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favefandomimagines · 7 months ago

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Labyrinth (j.b)

Summary: the six most prominent moments in Joe’s relationship with Y/N Y/L/N

AN: a little combo of regular fic and an SMAU fic!! My first Joe Burrow fic too so there’s a lot of firsts going on lol

She’s a long one!!! And I hate the ending but oh well

One.

It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon at the Bengals’ practice facility, and Joe Burrow was seated next to the host of a Barstool podcast.

He didn’t do these interviews often but with the pre-season in full swing, he had a couple on his schedule. After answering a slew of football-related questions, the session took a lighter turn when the host decided to inject some fun into the conversation.

“Alright, Joe,” the host said, his voice playful. “We’ve been talking about your game on the field, but what about your game off it? Who would you say is your celebrity crush?”

Joe leaned back in his chair, scratching his neck thoughtfully. For a moment, he seemed like he was genuinely debating his answer. Then, a small, almost shy smile spread across his face.

“Celebrity crush?” he repeated. “I guess... Y/N Y/L/N from Outer Banks. She’s got this whole vibe—talented, gorgeous, and just really cool. Yeah, definitely her.”

The room erupted in laughter and teasing comments. The host muttered, “Good taste,” while the other joked, “Sliding into her DMs soon, Joe?”

Joe chuckled, shaking his head as if to brush off the attention, but the damage was done. Within hours, the clip of his admission was circulating on social media. Sports accounts, entertainment outlets, and fan pages had all picked it up. Memes popped up with captions like:

When your MVP is also a hopeless romantic, and Quarterback Joe Burrow shoots his shot.

Across the country, Y/N was sitting in her trailer on the set of Outer Banks, scrolling through her phone between takes. She hadn’t even made it halfway through her notifications before Madelyn Cline burst into the room, phone in hand.

“Did you see this?” She asked, her tone giddy.

“See what?” Y/N asked, setting her script aside.

“Joe Burrow—like, the Joe Burrow—just said you’re his celebrity crush during a press conference.”

Her brows shot up in surprise. “Wait, seriously?”

Madelyn thrust the phone toward her, showing her the clip. Y/N hit play, watching as Joe, clad in his Bengals gear, casually named her as his celebrity crush. At first, she laughed—a light, disbelieving sound—but as the video looped, she couldn’t help but notice the genuine look on his face. It wasn’t cocky or rehearsed. It was… sweet.

“Well,” Madelyn said, smirking, “looks like someone’s got a fan.”

“Yeah, a fan who’s, like, an NFL star,” Y/N quipped, trying to brush it off, though her cheeks had turned a noticeable shade of pink. “He probably says stuff like that all the time.”

“Oh, no way. That guy does not look like he just ‘says stuff.’ You should DM him. Or better yet, I’ll DM him for you!”

“Absolutely not,” Y/N said, laughing as she snatched the phone back. But later, when she was alone, she replayed the clip a few more times, unable to shake the warm, fluttery feeling in her chest.

Across social media, fans were having a field day. Football fans and Outer Banks fans joined forces, shipping Joe and Y/N like they were characters in their own romantic drama. Someone tweeted:

Joe Burrow x Y/N? A crossover episode I didn’t know I needed.

Even Y/N’s manager brought it up during a call the next day. “The press is eating this up. We could lean into it if you’re comfortable.”

Y/N sighed. “He seems nice, but… let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

“Noted,” her manager said, though the tone suggested they were already envisioning the headlines.

Still, the attention lingered. For Joe, it became an inside joke with his teammates.

“You think she’s seen it yet?” one of them teased during practice.

“She probably has,” Joe said, trying to sound casual, but the truth was, he kind of hoped she had.

And for Y/N, every time she opened Instagram or Twitter and saw a fan edit pairing her with Joe, she couldn’t help but smile. Little did either of them know, this was only the beginning.

@y//nofficial: my babes (also being the celebrity crush of a nfl player is my finest achievement in life 😉)

Two.

Months had passed since Joe casually admitted to the world that Y/N was his celebrity crush, and while the media had gradually moved on to other stories, the moment had left a lasting impression on both of them.

For Joe, it had been nothing more than a lighthearted, honest answer in the moment. But as he followed Y/N’s career—watching interviews, catching glimpses of her on magazine covers, and finally binge-watching Outer Banks during the offseason—he couldn’t deny that his admiration for her had only grown.

For Y/N, Joe’s comment was a flattering blip in her increasingly busy schedule. Between shooting a new season of Outer Banks and fielding scripts for movie roles, she hadn’t thought much about it—at least, not until their paths crossed in the most unexpected way.

It was the night of the ESPY Awards, a glittering evening celebrating the best in sports. Joe had been invited after leading the Bengals to a playoff run that cemented his reputation as one of the league’s brightest stars. Y/N, on the other hand, was there as a presenter.

The after-party buzzed with energy. Athletes, actors, and industry power players mingled in the event space. Joe wasn’t one for crowded events—he preferred the quiet camaraderie of a locker room—but tonight, he was making an exception.

As he sipped a drink and scanned the room, his eyes landed on her. Y/N was standing near the bar, wearing a sleek, gold dress that caught the light every time she moved. She was laughing at something one of her co-stars had said, her smile lighting up the space around her. Joe’s heart skipped in a way he hadn’t felt before.

“Dude, you okay?” one of his teammates asked, noticing the quarterback’s sudden silence.

“Yeah,” Joe said, setting his glass down. “Be right back.”

Joe didn’t overthink as he crossed the room, his long strides purposeful yet casual. For someone who thrived under pressure, he was oddly nervous. As he got closer, Y/N glanced up, her gaze locking with his. Recognition flickered in her eyes, followed by a warm smile.

“Hi,” Joe said, extending a hand. “I’m Joe.”

“I know,” Y/N said with a teasing glint. She took his hand, her touch firm yet delicate. “I’m Y/N.”

“I know,” he shot back, his grin widening. The exchange was simple, but it broke the ice between them.

For the next few minutes—or maybe it was hours; neither of them kept track—they talked like old friends. Joe told her about his first football game as a kid, the way his dad had coached him to stay grounded, and the chaos of his rookie year in the NFL. Y/N shared stories about her early auditions, the nerves of landing her breakout role, and the unexpected challenge of filming on a boat in stormy weather.

“So,” she said at one point, her tone light but playful, “am I really your celebrity crush, or was that just something you said for the podcast?”

Joe laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made her smile. “It wasn’t just for the podcast. You’re… incredible. I meant it.”

Y/N’s cheeks warmed, but she didn’t shy away from his gaze. “Well, thank you. That’s sweet of you.”

The night wore on, and the party began to thin out, but Joe and Y/N stayed rooted in their little corner of the room, oblivious to the time or the world around them. By the end of the evening, Joe had her number saved in his phone under her name, followed by a football emoji she insisted he add.

As they said their goodbyes, Y/N looked at him and said, “It was nice meeting you, Joe. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Definitely,” he replied, his smile tinged with quiet determination.

The next day, during an interview recapping the night, Y/N was asked if she had fun at the ESPYs. She smiled knowingly. “I did. I met someone who made the night memorable.”

Joe, back at the practice facility, saw the clip during a break and couldn’t help but grin. “Made her night memorable, huh?” his teammate teased.

Joe didn’t answer, but the glint in his eyes said it all. It was the beginning of something new, though neither of them fully realized it yet.

@y//nofficial: I had no business being at the ESPYs but I’m SO HAPPY I was! It was a very memorable evening! 😏

Three.

The photo that broke the internet wasn’t planned. Joe and Y/N had been dating quietly for a couple of months, their blossoming relationship tucked away from the public eye. They liked it that way.

Joe could focus on football without fielding endless questions about his personal life, and Y/N could work on her projects without worrying about being cast as “so-and-so’s girlfriend.”

That morning, they had decided to grab coffee at a small café in Cincinnati. It wasn’t one of those flashy celebrity spots—just a cozy, tucked-away place where they could sit and talk without interruption.

Y/N was in between filming seasons of the show and had some time off, so she spent it in the Midwest.

She wore an oversized hoodie and leggings, her hair pulled into a messy bun. Joe had on a Bengals cap and a casual sweatshirt. To anyone passing by, they looked like any other young couple enjoying a quiet moment together.

But someone did notice.

A fan walking out of the café spotted them holding hands as they strolled back to Joe’s car. The fan discreetly snapped a photo—not to be invasive, but because Joe Burrow and Y/N together?! It was too good to keep to themselves.

By the afternoon, the photo was everywhere.

@fanaccountt: Joe Burrow spotted with Outer Banks actress Y/N Y/L/N all coupled up! Is this the beginning of a new power couple?

Joe was in the middle of reviewing game tape when his phone buzzed incessantly. He ignored it at first, but when his teammate Ja’Marr walked in grinning, he knew something was up.

“You’re trending,” Ja’Marr said, tossing his phone onto the desk.

Joe picked it up and immediately saw the photo. There he was, arms wrapped around Y/N, the internet going wild over their apparent relationship.

“Crap,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“What, you mad about it?” Ja’Marr teased. “Dude, people are shipping you two like crazy. You’re a power couple now.”

Joe sighed. “It’s not about being mad. I just… I wanted to keep it private for a little longer.”

“Well,” Ja’Marr said with a laugh, “welcome to dating a superstar.”

Y/N wasn’t faring much better. Her phone had been blowing up all day, her group chats full of messages from co-stars and friends.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re dating Joe freaking Burrow?!”

“Is this why you’ve been smiling so much lately???”

Her manager even called. “So… about that photo…”

Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. “I didn’t think anyone would notice us! We weren’t even in L.A.!”

“Well, they noticed. So now the question is, do we address it, or let it fizzle out?”

Y/N bit her lip. She and Joe had talked about how they’d handle going public, but they hadn’t expected it to happen like this. After a quick call to Joe, they decided to keep it simple—acknowledge it without making a spectacle.

A few days later, Joe had a press conference. The media had been chomping at the bit to ask him about the photo, and as soon as the football questions wrapped up, one brave reporter dove in.

“Joe, there’s been a lot of buzz about your personal life lately. Care to comment on the photo of you and Y/N that’s been circulating?”

Joe’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah, I’ve seen the photo,” he said, his tone light but measured. “Look, I get it—it’s part of the job. But, yeah, Y/N and I are dating. She’s incredible. I’m lucky to have her in my corner.”

The room buzzed with excitement, but Joe didn’t elaborate. He kept it short and sweet, knowing anything more would only add fuel to the fire.

Meanwhile, Y/N was promoting the upcoming season of Outer Banks on a popular morning talk show. Inevitably, the host brought up the photo.

“So, Y/N, the internet is losing it over this photo of you and Joe Burrow. Can you confirm—are you guys officially a thing?”

Y/N laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I guess the photo kind of confirmed it for us, didn’t it?�� she said, her voice warm and genuine. “Joe’s great. He’s funny, grounded, and so supportive. I’m really lucky.”

Fans swooned. The internet exploded again, dubbing them the It Couple of the year.

That night, Joe and Y/N sat on the couch in his living room, scrolling through the headlines together.

“‘NFL’s Golden Boy and Hollywood’s Sweetheart,’” Joe read aloud, smirking. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, laughing. “Get used to it, superstar. This is our life now.”

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “As long as I’ve got you, I think I can handle it.”

@y//nofficial: well…I guess it’s out there now 🧡 @joeyb_9

Four.

It was a moment that underscored just how much Joe and Y/N had come to mean to each other—not just as a couple but as a team. Their worlds were so different, but they’d found ways to support each other, even when the demands of their careers kept them apart.

The moment happened on one of the NFL’s biggest stages: the AFC Championship Game. Joe had led the Bengals to the brink of a Super Bowl appearance, and the eyes of the world were on him.

It was a freezing January evening, the kind where the air burned your lungs and every hit on the field felt twice as hard. But Joe didn’t seem fazed; he thrived in the cold.

Y/N had cleared her schedule weeks ago to make sure she could be there. She was bundled up in a Bengals hoodie and beanie, sitting in a private box with Joe’s family, but she might as well have been on the field with him.

Every play made her heart race, and she cheered as loudly as anyone when Joe threw a perfect touchdown pass or scrambled for a first down.

When the Bengals sealed the victory in the final minutes, the stadium erupted. Y/N stood and clapped, her face lighting up with pride. Cameras panned across the crowd, catching her celebration, and the broadcasters couldn’t resist a mention.

“And there’s Joe Burrow’s girlfriend, Y/N,” one of them said. “She’s been a fixture at games this season, always showing her support.”

Joe’s post-game press conference was filled with the usual football questions, but one reporter couldn’t resist asking about the glimpse of Y/N on the broadcast.

“You’ve talked a lot about your teammates being in your corner,” the reporter began, “but it seems like you’ve got a pretty special fan in your corner too. How important has Y/N’s support been during this season?”

Joe’s face softened, a rare moment of vulnerability on full display. “She’s been incredible,” he said. “We both have demanding schedules, but she always finds a way to be there when it matters. Having her support—it means everything.”

@y//nofficial: in my WAG era @joeyb_9

Later in the week, Y/N was gearing up for the premiere of her latest film, a romantic drama that was already generating Oscar buzz.

The red carpet was a dazzling frenzy of flashing cameras and shouting photographers, but Y/N glided through it with ease. Dressed in a custom gown that seemed to shimmer under the lights, she was the picture of Hollywood elegance.

When asked about her role and the film, she was all business, talking passionately about the story and her character. But, inevitably, a question about Joe came up.

“Your boyfriend, Joe Burrow, just led his team to another Super Bowl appearance,” the interviewer said. “How does it feel to be dating someone who’s at the top of his game, just like you?”

Y/N smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Joe works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s so focused and driven, but he’s also incredibly humble about everything he’s accomplished. Watching him do what he loves at such a high level—it’s inspiring. I couldn’t be prouder of him.”

The clip of her response went viral almost immediately, fans swooning over her heartfelt words.

Joe couldn’t attend the film premiere because he was deep in Super Bowl preparations, but that didn’t stop him from supporting her in his own way.

On the day of the premiere, Y/N woke up to a surprise delivery at her hotel: a massive bouquet of her favorite flowers with a handwritten note.

“To my superstar,

Wish I could be there to cheer you on tonight. You’re going to be amazing—just like always.

Love, Joe.”

Y/N smiled as she read it, her heart swelling. Later that night, after walking the red carpet and enduring endless interviews, she called Joe.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, her voice warm with affection.

“Of course I did,” he replied. “I hate that I couldn’t be there, but I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you.”

“Well,” she said, “you’re officially the sweetest boyfriend ever.”

Their mutual support didn’t go unnoticed by fans or the media. People loved how they celebrated each other’s successes, even from a distance. Someone tweeted:

Joe Burrow sending flowers to Y/N before her premiere? That’s the kind of MVP energy we all need.

Another wrote: Y/N calling Joe’s season ‘inspiring’ is proof they’re the real deal. Power couple status confirmed.

@y//nofficial: 🤍❤️

Five.

By the time the Super Bowl rolled around, Joe and Y/N’s relationship had become a fixture in both sports and entertainment media.

They were admired not just for their individual accomplishments but for the way they seemed to amplify each other’s strengths. Fans loved their humility, their chemistry, and the quiet way they handled their fame.

But this was Joe’s moment—a chance to bring a Lombardi Trophy home to Cincinnati, something that had eluded the franchise for decades.

As game day approached, the buzz was electric. The pressure was immense, and the stakes couldn’t have been higher.

Y/N had spent the week leading up to the game in New York, doing press for the new season of Outer Banks. She wanted to fly to LA early to be with Joe, but he insisted she focus on her commitments.

“I know how much this season means to you,” he told her over the phone. “I’ll be fine. Just promise me you’ll be there on Sunday.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said.

On the morning of the game, Y/N arrived in LA, joining Joe’s family in their private suite at the stadium. Dressed in a Bengals jersey with “Burrow” embroidered on the back, she was a bundle of nerves. Watching Joe on the field was always intense, but this was different. This was the Super Bowl.

The game was a nail-biter. Joe played brilliantly, showcasing his trademark composure under pressure. Every throw, every scramble, every audible sent the crowd into a frenzy.

Y/N found herself clapping, cheering, and even pacing the suite at times, her heart pounding with every play.

The Super Bowl had been everything Joe and the Bengals dreamed of—except for the ending. They fought hard, battled down to the wire, but ultimately, they fell short.

The scoreboard didn’t reflect the effort, the heart, or the grit Joe and his team had shown on the field.

As the confetti fell in the Ram’s colors, Joe stood on the field, his helmet dangling from his hand. He was stoic, as always, but those closest to him could see the weight of the moment settling on his shoulders.

In the stands, Y/N felt a pang of sadness for Joe. She had been there for his triumphs and his setbacks, but she knew how much this one hurt.

As the Ram’s celebrated, Y/N stayed rooted in her seat, watching Joe as he lingered on the field, congratulating the victors with quiet grace.

When he finally made his way toward the tunnel, she slipped past security and met him in the hallway.

Joe looked up and saw her standing there, wearing his jersey with a pair of leather pants, her eyes filled with nothing but love.

“Hey,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Hey,” she replied softly.

Without another word, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He let out a deep sigh as he held her, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

Joe pulled back slightly to look at her. “For losing?” he asked, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone.

“For leading,” she corrected. “For playing your heart out. For being the guy everyone looks up to—on and off the field.”

Her words seemed to ease some of the tension in his jaw, and he managed a small smile. “Thanks for being here,” he said.

“Always,” she promised.

Joe faced the press soon after, answering questions with his usual composure. When asked about the loss, he acknowledged the disappointment but praised his teammates for their effort and determination. Then, one reporter asked a more personal question.

“Joe, we saw Y/N in the tunnel with you after the game. How much does her support mean to you on a night like this?”

Joe’s expression softened, and for a moment, he seemed to forget the cameras and the crowd.

“It means everything,” he said simply. “Win or lose, she’s always there for me. Having someone like that in your corner—it’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Days later, Y/N was asked about the game during a podcast appearance.

“Your boyfriend played an incredible game, even though the team didn’t get the win. What did you say to him after?” the host asked.

Y/N smiled. “I told him I was proud of him. Because I was. He gave it everything he had, and that’s all anyone can ask for. Joe doesn’t measure his worth by wins and losses, and neither do I.”

Her response resonated with fans, many of whom took to social media to praise her unwavering support.

For Joe and Y/N, the Super Bowl wasn’t the ending they had hoped for, but it became a defining moment in their relationship. It reminded them that true partnership wasn’t about sharing only the victories—it was about standing together through the defeats, too.

As Joe said to Y/N that night, as they sat side by side on the couch in their hotel room, “I might not have won the trophy, but I’ve already won the most important thing in my life.”

Y/N looked at him with a soft smile. “And what’s that?”

“You,” he said, pulling her close.

And in that moment, the loss didn’t seem so heavy anymore.

@y//nofficial: so unbelievably proud of @joeyb_9 you played your heart out and left it all on the field. You never cease to amaze me. I love you always and forever 🧡🖤

Six.

The offseason after the Super Bowl had been a whirlwind for both Joe and Y/N. Between his post-season press appearances and her press tours for Outer Banks and her latest film, finding time for each other wasn’t easy. But they made it work, prioritizing quiet moments away from the spotlight.

It was during one of those moments—a secluded weekend at a lake house in Ohio—that Joe decided it was time.

Y/N had always loved the simplicity of the lake house. It was peaceful, tucked away from the chaos of their public lives.

On their second evening there, Joe suggested a sunset boat ride, something they’d done countless times before.

Y/N didn’t think anything of it, even as Joe packed a small picnic basket with her favorite snacks and a bottle of wine.

As they floated on the calm waters, the sky painted in shades of orange and pink, Joe grew quieter than usual.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, tilting her head to study him.

He smiled, but there was a hint of nervousness in his expression. “Yeah,” he said. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

“Lucky?” she teased. “You’re Joe Burrow. I’d say you’ve got some skill in there too.”

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean lucky to have you.”

Before Y/N could respond, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

Her breath caught as he opened it, revealing a stunning, timeless diamond ring.

“Y/N,” Joe said, his voice steady but full of emotion, “you’ve been my partner through everything—the highs, the lows, the crazy schedules. I can’t imagine my life without you. Will you marry me?”

Tears filled her eyes as she nodded, a bright smile spreading across her face. “Yes, of course I will,” she said, throwing her arms around him.

The ring sparkled in the fading sunlight as he slid it onto her finger.

They decided to wait a few weeks before announcing the engagement, savoring the joy privately with close family and friends. But the news broke one sunny Monday morning when Y/N posted a picture on Instagram.

@y//nofficial: Forever ❤️💍 @joeyb_9

Within minutes, the post exploded with likes, comments, and reposts.

Joe shared his own announcement on Instagram.

@joeyb_9: She said yes and now she’s stuck with me. @y/noffical

Fans were ecstatic. Social media buzzed with excitement, and hashtags like #JoeAndYNGoals and #PowerCouple flooded timelines.

One fan tweeted: “Our QB1 is officially off the market, and honestly, we love to see it. Congrats, Joe and Y/N!”

Another wrote: “Joe Burrow just won the Super Bowl of life. Y/N, you’ve got the real MVP!”

During a press conference later that week, Joe was inevitably asked about the engagement.

“Joe, congratulations on your engagement,” a reporter said. “Can you share how you proposed?”

Joe smiled, his signature calm demeanor softening. “Thank you, I appreciate it,” He started. “But I don’t think I’m going to talk about that just yet. Let’s just stick to football.” He finished, a smirk on his face.

He wanted to keep some part of their engagement special. Keep the details and the moment just between them, something that the prying eyes can’t touch.

Y/N, appearing on a late-night talk show around the same time, was asked the same question.

“It was so Joe,” she said with a laugh. “Thoughtful, intimate, and a little bit unexpected. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better moment. That’s about all the details I’m going to give!”

As the engagement news continued to dominate headlines, one thing became clear: Joe and Y/N weren’t just admired for their individual accomplishments—they were celebrated for the love and respect they showed each other.

For their fans, the proposal announcement was a fairytale come to life. But for Joe and Y/N, it was just the beginning of a lifetime of chapters yet to be written—together.

#imagine #imagines #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #cincinnati bengals #bengals #2024 nfl season

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thehoneybeestings · 29 days ago

Text

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫!𝐯𝐢 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫!𝐯𝐢 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

୨ৎ dancer!vi x ballerina!reader headcanons

୨ৎ dancer!vi x ballerina!reader smut

Word Count: 2.1K Content/Warnings: modern!au, dancer!vi au, dancer!reader, mentions of sex but sfw, fem reader (fem terms/pronouns used) A/N: yayy 3rd installment of dancer!vi x ballerina!readerrrr! thank you to this ask; i love how this turned out and i love that this has evolved into its own little universe lol, if y'all want to see more of this duo please lmk! otherwise, i hope you guys enjoy :)

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

୨ৎ ironically enough, you and vi are damn near attached at the hip after you finally squash the beef and fuck work it out on the remix

୨ৎ the beginning of your relationship is honestly quite uneventful, but it's exactly what the two of you need

୨ৎ it isn't a whirlwind romance or passionate escapades; it's diner dates and sleepovers, a sweet and steady making up for lost time, actually getting to know each other after years of icing each other out

୨ৎ and frankly, the easy settling into domesticity is a welcome reprieve from the hellish chaos that is: college application season

୨ৎ the two of you spend the first few months of your relationship busting your asses working on applications and essays, and considering that you were both awarded a scholarship from Piltover Springs Dance Academy to any fine arts school of your choosing, the pressure is on

୨ৎ on one delirious (and slightly tipsy) night during the final stretch of application season, vi decides to apply to the Noxus School of Fine Arts: an extremely prestigious school with one of the best performing arts programs around

୨ৎ you know she has more than what it takes to get in, but she insists there’s no shot and that she’s just doing it for fun

୨ৎ so, she clicks “submit,” and calls it a night

୨ৎ “no more fucking applications,” she resolves, and she means it

୨ৎ and now, here you at are knocking at the door of your last summer before going off to college, and after so many years of working yourselves to the bone in school and at dance alike, the two of you are hell bent on having the goddamn summer of your lives

୨ৎ those three months are marked by days at the pool, nights smoking in empty parking lots, and lots of risky semi-public sex, of course

୨ৎ in attempt to enjoy the summer as much as possible, the two of you set a specific date to check your admission results, but until then, you were forbidden from stressing yourself with the constant refreshing of your inbox

୨ৎ but one day, the two of you are sprawled across your bed, basking in the sunlight spilling through your open windows, when she gets a notification from her email titled, “Re: Your Application to the Noxus School of Fine Arts”

୨ৎ with a snort, she goes to open it, and you give her a slap on the shoulder for not abiding by the date you'd set to check things like this

୨ৎ “dude, please, it's gonna be a no. i just wanna see how easy they let me down.”

୨ৎ you roll your eyes with a smile as she opens her inbox, and let them flutter closed like they were a moment ago; until, you feel the bed jolt beside you

୨ৎ your eyes shoot open, and you see that she’s shot up, her eyes wide and her hand clasped over her mouth

୨ৎ you quickly sit up to meet her, your eyes lock onto hers, and you know

୨ৎ “you got in, didn't you?” you exhale

୨ৎ she removes her hand from her mouth, but for a moment, she's still sputtering for words

୨ৎ “i… no- no way, it's gotta be a fluke. there's no way. come on, i-”

୨ৎ “baby,” you interrupt with a slow grin, “you got in.”

୨ৎ “holy shit,” she breathes out, eyes trained on the acceptance letter, “i got in.”

୨ৎ excited squeals and tight hugs ensue, but its holding you that reminds her: the school is halfway across the country

୨ৎ “i can't go,” she suddenly resigns, her voice low

୨ৎ you turn to her with an incredulous look

୨ৎ “what?! vi, you have to!”

୨ৎ “what about us?” she finally asks, her shoulders shrugging pitifully. “i've had so much with you the past few months. all of that would change…”

୨ৎ you have to admit: your stomach drops a little at the thought

୨ৎ but there's no way in hell you’ll let her pass up this opportunity, so you put on a brave face and insist anyway

୨ৎ “we did have fun this summer. and we'll have fun facetiming and sending each other care packages and having nasty phone sex, too.”

୨ৎ she punches out a laugh, and her eyes crinkle up they always do when she laughs hard

୨ৎ right up to sending her off at the airport, you never stop reassuring her that she has your support and your loyalty while the two of you are long distance

୨ৎ you don't regret staying home for college at all; you really like your classes, you didn't have to leave your friends or family, and the cheap in-state tuition is certainly a plus

୨ৎ but that doesn't mean you don't miss vi like hell, and knowing that she hasn't had as much success settling in at school makes you hate being away from her even more

୨ৎ in a stroke of luck, your spring breaks line up well enough for you to be able to surprise her with a trip up to noxus

୨ৎ so, here you are, standing in the middle of a house party with a bunch of vi’s new college friends, feeling absolutely certain that you stick out like a sore thumb against noxus’ trust fund babies

୨ৎ you know that vi feels it, too- how uncomfortable you are- which is why she makes a point to stay by your side the entire night, including you in every single conversation, showing you off and bragging about her girl every time she gets the chance

୨ৎ it’s when she goes to the bathroom, though, that you run into a girl you haven’t been introduced to yet

୨ৎ sarah, her name is, and if she isn’t the picture of daddy’s money, you don’t know what is; pin-straight, silky blonde hair, perfect skin, freshly manicured french tips, and an outfit that costs more than your month's rent

୨ৎ she comes up to you with a smirk pulling at her glossed lips, gives you a quick once-over, then asks if you go here as if she’s sure you’re lost

୨ৎ with an awkward chuckle and the heat of humiliation already burning your cheeks, you tell her no; that you’re here visiting your girlfriend, vi

୨ৎ “Vi?” she asks, cocking her head to the side and feigning confusion that you can’t help but notice seems a bit insincere, “I didn’t know she had a girlfriend. She hasn’t mentioned you.” ୨ৎ you’re rendered speechless, and fortunately, vi has made her way out of the bathroom and back to your side before your stunned silence stretches into an an awkward one

୨ৎ “Yo, Sarah. What’s up?” she nods politely, but you know your girlfriend

୨ৎ she is not happy in current company

୨ৎ this at least relieves you a bit, knowing that vi seems not only completely disinterested, but averse to this “sarah”

୨ৎ still, her comment echoes in the back of your mind hours later as you sit at the vanity in vi’s dorm room, wiping your face of mascara and glittery eyeshadow

୨ৎ and as much as you know your girlfriend, she knows you; and she knows if you’re not yapping away while you do your skincare routine, something’s wrong

୨ৎ “What’s up, baby?” she asks, and when you make eye contact with her reflection in the mirror, her brows are knit together like she’s already spent 30 minutes trying to figure it out

୨ৎ you just brush it off, say it’s nothing, give her a half-hearted smile

୨ৎ you know better

୨ৎ you don’t have time to protest before she’s moving to sit on the edge of the vanity and gently guiding you to look at her with fingers on your chin

୨ৎ “Baby,” she repeats firmly, “what’s up?” ୨ৎ you sigh in defeat, leaning back in your chair and fidgeting with the makeup wipe in your hands

୨ৎ “It’s just… It’s stupid. That Sarah girl just said something that kinda bothered me.” ୨ৎ her eyes narrow, and her jaw clenches

୨ৎ “The fuck did she say?”

୨ৎ when you try again to brush it off, to tell her that it’s not a big deal and that she can just forget it, she hits you with a dangerous chuckle; one that says you’ll fess up if you know what’s good for you

୨ৎ and as much as you’d like to find out what happens if you don’t obey vi’s wordless command… she seems genuinely pissed at the mention of sarah, and now, you’re curios

୨ৎ “She just came up to introduce herself randomly, and when I told her we were dating, she said she hadn’t heard of me before. See, it’s nothing crazy; I was just feeling out of place already, so I probably took it the wrong way.” ୨ৎ vi chuckles again, but this time, it’s exasperated, coupled with a hand running through her bright pink hair

୨ৎ “You didn’t take it the wrong way,” she affirms. “She knows damn well that I have a girlfriend. You’re all I fucking talk about anyway, but especially when I’m around her. She’s been trying to come on to me since day fucking one, and clearly, she doesn’t take no for an answer.” ୨ৎ first, you sigh in relief. then, you’re pissed that some bitch won’t leave your girlfrfiend alone. but suddenly, a small smile threatens to break out on your face

୨ৎ “I’m all you talk about?” you ask coyly

୨ৎ vi rolls her eyes with a grin, beckoning you to stand

୨ৎ “C’mere,” she says, wrapping her arms around and placing a kiss on your cheek before burying her own in your shoulder.

୨ৎ “I talk about you all the time, baby. I think about you all the time…”

୨ৎ with a deep sigh, she pulls back, staring off into space as she contemplates saying what she’s thinking out loud for the first time- mulls over a confession that she hasn’t dared to let surface until now- and it’s then that you notice how tired she really looks

୨ৎ you’d noticed the dark circles, the zoning out, the head no longer held as high as it used to be, but you know she’s been slammed with classwork and assumed that was the cause

୨ৎ but now, under the soft glow of the vanity’s bulbs, you can see that she doesn’t just look tired; she looks beaten down, and her admission only confirms this

୨ৎ “I don’t think I can do this, baby.” ୨ৎ your brows pull together, and you’re about to ask what she means- to tell her that she can, that she has what it takes- until she interrupts to say that it isn’t about the schoolwork, the course load, the 10 hours days, but the people; the snobby, snot-nosed, out-of-touch students that surround her day in and day out

୨ৎ “I’ve spent so much of my life itching to get out of Piltover, but now that I’m gone, all I want is to come back home. I miss it; I miss bickering with my dad, I miss driving Jinx around because she refuses to get her license, I miss Jericho’s diner and Sevika’s auto shop, I miss you.” ୨ৎ her voice breaks, and you bring your thumb up to gingerly wipe away the tear that falls down her porcelain cheek

୨ৎ “God, I miss you so fucking much. I wanna be with you. I don’t want to take out tens of thousands of dollars in student loans just to be miserable and a 16-hour drive away from everybody that I love. I want to come home.”

୨ৎ after a few long conversations and lots of nights “sleeping on it” that ended up being sleepless, vi finishes out her freshman year at the Noxus School of Fine Arts, books a one-way ticket back to Piltover, and doesn’t look back

୨ৎ at first, she’s scared that everyone will be disappointed in her; that they were counting on her to be the one who got out, the one who made a name for herself in the big city

୨ৎ but upon coming home, vander wraps her in bear hug, jinx asks for a ride to the movies, jericho’s got her favorite burger and milkshake ready on the house, and sevika’s got a part-time position at the garage just waiting to be filled; and by god, vi is so fucking happy to be back

୨ৎ she joins you at Piltover’s community college the next year, moves in with you not long after, and four years and some change later, the two of you come full circle, watching with knowing smiles as her best hip-hop student and your best ballet student bicker during snack time

──˚₊ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ‧₊˚──

#vi x reader #vi x you #vi x y/n #vi imagine #vi headcanons #vi arcane #violet x reader #vi au #arcane au #arcane headcanons #lesbian #wlw #sapphic #vi fluff #arcane imagine

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sowerpatch · 8 days ago

Text

unfold [chapter two - yield]

Summary: Paige Bueckers didn’t expect to lose the WNBA championship. She also didn’t expect to find comfort in a bartender who spoke more with her in guarded silences than most people did with words.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi doesn't play basketball but works as a bartender.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: Paige doesn’t mean to keep showing up, but she does. Again. And Again. Azzi never asks for more than what’s given. In between study sessions, midnight rides, and the confusing things left unsaid, they begin to build something quiet and unspoken. Something that doesn’t fix what’s broken, but makes the breaking feel a little less lonely.

Word count: 5,082

Paige lay in bed, arms crossed behind her head, the ceiling fan clicking gently above her like a second hand no one had wound. Her bedroom was quiet, dim. Her phone rested beside her on the pillow, screen still glowing.

She hadn’t opened any of the other notifications, not the group chat, not the missed call from her agent, not the post-game feature someone tagged her in. None of it mattered right now.

All she could see was the name sitting in her contact list.

Azzi.

Her name.

Her beautiful name.

Just that. No last name. No bar title. Just a single name dropped into her phone like something that had always been there.

Paige hadn’t noticed it then. She hadn’t paid attention to the way Azzi had typed it. Plain, unembellished, and without hesitation. But now, lying here in the thick quiet, she recognized it. Azzi’s name was the first thing she had offered Paige freely.

And Paige hadn’t even asked.

Her fingers hovered above the screen. She didn’t want to overthink it. But she didn’t want to say the wrong thing either.

So she just typed what was true.

It’s funny... I just realized I never asked your name. I only knew it when I saw it on my phone.

She stared at the message for a moment. Then hit send.

She put the phone down on her chest like it weighed something, her breath shallow for no clear reason.

Ten minutes passed before the screen lit up again.

I think I liked it that way.

Paige didn’t smile. Not exactly. But her chest softened. Her grip on the moment loosened.

She replied:

I’ve been thinking about you more than I meant to. Is that weird?

This time the pause was longer. Long enough that she began to wonder if she’d gone too far, said too much.

Then, a new message notification came in.

No. Just early.

They didn’t keep texting in paragraphs or flurries. Just a slow, drifting rhythm over the course of the evening.

A song Paige sent without context.

A photo Azzi took of her notebook at a coffee shop.

A quiet admission that Paige hated mornings but was willing to make exceptions.

None of it was demanding. None of it tried to push their connection forward too fast.

But something moved anyway.

It wasn’t that Paige had nothing else going on. It was that nothing else felt like this. Like calm. Like balance. Like the version of herself she didn’t always know how to reach.

She found herself checking her phone more now.

By the time four days passed, Paige had memorized the pacing of Azzi’s replies.

Never instant. Never reactive. Always deliberate. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel like hesitation but choice. Azzi answered when she meant to, and only with what was necessary. No fluff. No overreach.

Paige liked that more than she admitted.

The texts weren’t frequent. Just well-timed.

A brief comment on the article Paige posted.

A screenshot of Azzi’s study playlist.

Paige once sent a blurry photo of the back alley behind her gym captioned “five-star post-practice ambiance.” and Azzi had replied with just ��Tragic. But poetic.”

Even that felt like a thread.

Still, Paige kept circling on one thought she hadn’t spoken aloud. It was they’d only seen each other at night. In a curated club under dim lights and in her car surrounded with fast food wrappers and milkshake stains. And maybe that was part of why it felt safe—the half-shadow between them. The mutual unknowing.

But now? She wanted something more precise.

So Thursday evening, sitting in her apartment with her shoes still on and the windows cracked open to let in the early dusk, she finally typed what she’d been holding onto all day.

When’s your next day or night off?

She didn’t check her phone compulsively. Didn’t need to.

Azzi replied ten minutes later, like she always did.

Sunday. Why?

Paige sat with the question. Then answered simply:

Because I keep thinking about seeing you again. And I think I’d like to meet the daylight version of you. If that’s something you’d let me see.

The silence that followed wasn’t long. But it felt full. This time, Paige stared at the bubble appearing and disappearing on her screen. Then the reply came in.

Most people want less of me, not more. But I’ll text you a time and place. Bring your broody self. And curiosity.

That made Paige smile. A slow, deep feeling blooming behind her ribs. She closed her eyes for a few second, taking in the realness of Azzi’s reply. Then, she stared at the screen again, thumb hovering.

I’ll bring both.

The address came Sunday morning. No explanation. Just a pin on the map with two words underneath.

Meet me.

It wasn’t Vault 35. It wasn’t anywhere near downtown. Paige stared at the map long enough to commit the cross streets to memory, then tossed her phone on the counter and pulled on a hoodie.

Whatever Azzi had in mind, Paige was already in.

The coffee shop wasn’t one of the hyper-trendy, neon-signed storefronts Paige expected Azzi to frequent. No influencer tables. No curated latte art. Just soft earth tones, hanging plants by the windows, and the rich, unpretentious smell of actual roasted beans. It was tucked into the corner of a neighborhood she’d never wandered into before. The kind of place with locals reading real books and couples who didn’t need to speak to be content.

Azzi was already there.

She sat at a small two-seater by the window, sunlight striping across the sleeves of her crewneck. Her hair was down this time, a little messy at the ends like she’d let it air dry and hadn’t bothered to fix it. A textbook lay open in front of her, but she wasn’t reading. Just tracing a fingertip slowly along the spine, lost in thought.

Paige stepped inside and, for a second, didn’t announce herself.

She just watched.

She observed how Azzi settled into the space, calm and unbothered. Her blinks unhurried. Her breathing measured. As if she had nothing to prove to anyone in the room.

Then Azzi looked up.

And smiled. Soft, barely there, but real.

Paige made her way over, sliding into the seat across from her.

“I half expected a bar patio with mimosas and someone crying over brunch,” she murmured.

Azzi shook her head. “This place doesn’t serve opinions with their eggs. It’s safer.”

Their coffees arrived without needing to be ordered. Black for Azzi. Latte for Paige. Azzi must’ve remembered, or maybe guessed. Either way, it landed.

“So,” Paige said, curling a hand around her cup, “you going to tell me where exactly I’ve been summoned to?”

Azzi leaned back, gaze steady. “Corner of Vermont and 30th. You’re five blocks from USC’s main campus.”

Paige’s smile stalled slightly. “You’re a Trojan?”

“Four years running,” Azzi said, unapologetic.

Paige’s brow lifted. “And you waited five days to tell me this? I mean when you said you’re completing your bachelor’s degree, you never said it’s in USC.”

“You never asked,” Azzi said, deadpan.

“I just thought you were… I don’t know. Mysterious. Untraceable. Possibly immortal.”

Azzi shrugged. “Student loans say otherwise.”

Paige took a slow sip, then narrowed her eyes, playing along. “You know I went to UConn.”

“I do.”

“So you invited a Husky to Trojan territory.”

Azzi’s mouth twitched. “Should I have warned you to leave your jersey at home?”

“I feel deeply unsafe,” Paige said. “Truly violated.”

Azzi tilted her head. “Relax. We only bite during rivalry week or March Madness.”

“Cute,” Paige said, gaze steady. “But I’ve seen the way USC talks about itself. You’d think you invented basketball.”

Azzi’s smile grew by half a centimeter. “We didn’t. We just perfected it.”

That made Paige bark a laugh. “Oh, you did not just say that.”

“I’m just saying,” Azzi said, folding her arms, “if JuJu Watkins and college-you played one-on-one, it wouldn’t be a sweep.”

“I would cook her,” Paige said instantly, full chest, no hesitation.

Azzi blinked. “You say that with alarming confidence.”

“I say that with a jumper that doesn’t lie.”

“Mm,” Azzi mused, nodding like she was indulging a toddler. “Sure. Okay. But JuJu’s faster. Smoother. She’s got that L.A. calm. You? You’d go full Connecticut chaos in five seconds.”

“And still drop twenty on her before you finished that sentence,” Paige shot back, smirking.

Azzi tilted her head, resting her chin on one hand. “You’re fun when you’re defensive.”

“You’re fun when you’re wrong.”

They grinned at each other then. It was enough to admit that this, whatever it was, was starting to feel like something neither of them needed to define to enjoy.

Paige sat back in her chair, letting the warmth of the room settle into her shoulders.

“So,” she said. “What’s next?”

Azzi glanced out the window, then back at her. “A bookstore. Then a reading I have to sit through for a seminar. You’re welcome to join for both. Or neither.”

Paige considered that.

The offer wasn’t casual. It was an opening.

A glimpse into Azzi’s day.

A glimpse into Azzi's life.

“I’ll come,” she said simply. “I want to see what else is behind the bar.”

Azzi looked at her for a moment longer, her expression unreadable but not distant.

Then she stood.

“Come on then, Husky,” she said, gathering her books. “Let’s see if you turn into dust in Trojan sunlight.”

The bookstore was narrow, the kind of place with mismatched shelves and books stacked in precarious towers beside the register. The air smelled like cedar, coffee grounds, and dust. Azzi moved through it like she’d walked this path a hundred times before.

She didn’t tell Paige to follow. She just kept walking, pausing only to pull a small paperback from the philosophy shelf without looking at the title. Her fingers flipped through it absently, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“You memorize the layout or just psychic?” Paige asked, trailing a step behind.

“I used to shelve here,” Azzi said, eyes still on the book. “They paid in tips and coffee.”

“That sounds like a tragic sitcom.”

Azzi smiled, faint but genuine. “It was. I liked it anyway.”

They wandered without speaking for a while. Paige watched the way Azzi’s hand lingered on each book she touched. It reminded Paige of the way she handled a ball during warmup. Casual. Instinctual. Muscle memory.

When they stepped back out into the sun, Azzi gestured up the street. “I have an hour before a seminar. You’re still good?”

“Yup! Still not turning into dust,” Paige did a 360-degree turn for full dramatic effect, smirking. “Let’s go Trojan girl!”

Azzi looked down and suppressed a smile. She led them a few blocks farther until they reached a red-brick building with slanted windows and ivy growing crookedly along one side. Inside, the seminar room was mostly empty. Just a few scattered students with laptops open and blank expressions on their faces.

Paige followed Azzi to the back row and dropped into the chair beside her. She didn’t ask questions. She sat down, hands folded in her lap, eyes flicking around the room like she was back in study hall. Except the only thing she wanted to learn was seated next to her, uncapping a pen and sliding notes into place.

Ten minutes into the lecture, Paige was already zoning out.

Twenty minutes in, she was pretending not to check the time.

Thirty, and she’d started playing a quiet game in her head called How Many Things in This Room Can I Dunk On. So far: the professor’s tie, the fluorescent lights, and the student in front of her using Microsoft Word in 2025.

But every time she glanced sideways, Azzi was still. Sharp, focused, eyes narrowed with attention. She didn’t slouch. Didn’t fidget. She underlined phrases like they mattered.

Paige leaned in a little and whispered, “You’re actually into this?”

Azzi didn’t look up. “I’m writing about carceral policy for my thesis. So yes.”

“Carceral like—?”

“Prisons. Systems. How we punish and who benefits from it.”

“Fun.”

“Not fun,” Azzi murmured, underlining something else. “Necessary.”

Paige watched her for a second longer. The curve of her brow. The way she bit the inside of her cheek when she read something she didn’t like. She leaned back, folded her arms.

“I like how serious you get when no one’s watching.”

Azzi looked at her, finally, the edge of a smile flickering at the corner of her mouth. “You say that like you’re not bored out of your mind.”

“I am,” Paige said, unbothered. “But that’s not the point.”

Azzi turned slightly toward her. “Then what is?”

Paige didn’t hesitate. “That I wanted to be near you, even if I didn’t understand half of what was being said.”

That landed harder than she expected.

Azzi’s gaze lingered on Paige for a moment longer than necessary. Not with challenge, but with something quieter. Like she was trying to decode a question she hadn’t figured out how to ask yet.

“You didn’t have to stay,” Azzi said eventually, her voice quiet but not unsure.

“I know,” Paige replied, eyes steady.

There was no need for explanation. No rush to fill the pause.

Azzi closed her notebook slowly, slipping the pen between the pages, fingers brushing the corner like it anchored her to something. She didn’t speak right away. Just sat there, still, the corner of her lip caught gently between her teeth like she was weighing the cost of saying anything at all.

“I don’t usually let people see this part,” she said, finally.

Paige tilted her head slightly, not pushing. “This?”

Azzi nodded faintly, gesturing. A small movement toward the now-empty seminar room, the open textbook, the half-finished notes. “This and everything that’s quiet. Routine. Not shaped for anyone else.”

Paige let the silence stretch a little. She could feel Azzi watching her now, maybe not expecting anything in return, but still braced for it.

“I don’t know if it’s impressive,” Azzi added, voice softer now.

“I like that you’re not trying,” Paige whispered. “Most people can’t sit still without putting on some kind of act.”

Azzi's shoulders dropped and sighed softly. The kind of release that happens when someone realizes they’re not being judged.

“Sometimes I feel like I’ve split myself in half,” she said. “There’s who I am when I’m working. And then there’s... this. The student. The person no one really pays attention to. I think I got used to keeping them separate.”

“And now?” Paige asked, gentle.

Azzi looked at her—a glance that lingered, direct but not sharp. “Now I’m not sure if I want them to be.”

There was no dramatic shift in the air, no big moment of realization. Just something subtle. A rhythm changing. A thread tightening between them.

“I’m not always like this,” Azzi said after a moment, eyes flicking down to her notes, then back up. “I can be cold. Distant. Not on purpose. Just practiced.”

Paige’s voice was quiet but certain. “You’re not cold.”

Azzi gave the smallest shake of her head, almost amused. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“Maybe,” Paige said. “But I’ve spent enough time around people who are. You’re not one of them.”

Azzi didn’t reply. Not right away. But the way she looked at Paige after that—really looked at her—felt like the beginning of something unguarded.

They stood in quiet when the lecture hall finally emptied around them, neither rushing to fill the next beat. Paige adjusted the strap of her hoodie, glancing over.

“I was serious when I said I’d stay,” she murmured.

“I know you were,” Azzi said.

They walked outside together, side by side, the daylight falling low across the pavement.

As they reached the edge of the lot, Azzi said, not quite looking at her, “I’m still figuring out what to share.”

Paige nodded. “That’s fine.”

“You don’t expect anything?”

“No,” she said simply. “I’m just here.”

And that, more than anything, was why Azzi let her stay.

It didn’t begin as a routine. Not intentionally. There was no calendar, no agreement, no line drawn in the air where one kind of closeness became another. It just settled. Quietly. Naturally. Like steam rising from a cup left too long on the table. Gradual. Unnoticed. But unmistakably there.

One morning bled into the next. A casual pass-through turned into a seat kept warm. Study hours stretched without ceremony, until their shared silence felt less like a pause and more like its own kind of conversation.

Paige started appearing around ten, hoodie pulled over her head, sunglasses she didn’t need. Always with a paper bag from somewhere a little too curated to be casual. The kind of pastries that flaked at the corners and cost more than she admitted. She never explained where she got them. She didn’t need to.

Azzi was always already mid-page, highlighter uncapped, with a curve of her concentration softened only when Paige set the bag down beside her.

“You didn’t have to,” Azzi would murmur without looking up.

Paige would slide into the seat across from her, stretching out like she belonged there. “I know,” she’d reply. “Did it anyway.”

Azzi never reached for the croissant first. But she always finished it.

No one ever said it was theirs—the bench, the mornings, the time. But they kept returning to it. As if it had been theirs from the beginning.

And then there were the nights.

It became another routine. Paige pulling up in front of Vault 35 just before closing. Hoodie zipped, window rolled halfway down, fingers drumming the steering wheel in rhythm with the lo-fi playlist she refused to admit she’d made just for these drives.

Azzi would slide into the passenger seat. Always a little tired, but always a little amused. “I could Uber, you know,” she’d say, seatbelt already buckled.

“And yet you don’t,” Paige would answer, offering her a bottle of water or a pack of gummy worms or whatever random snack she’d picked up on the way.

From there, it was always something low-effort. Tacos on a curb. Drive-thru milkshakes. One night it was a 24-hour Korean BBQ place that neither of them could finish and both agreed to forget.

It wasn’t about the food. It never was. It was the hour. The simplicity. The space.

Two weeks passed like that. Quietly. Completely.

And somewhere in the middle of it, Azzi changed.

Not dramatically. She didn’t suddenly burst into laughter or lay bare her inner life with poetic monologues. But she started smiling more—not the half-curved, cautious ones, but full ones, the kind that reached her eyes and stayed there. She teased Paige more often, gently, without edge. She lingered when they said goodbye. Asked Paige about things beyond the court.

And Paige? She noticed all of it.

One night, sitting on the hood of her car outside a late-night sandwich shop, Azzi leaned back on her palms, her legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed.

“You’re really still hanging around,” she said, eyes fixed on the empty sidewalk across the street.

Paige popped a fry into her mouth and shrugged. “What can I say? You’ve grown on me.”

Azzi turned to look at her. “Like mold?”

“Like something more charming. Ferns. Moss. Those aesthetic girl Tumblr plants.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile was unguarded. “I still don’t get why you do this.”

“Do what?”

“Sit through lectures you don’t care about. Wait outside my job at 1 AM. Pretend my thesis drafts make sense.”

“I don’t pretend,” Paige said. “You’re smart as hell. Your work is dense. That’s not a critique.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “You know what I mean.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She looked at Azzi. The soft light from the storefront casting gold along her cheek, the way her hair was pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder, how she looked both tired and alive.

“I don’t know,” Paige said finally. “Maybe because I don’t have to be anything around you. And maybe because you don’t pretend not to see me.”

Azzi blinked, the moment heavier than either of them meant it to be.

“I do see you,” she said quietly.

Paige looked down at the sidewalk, then back up at her. “Yeah. That’s the thing.”

They didn’t say much after that. Just passed the rest of the fries back and forth until the bag was empty, then drove with the windows down and the radio low.

It had been a normal night.

Until it wasn’t.

Just another late shift at Vault. Paige had parked like always—second row, under the overhanging tree. Her hoodie pulled low, hands in the pockets of her joggers with her head down. The night air smelled like smoke and clove, and the low hum of bass from inside the club pulsed gently through the pavement. She leaned against her car, waiting.

She didn’t expect trouble. Not here. Not in Azzi’s space.

But then the door cracked open, and three guys stumbled out. Loud, already laughing too hard. The kind of drunk that comes with money and nothing to lose. One of them paused when he saw her. Did a double take. Then smiled like he’d spotted prey.

“No fucking way,” he said, swaggering closer. “That’s Bueckers, right? LA Sparks, golden girl.”

Paige straightened but didn’t move. “Not tonight, man.”

He kept walking. Too close. “Didn’t think I’d see a star player hiding outside a bar. Thought you’d be off somewhere, I don’t know… losing?”

Laughter broke behind him. Paige’s jaw tensed.

“I said, not tonight.”

But he was already circling, beer sloshing in his hand. “How’d it feel, huh? Choke in the last two minutes? What was it, a reach? A bad read? Or are you just a complete fraud?”

Paige’s fists balled in her pockets. Her breath tightened.

The door behind them opened again. And then Azzi’s voice, low but cutting. “Walk away.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even loud. But it stopped everything.

The guy turned to look at her. “Hey, relax. Just talking.”

Azzi stepped forward, eyes sharp beneath the wash of neon. “You’re not.”

He smirked, about to fire back but something in Azzi’s face made him think twice. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stood between him and Paige like a wall of silence.

Eventually, he scoffed and muttered something under his breath. The trio stumbled off, their voices fading into the alley.

Azzi didn’t turn to Paige right away. She stayed where she was, spine tight, shoulders still.

“Come on,” she said finally. “You’re coming with me.”

Azzi’s apartment was hushed in the way intimate spaces often are. Dim corners, quiet breathing, the ambient hum of a city winding down beyond the windows. The walls were bare except for a single framed print above the bookshelf. A coat hung neatly on a wall hook. A stack of folded laundry sat on the arm of the couch, untouched. It was a space built for solitude, not spectacle. One where everything had been placed with care, and nothing begged to be seen.

Paige stepped inside slowly, her movements hesitant, like the apartment might shrink if she disturbed the air too much. Her hand brushed the edge of the counter as she passed, grounding herself. She didn’t sit. Didn’t speak. Just stood there with the faintest tension curling her shoulders inward like she was trying to contain herself.

Azzi said nothing. She walked ahead with quiet precision, her footsteps soft on the hardwood. She turned on the kitchen light without comment, then disappeared briefly before returning with a glass of water. She placed it gently on the corner of the coffee table, then stood nearby. Not close enough to press, not far enough to feel absent.

“You can sit,” she offered quietly.

But Paige didn’t move.

She stood in the middle of the room. Her hands hidden inside the pockets of her joggers, trying to find solace in the soft cotton. The silence drawing long and taut around her. Her voice, when it finally came, was barely above a breath.

“I wanted to hit him.”

Azzi didn’t react. No raised brows, no polite protest. Just stillness. Attention.

“I mean it,” Paige said. Her voice caught, rough-edged. “I wanted to hit him. Just once. Hard. I wanted him to feel it.”

She pulled her hands out and clenched her fists so hard. Veins visible with anger.

“I stood there and let him say everything everyone else probably thinks. That I’m the reason we lost. That I cracked when it mattered. That I’m not who they thought I was.”

Azzi remained quiet. She listened the way Paige had always wished people would. She didn’t interrupt. It felt wrong to interrupt.

“I’ve been waking up every night,” Paige continued. “Always the same. Two minutes left. That foul. The bench. The clock. My body feels like it’s still in the game, like it never ended, and I’m just stuck there. Inside the moment that broke everything.”

Her shoulders shook. Not violently, not dramatically, just enough to shift her breath out of rhythm. She hadn’t cried. Not once. Not since the final buzzer. Not even during post-game. But her eyes now looked raw, like the ache had moved inward and nested there.

Azzi took a step forward, unhurried.

“You don’t have to carry it all,” she said gently. “Not tonight.”

Paige finally looked at her. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, like she wasn’t quite in her body.

“I don’t know how to put it down,” she said. “Even when I want to. Even right now, standing here, I still feel like I have to hold it together.”

Azzi stepped closer. Not to pull her in. Just to be near enough for the weight to shift, even slightly.

“You don’t have to hold anything for me,” Azzi said softly. “But if you let me, I’ll hold it with you. Just tonight. Just enough to help you sleep.”

There was no pity in her voice. No pity in her face. It’s that quiet grounded presence that Paige had begun to trust without realizing.

She didn’t respond. Not with words.

She just exhaled. Long. Shaky. Like a release she hadn’t allowed herself.

And then she nodded.

Azzi’s room was dark except for the streetlight spilling softly through the blinds, tracing faint gold lines across the wall. Paige sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over her hands. She didn’t move, didn’t look back. Her eyes stayed on the floor, where her shoes sat side by side like they were waiting to leave again.

Azzi watched her from the doorway for a moment, then crossed the room and folded the comforter down. The motion was quiet. Unrushed.

“You can lie down,” she said gently.

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her jaw moved, like she was chewing over something she didn’t know how to say.

Finally, “I used to be really sure of myself.”

Azzi sat on the far corner of the bed, not too close. “And now?”

Paige let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. Eyes shadowed and tired. “I thought if I trained hard enough, focused enough, I could shape myself into someone untouchable. Someone who delivered, no matter what.”

She turned toward the wall, shoulders curling slightly inward. “But then I fouled out. I watched the whole thing fall apart from the bench. And now I can’t stop wondering if that was the moment I proved everyone right. That maybe I’m not what they thought I was.”

Azzi remains quiet. But her stillness didn’t feel empty. It felt like space. A pause made of presence, not absence.

“I don’t think one game defines a whole person,” Azzi said after a moment. “But I think sometimes we believe it does because it’s easier than sitting in the gray.”

Paige decided to lay on her side, eyes open in the dark, her breath shallow against the pillow. The silence stretched. It pressed inward, dense with the things she’d never let herself say aloud.

“I used to think control was the same as safety,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “If I could control the game—the tempo, the floor, my stats, the way people saw me—then nothing could fall apart.”

Her fingers twitched slightly beneath the blanket, tightening, releasing, like her body was still running drills even in rest.

“But I lost that game,” she continued. “And it’s like… I haven’t been able to get my footing back since.”

Azzi hummed and positioned herself parallel to Paige’s lying form. Paige could feel her presence beside her, solid and unmoving. Like a shoreline you don’t have to swim toward. It’s just there, waiting for you to drift close.

Paige kept her eyes on the bedroom ceiling, her voice low, raw. “No one tells you how disorienting it is when the thing you’re best at becomes the thing that betrays you.”

She swallowed hard and continued, “And when that happens, when the one thing you thought defined you suddenly slips away, it stops being just about the game. It becomes about identity. Like, who am I if I’m not the one who always comes through?”

The question hovered. She didn’t expect an answer.

She turned slowly in the dark, not fully facing Azzi, just enough to blur the line between distance and closeness.

“I don’t know how to be with people when I’m like this,” she admitted. “When I’m not composed. When I don’t have the right words.”

Azzi didn’t respond with empty comfort or advice. Instead, she shifted slightly, enough for their arms to touch under the blanket. Her fingers brushed against Paige’s. Not reaching, just quietly offering.

And Paige, without ceremony, let her hand fall into Azzi’s.

She let her weight sink into the mattress like it had finally stopped trying to hold itself up. Her breath steadied, only slightly, and the knots in her body began to loosen, one thread at a time.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t collapse.

She just let herself exist beside someone who didn’t need her to be fixed.

Eventually, exhaustion took place and her eyelids fluttered closed.

And she slept. Not because anything had been solved, but because she’d finally told the truth in a room where nothing demanded her strength.

#paige bueckers #paige buckets #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fic #wnba #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fanfic #azzi fudd fanfiction #pazzi fics #azzi fudd

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greenorangevioletgrass · 2 years ago

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give me a minute (2/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 6.6k warnings: established former relationship, discussions of separation and divorce, discussions of moving on, luca and reader has a son, brief mention of blood and minor injury, smut 18+ (fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, size kink? idk luca's big, dirty talk, creampie) notes: it's finally here! thank you everyone for your patience, i am a slow writer by nature and life gets in the way, but i finally got around to finish it! happy reading, and do comment, reblog, and send me asks to tell me what you think <;3 ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted for my latest fics ✨

<<< read part 1 here >>>

06.13 PM

Your apartment has never felt so claustrophobic after that little moment you shared with Luca. You try to stay busy in the next hour —tidying up Alfie’s room even after he made it up, checking your email four times, even doing the laundry, for fuck’s sake— as Luca keeps to himself in the kitchen area. Whether Alfie is obliviously enjoying his screen time or purposely ignoring the weird tension between his parents, you’re not entirely sure. Right now, you’re just grateful that he’s not saying anything at the moment.

The boy simply creeps up to the kitchen counter with a shy eagerness about him. “How long ‘til dinner, Dad?”

“3 more minutes, Chef,” Luca answers, focused on the task at hand, so poker-faced that it makes his son giggle.

“I’m not a chef, you’re a chef!”

“Well, where I work, we call everyone in the kitchen ‘chef.’ Out of respect.”

Alfie climbs onto the dining bench in interest, peering up to watch his father set the dish on the plates meticulously. Luca doesn’t miss how the boy deeply inhales the delicious smell in the air.

“Smells yummy.”

“Thank you,” Luca replies, his excitement seems muted although his heart is soaring. He looks up to find Alfie staring at the plate, chin propped up on his little fist. You’ve always said that he looks just like his dad, but in that moment, Luca only sees you. Alfie has the way your mouth tugs ever so slightly into a smile, the way your eyes shine in childlike wonder. In quiet thoughtfulness.

No Michelin star, earned or retained, would ever amount to this.

“Can you go get your mum and tell her dinner’s ready, please?” He softly asks Alfie, as if not wanting to disrupt this peaceful silence. “Thank you, Chef.”

“Yes, chef.” The six-year-old salutes him and pads over to your home office, which doubles as the guest bedroom. The door is open, and he sees you reorganizing the linen closet with your back to him. He hugs you from behind, startling you.

“Oh!” You put your hand on his head, stroking him lightly. “Hey, bub.”

“Daddy told me to come get you and say dinner’s ready.”

“Gotcha. Thank you.” You half-expect him to run off like he usually does, but he lingers, his arms still wrapped around you. “What’s up, bubbie?”

“Nothing.” He buries his face against your side. “Love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, bubbie.” This makes you smile, pleasantly surprised at this seemingly random admission.

“Love Daddy too, but don’t tell him that,” he whispers as he looks up at you, putting his forefinger in front of his mouth.

“Why not?”

“Sometimes he gets sad when I say that,” he murmurs. “He doesn’t tell me, but I know it.”

Oh. His playful exterior sometimes makes you forget just how emotionally sensitive he is. And it breaks your heart that he can see through the complicated adult emotions with his childlike eyes.

“Alfie…” you level with him and pull him closer, “Your dad loves you very very much, and I’m sure he’d be happy to hear you say that. He’s just sad because… he’s been away, and he misses you a lot.”

“He should come home, then.”

It’s so simple, the way Alfie puts it. His Dad comes home and reunites with him and you, and his puzzle would piece together perfectly again. And you all live happily ever after. The end.

The truth, of course, is not so simple. But maybe, just for tonight… Maybe you and Luca can sacrifice a few of your own puzzle pieces. For your baby boy.

So you get back on your feet and guide your son out of the room. “Come on, bub. Let’s see what Daddy cooked for us, hm?”

When you and Alfie turn the corner into the kitchen-living area, Luca is wiping the side of the plate neatly. He smiles at you somewhat nervously, like he’s not sure what to do with himself, so you throw him the figurative olive branch.

“Smells amazing,” you compliment him as you and Alfie take your seats. “What are we having, Chef?”

Luca’s eyes light up and your heart stops. You stopped calling him ‘Chef’ long ago, when the moniker became synonymous with workaholism and neglect. But there’s no venom in the way you say it tonight. Call him sentimental, but it reminds him of the early summer days in the tiny apartment you first shared in Chicago.

Of blueberry pies and barely there bumps.

He has to remind himself that this whole ‘happy family’ shtick is just a charade now, it’s all for Alfie, it doesn’t mean anything for the two of us, but he can’t help but miss this.

And little does he know, so do you.

“Well, buckle up, you guys, because we are having…” He carries the plates over and serves it to you and Alfie with a flourish, “Baked sweet potato wedges with Mediterranean dip, and our pièce-de-résistance… Alfie’s Nuggies.”

It looks nothing short of beautiful, with the wedges fanned out like autumn leaves underneath a colorful burst of cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, and feta cheese. The chicken nuggets are rich golden brown against the brilliant white plate. The splatters of sauce (is that Tahini?) is a hint of thoughtful chaos on the dish.

Your six-year-old let out a little noise of awe and amazement next to you, but no sound escapes you—not for the longest time.

“This is…” you look up at Luca as if he would have the word you’re looking for.

But his blue eyes just look a lot like I love you.

“Thank you,” you ultimately say, with absolutely no pretense whatsoever.

And if he does hear an ‘I love you’ hidden somewhere in there… he hopes he’s not imagining things.

***

08:37 PM

If you could travel just a few hours back in time and tell yourself that you would spend the whole day stuck at home in a nasty storm with your son and his father that you’re divorcing—and that you’d be okay with it, you would’ve probably scheduled yourself an MRI scan because clearly something is wrong.

But the night is winding down. Luca is tucking Alfie into bed for the first time in months. You are washing dishes in the quiet accompaniment of steady rain and running water, and everything feels just right.

“He’s out like a light,” Luca informs you quietly as he reemerges from Alfie’s bedroom and stops right by the kitchen counter. “Need a hand?”

“Nah, I’m just about done,” you casually wave him off. “You want anything to drink?”

“Uh… what do you got?”

“Scotch, gin…” you pause, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. The sink tap squeaks a little as you shut it off. “...wine.”

His heart skips. Don’t overthink it, he reminds himself. “Red or white?”

“Take your pick,” you shrug nonchalantly.

Luca reaches up to see the bottles of wine you have in store, and you try not to pay too much attention as his shirt rides up around the waist—or the sleeve, showing off the remnants of Alfie’s crayon work over his inks… you’re just two co-parents hanging out. It’s normal, right?

“What about the Malbec?” he eventually chooses, taking out the bottle.

He’s always loved Malbec—this particular brand of Malbec you brought him when he first invited you for dinner on your third date.

Don’t overthink it, you remind yourself. “Yeah, sure.”

You pick up two wine glasses and set them down on the dining table, shuffling into the corner bench. Luca settles into the other bench, directly against the kitchen counter, pouring the wine onto both glasses.

“How many bedtime stories did Alfie manage to get out of you?” you pipe up, swirling the purplish liquid around.

“Just one…” he sips on his wine thoughtfully. “Although he made me read it three times.”

You smile, bemused. “Which one was it?”

“‘The Bear Who Did.’”

“Ah, yeah. He’s been into that one lately,” you muse. “But… for what it’s worth, I’m glad he asked you to tuck him in tonight.”

The two of you exchange a soft look. A ceasefire. A truce, at least when it comes to your son. Because you really do want Luca to have a good relationship with Alfie.

“Me too.”

“And I’m sorry you had to… make do with spending the day with Alfie here.”

He shakes his head softly. “Nah, don’t be. I had a good time. It’s nice to just hang out… at home.”

At home, the words echo in your head.

With you, they echo in his, loud and unsaid.

“So, uh… how have you been?”

“Ah, you know how it is. Work is kicking my ass—my current client’s only two blocks away, but the house is a total fixer-upper, and Alfie’s… Alfie.” You don’t want to backtalk your own son, although you both know how trying he can be sometimes. “But it’s all good. My mom helps out with Alfie, and Jess insists that I go out and live a little every now and again.”

“And do you? Live a little?”

“I mean, within reason. I can’t go clubbing ‘til 4am anymore. I think I’m getting old…” you stretch your arms, feeling that soreness just from your daily activities.

Luca grins, raising his glass. “I hear you. I don’t even really go out anymore.”

“Seriously?”

“Mm-hm.”

You make an incredulous face. It would make sense for you not to go out much, with Alfie and everything. But he was alone, abroad… “Why, though?”

He just shrugs lightly. “I’m working. Whenever I’m off, I mostly just… eat or sleep.”

“I somehow find that hard to believe.” You take a dubious sip. You both know how much Luca enjoys grabbing a cheeky pint. He’s British; it’s in his blood, goddammit.

“Oh come on…”

“You don’t even go out drinking or whatever? Meet people?”

His gaze flashes towards you almost playfully. “Do you?”

Your face falls, not expecting to be caught so off-guard with such an innocent question. And upon seeing that, his face falls. Shit. And with that, the air between you shifts so dramatically.

Stupidly, you still try to save the conversation. “Of course my friends and I go out—”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice darkens, his blue eyes piercing through you.

This conversation is a long time coming. It’s a natural progression of your relationship—or the lack thereof. You separate, you get divorced, and eventually you move on. Two years is a more than acceptable time to start dating again. And still, you phrase out your next words very carefully.

“I’ve been on dates here and there…”

Luca sucks in a slow, calculated breath. “Does Alfie know?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing serious so far.”

He’s not sure what’s worse, the fact that it’s nothing serious, or that you’re holding out for something serious in the future.

“Look, we both know this is happening sooner or later…”

“I know,” he quickly recovers—or as much as he can recover. He just stares down the stem of his glass. “It just… It’s a lot to take in, that’s all.”

“I understand.” The wine feels like gravel down your throat, and the words coming out of your mouth feel like throwing up a boulder.

“Because I do miss you.”

Your eyes immediately dart over to his, as if you’re not sure you heard it right. “Luca…”

“I miss you everyday. I miss us. I miss everything we used to have.”

Your heart catches—no, stops altogether at his admission. “Luca, we can’t do this anymo—”

He swallows thickly, his jaw setting as he braces himself. “I’ve been thinking about it everyday—the whole time I’m away, and frankly, I’m kicking myself over not telling you this sooner.”

“That’s probably just the homesickness talking.” You turn away. This can’t be possible. This can’t be happening. What the fuck?! “It got you reminiscing about the good old days. Give it time, you’ll come around.” You try to maintain a neutral, distant, cold approach to this, although the crack in your voice betrays you.

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what the fuck is it?”

Your words cut through the quiet apartment like a flash bang. Luca stops dead in his tracks in his shock, and honestly, so do you. Awful silence hushes over the room, and both of you are almost too afraid to break it. Neither of you even dare to move.

After what seems like forever, Luca moves first. A tear escapes his eye, and he wipes it away with his knuckle hurriedly. “Noma should’ve been a dream. And it is, in a way. I guess.” He stares blankly ahead, his life in Copenhagen replaying in his head like it’s on fast-forward, and the playback seems to just highlight how lonely he is there. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m utterly miserable there. I get up and go to work and I just feel empty. Because what’s the point? You and Alfie are way over here, being a family while I’m… doing what?” He wants to tear his hair out, because this is everything he’s dreamed of, and yet he is living the stuff of nightmares. “It makes no fucking sense.”

It makes even less sense to you. You can’t even begin to process this tangled mess in your head. “Luca… we are almost officially divorced. You’re telling me this now? When everything is—”

“I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought I should just… let you cut your losses and—”

“The best for me? How the fuck did you think giving up was the best way forward for me?” The thought of it burns your eyes with angry tears. They melt, and you don’t do a thing to stop it from running down your face. “You didn’t think to fight for us while you still could?”

Luca’s heart aches to see that. He is dying to reach out and wipe them away, but he can’t. His voice is quiet and small and almost childlike. “I tried. You were just so… sure about the divorce. You had it all figured out. And I… I thought you had no room for me anymore.”

“I had to keep it together. I had to figure it out—for Alfie’s sake. For mine.” You stare at your little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “I don’t see the point in being vulnerable with you anymore when you’re already set on leaving.”

The words have run out. The whirlwind of emotions has passed. What he feels and what he wants is now very clear.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have.” You wished he didn’t. Everyday for the last two years. And everyday you set yourself up for disappointment because, the truth of the matter is, he did leave. So you stop wishing. “Because I don’t know how to come back from this. I really don’t.”

Nothing that comes out of your mouth is unexpected. But it doesn’t hurt any less to hear it from the horse’s mouth. “It’s just… seeing you guys today… We were a family again. And I would do anything for us to be a family again. Please.”

You sigh heavily. “What else is there to do, Luca…?”

“We can, I don’t know, figure something out, go to couples counseling—”

You groan in frustration, Jesus Christ not this again, wanting to tear your hair out when— CRASH! You accidentally knock over your wine glass and it shatters as it hits the floor. “Shit…”

“Mommy?” Alfie calls you from inside his room, sleepy but alert.

The two of you freeze just before you can move out of your seat. Afraid the slightest of noises would rattle your son.

“Yes, bubbie?” you try to sound bright and normal. Maybe if you can convince him that everything’s fine, he won’t come running in panic.

“What was that?”

“I just knocked over a glass, kiddo, everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

You and Luca wait a few seconds with bated breath. One, two, three… ten seconds go by, and there’s no movement in the bedroom.

The coast is clear.

You scramble down to pick up the shards of glass. The spilled wine looks like blood in the dim light of the room. It’s a painful reminder of the broken pieces of your former life, the casualties. He quickly follows suit, as if struggling to put it all back together. The irony is not lost on either of you, you’re sure of that.

“It’s fine, Luca. I got it, I—” a sharp piece of glass accidentally cuts your palm as you pick it up in hurry. “Fuck!”

“You okay?” He takes your hand as quick as lightning, wanting to inspect the wound, but you snatch it away.

“I’m fine.” You get up on your feet, teetering over to the sink, away from the crime scene, careful not to step on any piece of glass.

Yet he still follows you, walking over to where you’re standing now. “Come on. Let me just take a look.” He reaches out to your wrist, running little circles with his thumb to ease your grasp.

“It’s not a big deal…” you let him look anyway, you figure it’s easier to just let him do his thing than to argue your way out of it.

His calluses are brittle against your palm, but he handles you with the gentlest touch. The wound is not too big or too deep, but the sight of blood marring your palm makes his heart drop. There’s no visible piece stuck to it, that’s a good sign, he thinks. He rips off some paper towel and wets it on the sink, and softly dab at the gash, cleaning the wound and wiping the blood off.

You grit your teeth, not wanting to show any sign of pain although it stings. “It’s just a little cut…” your tone bears less and less conviction, as if you have no energy left to argue with him on such a small matter.

There’s a very particular way his eyebrows arch when he’s deep in thought. The left one always sits slightly higher than the right. Blue eyes fixed on the object of his focus. A minute gesture behind the chaos in his head. “You need a Band-Aid,” he points out.

“It’s in the—”

Luca is already opening the drawer next to the stove, taking out a packet of a Star Wars-themed Band-Aid. He still remembers where everything is, and you can’t tell whether the ache in your chest is a good or bad thing.

He puts the Band-Aid on your cut, then takes your hand close to kiss it better, like he used to do.

“Um.” You freeze in your tracks, taken aback. And it seems he’s just as equally as taken aback by his own action. He is flushed with embarrassment, and you feel your face growing hot as well.

He’s the first to break the awkward silence, quiet and tentative. “I’ll clean up the mess. You just hang tight.”

It seems so mundane, sweeping broken glass and cleaning the floor. His body registers it as a simple muscle memory—he must’ve cleaned up messes on this very spot a million times. But his heart is heavy with the burden of your history, and all the pain that comes with your separation. He might not be able to put the pieces back together, but maybe he can clean up the mess and make it nice again for you.

And all the while, you’re stuck to the kitchen counter, watching him so effortlessly reacquainted with his former home. It’s as if he never left. For a confusing moment, it feels like home again. How did you manage without this view, this presence for so long?

Luca puts away the debris in the trash, hidden away in another kitchen drawer next to you, and hovers in front of you, as if wanting to reach out and touch you… but too afraid you’ll push him away.

“Does it still hurt?”

You can’t tear your eyes off of his. The little cut on your hand is but a dull ache now, but the insides of your chest feels like it’s been mangled beyond repair. You burst into tears, sobs ripping through the seams.

His arms wrap around you, keeping your tattered pieces together. Your face is buried in his chest, surrounded by soft cotton and earthy perfume, and your first thought is you can’t remember the last time you were in his arms like this. You rake your mind through all the memories, all the times you hugged each other hello and goodbye and all the times in between, and you can’t remember the last time you stopped, why would you stop—

“My love…” Luca’s voice soothes you, so quietly murmured against your forehead with a soft kiss, yet rings so clear in your ears. He cups your face with both hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “It’s okay... I got you.”

The palm of his hand grazes your lips, and you kiss it the way he kisses your Band-Aid earlier. You have no energy left to fight whatever is going on inside you. You don’t understand the nagging urge to be away from him, when being close to him feels this good. You miss his touch and his voice and his face, and you’re so overwhelmed with longing that you close the distance between your lips and his.

Luca gasps when you kiss him—and it feels like the first breath he’s drawn in two years. Your lips are just as he remembers, just as warm and inviting and familiar, and he relishes coming home to them tonight. He didn’t think he would be so lucky ever again, but now you’re here, kissing life back into him again.

Against your better judgment, you stumble into the bedroom, careful to make as little sound as possible as you tread down the hallway. Still tangled in each other. Refusing to let go even for a second. His five o’clock shadow scratches your skin, following the trail of his lips down your neck.

You push him into bed and climb on top of him without a single thought. You need him close, closer than the past two years, closer than now, and your clothes feel like they’re in the way. Of his hands, of his mouth, of his warmth…

You tear your dress off and throw it away, and he stops in his tracks. He has every part of you memorized, every curve and every ridge, every notch of your stretch marks, every inch of your C-section scar from Alfie’s birth… and yet he’s looking at you for the first time all over again.

“Beautiful…” it escapes his mouth just like that, and you kiss him senseless in return. You worry that if you stop, the moment will pass and this whole thing turns out to be just an illusion.

Or worse, a mistake.

You tug his t-shirt over his head, trying not to linger on his broad chest too long. He gets the idea—he is dying to say something, but doesn’t—and just unclasps your bra in response. He keeps his mouth busy by kissing and licking and sucking your newly exposed breasts.

It’s not that you haven’t been touched like this in a while; it’s just that you haven’t been touched by him like this for so long.. “Luca…”

He never thought he’d hear that again. His name in a wanton sigh, uttered by the lost love of his life. He’s not one to waste his chance. “It’s okay. I got you, my love. I got you.”

Because for the first time in a long time, it’s true. He’s got you. He’s got your body underneath him, your nipple in his mouth, your sweet sex in his hand.

God.

You’re so soft, so warm, so wet against his fingers. The little stuttered moan you let out sounds absolutely heavenly. He remembers exactly the last time he was here.

Christmas Eve, two years ago.

Things had been tense long before that, but Luca was home and able to spend some time with his wife and kid at last. You didn’t seem all that chuffed having him around—whether he was here or not brought out that “neutral look of displeasure” from you these days— but at least you didn’t pull away when he rested his head on your shoulder as the three of you watched Jurassic Park (Alfie’s all-time favorite). Didn’t roll your eyes and turn away when he kissed you and wished you happy Christmas before bed.

And he wanted so desperately for you to openly want him again.

So he tentatively deepened the kiss and reiterated his love for you in every inch of your body that he could get his hands on. Trying to convince you that he was still here. Trying to convince himself that with every orgasm he pried out of you, that you still wanted him there.

But you just… laid there and watched. Hands locked in on the sheets, not even touching him. Motionless as he went through the motions of his thrusts. Numb as he touched and kissed and fucked you the way you used to like. He was fighting a losing battle. He might as well have been making love to a ghost.

“Luca…” Your breathless voice snaps him out of his own intrusive thoughts, more clear and alive and real than any memory of you posing no desire for him.

“I— yeah, sorry. I just…” he shakes off his own thoughts.

“Hurry up, come on…” you needily thrust yourself into his hand.

“You sure?”

No, and neither does he. But at this point, you’re much too stubborn about your decision in the divorce and much too prideful to admit that you want him back and maybe just a tad too eager to make a mistake with him.

So you nod your head yes, and with a searing kiss, he fingerfucks you the way you needed him to.

“Oh, God… fuck…” you sigh under the undoing of his fingers. It’s like he never forgot how to work your body. His fingers play a pattern on your clit that makes you sing. And when one slides into you, crooking and curling against your silky heat…

“Luca, I— now.”

He unlatches his mouth from your nipple almost begrudgingly, as if too sweet to part with you. “Not yet, baby. We can’t…”

“What, why?”

“Because…” he nips at the smooth flesh of your chest thoughtfully. How can he explain it to you in a way that makes sense? “I want…” to take as much time with you as possible, he adds another finger inside you deliciously slow. “I need…” to feel you in every way first, he chants in his head as he kisses you through your orgasm.

Your resolve is slipping, but the craving is as ravenous as ever. You try to squirm in protest anyway. “But…”

“Please.” His lips press against your forehead, eyes squeezed shut. “I got you, okay?”

His blue eyes meet yours, as familiar as the sky you’ve walked under your whole life. As sure as day. And before you realize it, you find yourself nodding along.

Watching him slither further down your body. Mouth paving the way between the valleys of your breasts, up the diamond-hard tops of your nipples.

Down your torso.

Between your nether lips.

You don’t remember the last time you did this either. Memories of attempts to rekindle the romance flash before your eyes. The nights that he climbed into bed late at night after work, still smelling like chocolate or mint or whatever ingredient he was working with that day. Waking you up with the parting of your legs and hushed kisses saying, “Missed you so much, baby…”

“Right there. Yes…” you pant as he laps you up where you’re dripping, catching every drop and coaxing more at the same time.

His eyes close, and he swallows back a needy groan. “Come for me, baby.”

The words shoot right into your core, and you’re suddenly overcome with the waves of pleasure running through you, grinding your hips into his mouth shamelessly. Has he always been so greedy in the way he ate you out?

Your head is spinning with need and you hope the broken words you string up are comprehensible enough for him. “Luca, come on, I can’t—”

“No, please—” he seems to understand just fine, but still he shakes his head and buries his face deeper into you.

“Luca…”

“Wait, just let me—”

So insistent. So stubborn. So… needy. You grasp a fistful of hair on the back of his head. Both heaving, you breathe out,

“Please.”

The word stops him in his tracks. But it’s not so much the word as it is the gravity that comes with it. Whatever the two of you are doing, whatever you’re feeling is beyond words at this point.

It’s just you and him and this need.

And as much as he wants—needs— to satisfy his hunger, there’s just no way of stopping you anymore. Truth be told, he’s not even sure why he’s been stalling you in the first place. Not when you’re so eager to tug his clothes off and touch him absolutely everywhere. To stroke him, and taste him…

“No, baby.” He stops you just before you slither down his body, settling you back on the bed and caging you underneath him.

You throw him a look, indignant. If he’s gonna hold it off some more, you swear to God—

“No, I…” he kisses you hard, hoping you’ll get that he wants you too. More than anything. And that he’ll give you what you want. Hell, he would give you anything if he could come back to this again for the rest of his life. “Just trust me, okay?”

You marvel at the sight before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With dark blond locks tousled in passion and eyes lidded from lust and longing, and it makes your heart stop because… there it is.

Love.

As much as you shut it out and as much as you avoid it, love is permanently etched to his actions. Tattooed onto the smallest of things. In the way he kisses your temple softly, and the way he caresses your skin as he aligns himself against you, and the way he holds you as he pushes in…

“Luca…” you gasp sharply.

He stops halfway into you, his eyes searching your face with compassion. “You okay?”

You’re aching and craving the stretch of him all at once, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, so you ultimately nod your head. I’m okay.

And he knows that deep down. He feels the same. Soothed and tormented by your very presence, although he can’t help but ask, “Do you want me to stop?” Please don’t ask me to stop…

You shake your head quickly. Neither of you would ever dream of it. You would take everything—the weight and the sting of it all— and he would leave everything behind just to have this again.

Your hips colliding again in a frenzy of a rhythm you haven’t played in so long—still remembering every beat like it’s your own pulse. Your walls gripping him like you wouldn’t let him go.

He shudders a little. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that…”

“I don’t care,” you murmur into his neck with a kiss, “Come.”

“What…?” He can’t have heard that right… right?

“I want you to.”

“Jesus…” he breathes out. “I wanna make this last, baby—”

You shake your head again and wrap your legs around him almost demandingly. “I want you to come inside me and fill me the fuck up… want you dripping down my legs… please…”

“Fuck!” The images flash before his eyes faster than he can stop his hands from grabbing you by the hips, slamming himself into you.

Nor can he stop himself from coming deep inside you.

There’s no way to describe the way he feels at that moment. The way tension peaks and snaps into release. How it brings you into your climax as well. Your lips must be swollen from the assault of your own teeth as you hold back the filthy noises coming out of you. You don’t mind the building ache in your thigh muscles, because as soon as that warmth fills you up, your body is overcome by waves of bliss.

“Fuck…” he flops back onto his side of the bed—the right side—and quickly gathers you in his chest. It’s an effortless little maneuver, making sense at last as you lay half on top of him.

Your hand finds his—more puzzle pieces coming together as he fills the spaces between your fingers. You bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Surprised to find the gold wedding band still adorning his ring finger.

***

9:56 PM

“Was that really your first time since we… you know?” Your murmured question rings loud in the absence of the rain. The storm has finally passed, but neither of you move—neither even dare to bring it up— afraid to ruin the moment.

“It was.”

“Not even in a casual, ‘no strings attached’ kind of situation?”

“No.” He looks almost embarrassed to admit it, but there is no hesitation in his answer.

“Wow…” your heart sinks. Is it possible to feel good and bad at the same time?

Luca pauses for a moment. You can see the conflict brewing in his head. “Did you?”

You don’t have to answer. The sheer silence you take is an answer enough.

The confirmation feels like shit, but he tries to stay neutral. His thumb stills on the back of your hand. “Can I ask how many?”

“Gosh, does that even matter?” You sigh. There’s another argument coming—you can feel it.

“No, I just… I wanna know.”

“You don’t really wanna know.”

“Is it a lot?”

“I mean…”

“How many?”

You take in a sharp breath. There’s no way out of this now. If the truth is what he wants, then the truth is what he shall get. “Twelve.”

He tenses up next to you. The whole world stops, and you can’t help but think, it’s over. There is no way this marriage is salvageable now. “What…?”

“I know that it’s a big number, and I know you might be upset—”

“That is a big number.” He doesn’t say anything about the latter part of her sentence, but it’s obvious that he’s upset, too. “I just… why?”

“I was trying to get over you.” It’s a pathetic answer, but that’s all it is to it. “I couldn’t sleep in this bed for months. I just couldn’t. Slept on the guest bed instead,” you motion at the next room, “and then one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s like a switch flipped inside my brain, and I needed to—”

“What?”

“I needed to… overwrite the memories of you,” you admit feebly. “On this bed. On my body.”

Knife, meet heart. He’s not sure what answer he was expecting, but whatever it was, this hurts so much more. “And did it work?”

“Up to a point…” you pause, a sad smile in realization. “It’s funny. I keep getting bits and pieces of you somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

You close your eyes, your memories flashing, reminding you that every single time reminds you of Luca one way or another. “It’s… somebody’s perfume, or the timbre of their voice, or the way they hold my hand…”

“And you see me in them?”

“Every single one.”

“Jesus…” Luca finds himself relieved and choked up at the same time. He doesn’t want you to ever get rid of your memories of him, but at the same time, it’s painful to hear that you tried anyway.

And you tried very hard.

“I’m sorry.”

He hums, and you realize… he hasn’t let go of your hand. Not once. Not even after your little confession. It makes the argument easier, knowing he’s there. It’ll be easier to part with him again after tonight, you hope, knowing you both did your best to understand. Why you needed to be apart. Why you did the things you did.

The armor has been shed, and the two of you are now naked, in every sense of the word.

Luca turns to look at you, studying your profile. He remembers the last time he was here.

He had just told you about Denmark. Stupid of him to feel excited, to tell you he’d just been offered his dream job, to ask you and Alfie to move someplace new with him, because it turned into a fight.

Worse than a fight; it was a death sentence.

You turned away and stared at the ceiling, and told him you couldn’t do this anymore.

And in some fucked up way, Luca feels as if he’d been brought back in time, and this is his one chance to make it right. So he asks you,

“Do you still love me?”

You breathe out, heart clenching because in spite of yourself, “I do.”

“Do you want us to try again?”

“Luca…” you sigh heavily, “How would that even work? Alfie and I are here, and you have Noma–”

“No more Noma. I’m giving that up.” The answer is straightforward, and he surprises himself over how easily it rolls off of his tongue. How right.

“What? You wouldn’t…” Your face falls as you turn to him.

“I would. And I am,” he says firmly. “Look, I’ve thought about this for months now. I can’t do Noma anymore, I need to be home.” His gaze softens, and you feel the pattern running on the back of your hand again.

Slow and steady and certain.

The tear rolls off the corner of your eye and onto the pillow with the tiniest drop. “I wanted you to come home…”

“Then let me come home. Please?”

“I want to. I just…” you reach out and cup his face tentatively. “I just want to make sure that we’re not doing anything rash.”

His eyes light up. The only thing that matters is that you want him home, too. It takes him everything to let his logical part of the brain take control. “How about this, then?” Luca pauses thoughtfully. “We’ll take a minute. For me to sort out everything at Noma, find a replacement… and for us to figure out if this is really what we wanna do.

“If it starts to feel like a bad idea, maybe we should rethink it. But if it feels good… maybe we can give it another shot.

“And in the meantime, we’ll talk. We’ll FaceTime and… figure out what the hell to say to our lawyers.”

That makes you grimace. You were supposed to have another meeting with your divorce lawyers. Tomorrow is going to be awkward. But awkward beats saying goodbye to the man you’ve always loved, right? It’s a small price to pay.

“What do you say, baby?” He looks at you with all the hope that he has. “Just give me a minute to get everything sorted and then I’ll come home.”

You smile tearfully. “A minute is not enough… how about a month, hm?”

“Yeah, that makes more sense, actually.” He chuckles sheepishly. “A month. I can do that.”

“Good.” You sidle up to him and kiss him where his heart is. You’re willing to settle for having him just for the night, but you can’t wait until he comes home to you for good.

You hope he will.

#will poulter #chef luca #luca the bear #the bear fx #chef luca x reader #luca x reader #chef luca x ex-wife!reader #chef luca fic #chef luca smut #will poulter fic #will poulter smut #ava writes

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oceantornadoo · 3 months ago

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the ex-wife chronicles pt.2 (ex husband!john price x f!reader)

masterlist | next

follow and turn on notifications: @tornadoowarning

The first few days go how you expect them to. Day one is a joke of a team briefing since half the team isn’t there. You make both John and Sergeant Garrick explain what happened and why team bonding is necessary. You’ve found that soldiers view themselves as battering rams, not stopping to acknowledge their scars when there’s more doors to break down. The whole day, spent mostly with you lecturing about safe spaces and ‘shrink bullshit’, is emotionally exhausting. That’s why you end it by pulling out a bottle of wine in the name of team bonding, you and Sergeant Garrick spread out on the living room floor while John smokes in a recliner nearby.

John hates wine. You know this.

You remove the cork with your switchblade anyways, taking a swig before passing it to Sergeant Garrick. If you were younger and greener, he’d be your type. Pretty and hurting, desperate for someone to put him back together but too proud to ask his team to be the one to do it. It was the same thing you saw in John ten-odd years ago, the pair of you two new Sergeants begging to be seen in very different ways. Sergeant Garrick offers the bottle to John and he takes it, only sipping a little before handing it back to you. Your hands resolutely do not brush.

“For what it’s worth,” you hold back a hiccup after another swig of wine, “I am sorry for what happened to Sergeant MacTavish. You almost lost a brother-in-arms and here I am, making you talk about it.” Sergeant Garrick snatches the bottle out of your grip and takes a long pull. “You can call him Soap an’ me Gaz. No sense in stayin’ professional, ma’am.” Gaz shoots you a grin and a wink before handing the bottle to his captain. You nod your thanks. “You don’t need to call me ma’am. I stopped chasing titles a long time ago.” You refuse to look at John when you say it. Gaz’s eyes bounce between the two of you before focusing back on the wine, stealing it from his captain’s hands. “So what’s your background?” Gaz asks, eyebrows raised curiously.

You count the years on your fingers. “Joined up. Made Sergeant. Hated it. Got recruited for a joint stealth mission with the Americans, which is where I met Laswell. She pulled these strings to let me pursue field psychiatry on a promise that I use my skills wherever she asks. Once I finished training, I’ve been doin’ this for the last few years.” You hiccup on the last word. “I’ve never slept in the same building as the team, though. Or done it for two months. Longest has been three weeks. Guess this is new for all of us.” The admission thaws the ice a little. Even John takes a deep breath as the three of you watch the smoke curl off his cigar. Gaz pats his thighs before standing up. “I’m wrecked from all the travel. See you two in the mornin’. Sir. Doc.” You wave your goodbyes as he treks to his bedroom on the opposite end of the building.

“Ever get married again?” John’s voice grumbles like a freight train from the chair he sits in, above and across from you. You shake your head, snatching the wine bottle from where it stands on the small coffee table. “Too busy. You?” He shakes his head once, twice, before taking a pull of his cigar. “Married to the job.” You snort at his admission, blaming it on the wine. “So cliche.” You murmur, staring at your reflection in the glass of the bottle. It’s almost empty, and you wonder how much you both drank.

Exhaustion hits suddenly like a lightning strike. You yawn and stretch, then slowly climb into a standing position. “I’ve been up for 24 hours now. I’m too pampered for this much sleep-deprivation.” John’s beard pulls up on the right, like he’s smiling at your self-depreciation. It gives you confidence to walk to where he sits on his plastic throne, smoke concealing bits of his face. You hand him the wine bottle and he takes it gladly, fingers brushing yours. You step closer until your knees hit the fabric of the recliner, forcing him to spread his legs. John doesn’t complain.

“You ever get that greater good you were searchin’ for?” You murmur, holding his gaze. He doesn’t answer, simply raising his cigar to his lips. “You find that purpose you were lookin’ for?” He asks, a non-answer. You simply stare at each other. You bet his greater good didn’t include one of his men almost dying. Your purpose did not include the lack of roots you feel everyday. His knees inch closer together, a hair's breadth away from yours. Neither of you move, breaths syncing as you just look. At the new wrinkles on his forehead, at the stupid hat he’s wearing, at the stray grays in his beard. At the smile lines and the healed scars. At the lack of a wedding band on his ring finger.

“Night, John.”

“Night, Doc.” A sliver of a smile finds a home on the curve of your cheek. You turn around and go to bed.

The rest of the week goes pretty much according to plan. A guided meditation outside the barracks when the weather turns nice. The three of you review past missions, discussing group tactics and communication styles. They try to fill in the gaps of Ghost (you’re not stupid enough to call him Lieutenant Riley) and Soap, demonstrating the normal dynamics. You keep reminding them that there is a new normal, a fact they don’t like to hear.

When Friday rolls around, you tell Gaz he has the weekend off. John quickly counters by reminding him of his responsibilities at the main base. Gaz locks eyes with you and you hold in a giggle at his attitude. John stays silent. After a team dinner that night (boxed mac and cheese, loads better than whatever the mess hall is serving), Gaz begs off for plans with some sergeants on the main base. You fish out your newest literature purchase and bring it to the living room, stopping when you see John already watching something on TV. Before you can turn around, he calls out to you.

“Stay.” You freeze, shoulders bunched to your ears. “You sure? I don’t want to encroach on your alone time.” John shakes his head and gestures to the empty couch. You plop down, setting your book down and fishing out the notebook you had tucked under it. “So,” John looks up apprehensively. “We never had our 1-on-1.” He sighs dramatically. “Can’t this wait until Monday?” You shake your head decisively. “Ghost and Soap are coming Monday. It’ll be too busy. You wouldn’t want me to forget, would you?” All he does is stare. You shrug.

“How have you been sleeping?”

“Fine.”

“8 hours of uninterrupted REM?”

“Sure.”

“And what about during the day? Do you feel yourself drifting off?”

“Nope.”

You glare at him. It doesn’t have the full effect when you’re clad in sweats.

“John, I’m here to help you. I know you’ll be speaking with a specialized therapist next week, but I need a good understanding of where you’re at so I can help the team heal.” You know from a private conversation with Gaz that he hasn’t been sleeping, and you suspect the same might be the case for John. Gaz has been sensitive to sound, mainly the ticking clock of a bomb, and you can only wonder what John is feeling. Even though you aren’t their main therapist, your job is to understand how their personal needs can translate into a solution for the group. They need sleep to be efficient soldiers and at the end of the day, your job is to make them ready for the field.

John changes the channel on the TV, stopping on a rerun of a footie game. The two of you watch in silence for a few minutes, little figurines dancing athletically across the screen. “Most I get is four hours. Sometimes I’ll call the night shift nurses to make sure Soap’s alive. Stand outside Gaz’s room to hear him breathin’. Feels like everytime I take a break, I’m leavin’ them behind.” You hum thoughtfully.

“There are a lot of captains out there that don’t have as nearly as much dedication that you do to their team.” Is what you say eventually. His therapist will be the one to give him sleep tips and such. He needs to learn from you what being a Captain means for men that have returned changed. “Lot of good that’s done me.” He grunts, eyes focused on the screen. “I think you know Soap’s injury wasn’t directly your fault. But, you’re associating it with the fact that you weren’t there, which means you need to be there all the time. I’m hoping I’ll help you trust them to survive on their own.” Again, is what you mean to say, but you don’t know enough of their prior dynamics to trust that word has meaning. From what Laswell has told you, he’s always been somewhat of a father to his team, more involved in this task force then when he’s managed others.

“You have a team of your own?” John asks, not responding to your other statement. You shake your head, curling into the sofa with your book in your lap. You scribble a bit of what he said down in the notebook, then tuck it away so he doesn’t feel like he’s being therapized. “Just me and my handlers, including Laswell.” John scratches his beard thoughtfully. “Sounds lonely.” You know it’s not an insult but his gaze meets the book and your lap and it’s like a brand. A callback to a marriage years ago between two kids who thought their loneliness was solved by each other. Now you’re defensive about seeming to not have upgraded since then. “Being a Captain sounds pretty lonely too.” You say, with too much bite. John shakes his head, his facial expression hidden by darkness. He reaches for the remote and turns off the TV, muscles straining as he goes to stand.

“John, I didn’t mean-”

“Enjoy your book, Doc. Might be the last bit of peace you get for a while.”

He doesn’t say goodnight.

these chapters are gonna be short lol

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jinusajas · 6 months ago

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12/28/24; 04:10pm

itoshi rin x fem.reader

notes: dedicated to @ruruumin because you’ve always supported my bllk stories (⺣◡⺣)♡

ever since rin gifted you with a new scarf for christmas-

you had never once taken it off, wearing it around your neck like a badge of honor as a stupid grin paints your features.

the young man would let out an exasperated sigh each time he sees you with your newly gifted scarf, but without fail, rin would fix it for you, gently securing the scarf around your neck with an unreadable expression. his actions succeeds in making your heart beat faster for him, with your shy gaze never once looking away from him.

you cherished rin’s every interaction with you, tucking away each memory you had together within the confines of your mind to look back on-

like the time he shared his lunch with you-

or bought you your favorite sweets when you had a bad day-

even comforting you during those times where you didn’t do so well at school-

and you knew that you loved him as more than a friend.

yet still, it was difficult to define your relationship with rin. to put it in simpler terms, you could say that you were friends that was on the cusp of developing into something deeper-

yet neither one of you were brave enough to take that first leap.

you couldn’t say much about rin, but you knew that on your end, you felt like he deserved better than you. you had convinced yourself to remain tight lipped about your true feelings when it came to rin and believed that he simply saw you as a friend-

or worse, like a little sister.

but you digress. instead of having your heart broken, you pretend that his friendship was more than enough for you. you would feign disinterest each time his fans would come up to him, asking for his autograph while the young women would give their phone numbers to him, making you feel a pang of envy.

perhaps this was the reason why you always wore the scarf. it was one of the few physical items rin had gifted to you, giving you a tangible connection that showed just how much he cared-

even if it was just as friends.

currently, you remain on your couch, feeling a bit listless while scrolling through your phone. while exploring your favorite social media apps, you felt your heart racing with sudden anticipation at the new text notification from rin:

[ rin 💙: would you like to take a walk with me? ]

[ you 🌌: of course! when will you be here? ]

[ rin 💙: i’m already here. just come outside. ]

a grin was felt spreading across your lips when you went into your room to get ready. putting on some leggings with a sweater, you grabbed your scarf and wrap it loosely around your neck (with the sole purpose of having rin secure it for you later). as you fixed your hair, you felt the same lingering heat against your cheeks at the thought of seeing rin again.

with your keys in hand, you step out of your apartment, nearly running into rin’s chest as he stood waiting for you. a sheepish smile paints your expression when you lock the door while asking him, “where did you want to go?”

rin shrugs, “nowhere in particular, i just wanted to see you.”

you nearly drop your keys in response, eyes going wide as you held the set close to your chest. did you mishear him?

and why was that simple admission enough to make your heart skip?

an amused smile spreads across rin’s handsome features as he takes your keys while pocketing it in his jeans for safekeeping. he notices the way your scarf loosely hangs from your neck and shakes his head, hands already gripping at the ends before wrapping it tighter around you.

you feel how close he was to you, detecting the faint scent of his cologne and how long his lashes were. his hot breath was felt against your skin, and if you moved any closer to him, then you were certain your lips would touch-

instead, rin finishes tightening the scarf around you, the pad of his thumb lingering at your cheek as you trembled beneath his gentle caress. as if snapping out of a daydream, rin clears his throat before moving away from you. “sorry, there was a lash on your cheek.”

“ah, n-no worries, thank you for getting it off of me.” you manage to reassure him, feeling a little lightheaded even when he takes your hand in his, fingertips interlocking together with yours as he leads you away from your apartment building. warmth continues to spread through you when rin walks closer to the side of traffic, shielding you from any potential dangers even now.

since it was only a few days after christmas, the decorations were still on display. as you admired them, rin gently squeezes your hand, catching your attention when he walks into a park. you follow him, basking in his warmth with your heart filled to the brim with love for him.

could you tell him that you always wanted to remain by his side? that your feelings went beyond just mere friends?

were you even brave enough to do it?

as you spent several minutes debating with yourself, you became aware of how rin stopped in front of a decorated christmas tree, the plethora of rainbow lights managing to light up the entire area. the change in scenery manages to break you out of your conflicting reveries, and you take a moment to admire the tree’s beauty when rin softly calls out your name.

“i need to tell you something.”

detecting the grave quality of his voice, you face him, ready to ask if everything was okay when he suddenly frames at your face. teal eyes were filled with a sense of determination as rin leans forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

the feeling of his chapped lips against yours coupled with the scent of his cologne fills your every senses. his kiss was even better than your fantasies, and it was enough to set your heart aflame upon realizing that this was real. after your momentary shock, you manage to wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back as you tried to convey your yearning for him all this time.

rin clings to you, wrapping his own arms around your waist as he brought you impossibly closer to him, only pulling away from such a searing kiss when the need for air proved to be too much. letting out a shuddering breath, rin rests his forehead against yours, meeting your gaze with a soft smile. “i’ve been wanting to do that for so long, but never had the courage to until now.”

you began to giggle in response, pressing a lingering kiss against his cheek, “oh my god… i was debating whether to confess to you, too! but at the same time, i was so afraid of ruining our friendship.”

a rich chuckle escapes from rin’s lips as he presses his own kiss against your forehead, holding you even closer to him, “no, we should be lovers instead. ever since we first met, there’s been no other girl but you. and i knew i had to admit my feelings for you before the start of the new year, just so we can spend it together.”

happiness was felt coursing through your veins, yet instead of conveying it with words, you chose to lean up against rin and press another kiss against his lips. and when you felt his smile, you knew that the feelings were mutual-

taking comfort in knowing that your supposed unrequited love had been requited this entire time.

end notes: they’re both idiots in love, your honor 🥹

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x you #rin itoshi x you #itoshi rin x y/n #rin itoshi x y/n #itoshi rin fluff #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #writings 📖

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asgard23 · 1 month ago

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Yandere Cheater x Reader Part 2

Warning: 18+ noncon, cheating, language

Summary: Alec's POV

*Sooo I tried delving into Alec's mind, describing his turmoil and regret. Let me know your thoughts!*

Part 3?

Part 1, Part 3

Thank you, and please don’t forget to reblog<3

Alec’s POV

The lukewarm water of the shower did little to wash away the sticky feeling of Ada’s skin or the heavier weight of his guilt. Alec leaned his forehead against the cool tile, the thud echoing slightly in the small bathroom of his apartment. It had barely been an hour since he’d stumbled through his front door, the city noise still buzzing in his ears, the phantom taste of cheap alcohol and Ada’s artificial perfume clinging to him.

He’d left the club, left Ada in that dingy backroom of the party after getting exactly what she wanted, and hailed a cab due to his tipsy state, the whole ride home, in fact the moment he was done hooking up with Ada, it was almost like a pit of contagious guilt formed in his belly and it would not leave. He wanted to see Y/N. He needed to talk to her, to hold her, to somehow erase the last few hours. The thought giving him lingering anxiety. How could he erase it? He’d done it. He’d betrayed the one person who mattered, the beautiful woman, who had given him everything but her body.

He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, the movement slow and heavy. It was as if at any moment, any move could be an admission to his guilt. His phone buzzed on the counter – a notification.

The name on the screen was Y/N. His heart leaped. Was she already done helping with Tia?

He opened the message.

"We're over. Never contact me again."

His blood turned to ice. The towel slipped from his hand, pooling on the floor. He stared at the words, uncomprehending. Over? Never? Did she already know?

Then he saw the attachment. A video file. Hesitantly, hands shaking, he tapped it.

His breath hitched. It was him. And her. In that God forsaken room where he committed his ultimate sin. The back room at the club. Her eyes half-closed, her lips… God, he couldn’t watch. Not really. He scrolled forward, forcing his gaze onto the flickering, low-light footage. The raw, ugly reality of his betrayal played out on the small screen. He almost dropped the phone, bile rising in his throat. He was a monster. He’d thrown away everything for… for that. For Ada. A name that tasted sour. He felt a fresh wave of disgust, not just at himself, but at her. He forced himself to watch the end of the video.

And then he saw it. Ada’s face, tilted slightly towards the camera, a slow, deliberate smirk stretching across her lips just as the video cut off.

That bitch.

He knew he would have to tell Y/N eventually. The guilt would have eaten him alive. But this? This was cruel. This was orchestrated. This was designed to inflict maximum pain. Pain to Y/N.

Y/N. His Y/N. Beautiful, radiant, with eyes like warm (E/C) that saw right through him, yet loved him anyway. She wanted to wait until marriage to have sex. He’d respected that. Truly. Years of laughing conversations, shared dreams under starry skies, quiet nights curled up on the sofa, passionate kisses that never went too far, a deep, soul-binding connection that felt stronger, more real, than anything he’d ever known. Besides one stupid, meaningless fling a year before they were even official, he had committed himself completely to her. He would wait. He would.….Until Ada.

Ada was just… there. Convenient. Willing. A fleeting moment of weakness, a void he’d foolishly tried to fill with something meaningless, something cheap, when his heart was screaming for the profound, patient love of Y/N. Ada wasn't even a person to him in that moment. He’d been weak. He’d been horny. She was just a hole to be filled in a moment of weakness. She was nobody. Nothing. Compared to Y/N, she was less than dust.Absolutely nothing. He needed Y/N to know that. He needed her to understand. But she wouldn’t let him in. A mistake he would regret for a lifetime.

He needed to talk to Y/N. Right now. Explain. Beg. Anything.

He stabbed the call button on his phone, dialling Y/N’s number. It rang once. Twice. Then, an automated voice: "Sorry, this number is not available."

His gut plummeted. Not available? Did she... did she block him? On his number?

He went to his contacts, frantic. Text message.

He typed furiously: Y/N please, we need to talk, I can explain it wasn't what it looked like, I was drunk. Please, baby, don't do this.

He hit send. The message bubble stayed green. No, worse, it didn't even attempt to send. It just failed. She had blocked his number from texting, too.

Email. He rushed to his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. Subject: PLEASE READ THIS. He poured his heart out – the regret and the desperate plea for understanding. He clicked send. An immediate bounce-back notification flashed on the screen. Invalid recipient. She had blocked his email address.

Instagram. Facebook. Twitter. Every single platform they used to communicate, to share their lives, to send silly memes and late-night 'I love you's. He checked them all. His messages bounced back. Their shared photos were suddenly inaccessible. He was walled off. Completely cut off.

Panic set in, it was like a sharp-edged sword was slowly piercing his heart. She wasn’t just angry. She was gone. She wouldn’t give him a chance to explain, no matter how sorry the excuse.

The next two months were agonizing, filled with futile attempts. He drove to her apartment building every single day, parking down the street, just hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Sometimes he would find himself just standing right at her apartment door like a stalker at night when others were rarely out. He left bouquets of her favourite flowers on her doorstep, tucked behind a pot so they wouldn’t be immediately visible from the street.

They were always still there the next day, wilted and ignored. He left carefully chosen, expensive gifts the first edition of a book she’d been looking for, a vintage necklace she’d admired in a shop window, tickets to a concert she wanted to see. They vanished from the doorstep, he never knew if she took them. Maybe the building manager, maybe a neighbour. He never saw her acknowledge them.

Then there was the incident with her car. He saw the cracked windshield one morning when he was parked illegally across the street. His heart ached for her. He knew her work schedule, waited until she left for the day, and called a mobile repair service. He paid double to get it replaced on the spot, leaving his number with the technician just in case, though he knew it was useless. It was something, anything, he could do for her. He never got a thank you. He never expected one, not anymore.

The silence. That was the worst. Her anger, her pain, he could have handled that. He deserved it. He was ready for the shouting, the tears, the difficult conversations. But this absolute, complete radio silence was a punishment more severe than anything he could have imagined. It was as if he had ceased to exist in her world. He missed her like air, like a vital organ suddenly removed. The easy laughter they shared, the comfort of her presence, the way her (E/C) eyes would crinkle at the corners when she smiled, the feeling of her hand in his – it was all gone.

He started drinking more. Sleeping less. He looked in the mirror and barely recognized the gaunt, haunted man staring back. The chiselled abs felt like a cruel joke when his insides were rotting with guilt. People at the gym asked if he was cutting weight too aggressively. He just shrugged. He was cutting weight from his soul.

He eagerly paced throughout his apartment, where every morning, the first thing he felt was the absence of her beside him. Every night, the last thing he saw was her beautiful face. All he saw were shadows of Y/N, like a ghost of the past. He wandered through his apartment, running a hand over the smooth, cool surface of the kitchen counter where she would steal his slices of pizza before playfully running off to be chased.

He ended up in the bedroom, her room, their room, now just his room again. It felt sterile, too big, too quiet. His gaze fell on the dresser, specifically the small, carved wooden box she kept her hair ties and small trinkets in. He avoided looking at it, usually, too painful a reminder. But the craving of having some semblance of her within his palms pushed him towards it.

He opened the top drawer. It was mostly his stuff – t-shirts, athletic socks, gym shorts. But nestled in the back, half-hidden beneath a pile of folded shirts, was something small, soft, and unmistakably hers. A pair of her panties he bought for her. Silky, black, with a delicate lace trim. She never came to get any of her stuff, which he both hated and loved. At least he had mementos.

His breath hitched. He picked them up, holding the material gently between his fingers. They were cool to the touch, but the mere sight of them ignited his arousal. He lost count of how many times he had done this before. Jacked off to her things. It was almost a ritual, really, especially when they were together. Sometimes, the intensity of his attraction to her, the sheer force of his desire, was overwhelming. A kiss that teetered on the edge of dangerous territory? He’d excuse himself to the bathroom, his body humming with need, needing a quick, release before he could face her again without completely losing control.

A simple hug that lingered maybe a second too long? Well, he’d have to make an excuse to leave the room, find a moment alone to calm the frantic beat of his pulse, the sudden tightness in his groin.

A long cuddle session on the sofa as they watched a movie, her head on his chest, her leg thrown casually over his? He’d felt himself hardening, aching with it, and had several tissues destroyed and filled with his cum in the bathroom later, the temptation almost becoming too much to bear while lying so close to her, wanting her fiercely but not wanting to rush or pressure her.

He brought them closer, burying his face in the soft fabric. He inhaled deeply, trying to pull her essence into his lungs, trying to forget the silence, the distance between them. The scent was intoxicating.

He imagined the way her skin would feel under his hands, smooth and warm. Her curves, the gentle swell of her hips. He imagined the way her eyes would be fucked out as he had his way with her, the soft sounds she could make when he touched her just right. He imagined what it would feel like peeling away these very panties as he undressed her.

A groan escaped his lips, ragged and desperate. The physical ache was almost unbearable.

His erection was hard and throbbing. He looked down at the panties in his hand,one of the only connections he seemed to have left to her physical presence. He took them to the bed. Falling onto the mattress, he pulled the soft fabric over his face again, inhaling deeply again. He pulled the panties away from his face, his gaze fixed on the lace trim. He fumbled with his belt buckle, his hands trembling. He kicked off his jeans and boxers, his erection springing free, hard and needy.

He positioned her panties just above his groin, pulling the fabric taut. He began to stroke himself, slowly at first, his eyes still closed, conjuring her image behind his eyelids. He imagined her hand replacing his, her soft touch.

He moved faster, his breathing becoming ragged, punctuated by low groans. He slid the smooth fabric of the panties up and down the shaft of his cock, the sensation driving him wild. He ran the lace trim over the sensitive tip.

"Y/N… God, Y/N…" he desperately groaned.

He gripped the panties tighter, bunching the soft material in his fist as he stroked himself harder, faster. The image of finally being able to see her naked plastered in his brain, he pictured her writhing beneath him, her fingers digging into his back, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. He pictured her flushed and unfocused with climax, just for him. Just his eyes.

He pushed the fabric down, pulling it back up, the motion rhythmic and frantic. His hips began to buck slightly off the mattress. The tension coiled tighter and tighter in his gut. He wanted to scream her name, but only a choked sob escaped.

"Y/N!" he gasped, his voice rough with emotion, as the wave hit him.

He came hard, a violent, shuddering release that shook his entire body. His vision blurred, and he collapsed back onto the mattress, his arm falling away, the black lace panties slipping from his grasp to land on the sheets beside him.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He was slowly going crazy. He felt the edges of his sanity fraying like worn rope. More insane without her. Even breathing was a struggle. He replayed the night in his head endlessly. How could he? How could he have been so weak? Four years of knowing her . Two years of dating, of cherishing her patience, of building a foundation of trust and respect… all shattered in less than an hour with Ada. A willing slut.

He had to get his Y/N back; there was no other option. But first, he had to deal with Ada.

For weeks, grief consumed him. But slowly, a bitter anger began to fester. Not just at himself, but at Ada. That smirk. That cold, calculated move. He’d been so focused on Y/N, on his own despair, that Ada had almost been forgotten. Almost. Then he heard things. Rumors filtering. Not only had Ada sent the video to Y/N, but she was bragging. Bragging that she had finally slept with Alec, the guy who had been unavailable, tied down by "miss perfect saint." The rage that boiled inside him was immediately blinding. Irrate didn't begin to cover it.

That was the turning point. Grief gave way to a stone-hard resolve, it scared him, honestly but….. She needed to pay.

He decided to text Ada, a lie that repulsed him, but it was worth it. A lure. He acted casual, like the encounter hadn't been life-altering, hinting at a repeat. Pretending he was still interested.

Alec: Hey. Thinking about the other night.

Ada: 😘 Oh really? 😉

Alec: Yeah. U free sometime soon?

Ada: Always for you, handsome. My place? Address is [Ada's Address]. Come by tonight?

A foolish mistake. She hadn't thought twice, hadn't suspected anything. Just the eager, self-satisfied response of someone who thought they held the upper hand. "What a foolish mistake," Alec thought, the engine of his car rumbling as he typed the address into his GPS. He didn't even bother changing out of the expensive suit he'd worn to a useless meeting. He drove. Fast.

Ada's POV

Ada preened in front of her mirror, a wicked grin twisting her lips. Alec. Finally within reach. After years of witnessing him practically worship Y/N, the opportune moment had arrived. And she'd seized it with both hands. Sending the video? A stroke of genius, even if she did say so herself. A blow to shatter their perfect little world.

She and Y/N went way back, to high school. Y/N probably didn't even remember, but Ada did. She'd watched, seething, as pretty little Y/N had everything handed to her on a silver platter. And for what? Her looks?Her naive, holier-than-thou virginity? It was pathetic. It was infuriating. And it was why Ada had decided to embrace the opposite. By owning her sexuality, by becoming loose, she discovered a power. Men’s attention. That was always her trump card. She knew how to use it. Pleasuring them, manipulating them. The thought of "miss perfect saint" being dragged down, humiliated, was almost more satisfying than actually sleeping with Alec.

She heard Y/N had gone radio silent, a ghost in Alec's digital life. Blocked everywhere. Good. Let him writhe in misery. Let him realize he had been blinded by some ridiculous fantasy. Maybe now, just maybe, he'd see her. See the real woman, the one who knew how to give him what he really wanted.

She tugged at the hem of her crimson dress, too tight, too short, practically screaming for attention. Perfect. Alec liked looking, she knew it. The text he sent, asking to come over tonight, had been a sweet surprise. She'd been worried he'd be too busy drowning in self-pity, but apparently her "head" was much more of a pressing need for him. Men were predictable, she thought. Easily led by their dicks, and she was a goddamn expert at guiding them.

The doorbell buzzed, a sharp, impatient sound. A little rougher than she'd expected. She smoothed her dress one last time, plastering on her most seductive smile.

Alec stood on her doorstep, but something was off. The usual effortless charm, the easygoing grin, were gone. His green eyes were hard, almost icy. The red hair still caught the light, making him devastatingly handsome, but...there was a tension in his jaw.

"Alec," she purred, leaning against the doorframe. "To what do I owe this unexpected, but welcome pleasure? Did I make you wait too long ?"

He stepped past her without a word, ignoring her blatant flirtation. His gaze was unsettling. He wasn't looking at her body; he was looking through her, like he was searching for something she was desperately trying to hide.

"So," she said, pushing the door closed, the click loud at the sudden, heavy silence. She couldn't resist the urge to poke the bear, to see the reaction on his face. "Did Miss Perfect Saint finally dump you?"

His jaw clenched, a flicker of rage igniting in his eyes.

Alec's POV

Ada's smug question hit him like a sucker punch, but instead of reacting, instead of letting her see the pain he felt, he slammed down a mental barrier. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Not yet.

He forced a smile, a cold, brittle thing that didn't reach his eyes. "Something like that," he said, his voice a low rumble. He walked further into her apartment, his eyes scanning the cheap decor with deliberate disinterest. "Look, about that night..."

Ada’s face lit up, misinterpreting his casual tone. "Oh, yeah? Good. I was hoping for a repeat performance. I know you enjoyed it." She sashayed towards him, her hand reaching out to touch his arm.

He sidestepped her smoothly, evading her touch like a viper. "Actually," he said, keeping his voice deceptively calm, "I'm trying to understand... why? Why did you do this? Sending the video? She…she blocked me everywhere." He fixed her with a piercing stare. "What did you say to her? Or show her, besides the obvious?"

Ada cut him off, a cruel smile twisting her lips. "Oh, I didn’t have to say a word, handsome. The video spoke volumes." She laughed, a sharp, brittle sound that grated on his nerves. "Letting her see what she was missing. Or rather, what she was foolishly denying herself."

Alec clenched his fists, trying to keep his anger in check. "Why record it, Ada? And why send it to her, though? he said, he was in genuine disbelief.

Ada shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but her eyes glittered with malice. "Why not? She needed a reality check. Always acting so high and mighty, 'I'm waiting for marriage,' bullshit. Like sex is some kind of sacred gift only she can bestow? Please. It's just…sex. And you're hot. I wanted you. Simple."

"But sending the video..." Alec felt like a broken record, his mind racing. "Did you want to hurt her? Or just show off?"

Ada dropped the pretense of casualness. Her face contorted into a sneer, revealing the ugly truth beneath the surface. "And if I did? She deserved it." Her voice dripped with venom. "Miss Pretty. Oh, I'm so beautiful. I'm so pure. What a joke. She gets everything handed to her. The looks, the smarts, and you, Alec. You were untouchable because of her." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "She made me sick. Always looking down her nose. Always perfect. Well, guess what? Not so perfect now, is she?" She laughed again, a triumphant, ugly sound.

Alec was gobsmacked and she was not done.

"Knowing you were inside me while she was off playing the virtuous maiden…" Ada paused, savoring her words. "Best feeling ever. And seeing her cut you off? Even better. Now you know she's not so saintly after all. She's petty and unforgiving."

Alec listened, his blood turning to ice, not from fear, but from the sheer depth of her hateful jealousy. It wasn't just about him. It was about Y/N. The full scope of her maliciousness settled over him, hardening his heart. He had suspected jealousy, but this…this was a festering wound, a consuming obsession that had driven her to this. The sheer, unadulterated spite was breathtaking in the most horrible way.

"You sent it to other people, too, didn't you?" Alec’s voice was flat, devoid of all emotion.

Ada faltered for a second, then puffed up, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Sure. Why not? Let everyone know I finally got you. Proves how much of a downgrade Y/N is to me."

That was the final straw. He had come here prepared to confront her, maybe yell. But hearing her confess her deep-seated hatred for Y/N, hearing her brag about trying to ruin them both, hearing her dismiss his precious Y/N and her feelings with such callous contempt…something snapped within him. All he felt toward Ada was a deep sense of revulsion.

He had money. A lot of money. He had connections. He had power that Ada couldn't possibly comprehend, power he usually kept hidden, preferring a low profile. But Ada had unleashed a monster. She had attacked the one sanctuary in his life, the one person he cherished above all else. She thought she could play games, ruin lives.

Not with him. Not when it came to Y/N.

He looked at Ada, her triumphant smirk fixed on her face, waiting for him to praise her, to fall into her trap. He felt nothing but profound disgust. She wasn't worth yelling at. She wasn't worth touching. She was a problem to be solved, a contaminant to be removed.

"Ada," he said, his voice still quiet, unnervingly calm. "You have no idea who you just messed with." before leaving her apartment.

He didn't physically harm her. Not in the way she might have expected. That would have been too messy, too crude. Alec didn't leave fingerprints. He used his power.

He spent the next forty-eight hours making calls. Cold, precise calls to people in the right places. He leveraged favors, opened wallets, pulled strings that few people even knew existed. Ada had a fledgling career in a certain industry; Alec ensured every door was slammed shut, every potential employer received anonymously sourced, utterly damning information. She had friends in certain circles; Alec made sure her name became poison. He bought up her outstanding debts at a premium and called them in immediately, relentlessly.

He didn't threaten her directly after that initial conversation; he didn't need to. The consequences he unleashed were far more terrifying – a systematic dismantling of her life. Her apartment lease was suddenly terminated with nowhere else to go. Her car was repossessed. Bank accounts flagged and investigated for nebulous 'irregularities'. Every direction she turned, a wall went up, built with Alec's money and influence.

He made sure she became radioactive. Unemployable. Unwelcome. Her phone stopped ringing with anything but collection agencies and angry former contacts. The brag she sent out came back to haunt her as people distanced themselves from the toxicity he had manufactured around her. He didn't physically force her out of town, but within a week, the city she had been trying to thrive in became a hostile, impossible place for her to exist.

He heard through one of his contacts that she'd been seen heading towards the bus station, bags in hand, looking utterly broken and alone. Ada had disappeared from his world, not with an obnoxious bang, but as an irritating flea that was properly exterminated.

It was over. Ada was gone. Her karma served.

But the triumph was hollow. Empty. Dealing with Ada had been a distraction, a temporary outlet from the searing pain in his soul. It hadn't healed the wound Y/N had left. It hadn't brought her back……. But then his pocket vibrated, he frowned before fishing it out of his pocket.

Don B. : We found her boss she's at The Inferno.

His mood quickly switched to hopeful, You were great at eluding him, so he enlisted help.

………..

Don B. : But she’s with a man….

His breath hitched, and he thought he was beyond rage when it came to dealing Ada.

But no….

He was positively livid. With a man?

Alec : Good work, be there in 10

#tw.cheating #yandere cheater #reader insert #yandere #tw.yandere #tw.noncon #caught cheating #tw cheating #angst #x reader #fem reader #female reader

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flightlessangelwings · 8 months ago

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FawKtober2024 Part 2- Qimir

Qimir (The Stranger) x fem!reader

Kinks- cockwarming, teasing, riding

Word count- 1315

Warmings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), implied master/student relationship tho ages or status is never mentioned, just a hint of plot, softness, teasing, praise, no physcial description of reader, no use of y/n

Notes- I've been wanting to write a Qimir fic since he appeared and what better time than Kinktober! I decided to go with a more softer version of him too, and this fic was so fun to write! I hope y'all like it as much as I do! Also, The Acolyte deserves more seasons!!!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!

“Concentrate,” Qimir’s soft voice in your ear was a welcome warmth. He hummed in satisfaction as you kept your hands raised in front of you.

Your eyes were closed, leaving only his voice and the feeling of him around you. Your hands were steady as you lifted large, heavy boulders in the air with little effort. You both felt the force surrounding you, like a comforting blanket on a cold day.

But Qimir also had another comfort surrounding him.

While you sat in his lap on the edge of a rock, Qimir’s cock stayed buried deep inside you. He let out a deep, guttural groan as he pushed himself inside you and nestled comfortably. You mewled as you lowered yourself onto his lap, adjusting yourself to his cock before settling in and relaxing in his grasp.

“That’s it,” his calm voice soothed you as he ran his hands up and down your sides.

You let out a soft moan at his praise and subconsciously squeezed your inner muscles around his cock.

Qimir hissed your name as he felt a jolt run up his spine.

A smirk lit up your face, but you kept your concentration in front of you. Twirling your fingers, you made the boulders dance in the air, spinning them carefully one at a time in a specific pattern. All the while, you were keenly aware of his cock inside you, and you fought against every urge to rock your hips along his lap.

Again, he growled your name in a low tone; a warning. His hands landed on your hips as he gripped you tightly. “You’re getting better,” you could tell he spoke through gritted teeth as you felt his cock twitch inside of you, “And bolder.”

“Impressed?” you asked with a satisfied grin.

Qimir squeezed your hips tighter as he nibbled your ear, “You feel so good,” he purred, his honeyed admission rolling off his tongue with surprisingly little effort.

It was your turn to groan as you shifted in his lap. Finally, you opened your eyes as you slowly and carefully set the boulders down on the ground. One by one each rock settled into stillness, and the less energy you exerted, the more you became aware of the feeling of Qimir’s cock inside you.

“Qimir…” you whispered what you knew was his name as you turned towards him.

Feeling your breath on his lips, Qimir hummed. One hand moved from your hip towards your pussy as he slowly rubbed circles on your clit. When your mouth dropped open to let out a gasp, he took your lips with his, devouring you.

You reached your hands back to grasp at his neck as you slowly rocked your hips. His tongue explored every corner of your mouth as if it was his first time tasting you, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And when you started to move, you felt him groan into you. Smirking into the kiss, you squeezed your inner muscles again, clenching his cock as much as you could.

“Careful,” he warned in a hiss as he gently bit your bottom lip.

“Maybe I know what I’m doing,” you retorted slyly as you rocked your hips again, “Maybe I know what I want.”

Qimir growled as he yanked you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you as much as he could as he devoured your lips once more. He swallowed the moan you let out as you parted your lips for him once more.

“Ok then, prove it,” Qimir breathed heavily in between kisses, “Ride,” he commanded as he broke away suddenly.

You were left bewildered for a moment before you registered what he said. Your lips stayed parted as you blinked your eyes open to meet his gaze. His dark eyes peered into you, sending a wave of anticipation down your spine. His eyes narrowed, as if to tell you he wouldn’t repeat himself, and it broke you out of the trance you were in.

Placing your hands on his knees, you lifted your hips enough to feel his cock drag along your inner walls. A gasp escaped your lips as the movement after being still for so long ignited a fire within both of you. And you heard Qimir groan behind you, telling you he felt it too.

Slowly at first, you lowered your hips back down to meet his. You couldn’t hold back the moan as the tip of his cock hit that sweet spot inside you. Goosebumps erupted all over your skin as you repeated the action, slowly purposefully lifting and lowering your hips as you used his knees to steady yourself.

Qimir watched in mesmerized awe as his cock disappeared inside you over and over again. His fingers twitched as the feeling of you almost overwhelmed him. The more turned on you got as you rode him, the wetter your pussy became. And he could hear the evidence.

“Faster,” he spoke in a low tone that went right to your core.

You whimpered as you complied, bouncing on his cock with more speed. You tried to bite your lip to stifle your cires, but it was no use. Every time you landed on his hips and his cock was fully sheathed inside you, you couldn’t stop the moans that came out of your mouth. Your body felt warmer and warmer with every bounce.

“That’s it,” Qimir purred as he let out a groan of his own.

“Feels so good,” you moaned as your head rocked back.

He hummed as he dipped a hand below your waist to play with your clit once more, “Cum for me,” his low tone made you whimper once more, and he loved the effect he had on you. He wouldn’t admit that you had the same effect on him, though.

The squelches of your wet pussy were drowned out by your cries of pleasure as you picked up your pace. And Qimir decided to help you along by thrusting his hips up to meet yours, which only made you scream louder.

“Cum,” he growled with new found determination.

You landed on his hips hard as you completely fell apart. His cock hit your sweet spot at just the right angle, making you tremble in his arms as you screamed loudly. You fell back into his chest, your limbs unable to hold yourself up anymore as you came on his cock.

“That’s it,” he murmured as he savored the feeling of your orgasm against his body. He rubbed at your clit as you bucked your hips uncontrolidly in his lap.

“Fuck!” you screamed as you clutched at his legs, desperate for something to hold on to you as you felt him try to extend your climax as long as he could. Tears formed in your eyes as you saw stars the moment you closed them as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into you.

Qimir growled your name as he bucked his hips a few times, rutting his cock into you again and again as he started to chase his own orgasm. With a curse of his own under his lips, he quickly found what he craved as he spilled himself into you just as the aftershocks of your own orgasm pulsed through your body. He groaned in your ear as he buried his cock as deep as he could once more as he came in you, holding you tightly as he did so.

He held you close as you remained limp in his arms, in his lap. Heavy breaths were the only sound either of you made for several minutes. Neither of you moved, though, as you both savored the connection you shared. The setting suns illuminated your silhouettes as you sat together in comfortable stillness once more.

It was Qimir who finally broke the silence, “Well done,” he smirked, making you grin as well.

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shoukokus · 2 months ago

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can i request heartslabyul, #11, fluff please 💖

enjoy! <3

cater diamond/reader prompt #11 - Pick Up Lines

You and Cater were in an all-out war. There were no limits, the Geneva Code did not exist here, and you were both taking full advantage. Seeing a notification light up your phone, you snatch the device from the table and grit your teeth.

New Post from CayCay

It was a picture of the two of you that was taken about a month ago. Nothing special, just posing for the camera with squished faces. But the caption... THE CAPTION!

I'd like to take you to the movies, but they don't let you bring your own snacks in ;)

That one was good, it was definitely going to get too many likes! You browsed your phone to look for new retaliation ideas with gritted teeth. Grim was by your side and looked up when he noticed your shifted mood. Soon enough he was rolling his eyes at the cause.

"Still in that flirting war with Cater?" He groans. "Can't you just admit you have feelings for each other?"

Your face turns red, but you're determined not to let the cat be the first one you really talk about your feelings to. Yeah, maybe it was super obvious at this point, but being the first to confess was too much. Cater was a naturally friendly, flirty person. You could be reading the signals completely wrong!

Shaking your head, you get back to the task at hand. You find a picture of the two of you playing cards, with his other dorm members in the background. Pulled the King of Hearts my first time playing cards <3 and... posted. With a triumphant smirk, you put the phone back down and resume getting ready for bed.

The next morning, you had woken up early. Probably the stirring of your heart... You stretch, ready to head out the front to check on your plants. What you weren't expecting to see was Cater, shuffling on the porch, looking conflicted. Until he sees you of course, and now you're both wearing the same deer-in-headlights expression.

"Uh..." Your hand is still on the door knob, so you let your arms drop awkwardly. "Hi."

"Hi, prefect," Cater turns around. "Bye, prefect."

"Wait just a minute!" You snatch him by the collar, and he guiltily turns back around like a kitten being picked up by its mother. "What the heck are you doing here so early? And just... standing here?"

"Just..." You can literally see the light bulb going off in his head. "Looking at these lovely flowers you've been growing! Wow, they look great! Haha, you put so much work into them!"

Your first thought to seeing him here was that he was snooping to get another Magicam post, but something inside you was telling you it was something else. Releasing your grip, you tilt your head and soften your expression. "Cater? Really, are you okay?"

He freezes again, staring into your eyes. When no excuse seems to make sense in his mind, his shoulders slump and eyes droop. "You're not making this easy, looking all cute and worried like that..."

"Huh? Not making what easy?"

"Uhh..." He scratches his cheek. "..Confessing?"

Your mind goes blank at his admission. He likes you back? This wasn't all just for show?

Cater obviously takes your stunned silence poorly. "I-It doesn't have to be weird or anything!!" He shakes his hands. "Just didn't want to bottle this up anymore, but I totally understand if you don't-"

You cut him off by placing a light kiss on his cheek, standing on your tippy toes to reach it. A wide smile spreads across your face as he simply stands there with the most adorable 'o' expression.

"I like you too. A lot." He's still just frozen, and you feel like you've broken him. "So... how about that movie you were talking about?"

Cater needs a complete system reboot. Please do not turn your Cater off until it is complete. He likes you, probably loves you, and just needs a moment. Thank you.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #cater diamond #cater diamond x reader #scenario

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ladybunny44 · 5 months ago

Note

Good morning, Bunny. Here's my third Takumi request. After another argument with Takumi about his fangirls that results in a cold war for almost two weeks, Isami decides to play intervention because he's just tired of hearing his brother's TMI moans at night.

🍴 Stirring the Pot 🍝

Pairing : Takumi Adlini x Fem!Reader

Genre : ☁️

Word count : ~1800

Summary : After yet another argument about Takumi’s fangirls, the two of you fall into a stubborn cold war that stretches on for nearly two weeks. Tired of his brother’s nightly laments, Isami takes matters into his own hands, staging an intervention over dinner.

TW/CW : Relationship conflict (resolved) , light humor and sibling teasing.

NOTIFICATIONS ꩜ ₊ ⊹! : Thank you for the request again! Enjoy the oneshot, I'm a bit clueless in TMI moans so i just write based on my understanding! 📚

『••✎••』

The argument had started over something small, as it always did: Takumi’s fangirls.

“Why can’t you just tell them to back off?” you’d snapped, crossing your arms.

“And what am I supposed to do, Y/N? Post a sign that says, ‘Stay away, I’m taken’? They’re just fans!” he shot back, his hands gesturing wildly in frustration.

It escalated quickly from there. Words were exchanged, some sharper than either of you intended, and by the end of it, both of you were too stubborn to apologize.

Now, nearly two weeks had passed, and the tension between you and Takumi was unbearable. The once warm, playful dynamic between you had been replaced by awkward silences and curt replies. Even Isami, Takumi’s usually patient younger brother, was reaching his limit.

“Takumi,” Isami groaned one evening, leaning against the kitchen counter as his brother stared at his phone for the hundredth time that day. “Just talk to her already.”

Takumi scowled, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. “She’s the one who started this. Why should I—”

“You’re the one who can’t stop complaining about how much you miss her!” Isami interrupted, throwing his hands up. “Every night, I have to hear you moan about how you messed up or how much you want to see her. It’s driving me insane.”

Takumi’s ears turned red. “I don’t—”

“You do,” Isami said flatly, cutting him off. “And I’m done. So, here’s what’s going to happen: I’m calling Y/N over for dinner tomorrow, and you two are going to talk like adults. If you don’t, I’m locking you in the pantry together until you figure it out.”

When you arrived at the Aldini brothers’ place the next evening, you weren’t sure what to expect. Isami had been cryptic on the phone, promising only that he needed help with something important.

“Thanks for coming, Y/N,” Isami said with a warm smile as he let you in. “Dinner’s almost ready. Takumi’s in the kitchen.”

Your heart sank. You hadn’t seen Takumi since the fight, and the idea of facing him now made your stomach churn.

“Uh, maybe I should—”

“Stay,” Isami said firmly, his smile unwavering. “Trust me.”

Before you could protest, he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you standing awkwardly in the hallway.

When you stepped into the kitchen, you found Takumi chopping vegetables, his movements sharp and precise. He glanced up when he saw you, his blue eyes widening in surprise before narrowing slightly.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

“Hi,” you replied softly, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unresolved tension. Finally, Takumi set his knife down with a sigh.

“Look,” he began, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t want to keep fighting with you.”

You blinked, startled by his sudden admission. “I don’t either,” you admitted. “But... you have to understand how it feels for me. Seeing all those girls fawning over you, acting like I don’t exist—it hurts, Takumi.”

His expression softened, guilt flickering across his face. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I just... I didn’t know how to handle it without making a scene.”

“I’m not asking for a scene,” you said quietly. “I just need to know that you’re on my side, that you see me.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours. “I do see you, Y/N. You’re the only one I see. I’m sorry for not making that clear.”

From the doorway, Isami cleared his throat loudly. “Glad to see you two finally talking. Now, can we eat? I didn’t slave over this meal for nothing.”

You and Takumi both turned, startled to find Isami watching with an amused smirk.

“Thank you, Isami,” Takumi said dryly, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Anytime,” Isami replied, giving a mock salute before disappearing into the dining room.

As you sat down to eat, the tension between you and Takumi eased, replaced by the familiar warmth and banter you’d missed so much.

Later that evening, after Isami had retreated to his room, you and Takumi found yourselves alone in the living room. He sat beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee.

“I really am sorry,” he said, his voice low.

“I know,” you replied, leaning your head against his shoulder. “And for the record, I missed you too.”

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Good. Because I don’t think I could stand another night of Isami’s lectures.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time in weeks, everything felt right again.

#ladybunny #x reader #angst to fluff #food wars x reader #takumi aldini x reader #takumi aldini #shokugeki no soma fanfiction #shokugeki no soma #hurt/comfort

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pupkashi · 2 years ago

Text

birthdays

nanami makes your birthday a bit cozier than previous years

a/n: hi friends ! thank u anon for this request I’m so sorry for taking so long to get to it :( happy belated birthday friend, wishing you a years worth of love and warmth !

wordcount: 1,610

masterlist

11:59 pm

you used to expect a roll of messages or phone calls as the clock struck midnight, your birthdate reading across the screen and a smile on your face.

you tried to act like you didn’t care, keeping your mind off the day and keeping your eyes glued to the tv screen, a random movie playing with the plot lost long ago along with your interest.

your fingers itched to grab your phone, hoping the reason for its silence was because it was on do not disturb, not a lack of messages.

the clock on the nightstand read 12:01, and against your better judgement you grabbed your phone, swiping up. you could feel your fingers running cold and your nose and eyes burning as the tears formed in your eyes.

1 notification: light rain expected soon

there’s a stinging sensation in your chest, and you don’t bother fighting the choked sob that leaves your lips, hot tears streaming down your face.

throwing your phone down haphazardly, turning the tv off and burying your face in your pillow.

you’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you’re waking up to the blinds cracked open and warm sunshine on your face.

the flowers on the nightstand make your hazy mind clear a bit, rubbing your eyes and reaching for the small note accompanying the beautiful flowers.

hoping you make it around the sun many more times by my side <3

happy birthday, my love

there’s tears in your eyes, a small smile on your lips and a giggle slipping past your lips. you don’t have much time to do much of anything when the bedroom door creaks open.

“good morning,” nanami smiles, his hair still a bit messy, shirt slightly unbuttoned and tie long gone. he sets the plate of food on the nightstand, leaning down and catching your lips in his. “sleep well? feeling older?”

you can’t help but smile a bit, “not as old as you,” you hum, grabbing his collar and pressing another kiss to his lips. nanami smiles against your lips, slipping his hand under your chin, smiling as he pulls away.

“did you like the flowers?” he asks, “it’s the same bouquet you saw online a couple weeks ago,” he reminds you, watching as your eyes light up.

“oh my god it is!” you gasp, looking at the flowers and smiling even wider, “you’re too good to me baby,” you mumble, pulling him down to sit next to you.

“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss on your temple, “how about you eat up and get ready for the day, yeah?”

you nod, a dazed smile on your face as you watch him get up, setting the food on your lap before walking out of the bedroom.

when you leave the bedroom he’s quick to take the empty plates from your hands, setting them in the sink and washing them. you take a seat across the bar, elbows on the counter and your chin in your hands.

“any plans today?” he asks, setting the plates in the drying rack before wiping his hands.

“no, was just gonna stay in,” you trail off, “thought you were gonna be busy today,” the admission has your cheeks burning as kento looks at you in shock.

“you thought i would go to work on your day?” he chuckles softly making his way to you and wrapping his arms around you, making you lean forward in your seat bit.

“what do you say i go shower then we can crawl back into bed and cuddle?” he suggests, watching the way your smile grows as he continues talking, “we can watch that new movie that came out too.”

kento is off to the shower quickly, smiling to himself when he hears your giggles coming outside the bathroom. by the time he’s out you’re cozied up in bed, blankets wrapped around you and a smile on your face.

you’re only left alone when he goes to pick up dinner, settling on ordering in at your request. it’s only then that you check your phone again, replying to the couple messages you’ve received and thanking your friends.

it doesn’t take too long for nanami to get back home, calling his usual, ‘im home!’ as he looks for you. “my love?”

“i thought you went for the food?” you asked, confused when you see his hands and the table both empty.

“i got called and I’ve gotta go pick something up, do you wanna come?” he asks, heart pounding in his chest as he hopes his plan will go smoothly.

“yeah why not,” you smile, heading to the bedroom and changing into something a bit more presentable, slipping on your shoes as the two of you head out the door.

it’s not until 7 minutes into the drive when you see a familiar park come into view, watching as he turns into the parking lot.

“what do you need to pick up at a park?” you laugh, watching as he gets out of the car and walks over to open the door for you, taking your hand and helping you out.

“some cursed object gojo wants me to get,” he mumbles, intertwining his fingers in yours, pulling you along.

you don’t question it, following your lover, your steps only faltering when the small gazebo comes into view, set up with flowers, fruits, drinks and candles.

“ken- wait- hold on,” you smile, your hand slipping out of his and flying over your mouth.

“cmon doll,” he smiles, hand softly gripping your wrist and pulling you towards the set up. “sit here,” he mumbles, smiling as he pulls a cake out from a small box, sticking the candles in and quickly lighting them.

happy y/n day ! ♡

“happy birthday to you..” he sings, chuckling when you roll your eyes, sitting in front of the cake and swaying along to the melody. “happy birthday, honey.”

there’s nothing on your mind as you blow out the candles, eyes fluttering open and landing on all you’ve ever wanted.

“why are you looking at me like that?” he laughs, leaning over and taking the candle out of the cake.

“no reason, just really love you,” you giggle, only tearing your eyes off him when you hear your phone ringing.

“happy birthday y/n!” the four loud voices make you jump a bit, smiling widely as you register everyone on the other end of the phone. “we hope nanamin gives you the present we picked out!”

“it was all my idea by the way,” nobara calls out, you can hear some grumbling and a small ‘that’s a lie’ coming from who you assume is megumi.

“hope we aren’t too late, the kids took longer i thought they would on a mission,” satoru snickers, you laugh as you hear the three students begin to gang up on him.

“never too late, thank you guys,” you grin, chatting for a couple more minutes before saying goodbye.

kento looks at you with a small smile on his face, placing a couple presents in front of you, “i know you said you didnt want anything but i had to get you something,” he protests, “and plus this one’s from gojo and the students.”

every gift seems more perfect than the next, things you’d wanted that you’d forgotten about, meaningful little trinkets and gift cards to all your favorite places.

“thank you, hun” you smile, wrapping your arms around him and peppering kisses on his cheeks.

“don’t thank me, it’s what you deserve baby,” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling back swiftly, “now let’s eat before this food gets cold, yeah?”

kento sits across from you, soft laughter coming from the decorated gazebo as the sun sets, gold rays on lights hitting both of you as you continue with easy conversation.

it’s dark by the time the two of you finish eating and talking, nanami cleaning up the area and packing up any leftovers, rushing to the car and putting them away, coming back with a blanket in his arms.

“are we sleeping out here?” you tease, watching as he rolls his eyes, motioning you over as he lays the blanket over the grass, smoothing it out and sitting down.

“come,” he grins, blonde hair a bit messy thanks to the slight breeze. you can’t help the butterflies in your stomach, walking over and taking a seat next to him, cuddling into his side immediately.

“the moon looks beautiful tonight,” he whispers, the two of you staring up at the night sky, though a bit cloudy, the stars still managed to shine down on the two of you.

“must be the universe telling me happy birthday,” you smile, giggling when he chuckles at your words.

“must be,” he smiles, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head, eyes fluttering closed as he savors every moment with you.

“happy birthday, lover,” he mumbles, lips still slightly pressed against your hair, moving away only to press another kiss to your cheek.

“thank you ken, really this meant so much to me,” you sigh happily, turning your head to face him, your hand resting softly on his cheek before catching his lips in yours.

the park is quiet, only the sound of the occasional rustling of trees, occasional bird chirp and yours and kento’s laughter.

and as the moon and it’s stars shine down on the two of you, there’s a warmth in your chest and a comforting feeling that settles around your heart. you wouldn’t have to worry about being lonely on your birthday, not anymore.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru

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