad, instead walking patiently at his side. Air conditioning blasts them in the face as they step inside and they’re met with the quiet din of people laughing and chatting. To his surprise, Nando’s isn’t too busy this evening, with plenty of tables still available to choose from. 

“Can I choose a table, Daddy?” Harry asks eagerly, bright eyes flitting about the restaurant wildly. 

James hums an assent, only half paying attention as his son guides them through the maze of tables. He wants to find you. No, he needs to find you. What does the guy you’re seeing look like? Is he making you laugh? Are you bored or uncomfortable? 

God, what if he went to the wrong Nando’s?

Suddenly, there’s a childish shout of your name and James’ head snaps down, hazel eyes trailing after Harry as he breaks free. His gaze follows his son, who is running directly towards you. Though the elder Potter saw you less than an hour ago, his breath still catches in his throat. You’re just so beautiful, and he can’t believe that he gets to exist in the same space as you. Somehow, you manage to look like a goddess even in a Nando’s and it leaves him completely and utterly paralyzed. It comforts him that you seem paralyzed too, though more so in surprise than awe. Your pretty eyes, his new favorite color, find his across the restaurant effortlessly and a shiver runs down his spine. 

James, finally, snaps out of his stupor and rushes over to your table, at least having the decency to pretend to be embarrassed. 

“God, I’m so sorry,” he blurts out in a perfectly practiced apologetic tone, “I wanted to take Harry out for dinner as a treat. I didn’t know you were going to be here…you didn’t tell me-”

He trails off, eyes flicking between you and the blonde man sitting across from you. James smugly notes that the bloke is only average looking. 

He crouches down, his voice lowering to maintain privacy even though he wants everyone at the table to hear, “I hope we haven’t interrupted something, sweetheart.”

You fluster prettily which makes James Potter a very happy man. The use of the pet name also seems to irritate your date, the blonde visibly prickling. This makes him even happier. 

Your eyes anxiously dart between your friend Mary, he thinks, and the blonde man, “Uhm-”

“Who’s this, then?” the man interrupts, tone barely polite. 

“Oh, r-right, sorry. Uhm, Kyle, this is my boss, James, and his son, Harry- the one I told you I nanny. James and Harry, this is my- uh- this is Kyle.”

You also gesture to Mary and her date, Issac. When Harry hears Mary’s name his face lights up, “you’re Mary?! I hear about you all the time!”

Your best friend laughs loudly, eyes sparkling with delight, “oh really? Only good things I hope.”

His son nods eagerly, insistently raising his arms to be picked up by you so he can talk more to Mary. With no hesitation you oblige him, settling him on your lap as he yaps to the brunette girl about all the things you’ve told him about her. She’s equally engaged and your face is a picture of contented fondness as you hold Harry. 

Kyle, James notes, looks incredibly displeased. 

“Right, so, why’re you here again?” the blonde interrupts harshly.

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, barely hidden disgust twisting your features unpleasantly.

“Can’t a dad take his son out for dinner sometimes?” James asks, tone easy, as if this wasn’t all meticulously planned, “it’s just an awful coincidence that our little date has crashed the nanny’s night off. We’re both really sorry about it, right Harry?”

His son nods obediently, though James is pretty sure he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to. Kyle, on the other hand, has the audacity to scoff and murmur something about “yeah, sure, a coincidence.”

Your eyes widen further and your brow furrows in anger. It’s an emotion he’s never seen on you, and it’s kind of hot. 

This time, you’re the one to scoff, “excuse me? You want to say that again?”

The blonde laughs dryly, “Oh come on. You seriously think this was a coincidence? Almost all you’ve done this whole date is talk about Harry, Harry, Harry, James, James, James, and then, suddenly, they show up? Just reject me if you’re not interested.”

Your own laugh matches his bitterness, “you think I’d come up with that convoluted of a plan just to get out of a date with you? Man, girls must really not like you if that sort of trickery on first dates is normal for you. I was willing to give you a chance, but now I’m definitely not interested in you, Kyle.”

You stand up from your seat, Harry perched on your hip, and turn to Mary, “you wanna stay or come with?”

Her gaze flicks to Issac, who just shrugs. So, she rolls her eyes and gets up too.

“Come on,” James offers, eyeing the two men disapprovingly before settling on the both of you, “let’s go sit somewhere else, my treat.”

In a strange flurry of conversation and shuffling, Harry ends up next to Mary, the two engaged in animated storytelling. James is rather pleased to have you nearly tucked into his side on the other side of the booth. Under the table his hand finds your bare knee and he doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry about ruining your date. I didn’t know-”

You quirk a brow and smirk, “didn’t know, hm? It was just a coincidence that Mr. Rich-Guy-Fancypants shows up at Nando’s, a place I’ve never heard him speak of, the same night as my date?”

“W-well,”

Your gaze softens and you squeeze the hand on your knee, “coincidence or not, I’m glad you ruined it, James. This is the only place I want to be- with my three favorite people.”

His heart flips in his chest and he decides he really wants to kiss you right now. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he just interlaces his fingers with yours, barely suppressing a smirk when your breath hitches softly.

Mission accomplished. 

[engelofthelord]

"you get me so high"

sorry if this doesn't sound like her idrk billie yk?

warnings/swear, light angst, flirtation, slowburn, implied attraction

pairings/billie eilish × reader

wc/2.1k

you didn’t expect to get picked

not really.

thousands of screaming fans, and somehow your name ended up on the screen for VIP backstage access at the end of billie’s set. you froze when the lights came on, stunned, clutching your phone like it was the only thing tethering you to this planet.

Is this real life?

you barely remembered entering the contest. It was a blur some late night Instagram giveaway, repost, tag a friend situation that felt more like wishful thinking than reality.

and yet… here you are, security lets you through with the golden lanyard swinging at your chest, the noise of the crowd dimming behind you with every step. your stomach’s a knot of nerves and sweat-slick anticipation you’re about to meet billie eilish. billie fucking eilish.

the hallway’s dim, cool. smells like citrus and backstage anxiety you breathe shallow, adjusting your hair in the reflection of a shiny equipment case as a woman in a headset ushers you toward a private lounge. velvet couch, low lights. her.

she’s perched casually on the edge of the sofa, sipping water and scrolling on her phone her black nail polish glows under the mood lighting, her black hoodie half zipped to reveal layered chains and a glimpse of pale collarbone

billie looks up, your eyes lock.

you forget how to breathe "oh, shit,” she says, grinning. “you’re the VIP, huh?”

you nod, smiling way too hard. “yeah… um, I think I forgot how to speak english.”

she laughs, low and real. “same after that show, my brain’s like... 50% sweat and 50% adrenaline.”

you sit when she gestures, a little too carefully, like you’re afraid you’ll knock something over. everything feels loud inside you, your pulse, your thoughts, your god, her eyes she leans forward, elbows on her knees, and just looks at you.

you try not to combust. (no literally)

“what’s your name?”

"y/n"

she repeats it, like she’s tasting it rolls it around in her mouth once, smiles. It’s a slow curve, a secret kind of smile, and it makes you feel like you’re being seen and undressed at the same time.

you make nervous small talk, and she plays along. she asks about your favorite song of the set (you stammer out Oxytocin), and then she teases you for liking the dirtiest one her eyebrow even lifts when you don’t deny it, bold of her

bolder of you to hold her gaze and say, “you looked… really good up there.”

It slips out before your brain can veto it, but you don’t regret it not when her smile turns into something sly something softer and a little dangerous.

“you too,” she says, quieter now. “you’re cute.”

your face goes thermonuclear. you laugh it off, but her gaze doesn’t drop it lingers warm and aware. there’s a heartbeat of silence where she just watches you, her fingers idly tapping the side of her water bottle.

“I’m not supposed to do this,” she murmurs, tugging her hoodie sleeve down like it’s a nervous tic. “but… can I get your number?”

your soul leaves your body.

you nod so fast you might get whiplash, fumbling for your phone she puts hers in your hand, waiting while you type it in. there’s a faint pink in her cheeks when you hand it back.

“cool,” she says softly, saving it. “I’ll text you.”

you float out of the lounge ten minutes later, heart thundering like a bass drop you keep replaying every look, every word, you can’t quite believe is real.

the text comes that night.

you stare at it, type erase then type again.

three dots then nothing for two minutes, you panic.

until, finally

(fuck ass screnshots)

weeks pass in a whirlwind of late-night texts, inside jokes, and casual selfies she sends when she “accidentally” wakes up cute your phone lights up more often than not with BILLIE 💚 and you’re quickly, stupidly addicted to it, to her.

the first date’s a quiet one, coffee shop tucked in some artsy part of town. she shows up in a beanie and sunglasses, but the moment she sees you, her smile goes bare.

you talk for hours, she’s magnetic and messy and so real it’s jarring you fall in love with the way she listens her head tilted, mouth soft, like everything you say matters more than the noise in her world.

by the third date, you’re sitting in her car outside your apartment, music low, rain on the windshield like a heartbeat.

she doesn’t kiss you, not yet atleast

she just looks at you like she wants to like she’s waiting for a green light you’re too afraid to give.

“I don’t wanna fuck this up,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

you don’t answer right away, you just rest your hand over hers, and she squeezes once.

a promise, not yet but soon.

and it is slow. a glacial pull between you the space between texts gets shorter the glances linger longer. she shows up for your birthday with a handwritten card and a stupid inside joke drawn in the margins. you spend the night curled up on her couch watching horror movies, neither of you really paying attention.

she falls asleep with her head in your lap, forcing yu to stay as still as possible

you finally kiss two weeks later.

It’s after a show. you’re backstage- again, watching her from the side with her sweat damp hair in a loose ponytail and adrenaline still in her veins. she sees you and her whole face shifts goes soft, relieved, yours.

you don’t talk she just walks over, takes your hand, and pulls you into the dressing room.

and she kisses you.

you melt into it, Into her her hands cradle your jaw like you’re fragile, like she’s scared you’ll disappear if she blinks, you taste lip balm and nerves and billie

It feels like your riding a roller coaster

when she pulls back, your forehead rests against hers you’re both out of breath.

you whisper, “what now?” she smiles, eyes fluttering closed.

“now I fall for you.” and you do to you fall hard, and real

[marrymekatemartin]

reader breaks up with a different d1 baller and ends up making out with one of the uconn wbb players (have fun!!)

tell her - A.F

pairing: azzi x reader word count: 928 warnings: making out, shower sex, fingering, orgasms, mean CC :( a/n: Ik you just said making out but I did add smut, the story still works without it! if you don’t wanna read that part, the smuts under the purple line!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦  ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶ 

Your phone was buzzing, over and over and over. God, she couldn’t leave you alone.

But this was new, she’d usually text, she hadn’t called, until now.

The word ‘Caitlin’ lit up your screen, and you watched it ring, contemplating what to do.

Eventually you decide you have nothing better to do, sitting on your couch in your pyjamas, so you pick it up with a sigh. “Hello?”

You hear her voice on the other side, masking her vulnerability with an emotionless scoff. “Dude, you haven’t been answering? We need to talk, seriously, we can talk about this.”

“No we can’t, Caitlin, you called me a whore. That’s not something we can move past from.” You grumble, falling back against your couch.

“You were being a whore! You were all over Paige that night!”

“Paige? Bueckers? Are you kidding me? Oh my god, goodbye, Caitlin.”

“No one else is gonna want you, you know that right?”

You purse your lips, raising your eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a promise.” She spits, before hanging up.

You sigh, laying on your couch in thought. You think of all the players you know, who might be interested in you? One comes to mind.

Azzi Fudd.

She’s always been head over heels for you, everytime you met with the UConn team her eyes were glued to you.

Subtle touches, glances that linger for too long, laughing at your jokes no matter how unfunny, and now was her chance.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You show up to UConn’s next game, wearing Azzi’s jersey that she’d given you back when you were still with Caitlin. (Safe to say Caitlin didn’t appreciate that gift very much.)

You notice how Azzi’s eyes always find their way back to you, maybe it’s because you’re right on the court side, maybe it’s because you’re wearing her jersey, maybe it’s because she wants to kiss you senseless.

Despite your distracting presence, Azzi manages to put her all into the game, securing UConn another win.

Azzi immediately finds you on the court side, going in for a hug, but you dodge, pressing your lips against hers with such fervour it made her wince.

But she was on you as well, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you flush against her.

The kiss is messy, uncoordinated, bruising, and desperate.

Your arms wrapping around her neck while her hands squeeze your ass, your tongues and teeth scraping together as it grows more and more heated.

You hear the cheering of her teammates, the cheering of the crowd, as Azzi pushes you towards the locker room, your lips never leaving hers.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re pushed up against a shower wall, both of you working to take off your clothes.

“Need you,” you whisper against her lips, and she nods breathlessly, taking her jersey off and leaving her bare.

You start to take your jersey off, but she stops you, grabbing your wrist.

“Leave it on, please?” She groans, the thought of fucking you in her jersey sending jolts of pleasure through her.

“Okay.” You whisper, not caring about anything but getting your lips on hers again. She leans in and kisses you just as desperately as before, her knee slotting between your legs. Her hand fumbles for the shower handle, turning the water on.

You don’t even blink when the cold water hits your skin, the jersey sticking to your skin, you just pull Azzi closer.

Soon enough the water turns warm, and you’re grinding your naked cunt against her bare thigh as you make out, desperate for any sense of relief.

She pushes your hips back, pulling her knee down. “You sure you want this?” She mumbles, and you nod, whining desperately and bucking your hips.

She moans, three of her fingers carefully slipping up your cunt. She doesn’t start slow, or gentle, or let you get used to the stretch, she just starts fucking you, at a brutal pace.

You gasp, clawing at her back to try and stabilize yourself. Your head falls against her shoulder, moans and sighs leaving your lips.

“That feel good, baby?” She mumbles into your ear, her free arm wrapping around your back to stabilize you.

You nod, rolling your hips to meet each thrust of her fingers. “S’good, so good…” you mumble, your mouth open and your eyes fluttering shut.

She gently rubs your clit with her thumb, your knees buckling at the added sensation.

“Shit- Azzi!” You gasp, your breathing heavy as she pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

Her fingers push up even deeper, curling and hitting a sweet spot so deep you never knew you had it.

She feels your walls clench around her, and she smiles. “You close?” She mumbles, the water and steam surrounding the two of you only adding to the heat of the moment.

You whimper and nod, grabbing her shoulders and stifling moans against her skin.

“Cum for me, it’s okay, let go, I’m here.” She whispers, and you do.

Her pace doesn’t slow down when you cry out in pleasure, or when your cum drenches her hand, or when you’re left clinging to her under the falling water, whispering her name over and over like a prayer.

She finally slows down when she’s sure you’re done, pulling her fingers out and sucking them clean.

“…did Caitlin ever make you feel like that?” She mumbles, her voice low.

“No,” you breathe out, still trying to catch your breath.

She hums, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “Hm, we’re gonna go again, and you’re gonna call her, and tell her that.”

═════════════════════════════ taglist: @let-zizi-yap, @wbbszn, @v0-mit (I’m so famous😝)

[bokkiesluv]

Sunkissed and Stained

pairing: Hyunjin x afab!reader word count: 2k contains: college au, friends to lovers, mutual pining, just a fluffy mess

a/n - This is written for the Stay's Secret Fic Exchange created by: @starlostastronaut. My secret fic assignment is for Basil! @bemyaehiweloveskz. I hope this is what you were looking for! On another note, please send in some requests! writers block has been the worst lately 😭

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

The thing about college was that it made people feel lonely, even in a crowd.

You’d met Hyunjin in your freshman year English lit class. Both of you showed up late on the first day, both out of breath and flustered. You sat next to each other because there were two seats left in the back corner. He borrowed a pen. You shared your annotated copy of The Great Gatsby. And for whatever reason, that was enough.

From there, everything was easy.

You studied together in the library and got kicked out once for laughing too loud. You survived orientation and mutual group projects that made you both want to scream. You’d go to the convenience store at midnight when neither of you could sleep, arguing over what ramen brand was superior while trying to avoid eye contact with couples making out behind the energy drink fridge.

It was the kind of friendship that wrapped itself around your life without asking.

And for a while, that was enough.

By sophomore year, you were practically attached at the hip.

You were the one who helped him study when his brain short circuited during midterms. He was the one who always brought you boba during your long library sessions. You shared jokes, hoodie rotations, late-night snack runs, and one very complicated Schedule that neither of you could fully explain to others.

He wasn’t sure when it changed for him. When he started noticing the way you twirled your pen while concentrating, or how you scrunched your nose when something made you laugh too hard.

He didn’t realize it had happened until someone asked if you were dating.

“No,” he said immediately, but the word felt wrong.

That night, he couldn’t stop thinking about how natural it would’ve sounded if he’d said yes.

You, on the other hand, had been in trouble since the very beginning.

It was Hyunjin, after all.

Golden-boy Hyunjin, with his shoulder-length hair, ridiculous laugh, and ability to turn cafeteria ramen into a personality trait. He was soft where others were sharp. Loud where you were quiet. Open in ways that made you feel safe, not overwhelmed.

One summer night stood out to you more than others.

It was the end of your freshman year, and the campus was nearly empty. Finals had ended, roommates were moving out, and the air smelled like late spring. warm asphalt, grass, iced coffee, and last-minute regrets.

Hyunjin had asked if you wanted to walk.

You didn’t ask where.

He’d brought a blanket and one of those ridiculous mini Bluetooth speakers. You’d brought leftover fries from your fridge and a warm hoodie that didn’t belong to you but had long since become yours.

The two of you wandered to the edge of campus, past the student union and the library, eventually settling in a little field behind the art building, one of those hidden places students only knew about if they got lost or loved someone who painted.

You lay back on the blanket while Hyunjin scrolled through his endless playlist of songs.

“Do you ever think we’ll still be friends when this is all over?” he asked, casually, like he was wondering if it might rain.

You turned your head. “When what’s over?”

“College. Us living five minutes from each other. Midnight ramen. All of it.”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “People grow apart.”

He was quiet for a beat. “Do you think we will?”

You paused. “I hope not.”

That seemed to satisfy him. At least, outwardly.

But you saw the way his eyes flicked toward you. The way his hand inched closer to yours on the blanket, fingers barely brushing but never quite holding.

You lay there for an hour, not speaking much. Just looking up at the stars, letting the music fill in the space between you. It was calm. Easy. Until you looked over and realized Hyunjin had fallen asleep, one arm slung over his stomach, lashes fluttering.

You didn’t know what made your chest ache more. The softness of that moment or the fact that you knew he’d never remember it the same way you would.

Still, you memorized everything.

Just in case.

You fell quickly. Quietly. In the way that hurt, just a little.

You’d learned to live with it. To tuck your feelings behind teasing, to laugh off the way he flirted like breathing. Because it was easier than facing the truth:

You were completely in love with your best friend. And he had no idea.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

When he showed up at your door one Thursday night, hair overgrown, box dye in hand, grinning like he’d just solved world peace, you weren’t surprised.

"Want to help me dye my hair pink?" he asked, swaying slightly on your doorstep.

You blinked at him, still in your pajamas. “You want me to do it?”

“Why not you?” he chirped, stepping inside without waiting for an answer. “You’ve got gentle hands. I trust you.”

You tried not to read into that. Tried to ignore how warm your chest got when he kicked off his sneakers like he belonged there.

“Why pink?” you asked, raising a brow.

He plopped onto your couch, hands dramatically splayed. “It’s a vibe. I want something soft. Romantic. Vulnerable.”

You stared at him. “…Did you just describe a hair color like it’s a personality trait?”

He grinned. “Would it work better if I told you I wanted to impress someone?”

Your breath caught.

“Oh?” you couldn't ignore how your heart dropped in disappointment, but you managed to play it cool. “Do I know her?”

Hyunjin shrugged. “Maybe.”

You looked down, pretending to busy yourself with opening the dye box. Your heart was pounding.

All of your worst fears had practically been confirmed - Hyunjin didn't like you.

He had his heart set on someone else.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

Later, he stood in the small bathroom, a towel around his shoulders, while you sat on the counter, mixing the hair dye.

"You're really serious about this pink thing, huh?" you asked.

"It's symbolic," he said, as if that explained anything.

"Of what?"

He shrugged. "New beginnings. Confessions. And I think it looks really badass."

You hesitated. "What are you confessing? Your love to that girl you're dying your hair for?"

He went quiet. Too quiet.

You glanced down at him, and his shoulders were tense.

"…Hyunjin?"

He tilted his head slightly, not meeting your eyes. “You ever like someone so much that it scares you?”

You froze.

He twisted a lock of his hair between his fingers. “Like, they’re your best friend, right? And you think, ‘If I tell them, everything might change.’ But then not telling them hurts just as much?”

Your throat went dry.

“…Yeah,” you said softly. “I know that feeling.”

You worked slowly, carefully parting his damp hair into sections. Your fingers moved on instinct, but your mind was spiraling.

Because Hyunjin was looking at you. Not in a casual, friendly way. Not like he was waiting for a punchline.

But like you were the only thing in the room.

“Y’know,” he said, “I always thought about what it’d be like to do something like this.”

You blinked. “Dye your hair?”

“No,” he murmured. “Be like this. With you. Close. Quiet.”

Your heart skipped. “Hyunjin-”

He turned then, finally looking up at you, and there was so much in his eyes. Hope. Fear. Longing.

“I like you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “And I think I’ve liked you for a long time. I just didn’t realize it until it was too late to stop.”

The room went silent except for your heart, slamming against your ribs like it was trying to answer for you.

Your hands, still gloved and pink-stained, hovered uselessly in the air.

“…That’s nice,” you whispered, breathless.

Hyunjin blinked. “That’s nice?!”

You winced. “I panicked, okay?! I didn’t think you’d say it like that!”

His lips twitched. “Yeah?” he said softly. “Why is that?”

You swallowed.

“Because I’ve been in love with you since first semester freshman year and I was so sure you didn’t feel the same and now my brain’s melting and you smell like strawberries and I’m pretty sure I’m going to cry, actually.”

His eyes softened instantly.

“I thought I was just some lovesick idiot waiting for you to actually mean your flirting,” you whispered. “But I guess I was wrong.”

Hyunjin’s smile broke like sunlight through clouds, split into a grin so wide it made you laugh through your embarrassment.

“I knew it,” he said, half-laughing. “You always looked at me like I was the sun.”

“You are the sun.”

He looked stunned, like he didn’t expect to hear it out loud.

You leaned down and kissed his cheek, light as a whisper.

He turned his face.

You kissed his lips, his towel falling in the process.

It was warm, dye-stained, slightly messy.

And it was perfect.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

Twenty minutes later, with his head over your bathroom sink and your hands rinsing the color out, he glanced up at you.

“So,” he said playfully, “are we dating now?”

You snorted. “Is that how this works?”

“Well,” he said, reaching back to flick water at you, “you did touch my scalp and my heart. Seems pretty serious.”

You flicked water back at him.

He beamed.

That night, with his hair rinsed and towel-dried, Hyunjin tugged you onto the couch and collapsed into your lap like he always did, only now, his arms were around your waist. His cheek pressed to your stomach.

You played with the damp ends of his pastel-pink hair.

“You like it?” he asked, sleepy.

“I love it,” you said honestly.

He opened one eye. “You mean me, or the hair?”

You smiled. “Both.”

[itscodpliated]

"Career changing"

Bonus for part 2

Part 1 here | Series masterlist

Summary: It should have been simple; bring the omega to her new pack, fill out your mission report and get back on your merry way. But now you’re a member of the 141, have a few hard pills to swallow, a bunch of explaining to do and a lot more to care about…

Warning: None

Note: English is not my first language and I’m writing this in-between taking care of a young child, so I’m sorry if there is mistakes or it isn’t that good.

All of them had seemed to let out a collectives breath of relief once Gaz had left to show you where your new barrack would be. They were extremely glad you had accepted to join the squad, especially since Price had already send in the transfer request the night before...

"I won't let the changes happening to my pack affect my squad? Seriously Cap? How smooth." Soap said sarcastically.

"Johnny." Price let out as a warning growl.

"Don't Johnny me! Now the lassie will think she'll never have a shot at being in the pack!"

"We shouldn't push her."

"Ye'r not even letting her be in our barrack!" Soap voice was rising and so was his agitation.

"We need to give her her own space while she acclimates to us. We wouldn't want her to think we only asked her to join the squad because we want her in our pack." Price retorted sternly, his scent taking on that burnt quality that made the beta's eyes water slightly.

"With all du respect, Price, you only asked for her files so no one would question why you summited a transfer request so quickly." Ghost said in that unbothered tone of his.

"Not helping, Simon."

"But he's right, ye barely even looked at the thing!" Soap spew back, the air in the office growing tick with the scent burning irritation and sour anxiety.

"I read enough to know she is a good soldier. She will be a great fit for the squad."

"So what, we have to keep her at arms length while we get a random omega we never asked for forced on us?"

"Ophelia is not going to be in our barrack either. The higher-ups can't actually forced her on us. General's daughter or not."

"Your putting them together?? What if she bond the omega more then with us?!"

"ENOUGH!"

That had them both frozen -Soap actually flinching- instincts recognizing too late that their pack leader was genuinely upset.

"I won't entertain this anymore. Even if I would like her to join the pack just as much as you all do, right now, she's a teammate and noting more. You're being too impatient. Don't fuck this up for us."

Tag list:

@lavenderloss @kiris-poprock @listen-to-navi @bbmgirll @degenerates-posts @haruces @blitz3-0 @0rina0 @the-atticwitch @crackheadwithtoes @kopines @night-shadowblood-writes2 @wahapele @plutoistireddd