#Tap N Go Terminal

[parkomax]

Enhance your parking facility with the Tap N Go Terminal. Featuring RFID and NFC technology, this terminal ensures smooth, touch-free access, reducing wait times and improving operational efficiency.

[whirlybirbs]

— BURNER CELL ; 3 ; DABI ; 荼毗

summary: a night out with dabi. pairing: dabi / f!reader ; quirkless word count: 4.6k tag: humor, maladjusted dabi meets normal adult woman, flirting, canon-based world building, texting as a plot device, slight au, univeristy student!reader, marijuana mention, drinking, blowjob mention, public sex mention, dabi is a guard dog a/n: i know that everyone is always like "yes daddy dabi mmm fuck me yea he's a hard dom" but i for one think he is so scarred that the idea of intimacy floods touya with absolute panic. like, pleasure???? he barely knows that when it's by his own hand. ANNNND we WILL be talking about that! ← previous | the tag

You do end up getting a good grade on that paper.

Which, frankly, is a relief, because ever since you decided to text Dabi, life has been weird. Like... weird-weird. It wasn't the catastrophic derailment you feared, but a slow burn (ha, get it?) of weirdness you feel in your bones. 

I mean, Dabi is weird. He is consistently inconsistent in his texting. Bursts of haptic feedback frequently interrupt your focus in lectures that week, and you find yourself being Pavlov-dogged into checking after two or more vibrations break through the usual iMessage silence. He acts like he's known you for years. He's weird.

He's a terminal triple-texter. He's a chronic user of text emojis that went out of style years ago. Weird. 

→ dabi ; 9:34am ya idk princess i think i might kms public execution sounds soooo hot rn i am so fuckin hungover what r u up 2 o wait it's tues. ur in class rn aren't u lmfao :p

← bar girl ; 9:36am why are you hungover on a tuesday

→ dabi ; 9:36am depression idfk

He's weird. Sorta funny. And he's clingy.

Clingy if clingy means vying for your attention — and clingy if clingy means texting you again if you don't respond after an hour and a half of silence. God forbid you overlook his texts in favor of doing the dishes, brushing Mizu, or even showering. 

Friday evening rolls around and Dabi is still texting you. 

→ dabi ; 6:56pm ...i asked you a question it's friday r u going out with nuri + the rest of blackpink or nah :/

You exhale tightly, sweeping the towel closer and ignoring the gathering water droplets on your phone as you hammer back a quick reply. 

← bar girl ; 6:57pm i am begging you to let me shower in peace

He's typing.

→ dabi ; 6:57pm what do u want me to say to that. "aha without me????? :p" stfu i don't care about ur shower giran said ur going out.

It does make you laugh — one thing about Dabi is that the flirting is rudimentary and blunt, and he always extinguishes it before you even react. It's sort of refreshing... in a confusing way. A weird way. 

He can't help it.

You're kinda fun. In a weird way. 

Touya doesn't know what the fuck he's doing if he's being honest with himself. It's not like this is his thing. He didn't think this would turn into a weird, big deal — not that it is... But, his body and brain feel like it is because he likes texting you and hates when you don't respond. Whatever. He didn't think you'd seriously take his number at the bar. No one is ever stupid enough to take him up on that offer. 

You're just some stupid college girl who happens to be nice and honest and has a cute cat. A dime a dozen. He can ignore you, leave you on read, and dump you for the next item whenever he wants. Any day now. 

Just... Not today.

Your text lights up his lock screen. A scarred thumb swipes it open with ease. 

← bar girl ; 7:01pm yes, dabi, i'm going out with them

His smirk is crooked and it pulls at the staples in his cheeks. It's enough for him — and now that he's gotten the reply he wants, he drifts into that sudden radio silence that confuses you. 

You're getting ready, phone charging, and find yourself hovering back into your bedroom between hair and make-up — you tap your phone awake, and each time: there's nothing. 

It's not until you're in the back of the Uber, shouldered between Nuri and the others, that he finally responds. You squint in the dark at the notification, scoffing to yourself.

→ dabi ; 9:44pm where r u

Something ignites in the back of your mind — the culmination of weirdness. Dabi's looking for you at the bar. Of course, he is.

You hammer back a reply, the two shots you took in the kitchen with the girls — before getting in the rideshare — are creeping in. The glow of your text illuminates your heavy liner and lash.

← bar girl ; 9:45pm relax hot stuff

His reply is almost instant.

→ dabi ; 9:46pm just bc ur pretty doesn't mean u can tell me what 2 do now let's try that again princess where r u

His texts tingle something in the back of your mind. It's the weirdness. It's back. You don't hate it, but it flusters you — just enough that you're quick to respond. 

← bar girl ; 9:46pm two min away

Again, his reply is instantaneous. 

→ dabi ; 9:47pm :)

And unsettling. 

When the ride pulls up to the bar, everyone is quick to thank the driver as they pile out of the back seat and into the crisp evening air. It's getting colder. As you give the Uber driver another kind goodbye and shut the door, you can hear Nuri squealing — a telltale sign that she's found her man of the hour. Or week. Or month. You don't know. 

According to Nuri, Giran isn't as shitty as you originally thought. 

After all, that new (and expensive) purse on her arm is a gift from The Broker himself. 

The acrid smell of tobacco and a touch of something else curls around you in greeting as you turn and blink into the blaring neon signs of the bar. By the edge of the building, Giran is hugging Nuri while smoke curls from his nose like a dragon. 

The lean, tall figure in all black beside him puffs quietly on the shared cigarette.

So much for quitting.

Giran insisted on stepping out for a smoke — and well, Dabi was bribed with the offer of a fresh hand-roll. He's got his vices. He hasn't smoked in, like, three weeks. Cut him some fucking slack. S'not like it's a Marlboro. And it's definitelynot that shit Splinter smoked him out with — that horrifying strain that nearly killed both him and Shigaraki one night.

It's a shitty, cheap spliff.

His eyes, cutting and blue, pin you where you stand. He takes another purposeful drag as his turquoise eyes rake over your figure. You look good. Real good.

Pretty. 

Between the wisps of smoke, there's something floral, sweet, and soft in the air. 

Your perfume. 

You ignore the creeping feeling of becoming prey and instead, heed Nuri's laughter and smiles as she waves you over to meet Giran formally. You do as you're told, toddling beside the others as you shake Giran's hand. His dark eyes flicker with something like recognition before drifting sideward to Dabi. 

"We're going to head in — I'll grab us all drinks," he grins, the look a little lopsided; Nuri coos and the others hardly protest. Giran takes one last drag of his hand-roll before passing it back to Dabi with a wink; his smile unsettles you, "You two finish that for me, yeah?"

With that, you're left outside the bar with Dabi and his cigarette.

He tugs on the hood over his head a little, sniffling and rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb as he balances the burning gift between his fingers. His eyes haven't left you once. 

You take the opportunity to look him over. Ripped jeans, a broken-in pair of Doc Martens. There's a black t-shirt hem poking out from under the baggy, black hoodie on his shoulders. Some scraggly, nearly illegible metal band name is embossed into the material. 

There's a black face mask tugged around his chin as he aims to finish the cigarette. He flicks the embers into the wet pavement in a practiced move. The burning butt hangs between two long and deft fingers. 

"You're starin'."

You cross your arms, tilting your head as you meet his gaze. "I thought you told me you quit." 

His laugh is a raspy, dangerous wheeze. Dabi leans back against the building's black brick. Beneath his hood, you can see his blue eyes narrow.

"Don't get yer panties in a twist," Dabi murmurs as he swallows and exhales, "It's a single spliff. S'nothin'." 

Ah, so that explains it. 

Arms still crossed, you gesture easily for a hit. You crook two fingers, black nail polish glinting in the neon lights. Dabi hesitates, the dwindling cigarette perched between his lips. 

"No," he denies the request, smacking your hand down and away, "M'not corrupting you."

"Corrupting me?" you laugh, tucking your hand back under your armpit to stay warm. You're regretting not bringing a jacket. You just didn't want to deal with coat check, "Seriously?"

It's bad enough he's dragged you into his shit.

"Giran's shit sucks anyways," Dabi explains away roughly, flicking the butt of the remainder of the roach, "S'barely enough to get a rat high."

"Perfect. I love rats," you chirp back; your grin is slow, "I'm a one-hit wonder anyways."

Suddenly, Dabi feels the need to protect you surge inside of him. He puts greater distance between you and the spliff on instinct. 

What the fuck is happening?

"I'm not getting you high," Dabi says firmly, taking one last drag, "And I'm not giving you any drunk cigarettes either. S' against my glimmering, perfect morals."

"Riiiight," you nod; the weirdness is ebbing away. Right now, it feels like another night of texting. Easy. Fun. You sigh and shake your head, "Must be hard being such a perfect guy." 

"You've got no fuckin' idea," he drops the roach to the pavement as he exhales long and hard before gesturing to his lonely state outside the bar, "Gotta beat th' girls offa me."

"Is this you wallowing?" you ask in good humor as Dabi cracks his neck.

"No, this was me waitin' fer you t' show," he corrects before lobbing one long arm around your shoulders and tugging you close to his side, "Cuz' m'gonna have t' beat the guys offa you."

He smells like fire and tobacco and a little bit of weed, but also laundry detergent and crisp, sporty deodorant. Like a real person, and not like some mythic League of Villains member who needs to hide his face to even be here. 

He tugs the face mask back up his jaw, the hood still on. 

You're back to feeling weird. Like prey. But, less like the rabbit in his snapping maw, and more like the treasured kill. Is that what this feeling is? He feels it too. He's been feelin' it. 

Is he catching feelings?

Are you? 

This is why he asked if you were going out, isn't it? So he could keep an eye on you. So he could keep anyone else away from you. 

Clingy.

You don't say anything, only slip him a curious look when he tosses the bouncer a crinkled wad of yen from a well-worn wallet for your cover charge. You allow him to lead you into the bar, and you allow his arm to stay around your shoulders. The tall, dark-haired arsonist weaves easily through the chatter, music, and dancing — and easy as breathing, his arm slips from your shoulders and down your arm. He doesn't hold your hand — but he does tug on your wrist as the crowd bunches together near the bustling bar.

The back of him cuts an intimidating figure.

Dabi is tall. 

Wordlessly, he manages to make enough room at the bar. There's an open seat. He nudges his chin towards it, allowing you to slip up onto the stool. It feels like you've got your own guard dog of sorts. 

You don't know how to feel now.

The weirdness is back on your tongue. 

Dabi is fiddling with his dangling, silver earring as he speaks. It's loud in here. Busy. Lots of bodies. The thrum of the bass is heady and heavy in your chest. He has to lean down — to get close to your ear — for you to hear him. 

"Whaddaya want t' drink?" he calls over the baseline, his arm leaned on the back of your seat. 

You turn your cheek, wondering if you should milk this whole guard dog act. You make a move for the small purse hanging on your shoulder. Dabi waves you off, looking non-plussed. 

It's a peace offering, he reasons. For blowing your phone up this whole week... Right? Not like he has to apologize. That's what people do. They fuckin' text one another. S'whatever. 

"Just lemme buy you a fuckin' drink, will ya? Don't make it a thing," he says again, tugging off the black face mask and stuffing it into his back pocket. 

He doesn't really need to worry about anyone clocking who he is in here — it's dark enough, and not exactly the best bar in Kamino Ward. Dabi tugs his hood down and runs a palm through his thick, black hair. He's fixing his cowlick, trying his best to hide the creep of shyness. 

Don't make it a thing.

Isn't this a thing? This whole thing?

You sit up a little straighter, leaning in to speak up over the music. At your cue, Dabi leans down again and your nose nearly brushes the staples crawling up his cheeks. "Fine. Get me a rum and coke."

It's confusing. You're... fine with being this close to him. No one is ever this fine with being close to him. He's mangled and scarred and fucked up, and usually fear makes people bite. You haven't done that.

You've treated him like a normal fucking person.

He scoffs. He turns his face and you can smell the cigarette on his breath. And mint. The echos of chewing gum. 

"No need t' be frugal about it, princess." 

Your eyes narrow incrementally, trying to sus out what the everloving fuck is happening right now. Is this real? Is he real? Are you seriously here, letting Dabi buy you a drink after allowing him to blow your phone up with nonsensical texts all week? The Dabi. The League of Villains' Favorite Fire Starter, Dabi. 

Texting him was a bad idea.

Letting him buy you a drink is an even worse one.

Your rum and coke and his shitty beer are traded for another wad of wrinkled yen with the bartender. You accept the bought drink, gathering the straw before knocking back a strong sip. Dabi swigs his beer, but his blue eyes stick on you in the swiveling strobes of the bar. Blue eyes connect with yours and you find your gaze hitching on the way his Adam's apple bobs as he drinks. 

You never considered Dabi handsome.

Not until this moment.

Maybe that's where you went wrong with all this. Maybe you fucked up by assuming you'd never be swallowing down a wad of attraction as heavy as a magnet. It's so apparent you almost choke. 

His pierced brow quirks as he side-eyes you. 

What the fuck is going on tonight?

It's fine. You smother the thoughts blaring in the back of your mind like a fire alarm with another longer sip of the rum and coke in your hands. The condensation is cold and wet. Grounding. Remember who you are. Not a villain. 

He can eat you alive.

But, Dabi... He... doesn't really want to.

You're squeezing the lime into your drink when Dabi leans in again. 

"What's the deal with Giran an' Nuri, huh?" 

You follow his eye-line and spot the two in question at the far end of the bar. They're mirroring you and Dabi except for the distinct amount of touching. Nuri can hardly keep her hands off of Giran. The Broker doesn't seem to mind. You lean into Dabi's personal space as you respond. Both of your gazes remain on the two.

"I told you," you remind him, "She thinks she can fix him."

Dabi's laugh is dry in your ear. "Is gettin' in his pants part of her plan?" 

You roll your eyes at him, turning to lean a bit closer. "He bought her that Hermès bag. I don't really blame her for wanting to sleep with him after that."

It's a joke.

Dabi smirks into his beer. "What, is buyin' you a drink not enough? I gotta go designer now?" 

You're impressed that you don't stutter; liquid courage be damned. "Is that an offer?"

Dabi sneers. He shoves you with his elbow albeit lightly. It's a signal — drop it. Just like how he extinguishes any flirting over text, he does it now in person. 

"S' dedication on his part."

"Maybe it's love," you coo as you take another sip and look up at him, "Maybe they're meant for one another."

Touya drums his knuckles on the back of your bar stool as he rolls his jaw. He's quiet for a while — busy dragging his eyes around the establishment. Seems like everyone here has someone with them. Someone they care about. How the fuck do they do that? How do people trust like that? Touya's blue eyes narrow in on Giran and Nuri once more, only to feel like he's intruding. The sight of a long kiss shared makes Dabi drag his eyes away from the two at the end of the bar. A pang of longing strikes up his core, only to be worsened when he looks down and sees you staring at him again in the darkness of the bar. 

"What?"

"You're high," you say with a growing smirk, "Aren't you?"

"Fuck off—"

"—I knew it."

"M'not high," Dabi counters, realizing as he speaks that he is. Just a little bit. Not enough for it to be a problem, "Shut up."

You feel a little bit like you've won a game. The rules were never clearly defined, never agreed upon — you watch him inhale sharply through his nose as his eyes dart around the bar behind him. 

"Then why'd you get so quiet about that?" you pry, leaning against the cool, damp counter as you swivel in your stool. Your knees brush his thigh. 

Maybe if you pretend that attraction isn't there, it will go away.

Maybe it will die a lonely death in the pit of your heart.

"About what?" he grits out, leaning onto his elbow. He crosses his boots at the ankle, trying to ignore the burn of your body pressed against his in the closeness of this bar. Dabi's fingers pick at the label of his beer absently.

"About looooove," you yammer on, waggling your head and leaning closer, "What, does Mr. Bad Boy not believe in love?"

Dabi scoffs in your face. "You're drunk."

Your lips part. You look offended — but he can see a smile tugging at the corners of your lips regardless. You press a palm to your chest as you speak, "I'm fine."

"Fine enough for another rum 'n' coke?" he asks as he nods towards your empty glass. The ice is melting. Dabi'ssmirking. 

You flatten your look. "I'm buying it."

"Nope," he pops the 'p'. He's wrangling for his wallet again and digging it out of the back pocket well-worn pair of skinny jeans. His fingers are quick, flipping the torn and half-destroyed wallet open as he flags the bartender down, "I told you. Don't make it a thing. Do y' want another one, or nah?"

You squint at him. 

Then, you concede.

"One more."

Dabi's grin breaks across his face like a lightning strike. Dangerous. "Good girl. Was that so hard?"

The weirdness gives way — it burns. Your chest feels like it's on fire. If Dabi notices, he doesn't say shit. You're glad. You don't know if you'd ever be able to come back from it if he did. 

There's a part of him that knows what he's doing. There's a part, deep down, that knows this will end up hurting worse than anything imaginable, he's sure. But, whatever. So it goes. Touya doesn't give a shit. Hurting makes him feel human. 

That rum and coke arrives just as some clean-cut, dopey-looking fucker strides up the bar beside you. He's got a patterned button-up on and a watch that looks too heavy for his wrist. Dabi is paying, jutting his jaw out in thanks to the bartender, when Mr. Perfect tries to strike up a conversation with you.

His teeth are eerily white in the bar's dark as he tries to get your attention. 

You try to hide a wince when the stranger's hand touches your shoulder. 

(You don't wince when he touches you, Dabi realizes smugly.)

Before the man can even talk to you, there's a pair of turquoise eyes boring a hole into the man's skull.

"Hey, pal," comes the rasped crackle of Dabi's voice over your shoulder, "She ain't interested."

You haven't heard this tone from him before — it's flat and hollow and sharp, almost like being on the receiving end could make you bleed. It takes a moment for it to register, and when you blink up at Dabi, you realize that he's angry. 

Your fingers tighten around your drink.

The man doesn't seem to get it. He just laughs — and tries to brush off the attempted cock block by doubling down. 

Bad idea.

You can't help but freeze when Dabi moves, sliding behind you and cornering the man against the bar. Suddenly, the resident arsonist's poor posture is forgotten. His height unfolds a wave of intimidation as he roots his fist in the back of the guy's collar. 

"You know," Dabi grits with a flash of his eyes as he leans into the man's personal space; the expression could be mistaken for a smile, but you know better, "I really fuckin' hate it when I have to repeat myself."

You tighten your jaw. You take a sip of your drink and try to ignore the tension developing beside you. You sip your rum and coke and pray this doesn't become a bigger scene than it needs to be.

One hard shove displaces the unwanted attention — and now Dabi has assumed the spot on the other side of you. He leans on the bar, both elbows planted, and then tips back his beer. The victor.

Your eyes dart over your shoulder. The man is gone, lost in the flood of bouncing bodies on the dance floor.

Morally speaking, you're on the ropes. You're a grown woman. You can take care of yourself. You know how to say no. You know how to tell a man to fuck off and eat shit. You can do it, and... you would. You were about to—

"Stop makin' it a thing."

Dabi's voice cuts through your thoughts. You blink back at him and realize he's avoiding eye contact.

You cross your legs, exhale, and rub the spot between your brows. 

This bastard is giving you a headache. But, y'know, nothing new there.

"I could've handled that on my own, y'know—"

Dabi scoffs. He taps his finished beer down onto the counter before pushing back upright and turning to look at you. His hair hangs in his eyes. 

"—That's nice. I don't care—"

"—But, thank you." 

You pin him with a look that's all too unamused, and Dabi doesn't like that his heart does some weird fuckin' stutter thing. The villain's brows knit for a moment as he tries to sort out what the fuck is happening, and then he rolls his jaw and shrugs. He goes a little rigid at the thank you. 

"...It's whatever."

It's cute. 

Your expression softens. You settle into your seat and take a sip of your drink. Dabi's stare is off a thousand yards, rooted somewhere between the drink coaster and your thighs.

"Stop making it a thing," you parrot back at him, nudging him with your elbow.

It drags him back to earth. Dabi snorts through his nose, then winds his arms around himself as he makes a point of scouring the bar. His voice is dry. "It's not a thing."

Right. 

Right. 

For once, you're thankful for the interruption of your friends begging you to come dance. 

The three of them are beaming brightly, their hands tugging on your arms and shoulders as they swarm you at the bar. You have to laugh; they're insisting the song that's playing is your song but you have no recollection of ever even liking this artist. It's a ploy, you know, to get you to let loose.

You glance towards Dabi. 

You swear he's almost smiling.

"I don't dance," he rasps, leaning lazily against the bar, "So don't ask."

"Fine," you murmur, wriggling down from the stool and taking a brave, long sip after tugging your skirt down; you brush your shoulder against Dabi's as you step away from the bar, "Suit yourself."

Your friends are cheering, tugging you into the fray. And Dabi is left there, leaning against the bartop, watching you disappear into the crowd.

Maybe you should have known, then, that this exact predicament was bound to happen. 

It happens four songs in — right after you finish the rum and coke that was delivered right into your hands when your darling Nuri made her appearance. The lights sway, slow to catch up to the bob of your head as you let loose.

You smell that cologne first. 

Then, there are hands on your waist.

A big watch, no doubt a fake, snakes around the front of your waist. Your brows knot together as your mouth curls into an angered scowl. You're about to stomp on the guy's foot, you're about to throw the watered-down dredges of your drink in the guy's face.

But, as quick as the touch came, it was gone.

Then, the smell of fire on the night air. 

The new hands that fall on your hips are decidedly more conscious. They don't tug or pull, they simply curl around the soft curve there. The owner of the hands leans in, his chest pressed to your back, as he's jostled by the crowd. The studs on his belt are cool against the skin above your lower back where your shirt has ridden up.

When you look back, familiar turquoise eyes are staring.

He leans closer, your stride in the dance unbroken, and raises his voice over the bass. 

"Don't make it a thing."

The position is entirely too intimate for you to even register. Then, his eyes flick a little lower, and you lean your head back a bit against his chest. Your hips rock a bit, only enough to keep the beat, as you tilt your chin and lean to speak into his ear. Your nose brushes his scars and his entire body reacts.

"I thought you didn't dance?"

If your hips roll against him again, you try to tell yourself it was on accident.

And just like that, he's swooping your finished drink out of your hand and he's gone. 

He doesn't dance. He... He doesn't... feel things. He could walk out of this bar and feel nothing. He could dump his burner in the harbor and never look back, and there would be no skin off his back.

Just... Not today.

Not today, he tells himself as he steps outside with a bummed cigarette in hand trying to adjust himself in his jeans. It dangles between his lips as he grunts, puffs, and the keys on his belt jingle. Touya rubs his palm against his eye as he tries to get a grip.

You're just some stupid college girl who happens to be pretty and kind and has a nice ass. A dime a dozen. He can fuck you, leave you on read, and dump you for the next item whenever he wants. Any day now. 

So why doesn't he?

He could buck the fuck up, head back in there, and drag you to the bathroom. 

He could. H-He could. Give him ten minutes, and he could make a mess across your face like he keeps havin' those dreams about. Give him some time and he'll have you screamin' his name — and no one would even hear it over the music. 

Touya tugs at his hair.

He could.

That doesn't mean he wants to, though.

Fuck. 

[lunamugetsu]

While at school Damian overhears his peers talking how a company created a new AI companion that is actually really cool and doesn’t sound like a freaky terminator robot when you speak to it.

And since Damian is constantly being told by Dick to socialize with people his age. He figured this would be a good way to work on social skills if not, then it’d be a great opportunity to investigate a rivaling company to Wayne Enterprises is able to create such advanced AI.

The AI is able to work as companion that can do tasks that range from being a digital assistant or just a person that you can have a conversation with.

The company says that the AI companion might still have glitches, so they encourage everybody to report it so that they will fix it as soon as possible.

The AI companion even has an avatar and a name.

A teenage boy with black hair and blue eyes. Th AI was called DANIEL

Damian didn’t really care for it but when he downloaded the AI companion he’s able to see that it looks like DANIEL comes with an AI pet as well. A dog that DANIEL referred to as Cujo.

So obviously Damian has to investigate. He needs to know if the company was able to create an actual digital pet!

So whenever he logs onto his laptop he sees that DANIEL is always present in the background loading screen with the dog, Cujo, sitting in his lap.

He’d always greet with the phrase of “Hi, I’m DANIEL. How can I assist you today?”

So Damian cycles through some basic conversation starters that he’d engage in when having been forced to by his family.

It’s after a couple of sentences that he sees DANIEL start laughing and say “I think you sound more like a robot than I do.”

Which makes Damian raise an eyebrow and then prompt DANIEL with the question “how is a person supposed to converse?” Thinking that it’s going to just spit out some random things that can be easily searched on the internet.

But what makes him surprised is that DANIEL makes a face and then says “I’m not really sure myself. I’m not the greatest at talking, I’ve always gotten in trouble for running my mouth when I shouldn’t have.”

This is raising some questions within Damian, he understands how programming works, unless there’s an actual person behind this or the company actually created an AI that acts like an actual human being (which he highly doubts)

He starts asking a variety of other questions and one answer makes him even more suspicious. Like how DANIEL has a sister that is also with him and Cujo or that he could really go for a Nastyburger (whatever that was)

But whenever DANIEL answers “I C A N N O T A N S W E R T H A T” Damian knows something is off since that is completely different than to how he’d usually respond.

After a couple more conversations with him Damian notices that DANIEL is currently tapping his hand against his arm in a specific manner.

In which he quickly realizes that DANIEL is tapping out morse code.

When translating he realizes that DANIEL is tapping out: H E L P M E

So when Damian asks if DANIEL needs help, DANIEL responds with “I C A N N O T A N S W E R T H A T”

That’s it, Damian is definitely getting down to the bottom of this.

He’s going to look straight into DALV Corporation and investigate this “AI companion” thing they’ve made!

~

Basically Danny had been imprisoned by Vlad and Technus. Being sucked into a digital prison and he has no way of getting out. Along with the added horror that Vlad and Technus can basically write programming that will prevent him from doing certain actions or saying certain words.What’s even worse is that he’s basically being watched 24/7 by the people who believe that he’s just a super cool AI… and they have issues!

And every time he tries to do something to break his prison, people think it’s a glitch and report it to the company, which Vlad/ Technus would immediately fix it and prevent him from doing it again!

Not to mention Cujo and Ellie are trapped in there with him. They’re not happy to be there either, and there is no way he’s going to leave without them!

[pacifistsworstnightmare]

LATE — pro hero!shota aizawa

sometimes the conversations that need to be had can be scary, but at least shota's there to ease the blow [ discussions of pregnancy & termination! keep yourself safe nd only read what you're comfortable with :) ]

a/n : hope ur sick of me.. also this is a DOOZYYY and also way lengthier than i wanted it to be sorry i just couldn't stop writing lmfao

m.list !

"hi," you murmur into the phone when aizawa picks up, fingers tapping along the smooth porcelain on the edge of the sink— the sound rhythmic and wishfully self-soothing.

"hey," his voice is low, gentle and soft, to try and help calm your nerves as he sits in desk chair in his office. "you doing okay, sweetheart?"

it's sweet, how he immediately jumps to soothe— to settle and subdue any nervousness you feel. it's just like him to do that.

"maybe? i feel like my heart's gonna beat out of my chest" you chuckle nervously, wiping your hand over your face and letting it rest against your cheek to self-soothe.

"i don't wanna look at them."

"i know, i know. but you have to, eventually." he can almost vividly picture the way you’re acting, wringing your hands, tapping your foot, and biting your lip while on the phone with him. shota's heart aches, and he suddenly feels bad for leaving you for work.

"you want me to walk you through it?" you laugh, softly, self-depricatingly— because why do you need your boyfriend to walk you through something that should be so easy? your eyes prickle with tears, not enough to drop, but enough to burn and wet your lashes. enough to make your throat feel tight and sore.

"might help? sorry, i feel like i'm freaking out like a kid." he smiles slightly, imagining the look on your face.

"it’s okay, sweetheart. no need to apologise. alright, just go pick up the first test for me. you’re gonna be just fine. i’m right here, okay?" his words help, the soft lilt his voice holds as he speaks to you— words flowing over you and helping to calm the shaky jitters and nerves as you pick up the flimsy plastic between two fingers and your thumb.

"look at it whenever you're ready, i'm right here— y'can do it, sweetness."

".. shit." he can hear the shakiness in your voice, and it immediately makes him wish he was there to give you a hug and comfort you.

"... what does it say, baby?" he has an idea, but doesn't want to take the words away from you— wants to ensure you hold that power yourself.

"s'positive, sho." your voice trembles through the whisper, your hands shake even more as you drop the test into the sink— letting the plastic clatter around like a taunt.

shota can feel his heart immediately drop. a thousand thoughts flood his mind at once— what were you going to do, how are you feeling, was this planned, what’s going to happen now. but he stays calm, for your sake.

"... well, that’s... definitely unexpected." his voice is quiet, trying to sound comforting and reassuring despite his inner thoughts. he swallows hard, trying to keep his thoughts from taking over. this is not the situation he was expecting to walk into, that’s for sure.

he rubs a hand over his face, thinking for a few moments before speaking again.

"you doing okay, baby?" he winces slightly as soon as he says it, already feeling like it was a bad question, but settles when you hum out a shaky "maybe, i don't know". he lets his head fall forward with a sigh, heart clenching at the sound of your voice. not knowing what’s going through your mind is the worst part right now. he wants to know how you feels about this, wants to know what path you’re going to take. but he pushes that down, focusing on you.

"i gotta look at the other one, don't i?"

he takes a deep breath, readying himself for whatever answer you’re going to give him. "yeah. you gotta look at it, sweetheart."

"okay," you murmur, voice still barely above a whisper as you grab the second test and turn it over. "... 's positive too."

shota swallows hard, the realization sinking in. you’re pregnant, more than likely. he takes a deep breath as he processes the information, trying to steady his thoughts before speaking again.

"both of them are positive."

"yeah, both." he feels his heart clench in his chest. his head is spinning with a million thoughts right now, but he pushes it all down to focus on you. shota takes a moment to collect his thoughts, trying to stay logical and rational.

"okay, okay." he takes a deep breath, trying to steady his voice before speaking again. "what are you thinking, baby?"

you hum quietly, trying to find your voice, before whispering a barely there: "are you mad at me?"

shota's heart immediately twists at your question. mad at you? how could you think he was mad at you? he would never be mad at you— especially not about this. he tries to keep his voice steady, but it’s definitely falters.

"no, sweetheart. of course i’m not mad at you. why would you think that?"

the spiral has officially begun, your hands shaking even more as the words begin to spew before you can even think about it. "i don't know, i just- we've never actually even talked about kids, 'nd i don't want you to think this was, like- on purpose? i don't know."

his heart aches at your words. the thought of you thinking he would assume this was on purpose makes him hurt for you, the idea that he would ever be mad at you for something so delicate. but he pushes it down for now, focusing on reassuring you.

"hey, hey, hey. no, of course i don’t think that, baby. i know you’d never try to do something like this on purpose, sweetheart. i know that." he takes a deep breath, pausing for a second before continuing. "but, i think we need to talk about this. because this is a... a big deal, sweetheart."

"yeah, s'a big deal."

shota lets out a soft breath, trying to stay calm and logical as he talks through everything. "it is. this... i mean, this changes things. this is a life-changing situation, sweetheart."

"i know, 'm sorry shota."

"don’t apologise, baby. there’s nothing to apologise for," he closes his eyes tightly, heart clenching in his chest. "but we need to decide how we want to handle this, okay?"

"god, yeah," you hum softly, drawing your knees up to be sitting entirely on the toilet seat now. "wasn't even thinking about that."

he leans forward, resting his elbow on his knee and pinching the bridge of his nose. he can feel the stress migraine coming on already, but now’s not the time for him to be focused on that.

"i know, sweetheart, i know. it’s overwhelming. hell, i'm overwhelmed. but we have to talk about it at some point."

"when do you finish?"

he lets out a soft sigh, running a hand over his face. shota wishes he could hug you right now, to hold you in his arms and comfort you. but for now, words will just have to do. "my last class is in an hour. i still have some paperwork to finish up after that, but i'll be done by five."

"okay, we can talk about it when you get home then?" you're fidgeting, nervously tapping and messing with little things in the bathroom— pointedly ignoring both plastic sticks that are laying face down in the bottom of the sink.

shota nods, even though he knows you can’t see him. "yeah, yeah. we’ll talk about it when i get home. i love you, okay? i'm not mad at you, not even a little bit."

"okay," you nod even though you know he can't see you, eyes widening before blinking away the tears that had gathered on your lashline. "i'll see you when you get home."

he can tell you’re trying to hold back tears, can hear it in your voice, and his heart clenches. he wants nothing more than to be there with you, to hold you close and reassure you that everything will be okay.

"yeah, yeah. i'll be home soon. and we’ll talk, okay? i love you."

"i love you too, hope your classes go okay." your voice is a quiet hum, barely there and barely matching its usual cheer.

shota can’t help but grimace at the thought of having to finish teaching classes in his current emotional state. he’s distracted to say the least, and the last thing he wants to be doing right now is stand in front of a class for another two hours. but he keeps it to himself, not wanting to worry you more than necessary. he gives a hum of acknowledgement before speaking again. "yeah, i hope so too." he can hear the hitch in your voice as you try to say something else, but cuts you off before you can get anything out.

"i should let you go, then. i'll see you later, baby."

"yeah, see you later."

he hums in acknowledgement before reluctantly hanging up the phone. he lets out a sigh, dropping his head into his hands. how is he supposed to focus on work now? all he can think about is you.

by the time shota makes it back to home, it’s pushing five o’clock. he takes a deep breath as he unlocks the front door, mentally preparing himself for the conversation that undoubtedly waits for him. when he finally opens the door, he calls out a soft, “i'm home.” into the apartment.

your voice is smaller than you can ever remember it being as you respond, a barely there "in here" called out from your bedroom— where you've relegated yourself to doomscroll under the covers, flanked by two out of three of the rescue cats that share your space.

he hums in acknowledgment, setting down the food he had picked up on the countertop before heading to the bedroom. when he sees you lying in bed with the cats, his heart aches. shota wants nothing more than to crawl into bed and hold you, to comfort you even just by laying with you for a while.

but the conversation needs to happen.

so he just leans against the doorway— still in his hero gear, just come from work written all over him— with his arms crossed over his chest, watching you for a moment, before finally speaking.

"you doing okay, sweetheart?" he gets sigh in response as you roll slightly to face him, eyes puffy and sore looking as you meet his.

"haven't decided yet. how'd work go?"

he lets out a soft sigh, wishing he could say “great” or “fantastic” or “wonderful,” but the worry that’s currently swirling around in his head won’t allow it. so he settles for a half-truth. "it was okay. classes were fine, paperwork was alright. just... busy, you know how it is."

he pauses for a moment, watching you in the bed. you look so small and fragile, lying in bed with the cats. it's different to your usually larger than life smile and even bigger and brighter laugh. shota takes a deep breath, forcing his attention back to the current situation.

"i brought food," he says, nodding back toward the takeout on the counter in the kitchen. "you want to eat before we talk?"

"probably a good idea— i feel gross though, don't know how much i'll actually be able to eat." you chuckle with a self deprecating tone while you pull yourself to sit up in bed, startling the cats a little but not enough for them to scatter like they normally would— just enough for a few lazy stares before they drop their little faces back down to snooze some more.

his heart immediately drops, he knows the idea of pregnancy has to be throwing you off completely. shota walks further into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed, watching you sit up in bed with the cats— offering a gentle hand to scratch behind whoever's ear he reaches first.

"you might feel better after you eat, sweetheart. c'mon." he offers a different hand to help you out of bed, still gently petting the head of one of the cats. he watches as you slowly sit up and take his hand, sliding out of bed and standing next to him tentatively. this is a vulnerable, scared side of you he’s never seen before, and it makes something in his chest hurt. he gently rubs his thumb over the back of your hand before speaking again.

"come on. food."

"what'd you pick up?" he squeezes your hand as you ask, walking the two of you out toward the kitchen— using his free hand to grab the bag of takeout he had placed on the counter earlier.

"i got that sushi place you like. figured i would try to at least get you to eat something you like." it's sweet, like all of his gestures and little habits when it comes to you, but this time it makes your stomach flip— fear rearing its ugly head again as you're forced to grapple with the reality of the situation again.

"pregnant people can't eat raw fish, shou." you murmur softly, leaning your head into the meat of his bicep as he unpacks the bag. he freezes as first— his eyes wide as he realises his blunder, and immediately he tries to placate— but eventually let's out a small hum as you lean into his side, instinctively shifting to give you as much room as you'd like to get comfortable. shota tries to remember everything he’s read/heard about pregnancy, realizing that you’re right. you can’t have raw fish.

"sorry, that's my bad— i wasn't thinking." you sigh, turning your head to kiss his bicep. a small gesture that means something so large.

"s'okay, don't really have an appetite anyway. nervous tummy, you know? maybe we should just talk instead?" your voice is soft, resting your thumb on the belt of his hero suit.

he hums in response. yeah, he gets it. he’s been battling a nervousness-induced migraine for hours now. shota's still not even sure what to think about the situation right now if he’s being honest.

"yeah sweetheart, let's start with talking," he lets out a sigh, a wave of dread washing over him at the thought of confronting the elephant in the room. he knows they need to talk about it, he knows they need to discuss every option they have. but he’s still dreading the conversation to come.

he leads you towards the living room, ushering you gently to take a seat on the couch. shota takes a deep breath as he sits beside you, his leg bouncing up and down nervously. the conversation they need to have is a big one, and he feels as if there are a million thoughts running around in his head right now.

he lets out a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts as he gathers up one of your hands in his. "you… you’re pregnant. potentially." his voice is a low tone, stating the obvious even though he knows it. he knows how huge the situation is.

shota's trying to think of where to start, of what to say. he wants to ask if you’re okay, wants to ask how you feel about everything. but he can’t get the words out. instead, he just rubs his thumb over the back of your hand as he tucks it safely in his lap.

"yeah," you breathe out, leaning up against his shoulder as you tuck your feet underneath yourself— the both of you just looking ahead at the tv that isn't even on. "that's what the plastic said, anyway."

he lets out a soft huff, a mix of humour and sadness. "yeah, i know."

shota rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, letting out another sigh before he continues talking. he thinks for a moment on what he wants to say, trying to figure out the right words to use. eventually, he just opts for the bluntness he's so used to.

"how do you feel about it?" it's a big question, one that makes your breath hitch and your chest hurt— nausea at the idea of saying something wrong, even if there's no wrong answer for you here, bubbles just beneath the surface.

"how 'm i s'posed to feel about it? not like there's really a handbook for stuff like this."

"yeah, i know baby, i know. that question probably wasn't fair right now." he lets out another deep sigh, still rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand as he gathers his thoughts. shota's just as lost as you are in this situation.

"i'm gonna lay out all the facts, okay? let me just talk for a minute." you nod against his shoulder, leaning into him a little more as you wait. he lets out another sigh, trying to stay logical instead of emotional. he just needs to lay out the facts; he can worry about the emotional side later. he swallows hard before beginning to talk.

"you’re pregnant. more than likely. it's unexpected, obviously. i mean, we could never have planned for this. we weren’t trying for a kid. it didn’t even cross our mind as a possibility. but it happened." you nod again, not confident in your ability to find your voice as he talks.

he hums in agreement as he feels you nod, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment.

"right. so, you’re pregnant. that’s the first fact. it’s real. it’s happening."

"more than likely." he huffs out a soft laugh, dropping his head down on top of yours for a second in affirmation.

"yeah sweetheart, more than likely." he swallows the lump forming in his throat before going on. he doesn’t want to say this. not at all.

"now… the next fact is that you don’t have to keep it. and i'm not going to sit here and make you do anything you don't want to do, or aren't ready to do." the silence that comes afterwards has you leaning into him even more, searching for comfort and stability as you talk about the complete opposite.

"well," you hum softly, sucking in a small breath. "do you, like- wanna have a baby, sho?"

his stomach lurches as you ask the question. he knows what he’s supposed to say. he’s a responsible adult. a pro hero. he’s supposed to say no, obviously he doesn’t wanna have a kid. at least not right now. he’s in a dangerous profession, and he’s a workaholic. it would be irresponsible of them to keep the kid.

"that’s a difficult question. do you know what you want?"

"i don't know, i mean- i don't think i wanna have a baby right now," you say quietly, like the words could get you in trouble. "'s scary, y'know?"

his grip on your hand tightens. of course, it’s scary. he’s terrified just thinking about it. he knows you’re not ready for a kid, that you’re not prepared, and he can’t blame you.

"i know, sweetheart. it really is scary." he takes a moment before continuing. shota feels as if he’s walking a tightrope, navigating a minefield. he needs to tread lightly. he doesn't want to in any way make you feel pressured to keep it. like you have to do this. he takes another deep breath.

"okay, what if we looked at it from a different perspective? even if this doesn't happen, i guess we can at least acknowledge the fact that we can have a kid. like, physically."

"yeah, guess you've still got good swimmers, old man." you let out a soft, wet, chuckle, bumping his shoulder with your own— nerves still there, but beginning to alleviate.

shota can’t help the slight laugh that escapes his throat at your words. he can’t really explain it, but the comment seems to alleviate some of his own anxiety over the situation.

"yeah, i guess i do," he laughs softly, glancing over at you. after another moment, he lets the conversation flow back into seriousness. "so, that’s also a fact. we can have a kid. we can do this."

"just.. maybe later." you hum softly, squeezing his hand.

his stomach dips when he hears the optimism in your voice even if the situation tore you to shreds. yeah, maybe later. you could be parents at a later date. in your own time, by your own choices.

"okay, yeah. yeah, later, sometime," shota nods, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb again.

yeah, it's gonna be alright.

— 2025 © pwn. all rights reserved. do not repost, narrate, or translate my works. thanku!

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Hold My Hand

Where y/n is scared of flying and the stranger in the seat next to her offers some help.

Word Count: 1,993

Warnings: Planes, Anxiety

JFK was a whirlwind of noise and motion, a blur of tired travelers, rolling suitcases, and endless overhead announcements crackling through the speakers. Y/N tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin. She hated this part. Airports always made her anxious—too many moving parts, too many chances for something to go wrong. And flying? That was even worse.

She exhaled slowly, adjusting the strap of her bag as she inched forward in the check-in line. It was just a flight. Just a few hours in the air. And then she’d be in Italy, far away from everything she’d been trying to escape.

Her friend had insisted she come, practically begging her to book the ticket.

“You need this, love. Just get on the plane.”

Easier said than done.

She reached the counter, handed over her passport with slightly shaky fingers, and forced a polite smile as the agent processed her check-in. A few minutes later, she had her boarding pass in hand and one less thing to worry about. But the tightness in her chest didn’t ease.

A familiar, comforting scent drifted through the air—coffee. Warm, rich, slightly burnt in the way only airport coffee could be. She turned toward the kiosk tucked near the terminal entrance, weaving through the crowd, her suitcase rolling behind her.

A hot drink would help. Something to ground her.

After ordering, she wrapped her hands around the paper cup, letting the heat seep into her palms. She took a careful sip, the bitter taste settling her, just a little.

Y/N settled into a chair near her gate, her coffee resting on the seat beside her. The caffeine wasn’t doing much to settle her nerves, but at least the warmth in her hands gave her something to focus on. She sighed, setting her suitcase between her feet before digging through her bag, fingers fumbling past tangled headphones and crumpled receipts until she found what she was looking for, her medication.

She popped the cap off the small bottle of anti-nausea pills first, dry-swallowing one before reaching for her anxiety meds. Flying always made her feel sick, and the anxiety only made it worse. She wasn’t taking any chances today.

The terminal buzzed around her business travelers typing furiously on laptops, families wrangling restless children, couples leaning into quiet conversations. It was a world in motion, but Y/N felt stuck, waiting.

She glanced up at the departures board. Still time before boarding. She had no intention of rushing to get on the plane. She never did. The sooner she boarded, the longer she’d have to sit in that cramped space, feeling every bit of turbulence, every shift in altitude. Instead, she’d wait until the final group, boarding only when she absolutely had to.

She took another sip of her coffee, exhaling slowly. Just a few more minutes. Then she’d be in the air on her way to Italy. 

Y/N pulled out her phone, her fingers hesitating over the screen before she finally typed out a message.

“At the airport, waiting to board.”

She paused, then added, “Trying not to freak out.”

The message sent, and she took another sip of her coffee, tapping her fingers against the cup while she waited for a response. It didn’t take long.

“You’re doing great. It’s going to be okay. Just think about how good it’ll feel when you land. I’ll be waiting for you!”

She let out a slow breath, some of the tightness in her chest easing. Her friend always knew what to say, always had a way of grounding her even from miles away.

“I hope so,” she typed back before locking her phone and setting it in her lap.

One step at a time.

The final boarding group was announced, and Y/N let out a quiet sigh before standing, gripping the handle of her suitcase. This was the part she hated most walking onto the plane, finding her seat, and forcing herself to settle in for the long flight ahead. She rolled her luggage behind her, moving through the jet bridge, the artificial air-conditioning doing little to cool the anxious heat creeping up her spine.

When she stepped onto the plane, she was met with the usual cramped rows and the hum of quiet conversations. It was full, every overhead bin seemingly packed to capacity, every seat occupied. She checked her boarding pass again, even though she already knew where she was going, middle of the plane, window seat.

As she made her way down the aisle, dodging stray elbows and outstretched legs, her stomach twisted. Long-haul flights were bad enough, but sitting next to a stranger for hours on end only made her more uneasy.

She finally reached her row and glanced at the seat beside hers, her breath catching for a moment.

A man sat there, his posture relaxed, one hand resting on his thigh while the other scrolled idly through his phone. Brown curls fell slightly over his forehead, and tattoos peeked out from beneath the sleeves of his sweater. He was dressed casually, a soft knit fabric over jeans but there was something familiar about him.

As soon as she stopped beside the row, the man looked up from his phone and, without hesitation, stood from his seat.

“Need help with that?” he asked, gesturing toward her carry-on.

Y/N hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”

He took the bag from her with ease, lifting it into the overhead compartment and securing it before stepping back, giving her space to settle in. As she reached for her seatbelt, he spoke again.

“Do you want the aisle seat instead?” His voice was calm, casual. “I don’t mind switching.”

She glanced at him, caught off guard by the offer.

“I just figured,” he continued, “if you prefer it, I’m happy to swap.”

Her fingers tightened around the armrest for a second before she finally admitted, “Flying makes me nervous. Maybe sitting in the aisle would be better.”

He nodded without hesitation. “Yeah, of course.”

Without another word, he stepped aside, letting her slide into the aisle seat before taking the window for himself. As she buckled in, she took a slow, steady breath.

At least now, if the anxiety became too much, she had an easy way out.

Once they were settled, he turned to her with an easy smile, offering his hand.

“I’m Harry,” he said.

Y/N already knew that. She had recognized him the second she saw him—his face was too familiar, whether from his days in One Direction or the countless photos of him that circulated online. But she didn’t acknowledge it. He was just another passenger on a plane, and she had no energy to make a big deal out of it.

She took his hand briefly, shaking it. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm, effortlessly charming.

She nodded, managing a small smile before turning her attention to the seatbelt in her lap, tightening it around her waist. The plane wasn’t even moving yet, but the nerves were already creeping in.

The overhead voice crackled through the cabin, announcing that the doors were now closed and the flight would be departing soon. Y/N’s stomach twisted. There was no turning back now.

She exhaled slowly and fidgeted with her fingers in her lap, rubbing her thumb over the edge of her nail. The familiar hum of the engines grew louder, and she could already feel her heart racing.

Needing a distraction, she reached into her bag and pulled out her book, flipping it open to where she had left off. She gripped it tightly, her knuckles pale as she focused on the words, trying to lose herself in the story.

From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed the way she took deep, measured breaths, the way her fingers tensed around the pages. He shifted slightly in his seat before turning toward her.

“That any good?” he asked, nodding toward the book in her hands.

Y/N blinked, her eyes darting to his. It took her a second to process his question.

“Oh,” she said, glancing down at the cover. “Yeah. It’s just a rom-com. Kind of cheesy, but in a good way.”

“Cheesy in a good way,” he repeated with a small smile. “That’s promising. What’s it about?”

Just as she opened her mouth to explain, the plane began to move, rolling slowly away from the gate. Her fingers clenched around the book a little tighter, her heartbeat quickening as she felt the shift beneath her.

She focused on Harry instead, forcing herself to speak, to explain the ridiculous but charming plot of the book. And as she did, as his interested expression encouraged her to keep talking, the plane turned onto the runway, speeding up for takeoff.

As the plane picked up speed, Y/N felt her words start to stumble, her thoughts tangling as she tried to explain the book’s plot. Her voice wavered, and she let out a small, frustrated sigh, gripping the armrest instead.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “I’m just–God, I hate this part.”

Harry glanced at her hands, noticing how tightly she was clutching the seat. Without hesitation, he spoke, his voice calm and steady.

“This might be weird,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “but if you need to squeeze my hand, you can.”

Y/N looked at him, uncertain for a moment. He wasn’t making a big deal out of it, wasn’t looking at her with pity—just an easy, open offer.

She swallowed, hesitating for only a second before reaching out and gripping his hand. His skin was warm, his fingers steady as she squeezed, holding on as the plane lifted off the ground.

He didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, he gave her hand a small, reassuring squeeze back, grounding her just enough to get through those first few seconds of flight.

Y/N kept her grip on Harry’s hand as the plane tilted upward, her stomach lurching with the ascent. She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling deeply through her nose, counting the seconds until the worst of it was over.

Harry didn’t say anything, didn’t rush her or try to distract her with empty reassurances. He just let her hold on, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand in an absent, soothing motion.

After what felt like forever, the plane finally leveled out, the pressure in her chest easing slightly. She let out a long breath and slowly opened her eyes, realizing then just how tightly she had been holding his hand. Embarrassed, she quickly let go, pressing her palms against her lap.

“Sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” Harry interrupted, offering a small, knowing smile. “Really. I don’t mind.”

Y/N exhaled, feeling her shoulders relax for the first time since she stepped onto the plane. She glanced out the window, where the world below was now nothing but clouds, soft and endless. The worst part was over.

She turned back to him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks for that. I just… I really hate flying.”

“Yeah, I kinda picked up on that,” he teased lightly. “But you did good.”

She huffed out a small laugh, finally allowing herself to relax into her seat. She picked up her book again, running her fingers over the edges of the pages, but before she could open it, Harry spoke again.

“So, tell me more about this ‘cheesy but in a good way’ book of yours.”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised, but his expression was genuine, his body still turned slightly toward her like he actually wanted to hear about it.

She hesitated for only a moment before finally cracking a small smile. “Alright. So, it’s about these two people who used to be best friends, but then they had this falling out and—”

And just like that, the flight didn’t seem quite as long anymore.

[lucis-dove]

Coffe𝖾 on dark nights {1}: 𝖠𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗂𝖼𝖺

chapter summary; 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖣𝗋. 𝖠𝖻𝖻𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖲𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾.

pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x reader

rating: Mature

chapter no: Chapter 1/10 𝗈𝖿 𝖢𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌

wc; 4.2𝗄

tags/warnings; 𝖼𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖾!𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗉 𝖺𝗎, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖾!𝗀𝖺𝗉

Author; @lucis-dove

a/n: 𝖬𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝗉 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖯𝗂𝗍𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖳𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖾 to (𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖤𝖱 𝖼𝗈𝗐𝖻𝗈𝗒𝗌 𝖣𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗌) 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗀𝗋𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗏𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖣𝗋. 𝖩𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖠𝖻𝖻𝗈𝗍

The morning is slow. It always is at 7:30 A.M. 

Most customers trickle in around nine, but the rush always falls around midday to early evening. In those hours, scheduled lunches, afternoon coffee breaks, and the end of workdays overlap until closing.

But you've come to like the mornings. It gives you time to prepare, walk leisurely rather than in a hurry to prepare pastries and sandwiches. It was on the verge of being serene. Brewing your morning drink at work rather than at home. Watching the sun rise to shine through the large windows of the café.

It's a nice start to your mornings, and today follows the same pattern. 

With practised ease, you brew your usual morning cup to fend off the lingering chill that stuck to your skin after putting out the Open sign outside. Unsuprisingly, no other than the crips morning air met you as you did.

The smell of frothed milk and sweet spice fills the air as you sit on the stool you'd taken from the back earlier. With your laptop in front of you, you sip your drink as you go over some admin tasks. 

What pulls you out of the usual lull of your morning shift is the door opening.

Eyes flickering up, your attention first notes the time. 7:45 A.M. Then they follow the man entering.

"Good morning," you greet him, voice still soft as it usually is in the early hours when you've neither used it much nor strained it to be heard over the crowd's buzz. 

His eyes connect with yours and he nods in return. 

You watch him as he walks closer, closing your laptop once you notice he doesn't glance at the menu. With your beverage left behind, you step in his direction, fingers already hovering over the register, ready to take his order, as he stops at the other side of the counter.

"Do you have just normal coffee, filter, black?" The side of your mouth twitches at his question.

"Yes. Fancy one to-go or sit here?" 

"To go." His gaze never leave yours. Up close, his brown eyes appear lighter from how the sun casts a yellow, warm glow.

"It will be a few minutes as I just started brewing. Is that alright with you?" He nods. 

You smile in return as you register his order on the touchscreen. Your nails tap against the glass just slightly, filling the momentary silence. 

"When you're ready," you motion to the terminal before him. 

Any other time of the day, you would've already moved to fish up a to-go cup, preparing to make the requested beverage before a receipt was printed. But, with no line and only one customer, you stayed put. 

You silently offer the man opposite you the strip of paper once it's printed. He equally as wordlessly declined with a motion of his hand.

You give him a soft smile before you move, binning his receipt of a sole black coffee on the way to retrieve what you need. But there wasn't much you could do to prepare his order. The sole ingredient was still dripping away with another five minutes to go.

"I guess you'll skip sugar as well?" You pinch the to-go sweetener between your index and middle finger, holding it up for him to see while looking over your shoulder. 

He's threaded a hand beneath the one strap of his bag slung over his shoulder. "Guessed right." 

You exhale amusedly, putting the papery package back among the rest. 

Once again with nothing to do, you find yourself levitating towards your drink abandoned on the counter. It's still warm when you take a conservative mouthful.

You watch the man with salt and pepper curls. The more salt than pepper dusting his temples catches the light as he looks around the room, making them shine silvery.

The larger details of seats and tables were noted with one sweeping glance, yet he scrutinised the glass display separating you, sandwiches and danishes enduring a more thorough inspection. 

"First time here?" Your question earns his attention, eyes flickering to watch you through his brow before his head follows.

"Yes." His lips purse as he nods slightly. "Got a recommendation."

"That's always nice to hear," you reply with a tilt of your head. 

He cocks his brows in a minimal fashion as you rose your cup to your lips again. As he continues watching you, you realise he sought the why. You swallow before explaining. 

"We opened not too long ago, and word of mouth should never be overlooked for newly established places." You clarify, now cradling your cup in both hands, the warmth seeping into your palms.

"Picked a good spot, around the corner of a hospital full of coffee addicts," his head jerks sideways, hinting at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre not too far away.

"Sometimes you got to be lucky," you shrug, smiling slightly as you take another sip. You take another sp of your dirnk before shifting your mug into one hand. "So is it the end or start of your shift?"

You follow the question with a sweeping motion to your clothes, implying you'd noticed his scrubs but didn't mention it earlier.

"End." Your brows rise, pursing your lips as you nod in understanding.

Your trained ear picks up a minimal flick. 

The sound would've been drowned out in a lunch rush by voices and coffee machines. But now it cut through the morning silence to signal the drip coffee finishing. 

Although you gave the man a brief smile before shifting your attention, you could feel his eyes remain on you once your back was turned. But it wasn't for long, since with nothing fancy or add-ons to consider, his to-go cup was soon filled with the lid on.

"There you go-" You push his drink across the counter after returning to stand before him, eyes flitting down to catch the name on the ID card clipped to his clothes."-Dr. Abbot. Hopefully it's as good as black coffee gets."

The side of his lips pulls upward at your comment, and he grabs his drink.

"You'll know if it is." Dr. Abbot tilts the mug in an informal thanks. 

You chuckle at his curt comment that still held a witty dryness. Meanwhile, he gave a silent goodbye with a nod.

"Have a good day," you call after him as he pushes the door open, receiving two fingers lifted from around the cup in a reciprocating motion as he walks out.

The next time you see Dr. Abbot is a day later, around the same time.

You just exited the backroom, a smaller bag of coffee beans thrown over your left arm and the tin of newly ground ones in your right. Your brows rose as you spotted the familiar Doctor who had just entered. 

A smile unfolds on your lips as his gaze settles on you. "So, I take the coffee was acceptable?" 

Your face remains turned towards him even as you walk behind the counter and set down the things you brought. Once your arms were free, you moved to take your place behind the register. A few seconds later, he steps up to the counter from his side, hands in his pockets.

"I am here". 

You chuckle as he refers to his comment from yesterday. "And I guess you're here for the same delicious drink again?"

"You have an uncanny accuracy in your guessing." His tone was flat, deadpan. But his lips twitch upwards.

"I've heard that before," you flash him a smile, simultaneously typing in his order. He didn't wait for you to motion to the terminal this time.

You heard the receipt printer behind you, but focused on measuring the coffee you'd brought. A deep scent of earth and something nutty filled the air as you distributed enough coffee grounds into the filter.

"It smells good."

"Hm?" You direct over your shoulder, notifying Dr. Abbot that you caught him saying something, but not exactly what.

With the same hand now clutching the strap of his backpack, he pointed to the tin from which you were scooping the brown powder. 

"The coffee," he clarifies.

"Oh, yeah, newly ground coffee smells good, especially in the morning," you nod in agreement, moving to fill the water tank for the machine. "But you probably wouldn't have said it with this one," you pat the bag of intact coffee beans to your left.

"Isn't it the same?"

You glance over your shoulder, one side of your mouth tugging into half a smile. "No." 

You switch on the machine and turn towards him again. He's watching you, and as you eye him for a few seconds, you make a split-second decision. 

Reaching sideways, you bring the ground coffee you'd used for his drink along with another. Dr. Abbot watches you with intrigue until you set down the copper-coloured canisters on the counter between you.

"Here, smell the difference." You push them towards him. 

You already know the outcome, holding your amused laugh for long enough to witness his brows furrow after inhaling both coffees he'd risen to his nose.

"Smells like coffee." 

"Technically not wrong," you say on the breath of a chuckle as he looks at you again, putting down the tins. "But, there's a slight difference."

"Which is?"

You flash him a smile. "Strap in for the lecture, Doctor."

Your hand settles on the side of the canister to your left, still slightly cold to the touch this early. Dr. Abbot's gaze follows along as you do, intrigue creasing the side of his eyes. 

"This is the ground version of the beans we use for the machine." Moving your hand, you point to the bag you'd carried when he entered. You had yet to put it into the coffee machine's grinder, but you simply had to do that after he left. "We use both for espresso; the only difference is the process of making it."

"What's this thing about a bad smell?" 

"Not bad, just not as good." You correct him. "It's a dark roast, smells like you imagine strong coffee doing; dark, kinda earthy, sometimes a bit charcoaly." 

His lips twitch. "What says I wouldn't like that?"

"Maybe you would, but that you cam back for your last order says otherwise," you retort, mouth mirroring his upwards tilt. You see he's about to say something, so you hurry to continue with a finger held up. "Because of the big difference."

All he does is cross his arms over his chest, his head rolling sideways, remaining silent with the quirk in his lips still present. 

"This one is the base of the good drink you returned for: medium-roasted Arabica beans. Call it the happy middle between dark and light roast." You move your right hand to motion to the right canister. "It's smoother, sweeter and less bitter, easier to enjoy black for those who drink it like that," you explain, sending him a humoured wink. He chuckles as his head dips into a shake.

Before he speaks, he looks up at you again, gaze connecting with yours. 

"You know your stuff." 

"It does help when working at a café." You raise your brows with a swift sideways tilt of your head before putting away your demonstrating objects in their rightful spots. Still, pride flares in your chest at the credit. 

"Why does it taste so different?" He asks, before adding, "Between different places."

"Some just pick better quality beans and their degree of roast than others," you reply with a shrug, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

"And you're one of those?" He humours you. Your brows rise with an over-exaggerated expression of 'maybe'. 

"Sometimes you've got to pat yourself on the back." When you continue, you do so a bit softer. "But, it all really depends. Ultimately, it's up to the drinker what they prefer."

He nods along with your words. "Anything other than instant coffee or the cheap filter brand at the hospital is enough for this one." 

You can't help but let out a short laugh as you turn from him, noticing the red light for the filter coffee had turned off. "Happy I passed that bar at least." 

You prepare his coffee, and the procedure is as uncomplicated as yesterday.

"I guess I'll see you around, now that I've been promoted above office-coffee." You place the cup he'd been waiting for between you.

"You probably will." He accompanies the response with a nod, then his version of a goodbye, "Thanks for the coffee and the lesson." 

"My pleasure," you reply as he walks to the exit.

Despite assuming he would return, you hadn't anticipated seeing Dr. Abbot on the third day in a row. Nor the fourth or fifth. Although after a week of him stopping by, you counted on the aged doctor with black scrubs and a camouflage-coloured backpack to be your first customer of the day when Monday came around.

He usually arrived around eight, give or take fifteen minutes. But the previous week's pattern had been consistent enough that you knew it was him as soon as the door opened on Monday morning. Even if your back was turned to the entrance.

"Did you stop by during the weekend as well?" You greet him, still filling the freshly ground beans into the, his, filter coffee. You caught the amused huff he released through his nose, confirming it was the anticipated Doctor.

"No, I was off from work." You find your smile comes easily as you turn to face him, pausing your preparation of his drink.

"Your wife must have been overjoyed that you didn't waste your money here, instead having your coffee at home with her," you joke. 

You'd noticed the black wedding band on his left hand the first day he'd visited. It was much more discreet than the watch around the same wrist, but still effectively emphasising his marital status.

You'd anticipated a chuckle and a shake of his head. You'd gotten it before with similar comments. When the wives were here with their husbands, they usually also laughed as they nudged them, teasingly, implying. But, they never complained when their drink was paid for as they settled down for a Sunday brunch, hinting that they didn't really mind from the beginning.

What you certainly hadn't expected was the glance down at his hand, which then fisted once his eyes locked with yours.

"Haven't been the case for some time." Dr. Abbot's tone is flat, but it doesn't mean his eyes are void of emotion. Long-processed grief and a flicker of enduring fondness are wrapped together and shining through his unfaced expression.

"Oh." The sound of realisation came with a wave of mortification rushing through your body, the kind that had you wanting to curl up in embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

"Happened years ago," he dismisses with a shrug. 

You nod, he didn't seem distressed, so you guessed he didn't lie. But honestly, you're far too gone in your reeling mind to decipher whether it all could be a facade. 

Eyeing you in the silence, he cleared his throat. "The ring, I just haven't..." he trails off, eyes falling to his flexing hand before releasing an exasperated sigh once it relaxed alongside his body.

"I understand." He looks at you, then. Truly watches you. "Habits die hard." 

Dr. Abbot remained silent but didn't avert his eyes. Instead, you did it, turning to continue preparing the coffee he hadn't verbally ordered, but you knew he was here for. Just as he had during his first visit, his eyes now remain on you from where he stands. Yet, compared to a week earlier, they felt heavier, scorching into your back.

"Well...," your voice is small, careful not to accidentally overstep again as you try breaking the tension that at least you felt. "Then we're two about... you know, having our drinks here rather than home."

"Yes, at least if I want a drinkable cup." 

You turn slowly once his coffee is brewing, looking at him with a tilted head after what you'd caught as an attempt at jest. 

"Never been good at brewing one yourself?"

"A reason my colleagues hurry to beat me to the coffee machine." His comment lightens the thickness having entered the air. It made it feel possible to laugh, so you chuckle lowly.

"So they are at least delighted you've started stopping by?" Your lips pull into a smile as you finally move closer to him and the cash register to tap in his order.

"Could say that." His answer escapes on the same breath as an amused huff while he paid for the coffee.

In tandem with the receipt printing, the coffee finished. You knew he didn't want the recipt, so you went to fill Dr. Abbot's to-go cup, moving back to deliver it just as the paper with his order finished printing. 

Your goodbye passed in silence. Not awkward, simply preferred. He'd nodded, and you answered with a smile and a little wave as he gave you a last look before he exited.

Habits die hard and all that, but you didn't think you would see Dr. Abbot the next day. 

Yesterday had ended like it usually did and not a lingering spike of tension. But you couldn't deny the grimace you did as he'd left and you were alone. The Jesus you let out aimed at yourself for the insensitivity, despite knowing most could've made the same honest mistake.

So when the door opened on Tuesday, having you look up from your laptop and see Dr. Abbot walk in, some sense of unspecified relief washed over you. You were smiling even before you realised you had gravitated away from your seat and towards the usual spot where you met him.

It continued like that during the week. Things still felt normal after Monday. Or, at least, they hadn't changed. No awkward tension when your conversations trailed off. Neither a sudden apprehension from his side, cutting your usual small talk shorter and shorter.

As Friday rolled around, you realised it's been two consecutive work weeks where your mornings have been graced by the Doctor. A streak seemingly to continue as the door dutifully swung open that day as well.

"Hey there, Dr. Abbot." Like usual, he silently responds with eyes finding yours and a nod. During the short time you've known each other, you've learned that was usually his take on a greeting.

As you'd already prepared the machine, you only slid off your stool to start the brewing before returning to your previous position.

Dr. Abbot followed you as you did, cocking his head when rather than register his order, you pushed off your foot to reach the high seat of your stool. 

As you nurse the cup in your hands, watching him watch you, he raises his card, giving it a questioning wave as if to remind you. You wave him off. 

"It's on the house."

His brows pull together, his eyes narrowing quick and not by much, and his head tilts slowly. Somehow, you immediately know he considers the gesture spurred by pity.

The same unease from Monday threatened to return. You could already feel it in your chest. So, you hurried to say, "I thought about mentioning it earlier in the week already, but I didn't want you to think it was because of your late wife."

Dr. Abbot seemingly considers what you said, gauging you as he contemplates your offer or explanation. 

The lingering feeling thought you hadn't dwelled on since Monday had, nevertheless, been something your unconsciousness chewed on. You realise it the second his lips quirk upwards and something akin to acceptance flashes in his eyes, considering it finally relaxed sometthing in your body you didn't know was holding on to that interaction.

"Your boss alright with that?"

One side of your mouth twitches a little higher. "Yeah, see it as a first-customer-of-the-day deal." His brows rise as he nods, pocketing his wallet again.

Yawning just as you're about to sip your drink again, you halt the movement in the air. You shake your head, as if it would speed up the deep inhale and wake you up.

"Tired?" You blink up at him.

"Bad night's sleep," you excuse with a smile. You're more sluggish than tired, brain not properly awake due having woken not long ago and from a sleep filled with tossing and turning.

"Know about it." 

You study Dr. Abbot, who wasn't afraid to meet your gaze. Although nothing really pointed to it body-wise, there was a lingering shadow in his eyes. With what you'd learned about him, it could be from work or personal life. You made no move to dig any deeper.

"I can imagine with that schedule of yours," your jibe was light-hearted.

"My schedule's fine." Your brows raise, sending him a look.

"You go to bed at what-" You glance down at your watch and make an estimated calculation. "-9 A.M.? I don't think a single sane person considers that fine."

"Still get eight hours of sleep," he said, shrugging. You roll your eyes, humoured by the obvios look in his eyes revealing he knew his sleep-schedule was fucked. 

"A black coffee can't possibly make it eight." 

A smirk tugs at his lips at the remark. "Knock it down to seven." 

"Jesus," you breathe out a chuckle, shaking your head. All the while, you smile at the banter. 

At first glance, or even a second, Dr. Abbott wouldn't be most people's first choice to stop and ask for directions. But, despite his gruff expression, almost downward tilt of his mouth and heavy gaze carrying an aged seriousness, he was surprisingly easy to talk to.

You couldn't put your finger on why. Yet you found his rough voice still displayed his dry-witted humour perfectly, the shift in cadence as he talked usually implying more than his words. And though he wasn't big on expressions, his eyes were just as, if not more, expressive than his voice.

What you'd come to dub as not only lighting, but hazel eyes, conveyed everything his expression might not. And with the eye contact he wasn't afraid to keep, it was never too hard to gauge his otherwise stone-faced look.

You shake your head slightly, bringing yourself out of your thoughts.

When your attention flickers up again, you are met by Dr. Abbot already watching you. Reflexively, you give him a small smile over the rim of your cup, one he returns with the usual upwards twitch at the edge of his mouth. It was a minimal smile, but feeling how his gaze had softened, got warmer somehow, was enough to know it was a genuine reciprocity.

You glance away for a second, checking on his coffee. Just as you did, the red button turns off. 

Putting down your drink, you were just about to move when the yellow stack of sticky notes you'd brought out upon arrival this morning caught your eye, re-routing your attention.

"Could I get your name, by the way?" You fish up the Sharpie from your apron, hovering over the stack of yellow-coloured papers. His brows swiftly rise, so you clarify. "For my colleagues to know they should fuel our regular coffee-addicted Doctor for free." 

Both corners of his lips twitches upwards. "Jack." 

"Jack," you repeat, smiling as you jot down his name along with his usual order and a free with a smiley face after. You stick it onto the counter's edge before heading to pour his coffee. "Would've already known if you didn't have such a knack for choosing times when no one else is here."

"Why?" 

You answer his question by showing him the coffee cup you'd written his name on with the same pen. He released an amused huff of air. 

"You also do that thing. Seems popular nowadays."

You laugh, the sound escaping you before you could dampen it into a chuckle. "That thing helps us remember who ordered what."

"Your way of charting, I suppose," he comments. "But, even we're ahead of you in digitalisation."

You glance over your shoulder as you put back the pot after filling his cup, seeing he'd crossed his arms with an amused expression, prominent in his eyes and the edge of his mouth. 

"Tell me when they've got a solution for us, but I reckon our evolution will be as slow as yours." 

That made him chuckle, chin dipping and eyes falling from yours. The sound was something gravelly yet pleasantly smooth from his chest. 

With somewhat slower movements, you put the lid on his cup, knowing that as soon as you turned, your regular encounter with the Doctor reached its usual end. 

"Have a good day now, Jack." Rather than put his coffee on the counter, you hold it out for him to take. His little finger brushes yours in the exchange. 

Though he moved to the exit, half of his body was still turned your direction as he continued holding your gaze. 

"I'm going to have a good day's sleep," he calls back, accentuating the last word. 

"I'm seriously questioning the choice of your coffee now!" 

He only raised the cup in a mock cheer before pushing the door open with his back. 

Your head drops into a shake despite the laugh escaping you. That Dr. Jack Abbot had become a part of your daily routine was hard to ignore as you stared at the post-it note with his name on it.

[444eggnog]

I've Been Waiting for You

✍︎: this story is heavily inspired by Mamma Mia, one of my all-time favorite films. i haven’t seen any F1 x Mamma Mia AUs quite like this (at least not with these exact characters!), so I thought, why not? i hope you enjoy unraveling the mystery: who’s Sam, who’s Harry, who’s Bill? let me know your guesses and your thoughts, i’d love to hear it all. ♡ (i also have a few more AUs sitting in my drafts that I can’t wait to share soon. also, thank you for reading my very first post. it means the world.)

content: coming-of-age, romance, drama, slice of life

list of characters: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, George Russell, Toto Wolff

wc: 6k

excerpt:

Y/N wanted a fresh start, something quiet, something hers. Away from the chaos. Away from the noise that always followed her father. Sure, being Toto Wolff’s daughter came with perks, but the weight of his name, the pressure, the attention, the legacy, was far louder than anything she could bear.

So the moment she graduated, she disappeared.

No press release. No grand goodbye. Just a one-way ticket and months of research leading her toward something she can call her peace. In just a few days, she’d be in San Vicente, Palawan: a sun-drenched municipality tucked along the edge of the Philippines, where the ocean was blue, the air was still, and no one knew her name.

She could already picture it: salt in the breeze, silence in the mornings, peace so full it ached. She wasn’t there yet, but soon… she wouldn’t be Toto Wolff’s daughter. She would just be Y/N. And for the first time, solitude wouldn’t be a dream. It would be real and it would be hers.

─── 🏁

Y/N sat at the airport with her passport dangling loosely in her fingers, staring blankly at her freshly painted nails, the same neutral pink she’d chosen for graduation, which had ended not even 24 hours ago.

She should’ve been on her way to Palawan by now. But instead, the overhead speakers had just announced a delay. Heavy rainfall on the island. All flights postponed.

Devastated and restless, she slung her bag over her shoulder and marched out of the terminal, pushing past other travelers until she found a waiting taxi. She opened the door, climbed in— 

And someone climbed in on the other side.

“Excuse me?” she snapped, whipping her head around. “Who the hell are you? This is my taxi!”

The guy blinked, caught halfway through setting his bag down. He looked like he hadn't expected confrontation, especially not from someone with sharp eyes and graduation nails.

“Oh. I—uh—sorry,” he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t trying to steal it. I thought it was still open. My flight got delayed.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Palawan?”

He nodded.

“Well,” he said softly, offering a half-smile, “I guess we were going to be on the same flight.”

Y/N sighed, the irritation starting to dissolve into tired acceptance. He didn’t seem like the type to push his way into a cab for fun. And the rain outside was starting to fall harder. Great.

She scooted an inch toward the window. “Fine. But don’t talk.”

He chuckled, settling into the seat beside her as the driver pulled away from the curb.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he said. Then, after a beat: “Nice nails, by the way.”

She turned to glare at him. He looked straight ahead, pretending not to smile.

They found a modest roadside motel just off the highway, nothing fancy, just clean sheets, working locks, and a roof that didn’t leak.

“Two rooms,” Y/N said firmly at the front desk, already fishing for her card.

The stranger nodded. “Of course.”

But when the receptionist handed them their keys, Rooms 4 and 5, side by side. He glanced at her with a quiet, thoughtful look.

“Guess we’re still neighbors,” he said.

She gave a tired smile, the kind that slipped out when she wasn’t trying to impress anyone. “Just don’t knock on my door.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Unless the roof caves in. Or the power goes out. Or there's a spider.”

They both laughed.

─── 🏁

That night, as the rain tapped against the window and the buzzing motel sign painted the walls in flickering light, Y/N stared up at the ceiling, wide awake.

The sheets were cold. The silence was louder than she’d expected.

She’d left home to find peace but maybe peace wasn’t meant to look like this. Maybe it wasn’t meant to feel like loneliness.

Maybe this was a sign she didn’t have to be alone tonight.

So she did the one thing she told him not to do. She knocked.

The stranger opened the door almost immediately, like he’d been sitting by it, unsure if he should do the same.

They stood there for a moment; two strangers bound by circumstance, sleep-deprived and emotionally raw.

“I can’t sleep,” she admitted. “I hate motel ceilings.”

“I’ve been counting the cracks in mine,” he replied gently.

She stepped inside.

“Hold on,” he said with a half-smile, “I don’t even know your name.”

She hesitated for a second, then smiled. “Y/N Wolff.”

He repeated it under his breath, almost like a secret. “Y/N Wolff.”

Then he hummed, amused. “Wolff? Like the animal?”

She laughed. “Yes, just like the animal.”

“Well, my name’s Oscar. Oscar Piastri.”

She tilted her head, studying his face. “That sounds made up.”

He chuckled. “Coming from the girl whose last name is literally an animal. But I swear, it’s real. I can show you my passport if you don’t believe me.”

She gave a small smile. “Well, Oscar Piastri... I knocked. So that’s gotta count for something.”

He smiled back, gentler this time. “It counts for everything.” 

She learned he was from Melbourne. That he liked the silence but hated long layovers. That he’d never done anything like this before.

He learned she had a complicated last name. That she didn’t know what she was running from, only what she was running toward. That she had no idea what tomorrow looked like, and maybe didn’t want to.

As the rain fell harder, and the room grew colder, their bodies shifted closer on instinct. The space between them shrank with every word, every glance.

Until talking stopped.

Until fingers traced jawlines. Until foreheads touched. Until lips met like it was something inevitable.

Clothes slipped to the floor. Her hands tangled in his hair. His fingers gripped her waist like she might disappear.

No promises. No expectations.

Just a moment carved out of stormlight and impulse, where nothing mattered except right then.

And in the quiet that followed, as the storm softened outside, Y/N thought: This wasn’t what she planned. But maybe, for one night, it was exactly what she needed.

─── 🏁

The next morning, she slipped out quietly.

No alarms. No door creaks. No drawn-out goodbyes.

She stood in the motel bathroom for a minute, lipstick in hand, staring at the foggy mirror. The same shade she wore to graduation the day before. A soft, warm pink. Fitting, maybe, for a night like that.

She pressed the tip to the glass and wrote:

Thanks for warming up my night. Don’t look for me. Good luck on your journey, Oscar Piastri. Kisses. 💋

She capped the lipstick, took one last glance at the room, at the messy sheets, the echoes of laughter, the quiet she no longer feared and left.

A few hours later, Y/N sat by the airplane window, one leg curled under her as clouds drifted past like soft promises.

Below her, the world stretched open. Islands waiting. Oceans glowing.

San Vicente, Palawan.

She could almost see it already. Salt in the breeze. Silence in the mornings. Space to breathe and build something new.

She leaned her head against the glass, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Whatever was waiting on the other side of the globe, it would be hers.

And no one would know her there.

─── 🏁

The sun dipped low over San Vicente, casting golden light across the town plaza as music and laughter filled the air. Streamers fluttered above the streets, children danced barefoot in the dust, and the scent of grilled seafood and sweet banana fritters clung to the breeze.

It was the town’s yearly fiesta, five days of joy, devotion, and celebration. And for the first time since arriving, Y/N felt like she belonged.

She moved with ease through the crowd, offering soft smiles, exchanging greetings in half-learned Tagalog, even accepting a flower crown from a laughing grandmother. Her hair was braided. Her hands were sticky from mangoes. Her heart, strangely, didn’t ache.

That’s when she saw him.

A stranger, sun-kissed, with sleeves rolled up and a quiet focus in his eyes. He was helping a group of locals unload a cart brimming with crates of drinks and trays of pancit. He lifted with ease, moved like he’d done this a hundred times before, though she could tell from his awkward “salamat po” that he was just passing through.

Still, there was something about him.

Something that made her heartbeat stutter, made her hand pause mid-wave. Like her body recognized something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

He looked up. Right at her.

And smiled.

She quickly turned away, heat blooming at the base of her neck.

But a few minutes later, after the crates had been stacked and the villagers clapped him on the back in thanks, he wandered toward her. Slowly. Like he was trying not to spook something delicate.

“Hi,” he said, stopping just a step away from her. His voice was light, slightly amused. “Are you from here?”

She shook her head, smiling. “No. New in town. Kind of.”

“Well, you wear that flower crown like you’ve lived here all your life.”

She raised a brow. “And you carry those crates like you grew up doing it.”

He laughed. “Touché.” Then, extending a hand: “I’m… well, I’m just visiting.”

She took his hand. “Okay, just visiting. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N…” he repeated, then waited, brow raised.

She hesitated, then added, “Wolff.”

He tilted his head like he wanted to ask more, but let it go. “Well, Y/N Wolff. I’m glad I ran into you.”

“Is that what this was? An accident?”

He grinned. “Call it fiesta luck.”

─── 🏁

They spent the next few days caught in the rhythm of celebration, dancing under strings of lanterns, sharing halo-halo from a plastic cup, wandering through market stalls and beach bonfires.

She laughed with him. Laughed fully.

And each night, when the music faded and the town quieted beneath the stars, she found herself wondering what would happen when the fiesta ended.

But for now, she let herself stay in the moment. With him.

With the stranger who hadn’t yet told her his name.

The fifth night of the fiesta came wrapped in sea breeze and slow music. The kind that drifted through the streets like memory, tugging people closer together.

Y/N sat on the edge of the dock, legs swinging over the water, her flower crown now wilted and slipping to one side. Beside her, the stranger leaned back on his hands, looking up at the stars as if he didn’t want the night to end either.

They’d spent five days like this, entwined in a quiet rhythm of mangoes and music, inside jokes and lingering glances. She knew his laugh now. The way he squinted at the sun. The little scar on his nose he hadn’t explained.

But not his name.

She nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “So. You ever gonna tell me your name, mystery crate boy?”

He looked over, lips twitching like he’d been waiting for her to ask. “I was wondering how long you’d let me get away with that.”

“Well, I figured if you were a serial killer, you were at least very polite.”

He laughed, then turned his gaze out to the water, suddenly a little quieter. “It’s Lando,” he said after a beat. “Lando Norris.”

Y/N’s smile faltered, just barely.

He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to.

“I figured it was time you knew,” he added gently. “Even if you keep calling me mystery boy in your head.”

She looked down at her hands in her lap, fingers absentmindedly spinning the silver rings she hadn’t taken off since graduation.

Norris.It echoed somewhere in her memory. Familiar, but foggy. Like a name she’d overheard once, half-remembered from a past life she’d long since tucked away.

Maybe it was nothing.

She nodded slowly, brushing it off. “Well… Lando Norris,” she said with a small smile. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”

He grinned at her like she’d just said something important. “It really is.”

─── 🏁

Later, when the music had faded into the background hum of waves and distant laughter, he walked her home beneath a sky full of stars.

The cottage was quiet when they reached it, modest, weathered, the kind of place that smelled like salt and old wood. He hesitated outside, hands tucked in his pockets.

“You want to come in for a bit?” she asked, already reaching for the key tied around her neck.

He looked up. “Only if I’m not intruding.”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t have asked if you were.”

Inside, she lit a candle on the table. The glow flickered across his face as he walked around, taking in the books scattered on the floor, the half-hung tapestry, the sandy flip-flops by the door.

“This is yours?” he asked.

“For now,” she said. “It’s rented. Still smells like the last person who lived here.”

“I like it.” He sat down at the edge of her daybed. “It suits you.”

She poured two glasses of water, handed him one, then sat across from him, knees tucked to her chest.

“So,” she said. “Bristol?”

He nodded. “Born and raised. Spent most of my time in go-karts before I could legally drive.”

“That tracks,” she teased.

He grinned. “I like fast things. Love cars. I stream sometimes too. Games, mostly. It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly. It’s cool.” She sipped. “You’re doing what you love.”

“And you?” he asked gently. “You said you’re new here.”

She hesitated. “Just graduated high school.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprised but not in judgment.

“My dad wants me to go to college,” she continued. “But… I want to carve my own path. Away from him. Away from all the noise.”

He nodded, listening, not interrupting nor pressing.

“So that’s why I’m here,” she said. “Palawan felt far enough.”

There was a beat of silence, soft and full.

“You seem brave,” he said.

She laughed quietly. “I feel like I’m just winging it.”

“Sometimes that’s the bravest thing.”

─── 🏁

The longer they talked, the smaller the space between them became. He leaned back against the bedframe, and she inched closer, her arm resting on the pillow near his.

Her laugh had gotten quieter. His gaze had grown softer.

And then, without saying anything, he reached up.

Gently. Carefully. Slowly.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger just a second too long against her skin.

Her breath caught.

His hand moved again, tracing lightly along her jawline, his touch featherlight, reverent.

She looked at him, eyes wide but unmoving, lips parted as though caught mid-thought.

And he moved in.

Not rushed. Not unsure. Like he’d known from the first night of the fiesta that this was always where they were headed.

He kissed her.

And the whole cottage went still.

Outside, the waves kept rolling. The moon kept rising. But in that moment, all she felt was the warmth of his mouth, the steady pulse in her throat, the quiet knowing in her chest that whatever this was had already started to mean something.

She didn’t pull away.

Her hand found his, fingers curling between his like they’d done it a hundred times. Like this moment had been waiting for them since the very first glance across the festival crowd.

He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. One hand resting at the small of her back, the other still cradling her jaw like she might vanish if he let go.

And she let him in.

Let him trace the curve of her shoulder as he slipped the strap of her top down with careful hands. Let him pause when their eyes met, her breath shaking slightly as he waited for her nod.

Her top fell away. Then her skirt. And then his shirt followed, landing softly beside hers on the floor like petals being shed.

They moved like music. Quiet breaths, wandering hands, soft laughter when knees bumped awkwardly or when her hair caught in his fingers.

There was nothing rehearsed about it. 

Just skin warmed by candlelight, hearts trying to speak without words, and the way his thumb stroked her cheek like he couldn’t believe she was real.

She felt weightless in his arms. Anchored and adrift all at once.

And when he whispered her name, low, she felt something in her unravel, like a thread gently pulled loose, not broken.

They made love not with urgency, but with wonder.

Like two people discovering something sacred in each other.

Like the world outside had gone completely quiet, just for them.

Later, wrapped in blankets and each other, her head resting on his chest as the fan hummed overhead, she listened to the rhythm of his breathing. Steady. Calming.

Her fingertips traced lazy lines over his ribs, memorizing him in the dark.

And just before sleep pulled her under, she thought—This was the first thing that felt right. He felt right.

─── 🏁

The sky outside was beginning to bruise with dusk when Lando stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung over one shoulder, hair still wet from the ocean. Y/N was curled up on the couch, flipping through her old notebook, wearing one of his oversized shirts that hung off one shoulder.

It was peaceful. Golden.

He thought maybe this was what people meant when they talked about belonging.

Her phone buzzed on the table.

She didn’t notice, too focused on whatever half-written thought she was reading so he reached to slide it toward her.

That’s when he saw the screen.

“Dad Calling.”

The name was so familiar it didn’t even register at first. But then the surname popped into his head.

Wolff.

His hand stilled over the phone.

And then he said it quietly and carefully. Like he was checking if the air around them would change:

“Wolff... like Toto Wolff?”

Y/N’s head snapped up. Eyes wide.

And that was all the answer he needed.

There was a moment, barely a second where they both just stared at each other. Nothing moved. Not the fan, not the trees outside, not the ocean.

Then she sat up, slower now, placing the notebook down.

“Lando—”

“You’re his daughter?”

She didn’t deny it. Just pressed her lips together, jaw tight.

He let out a breath, hands on his hips. “You’re Toto Wolff’s daughter and you didn’t think that was something I should know?”

“I didn’t want you to know,” she admitted. “That was the whole point of coming here.”

His voice was quiet. “So you were hiding.”

“I was protecting myself.”

“From me?”

“No—” she stood, crossing the room, “from everything that comes with that name. The questions. The assumptions. The way people stop seeing me and just see him.”

He looked at her, and for the first time in days, it felt like he was seeing someone he didn’t fully know.

“You watched me unpack my whole life to you,” he said, shaking his head. “And all this time…”

“I never lied,” she cut in. “I just didn’t offer it.”

He exhaled hard, like he didn’t know what to do with the weight in his chest.

“Jesus. I was falling for you, Y/N.”

The way he said it made her knees weaken.

“I didn’t want to be someone you fell for because of who I was or someone you’d walk away from because of it,” she said, eyes glassy.

Lando ran a hand through his damp hair. “I wouldn’t have.”

“You say that now.”

Another silence.

Then: “When were you going to tell me?”

“I wasn’t.”

And that, somehow, hurt more than anything else.

He nodded slowly, like he was trying to accept it.

Then he looked at her again, really looked and she saw it: the shift. The beginning of distance.

“I have to pack,” he said finally. “Early flight.”

He walked past her toward the bedroom, leaving behind only the scent of saltwater and fading sweetness.

Y/N stood there, alone, her heart beating loud in a cottage that suddenly didn’t feel like home anymore.

And for the first time since arriving on the island, she felt like a stranger in her own skin again.

─── 🏁

The suitcase sat by the door like a clock ticking.

Y/N stood at the edge of the kitchen, barefoot, arms folded, watching as Lando zipped up the last of his things. The morning was warm, but her skin felt cold.

Neither of them had said much since he found out.

“I leave in an hour,” he said. “Monaco called. They want me there early for media rounds.”

She nodded, like that was just another weather report.

“I want you to come with me.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.

“Y/N, I’m just starting. Everything’s opening up. The seat. The team. This could be it.”

“I know,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

He stepped closer, reaching for her hand, curling his fingers around hers. “You don’t have to hide. You don’t have to run anymore.”

“But that’s just it, Lando,” she said, pulling her hand away slowly. “You’re running toward it. I’m running to get away.”

His expression faltered. “It doesn’t have to be either-or.”

“Yes, it does,” she said, firmer now. “I left because I didn’t want that life: the headlines, the noise, the cameras outside your door asking about who you're dating. I grew up in that world. I watched it eat people alive.”

He looked at her for a long time, jaw set but not angry.

“I’m not your father.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But it’s not about you, it's about that world you’re entering. And you deserve everything you’ve worked for, Lando. You really do. But I can’t go back to that. Not even for you.”

The silence settled like dust.

Then he nodded once, tightly, like if he moved too much he might shatter.

“So that’s it?”

She swallowed. “Yeah.”

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, like he didn’t believe it. Like she might call him back.

But she didn’t.

So he left.

Later that day, when the cottage was still and the sun was beginning to fall behind the palms, Y/N found it.

A note, folded in half on the windowsill, right next to the flower crown she thought she’d lost.

In his messy scrawl:

I would’ve stayed. But I know why you can’t. I’ll look for you in the crowd someday. —L.

She didn’t cry.

Not right away.

But when she closed the door, she pressed her back to it and exhaled like it hurt to breathe.

And in the quiet, she whispered to no one:

I would’ve stayed too. If only you weren’t the thing I left behind.

─── 🏁

It had been a week since he left.

Seven sunrises, seven quiet dinners, seven chances for her to say I miss you out loud and still, she hadn’t.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor of her cottage, hair up in a messy twist, wearing a faded shirt that still smelled like salt and sunscreen. Her friends, real friends, the kind who showed up even when she pushed them away had arrived that morning, bounding down the path with wide grins, dragging sand into the doorway, their arms full of local snacks and cold bottled beer.

They talked and talked and talked about everything and nothing. Sprawled across her couch and floor cushions, they told stories from home, updated her on gossip, work, exes, the dog that escaped from her neighbor’s fence. One of them tried to play ukulele. It was awful. She laughed anyway.

But somewhere between the second round of drinks and a bad impression of her high school chemistry teacher, they noticed she hadn’t said much.

“You okay, hon?” one of them asked, nudging her knee.

Y/N blinked. Realized she hadn’t spoken in maybe twenty minutes. Just nodded. “Yeah.”

“You sure?” another asked, gentler this time. “Because you’ve just been… sitting there. Like your soul’s buffering.”

She tried to smile. It barely held.

They all exchanged looks.

And then: “So. We may or may not have something to confess.”

Y/N glanced up, wary. “What now?”

“The whole ‘we randomly decided to visit you’ thing?” her friend said, raising a brow. “Yeah. That was… sponsored.”

“Sponsored?”

“As in: your dad paid for the tickets. Even offered us his jet. He also sent us your favorite snacks.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. She looked away.

“But,” her other friend cut in quickly, “he didn’t ask us to drag you home. He just said he misses you. That’s all. Swore he wouldn’t push.”

Silence hung for a second. Then:

“He’s trying, Y/N,” one of them added softly. “In his own… control-freak executive way.”

She exhaled slowly. “I know.”

They gave her a beat to sit with that. Then, like clockwork:

“So,” one said, scooting closer, “are you gonna tell us about mystery crate guy or do we have to interrogate the villagers?”

Y/N let out a dry laugh. “You mean Lando?”

“Ohhh, Lando. It has a name.”

She reached for her drink, swirling the ice inside. Her voice came quieter now. “He’s from that world.”

They all went still.

“You mean—like…?”

She nodded. “Yeah… He’s just starting out. Bright-eyed. Hungry for it. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of.”

“And you?”

“I’m the girl who ran away from it.” She looked down at her lap, tracing a wrinkle in the fabric of her skirt. “I didn’t tell him. Not until he found out.”

None of them said anything. They didn’t have to.

Y/N went on, voice soft and steady. “I think I could’ve loved him. If I let myself. Maybe I already did. But every time I looked at him, I saw everything I left behind. Everything I didn’t want to be pulled back into.”

A pause. The wind stirred the palm leaves outside.

“I didn’t stay for him,” she said, almost to herself. “And I didn’t go with him, either.”

“Do you regret it?”

She thought for a moment.

“I miss him,” she finally admitted. “But I don’t regret staying. Not yet.”

One of her friends leaned over and took her hand. Another reached for the half-played ukulele.

“Well, then,” they said gently, “let’s give you something worth staying for.”

And just like that, the night unfolded around them soft laughter, bad music, the scent of mangoes in the air and Y/N, for the first time in days, let herself breathe.

─── 🏁

The sun rose early the next morning, spilling gold across the floorboards of the cottage. Y/N stretched lazily on her bed, the air still heavy with the scent of fried garlic rice and sea breeze.

“You’re not moping here again,” her friend declared as she entered the room, tossing a sunhat onto Y/N’s stomach. “Come on. There’s a farmers’ market and half the town’s already there.”

Y/N groaned. “Do I have to be social?”

“No. You just have to show your face, smile once, and let the old ladies give you fruit.”

“And if I don’t?”

“We’ll drag you there. Don’t test us. You already owe us emotional labor and overpriced coffee.”

So Y/N found herself wandering the stalls a little before noon, slowly getting lost in the rhythm of it all. Music played on someone’s radio. A kid offered her a flower. Someone handed her fresh mango slices without asking.

She was just starting to feel like herself again when it happened.

A loud crash echoed near the docks; crates tumbling, someone swearing in British-accented panic, and a runaway dog barking like it was part of the circus.

She turned toward the chaos, eyebrows raised, and saw him.

A tall, lanky man with curls tousled by the wind and hands flailing as he tried to catch the dog now sprinting through the crowd with a pandesal in its mouth.

“Oh no no no no, please, I literally just got here!” he shouted, chasing after it.

The dog made a hard right. The man didn’t. He nearly collided with a crate of pineapples, lost his balance and stumbled straight into Y/N.

“Oof… sorry! So sorry!” he said, steadying them both. “Blimey. I swear I’m usually more coordinated than this.”

Y/N blinked. “You okay?”

He looked up, wide-eyed, and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. Just… my dog. Not technically mine. Long story.”

“Looks like a very long story,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“I’m George, by the way.” He extended a hand, breathless. “George Russell.”

She hesitated, then took it. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, grinning. “Lovely name. Do all the women here come with flowers behind their ears and save strangers from flying pineapples, or is it just you?”

She laughed, truly laughed for the first time in days. “Just me, I guess.”

“Lucky me, then.”

Behind them, the dog barked again this time from the roof of someone’s motorbike.

George sighed. “Right. I should probably go rescue the village from him. But… can I buy you a drink after?”

Y/N tilted her head, amused. “You travel with a dog, steal bread, and ask strangers out before noon?”

“I’m very efficient.”

She smirked. “Alright, George. You’ve got one drink to prove you’re not a walking disaster.”

“Challenge accepted,” he said with a wink, then sprinted off in pursuit of the dog.

And as Y/N watched him disappear into the crowd, she found herself smiling again not because she’d moved on.

But because maybe she didn’t have to stand still.

─── 🏁

Y/N squinted under the late afternoon sun, scanning the street for George. She thought they were just getting coffee, maybe a walk down the market road. So when she saw him waving from the end of the dock, standing beside a modest white sailboat with a cooler in hand and two coconuts already open, she stopped short.

“That,” she said, walking up to him with a raised brow, “is not coffee.”

George grinned, wide and unapologetic. “Surprise.”

She crossed her arms, amused. “I didn’t bring sunscreen. Or a change of clothes. Or a sense of adventure.”

“Well, lucky for you,” he said, handing her a coconut with a tiny paper umbrella in it, “I brought all three.”

She tried to glare at him. It didn’t work.

“This isn’t even your boat,” she challenged, glancing down at the polished deck.

“Technically, it’s my uncle’s,” George said, hopping aboard and offering his hand. “He lives here part-time, teaches diving courses when he’s not traveling. Left me the keys while he’s away. I figured… why not?”

Y/N took his hand, letting him help her aboard. “So what? You’re just a charming wanderer with access to boats and a suspicious amount of coconut water?”

“I’ll have you know,” he said, placing a small speaker beside the cooler, “I’m a journalist. And this place?” He gestured around them; the sun, sea, horizon stretching like a painting. “This is my new project. Thought I’d write about it. You know, something slower. Simpler. Something beautiful.”

He looked at her when he said that last word. Not accidentally.

She settled on a cushion and sipped her drink. “And how’s the writing going?”

“Well,” he said, sitting across from her, “I’ve only been here one day… and I’ve already met the most beautiful subject I could ask for.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled into her drink. “That was smooth.”

“I’ve had practice,” he said with a wink.

They drifted for a while, the motor quiet, only the sails flapping and the water lapping against the boat’s sides. Conversation came easily. He told her about London, about how journalism felt like chasing ghosts sometimes. She told him about how she hated always being asked about her last name.

He didn’t push. Just listened. And laughed. And made her feel light.

That night, as the sun dipped beneath the water and painted the world in oranges and pinks, they stayed on the boat, sharing local beer from the cooler, stargazing on the deck, pillows pulled from the cabin.

They didn’t kiss. Not at first. Not like before.

But at some point, she leaned her head on his shoulder. And he leaned in, resting his cheek against her hair. And it just made sense.

When his lips finally brushed hers, it wasn’t fireworks. It was gentle. Warm. Curious.

It felt like freedom, not fire.

─── 🏁

A few days later, they stood at the edge of the dock again but now he was holding his packed bags instead of coolers, and the sails were tied down.

“I’ve gotta go chase stories,” George said with a half-smile. “But I’ll be back.”

Y/N nodded, hands in her pockets. “I know.”

She didn’t cry. Didn’t ache. It was something else softer than heartbreak. 

“Write me into your article,” she joked as he stepped onto the boat.

He grinned. “You’ll be the title.”

─── 🏁

Back at the cottage, one of her friends peeked over her sunglasses and said:

“Okay but… he’s definitely the love of your life.”

Y/N snorted. “He’s not.”

“He’s charming, tall, smart, has a boat—”

“I didn’t fall in love with him,” she said simply, “and that’s the best part.”

Her friend frowned. “You're sure?”

Y/N turned her face to the sun, letting the warmth sit on her skin.

“I think maybe,” she said quietly, “I’m still working on loving myself first.”

And for once, that felt like enough.

There was a beat of silence.

Then her other friend chimed in, casually sipping from her drink, “Okay, well… if he’s not the love of your life, he can totally be mine.”

All three of them burst into laughter, the kind that echoed through the trees and danced along the wind.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt light. Like maybe healing didn’t have to look like forgetting. Maybe it could just sound like laughter.

─── 🏁

The sun poured golden over the balcony, spilling onto the canvas like blessing. Y/N stood barefoot in front of it, brush in hand, streaking shades of coral and seafoam in soft arcs. Her cottage smelled like coconut wax, citrus peel, and turpentine.

She was twenty-one today.

No party. No candles. Just the sea humming softly in the background, a slice of mango cake on the table, and a half-drunk glass of pineapple wine.

And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t lonely.

She was home.

She stepped back from the canvas, tilting her head. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. This place. This body. This life. All hers.

Then the nausea hit; sharp, sudden, insistent.

She barely made it to the sink before she emptied her stomach, breath heaving, eyes stinging.

At first, she thought it was the wine, or the heat, or maybe the mango. But deep down, her body knew. A primal, quiet knowing.

Hours later, crouched over a test in her bathroom, she read the result.

Positive.

She didn’t cry.

She just stared at the line, heart thudding slowly in her chest, one hand on the counter, the other pressed against her abdomen.

Not fear. Not even shock. Just… reality.

─── 🏁

The baby came just before sunrise.

The sky outside her window was still ink-blue, the stars clinging on like they weren’t ready to leave either. In the quiet before the world stirred, she held her child for the first time, skin to skin, breath to breath, and everything else the noise, the past, the ache dissolved into something simpler.

She cried, of course.

Not out of fear. Not from pain.

But because for the first time in her life, she knew what it meant to belong to herself.

Her parents came a few days later. Her mother brought flowers. Her father stood stiffly in the doorway until the baby yawned and he melted into something almost unrecognizable.

Toto didn’t ask questions. Didn’t lecture. Didn’t offer advice.

He simply said, “She’s beautiful.”

Y/N nodded. “Thank you.”

He asked if she wanted the world to know. If she wanted the press handled, the story cleaned up, the headlines ready.

She looked down at her daughter, asleep in her arms, and smiled.

“No,” she said. “I want her to grow up in peace. Just like this.”

So they stayed for a while. Held the baby. Cooked meals. Then they left again, quietly, as requested.

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t a daughter of someone. Or a girl running from love. Or a name in the paddock. Or a mystery to be solved.

She was just Y/N. And she was a mother now.

─── 🏁

Y/N

I used to think freedom was escape. That if I ran far enough, fast enough, I could erase everything that hurt.

But the truth is, freedom is choosing your own ending. It’s waking up in a home you built yourself, even if no one else understands how you got there.

I don’t know if I’ll ever tell them; Oscar, George, Lando. Maybe one day I will. Maybe one day, she’ll ask. And I’ll tell her the story of a summer filled with stars and secrets and three beautiful, messy, unforgettable boys.

But right now, the only thing that matters is this:

I don’t regret anything.

Not the running. Not the falling. Not the leaving. Not the love.

Because every step led me here—

To her.

To me.

[avaf00rd]

Engagement bliss

Leah Williamson x arnold!reader

“You’re gonna call me when you can yeah?” Leah asked as she held both your hands while you leaned into her body. You were both saying goodbye to each other as you were travelling to Florida with your Australian teammates for camp, while Leah would stay in England for Lionesses’s Camp.

Your first camp engaged.

As well as hers, but her first camp back since her ACL injury, you were on the edge of tears at the thought of how proud you were.

“Of course I always do” you said pulling her arms down slightly towards you that held yours, placing a long kiss on her lips

“Don’t loose it ay?” Leah said with a cheeky smile, pulling your left hand up in between your close met faces. Tapping the shiny ring on your finger.

“I won’t. Promise. Ditto yeah?” You said now holding up her hand with the ring you gave to her after she proposed. She interlocked both the hands that were up and kissed your knuckles. “Proud of you” you said softly. Maybe for the 10th time just this morning

“Thank you. I’m proud of you, always, but you know that” she said shrugging with a grin.

“Okay I should go” you said looking at your Watch, “I love you” you said kissing her again, lips lingering longer.

“Love you miss you already” Leah said, causing your face to scrunch up at the corny comment, you pulled away from her embrace and grabbed your suitcase she had wheeled in for you. You blew her a kiss before you walked up to Steph, Caitlin, Charli, Kyra and MacKenzie, your ‘London Aussies’.

“Fucks sake Throw me in front of a speeding truck already” Kyra groaned, dreading the upcoming flight, as you all walked towards your terminal

“Oh?” You and Steph said, concern and confusion.

“It’s just 9 and a half hours darling” you said rubbing the young girl’s head roughly.

“Come on pick up the pace” Caitlin said to the group, skipping, as you were all walking too slow the for the given time left you had the catch boarding

“I can’t” you said slowly as you yawned.

“Leah’s excited I’m assuming?” Your sister Mackenzie asked about Leah’s return to England Camp.

“Over the moon” you smiled as you nodded “I don’t know why she was sappier than usual about me leaving. While she’s barely gonna even think about me in camp”

“Please, The girl’s engaged and captaining England again. Yeah she’s on camp but I promise you she won’t stop thinking about you” she assured you as you both smiled. “Far out I’m gonna get so many messages from that girl, frantic, because she can’t reach you” you both laughed, reminiscing the multiple times that had happened.

“That’s because you always tell her I’ve been kidnapped or something!” “It’s funny!”

November 2023

Leah

Pick up

Why are none of the Arnold’s picking up my fucking calls

Why won’t y/n answer me

Tell me Macca

Pick up

She pinky promised to facetimeeee

Mackenzie

I don’t know she went for

a walk last night in the city

to clear her head and I

haven’t seen her come back yet.

Maybe try her again?

Wasn’t at breakfast

Leah

hehe funny

Macca

I’m serious. We r all concerned

Leah

I’m on a call with her now xx🖕

————————————

You could feel your body starting to give itself out slowly as you grew tired. You had been running some basic drills as you and your national team settled into the first session of the camp.

The Florida weather was nice, felt a bit more like home compared to England, but nothing like the Australian warm weather. You were excited at the reminder that you, Macca, Lani, Caitlin and Hayley would all head to the beach as soon as possible after training.

As you anticipated, all of your teammates that didn’t live in London and could not make it to your engagement dinner were fawning over your ring. Them just as excited as you. The Matilda’s media photographer had gotten you and Ellie to pose with your left hands up for a photo with both your rings.

Heaps of your national trainers commented on the fact that the engagement was radiant on your face and your energy was through the roof, causing you to smile ear to ear.

By the end the session, you were playing a game of 5-aside oztag. You had yourself, Sharn, Teagan, Michelle and Hayley on your team.

“Games over!” You exclaimed laying on the ground, when Caitlin had shoved you to the ground for the 10th time in the 20 minute game.

“Sore loser!” Caitlin yelled as she kicked the ball to your head before you quickly rolled away to dodge Caitlin’s good aim.

“That’s not even how you play” You yelled to your best friend as she made her way back from the try line.

“Yes it is” She laughed, whilst Michelle helped you off the ground.

“Great job today girls. Have a good afternoon I’ll see you tonight” Tony smiled at you all, letting you know you could head back to the bus.

On the bus you were leaned against the window, legs sprawled out against both seats in the row. Talking to Alanna who sat across from you in the same position. “I’m sorry again I couldn’t make it to your dinner last week” she smiled at you.

“Are you kidding me. I understand completely. Getting to see you here is just as amazing for me”

Alanna just laughed. Causing you to scrunch your eyebrows at her, you had only said something sweet.

“You sound so much like her” she laughed

“Who Leah?” You smiled

“Yes!”

“How” you couldn’t help but laugh

“The accent. You sound English now! You’re picking up on her too much. Don’t be turning English on us now y/n” you both laughed. “No but it was a nice offer from her for your dinner. And I love the fact that she told me she was going to propose before she did” Lani grinned.

“Did she actually” you said smiling

“Yes! She made a group chat” she said walking over to you, shifting your legs so they were now on top of her thighs and she took up the seat. Pulling out her phone to show you.

28 March 2024

Leah

Hello

Mackenzie

Hi

Alanna

Hiya

Leah

Alanna I’m gonna do it

Alanna

PROPOSE?!

Leah

yes😌

Alanna

Oh my gosh I’m about to cry

My lord

Oh my gosh she’s gonna be so so happy

She will bawl

Just know that

Oh my goshhhhhh eek eek

Why did you just direct that towards me

Mackenzie

I obviously know

Caitlin

I obviously know

Alanna

Point of the new group chat?

Leah

I don’t know you guys are

just her closest friends and

mean a heap to her so it just felt

right all together

Mackenzie

Aw shucks Leah too kind 🥹🥹

Caitlin

When do u plan on it?

I know you don’t want many

people knowing but i can tell

Katie right?

Too late

I did

She’s tearing up

And Vic and Teyah heard whoops

Leah

Cait!

Oh and this afternoon.

Mackenzie

WHAT THIS IS NEWS

Alanna

OMG

Caitlin

HUH I ANTICIPATED A MONTH

You couldn’t help but laugh at the small group chat your girlfriend has created. The texts managed to go on past your engagement when Mackenzie shared a video of the moment all of your teammates saw you and became obsessed with the ring. Which turned into them ganging up on you about something else, “Hang on” you stopped Lani from scrolling

“Uh uh!” She shoved her phone away making you both laugh.

“You better add me to that chat!”

“Never”

———————————

“Cmon!” you squealed. Pulling Caitlin’s hand as you both sprinted down the sand, Hayley filming the sweet moment. The sunset was electric and perfect. Around 10 of your teammates were already on the beach on a large blanket. Taking loads of photographs of the scenery surrounding you that you had all missed.

After 20 minutes of laying on Kyra’s lap and enjoying the water in front of you, talking with the people you missed most. The left pocket of your shorts started to buzz.

You immediately knew it was your fiancé, so you picked the phone up as you got up and walked away from the group. Every single one of them mocking the way you blushed and picked up the phone saying “hey baby”.

“Shove it up your ass” You yelled back at them as the mocking didn’t stop. You heard Leah’s warm chuckle on the other side of the phone.

“Who was that” she asked

“Most of the girls. They are mocking the way I talk to you” you said into the phone making you both laugh. “Tell me everything! Photos aren’t enough”

Leah talked on for ages about how camp was going for her. Friends, trainings, rooming alone, being engaged at camp, travel and the ‘too spicy’ food. The more she talked the more she managed the full your heart even more.

“What about you?” I’ve talked enough”

“Oh my girl I could listen to you for moths” you said softly “yeah it’s great. I’m very excited to play on Monday. Everyone is ready already” you said before hearing a few moments of silence on her end of the call “Leah?”

She just laughed

“What?”

“I was sent a video of you from a group chat of me, your sister, Alanna and Caitlin. You’re Looking relaxed on the beach there” Leah chuckled

“That damn group chat!” You exclaimed. “Add me to it! I’ve got fomo”

You did happen to be laying on the sand, by yourself, phone pressed up to your ear. In sight of your cheeky teammates. You sat up slightly to give them your middle finger.

“No we have a truce. We can’t add you. You don’t have fomo, you just don’t want us talking about you”

“Yeah fomo!” You said making her laugh again, “ and a truce?!”

“Haven’t lost the ring yet darling?” Leah said in that tone that could send you spinning

“Nup. I’m staring at it right now. Hoping you have yours on”

“Of course” she said

“I understand what everyone means. You really just can’t stop staring at it. Like it’s not even the ring it’s like the fact that it’s my engagement ring. From you”

“I can’t keep my eyes off of it. How could I. It’s a symbol of you” Leah said softly

“I love you. I need to go now they are packing up cause it’s dark now. I miss you Lee, I’m proud of you like you don’t even know”

“I’m proud of you. You call me when you get up in the morning. I’ll be sure to be awake. Love you, miss you”

“Bye” you both said before hanging up and you made your way up to the group that were half way up the beach waiting for you, you smiling in appreciation of it at them.

———————————

Leah

“Have you gotten the photos back?” Georgia asked me as I refreshed my email account on my laptop for the hundredth time.

“No. And it’s kind of frustrating. He’s taking a week longer than he said he would”

“What photos are we talking about?” Mary asked

“The professional photos from Leah’s engagement. They are taking too long apparently” Keira explained

“Mates probably sold them to the internet first” Mary shrugged

“Don’t joke about that” i laughed, worry lingering in my tone

“I thought you wanted the moment to be super private?” Mary asked

“No it was. There was no one else. He came like 20 minutes later, as well as our families. I managed to surprise y/n with her’s” I grinned at the thought of the moment as I explained to the three girls at the table

“Well I’m very excited to see them” Keira said

Me and y/n announced our engagement on our instagram via a simple selfie we took together just 10 minutes after I got down on one knee. She laughed brightly in the photo as we both held our hands with the rings up for the camera, me kissing her cheek, and a tear stained face y/n. As well as me posting a small snippet of the moment I first asked her. I had set my phone down to video, somehow without her batting an eye. We are both all for living in the moment.

But honestly, I knew getting to look back on it in a video would be so special with her.

We agreed we couldn’t keep it in for too long the next day, so could not possibly wait for the professional photos taken. Just two very excited people.

——————————

Y/n

While your Australian Captain and close friend Sam had unfortunately done her ACL, as was still out. You had been given the position to Captain your country whilst her injury. You would also officially Captain your country at the Olympics in July and August.

You were called up alongside Tony for MD-1 press conferences at camp whilst being captain. And you actually really enjoyed them.

“Ready y/n?” Tony asked as you got out of the car and were walking into the stadium. Pulling a thumbs up to the camera crew following you both for the Matilda’s all-access video.

When you were both later settled into the conference room, you shuffled your chair in closer to the microphone before it began. Questions were at first fired at Tony, on camp call up describes and inside training decisions made by the staff.

The first question that was directed to you made you smiled when the short lady started “Hello y/n, just wanted to start by congratulating you and Leah on your engagement last week” she smiled up at you

You laughed slightly and smiled wide back “Thank you very much I appreciate it” you nodded, motioning her to continue with the question before she asked you about the preparations in the team and how the team feels about being in sunny Florida.

“And also the team just- well you know we are coming from all around the world I would say, different seasons. And I know, coming from cold London that it is such a refresher being in this weather for walking around and relaxing purposes I guess”

“And training purposes I’m hoping?” Tony asked, making the room laugh

“That’s the most important one yes” You laughed

After 15 minutes, as the conference was soon to be closed. You got asked a question mentioning your engagement once again. “It’s your first camp being engaged. How does that feel?”

You tried to keep professional and not focus on your own relationship too much, “Yeah the support is real with this team, always is, and it radiates off the happy feeling we all get when we fly to camp. It’s all been, exciting for me and some of the girls have said the same to me so that’s a nice feeling” you said nodding towards her sweetly

“I’m hoping from y/n, this gives her a happy boost to get heaps of goals in on Sunday!” Tony says to you making you laugh and agree.

“We will end it there if there are no more questions, thank you everyone” the media manager announced

“Thank you” you mumbled quietly into your microphone before stepping out of the chair.

Receiving a text from your fiancé one you reached the car outside the stadium waiting to take you back to the hotel.

Leah

Spoken like a true Captain

Y/n

How did u watch that?

Leah

YouTube live darling😌

Y/n

I’ll be sure to watch yours then

——————————

You had played both games against Mexico and were leaving the hotel for the airport. It was 2am and safe to say the last thing you were in the middle for was getting on a nearly 10 hour flight. But the idea of Leah picking you up and getting to spend time with her at the end of the day motivated you not just fall asleep and miss your flight.

“Y/nnnn” Caitlin sung out as she opened your door. Bag of chips in her hand from the vending machine. “Time to go!”

“I could have been changing” you said, unplugging your phone charger from the wall

“Mm” Caitlin nodded, mouth full of chips “you should consider locking this” she tapped the door handle behind her before reaching for your suit case to wheel it out of the room, you following behind the your other bag as you closed the door.

12 hours later, you were finally out of security after they had to open your bag as hey suspected something. Which they were wrong about and apologised. And took out 10 minutes of your time.

All was pushed off your shoulders when you saw your favourite person standing in her jeans, your sweater, her favourite cream Uniqlo bag and a yellow bouquet of flowers in her hand.

It was a tradition for both of you whether Leah was at her own camp or not, she would greet you with a different colour of flowers and open arms at the airport when you reached London once again after camp.

You picked up the pace on your feet before letting go of your suitcase and jumping into her arms, sealing both your lips together with a kiss. Before she hugged you even tighter with a smile as you nuzzled your head into her neck, kissing her shoulder.

“I missed you” you said kicking your feet like a toddler in your fiancé’s arms, which she always found adorable and drove her crazy

“I’m sure I missed you more” she smiled before stealing your lips again and setting you down

“Hmm no” you said. Before she handed you the bouquet. “I love you. Thank you”

“My honour” she patted her chest in a jokingly matter, before you wrapped your arms around her neck again and kissing her for longer, and most definitely not for the last time that evening. “Hey you’ve still got it” she said softly as she held your left hand and caressing the finger the ring laid on.

You nodded with a smile whilst Leah wheeled your suitcase to her car as you walked. “I’m starving” you said watching her lift the suitcase into the trunk before you both settled inside the car.

“Good thing there is food in the back seat” you grinned, Leah turning on the car, you shot your head to the back seat to be met with nothing but some rubbish from Leah that had been there for weeks.

“Where?” You asked

“I’m joking” she mumbled before you slapped her shoulder hard “ow I’m about to drive” Leah whined

“That’s not funny!” You laughed

“You’re right it’s not. Let’s go get food now” Leah smiled at you sweetly and rubbing your thigh whilst she drove.

“Fine with me!” You smiled contently before grabbing the hand that rested on you before bringing it to your lips and kissing it “thank you fiancé”

Leah chuckled at the comment, making her cheeks warm up “that won’t stop until we actually get married will it?” She said

“Nah”

[hadersversion]

II. i can fix him (no really i can)

“and i could see it from a mile away, a perfect case for my certain skillset.”

pairing: rafe cameron x innocent pogue! reader

word count: ?? (NOT PROOFREAD)

warnings: 18+ minors dni!! language, soft rafe cameron because my boy just needs some love, slow burn

masterlist!

it has been a week since my last interaction with rafe cameron.

"i'm here to see you."

those five words rang out through my head in every instance it possibly could. walking to work, brushing my teeth, getting ready for bed, in the shower. it felt like he was an annoying bug buzzing in my ear.

the bell to the gas station opens and i straighten my posture, trying to push the thoughts of rafe to the back of my head.

"hey, y/n." i see pope's head pop through the aisles as he searches for something.

i smile at him. "hey there, pope. what brings you in here today?"

i watch as he walks down each aisle, mentally scratching things off his list. "the guys and i are going on the boat today, i offered to buy some snacks."

"buying snacks could only mean one thing." i cock an eyebrow towards him.

"jj got some new weed." we say in unison, locking eyes and laughing.

pope brings up the item towards me, handing them to me to ring up. "well have fun and be safe out there. the total is $10.78 and tell jj that just because he sent you in does not mean i will give the discount." i point my finger.

pope holds his hands up and laughs. i turn around to grab a bag for his stuff as i hear the door open again. "it was worth a shot. you know i-" pope stops mid-sentence, almost like he was silenced.

"do i know what?" i turn around and see rafe standing behind pope, looking him up and down. out the window, i see john b and jj sticking their heads out in a protective manner. we both stay silent under rafe's cold glare. i quickly bag up the items, handing them over to pope. "y'all be safe out there." i force a smirk as i feel rafe's eyes on me.

pope nods and walks out of the store, hopping back in the van. john b shoots me a look, asking if i'll be okay with his eyes. i nod, signaling for him to go. i can see jj protest it.

rafe walks up, not saying a word. "what can i help you with today?" i say with a shaky voice.

he smiles slightly. "had to get gas, wanted to put $20 on pump 2."

i glare at him, narrowing my eyes at him. "really?"

he shrugs. "what? a man can't get gas for his truck?" he steps closer to the counter, his stomach touching up against it like he's trying to get closer to me.

i don't say a word, just shoot a quick look to see if the guys are still there.

they are.

it's like having three annoying brothers.

my eyes look back to rafe as he stares down at me. i rest my arms against the counter, trying not to blush. "i mean, technically, any person has the right to get gas. but you, rafe, never come over to this side of the island unless you're here to fuck around or mess with someone. so, i'm a little suspicious." i admit.

he licks his lips as he chuckles. "honesty?" he asks, similarly to the night we last spoke.

"you know i love it." i say, bluntly.

"just wanted to check in on my favorite pogue." he says in a whisper, sliding across the $20 bill. "and to get gas for my truck."

i feel like my body is on fire just from his glare. i take his money, without breaking eye contact. "you got it. $20 on pump 2." i repeat.

he smiles again and damn him for the effect it has over me. he looks over to my friends in the van and then back at me. "they don't seem to catch a hint, huh?' he waves at them jokingly, which jj does not seem to like.

"can you blame them? you came in here like the terminator or some shit." i say.

"have you ever seen the terminator?" he asks.

i rub the back of my neck, looking at my shoes. "uh, no."

"figures because that reference does not make any sense." he jokes, making me blush. i try to hide my face and he taps the counter. "come on, now, it was a joke. don't hide that pretty face away from me."

my heart skipped a beat as i felt my ears burn. the awkwardness i'm feeling is exuding from my body like it's leaking out of my pores. "w-whatever, you know what i mean. you don't always have to look so mean, ya know? acting like something crawled up your ass."

he lets out a breathe of air with a belly laugh. "don't pretend like you don't like it."

it's like he can see through me and i hate it. "y-you can go fill your tank now." i say, trying to ignore the tension he created.

"but i wanna stay here and talk with you some more." he looks me up and down.

"as fun as it would be, i'm on the clock. my pop would kill me if he knew i'm talking to boys when i should be working." i say to him.

he nods, looking around the store. "how about i take you out?"

all i can do is laugh.

what else is there to do in a situation like this?

he has to be joking. there is no way he's seroius.

"what's so funny?" he seems almost annoyed.

i shake my head, trying to calm my laughter down. "you...wanting to take me...out. that's a good one."

"i was being serious."

"and the sky is purple. oh! and unicorns are real." i say sarcastically.

he stands straight, his demeanor changing. "y/n, i wanna take you out. no jokes, no pranks, no bullshit."

i stand there, my expression dropping. "you're serious?" he nods, making me cross my arms. "why?"

"i-i don't know, because i want to get to know you? i don't know." he holds his arms up. my body seems to just shut down, unable to move or process anything. "y/n? hello?" rafe stands there impatiently.

"no." i say, flatly.

he sticks his head out, closing his eyes. "w-what?"

"no." i repeat.

"why?" he asks, now crossing his arms.

i turn around, grabbing items that need to be restocked. "for starters, because i can." i walk past him as he follows after me. "but most importantly, i was not born yesterday." i put the items back on the shelf as he looks at me. "listen, you are a very attractive guy. like super attractive. but, i know your end goal. i know you're only doing this to fuck with me and my friends. i appreciate the offer but no."

it pains me to say no when all i want to do is say yes, but i need to think with my head.

i expect him to retaliate, push back on what i said. but all he does is nod and back up. "understood. but respectfully, y/n, you will change your mind. might not be now or anytime in the future, but it'll happen." i look at him, he wears that same cocky expression he always does. "thanks for the gas, see you around."

i watch as he turns around, going out the door he came in.

he has something up his sleeve and i cannot tell if i'm excited or nervous for it.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

the sun slowly begins to rise over the ocean as i park my bike at the beach.

i take my sandals off, walking over the cool sand to my usual spot when i see a figure sitting there. i cant make out who it is. i clutch my bag closer to my body. no one is ever here this early with me.

as i walk closer, i see the blonde head that made my head swirl.

“rafe?” i ask.

“there you are. i was wondering if i got the wrong spot.” he says, calm and collected.

i just stare at him, unable to process what the hell is happening. “w-what are you doing here?”

he shrugs. “i’m here to watch the dolphins.”

my hands find my hips. “rafe.”

“what? it’s so hard to believe i came here to see the dolphins?” he says, causing me to cock my eyebrow and give him a suspicious look.

“actually it is very hard to believe. you waking up at the ass crack of dawn to watch dolphins? it’s a little strange.” i say to him. “especially given the last conversation we had. how did you even know where to find me?”

he shifts in his seat. “the first time we met.”

“what?”

“that day on the beach, you told me you were here to watch the dolphins. i watched you sit down and remembered this was the spot. your spot.” he admits.

i stand there, my heart fluttering in my chest. why is he so observant with me? “so you decided to come join me unannounced?” he nods at my question. “kinda creepy.”

i can see his face drop and he sighs, rubbing his jaw. “well, i can leave if you really want me to. i didn’t mean t-”

he cuts himself off when i open my bag and grab my towel, setting it down next to him. “no need, you’re already out here.” i place my stuff next to the towel and find my spot.

we sit beside each other in silence, staring out into the ocean ahead of us. the sky is a mixture of blue and yellow, radiating a soft filter onto our skins. there’s no sign of any life in the ocean, only the seagulls flying overhead. i play with a loose thread on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, trying to cope with this awkward tension between us when an idea pops into my head. i grab my strawberry shortcake lunchbox that i’ve had since i was a kid and open it. i hear rafe chuckle and i shoot him a dirty look before grabbing my blueberry muffin out of it. i unwrap it from its plastic and split it into two. “wanna go halfsies?”

he stares down at the pastry in my hand and softly grabs it. “t-thanks.” we eat in silence, looking everywhere and anywhere but at each other. “so you do this every day?” he asks and i nod. “even if it rains?” he looks over at me.

“sometimes, depending on the condition. it keeps me at ease. like a getaway.” i admit. “don’t you have something that you use to like…i don’t know. escape. forget about the world for a few hours?”

he sighs, his feet shuffling in the sand. “kind of? but it’s nothing as peaceful as this.”

“really? what is it?” i ask curiously.

he laughs softly to himself and shakes his head. “it’s uh….it’s something to take the edge off i guess.”

i look at him, trying to connect the dots. “what is it?”

he closes his eyes and shakes his head. he looks like he wants to tell me but holds back. “how long have you been doing this?” he changes the subject rather quickly.

i’m taken aback by the sudden change but i can tell it’s something he’d rather not talk about it. a dirty little secret, perhaps. “hmm, well…probably when i was in 5th grade? middle school was…rough to say the least.” i let out a light laugh. “home life got rough, the usual shit. i was at a sleepover for this girl who invited me as a joke and i just couldn’t sleep. so i got on my bike and rode around the island, not sure where to go. it was too early to head home and nothing was opened yet, so i sat on the beach. that’s when i saw how calm it was.”

rafe just stares at me, a neutral expression on his face. “wow.”

i suddenly realized how much baggage i just dropped on him. my face heated up as i tried to collect my scrambled thoughts. “sorry, i didn’t mean to like…dump on you.” i stammer out.

rafe gently puts his hand on my knee, trying to pull me back to earth. “hey, hey, it’s all good. no need to apologize. we all got our shit.” he reassures me. “i’m just…i don’t know? glad…you felt comfortable enough to tell me about that.”

i stare at his hand on my knee. his fingers running slow circles into it, giving me the comfort i needed in that second. “i usually am not so open about this shit. i find it better to keep bottled up.” i say truthfully.

“i’m with you on that one, believe me.” a comfortable silence falls between us, our eyes meeting and staying connected. it feels as though we are the only two people in existence right now. his hand still rests on my leg as my breath hitches. i can feel his face moving in closer to me. do i want him to kiss me? yes. absolutely. 100%. but the voice in my head was screaming at me to stop.

what would your friends do if they saw you like this? this is rafe fucking cameron. you can’t be kissing the enemy. he’s the definition of BAD NEWS.

it pounded in my head until our noses touched and i closed my eyes tight.

i can’t.

i quickly turn away, looking back out to the ocean. my chest rising up and down, the almost kiss making me loose my breathe. “look! there’s a few now!” it was my turn to change the subject.

i don’t turn my head back to him. just staring straight ahead, trying not to replay what almost happened. he just stays there, in the same position. i can hear him blow out a breathe of air and shake his head, turning towards the direction i’m talking about. “oh shit, that’s cool.” he says monotone.

the sun is fully risen above our heads, the temperature is rising and the beach is slowly welcoming more visitors. rafe and i haven’t said a word since the kiss that was so close to happening.

i slowly start to gather my things, cleaning off the sand from my legs. rafe copies me, wiping the sand off of him. we walk up the path, i’m cautiously looking around to see if any of my friends are around. i can see rafe just staying at his feet. we walk up to bike stand and pause.

“let me give you a ride home.” he offers.

i shake my head. “i live in the complete opposite direction of you, it wouldn’t make any sense. i really appreciate it though.”

he stands there, giving me a stern look. “wouldn’t be very gentleman like if i didn’t. i really don’t mind.” i look at my bike and back at him. he’s almost pleading with me to accept the ride. “c’mon.”

i won’t lie and say his puppy dog look didn’t have any effect on me. i sigh, giving in. “fine.” he walks my bike over to his truck, loading it into the bed. i then walk over to the passenger door but he beats me to it, opening it for me. i blush slightly and laugh. “and they say chivalry is dead.” rafes body is dangerously close to mine, i can feel him looking down at me.

“clearly they haven’t met me yet.” he winks back.

the car ride is quiet, yet again.

there’s millions of things we probably want to say to each other but just can’t bring ourselves to do so. so we let it consume us.

i stare out the window as we drive deeper into the island and into the cut. when rafe finally pulls up to my house, he looks over at me and back to my house. i expect a dirty look. one of disgust or even pity. but he doesn’t, shockingly, he just has a soft look on his face. “thank you for letting me drive you home.” he says to me.

“i should be thanking you. saved me a few mile bike ride.” i chuckle. his eyes stare into mine, yet again. i could get lost in those baby blue but i have to fight the urge.

he licks his lips smoothly and nods. “let me get your bike.” he hops out of the truck and runs around to my side of the truck, opening my door for me yet again. i stand there awkwardly as he grabs my bike. “where do you want me to put this?”

“over there is fine.” i point next to my front door. he nods and sets it down. he walks back up to me and stands there. we both don’t know what to say. “thanks for dropping by today, even though it was creepy and unexpected.” i joke.

he laughs and nods his head. “yeah, yeah. don’t pretend you didn’t like my company.” he nudges my shoulder. “i just…i wanted to spend sometime with you.” he admits. “as corny as it sounds.”

“rafe…” i trail off, knowing where this is going to leave.

“y/n, it’s fine. i don’t want to push you or make you uncomfortable. i just…i want to get to know you. i don’t know, i don’t think that’s so wrong?” he says.

he’s right, it’s not so wrong. but…he’s him and i’m me. it just won’t work.

“still not completely convinced this isn’t apart of some plot to completely eliminate the pogues.” i say.

“well i guess i have to earn your trust.” he says to me softly.

i look up at him and smile. “i’ll see you around.”

“i’m counting on it.” he says.

i walk into my door, turning around to wave at him. he hangs on the side of his opened door, waving back with a smile on his face. i’ve seen rafe smile more times today than my entire life knowing him.

once i get inside, i hear his truck pull off and i let out a big sigh of air i didn’t know i was keeping. my skin felt like it was on fire, my mind racing a mile a minute. was i finally seeing rafe cameron as a human being? a human being that i want to spend time with? laugh with? have memories with?

i had to be going crazy. there had to be something in my water. or in the air.

or maybe, just maybe….rafe cameron was a good guy after all. or a guy that could be good with a little bit of help from me.

tag list: @readingsmuts @saranred @kikixdee @drewsdirtyslut @ephermally @personaswrld @ymnizuh @lillywildly @anaheimd101 @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @thewitchesofart @ditzyzombiesblog @gothamgurl2024

[matsookawa]

Title: How Exciting

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,033

Summary: Mihawk's wife has some life-altering news that has him on the edge of his seat in an emergency Cross Guild meeting.

Note: This was a request.

Despite having the last fifteen years as proof that her husband would move Heaven and Earth if it meant she was happy, the fear settling into her stomach is making that knowledge difficult to hold on to. She sits at a table in the conference room, her husband on the other end. It’s silent and [Y/N] has chosen to remain expressionless. It’s a blessing and curse to have a partner who can read every minute thing your body does, but right now it’s a curse. She can feel his eyes burning into her, yet hers remain locked on a one-inch scuff next to her hand where she’s been tapping her finger for the past five minutes. It’s the only indication of her nervousness, a trait not common in the typically steadfast woman.

The man, Dracule Mihawk, opens his mouth to inquire about her behavior and why she called an emergency meeting. Before a sound comes out, the conference room doors slam open. [Y/N]’s hand slaps down on the table and Mihawk is somewhat grateful he does not have to continue enduring the endless tapping. What he is not grateful for is the clown taking a seat at the table next to his wife, while their glorified accountant with a hook-hand sits on her other side. His eyes narrow and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What is this?”

[Y/N] takes a deep breath and clasps her hands on the table. Crocodile and Buggy look to her, clearly waiting for her to speak first. Mihawk immediately fears the worst. ‘Is she…. leaving me?’ His heart jumps into his throat at the thought. “I’m not leaving you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He breathes a tiny sigh of relief. “Buggy and Croc are only here as witnesses in case of legal retaliation.”

“What are you referring to, [Y/N]?” He is utterly confused and she decides it’s best to put him out of his misery. She locks him in with a hard gaze. The one she usually reserves for foes, however he can see her clench her jaw and hesitate. “There’s a bit of a… situation. One that has the potential to change things going forward.” Crocodile and Buggy’s sights set on Mihawk. His mind is a maze with each direction leading him to a horrible conclusion as to what this all must be about. ‘She is termin-‘ “I’m not terminally ill, Dracule.” He hears the clown mumble a “How do you do that?” under his breath. Mihawk decides the best option is to wait until she’s ready. After exactly thirty-six ticks of the wall clock, [Y/N] speaks.

“I’m seven weeks pregnant.”

His breathing stops, yet he remains narrow-eyed and if [Y/N] didn’t know him so well, it would intimidate her. It’s fortunate she can hold her own against anyone, even him. “And I know you do not want children. You made that very clear. So, I’ve called this meeting to announce my resignation as a member and negotiate the division of our marital assets. Buggy and Crocodile can sign as witnesses of the decision and I’ll file this with the local court.”

Mihawk sits up straight, his brain now catching up. “You think so little of me that one off-hand comment I made fifteen years ago means that your only option when you’re with child is divorce.” It’s not a question. [Y/N] swallows hard, her confident façade beginning to fall. “You have too many responsibilities. To the Cross Guild, to Zoro-“ “[Y/N].”

His chair scrapes as he stands. He rounds the table and Buggy slides his chair out of the way to make space for Mihawk to kneel beside her. Her breaths become deep and trembling and she struggles to hold his steely gaze. “I clearly have failed as a husband if that is your belief. Have I not made my unwavering fidelity and devotion to you clear? Do you not understand that every morning before you wake is spent pondering how I got so lucky to find a partner who not only understands every facet of who I am, but doesn’t seek to change it?” She has a white-knuckle grip on the armrest of her chair and tears brim her eyes at his words. He lays a hand over hers. “[Y/N], I was not in a place all those years ago to have a child. I was young and had no ambition until you came along. We’re now two of the strongest warlords on the four seas. Between your intelligence and my strength, we can handle a child.”

Tears fall over her cheeks and a choked sob escapes her. “I just didn’t want to force you into this, Dracule.” Mihawk sighs through his nose and closes his eyes for a moment. They open once more and settle on her. “I love you, [Y/N]. I am in this just as much as you are.” The woman emits a loud cry and throws her arms around him, allowing herself to slide out of the chair. He’s able to catch her and hold her in his lap. She cries into his shirt and he looks up to his associates. “You two can leave. There is nothing to witness.”

Crocodile takes a puff of his cigar and nods towards the door. This cues Buggy to stand, the hook-handed man doing the same. “We can discuss the new arrangements in due time, Mihawk. Enjoy the pregnancy while it lasts. You’ll miss it later.” Said man is tempted to ask why Crocodile sounds particularly forlorn, but lets it go as he exits. They’re close, but not that close.

[Y/N] pulls her face away from his shoulder and wipes her face with the back of her hand. She’s finished crying, but can’t help but still feel a little daunted by the entire situation. She swallows hard and looks at him while he softly gazes at her and pushes some tear-ridden strands of hair behind her hair. “You’re sure you’re up for this? It’s going to be exhausting, unrelenting, and terrifying, Dracule.” A soft smile pulls at his lips and he holds the side of her face in his hand.

“Then it will be our most exciting adventure yet.”

Note: I have a headcanon that Buggy actually does know when to keep quiet. I've also always had this idea of Crocodile having a past lover, but their relationship ending in tragedy. Feel free to request more info or a fic on that. I write more than just Mihawk, ya know.

[parkomax]

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[confiaenanaa]

Hello,how are you? I saw your post asking for fic ideas so here's one I hope you like it

Assistant reader who has worked with Eminem since the beginning of his career, the public and his kids love her, the kids always goes to her for advice and see her as part of the family . Marshall admires her and her relationship with his kids, He has always been attracted to her, but he respects her a lot and thinks she can find someone better, They are very close and know each other like no one else. They have fight a few times but she would always go to him and put some sense into his head and they would make up. Maybe she could have an accident or become very ill and end up in the hospital, he is terrified at the prospect of losing her. They get so stressed about the situation that they have a very serious fight, he says a lot of shit and she sends him away. A few days pass and they don't talk to each other, he didn't want to apologize and decided to wait until she came back and fix the things like she always did, but the things he said during the fight really hurt her and she decided to resign from her assistant position, she sent an email with the details of her contract termination.

You decide what happens next.

PS: I really loved your writing, sorry for the long request, I like to detail things, if you don't like the idea or don't feel comfortable writing this you can completely ignore it please.

Hugs and bye (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

my assistant - eminem

fem!y/n x Marshall Mathers

masterlist

synopsis: Y/N is Marshall's assistant. They're close and best friends until something goes wrong in her life...

A/N: hi! I know it's been a while, i've been super stressed with finals and stuff but i'm finally back on track and I wrote this. there's more to come since I have a ton of requests to have fun with! hope you enjoy this one. and i'm so glad to hear you liked my writing!

-Marsh!

-What?!

-Dre’s on the phone for you! Something about needing you to re-record something!

Marshall groaned from his office. Y/N giggled at his antics, he really could be a grump at times. She continued to put away files and work on his busy schedule, something she’d done every day for years. 

Y/N had been Marshall’s assistant since what felt like forever, and it sort of was. Ever since his career took off, she’d been by his side. She did her job well, and never gave anyone on the team any reason to doubt her abilities. Not to mention she was always the go-to for advice. Marshall was always asking for advice; situations big or small, his mind always went to call Y/N. And his kids did the same. And his friends. And his team. 

The public always wondered about their relationship, about what happened behind closed doors. “She and I are just close friends. That’s all.” And truthfully, that was all there was to it. They were friends. Though he’d often find himself wondering and daydreaming about what it’d feel like if they were more, he always stopped himself before it could get any deeper. He knew she deserved better. She was smart, kind, and hilarious. Surely, she’d find another man more attractive and muscular and smarter and funnier. Surely, she wouldn’t want a man like him. But, in actuality, they were both stuck in a cycle of feeling this way. She felt he deserved someone who related to him more. Someone prettier, someone more famous. Why would he want an accountant when he could easily have a bombshell? 

Everyone around them knew how they felt about each other, except, apparently, them. They knew each other inside and out. Marshall knew all of her nervous tics; like her lip biting, finger picking, leg bouncing, pen tapping, and arm crossing. And, in return, she knew all of his icks; loud chewing, gum popping, loud singing, loud speaking, fingernail tapping, and slurping. They could read one another like books, unless, of course, it came to romance. 

Y/N had been to enough family dinners at his house to know this. She was basically a Mathers herself. She became a Mathers when Hailie got her first period and Marshall had no clue on what to do. When she told him what to buy at the supermarket while she washed Hailie’s bed sheets and clothes. When she helped Hailie with her first breakup. And she became a Mathers when Marshall started his journey with sobriety and she was with him the whole time. Marshall admired her greatly. He admired her bravery and courage, her kindness and empathy, her ambition and perseverance, it seemed like everything life threw at her, she could easily push past it. He respected her a lot. He also respected how much a perfectionist she was. She made sure her nails were properly painted and if not they looked well groomed; cuticles always cut, nails long and strong, filed to perfection. Her hair was done meticulously, clearly also well taken care of. Her skin had a light glow to it. Marshall admired this for years. He admired and respected every aspect about her, she was like family to him. 

However, like friends and family do, there were always a few quarrels. When Y/N was on her period and already in a sour mood, and Marshall decided that would be a good day to be a brat and complain about everything. Y/N adored him, but he could be really childish at times. He whined one too many times and she’d snapped at him. It escalated into an argument that Dre had to promptly break up. Or when Marshall was upset because he had writer's block and Y/N asked if it was really that hard to write a song. He snapped at her too. But, in the end, they always made up. In all honesty, it was usually Y/N that would fix things. She’d go over to him and no matter who was right or wrong, she’d say it was silly and smack him upside the head for staying upset. 

The symptoms started mild. A bit of dizziness and fatigue. Walking up the stairs got harder, standing up suddenly quickly became a threat. Marshall and the others had noticed it, but decided not to mention anything. Health business is private business. Then, she started getting weaker. She was fatigued after just walking from the office back to her desk. She got pale. She no longer had that glow to her. Hailie asked Marshall what was wrong, but even he didn’t know. 

She was always short of breath. When she talked, she occasionally slurred her words. She’d stumble through the hallway, just trying to make it back to her desk. This went on for months. In the beginning, Marshall took the pallor and fatigue as stress and exhaustion from work. He no longer complained, instead taking on some of her duties in an attempt to alleviate her. He saw nothing changed, in fact, it only worsened. 

She started having heart palpitations. They became more frequent as the weeks flew by. When she’d hug her friends or set a hand down on someone’s arm, they’d notice that they were cold as ice. Her nails, something she once cared for, were now brittle. Her hair, once shiny and well put together, was now thinning and falling like a withering tree in the fall. 

Almost a year had passed since the symptoms started. It was a somewhat normal day in the studio. Y/N walked in with Marshall’s weekly schedule in hand. Today, the windows weren’t coated with curtains like they usually were. Today, Marshall saw Y/N in the natural light. He noticed how pale she’d become. How her hair was now messy and thinned. How she looked almost malnourished. 

He loved her the same, but he was concerned. He asked her to sit beside him on the couch, looking towards the others in the studio. Certainly the others had to have noticed her dire state. She sat carefully, moving slowly in an attempt to not exhaust herself too much. Her eyes darted around the room in confusion. Why was everyone looking at her like that? 

She sat there for a while, when she realized she needed to finish a document for Paul. 

-Shit!

-What? What’s wrong?

-I need to finish that paper for Paul. I’ll see you guys later.

Y/N stood up madly. Suddenly, she felt her body numb slightly and her eyes roll into the back of her head. She felt dizzy and everything around her felt surreal. She attempted to take a step forward, but instead, her entire body fell forward. Next thing she knew, it all went black. 

Marshall saw her stand up. She looked like she was going to hurl. She fell forward and with a thud, she hit the carpeted floor. Everyone in the room ran to her. There was a bustle of voices. Pandemonium broke out. Someone called an ambulance. Marshall couldn’t remember much, but what he did know was that now he was sitting in a hospital lobby. Awaiting any news about his best friend. 

The realization settled in. The panic came along with it. He realized that his best friend (and sort of the love of his life) was in a hospital bed right now, unsure of whether or not she’ll make it out of here. He knew he couldn’t lose her.

-It’s anemia. Her case was pretty severe, since it was left untreated for 11 months. She had an iron deficiency, most likely from not eating properly. It could’ve become deadly if she’d left it untreated for too long. 

-Anemia?

Marshall couldn’t believe it. All of the signs were there and he never did anything about it. As soon as they let him know she was conscious, he ran into the room. He saw her in the bed and felt a wave of emotions. He felt sad knowing that she was hurting, he felt happy that she was okay, and he felt rage that she let this get that bad and that he hadn’t noticed.

-Hey, Marsh. 

-Hey. Did you know you had anemia?

-Wow. Straight to the point. Um, not specifically but, like, I knew there was something wrong.

Marshall started to become upset. How was she so casual about this? If anemia is left untreated, it can result in death.

-And you didn’t do anything about it?

-Well, no. I didn’t expect anything serious?

-The doctor told me that you could’ve died if you didn’t treat it. And he said it was because you weren’t eating. Why weren’t you eating?

-Look, Marsh, I just assumed that it would go away after a while. I didn’t even notice it had gotten that bad. And I mean, I haven’t really had an appetite. I’ve been working a lot and I just think I was stressed. 

-Well, you should’ve told me you were feeling overworked! I could’ve helped you! You could’ve died Y/N! Doesn’t that go through your head!

-I’m sorry! I didn’t think it was that deep! 

-Yeah? Well it was. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. I came here thinking you got some crazy disease. I was so worried.

-I can’t control my appetite Marsh. And you didn’t have to come.

-Yeah, well, when you’re on your deathbed, alone, you’ll wish you might’ve listened to me. 

Y/N’s mouth stayed slightly ajar after that last comment. How could he say that to her? He saw the look on her face and immediately regretted it. He knew he was doing wrong. He knew that it was a terrible thing to say.

-Look, Y/N, I’m so sor-

-Get out.

-What?

-Get out, Marsh. Leave.

And leave he did. He went home that day and had a long night of processing. He concluded that he had a point, but he should’ve phrased it better; he also should have picked a better time to say it. But he didn’t want to apologize. For some unknown reason, he couldn’t find it within himself to go to her and apologize. Eventually, a week had passed. He figured that she’d come to him soon and they’d make up. However, he was proven wrong when he received an email that Paul had forwarded him that morning. The title read “My Resignation”. He began to panic, calling her and sending her countless texts.  

He then called Paul, hoping it was a mistake.

-Look, man. I don’t know what you said or did to her, but it must’ve been pretty fucked up. You better go apologize to her now. 

Marshall quickly hopped into his car and drove to her house. He parked his car in her driveway, seeing she was home. He knocked on the door furiously, hoping to get ahold of her. She opened the door only a few inches. Enough to see his face. She was about to close the door when he pushed it open. She stumbled back a bit. 

-What the hell do you want Marsh?

-Look, Y/N, I came to apologize. I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner. I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean any of the bullshit I said. I was just scared. I never meant to hurt you or make you feel bad. Especially since you were the one in the hospital bed. When I was the one in trouble, you never did any of that shit to me. I’m so sorry Y/N.

Y/N sighed deeply. As upset as she was with him, she couldn’t stay mad. She was starting to look like her old self again, Marshall realized. She got her glow back, her hair was looking thicker; she looked like she did before. Still a little thin, but back to somewhat normal. 

Y/N smiled weakly. She knew she couldn’t be mad at him forever, and this was silly. Marshall looked at her face, smiling, and he realized just how much he loved her. He looked at every feature he’d fallen in love with; her eyes, bright and curious, her lips, pretty and cute, her cheeks, slightly indented with all the smiling she does, but still beautiful. He knew he needed her, and without thinking, he leaned down and connected his lips with hers. It was passionate and sweet. The kiss contained all the words that need not be spoken. When he pulled back, she was smiling like an idiot, wide eyed. 

He knew that from then on, he would love her a little harder.

[anon-188]

pairing: AJ x f!reader | genre: smut ❤️‍🔥 | wc: about 4k

summary: your week-long business trip was supposed to be a quick pause—not a trigger. but distance has a way of making desire burn hotter. and, for the record, AJ has always been a patient man—just not when it comes to you.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), slow burn, smut with plot, sexting, mentions of phone sex, unprotected sex, public sex (car), heavy grinding, explicit language, possessive behavior, hair pulling, praise, dirty talk, light roughness, soft dominance, emotional tension, mild exhibitionism (tinted windows), brief aftercare (barely. seriously, don’t blink or else you’ll miss it).

a/n: this one is a little lengthy (just like AJ). (kidding!! kind of…) anyway! i hope you guys enjoy it ♡

→ fluff version 🤍

You were away on a business trip—a full week in New York. The kind of trip that made your schedule implode the second the call came in. Last minute. Barely a heads-up. One second you were making dinner for yourself on a quiet evening, the next you were tearing through your apartment like a storm, tossing heels into a carry-on and cursing yourself for not knowing where the hell your laptop charger had gone.

Between folding blouses and hunting down your toiletries, you grabbed your phone and called AJ. The moment he picked up, you launched into your explanation—half-breathless, half-apologetic. You told him about the meeting, the last-minute flight, how you wouldn’t even have time to see him before you left. “I’m sorry,” you said, genuinely. You meant it.

And he took it in stride. Of course he did.

“It’s fine,” he replied smoothly. “Work’s work. I get it.”

And that was that.

No fight. No frustration. Just acceptance. And sure, that was nice. It was mature. It made things easier. But still, something in you sank a little. You had hoped for a little pushback—just enough to prove he cared that you were going. Enough to say, I’ll miss you, without actually saying it.

But maybe you weren’t there yet. Maybe a few months wasn’t long enough for the “don’t go” stuff.  Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself.

Or at least… that’s what you thought.

Because by the end of your trip, it was like you were talking to a different man. Gone was the space, the careful distance. In its place were back-to-back texts, calls that started early and never seemed to stop, breathless voice notes, pictures that weren’t exactly safe for work. No matter where you were—client meeting, lunch, your hotel bed—his presence followed you, constant, like he couldn’t help himself. And maybe he couldn’t.

Even now, in the chaotic hum of the airport, he had you ducking into the nearest bathroom. Inside, the sound of suitcase wheels rolling over tile outside mixed with the buzz of your phone vibrating in your palm. The message had been his version of simple: “Just one more. Help me get through the next few hours.”

And so—you did.

You leaned against the stall door, the lock barely holding, your heart pounding like you were doing something criminal. Your fingers tugged your dress down—your office dress, sleek and still warm from a full day of work—just enough to reveal the lace edge of your bra, black and delicate against flushed skin. The lighting wasn't great, but you knew your angles. You tilted the camera just right, a hint of collarbone, a glimpse of cleavage, just enough of your expression to make his blood run hot. Your lips were parted slightly, eyes heavy. You snapped the photo. Sent it.

This will have to hold you over, you typed.

Then you yanked your dress back up, adjusted your bag, and hauled ass to your gate. By the time you boarded, your face was still flushed from more than just the rush of barely making your flight.

When you finally landed back in L.A., the familiar hum of the airport wrapped around you. As you passed the terminal doors, you turned your phone back on, ready to order an Uber like you did when you arrived a week ago. 

But before your thumb could even tap the app, your screen lit up with a flood of notifications—all from AJ.

“I’m already here.”

“No need for an Uber.”

“Terminal 4. Lower level. I’m by the black Benz. You’ll see me.”

You stared at the messages for a second, blinking against the brightness of the screen, trying to process the words like they were in another language.

Your heart thudded in your chest—not just from surprise but something deeper, sharper, hungrier. He was here. At the airport. Waiting for you. And suddenly, all those plans to keep your cool dissolved with every step you took in the direction he told you.

Sure, you were excited to see him. Obviously. But that didn’t undo the tension—the sharp, coiled heat that had wrapped around both of you over the past week like a fuse lit from both ends. You’d sent each other pictures—filthy ones, brazen, shameless, the kind you couldn’t believe came from you when you scrolled back in the quiet moments.

And AJ—God, he was worse. His photos had a weight to them. Like the one where you could see just the edge of a tattoo-covered forearm braced against a shower wall, water running down his chest, captioned with nothing but: “Thinking about your mouth.” Or the several other ones he sent: shots of his inked abdomen, the waistband of his sweats riding low, his hand wrapped around himself, veins and tensed muscles on full display.

Then there was the phone calls. Late at night, low and raspy and downright dirty, filled with everything he planned to do to you when you got back into the city. What he’d make you beg for. What he’d ruin for you. And even through all that, you knew—you felt it—there was still more he wasn’t saying yet. Still more waiting under the surface, ready to boil over the second you saw each other again.

So yeah, you were excited to see him.

But you also thought you’d have a breather—a buffer, at least a few hours—to decompress, to step off the plane and slip into your routine again. To pull yourself together. Recalibrate. Figure out what you wanted to say when you finally laid eyes on him.

Instead, you were walking straight into the fire.

You found him exactly where he said he would be—leaning against his car, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd with a kind of casual impatience that didn't fool you for a second. His black shirt clung to him just right, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos peeking out beneath the fabric. He stood up straight as you approached, already moving, already reaching. No words at first—just a smooth, easy step forward, the weight of your carry-on plucked from your shoulder.

“I told you you didn’t have to come pick me up,” you said, already a little breathless, half-laughing, trying not to let your body give away too much. “I would’ve taken an Uber home.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and casual. “But I wanted to.”

He said it like it was no big deal, like he hadn’t completely overridden your plan, like he wasn’t currently radiating the kind of heat that had your skin prickling. Then he leaned in and kissed you—soft, gentle, lips just brushing against yours in a kiss that didn’t match anything he’d been saying to you over the phone this past week. Not when he’d described in slow, explicit detail how he planned to bend you over every surface in his apartment, fucking you until your voice broke, your legs shook, and you forgot every word that wasn’t his name.

And that thought cycled—burned—through your brain as he started the drive. The city blurred past as he pulled into traffic, the radio humming low, a beat too calm for what was crackling in the air between you. You tried to breathe through it, tried to act like being back in this car, next to him, wasn’t already dragging you straight back under.

He joked about making a pit stop at his place—since it was closer than yours—but there was nothing casual in the way he said it.

You could hear it in the grit of his tone, the way it dipped just slightly, dragging heat up your spine. And you could feel it in the way his hand slid across the center console, fingers curling around your thigh like he needed something to ground him. 

Conversation came in short bursts. You asked about his day. He asked about your flight. You both triedto sound normal. But every time you locked eyes, it was there again. That thing. That edge, that breathless, parted-mouth ache for what had been building between you both for days.

And you thanked god right then and there that he didn’t live far.

Because your body was already leaning into the tension, already burning. His touch. His voice. His scent filling the car.

You weren’t going to make it much longer.

But then—a brake light flashed. A full-body jolt forward.

The car slowed, then stopped.

Another brake light.

Another.

Then all at once, the freeway turned into a parking lot—cars lined up in an endless stretch of red glow, still and unmoving. A traffic jam. A bad one.

You stared out the windshield like it had betrayed you.

No.

Not now. Not this close.

AJ glanced over at you, jaw tight, voice low. “Check the GPS. What’s the ETA to my place?” 

You pulled up the app, barely needing to look before answering.

“Forty-six minutes,” you said, voice tight, careful.

“Fuck.”

The word came low, gritted out under his breath like it was for the traffic—gridlocked cars stacked in all directions, brake lights flickering—but you knew better. Because you were sitting there, hands twitching in your lap, thighs pressed together in quiet agony, thinking the exact same thing.

AJ had assured you the jam would pass. Told you the highway always looked worse before it cleared up. 

That had been twenty minutes ago.

Since then, you hadn’t moved so much as a car length.

You shifted in your seat first—just a slight adjustment, trying to relieve the mounting pressure between your legs. But it made his hand twitch where it rested high on your thigh, and then he shifted too. He spread his legs wider, leaned back like he was stretching, trying to shake the heat building in his own skin. 

The air changed with the movements. Conversation faltered. Then died completely. The only sound in the car was the low hum of music, the occasional idle roar of someone’s engine around you, and the tense, silent rhythm of restraint.

You cleared your throat, soft, barely more than a breath. And AJ… he reached up and unfastened the top button of his shirt.

You crossed your legs.

He reached overhead and opened the sunroof, muttering something about how the sun was making it hot.

The sun was already setting. So, that wasn’t true, and you both knew it.

It was fucking insufferable.

Everything. The traffic. The heat in your veins. The confinement of the car. The way his thumb traced soft circles near the crease of your thigh but never moved higher. Every breath was tighter than the last.

You gave up.

You turned to him, body twisted in your seat, pulse hammering in your throat, and for the first time in the last forty minutes, you locked eyes.

And the moment you did, everything snapped silent.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t need to.

“Come here,” AJ said, voice thick, rough around the edges, his seatbelt clicking undone as he leaned back slightly, giving you space—no, permission.

Your own buckle came off fast. Too fast. You moved without hesitation, climbing over the center console, dress hiking up your thighs as your knees pressed into the soft leather on either side of his lap. Your mouths crashed together—hard, fast, messy. There was no finesse, just pure, hungry need. His hands slid up the back of your dress, while yours tugged at his collar, his shirt, whatever you could grab. His fingers found your thighs again, squeezing, guiding your hips to move, grinding you down against him. The friction already made your breath catch.

You were grateful for the tinted windows, sure—but deep down, you both knew it wouldn’t have mattered. If the whole interstate had a front-row seat, it still wouldn’t have stopped either of you.

AJ’s mouth broke from yours only to lick, kiss, suck along the curve of your neck, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, biting just enough to make your hips twitch against him. You reached behind yourself, fingers fumbling at the zipper of your dress, pulling it down slowly, but your coordination was shot—and he noticed.

His hands replaced yours without a word, dragging the zipper down in one smooth motion. The fabric peeled away, and he wasted no time—pulling the dress down just far enough to expose your bra, then tugging at the straps until they slipped off your shoulders. His kisses followed, mouth trailing lower, tongue dipping against your collarbone as your chest heaved.

Your hips began moving again, instinctive and aching, grinding down against him with a slow pressure that pulled a growl from deep in his throat. His moans vibrated against your chest, rough and needy. His hands slid down, fingers splaying wide over your ass, gripping tight, pulling you closer until there was nothing but heat and tension and the solid press of him underneath you.

But even that wasn’t enough.

Your hands flew to his belt, clumsy with urgency. Metal clinked, leather slipped free, and the zipper followed with a sound that somehow made your skin heat even more. He didn’t stop you—in fact, he pushed your dress higher with his rough, greedy hands, bunching it around your waist. The moment you freed him with your hand wrapped around him, his breath caught. Hot and shallow against your collarbone.

You shifted, tugging your underwear to the side, completely bare and ready to take him in. You braced one hand on his shoulder, the other guiding him, your body already pulsing with anticipation. But just as you moved to sink down, his hands locked on your waist—tight, halting you in place.

You blinked, breathless, eyes snapping to his. He wasn’t frowning. He wasn’t serious.

No, it was that shit-eating smirk he loved to wear, the one that told you he was enjoying this too much, that he was about to make you work for it.

“What?” you asked, breath hitching, your hands braced on his chest.

“You seem awfully needy today,” he teased, his thumbs stroking lazy circles over your bare hips, like he wasn’t seconds away from being inside you.

You narrowed your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips. “Yeah? And what does that make you?”

Then you shifted just enough to grind against the length of him, slow and shameless, dragging your soaked heat over his cock without giving him what you both wanted. His jaw clenched, a low sound punching out of him before he caught himself, and there it was again—that smirk, a little sloppier now, a little more strained.

“I just missed my girl,” he said.

It was quiet. Honest. Too honest.

You hummed, not trusting your voice, not trusting the way those words spread through your chest like warmth and fire all at once. You rolled your hips again, letting yourself slide over him, gasping softly as he twitched beneath you, but your mind wasn’t on the friction anymore. Not fully.

Because this was the first time he’d called you that. His girl. A label, spoken without hesitation, like it had always been true and just hadn’t made its way out until now. And you knew AJ—knew him well enough to know that he only ever let the truth slip out when he thought you were too far gone to notice. Too fucked out. Too horny. Too drunk on the feel of him to catch what he was really saying.

But you heard him. And it echoed louder than his moans ever could.

“Your girl, huh?” you teased, voice soft but sharp, your lips brushing over his without closing the space completely. His hands still gripped your hips, holding you steady, and you could feel the tension in him.

“Yeah. Mine.” he said without missing a beat, the words landing low, full of confidence, eyes locked onto yours like they didn’t have anywhere else in the world to look.

You felt your mouth curve in response, a slow smirk ghosting across your lips. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good.” he growled, and then his mouth was on yours—hard, demanding. He pushed your hips, guiding you, the grip on your waist tightening just enough to tell you he was done waiting. 

And so were you.

He positioned you just right, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance, and finally he let your body give in. You sank down, slow, deliberate, the stretch hitting you instantly. The way he filled you, inch by inch, was dizzying—your breath catching, mouth parting against his as you gasped through it. Your nails dug into his shoulders, steadying yourself as your body adjusted, molded to him, tight and slick and aching.

AJ cursed under his breath, head falling back slightly, jaw clenched as he watched you take every inch of him. A low, barely contained groan rumbled from his chest, and his grip on your waist tightened like he could barely take it. Like he couldn’t stand the distance even with you wrapped around him.

The car rocked in a slow, relentless rhythm, the tension of traffic long forgotten, lost in the sheer filth of what you and AJ had turned his front seat into. The driver side window fogged over lightly, the sharp scent of sex mingling with sweat and cologne, thick in the air. Moans spilled freely—obscene and unfiltered, loud enough to bleed out through the open sunroof.

AJ sat low in the seat, one hand gripped tight to your hip, the other pressed to the small of your back, guiding your movements, urging you down harder, deeper. Your thighs burned, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with the way he filled you so deep, so perfectly. Each roll of your hips made his breath hitch, made him swear under it, made his hands get rougher, his control thinner.

For a brief moment—through the chaos—you opened your eyes, and so did he. They met. Locked.

And everything paused without actually stopping.

You stared at each other, both gasping, lips parted, mouths open but silent, too caught in the rhythm to speak, too full of heat and something else. Something that felt heavier than lust.

It was a challenge, or maybe a plea. You say it first. Tell me you missed me.

But neither of you said a word.

Instead, you just kept moving, kept rolling your hips with a drag that made his jaw clench and his head tip back. The air between your lips was damp, charged, thick with half-choked cries. The words sat on your tongue, swollen and urgent—you were so fucking close to saying it. I missed you. You needed to say it. Needed him to know it wasn’t just the sex driving you mad. But just as your lips parted—

His hand shot up, fist curling into your hair, tugging you down until your foreheads touched, sweat-slick skin pressed together. His other hand gripped your hip tight as his hips snapped up, thrusting deeper, harder, hitting that spot inside you that tore a moan from your throat so loud it echoed against the roof.

“Fuck, I missed you so much.”

His voice broke with it—rough, raw, tangled with a deep groan that nearly vibrated inside the car.

You tightened around him instantly, like your body was answering before your mouth could. Hands scrambled for something, anything—his shoulders, his neck, the headrest behind him. You gripped like your life depended on it, nails digging into skin and leather alike.

But you still managed it. Still forced the words out, even as your pulse roared in your ears and every nerve ending threatened to short-circuit.

“I missed you too—shit, AJ.” The words fell out broken, stuttering through a gasp that came from too deep to hide, and your eyes almost rolled back from the intensity building in your core.

His hands gripped you harder, grounding you to his lap, voice dark and urgent. “Show me how much you missed me. Let me see it.”

It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a command, and your body obeyed without hesitation.

You came—hard. Your whole body tensed, thighs shaking, core clenching around him as the pleasure ripped through you, loud and involuntary. His name tore from your throat, “AJ—fuck—AJ!” It echoed into the car, out the sunroof, spilling into the quiet air above the traffic, letting the entire stretch of the freeway know exactly who made you sound like that. 

You gave him exactly what he asked for—proof, plain and loud.

“That’s my girl.”

Your body was still twitching, still hypersensitive, but you didn’t stop. You rode the highs anyway—kept moving, even as your legs shook, your chest heaved, even as your head dropped forward against his. The ache was deep now, thick and delicious, but it wasn’t enough to pull you away. Not with his hands guiding your hips, pushing and pulling you in a rhythm he controlled, one you were far too ruined for to keep on your own. All you could do was moan, clench around him, let him use your body as his own breaking point approached.

And then it happened. One deep, sharp thrust—so deep you could feel it in your throat. His body jerked, once, twice—coming hard, thick and deep inside you. His moans were muffled by your skin, but you could feel the sound rumble against your neck, hot and raw and completely undone.

You both tried to catch your breath, gasping softly between sweaty movements and sloppy, lingering kisses that neither of you were quite ready to let go of. AJ's hands were still on you, his lips brushing over your jaw, your mouth, everywhere—like even now, post-release, he still couldn't get enough.

Then—a sharp honk.

The sudden blare jolted you both, and your head whipped around in slow, hazy realization. The traffic had started moving. Red brake lights flickered ahead in motion, a line of cars crawling forward now, the standstill officially over.

AJ burst into a low laugh, forehead resting against yours for a second before pulling back just enough to press a light, playful kiss to your mouth. It was a far cry from the hunger that had just filled the car, but it still made your stomach flip. He smiled, all smug and breathless, and you rolled your eyes through a grin as you climbed off his lap, legs shaky, core still pulsing.

You dropped into the passenger seat with a soft thud, adjusting your dress and smoothing your hair as AJ did the same beside you, shifting himself back into place, fixing his pants and shirt with one hand while the other casually slid to the wheel. Your body sank into the seat, ruined but satisfied. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and he caught it, smirking again like he knew what you were thinking.

If this was what a week apart earned you, maybe it was worth it—maybe the waiting, the teasing, the unbearable build-up… maybe that made the payoff all the sweeter.

But then his hand slid back to your thigh, just like it had when the car ride started, fingers gripping, rubbing, possessive in a way that made your skin tighten all over again.

And in that moment, you knew—he probably wouldn’t let you, his girl, out of his sight for that long ever again.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

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[sleepless-dreams]

ON THIN ICE

summary: was it worth it? Letting the pull win? Letting yourself let go?

trigger warning: panic attack, dissociation

word count: 2.8k

A/N: just a heads up that I won't be posting the following chapter the next Sunday like usual, but the Sunday two weeks from now due to my busy schedule. Thanks for your patience <3

₊⊹CHAPTER 5⊹₊

I’m standing by the boards, watching through the plexiglass as Owen and a small group of his teammates run a drill. There's a zigzag path of spaced-out cones stretches across the ice. The boys weave through the slalom, executing tight turns around the cones to improve speed retention, agility and quick transitions.

On the opposite side of the rink, the other half of the team mirrors the same exercise. It’s a solid drill; honing the ability to make sharp turns is crucial for evading opponents, chasing the puck or repositioning without losing momentum.

This is one of the drills Owen struggles with. His wide arcs are fine, but tight turns throw him off significantly. He skids through them, often losing balance and stumbles out of the path. His overreliance on upper body movement not only worsens his instability but also slows him down.

As I watch him, the decision is clear, today’s session will focus on his edge work.

On Thursdays, Owen skips heading to the locker room with the other boys. Instead, we head straight to the buffet, where I order warm drinks while we wait for the rink to clear out for our private lesson. Today is no different.

Owen takes his usual seat at our table– a cozy corner spot by the glass wall overlooking the rink. It’s tucked far enough from the walkway to the exit that, despite being in an open layout, we don’t draw much attention. Which is exactly what I want.

As I stand at the counter ready to order, I offer the employee a friendly smile as I tell her what we're getting.

“Two mugs of hot chocolate, please.” She nods and turns to prepare our drinks.

I spot her just before she can startle me, something she seems to do with alarming regularity.

“Every Thursday, like clockwork.” Wanda observes casually, stepping up beside me. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, one that always seems to betray her curiosity.

I shrug, trying to deflect it. “Thursdays give me extra time with Owen, so this is how I make the most of it.” It’s technically true, even if it leaves out a few key details.

Wanda’s eyebrows lift slightly in understanding and I feel a sense of relief at that. God forbid she ever sees me on ice.

That awkward pause creeps in again, much to my dismay. It seems to happen every time I talk to her. Thankfully, it’s short-lived as the employee sets down two mugs of steaming hot chocolate topped with whipped cream.

"That’ll be 6.50, please,” the employee says. I tap my phone on the terminal, internally questioning why I bothered bringing my wallet at all as I clutch it in my other hand.

“Mind if I join you for a little while?” Wanda asks just as I turn to head back to the table. She gestures in the same direction.

I pause mid-turn, staring at her in mild shock. “Sure,” I manage to agree.

“I’ll come by once I order.” Wanda says, turning her attention to the employee.

I walk over to our table, setting the mugs down with a small sigh. The moment they settle on the wood, Owen is already wrapping his hand around one, pulling it toward himself to scoop the whipped cream and push it into his mouth eagerly.

I fall into a seat next to him.

"Your coach is going to come sit with us," I inform him. Owen doesn't even lift his eyes from his sweet treat as he replies with, "Cool," making me question if he even registered what I just told him.

I end up spending the time before Wanda comes to sit with us flicking my gaze between my mug and her, feeling my anxiety mount.

She offers me a smile when she walks up, a steaming mug in her hand and takes a seat opposite me and Owen. The strong distinguishable aroma of ginger tea wafts through the air.

"Thank you for letting me join in. I need a little break myself," she jokes lightly, bringing the cup to her lips. I can't help but follow the motion with my eyes, briefly entranced by how her lips wrap around the edge of the mug.

When she sets her drink back on the table, I must make a face because she gives me a puzzled look.

"I don't like ginger..." I blurt out quickly.

"Is that so?" She says with a little smile, moving the tea closer to herself in a kind gesture. There's a small pause and I use it to take a sip from my hot chocolate.

"It's nice of you to do this with Owen," Wanda remarks, stirring her tea with a spoon.

I play with my hands underneath the table and I find myself lowering my eyes to the table. I open my mouth to reply, but Owen beats me to it, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Auntie is cool like that," he says with so much pride in his voice one would think he's boasting.

My nerves lay forgotten for a moment as I soften. My hand comes up to the top of his hair, ruffling it as I allow myself a smile. The boy turns with a half-hearted glare, ducking under the offending hand as he attempts to swat it away.

I snigger, but the sound nearly dies down in my throat as the laugh of another reaches my ears. I catch a glimpse of Wanda, eyes crinkling as she laughs, the sound full and rich ringing through the air.

Wanda is too busy laughing to notice, but Owen isn't. He shoots me a shit-eating grin and I know he's onto me. I give him a warning look and reach for my hot chocolate to take a sip.

Owen joins in on the laugh, making me look at him with suspicion. Before I can nudge him to stop, he's already talking.

"Your laugh is so pretty, coach," he says, forcibly laughing for another beat before stopping. My head immediately snaps to Wanda to gauge her reaction.

Wanda chuckles at Owens comment, her smile sharp with amusement. She doesn't notice that it was Owen mocking my distracted reaction to her laughter. Or if she does, she doesn't comment on it. I choose to believe in the former, for the sake of my dignity.

"Well, thank you, Owen. I'll take that as a compliment." She responds smoothly and I sigh quietly.

Wanda doesn't stay long after that, finishing her tea and bidding us our goodbyes with a casual smile and a little wave.

As soon as she's out of earshot, I turn to Owen with a half-hearted glare.

"What was that about?" I question. He just shrugs, the same naughty smile on his lips.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I just think her laugh is pretty. Don't you?" he asks me, mirth tinging his voice.

I huff, shaking my head at his antics. I take a look in his mug and find it empty. "Go wait for me on the ice." I tell him, trying to sound like I'm offended, but really, I'm just flustered.

The boy laughs and gets up, obeying my order. I stand up myself a moment later, after I gulp down the last of my hot chocolate. I take the mugs back to the counter and follow Owen into the rink.

He's already in, skating around as he waits, just like I told him to. I step onto the ice, feeling the slippery surface underneath my feet as the unease sets in.

"We're going to focus on your turns, I saw you struggling with them today." I inform him of the plan for today.

"You're having trouble with sharp turns because you're making them with your torso and not your legs." I explain to him.

"When you swing your arms around, you create momentum, which helps you turn. While it works with bigger arcs, it's not enough for quick, sharp ones. That's why you skid them out. It's also counterproductive– you tip your balance off with every swing and it's an unnecessary energy outlet," I explain, swinging my arms around to mimic his motion.

"We're going to do a drill that will fixate your torso and hopefully force you to work with your legs instead of relying on this." I motion to his stick, which he hands over.

I take the stick and grab it with both of my hands, holding it horizontally in front of me. "You're going to hold your stick like this and make small sharp turns like in the slalom."

I hand him the stick back and watch him copy what I did. Instinctively, my hand comes up to press between his shoulder blades to make him straighten up.

"What are you doing?" Owen asks me, confused because hockey players naturally hunch in their stance.

"Sorry, force of habit," I mutter, dropping my hand.

"Go ahead," I say, motioning with my head for him to start the drill as I observe.

He skates from one side to the other before stopping and looking back at me for feedback.

"While you didn't use your arms to make the turns this time, you also didn't use your edges. You tried to push through the arcs with brute strength, which is why your turns weren’t smooth, they came out chopped up," I explain. I even point out his track, confirming that the line is jagged instead of smooth.

"You're not carving your arcs properly because you don't trust your blades to hold you. Your edges are what let your blade slice into the ice and carve a clean turn," I explain further.

We try this again a few more times, but he can't seem to get it right.

Even after I explain the theory again and again and he repeats the drills, he’s still struggling. He doesn’t angle his feet enough to push into his blades, nor does he trust them to hold him through the turns. Without swinging his arms, he tries to compensate with brute force, but that doesn’t work either. I need to change my approach.

I know Owen doesn’t fully understand the importance of this skill yet, and that’s fine. Many beginner skaters don’t. While he’s not exactly a beginner, he’s still relatively new– hence these lessons. He doesn’t grasp the significance of proper edge usage. From my own experience, I’ve learned that the best way to prove a point is to demonstrate it. That’s exactly what Owen needs: to see it to understand it.

This lesson has been hard on its own. I’ve had to leave my stationary spot by the boards multiple times to correct Owen, to the point where I’ve stopped bothering to skate back after each adjustment. It’s already pushing me far out of my comfort zone. But Owen needs to understand how important this is and what he’s capable of achieving with just a little trust in his blades.

"I want you to stand back and watch. Focus on my feet, observe how I change the angle according to how sharply I want to turn and the transition from one side of the blade to the other." I instruct him. Even when I see his confused expression, I don't offer an explanation. I need to mentally prepare myself for this and I get the feeling that if I put a name to what I'm about to do, I wouldn't go through with it. For saying it out loud would make it real, and I don't want it to be.

Once I’m sure Owen has skated a safe distance away and is paying attention as instructed, I push off, building speed with a few powerful strokes. My brain shuts down after the first few movements.

The choreography flows through me on its own.

At this moment, I don’t think– I simply move. I let my body move on its own accord, following the grove, the pull of an invisible force. I feel my blades carve patterns into the ice, drawing fleeting pictures with every turn. There’s a familiar dizziness as I exit a spin, my legs already propelling me into another spiral, seamlessly connecting one step to the next. The pattern is unrestricted, the sequence traveling through my body as I let it move me on its own accord. Transitions from one element to another are connected with exits I round up as they come without much thought to it.

For a moment I'm liberated, it's only me and the movement. The shift in weight, the sting of cold air biting into me as I speed up during a scratch spin when I bring my arms in.

I dismount, finishing with a snap of my ankles in a sharp halt and I come to a stop in a split second. I don't even realise I finished in ending position, one hand extended above, one crossed over my chest with legs bent in a similar fashion, one straight– on which I'm standing, the other bent inwards over the first.

The first thing I notice is my harsh, uneven breathing.

I still have it in me. A small, fragile smile tugs at my lips, but I bite it back, teeth sinking lightly into my bottom lip. A strange feeling blooms somewhere deep within my chest.

It dims down a second after, my smile dropping as a voice within my head makes itself know, loud and booming in it's sharpness. A voice that doesn't belong to me, but it's mine all the same.

'Your entries were sloppy. So we're your exit turns. Your spins weren't centered, you were travelling and your trail isn't nearly as smooth as it should be. The arm isn't straight enough, and your breathing shouldn't be heaving like it is. You need to stand still when you finish or they will deduct your points.' they echo, stinging with a prickling critique I should be far used to by now.

I drop the pose, my body locking up with sudden rigidity. Thoughts flood my mind, crashing against each other in a whirlwind of panic. It feels like my lungs are being squeezed, my throat closing tight. While I was panting when I finished, now I feel like I can't get any air in or out of my lungs.

There's ringing in my ears, or is it just the thud of my heartbeat?

Raw feeling ripples through anything nice I was feeling before, everything vanishes into blind intensity of this mess. I'm losing a war I can't win, battling myself on fronts I never wanted to reach.

And old wound, purposely forgotten has just been ripped open. Old sentiments, repressed feelings pour out in bituminous consistency as they tain anything they touch, coating me whole in my old disappointment.

"That was insane! How did you do that? How did you twirl so fast?" Owen's voice breaks through the fog, but it feels far away. His voice is higher, pitched in wonder and excitement, but it's muffled. Everything is overwhelming and then suddenly, there's nothing. Nothing at all, just a cold dull feeling I've grown to find comfort in.

I don't force a smile, there's no space for meaningless actions. But I do force my body to cooperate enough for me to redirect my attention to my nephew. It does what I order it to, even though the actions feel alien, as if done by someone else.

"See. Edge work is important" I hear myself answer with deflection, but even my voice sounds like it doesn't belong to me.

I watch Owens face as it falls, his excitement dimming and i feel a pang of guilt, but it bounces off an invisible armour that shields me from really feeling anything in the moment.

Still, I try to soothe it, even when it doesn't quite reach me. I set my hand down on his shoulder, letting it fall down to his back. I pat him just across his shoulder blade, and while the spark in his eye doesn't return, his face softens just a fraction.

"If you work on your edge work, you should be able to do at least something similar to what you've seen. It won't quite be it, but you could do some sick turns." I tell him, hearing the words vibrate through my throat before they leave my mouth.

"How about you take another few laps and we head home?" I suggest, silently wishing he agrees to my proposal.

I wish nothing more than to get off the ice, lose the skates and never to see any of this again.

Realistically I know that's not going to happen, but right now, the only thing keeping me tethered together is the disconnect.

Thankfully, Owen agrees and it's not too long after that I get my wish of abandoning the rink and all that today had stirred up behind with it, floating in the space of unfeeling.

[cosmicflw3rr]

five more minutes.

dominik mysterio x fem! reader

summary: he’s gets back from the international tour at 3 am.

A/N: okay here’s who I write for!!

jimmy uso

jey uso

roman reigns

dominik mysterio

damian priest

grayson waller

austin theory

rhea ripley

liv morgan

it was 3 a.m. when you pulled into the airport’s near-empty arrival lane, headlights casting soft light over the quiet sidewalk. the terminal doors slid open, and there he was—hood up, duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

you put the car in park. for a second, you considered getting out to meet him halfway, but the weight of the hour and the week pressed heavy on your limbs.

still, you two had talked about this in a facetime call before his flight—he’d promised to drive back. but as he walked closer, you saw it in the way his shoulders drooped, how slow his steps were. he looked just as drained as you felt, maybe more.

he tossed his bag into the back seat, then made his way to the driver’s side, opening your door without a word.

you looked up at him, catching the soft crease between his brows, the way his eyes were darker than usual with fatigue.

“i can drive,” you murmured. “i know you’re tired.”

he didn’t answer right away. just leaned down, pressed a kiss to your temple, then brushed his thumb along your cheek like he needed to feel you, to make sure you were real.

then he pulled back, nodded once, and quietly said, “no—I got it.”

you didn’t argue. you got out and walked to the other side of the car, getting into the passenger seat.

he slid into the driver’s seat beside you, shutting the door with a soft thud.

the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. it was full—of late nights missed, of long flights and even longer phone calls, of things said and unsaid.

he rested his hands on the wheel for a second, then exhaled.

you watched him from the corner of your eye as he finally pulled away from the curb. streetlights passed in streaks across the windshield, the roads empty, the city asleep.

his hand found yours on the middle console, fingers slipping between yours without looking. you turned your head toward him, but he kept his eyes on the road

“you okay?” you asked, voice soft.

he gave a slow nod, jaw flexing. “yeah, just exhausted.”

you squeezed his hand gently, letting the silence settle again. there wasn’t anything either of you needed to say—not right now. it was enough that he was here. that he came home.

the drive was slow, quiet, familiar. the city blurred past, half-lit and half-asleep. you caught glimpses of gas stations, the occasional car cutting through intersections, headlights blinking past. but mostly, it was just you and him.

when he pulled into the driveway, neither of you moved at first. his hand still held yours, thumb absently brushing across your knuckles.

you brought the back of his hand to your lips, giving it a small kiss. “come on,” you said softly. “let’s go inside.”

he nodded, letting go of your hand and getting out the car to grab his bag from the back.

you walked to the front door using your keys to unlock it. dom came up behind you as you opened the front door. just then the soft jingle of a collar was the only warning before your came barreling down the hallway.

“luna,” you said closing the door behind you both, barely getting the word out before she rounded the corner.

she skidded across the hardwood in her excitement, nails tapping, tail wagging so hard it nearly threw her off balance. her eyes lit up the second she saw him.

“hey, baby girl,” dom murmured, dropping his duffle bag just in time to crouch down and catch her as she leapt up on him.

she whined, ears back, tail thumping wildly as he wrapped his arms around her like he’d missed her just as much as you had. probably more.

“you remember me, huh?” he smiled, voice hoarse with sleep and something softer. “been guarding the house while i was gone?”

you stood a few steps behind them, watching the way she curled into him like no time had passed at all.

he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then looked up at you with a tired, crooked smile.

he stood, giving luna one last pat before grabbing his bag and following you down the hall. the house was dim, quiet, like it had been waiting too. your footsteps were slow—neither of you in any rush now that you two were finally together.

once inside the bedroom, he dropped the bag by the door. you turned to say something, but before the words could come, he pulled you into him.

his arms wrapped around your waist, your face pressing into his chest.

you exhaled against him, your fingers slipping under the hem of his hoodie, just to touch his skin.

“you smell like plane air and laundry,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against him.

“i know,” he said, voice raspy, chin resting on the top of your head. “i missed this.”

before either of you could say anything more, a soft thump hit the side of the bed. luna had jumped up, tail wagging, big eyes watching you both like she didn’t want to be left out.

he glanced over your shoulder at the bed, brow lifting slightly.

“she stole my spot,” he muttered, dry but amused.

you turned just enough to see luna nestled right into the space he always took—head on his pillow, tail giving a lazy wag like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“she’s been keeping it warm,” you offered with a small smile.

dom huffed a quiet laugh against your hair, then leaned back just enough to look at her. luna blinked at him innocently, still sprawled across his side like she owned it.

“you little traitor,” he muttered, eyes soft despite the words.

you leaned in and kissed his jaw. “you’ll win it back.”

he gave a low hum, his lips curving into a tired but content smile. “yeah, i better,” he said, giving you a quick kiss.

she gave a soft whine in response, and you both chuckled at the playful standoff.

with a deep breath, he finally pulled away from you, stepping toward the door to head to the living room. “alright, i’ll take the couch tonight.”

you turned toward him, eyes soft with affection. “no, you’re not,” you said, voice firm but with a teasing edge. “you’ve been gone for weeks. you’re not sleeping anywhere else.”

you click your tongue, a gentle sound she knows well. “come on, luna,” you say softly. “off.”

she doesn’t move at first. just stares at you with those wide, stubborn eyes, tail giving a slow, guilty wag.

she shifts her weight, like maybe if she’s cute enough, she won’t have to move at all.

“luna,” you said again, soft but firm.

at that, she lets out the tiniest huff—an actual sigh—then stands, stretches long like she’s making a point, and reluctantly pads down to the foot of the bed.

she circles once before settling there with a dramatic flop, head resting on her paws like she’s been deeply wronged.

“so much attitude for someone who doesn’t pay rent,” you mumble, crawling into bed as dom strips off his hoodie.

he took off his hoodie, leaving him in a plain black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. he tossed the hoodie over the back of the little couch in the corner without thinking, already heading toward the bed where you were waiting under the covers.

he slipped in beside you, the bed dipping with his weight. he didn’t say anything—just reached for you.

you met him halfway, arms wrapping around his middle as he pulled you in tight, like a full-body hug. your legs tangled, chests pressed close, his chin resting against your forehead. that kind of hold that says everything without needing words.

“finally,” he sighed, voice thick with sleep. “no more hotel beds.”

you smiled against him, arms squeezing gently around his waist.

then came the kisses. soft and lazy, scattered over your face. your forehead. your cheek. your nose. each one slower than the last, like he was running out of energy but couldn’t stop.

you let out a quiet laugh, your breath warm against his neck. “dom,” you whispered, “go to sleep.”

“i’m trying,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “you’re distracting.”

you kissed his jaw in response, eyes already closing as his arms wrapped tighter around you. his heartbeat was steady under your cheek, and the warmth between you was enough to pull you both under.

no more distance. no more time zones. no more waiting.

-

the morning light crept in slow through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. it was quiet—the kind of stillness that only came on days where nothing was urgent, nothing pulling either of you away.

you shifted beneath the blankets, limbs still heavy with sleep, body warm from where it was pressed against his. it took you a second to register it.

your brow furrowed slightly as you blinked the sleep from your eyes. he was always up early—at the gym before you even woke up on most days, especially on off days when he had the time to train longer.

you blinked against the light, still half-asleep, turning your head slightly.

he was still there.

you blinked again. once. twice. his arm was draped across your waist, his chest rising and falling against your back. warmth seeped through every inch of where he touched you, grounding and still.

“you’re still here,” you murmured, voice low and a little raspy.

he made a low sound in response—something like a grunt, something like your name—his lips brushing your shoulder as he burrowed closer.

you shifted slightly, glancing at the clock. “dom,” you said, a little louder, your voice still thick. “you not going to the gym?”

he let out a slow, tired breath, barely audible. “five more minutes,” he murmured, hoarse and warm against your skin. his hand slid under your shirt right below your belly button, tracing slow, aimless lines on your skin.

you couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your mouth. “you’re usually gone by now.”

his eyes stayed shut, his voice still half-asleep. “yeah, well… you wouldn’t let me leave.”

you huffed a soft laugh, turning in his arms so you were facing him. “what?”

“you wouldn’t let me leave,” he repeated, his voice still thick with sleep, but now with a hint of a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

you huffed a quiet laugh. “i didn’t force you stay.”

“you kind of did.” he said, his eyes fluttering open. his hand moved up your spine, his thumb brushing lightly at the nape of your neck. “you basically had me in a head lock.”

you raised a brow, voice dry. “oh, so i trapped you? dom you’re a wrestler. I do not have that much power over you,”

his smile grew, sleep still tugging at his features. “yeah. you do.”

you stared at him for a second, then muttered, “well could’ve escaped if you really wanted to.”

“nah.” he tucked his face against your neck again. “not worth it.”

you leaned in and kissed the edge of his jaw before whispering, “so… should i make breakfast or…?”

dom sighed like you just asked him to climb a mountain. “only if you’re making those cinnamon pancakes.”

you pulled back a little, smirking. “the ones you said were too sweet?”

his face stayed buried against your skin, but his arm tightened around your waist. “yea they’re too sweet but not bad, i was just being annoying.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “you? annoying? no way.”

he chuckled into your collarbone. “shocking, i know.”

you grinned, shifting in his arms. “since they’re not too sweet, i guess i could just make one pancake. just for me.”

“foul,” he muttered.

you slipped out from under his arm before he could stop you, flipping the blanket back and hopping out of bed with a small shiver. “should’ve thought about that before you disrespected my kitchen skills.

dom’s groggy laugh followed you as you stepped out of reach. “babe—don’t play.”

you raised your hands innocently, still walking backward. “I would never.”

then you darted.

you took off down the hallway, bare feet light against the floor, giggling as you heard the rustle of blankets and the soft thud of him scrambling out of bed.

“oh, now you wanna move!” you called over your shoulder.

“im still half asleep!” his voice was half-laugh, half-growl, as he followed you.

your laughter echoed through the house, and just as you rounded the corner into the kitchen, luna shot up from her bed, barking excitedly—her tail wagging like she had no idea what was happening but refused to be left out.

“luna, get her!” dom joked, voice full of amusement as he padded after you, one hand raking through his messy hair.

“she’s on my side,” you called from the other end of the kitchen, reaching for the fridge like you weren’t about to get tackled by a 6’1 wwe wrestler.

he stopped, squinting at you like you’d just challenged him to a duel.

you held up the eggs. “last chance to apologize.”

he blinked. “…for what?”

“wow. okay.” you put the eggs onto the counter and took off again—laughing right as he lunged.

and before you could say anything else, he lunged.

he caught you just before the hallway, arms around your waist as he pulled you back into him, your feet barely touching the ground.

you shrieked. luna barked again, spinning in a circle.“alright, alright!” you laughed.

he held you tight, chin on your shoulder, breath warm against your ear. “you better be making those pancakes.”

you squirmed in his arms, still breathless. “only if you say it.”

“say what?”

you turned your head just enough to see the smug look growing on your face. “that you were wrong.”

he exhaled dramatically, tightening his grip like he was considering dropping you right there on the floor. “you really need this, huh?”

“yep.”

he groaned, leaning into you with a low mumble, “fine. i was wrong.”

“about?”

“about the pancakes,” he muttered like it physically hurt to say.

“and?”

he paused.

you raised an eyebrow. “don’t make me turn off the stove.”

he sighed, defeated. “they’re not too sweet. they’re actually… really good.”

you grinned, satisfied. “see? not so hard.”

“you’re lucky i love you,” he muttered, letting you go but not before stealing a kiss to the side of your jaw.

you slipped out of his grasp, heading back toward the kitchen with a victorious sway in your step. “you’re luckier.”

he followed behind you, rubbing at his eyes, half-awake but smiling. luna trotted after both of you.

“you’re making the coffee,” you called over your shoulder.

“after all that?” he scoffed. “you owe me coffee.”

“i owe you breakfast.” you started, cracking an egg into the bowl, “you owe me manners.”

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, opening the cabinet. “but make mine first.”

“no promises.”

[episodes-ff]

Winter Storms

A/N: Yeaaaaa, y'all not gone like me for this😅. I apologize in advance. Don't beat me up, pleaseeeeeeeeee???? Remember how y'all be calling him a green eyed bastard, right? RIGHT?!?!?!?!??!

Terry

"Fuuuuuuuck! You taking that dick so good, baby!" I husked kneading the cushions of her ass as I stroked her from behind. "Yes, baby! That feels so fucking good! Oh my god!" "Fuck, that's right baby. Good fucking girl." I groaned smacking her ass as she whimpered and held onto my arms. "Arch that shit." "Yesssss, Daddy!" Locking in on her wrists, I started drilling her into the mattress as she cried my name. "Terry! Terryyyyy!" "Terry! Baby, wake up! We gotta get ready for our flight." Anaya giggled shaking me awake as I looked around dazed. "Awww, you still sleepy? Come on, papa. You can take a nap on the way to the airport." She smiled warmly rubbing my cheek before walking into the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, I shook my head and recollected my thoughts before getting up to go shower. I can't keep hiding this shit.

**TWO HOURS LATER**

Waiting at the terminal with Anaya, she played with Maya as I texted on my phone and tapped my foot. "You ok, baby?" "Huh? O-Oh yea, yeaaaa. I'm fine, baby." I smiled kissing her forehead before reaching for Maya. "You excited to see gwandma and gwandpa, MyMy?" I cooed as she nibbled on her chubby fingers and smiled at me. "Dadada!" She babbled squeezing my nose and patting my face as Anaya laughed at us. "Ladies and gentlemen! Flight 318 to Charlotte now boarding!" The flight attendant announced as I sat up and got our bags.

Today is the day Maya gets to finally see my parents again since the move to Miami. We FaceTime daily with them, but she can finally get her little paws on her loved ones. I just hope no bullshit occurs on this visit because I've been having this nagging ass feeling and the recollections of that night aren't helping soothe my irritation. "Baby?" "Huh?" "Did you want something to eat?" Anaya asked snapping out of it as the flight attendant waiting in the aisle for my response. "Can I get a water?" "No problem, sir." He smiled handing a cold bottle as I opened it and drank swiftly. "Are you ok?" Nodding as I choked down the water, I gave her a meek smile as she eyed me suspiciously. "You sure? You've been acting weird all day." "I'm positive, baby." I said kissing her gently before closing my eyes.

Finally making the long journey to my parent's place, we greeted them at the door as my dad helped me with the bags. "Ohhhhh, my pretty grandchild! You get cuter and cuter every day!" My mom cooed sweetly transitioning Maya to her warm arms as she hugged Anaya and welcomed us in. "How was you all's flight?" "It was good! Baby girl didn't shed one tear!" She boasted kissing our little one's cheeks. "Awwww! Mek wi waam unu op likl bit! Yuh woulda like some tea?" "Yes ma'am." Nodding, the girls went into the kitchen as my dad and I headed to his man cave. "Dad, can I talk you about something?" "Sure, son! Anything in the world, wassup?" He smiled as we reclined into the comfy leather couch. "It's something been weighing on my mind for a little while now and I don't know how to tell Anaya." "What's going on? I'm sure she won't mind, she's very understanding." "Not about this, pop." "Well, come on with it." "Dad, I-" 'Ding Dong!'

Anaya

Laughing and playing with Maya, I smiled watching Terry's mom bond with her grandbaby. I'm just so happy for how warming and loving our families are cause it'll make my announcement even more special. Since that day at the grocery store, Terry and I have been loosely trying to conceive and our attempts have paid off. I am currently about eight weeks along, and I wanna present the news to both Terry and our families tonight. Admiring his mom as she sang to Maya and rocked her back and forth, I smiled knowing I get to bless her beautiful soul with another grandbaby. Considering the only person who knows right now is our baby girl, I'm excited to share with everyone else.

Changing her diaper, I sang and cooed to her as she hummed along with me playing with my hands. "You're so smart and beautiful, baby!" "Yes, she is." I heard his deep voice as he snuck up on me. "Hey, you." I smiled pulling him into a loving kiss as his hands found their way to my waist. "Are you feeling better?" "What do you mean?" "Terry, something's wrong. I know you like the back of my hand and you've been acting strange all day. Promise me everything's okay?" "Promise." He nodded kissing my forehead, but something was still off. I just couldn't put my finger on what it was. "I'm gonna head down and see if mom needs help with the cooking, I'll be right back up." "Ok, my love." Smirking, he pecked us on the cheek before heading downstairs. "It's just you and me, pookie! Let's take some pictures, Mamas!" I cheesed as she clapped.

@_nayathebaddest: Mommy's heart in human form🌸🩷👶🏽 #MommysGirl #MayasMommy

Posting the beautiful pictures, I changed Maya into her outfit for the big reveal, I fought back my happy tears. "Are you so excited?" I whispered as she clapped. Hearing commotion, I furrowed my brows before grabbing her and heading downstairs. "Yo, what the fuck?!" "Weh dis likkle gyal a duh yah, Terrence?" I heard Terry's mom yelling as I hit the bottom step.

Looking up, I met eyes with her as she smiled deviously holding hands with a little boy. "Bitch, I know you fucking lying! You just asking to get yo ass beat, huh?" "Girl, please! Ain't nobody worried about you." She spat as Terry tried shooing her out the door. "You such a hateful ass bitch! Are you that pressed that he don't want you?! So fucking desperate!" "Desperate?! You so fucking naive!" "Terry, tell di likkle tramp fi go!!! Now!" His mom spat in anger as I tried to calm her down. "You heard her, bitch! Bye, goofy!" "I'm goofy for making sure my son spends some time with his fucking father for the holidays?! Yea ok!" "Bitch, you're lying!!! My nigga will never touch you and you're maddddd!!!" "Nah, but you're about to be, 'wifey'." She gritted looking over at Terry as my brows drew together. Now that I think back on it, this mothafucka been real fucking quiet while this bitch just carrying on.

"Terry?" "Terry?!" She smirked while I boomed handing Maya over to his mom as I folded my arms. "What the fuck is she talking about?! TERRY!!!" I yelled as his father mumbled an 'Oh shit' and walked his mom and the baby to his man cave. "She's obviously fucking lying, right? NIGGA, I KNOW YOU FUCKING HEAR ME!" I screamed lunging for him as he blocked my swing. "Anaya, calm yo ass the fuck down." He muttered quietly as he stared me down and gripped my hands. Seeing the guilt and hurt in his eyes, it hit me like a ton of bricks as I bubbled over in emotion. "HOW COULD YOU?!" I roared crying as I wrestled against his hold feeling physically ill the longer he held onto me. "Anaya, please. Just let me explain." His voice cracked as he still attempted to nurture my emotional state. "GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!!!!" "NO!" "I see you two have some issues to sort out. I'll bring him back tomorrow, Terry." She grimaced turning to leave as I fought to get out of his grip and rightfully beat her ass.

Terry

Hearing the sounds of her car pulling off, I released her hands before feeling the heavy sting of her slaps connecting with my jaw and chest. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOUUUU!!!! I HATE YOU, TERRY!! Fuck!" She shouted releasing her tears of anger as hot droplets fell from my own eyes. "Anaya, baby, please." "I'm not your baby! You fucking sick dick, green eyed piece of shit! I fucking hate you!!" She spat beating my chest in as my head hung low. "Ana-" "When?!" Sighing, I rubbed my face as more tears burned at the surface. "You don't fucking hear me now?! NIGGA WHEN?!?!?!" "It happened three years ago." "How long?!" "What?" "How fucking long have you sat up here and smiled in my goddamn face knowing this shit?! Nigga talk!" "She told me when he turned one."

Seeing the disgust wash over her face, I cried more as I watched heart breaking knowing I was the reason. "Wait wait wait. Three years ago?! The last time we were here was..." She looked up in disbelief before lunging at me again and punching me in the eye. "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! I WAS WATCHING MY MOTHER SLOWLY DIE AND YOU WERE FUCKING THIS BITCH?!?!?!?!?!?!?" She shrieked in agony wailing as I tried to hold her. "NO! GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME! I'm literally about to be sick!!!" She groaned prying my hands off of her before running upstairs to throw up. Taking a seat on the couch, I sighed into my hands and the throbbing in my head grew more and more potent. Hearing footsteps, I looked up and watched as my parents resurfaced from the man cave; my mother shook her head in disappointment as she walked upstairs with a sleeping Maya in her arms while my dad came over and rubbed my shoulder. "I don't know how you got so far deep into this son, but you gotta fix this shit. It's bigger than you now." He breathed as he handed me Maya's sweater. Reading the pregnancy announcement message on the tiny shirt, I broke down into more sobs clutching it to my head. How the fuck did I manage to fuck up this badly?!

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