#USE THAT ON ME NEXT ME NEXT !!1!1’-&-&-&-@ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

psformybss · 2 days ago

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You Said You Loved Me

drew starkey x costar!secretgf!reader

warnings: emotional whiplash, betrayal, heartbreak, mental health themes, self-harm mention, panic attack, regret, heavy emotions

a/n: tumblr isn’t letting me answer the request like usual but here is this one requested by @kieeslove . this is one is probably one of the most heartbreaking one-shots i’ve written to be honest but i love how it ended up coming out. please please please read the warnings before reading it.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

You’ve had the whole day to yourself—no call time, no script changes, no wardrobe fittings. Just a long, open stretch of silence that you’d usually welcome.

But today, it’s been anything but peaceful.

You’ve barely moved from the couch since noon, wrapped in the hoodie Drew left on the kitchen chair last night, half-watching a show you’ve seen before just to fill the space. Your phone rests in your lap, screen dim, but your mind hasn’t stopped racing for hours.

You saw it this morning.

The story.

Odessa’s.

It popped up right after breakfast, when you were still groggy, sipping coffee on the balcony. You tapped through mindlessly until you froze on a video—shaky, close-up, her voice giggling behind the camera.

Drew.

He was leaning against a trailer, smiling—no, laughing. That wide, rare kind of laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes. She flipped the camera back to herself, grinning like it was an inside joke between just the two of them.

And maybe it was.

The next slide was a photo. A candid. He had his head thrown back, laughing at something you couldn’t hear, while she stood beside him with only half her face in the frame.

But it was enough.

Enough to make your stomach twist.

Enough to make you stare too long at the caption.

“Set life with this goof 🤍”

The cast knows about you and Drew. Everyone on set does. You’ve stopped pretending around them—stopped hiding the way you slip into his trailer during breaks, how he kisses your temple when he thinks no one’s looking.

But outside of that circle, no one knows. No Instagram posts. No red carpets. Not even soft launches in the comments section.

And you understood why at first.

Keeping it private felt safer. Cleaner. Something just for you two.

Until moments like this.

Moments where he looks like someone else’s.

You scroll back through the texts—between you and Drew, between you and Odessa.

There’s nothing wrong, not really. But there’s a shift. A subtle unraveling.

He doesn’t say “I love you” before bed anymore. Doesn’t kiss your forehead when he leaves for work.

And Odessa—your best friend, the person who once felt like your other half—she’s been on set more and more. Not because she has to be. Just because.

You used to think she came to see you. To hang out between scenes, raid craft services, sit on your trailer floor and gossip about everything and nothing.

But lately, it feels like she’s there for him.

You told yourself not to overthink it. Not to read too much into the way her hand lingers on his arm when she laughs, or the way he seems more awake when she’s around.

But today, alone with your thoughts and too much time, the pit in your stomach hasn’t let up.

You pick up your phone again and scroll to your thread with Odessa.

No new messages.

She didn’t text you today.

Not after she posted those stories. Not after she spent half the afternoon on the same set your boyfriend was working on.

You’d texted her earlier—just a casual “You on set today?”—but it’s still sitting there, unanswered.

You switch to Drew’s messages.

You (9:42am): Miss you today. Hope the scene went okay.

You (12:16pm): Odessa still there?

You (3:03pm): Are you home late tonight?

All read. None replied to.

The front door opens at 1:14 a.m.

You don’t even flinch anymore. You just pull the hoodie tighter around you and pretend the tightness in your chest isn’t there.

Drew walks in with slow, tired steps, jacket slung over his arm, hair tousled from a long shoot.

You look up at him, soft but cautious. “Hey.”

He pauses at the doorway to the kitchen. “Hey. You’re up?”

“Didn’t have any scenes today,” you say, voice quieter than you mean. “Just stayed home.”

He nods, distracted. Opens the fridge. Grabs a bottle of water. Doesn’t ask about your day.

He scrolls his phone, thumbs moving quickly.

“Long shoot?” you ask after a moment.

“Yeah,” he says, cracking open the bottle. “Ran over like an hour. Just wrapped a little while ago.”

You hesitate. “Was Odessa still there?”

He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “For a bit. She left before we wrapped.”

Another beat of silence.

You want to say more. You want to ask why she’s always there lately, or why he hasn’t said I love you in four nights straight.

But your throat closes around the words, like saying them out loud would make it worse.

Drew glances at you again. “I’m gonna crash. Early call.”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

He disappears down the hall. No kiss. No touch.

And again—no I love you.

You stare at your phone until the screen fades.

Open Odessa’s story one more time.

Watch the way he laughs like he’s weightless. The way she looks at him like she knows something you don’t.

They don’t look like they’re hiding anything.

But you feel like you’re the only one being kept in the dark.

You wake up to an empty apartment again. Drew left early for set, just like he said, but something’s different today. You didn’t have to film any scenes today either, so you stayed home, hoping maybe things would feel normal again. Maybe Drew would come back and the silence wouldn’t stretch so thin between you two.

But that’s not how it goes anymore.

You scroll through your phone, trying to shake the heaviness. You glance at your messages—nothing new from Drew, just the usual short replies.

Your eyes flick to Odessa’s name, the friend you’ve known for years—the one who always seemed like your sister, the person who knew you better than anyone. But lately, even she’s become distant.

You tap her name and open your texts.

“Can’t wait to hang out tomorrow! Dinner and drinks like old times?” you typed a few days ago. No reply. Just like the other texts since then.

The next morning, you woke to a curt text from Odessa: “Had to fly back to LA today. Sorry, last minute. Hope you understand.”

No call. Just a text.

Your stomach dropped. You’d been looking forward to that night all week, but now it was gone—just like her.

You tried not to overthink it, telling yourself she was busy.

She returned, just a few days later but didn’t tell you. You found out the worst way possible.

You were walking past the trailers on set when you saw them.

Drew and Odessa.

Laughing together.

Close.

Too close.

The easy way they leaned into each other—like you used to, all three of you—felt like a punch to the gut.

You stopped, heart hammering in your chest.

They looked up and caught your eyes. Drew smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Odessa’s grin faltered for a moment before she turned back to him.

Your throat tightened.

You blinked, trying to tell yourself you were imagining things. Maybe they were just friends. Maybe you were just overthinking.

But deep down, the pit in your stomach grew.

The distance between you and Drew had been growing too. More than growing—it had widened into a chasm you didn’t know how to cross.

Your conversations were clipped, like you were just two roommates trying to coexist rather than the couple you once were.

You found yourself wondering if maybe you were the problem.

Maybe I’m too much.

Maybe I’m not enough.

You replayed every conversation, every look, every silence between you two.

The way Drew would zone out when you talked about your day.

The way he spent more and more time texting someone you couldn’t see.

The way Odessa—your best friend—pulled away too, her responses short and distracted whenever you tried to ask if she was okay.

One afternoon, you caught her alone near the trailers.

“Hey, you’ve seemed… different lately. Is everything okay?” you asked, voice gentle.

She glanced up at you, eyes guarded.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she said, but you knew better.

She was closing off, just like Drew.

You wanted to reach through the walls that were building around her, but you didn’t know how.

The days blur together, each one heavier than the last.

You watch the calendar pages turn—slow and unforgiving—but the distance between you and Drew feels like it’s growing faster by the day.

He’s quieter. More distracted. Even when he’s in the room with you, it’s like you’re separate islands sharing the same space.

It’s been over a week since he kissed you.

Not a single brush of lips, not even a quick peck in passing.

You catch yourself waiting, holding your breath for the moment it will happen. But it never does.

You try to convince yourself it’s just stress. Long shoots. Exhaustion.

But when the lights go out and the apartment is still, the silence screams louder than any excuse.

One night, you find yourself standing in the bathroom, warm water streaming over your face, blurring your vision.

You don’t want him to hear the quietness of your tears—so you let them fall only in the shower, behind the locked door.

The water carries the ache away for a little while.

Later, when Drew leaves for set—his phone forgotten on the kitchen counter, screen unlocked—you hesitate.

Curiosity gnaws at you.

You pick it up, fingers trembling.

His messages open to a thread with Odessa.

You scroll through, the words soft but sharp:

“Missed you today.”

“Can’t wait for tomorrow.”

There’s nothing explicit. No promises or declarations.

Just the kind of words that linger in the spaces between.

Your chest tightens.

You close the phone carefully and set it back down.

Staring at the ceiling, you wonder how long this has been going on.

How long you’ve been standing on the outside looking in.

You want to confront him. To demand the truth.

But the words catch in your throat.

The apartment is quiet again.

That terrible, airless quiet that makes you feel like even the walls are watching.

Your phone buzzes.

You almost don’t check. You’ve been trying to be good—trying to stop torturing yourself by scrolling through Instagram, through posts with her name tagged beside his, through photos where his eyes don’t even look like his anymore.

But the name on your screen is one you can’t ignore.

Odessa.

Your pulse jumps. You hesitate. Then you open it.

“I told Drew I’m in love with him. He feels the same. I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The air leaves your lungs in one slow, numb exhale.

You reread it once. Twice. A third time, as if the words might change if you look hard enough.

They don’t.

No emoji. No nervous laughter. No gray area.

Just a quiet confession and a knife between your ribs.

But you don’t cry.

You don’t scream.

You don’t even blink.

You just sit there on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, the message open on your screen, the cursor blinking like it’s daring you to respond.

You don’t.

The front door opens not long after.

You hear it before you see him—his key sliding into the lock, the door creaking open, boots hitting hardwood.

He walks in humming, like he’s had a good day.

Like the world didn’t just drop out from under you.

Then he sees you.

And the humming dies.

“Hey,” Drew says slowly, careful. His voice is soft, uncertain now. “You got her text.”

Your head turns slowly toward him. Your eyes are glassy, unreadable.

So he knows.

Of course he knows.

“She told you she was going to send it?” you ask, voice flat.

He nods once. “She said she felt guilty. She didn’t want to lie anymore.”

You blink. Once. Twice.

“And you let her?”

“I didn’t let her,” he says, stepping closer. “I tried to stop her, but—”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. It sounds like something breaking.

“She said you feel the same.”

Drew hesitates. “That’s not what I—look, it’s not black and white, okay? It’s complicated—”

You stare at him. “Complicated,” you repeat, the word like acid in your mouth.

He moves toward you, crouching beside the couch, reaching for your hand.

You flinch before he can touch you.

He freezes.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says quietly.

Your hands shake as you stand, your voice rising without warning. “Don’t you dare say that to me.”

His eyes go wide. “I—”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back. “You don’t get to say you didn’t mean to. You chose this.”

“You think I wanted to hurt you?”

“You did hurt me.”

The fury rises in you like a tide—faster than you can stop it.

“I’ve been here,” you whisper. “Every single day. Loving you. Waiting for you to love me back the way you used to.”

You grab the photo from the coffee table—the one from Paris, the one where you look happiest, safest, most certain of him.

You throw it across the room with every ounce of strength you have.

It hits the wall and shatters, glass and memories scattering across the floor.

He flinches.

“You were supposed to love me,” you say, voice cracking now. “Not her. Me.”

Drew steps forward like he’s trying to fix something already broken. “I do love you—”

“No, you don’t,” you snap. “Not really. Because if you did, this wouldn’t have happened.”

He tries to hug you, arms reaching for you like he still has a right to them.

You let him.

But not out of love.

Out of exhaustion.

His chest presses to yours, and for one brief second you remember the comfort that used to live in that space.

Now it feels foreign.

He murmurs, “We can fix this. Please. I’ll cut things off with her. We can go to therapy or—”

You press your hands to his chest and push him back gently.

“No,” you say. “This isn’t something you fix.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Well, you did.”

You walk to the door. Open it.

His breath catches. “You’re really kicking me out?”

You nod.

“I need space. I need you gone.”

Drew just stands there, stunned.

You look him straight in the eye.

“Come back for your things when I’m not here.”

“Please,” he says again, voice cracking. “Just let me explain—”

“You already did.”

And then you close the door.

Not hard.

Just enough to say this is final.

The click of the lock is the only sound in the apartment now.

The kind of silence that feels like grief.

Weeks pass.

The days don’t feel like days anymore.

Just hours strung together like dim beads on a thread you didn’t ask to hold.

You’re back on set.

Back in makeup chairs and wardrobe trailers. Back in long shooting days and artificial sunsets. Back in scenes where you’re supposed to smile, touch, kiss. Where you’re supposed to cry in the rain, shout until your throat is raw, crumble in someone else’s arms like your heart is breaking.

Pretend.

You move through it all like a ghost.

Quiet. Efficient. Detached.

You say your lines. You hit your marks. You laugh when the script says you’re supposed to. You kiss him when the camera rolls. You sob against his chest on cue, let your voice crack in that way the director loves. You even slap him in one scene—your eyes glassy, your voice trembling as you yell through clenched teeth.

But nothing touches you.

Not really.

You feel like someone’s removed your insides and left only the outline of you behind. Something hollowed out and left on autopilot.

Between takes, you sit by yourself.

No music in your headphones. No books cracked open. Just silence, staring at nothing, like you’re afraid to fill the space with anything real.

You used to light up on set. You used to steal the crew’s snacks, laugh between takes, tease Drew when he flubbed his lines. There was always an energy around you—light, warm, full of spark.

Now, the spark is gone.

And everyone feels it.

They don’t say anything, not directly. But you can feel the stares. The too-gentle hellos. The quiet way people check on you like they’re afraid you might shatter if they speak too loud.

Even Drew notices.

Especially Drew.

You don’t look at him unless the scene requires it.

You don’t answer when he says your name off camera.

You don’t sit near him at lunch, don’t meet his eyes when the director gives you blocking notes, don’t flinch when you’re told you’ll be filming another kiss today.

You just nod.

And do it.

Like it doesn’t hurt.

Like it doesn’t kill you every time his hands touch your waist, every time he looks at you like he remembers what it used to feel like to be loved by you.

The worst part is—he still looks at you like he’s in love.

Like he’s sorry.

But sorry doesn’t undo the wreckage.

You’ve already learned how to carry the debris.

Today, there’s a scene. You’re arguing. The kind that gets rewritten the night before for “heightened emotional stakes.” You scream at him, tears in your eyes, spit flying as you shove him in the chest. Your voice breaks in all the right places. The crew holds their breath.

"Cut."

You step back. Wipe your face. The tears vanish as fast as they came.

You turn away from him without a glance, your expression flat. Cold.

Drew just stands there, stunned. Still catching his breath from a fight that wasn’t real—at least not on paper. Still staring at you like he’s waiting for something soft to return to your face.

But your face is steel now.

Sharp angles. No trace of the vulnerability from a moment ago. Just rage simmering under the surface, quiet and controlled and utterly unreachable.

Like flipping a switch.

And that’s what terrifies him.

The way you can drop the emotion like it never existed. Like he doesn’t exist.

Between takes, you walk off set. You need air. Space. Anything that doesn’t feel like recycled heartbreak.

You step out behind the trailers, where no one’s watching.

Your hands tremble as you pull a cigarette from your jacket pocket. You haven’t smoked since college, since a messy breakup you thought nothing would ever top.

Funny.

You light it with shaking fingers, inhale, exhale, trying to find some kind of calm in the burn.

You don’t hear Rudy approach.

But you feel him.

He walks up slowly, hands in his pockets, eyes kind.

Without a word, he reaches out and gently takes the cigarette from your fingers.

You don’t fight him.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You glance at him, just barely. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

It’s the kind of question that should come with a dozen follow-ups. But he doesn’t push. Just asks it like he’ll believe whatever answer you give him.

You nod once. “Yeah.”

It’s a lie.

He knows it’s a lie.

But he lets you have it anyway.

Rudy looks at you for a long moment before dropping the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out.

Then he slings an arm loosely around your shoulders.

You don’t lean into it. But you don’t pull away, either.

You just stand there.

Side by side.

Quiet.

Because some silences don’t beg to be filled.

Some are just there to be witnessed.

The moon is a sliver above the water—ghostly and thin, like it’s watching but too tired to shine.

Drew finds you sitting at the edge of the dock, legs drawn up, arms locked around your knees like if you let go, you’d come apart completely.

You haven’t moved in what feels like hours.

He stands behind you for a while, saying nothing. Just… watching.

You look so still.

Too still.

So he steps forward, wood groaning beneath his weight, careful not to scare you. Not that you react. Not even a glance. Your eyes are locked on the black water, the surface rippling quietly like it’s holding your secrets.

He settles beside you, close but not touching. The wind brushes through your hair.

For a moment, all he hears is the hush of the waves and the far-off echo of laughter from the house.

He thinks maybe you’re calm.

Then he hears it.

That faint, stuttering breath. The wet sound of someone trying not to fall apart.

He turns to look at you—and sees it.

Your shoulders trembling.

Your jaw clenched so tight it’s trembling.

The soft, broken sound clawing from your throat as your lungs fail you.

You’re crying.

But it’s not just crying.

It’s a full-body unraveling.

He shifts closer, alarm rising in his chest. “Hey. Hey, breathe. Look at me.”

You don’t.

Your body hunches in tighter, shoulders shaking harder as your breath gets faster, shallower—like you’re trapped under something heavy.

“Breathe with me, okay?” Drew tries again, voice soft. “Just… follow me.”

He reaches out carefully, fingers brushing your wrist to anchor you, like he used to do back when things were simpler—back when that touch meant safety.

But this time, the contact makes you flinch.

And still, his hand closes gently around your wrist—and that’s when he feels it.

His fingers still.

Then tighten—just slightly.

Because he knows what he’s touching.

Scars.

Fresh ones.

Fainter than they used to be, maybe. But new. Raw.

His entire body goes cold.

“Please…” His voice breaks, a whisper edged in panic. “Please tell me those are old.”

Your head snaps toward him.

Your eyes—red, wide, furious—are like a slap.

You rip your arm from his grip and clutch it against your chest like a secret.

“I told you I wasn’t doing that anymore,” you snap, voice cracking. “I told you I was okay.”

“I thought you were,” he says, stunned. “You promised—”

“You think I wanted to start again?” you explode. “You think I wanted to go back to that?”

Your voice is all rage and ache and grief. “Do you know what it’s like? To sit in a bathroom with a towel under you and a razor in your hand, and you’re shaking so bad you can’t tell if you want to die or just want it to stop?”

He’s silent.

Paralyzed.

“I stopped for you,” you say, trembling. “I stopped because you made me feel like I was enough.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “But then you weren’t mine anymore. You were hers. And I couldn’t breathe, Drew. I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

You stand up so fast he can barely react.

You stumble backward a few steps, chest heaving, arms wrapped around yourself like a shield.

“If you were just gonna fall in love with my best friend…” Your voice cracks. “Then you shouldn’t have asked me to be your fucking girlfriend.”

He rises slowly, hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal.

“I never meant to hurt you like this.”

“But you did!” you scream, backing away. “You knew how fragile I was. You knew. I told you everything. I told you what it felt like to want to hurt myself. I told you what it cost to survive it.”

Tears streak your face, wild and fast.

“And you still chose her.”

He tries to reach for you. “Please—just talk to me.”

You shove his chest with both hands. Hard. Then again. And again.

“You were supposed to love me.”

He doesn’t stop you. He just stands there and takes it.

“You were supposed to be different,” you cry. “I trusted you with everything. I gave you every broken piece and you just—God—Drew, you left me there.”

More footsteps. Fast ones. The house has gone silent behind you, but now someone’s running.

Rudy reaches you just as you collapse forward.

He catches you in his arms, sinking with you to the dock.

Your body shakes with silent sobs, all strength gone, all resistance dissolved.

Madelyn grabs Drew, her expression unreadable—fear and fury clashing behind her eyes.

She pulls him back, away from you, away from the collapse.

“What happened?” she hisses, voice low and sharp.

But Drew can’t answer.

He’s crying too.

Watching the way Rudy holds you like something sacred and shattered.

Your voice, small and hoarse, cuts through the stillness.

“I really loved you,” you whisper, like you’re trying to remind yourself it mattered. “I really did.”

Rudy closes his eyes, jaw tight, hugging you closer.

“And I tried,” you say, your breath hitching again. “I really tried not to hurt myself. I really did.”

The only sound left is your broken breathing and the water moving beneath the dock.

No one knows what to say.

No one knows if anything would help.

And Drew—

He kneels in the shadows, hands shaking, the words I’m sorry caught somewhere between his heart and throat, knowing they’ll never be enough.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

The room is cold. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting pale shadows across the long table that stretches between you and the others.

You sit at one end, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the wood, knuckles blanching with pressure.

Across from you, the cast shifts uncomfortably in their seats—Jonas standing at the head of the table, his hands resting on its surface like an anchor, eyes serious and tired.

Drew sits near the middle, hands folded in his lap, eyes fixed on the scuffs in the floor.

The silence hangs like a storm about to break, thick and unyielding.

Jonas clears his throat.

“We can’t keep filming like this,” he says, voice low but steady.

“This tension, this… distance. It’s hurting the work. And it’s hurting all of you.”

He looks around the room, then back at you.

“We all want to move forward. But that means you and Drew need to talk. You need to clear this, or at least try.”

Your throat tightens, words lodged in your chest like shards.

You stare down at the table, tracing a scratch in the grain with your finger.

Drew finally speaks, voice hesitant, raw.

“I never meant for things to get this messed up. For me to fall for Odessa.”

He looks up, meeting your eyes briefly.

“I wasn’t trying to use you, YN. I swear. You have to believe me.”

You swallow hard.

Bitter words claw at your throat, but they spill out before you can stop them.

“You promised me everything.”

Your voice breaks, trembling like a frayed wire.

“Paris. A house with a garden.”

“Kids. Marley from the pound.”

You close your eyes and press your palms to the table to stop them from shaking.

A cold certainty wraps around your words, unshakable.

The room is still.

Drew’s shoulders slump, a bitter twist in his chest.

“Do you really think I fell for her just to hurt you?”

His voice breaks like glass, fragile and jagged.

You don’t answer.

You don’t want to.

“You think you’re the only one hurting?”

He shakes his head, voice rising with desperate frustration.

“You think this is easy for me?”

The words are raw, ragged.

You lean forward, voice cutting through the thick silence.

“Easy?” you scoff. “You and Odessa? The perfect little couple who ruined me?”

Jonas steps between you with a steadying hand raised.

“Enough.”

You lift your head slowly, voice low and final.

“I can do the scenes. But Drew stays away from me.”

“Odessa stays away, too. If she ever visits, I don’t want to see her.”

The words fall like a decree, clear and unyielding.

You stand abruptly, the chair scraping hard against the floor.

Your breath catches—sharp and uneven.

The door slams behind you.

Leaving behind only silence and the lingering weight of what’s broken.

Time passes in strange ways after everything breaks.

The apartment is quieter now. Not silent—just… softer. Like everyone’s learned to move around the wound without touching it.

You’ve stopped crying in the bathroom.

You still avoid him on set.

But you’re functioning again.

You wake up with the sun instead of dragging yourself out of bed at noon. You drink water. You make your bed. You sit on the balcony in the mornings with a journal in your lap and your knees curled to your chest, scribbling down thoughts you won’t say out loud.

You don’t live in the old apartment anymore.

You couldn’t. Not after everything.

The quiet was too loud there. The walls still held the shape of him—his coffee mug on the counter, his laugh echoing in the hallway, the soft imprint of a life you built and lost all at once.

So you packed it all up and left. New place. New routine. Smaller, lonelier, but yours.

No ghosts.

Just space to breathe.

Sometimes, you paint again. You drag an old easel out to the balcony and lose yourself in blues and golds and soft, wide brushstrokes. Your fingers end up stained for days.

Sometimes, you laugh.

Mostly with Rudy. He’s your shadow now. Always close. Always watching.

He knows when to joke, when to distract you, when to sit in silence and just breathe beside you.

JD brings you coffee every morning from town, no matter what. It started as a quiet gesture. Now it’s a ritual. He doesn’t say much—but you know it’s his way of reminding you you’re seen. Still wanted. Still here.

The cast has adjusted. They don’t talk about what happened. Not in front of you. Not in front of him.

You and Drew still share scenes. Still work together like professionals.

But off-camera? You orbit each other like broken planets.

Not friends.

Not enemies.

Just… nothing.

And maybe that’s worse.

Drew keeps his distance, like you asked. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t try.

But he watches you when he thinks you won’t notice.

From the far side of the room, across the lawn, just past the camera setup.

Always just out of reach.

You caught him once, lingering in the doorway as you laughed too hard at something Rudy said, your head thrown back, hair messy, eyes brighter than they’d been in weeks.

He didn’t smile.

He just stood there, quiet and still, his expression unreadable.

Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel anything.

Like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

Some days, you think you might hate him.

Other days, you ache just thinking his name.

But mostly—you’re just tired.

Tired of missing someone who’s still right there.

Tired of feeling haunted by a version of him that doesn’t exist anymore.

And Drew—

He wonders how it got like this.

How a joke at a table, a few lingering glances, a shared hoodie and some stupid, unspoken boundaries turned into something he’d ruin with a single mistake.

How he lost the girl who loved him enough to break for him.

He watches you from afar, regret curling in his chest like smoke.

You’re still beautiful. Still brilliant. Still trying.

But now, when you smile—it’s never at him.

And he doesn’t know if it ever will be again.

#drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey #drew starkey obx #drew starkey angst #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey imagine #rafe cameron #obx #drew starkey outer banks #rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader

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orimuraa · 2 days ago

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• I could be the rest of your life or whatever - 西村力 ↳ ┊: handlebars (feat. dua lipa) - jennie

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆nishimura riki was known as the school’s bad boy, but somehow, he managed to get his heart stolen by you—the school’s nerdy sunshine ⨾

۶ৎ bad boy!ni-ki x fem nerd!reader┆fluff┆cursing, petnames, one kiss┆wc 952

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: thank you to the @nodoubtily for requesting this! i love the idea of explaining how they met and how their relationship bloomed ^^ i hope you enjoyed!!

part 1

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

the first time you ever ran into ni-ki was in freshman year. you were all getting used to high school and the new environment. as usual, you were off in the library studying, not having anything better to do in your time.

that’s when he walked in. clad in a black sweatshirt and some grey, baggy jeans, he was so pretty. he gave off a serious “don’t talk to me or i’ll fuck you up” vibe, but you couldn’t help but watch as he navigated his way over to the studying tables where you sat.

you tried to focus on your work—you really tried—but he was too distracting! his pretty moles that scattered his gorgeous face, his duck like lips, and his dark and mysterious eyes that were focused on the paper below him.

you were about to introduce yourself when he stopped you.

“if you’re about to speak, i request that you don’t. i don’t have time for shit like this,” he said curtly, not even sparing a glance.

that made your lips seal with shock. this guy was nothing but a jerk yet for some reason, you wanted to know more about the mysterious pretty guy.

so you did. the next few months were spent with you running around the school to be with him, practically forcing him to be your friend.

at first, he cursed you out for following him, saying he didn’t need a new friend.

“god, piss off! i don’t need a fucking fan club,” he growled, but it didn’t faze you.

you continued to stay right by his side whether he wanted it or not, slowly learning new things about him.

you learned that he had two sisters and that he was actually from japan, making you swoon for him even more.

it wasn’t until one day (the only day in the whole year that you were absent), ni-ki realized that he actually enjoyed your company and relentless nagging.

he had no idea where you were and it worried him that you were in danger. he also missed the way you would appear when his classes finished (despite him never actually showing up to them) and the way you would chat his ear off about certain things.

he kinda just accepted it and let you stay by his side. you two would walk through the halls as you chatted about something that was going on in your life while greeting your fellow classmates. he admired your social ability and it definitely made his heart flutter seeing your adorable smile. you had done something to his heart and for the first time, ni-ki wasn’t scared of the feeling.

so when you showed up the next day, looking exhausted yet still so radiant, ni-ki tried not to make his panic visible.

“where were you?” he mumbled, wanting to stay nonchalant but also not being able to hide his concern.

“sorry…i was sick for the weekend,” you frowned at the tall boy, your voice still not fully recovered.

“don’t apologize. there’s nothing to apologize for. just…i’m glad you’re better,” he said shyly, the tips of his ears getting red.

“thanks,” you smile, choosing not to tease him.

you both walked in your usual way, you chatting his ear off despite your sore throat, but this time, ni-ki actually conversed back. he only chimed in small comments, but they were enough to keep the smile on your face.

you were shocked when you saw that ni-ki was the one waiting for you after class instead of you going to wait for him. he had your favorite drink in hand and the smallest smile on his plump lips, yet you still noticed.

“hi ki,” you smile softly, the nickname slipping out.

“ki? hmm, i like it,” he chuckles, ruffling your hair to which you scowl at. “maybe i’ll have to make a nickname for you..or can i just call you mine?” he smirks slyly, making your heart stop for a second.

“i- you’re crazy!” you shake your head, trying to avoid eye contact. you scurry ahead, trying to get out of the building for some fresh hair, ni-ki smirking with pride as he followed after you.

the breath of fresh air was amazing as you started to feel extremely hot confined in the building with ni-ki. as you stopped in your tracks, your heard ni-ki stop as well.

“better, princess?” he asked, that smug look still on his face. you blushed again, but you didn’t say anything.

“listen, i uhh…i’m not the best with words but i just wanted to say that i think i like you…no- i know i like you. i like everything about you and i didn’t realize i could feel this deeply about someone,” ni-ki says, his voice laced with hesitation and anxiousness.

“then my plan worked!” you laugh. “i’ve been waiting to get close to you all these weeks! i’m glad it worked then,” you smile at him.

“wait- that was your plan the whole time??” he questions, raising an eyebrow at you.

“well…i just wanted to get to know you better,” you say shyly, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“then can i be your boyfriend?” ni-ki asks, a new found softness in his tone.

“yes, 100 times yes !!” you exclaim, going up on your tippy toes to throw your arms around his neck, hugging him close.

“thank you for giving me a chance baby,” he mumbles in your ear, pressing a soft kiss against your temple.

“well now you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life!” you giggle, nuzzling your face into his neck.

“and i would let you stay by my side forever if it meant you stayed right here, in my arms.”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication, @melodiessvy, @soona-huh, @kiwicup, @yuuuraaa

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sixeyesonathiel · 16 hours ago

Text

finally birthing male manipulator satoru with girl failure reader wwww

gojo satoru was used to getting what he wanted.

and he wanted you.

not in some deep, profound way—god, no. not at first. it started as a game. a challenge. a passing amusement that piqued his interest one random thursday morning when you stammered out an apology after bumping into his desk, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. he watched you trip over your own words, clutch your pen like a lifeline, and tuck your legs up onto the chair like you could shrink out of existence if you tried hard enough.

prime target. textbook girlfailure behavior. he could spot it from a mile away.

this was supposed to be easy.

he’d start small. nothing too intense. just a little white knight routine—softboy edition. give you just enough attention to get you spinning. love-bomb in casual doses. trauma-dump-lite over late-night fries. maybe let his voice go quiet and vulnerable one evening and say, “you remind me of someone i cared about.” glance away, bite his lip, look just the right amount of broken. play the victim just enough to make you feel like you had to fix him.

he’d make you think he saw you. that he understood you.

except you, with your messy hair and oversized hoodie sleeves pulled over twitchy fingers, dodged every single one of his perfectly curated attempts like your avoidant attachment style was running military-grade defense protocols.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asked one afternoon, leaning a little too close to your desk, silver hair slightly tousled, reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, his voice low and silky. lips curved into a smile that’d made stronger girls fold. “you looked a little sad today. i worry about you sometimes.”

you blinked up at him, lashes fluttering like you couldn’t believe he was talking to you. your throat worked around a half-swallowed gulp. then your face shifted. shutters slammed down. you forced a grin, lopsided and sharp around the edges.

“yeah, i’m just like this. it’s seasonal depression, but, y’know… year-round. i’m fine.”

you said it so matter-of-factly. like he was asking about the weather.

satoru froze, his hand briefly twitching near his glasses as he pushed them up slowly, searching for meaning in a world that had suddenly gone sideways.

what the actual hell.

okay. maybe you needed more.

he started sitting next to you in class. always coincidentally. elbows brushing, knees knocking. his thigh warm where it grazed yours. he sent you memes at 1:37 a.m. with captions like “us fr?” and “ur literally me,” despite you barely replying to half of them. he offered his jacket when the AC kicked on and watched the way you hesitated, blushed, and then said, “i run on spite, not warmth.”

and then, the pièce de résistance:

“i just feel like… you’re different,” he said one evening outside the library. the campus was quiet, sky the kind of inky navy that made everything feel more cinematic. he stood with hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket, a calculated slouch, glasses slightly askew, hair falling across his forehead. his voice dipped low, coaxing. “everyone else is so fake. but you? you’re real. you’ve got this… broken, beautiful thing going on.”

you tilted your head. stared. then squinted at him like he was a suspiciously priced antique. “did you get that line off tiktok?”

he flinched.

bro.

he ran a hand through his hair. a slow, dramatic drag of fingers. girls walking by giggled. he didn’t look up. he was malfunctioning.

he was trying. actually trying. not just running a script. not just playing games. he was pulling every page from the softboy manipulator playbook and rewriting it with style. the gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss starter pack, optimized for 2025.

and still. you met his carefully calculated charm with self-deprecating jokes, sarcasm, and the kind of deadpan delivery that made him question if he was losing it.

“you should save that line for someone without warranty issues,” you said, staring at him with a crooked little smile. “i come pre-broken.”

he left that encounter walking in slow motion, hoodie sleeves dragged over his hands, mouth set in a pout. if a sad indie movie montage started playing around him, he wouldn’t have questioned it.

here’s the thing, though: you liked him.

it was obvious.

he saw it in the way your gaze flickered to his mouth when he talked. the way your fingers curled tight around your notebook when he leaned in too close. the way your breath hitched just slightly when he used your name in a sentence. you were down bad.

but you were also your own worst enemy.

years of romantic misfires and silent yearning had turned you into a master of avoidance. you would rather make a joke about your emotional damage than let someone touch your heart. rather ghost your feelings than face them.

and it was frying his entire nervous system.

one night, 2:14 a.m., satoru lay on his bed staring at your latest post: a blurry picture of your cat with the caption “me.” it had two likes.

he stared at it longer than any man should. took a screenshot. set it as his lock screen for five minutes. unironically laughed.

then groaned and stuffed his face into his pillow.

“no,” he muttered. “no. she’s the one who canceled our group study session with ‘sorry i’m busy disappointing my ancestors.’”

and yet.

he kept thinking about the way your voice dropped to a whisper when you didn’t think anyone was listening. the way you fiddled with your sleeves when you were nervous. how you always sat at the edge of a group like you weren’t sure you belonged there.

you never clung to him. never fed into his savior complex. never let him be the one who "fixed" you.

and for some reason, that made him want to try harder.

not because it was a game anymore. because… well. because you were infuriating. weird. unpredictable. not like the others. god, maybe you were even kind of funny.

whatever. it wasn’t that deep.

gojo satoru: male manipulator dodged by the one girl who wanted him back… just enough to sabotage it.

and now he’s the one thinking way too hard about someone who won’t even sit next to him two days in a row.

he doesn’t like you.

he just… finds you interesting.

that’s all.

shut up.

#gojo satoru #gojo drabbles #gojo crack #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo x reader crack #gojo x reader fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk crack #jjk drabbles #jjk x reader

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un-fwuit-un-fwog · 22 hours ago

Text

Goodnight and sleep tight.

Part nine of The Rain series

Synopsis: Silver comes to visit the Ramshackle Prefect in the infirmary after the collapse of the dorm and that night, Lilia pops in for a visit as well.

TW: Some mentions of the reader being in a rough state, Silver is DISTRAUGHT, Lilia may or may not shed a tear (could be a figment of our imagination)

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I'm back!!! (I lied. I posted TODAY instead of TOMORROW mwahahaha)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (here), Part 10 (coming soon), . . .

A soft, familiar groan came from the door to the infirmary as it slowly drifted open.

As far as you knew, Silver was supposed to be visiting next. However, an unfamiliar form hobbled through the door like some corpse barely holding on to its last sliver of vitality. The only thing that tipped you off to who it was you were looking at was the silver hair.

His teetering body stumbled into the room and collapsed on the floor next to the bed with his head resting on the edge of the mattress.

"How are you?" a croak like voice came from his throat.

"Better than you from the looks of it." Your voice is soft: partially because of the state of your throat and partially because you worried that talking even a bit louder would shatter the boy's fragile form.

Your first thought is to ask if he's okay but decide that would be a stupid question as he clearly isn't. "You. . .look like you haven't slept." is what you opt for.

A soft groan reverberates from his throat "I have. . ." He softly lifts a hand onto the bed that ghosts over yours before finally letting it rest on your, now only lightly, bandaged appendage. ". . .just not well."

You aren't entirely sure what to say to that so you try to lighten the atmosphere a bit: "I'd offer to sing you a lullaby, but I think my voice would be too raspy to calm you at all."

There's a short silence before: "I'd be more worried about your throat hurting" the statement leaves his lips in a barely audible murmur.

"My throat would be fine" you reassure with a soft smile "Almost fully healed in that aspect. I just need to get used to using my voice again after all those surgeries."

Silence again. A quiet rustling is heard as he shifts his heads on the sheets to look at you, his dreary eyes meeting yours "Then. . .I don't mind if you sound bad."

"Huh?"

"I think. . .just hearing your voice and knowing you're okay. . .will be enough to let me rest peacefully."

And like that' you're roped into singing (if it can even be called that) him a lullaby. To your surprise, it actually coaxes him into a seemingly peaceful slumber.

You can't help but observe his face as he rests by your side, hand resting on yours almost like an anchor to keep him grounded in his dreams. Dark circles cave under his eyes, his hair is a disheveled mess, and his lips that usually appear so soft are chapped. A hand unconsciously brushes through his hair.

"Sleep well. I'm sorry for worrying you."

You drift off alongside him.

When you wake up, it appears to be late into the night. The infirmary is lit only by a few softly glowing lamps and the gentle light of the moon shining through the windows.

Silver is still sleeping next to you on the ground in a position you can't imagine is comfortable. His soft, steady breaths are a comfort you didn't realize you craved.

"Up late I see"

Before you can jolt in surprise, a familiar face appears in your line of sight.

"Silver hadn't returned so I came to fetch him."

"Ah"

"He hasn't been sleeping well, you know?"

"I notic-"

"When he heard the news, he was terribly distraught! All the boys were. I made sure I got them all to the signup sheet promptly so they could see you post haste and check on your condition."

"I see-"

"I considered coming first to make sure your condition wasn't too gruesome for them to see, but I figured they're old enough to handle whatever condition you were in. They need to learn some time."

You watch on somewhat dazed from sleep as Lilia incessantly rambles on. After a while of his chattering, you finally reach out and softly grab his sleeve, giving him a tired look.

"Oh, dear! My apologies. You must be tired. Worry not! I'll take Silver and be out of your hair so you can sleep-"

This time you cut him off "Sit."

Your voice isn't stern, and your face is far from commanding, but Lilia finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed the moment you utter the word.

"What about you?"

Lilia's smile remains on his face as he tilts his head "Whatever do you mean?"

You sigh "Lilia, what about you? You've been talking about the others but haven't uttered a word about yourself."

His face twitches but he recovers quickly "You're the one all wrapped up and stuck in the infirmary, shouldn't I be the one asking you if you're okay?"

"I think you already know my condition." you argue. Before he can brush your concern off again you add "Please, don't make me worry."

His face falls noticeably, his smile nearly fully gone.

"Worrying isn't good for my already poor health cough cough" you add for dramatic effect.

He sighs but chuckles bitterly as he runs a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry, I get if you don't-"

He cuts you off by holding a glass of water to your lips. You're momentarily confused before remembering your fake coughing.

"Loss is an unfortunate reality you have to face with increasing frequency as you age, and I'm rather old."

You try to take the cup from his hands to hold it yourself as you sip its contents, but he keeps a firm grip on it, so you eventually give up.

"I thought I had gotten desensitized to it, but it seems all I really did was distance myself so that I was never too attached to anyone I could lose."

He finally sets the cup back on the nightstand before he turns to look at you. "When I thought I lost you. . ."

You aren't sure if it was a figment of your sleepy mind, but for a moment, you could have sworn you saw the glitter of a tear in the dim light as it rolled down his face.

Before you can respond, an intense wave of drowsiness hits you. As you drift off, you think you can feel a soft sensation on your forehead before hearing muffled words that sound like "Goodnight, Beastie."

The next morning, you're left to wonder if the events of last night even happened or if they were all a dream.

However, the fact Silver is no longer there and that Lilia doesn't come to visit, having told the teachers he'd "sacrifice his scheduled day so you could get some much-needed rest" lead you to believe it's the former.

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#twst #twisted wonderland #fanfiction #fanfic #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst fanfiction #silver vanrouge #silver vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #un-fwuit-un-fwog #un-fwuit-un-fwog The Rain Series

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suliigwp · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! Could you write another part for the Vroom Vroom story? Like they are all doing the interviews together and a reporter asks a question that she does not quite understand. Lewis or Alonso see that and try and explain it to her and the interview derails from there.

EMOTION ARC: MANY

Rookie! Reader x Platonic! Paddock

Previous Part!

SULI: I didn't think our vroom vroom would receive so much love, I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Here's another crack fic before the big more serious one comes! Thank you for requesting!

Warnings: pineapple on pizza mentioned, none!

The room is packed. Cameras flash, reporters fidget with recorders, and three drivers take their seats at the middle: Fernando Alonso, composed and sipping water like he didn’t just dodge chaos for 58 laps; Lewis Hamilton, ever-charismatic and polished, nodding to the crowd; and smack in the middle—The Rookie.

She’s wearing her race suit half unzipped over her team shirt, podium cap slightly crooked, and clutching the miniature champagne bottle like it’s a trophy. And her expression reads somewhere between am I still dreaming? and what happens if I open this bottle inside?

The moderator clears his throat.

“Congratulations to all drivers. We’ll open up the floor for questions.”

A reporter in the front row lifts a hand.

“This question is for our rookie. Congratulations on your first podium! Can you walk us through the emotional arc of your race?”

There’s a long pause.

The rookie leans forward toward the mic slowly, eyebrows drawn together in total confusion.

“…What is arc?”

She says it like someone just asked her to explain quantum physics using only interpretive dance.

Lewis, sitting next to her, is already smiling, having expected this exact energy.

“It means… like the emotional journey. How you felt at different points. Start, middle, end. That kind of thing.”

Still chewing gum, she nods slowly, visibly processing. Then, seriously:

“Ah. Okay. So…”

She leans into the mic again with full confidence now:

“Start: Scared. Turn 1: Still scared. Turn 3: Someone yell at me. Lap 7: I yell back. Then… vroom vroom. Rain happen. More vroom. Almost spin. I scream. I close eyes. Still drive. Then boom—I’m here. Emotion arc: Many.”

She finishes with a victorious sip of champagne and a shrug.

Fernando chokes slightly on his water.

Lewis is laughing, head down.

The press corps is stunned silent—then someone lets out a snort, and the whole room breaks into chuckles.

A second reporter raises a hand, trying to get things back on track.

“And how did you feel about the tyre strategy today?”

Rookie nods proudly.

“I do tyres.”

Dead silence.

Lewis blinks. “You… what?”

“I do tyres. I… use them. Good. Not bad. Round.”

Fernando leans toward the mic, totally deadpan.

“What she means is—her engineer made all the tyre decisions, and she said ‘okay’ with no clue what any of it meant.”

Rookie holds up a hand to correct him:

“No no. I say ‘okay’ very confidently. That is important. I fake it. I pretend I know. That is strategy.”

Lewis, still laughing:

“So you had no idea what tyre you were on?”

She pauses. Then:

“…Were they… black?”

Lewis slaps the desk. Fernando actually laughs out loud this time.

She points to Fernando and Lewis with both fingers like she’s shooting finger guns.

“Listen. You two talk too much about apex and degradation and undercut. I go vroom. That is my arc.”

The next reporter can barely hold a straight face but tries anyway:

“Okay… what was going through your mind when you crossed the finish line?”

She goes completely still, staring into the distance. Her voice drops into mock-dramatic whisper.

“I think… if I crash now… they still count, yes?"

Fernando puts his head in his hands.

“I want to say this is all an act, but I saw her spin in pit lane yesterday trying to wave at a pigeon.”

She shrugs again. “He looked friendly.”

Lewis tries to redirect:

“Let’s not forget she got P3 in the rain, held off Checo for five laps, and still had time to sing ABBA on the radio.”

She points triumphantly.

“Yes! This is why I win. Because of ABBA. And my skill. And because I forget to brake.”

Fernando stares at her.

“You… you forgot to brake?”

She looks unsure.

“I think maybe. I do one tiny brake. Just for fun. Mostly… vibes.”

At this point, a poor reporter in the back is just holding up a recorder, looking vaguely haunted.

Moderator clears his throat, half-chuckling.

“We’ll take one last question.”

A quiet voice from the back:

“What’s your goal for the rest of the season?”

She grins like she’s been waiting for this one.

“More podiums. More tyres. Less understanding. And… maybe one donut.”

She leans toward Lewis. “You teach me donut?”

Lewis, smiling warmly:

“Only if you promise to learn what a yellow flag is.”

She nods.

“Deal. But only yellow. No time for green.”

Fernando raises a hand.

“I would like to formally request she never meets Ricciardo.”

Lewis agrees.

“Or Kimi. We cannot risk it.”

She points between the two of them, grinning.

“Old men fear me. This means I win.”

As the conference ends and the drivers rise, Lewis drapes an arm around her shoulders, still chuckling.

“You know… you might actually be the future of the sport.”

She looks dead serious.

“Yes. But also… I want pizza now.”

Fernando, walking past her, doesn’t even break stride.

“If she podiums again, someone better bring pineapple pizza. Chaos deserves chaos.”

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submattsmxmmy · 2 days ago

Text

stepbro!chris x bratty!stepsis!reader

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, heavy stepsibling kink, blackmail/dubcon (kinda), begging, edging, humiliation, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex, sub!chris????

🖤 summary: 🖤 after chris throws a party while your parents are out of town, you talk chris into letting you do something he wouldn't normally let you do in exchange for not ratting him out.

hiii it's @ariestrxsh reporting from my second account so i don't get canceled. you know the drill! don't like? don't read! sorry mom, sorry god, and sorry chris sturniolo. hope y'all never see this!

dividers by @/strangergraphics

holdyourbreath

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |

The next morning, you woke up to the sun pouring into your window through your sheer curtains, Chris' arms were still wrapped around you as he softly snored beside you. Your head felt fuzzy from the weed the night before, and you had this groggy feeling that would take all morning to shake.

You heard a shuffling downstairs and sat up quickly, causing Chris to stir beside you. "Chris! I think our parents are home!" You hoarsely whispered, pulling the blanket off of you in a swift motion and staring wide-eyed at your door, ready for one or both of them to burst through any minute.

Your heart hammered away, ready for them to reprimand the two of you, first for the state of the house - and then for being in bed together.

"Don't worry. I told some buddies I'd give 'em free weed if they helped clean up from the party," he grumbled in a tired voice, completely unbothered.

You took a deep breath, the panicked feeling dwindling away and your heart returning to a normal rate, but you still felt a bit of unease. What would keep his friends from coming up and walking in on the two of you?

You'd just die if anyone you knew found out you were sleeping with your stepbrother.

"I told them a girl stayed over. They won't be bothering us at all," Chris told you as if reading your mind. He flashed you a smile before he yawned, stretching his arms overhead.

Your gaze met his for a moment after his perfect blue eyes fluttered open, but he glanced away almost immediately, worried you'd be able to see how soft he'd gotten for you.

You admired his full, pink lips, his disheveled hair, and the bit of stubble that was coming in on his face after a few days of not shaving. That's when a diabolical idea popped into your head.

"You know, you're still an asshole for throwing a party," you huffed, throwing your legs over the side of your bed and standing to your feet.

"You had fun," Chris chuckled, rubbing his eyes and replaying the events from the night before.

"You know, I should tell on you. Your mom would be pissed," you replied, giving him a mischevious grin.

"You wouldn't dare," Chris narrowed his gaze at you, trying to figure out what your angle was.

"I mean, I won't tell... if you can give me something I want," you replied, throwing a fresh shirt on over your head and shooting a smirk in his direction. Chris sighed, running his fingers through his messy, brown hair.

"And what would that be?" He hesitantly asked you. You raised an eyebrow at him, trying to assess what he'd do to avoid getting caught. He gave a deadpan stare, knowing you weren't just going to ask for a normal favor.

Regardless of what the favor was, he was inclined to do it. He'd been on thin ice with your parents lately, and he knew he'd be in major trouble if you ratted on him.

"Let me dom you," you demanded, placing your hand on your left hip and leaning into it. Chris scoffed loudly.

"You're outta your damn mind. I'm not gonna be your fuckin' pet you can do whatever ya want to." Chris crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Then you know who's gonna be outta their minds when they get back in town?" You retorted, fighting the smirk starting in the corner of your lip. Chris groaned, knowing it was in his best interest to give in to what you wanted.

"What's it gonna be, Chris? You gonna give me what I want? Or am I telling our parents about the little party you threw?" You wondered, tilting your head to the side and giving him an inquisitive look.

"What do you want me to do?" Chris asked as if he were considering it, his face completely devoid of emotion.

"Whatever I tell you to do," you giggled.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're sick."

"Come on, Chris. I know you'd do anything for me," you replied, slithering back into your bed.

"I don't know about anything."

"Well, you'd do anything to save your own ass," you responded, climbing on top of your stepbrother's lap and straddling him. He let out a groan as you shifted your weight around on his erection that was pinned to his stomach, a sound he made partially out of pain and partially out of pleasure.

"Oh, my god. See? You're already hard just at the thought of me dominating you," you teased him, pinning his wrists above his head and rolling your hips forward. He made another noise, this time a little more desperate.

His cheeks immediately flushed with embarrassment, realizing that whiny, pathetic sound did, in fact, come from him. You were surprised when he didn't immediately wiggle free from your grasp even though he easily could have.

"That's not why I'm hard, fuckin' slut," Chris rasped, lifting his hips up and pressing his cock into your clothed cunt. "I'm hard thinkin' about all the ways I'm gonna punish you after you have your fun."

"You ever been dominated by a girl before?" You questioned him, arching your brow and taking control of the conversation again.

"No," he responded, sounding agitated.

"Awh. Poor baby. You must be so scared right now," you said in a faux sympathetic voice as you stuck out your bottom lip in a fake pout.

"Scared? Of what?" He asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"Scared because you might like it," you poked fun at him. Chris' lip twitched, threatening a contemptuous smile at your accusation. His wrists strained against your hold, but not enough to break free.

"I ain't afraid of nothin'."

"Nothing, huh? Not even afraid of your friends hearing you whimper for me?" You cooed in a soft voice, still grinding against him. He tightened his jaw, fighting back the noises that threatened to spill from his lips. "I bet you're just dying for me to put it in my mouth, aren't you?" You purred, smiling down at him.

He flared his nostrils in frustration. "Do it then, slut, and quit talkin' about it," he huffed back.

"Not with that attitude. Come on, pretty boy. Ask nicely," you taunted him, leaning in and nudging his head to the side with your nose before your lips latched onto a vulnerable spot on his neck.

"Not a fuckin' chance," Chris whispered, hoping you couldn't hear the desire in his voice.

"That's too bad then. I guess I'll just kiss your neck and grind against you until you choose to be nice," you softly spoke, your lip tickling his earlobe. He swallowed hard. He could feel goosebumps forming on his warm skin.

"Works for me," he said in a cocky manner, trying to fight the urge to give into you. You noticed that he hadn't budged once from the position you had him in, his wrists still secured in your grip. There was something about the way that he was just letting you that was so hot.

You started sucking on his sensitive flesh, gently biting down and causing him to shudder and gasp. His dominant mask was slipping.

Never in a million years did Chris picture himself allowing some girl to dominate him and for him to like it. To be fair, though, you weren't just some girl.

"Such a good boy. So responsive for me," you whispered into the crook of his neck, your hot breath hitting his skin. You could feel the tension leave his body as he started to submit to you. "I bet you want me to suck on it so bad, don't you?" You seductively mewled, pulling away from his neck to admire his facial features.

His hooded eyes stared back at you with lust. His cheeks were flushed and pink with embarrassment and desire, and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth. "Mhmm," he softly hummed, nodding his head eagerly. "Suck on it."

"Ask nicely," you reiterated.

"Please suck on it."

"Beg for it," you told him.

Chris loudly sighed, preparing to make a fool of himself. "Fuck. Please, please suck on it. You're killin' me here," Chris whined, wetting his lips that were pink with arousal.

"I don't think you want it bad enough," you teased, rolling your hips once more and grinding against him.

"Fuck. It's fuckin' aching. Please put it in your mouth," Chris demanded in a breathy voice, squirming beneath you. You tightened your grasp on his wrists, giving him a look like you knew he could do better than that. "Fuck. Please. I'm desperate," he pleaded with you.

"Keep going, baby," you softly replied.

"I need it. P-please. Put it in your mouth," he begged.

A smile crept into the corner of your lip in satisfaction with how pathetic he finally looked and sounded. "That's it. Good boy," you complimented him, releasing his wrists and scooting down further onto the bed.

He propped himself up on his elbows, peering down at the way you slowly slithered off his lap and positioned yourself on your knees between his legs. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pajama pants and his underwear, slowly pulling them down. He slightly raised his hips, and his hard cock sprung out, slapping his stomach as you set it free.

"Awh. Look. He's so pretty.. all shiny," you whispered, grabbing his shaft and admiring the clear fluid coating his tip.

"Don't... talk about my dick like that," Chris protested.

"Don't talk about him like what?" You asked, sneering at him as you circled his tip with the pad of your finger. This simple contact made Chris quietly moan, but he cleared his throat, trying to cover the sound.

"Callin' it cute names and talkin' about it like it isn't fuckin' attached to me. God, there's somethin' the matter with ya," Chris snarled, but the look on his face gave him away. He was secretly loving this, and you could tell.

"What? You don't want me telling you how pretty he is?" You cooed, looking into his eyes. He rolled his eyes, his chest rising and falling at a faster rate as his breathing pattern sped up. You leaned forward, your mouth hovering less an inch above his cock. You blew cold air over his glistening tip, causing him to shudder.

"Fuck," he moaned, tipping his head back. You tightened your hold on his length and started slowly stroking him up and down. He gazed back down at you, biting down on his lip. He wondered how long you were going to tease him for, and there was a part of him that didn't totally mind it - a part that maybe was even looking forward to it just a little bit.

You leaned in a little more and placed a tender peck on his swollen tip, causing his cock to twitch. "Awh. He's so sensitive," you cooed, kissing it again.

"Oh, my god," Chris groaned beneath you, trying to sound annoyed, but he was grasping at the sheets. You started working down his length, gently brushing your lips over his shaft and giving him soft kisses. Then, you worked your way back up, nearing his head with your mouth, and with every inch you moved closer, his breath grew more shallow.

You finally closed your lips down around his leaking tip and slurped up the shiny fluid. His hand flew up, and he tenderly ran his fingers through your hair. "Oh, shit," he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as they rolled back. His neck craned back, and his head softly hit your pillow.

"If you try to take control and push my head down, I'll stop, and we'll start from the beginning," you threatened him as you felt his grasp on your hair tighten. He picked his head back up, glanced down at you, and nodded.

He kept his hand there, but he loosened his grip, soothingly stroking your hair. He didn't use any force, but he was fighting the urge the whole time.

You were moving painfully slow - gently licking, tenderly sucking, lightly kissing. He started to whimper under the feeling of your mouth. The pace was driving him crazy. He was always used to making you submit, but being on the receiving end, patiently waiting for you to make your next move was so difficult for him.

You finally took him into your mouth, wrapping your plump lips around him and sinking down his length. He smiled down at you, using every bit of self-restraint he had to keep himself from forcing your head down and making you gag on him.

You hummed around his cock, and he had to bite back a loud moan. "I think you're liking this a little too much," you accused him, giving him a smirk. He didn't say a word, but his silence spoke volumes.

You went back to slowly stroking him while your mouth worked on his tip. Moans poured effortlessly from him again as he grew more sensitive due to your teasing. You bobbed up and down on his cock, drawing him closer to the edge.

You flicked your gaze up at him, his desperate blue eyes staring back. You could see the pleasure engraved in his expression, his pinched together brows, his slacked jaw, and his parted lips. You could hear his breathing turn into panting.

He curled his toes, trying to remain composed and attempting to keep his whimpering from getting too out of hand, but he was miserably failing.

Just when you thought he couldn't take anymore, you withdrew all sensation. Chris let out a defeated sigh. "I was so close..." He fussed, but he quickly cleared his throat when he heard how whiny he sounded.

"I know you were. I bet your friends could tell, too. You're being so loud. You trying to get us caught?" You giggled.

His cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "Shut up," he barked back.

"That's not very nice, Chris. You wanna cum, don't you? Only good boys get to finish," you mocked him in a condescending tone. Chris nodded, his eyes silently begging you to put your mouth back on him.

"Tell me what you want, Christopher," you cooed, biting back a satisfied smile as you watched him struggle to uphold his collected facade. You'd never seem him so vulnerable and submissive before. It was driving you crazy.

"Please let me cum," he whimpered. You shook your head no with a glint in your eye, still lazily stroking him. Little did he know, you were just getting started.

He was growing more and more impatient, little whines slipping past his lips as you placed your thumb on his tip and started rubbing it. Your touch was heavenly and no matter how hard he tried to seem indifferent to it, he couldn't hide the pure pleasure he felt.

"God, you're falling apart," you smirked, your hungry stare fixed on him. You took him into your mouth again, repeating the pattern, starting off slow and then going faster until he was writhing beneath you in desperation. Then you withdrew all sensation again, earning a frustrated sigh from Chris.

You did this a few more times, watching him as he struggled, knuckles growing white as he tugged at the sheets, toes curling, screwing his eyes shut, and tightening his jaw. Then you'd stop, give him a smirk, and listen to him beg.

Chris usually needed really rough, really fast, constant stimulation in order to finish, but with how expertly you'd edged him, he felt like he could cum if you simply breathed on his cock a certain way.

"I can't take it anymore. I need to cum. Please, please, please," he whimpered, his voice breaking into sobs, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. You raised an eyebrow, a smile curling on your lips as you savored the sight, knowing it probably would never happen again.

Your gaze fell to his pretty cock, and you watched his precum mixed with your saliva leak out of his swollen tip and down his length. "That's it," you purred, twisting your wrist as you stroked him, his pretty sounds encouraging you.

You abruptly stopped when you felt his member pulse in your grasp, withholding all stimulation again. You weren't going to let him get off that easily. "You're gonna fuckin' kill me," Chris whispered, anticipation eating him alive.

You gave him a smile as you sat up and slowly started to remove your panties. Chris let out a sigh of relief, eager to feel your cunt wrapped around him, but you continued to move rather unhurriedly, slinking your underwear down your thighs like you were giving a striptease.

Chris watched hungrily as you slowly spread your legs, feeling the cool air hit your glistening folds. You teased him further, reaching between your thighs and rubbing your clit in circles. "How bad do you want it?" You asked, holding eye contact.

"I want it so bad. Please," he whimpered. You giggled at his desperation, and then you straddled him, lining him up with your entrance. However, instead of putting it in right away, you took your time, slowly dragging his swollen head over your slit a few times, taunting him even more.

A few more strangled moans passed through his lips as you slipped just the tip into your hole. He looked up at you with his needy blue eyes, waiting patiently as you started to slowly suck him in.

"Fuck," he whispered, reaching up and brushing away the sweat from his brow. You sunk down on him inch by inch, watching him further lose his composure.

Once you were completely stretched around him, you paused all movement, pinning his arms above his head again. "You want me to ride you, don't you?" You cooed, staying completely still.

"Yes. Please," he responded, his voice cracking in desperation as his wrists strained against your hold.

You figured you'd tortured the boy enough already, so you decided to finally see it through, giving him a bit of relief from your teasing.

You grinned and watched his eyes roll back as you worked at an unhurried pace, drawing circles with your waist and massaging him with your walls as you slid up and down on him. He relished in the sensation, a guttural moan passed through his lips. He throbbed inside of you, the knot in his stomach threatening to come undone any moment.

You sped up the motion of your hips, grinding on his cock as you peered down at his face, his features saturated with pleasure. "Be a good boy and finish for me, hmm?" You cooed. He nodded in response, a slew of pathetic whimpers filling the air.

You felt the muscles in his wrists tighten against your palms as his long-awaited release crashed over him like a tidal wave. His length pulsed inside of you, flooding your cunt with his thick, hot cum. His whole body shook at the feeling, adrenaline and dopamine coursing through him.

He looked beautiful panting beneath you, staring back with glossed over eyes and a blissful smile, his face turning an ever deeper shade of red as he realized how foolish and pathetic he must have appeared to you in his most desperate moments. He couldn't believe how he'd begged you to let him cum and then busted at you purring the words, good boy.

You smirked down at him, catching your breath as you finally let go of his wrists. His hands immediately flew up, and he buried his face in them, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"If you ever tell anyone I liked that, I'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight for a fuckin' week," Chris chuckled once his shyness subsided, running his long, thin fingers through his disheveled hair that was sticking up in all directions.

"Ooh, fun. Don't threaten me with a good time," you teased. In one swift motion, he swung you off of him and pinned you to the bed underneath him, earning a squeal from you in response.

"Okay, you kinky little slut. What I meant to say is, if ya tell anyone I liked that, I'll never fuck you again. How 'bout that?" He replied, but there was no bite to his tone.

"Even if you weren't my stepbrother, I'd never tell anyone the things we do. That's private. Just between us," you told him with a bit of seriousness, your eyes locked on his.

Chris almost felt a deeper sense of connection and security with you after sharing such a vulnerable part of himself and knowing he wouldn't have to worry that the details surrounding it getting out.

He laid his head on your chest that rose and fell with your breath, listening to the sound of your heartbeat slow as you recovered. You played with his messy hair, gently sifting through each strand. "So, you won't tell our parents about me throwing a party while they were out of town?" He asked quietly, tracing circles with his fingertips over the top of your thigh.

"Hmmm. I think I just need one more thing from you before I can promise that," you smugly responded, softly scratching his head.

"What?" Chris groaned, anticipating the worst as he looked up at you with a pout on his perfect pink lips.

"Well, a cup of coffee would be nice," you chuckled. Chris gave you a relieved sigh and rolled his tired blue eyes in annoyance, but he nodded, thankful that your next request was much simpler than the first.

He kissed you before he slipped out of your bed and into his sweatpants from the night before that were balled up on your floor, and he trudged downstairs.

He made two cups of coffee, one for you and one for himself while his friends grilled him about who the girl was he had upstairs with him.

They all gave each other puzzled looks when he remained tight-lipped about it. It wasn't like Chris to withhold information like that. He was usually an open book with them about his sex life, probably giving too much detail. However, this time, he kept the conversation with them vague, a smirk still tugging at the corner of his lip.

It was kind of hard for him to not brag to them about banging his own stepsister, especially because he knew it would earn him high fives, praises, and envious looks, all gestures that would stroke his ego, but he held his tongue.

"Well, whoever you have up there, she sounds like she's enjoying herself," one of his friends commented, slapping him on the back. He avoided eye contact, his cheeks turning a rosy pink color as he suspected that the sounds his friend heard probably came from him, not the girl he had upstairs.

He composed himself, laughing along and playing it off while waiting for the coffee to brew. He gave each of them a joint to keep them satisfied without answering any of their questions, and he made his way back up to your bedroom with a mug in each hand, the whole time thinking about all the ways he was going to ruin you for humiliating him in front of his friends.

#sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #stepbro!chris #sub!chris sturniolo #sub chris sturniolo #sub christopher sturniolo #ᴀʀɪᴇꜱ' ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙#ꜱᴛᴇᴘʙʀᴏ.ᐟᴄʜʀɪꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙

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just1kiana · 2 days ago

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🍓fandom was so dead I had to lock in, there was zero fanfic with my idea

🥑 I would be texting Eris and Mal, I feel like they know what to do

🥤 @kakalu697 @maulmewithangst @writingslob best authors I've ever seen

🐇 I usually write au's that my favourite characters die in

🧃when I was 13 a 27 year old man started texting me calling me his girlfriend and called me, I accidentally answered and the man was clearly drunk laughing and trying to flirt with me and at that age I was terrified, obviously, in fact I was so scared after that that I refused to use any social media for or get online at all for half a year

🎲I'm bad at adding details as much as I want too and because of that no matter the idea the fic will always be bad so I won't write unless I really like a idea and there isn't any fic of it

🧸if we share the same interest about something

🪐joined a discord group chat, best choice of my life, idk the other two my life is pretty much miserable I'm in the middle of exams

🔪"how long will it take to choke on your own blood" "the sound of cutting skin"

❄️character death, angst no comfort @kakalu697 @maulmewithangst

🏜it's three types, death threats cause it proves I wrote the angst the best way I could, the aggressively excited comments, it's good to know someone waits for that next part it gives me hope to keep writing, and the long ones that give ideas or tell their theories

🍦kind and caring maybe, good looking and cool sometimes

🥝not really, even if I lie it's mostly white lies, the last time I lied was last week, I was asked if I'm fine and I said, yes I'm fine, then I passed out from the heat

🦴songs and animations or tiktok and YouTube

🍅needs more details for everything

🪲(it's a tbhx swap au, Nice and LL swapped, Wreck and Moon swapped and Ms. J and treeman swapped)

It seemed like Lin Ling had a completely different life, these people actually cared about his death, not the commoner, Lin Ling

And there was a blonde woman crying over his coffin

The same woman he saw on the pictures on the wall

☁️before that my full legal name was my username like an idiot, but then i decided I had to change it but I wanted to keep the kiana in it but I couldn't come up with any name and decided to just literally put "Just_kiana" but turns out someone already had that so I put a "1" in there

🧩seeing the character I hate dies or anything bad happens to them like no I don't want the angst to be about you

Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

🎱 ⇢ post your AO3 total stats 🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love 🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that? 🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis 🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help? 🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love 💌 ⇢ how many unread emails do you have right now? 🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis 🐇 ⇢ do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both? 🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before 🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time? 🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings 🧸 ⇢ what's the fastest way to become your mutual? 🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now 📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app? 🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character 🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project? 🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on ❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best? 🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity 🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh 🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work? 🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate 🥝 ⇢ do you lie a lot? what's the most recent lie you told? 🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing? 🍅 ⇢ give yourself some constructive criticism on your own writing 🐚 ⇢ do you like or dislike surprises? 🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here ☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username? 🐝 ⇢ tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them 🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them 🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it 🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

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sturniolobliss · 1 day ago

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⌗ . . . ❛ 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 ❜ christopher sturniolo.

warnings ◞ ˚˖ ࣪ ex!chris, light angst, emotional vulnerability, drunk calling, explicit and suggestive content, heartbreak, longing, mentions of masturbation, guilt . . . etc.

note ◞ ˚˖ ࣪ bow divider by @/bernardsbendystraws · · ୨୧

read part two next!

you miss the first call. then the second. by the time your phone lights up for the third time—chris, glowing across the screen—your chest tightens with that old, unwelcome ache you've spent weeks trying to forget.

you don't answer.

not the fourth time. not the fifth.

by the seventh, he stops calling. starts leaving voicemails instead.

you stare at the notifications for a while, thumb hovering. you know better. you know exactly what this will do to you.

still, you press play.

voicemail one — 2:06am

0:47

"hey. s'me. i mean… obviously s'me, right?"

he laughs, light and bitter. you can already tell he's been drinking. his voice is thick, a little slower than usual.

"i don't even know why m'calling. i shouldn't be. i just—fuck. i miss you. i know m'not supposed to say that. i swore i wouldn't say that.”

a pause. you can hear him breathing.

"i think you'd be proud, though. i've been really good at pretendin'. like you don't come up when someone mentions that movie we loved or when i see someone with that hairstyle you always got or hear a song that sounds like you. i jus' swallow it. every time. like s'nothin'. but tonight i guess i forgot how to do that."

beep.

voicemail two — 2:11am

1:28

"you remember that playlist you made me? the one with all the dumb transitions? i listened to it tonight."

a quiet sound, maybe the shuffle of him sitting down.

"it still smells like you in my hoodie. i don't even wear it anymore. jus'—jus' leave it folded. fuck, i sound pathetic."

another pause. longer this time. then:

"i keep dreamin' 'bout you. about your hands. about the way you used to look at me when y'wanted somethin'. i wake up hard and aching and still smelling you in the sheets, even though you're not there. even though s'jus' me."

his voice drops, softer now, tired.

"you ruined me, y'know that?"

beep.

voicemail three — 2:18am

2:14

"i keep tryin' to find pieces of you in other people."

the silence on this one stretches. you hear the drag of a sigh, like he's trying not to cry.

"but they don't laugh like you. they don't kiss like you. they don't know how to touch me the way you did. no one ever fuckin' knew like you did."

his voice breaks on that last part. your throat goes tight.

"and i hate it. i hate you for it. for knowin' me that well. for leavin' anyway."

then quieter, like it slips out without permission—

"i'd let you wreck me again if it meant you'd come back."

beep.

voicemail four — 2:24am

3:09

he's whispering now. and you realize, with a jolt, he's not alone in his bed.

he's talking to you like you are.

"you used to say my name so sweet, remember? chris. chris. chris—like it was yours."

a rustle of blankets, maybe skin.

"sometimes i touch myself to the sound of your voice. not even dirty shit—jus' the way you'd say good morning. or fuck off. or i love you."

your breath catches.

"m'hard right now. been hard since the second ring."

you freeze.

"i don't care if you listen to this. i want you to. i want you to know you still do this to me. that no one's ever made me fall apart jus' by existing."

he groans softly.

"you always knew how to break me. and you always loved it."

beep.

voicemail five — 2:32am

4:11

"y'said no one else would understand me the way you did."

he's breathless now. slower. like he's working through something, deep in it.

"you were right. they don't."

a low noise—his throat, a choked-off moan.

"i was gonna call someone else tonight. someone easy. but it didn't feel right. because she's not you. her hands aren't yours. her mouth doesn't taste like fire and vanilla chapstick and every fuckin' thing i ever needed."

you close your eyes, biting your lip.

"if you were here right now, i'd get on my knees. tell you m'sorry. beg. let you sit on my face until i couldn't breathe. jus' to feel useful again."

his breathing is louder now. uneven.

"you always made me feel owned. and i fuckin' loved it."

beep.

voicemail six — 2:38am

1:59

"i came," he says, and it's so quiet, so wrecked, your heart nearly caves in.

"i came thinkin' about you. still holdin' my phone. still waitin' for you to pick up."

he laughs, but it's hollow.

"you didn't. you won't. i know.”

a pause.

"but fuck, i needed you to hear it. needed you to know i still think about you. every time. every fuckin' time."

another pause. longer. heavier.

"god, m'so tired. i miss your voice. i miss your laugh. i miss your mouth and the way you used to pull my hair and tell me to be quiet."

you can hear it again in his voice—the unspoken thing underneath.

"you always ruined me in the best ways. i think you still are."

beep.

voicemail seven — 2:43am

0:22

"delete these," he says, voice almost clear this time.

"or don't. i don't care. jus'… don't hate me more than you already do."

a soft inhale.

"i meant all of it."

click.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ : @sturniolo-szn2 / @mattscoquette / @sturnsflirt / @tezzzzzzzz . . . .ᐟ

comment or message to get added · · ୨୧

#◞ ˚˖ ࣪ 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒 #sturniolobliss #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo #sturniolo x you #sturniolo x reader #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo imagine #fanfic

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rafeslvbug · 1 day ago

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moments during the offseason that make nfl!rafe happy…

1. coming home late off the plane ride

he knocks on the door late, 12am, starving and tired. but all he wants to see is you. the kids are fast asleep, but you open the door, jumping on him immediately. he drops his bags inside the house, and just holds you for a few minutes in silence.

you’ve always got some leftover food from him. homemade. he’s missed it when it hits his tastebuds, missing food this good while playing.

– “fuck me sweetcheeks, what’d you put in this?”

you sitting on the kitchen counter, only wearing his jersey and lacy underwear, massaging his aching shoulders as he eats. god this man loved you.

2. waking your kids up for the first time

he likes to just admire them for a few moments before waking them up. noting every detail he’s missed, every detail he remembers seeing over the phone and that brief game where you guys came to watch.

waking up his son in the most obnoxious way possible. throwing him up and down as he laughs, swinging him around like he’s the new football at home.

but his little girl? he’s all gentle, hand the size of her whole head but he’s still so soft, kneeling beside her bed and stroking her head as he carefully lifts her into his arms. rocking back and forth, bobbing her up and down, so delicate he’s likely to send her back to sleep.

– “come on little lady, rise and shine, don’t need more beauty sleep, your cute enough as is”

3. dinner times

during the on season he’s used to just eating packed meals in the lockers, disgusting at times and never enough to make him full because he’s got to stay fit for the team.

at home, you make sure he eats whatever he wants and however much he wants.

his little girl’s babbles are enough to fill the silence of any table

sometimes he’ll tell the kids to stop playing with their food and eat it

– “hey your momma worked hard on this, quit lettin’ it go cold”

some other times, he’ll let his daughter sneak him the carrots she doesn’t want or he’ll flick a pea across the table to his son, getting lightly scolded by you for making a mess of the table.

4. getting to watch his son play football

he’s tentative to admit how proud he is because his dad never really told him as much. but his dad never showed to his matches, so he always turns up to his son’s practice because he knew how much it meant when you’d turn up at his games.

ignoring all the moms who flirt with him, commenting on how well behaved his son is, feigned nicety as he says, “oh yeah gotta thank his momma for that, she’s a real angel.” if they get too close, being all gruff and moody when he basically just walks away from them.

he’ll take him out to eat afterwards, ruffling his hair and saying he did a good job, whether he lost or won.

5. date nights

rafe’s spent too many date nights or anniversaries over a phone call, or a day trip with you, so now he instates weekly date nights.

getting a trusted babysitter or putting the kids to sleep and sneaking out with you the same way you used to when you were in high school, and your parents thought he was trouble.

being anywhere with you and not minding the cameras if they’re respectful because he’ll wake up the next morning with sweet pictures of you and him proving to everyone online that true love does exist. and disproving all the rumours spread about him.

6. re-watching all his matches with the kids

they’re too young to stay up for games, especially the superbowl (but best believe he’s training them to stay up for longer just so they can come)

he’ll sit them on the couch with him, watching them all, pointing himself out, explaining plays to his son and getting them all excited to see him play in person

he’ll even endure the bad matches, just so you can poke fun at them and prove to him that winning isn’t everything, because he struggles with that.

taglist : @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple

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mapiforpresident · 1 day ago

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A mix of 2 and 46, with alexia please?

Better because you’re here

alexia x reader

Thank you for the request!! Requests are still open and I linked the prompt list at the bottom

~~~

Away games with Barça always felt like a whirlwind. Between the training sessions, team dinners, and whatever chaos followed once we all got back to the hotel, there was never a dull moment. Tonight was no different.

Most of the team had crammed into Jana and Kika’s room. Somehow, that had become the go-to hangout spot. Blankets were tossed across the floor, someone had dragged in a tray of snacks from the hallway, and Salma had brought out a speaker that was already playing music way too loud for the hour.

I had found my place on the far bed, curled up next to Alexia, my head resting on her chest. Her arm was wrapped around me, her hand gently tracing patterns on my arm. It was loud and chaotic around us, but somehow, she made it feel calm. Safe.

The others were attempting to film a TikTok, one of those trending dances none of them had actually rehearsed but were convinced they could freestyle through. Kika was leading, obviously. Jana, Salma, Patri, and Vicky were involved too, and the rest of us were just spectating from the comfort of our own little corners.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep. But her warmth and the sound of her heartbeat had me drifting off before I could even realize it.

When I woke up, the first thing I felt was her fingers in my hair and the softest whisper in my ear.

“Bebé… wake up.”

I blinked slowly, still tucked into her side. “How long was I out?”

She smiled and brushed a piece of hair from my face. “About thirty minutes. You missed some truly questionable dancing.”

I laughed a little, still groggy. “How was your sleep?” she asked.

“Mm… it was good. Better.”

“Better how?”

I turned slightly, looking up at her with a lazy smile. “Better because you’re here.”

That earned me one of her softer looks, the kind that always made my heart do stupid things. She leaned in and kissed me, just once. Then again. And again. It was slow and easy, the kind of kiss that makes everything around you disappear. Her hand slid to my cheek, and I forgot there was even a room full of people around us.

“Oi! This is a PG-13 room!” someone yelled, probably Claudia, but no one actually looked back. They were too busy trying not to trip over each other mid-dance.

Eventually, we sat up again, and I leaned against her while she rested her hand on my knee.

At some point, we all called it a night. Everyone scattered to their rooms, the group chat still buzzing with voice notes and blurry photos from the evening. I didn’t think much of it. I figured that was that.

Until around 1:00 a.m.

The team group chat exploded.

Jana sent the first message.

“kika.”

Then Patri jumped in with “I’m going to scream.”

Mapi followed with a dozen eye emojis and a “HELLO???”

I was brushing my teeth with Alexia when my phone started buzzing nonstop. She glanced over at me.

“What happened, did someone get injured again?”

I opened the chat and saw the link. It was a TikTok — the one Kika had posted from earlier. I clicked it.

The video started off harmless. A messy dance attempt. Vicky slipping on a pillow. Salma pointing dramatically at the wrong direction mid-move. Total chaos. But then I looked closer at the background. And there we were.

Me and Alexia. Kissing.

Like full-on, hands-in-her-hair, tucked-into-each-other, heart-eyes kind of kiss. Blurry but unmistakable.

I froze.

“Oh my god.”

Alexia walked over, still drying her face with a towel. “What is it?”

I just held the phone up to her.

“Is that… us?”

I nodded slowly. “Kika posted it.”

For a moment, we both just stared. Then Alexia, of course, started laughing.

“Is it bad that I think we look kind of good in it?”

“Alexia.”

“What? It’s romantic! Everyone else is doing the worm or tripping over a sock and we’re just… having a moment.”

The messages kept pouring in.

Esmee sent, “I’ve never seen a kiss that soft. I’m crying.”

Ingrid added, “You look like a rom-com playing in the background of a horror movie.”

Claudia went for, “You were literally making out behind Vicky trying to dab.”

I covered my face with my hands. “I’m deleting my existence.”

Alexia just smiled, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “Do you want to ask her to take it down?”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “No. I mean… it’s us. We weren’t hiding.”

“Exactly,” she said, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “Let them talk.”

And they did. The video had already passed 100,000 likes by morning.

It was chaotic. Embarrassing. Hilarious. And, honestly?

It was kind of perfect.

Alexia looked over at me after training the next day and just smirked. “Still better because I’m here?”

I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile.

“Shut up.”

~~~

Requests are open

Link to prompt list

Buy me a coffee here.

#woso #woso x reader #fcb femení #fcb femení x reader #woso imagine #fc barcelona femeni #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #fcb femeni #fcbfemeni x reader #woso imagines #woso fanfics

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turtlesandfrogs · 21 hours ago

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Yeah, if you don't forgive yourself, learn, and change your behavior, your brain is going to take one of two paths (or combine them): you become a complaining, self-hating, miserable person who is too wrapped up in thinking poorly of yourself to actually do any changing or actual good in the world OR your brain goes into denial mode and either you think it never happened, it didn't happen the way it did, the other person made you do it, or the other person was ACTUALLY the bad guy.

You have to:

1. face the shitty things you've done (and we've all done shitty things that we're ashamed of, though admittedly to greater or lesser degree),

2. admit at least to yourself that they were shitty and you don't want to be the kind of person who does that kind of thing,

3. Assess what lead to you doing the shitty thing, and stop mentally attacking yourself so that you can start working on yourself,

4. Avoid the conditions that lead to the shitty thing happening AND develop a plan/senario/coping mechanism/strategy to deal with it when those conditions happen again, because they will

5. Keep practicing the behavior you want to see and rewarding yourself, even just with mental praise, when you do it. (If you instead fall into recrimination being all like 'why couldn't I have done it this way then, I'm a shitty person, blah blah blah', you are instead training your brain that if you do good you'll feel bad. So don't do that, ok?

For example: I used to get angry on a fairly regular basis, and be a meany poo-poo face to the people around me- being irritable, snapping, calling other people jerks, etc. I realized I was being a jerk (1) and I didn't want to be a jerk, and I really didn't want to hurt my loved ones(2), so I looked at the situation, asked myself why I was acting this way, and looked possible causes and the situations in which I turned into Mr. Hyde(3).

Turns out I'm a jerk when I'm hungry and have forgotten to eat(3 continued).

So, now I make sure I eat foods that will keep me satiated until the next meal (namely, lots of fiber, fat, and protein), have emergency snacks on me, and when I do end up hungry and irritable anyway, I take a deep breath, tell the people around me I need to eat, tell them 'hey, I don't mean to be a jerk, but I'm hungry and am feeling irritable, please work with me blah blah blah' making it appropriate to the situation (most people understand 'hangry, I'm just an outlier as far as jerkishness due to hunger goes), and disengage as much as feasible until I can get some food in me.

I've worked on that for, oh, years, and now I'm at the point where is well managed enough that it doesn't really happen anymore, and I'm gaining a reputation irl for being calm and level headed and patient.

I do still need to work on being angry at people who are wrong on the internet, but I'm getting there.

the thing is, if your younger self was a bigot or an abuser, u can't make people forgive you. but you still gotta forgive yourself, like that's non-negotiable, dude. that happens before u can even ask the question of earning forgiveness from anyone lese

#growth #forgiveness

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dragonsondragons · 2 days ago

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Part 1 - That Look In Your Eye | You Should Probably Leave series

You make big, bad, Jack Abbot nervous in a way he really isn’t used to. He fumbles his first attempt to invite you to the party, so Dr. Ellis gives him a crash course in how to get the girl.

Word Count: 3.9k

Content: yearning!jack, medical social worker!reader, reader is Jack’s work crush, slow burn, Jack on his #healingjourney, awkward abbot, unspecified age gap, named reader because I dont like using y/n (named her Nel, short for Eleanor. And yes Nel will be friends with Mel)

Read the Prologue! / Masterlist / Taglist

Author's Note: Sorry this took me sooo long to get together! I have the next few parts mapped out well and and mostly written tbh but was struggling so hard with how to introduce their interaction and dynamic in this part. Also, I would highly highly recommend reading the prologue before this part. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

In the Pitt, Jack was seen as a very confident man. He knows exactly what he’s capable of and precisely how to execute it most efficiently. It's one thing unshaken in all his years practicing medicine. No matter how low he’s felt– in war zones, in the pitt– he always stays steady under fire. Words and procedures are tools. He uses them to achieve a goal: keep the patient alive. Be calm, cool, concise.

It's something he learned in combat, that medics aren't just healers and fighters. They are a source of confidence for the whole platoon. They set the tone. A force multiplier. He was supposed to keep a level head and know what to do, no hesitating. If he stayed cool everyone else would follow suit.

He had to to seem confident on the outside, but never let himself feel it too much on the inside. If you feel too confident, you start to forget that there is just one critical moment, one mistake, standing between your patient and death.

Jack couldn't help but feel that way now, like he was one mistake from ruining his chances with you. Deep breath. No ones going to die, he repeats in his head. It's one of the constant reminders he’s had to give himself when anxiety spikes. Another deep breath.

He was supposed to be a confident guy. Asking out the girl you liked shouldn’t be so hard.

But there was a disconnect for him, between what was shown to the world– a self assured master of his craft– and what he felt on the inside. Analyzing every little mistake so that he can be better for next time. Never letting himself feel too secure, always striving for better. Battling between his desires and that loud voice inside, telling him to isolate.

Because of that voice his social confidence was a lot more shakey than his work persona. For the most part he can fake it till he makes it or keep enough distance from people that it doesn't matter. But then there was you, slowly drawing him out of his shell. Bit by bit so that he barely saw it coming until it hit him like a truck. He should have seen it a long time ago. But he likes you and there's no denying it now. He's decided he's gonna try and do something about it, and that requires some guts and smooth talking he’s not sure if he's capable of.

He pulls into his parking space in the hospital garage, yearning for you hard. He worked himself up all the way here and now that it's at the forefront of his brain he can’t resist the urge to be near you.

You’ve got the guts, he tells himself, willing it to be true. Just invite her to the party. Just be yourself? Is that who he wanted to show her? This fucked up guy who can barely work up the courage to ask her one simple phrase. There it goes again; his mind working against him.

He walked in through the ambulance bay, backpack slung over one shoulder. Immediately, he saw you. You were sitting at the hub checking the patient census that had just come into your inbox from the day shift and radiating something bright. Maybe it was just him who saw you as the sun.

Now or never. He walked towards the large central desk and slung his backpack under an inner counter. He leaned down on his elbows behind the computer you worked at, thrumming his fingers against the counter top. “Hey, You.”

His familiar greeting made your stomach flip and you couldn't help but smile. It had been a few days since your shifts had aligned. “Good evening, Dr Abbot,” you hum to him, eyes tearing away from your screen to look up into his hazel eyes.

Suddenly his pep talk to himself in the car flew out the window. With you sitting right before him, everything inside his mind was gone. You sure didn't mind gazing into Jack’s eyes, in fact you enjoyed it, but the silence was dragging on so you broke it.

“Missed you at lunch yesterday. I had to eat with Shen and he would not shut up about a big high pressure weather system moving in or something.” There was a pressure system building in Jack's chest. He wanted to respond but was caught up inside his mind. Missed you at lunch, echoed in his mind. She missed me? More pressure flared.

“Everything okay, Jack?” you asked, head tilting as you looked at him so caringly.

“Huh?”

“Seems like you’re somewhere else right now. And that look in your eyes, there’s something you’re not telling me.” She could always read him like a book.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Got a lot on my mind right now.” He was going to continue to deflect, as usual. But she was already onto him. This was his chance. Might as well just come out with it. “Actually I uh was wondering of yo–” Your pager screamed out through the ED and you looked down at it on your waistband. He deflated.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, dayshift always has them on the highest volume.” You read the message coming in and started gathering stuff from the desk around you. “I have to get going to see this patient before discharge. What was it you were wondering though?”

“Uh… I, um. I was just gonna ask if you, um. Brought your lunch today?” Fuck. He lost all his steam when that pager went off.

“You know I always do.” You were standing up from the swivel chair now. “Same time as usual? Just page me if you're not gonna be able to make it?” He gives you one of his awkward thumbs up with both hands and says “See you up there,” as you turn to go see the patient. You smile back over your shoulder at him.

He leaned down and put his head between his hands on the counter top while chastising himself for his failed attempt at asking you out.

He hadn’t registered Dr. Ellis off to the other side of the hub during this whole interaction, having been so focused on whatever it is between him and you that draws him in. A laugh burst out that snapped him out of his pity party. “What the hell was that, Abbot?” said Ellis, thoroughly amused at seeing a guy like Dr. Abbot who is so typically composure and competence fumble. “You can do a REBOA in your sleep but can’t flirt with a woman?”

He lifted his head slightly and glared. “Who said I was flirting?”

“Well, you certainly weren’t successfully flirting. But it would take a fool not to see that you like her.” He laid his head back down and groaned at that. Despite his current embarrassment, Jack liked working with Dr. Ellis more than most other people. He appreciated her no nonsense approach and deft skills. And the fact that she's not afraid of him. She will tell it to him like it is. He knew that interaction was bad, but if Ellis was confirming… then it was really terrible.

“I don't know, I just… panicked.” How can he stay so calm when someone’s bleeding to death but couldn't do this one thing when faced with you.

“Did you bring your lunch?!” she echoed him. “That was really what you came up with? What were you really trying to ask her?” He hesitated. But Ellis seemed to already know so much about this whole situation. Guess he wasn’t as close to the chest with his crush as he thought. Maybe he should let her give him some advice.

“I’m having a party at my place soon, and I was trying to ask her to come,” he admitted.

Ellis raised one eyebrow. “You're having a party?” She never thought she would hear that come out of his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I'm having a party for everyone from work, you’re invited. That's not the point. Point is I had my chance and I chickened out.”

“Yeah, you did. You have absolutely no game, old timer.”

“I have game, just… not in that particular instance. I'm out of practice,” he tries to defend himself.

“Clearly. But I can help you with that.”

“She totally can,” Dr. Santos interjected. Santos had been trying out a rotation on the night shift and had just finished up with a patient in curtain 3 nearby. Always the eavesdropper, she tuned in to the conversation between Abbot and Ellis as she had approached the hub. “Dr. Ellis has got mad game, trust me.” Ellis rolls her eyes at the overzealous intern. “Wait–we’re talking about you getting nervous around Nel right?”

“Wha-No. I don't get nervous around Nel.” Both women scoff at him. Jack’s eyes widen and turns to Ellis for a sidebar. “How do you both know about this? I don't want to make this a thing. If she's not into me I don't want her to be uncomfortable at work.” He can't be careless about this, needs to do it right.

“Abbot, be so serious,” she deadpans. “She’s totally into you.”

“You don't know that,” Jack huffs. How do they know if you're into him? He barely let himself know he was into you until therapy earlier today. Santos and Ellis share a look. Santos butts in again, “Dude, it's so obvious. Her eyes literally twinkle when you're in the same room.”

“Don't dude me right now, Santos,” Jack snaps. Do they? Twinkle for him? He hopes so. But he doesn't want to get his hopes up. God, this whole thing is putting him so on edge.

Ellis sees how uncomfortable Jack’s getting and jumps in. “The grownups are talking here, Dr. Santos. Guy over in North 12 needs his bowel dismipacted, go.” As she reluctantly leaves to go handle the literal shit that's been assigned to her, Ellis tunes back into the conversation with Jack.

“She's right though, it's obvious you're both smitten. You’ve just gotta shoot your shot, man.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself at the thought. “What are you planning to say?”

He hesitates. Drums his thumbs against the counter top again. “How about I'm having a party. You can come, if you want.”

“God, this is why I date women. You're useless.”

“You said you would help!”

“Look–that's way too passive. Sounds like you don't care if she comes or not. Women like when you're sincere and confident. Usually that's your forte, but I guess not when you’re nervous about your crush. Try to tune in to that Abbot, ya know, direct and to the point.”

If I say what I actually mean, Jack thinks, it will be ‘I think you're smart and caring and beautiful, and I like spending time with you at work. And more than anything, I’d like to see you outside of this hell hole…preferably…all the time.’ He’s staring off into the abyss now.

“Oh my god, you're so in your head. Just be normal, be yourself! Say Hey, I'm having a party. I would really like it if you came.”

“Got it, yeah. Be normal.”

She huffs at his nervousness. “If you don't grow a spine and ask her out, I will,” Ellis jests, giving him a little incentive.

“C'mon, give me a chance here.”

“She's hot, kind. Seems like a really great person. So you better snatch her up before someone else does.”

—

It was just before 1am when your stomach started to grumble, queuing you that it was almost your normal “lunch” time. You finished up your case note you were working on, grabbed your food from the breakroom fridge, and headed up to the roof.

Lunch with Jack was always a highlight of your shift. No matter how shitty a patient had treated you or how many problems you had encountered that day, sitting with him for just a few minutes always made it feel like you were free of the hospital. Returning to your shift after those moments with him, the fluorescent lights turned softer and long hospital hallways less suffocating.

It happened by accident really, the two of you becoming lunch buddies. You brought your lunch box up to the roof to get some air while you took a break. He was already up there, leaning up against the railing staring out at the city beyond the hospital. He wasn't expecting a visitor, didn’t encounter many others up there, but suddenly there was you. An angel of the night.

When you pushed open the door of the stairwell to see him staring out at the skyline, you remember thinking that this man looked like a beacon high up above the rest of the city, standing steady and sending out a signal. Looking out over the whole city and asking who’s there? Free in the dark of night to admit that he was seeking connection.

From the very first moment, you read him eerily well. And you approached. Because you were seeking the same thing.

You struck up a conversation with him and offered him half of your sandwich. Kept doing so until he started bringing his own food too, usually whatever had the quickest doordash delivery time. He made you laugh with his dry and dark humor. Shared silence with you when you were both too tired to speak, or listened to you ramble about the book you were reading or some movie you had watched. Sometimes he had questions. ____

“Have you ever heard of the Four Agreements?” he asked one night. You picked through some of the Chinese food he had ordered from the 24 hour place down the street, while he took a bite out of the apple you had packed. You chuckle a little at his question.

“Why are you laughing at me?” he asks.

“Sorry– it's just. As someone who works in a mental health bubble, the Four Agreements is like… the bible of self help. And it's a little cliche.”

“You’re calling Linda cliche?”

“Who’s Linda?"

“My therapist. She recommended it."

“Look at you, doing therapy.”

He gave you a little shrug. “Thanks. So I shouldn’t read it? If it's cliche."

“No, no, It could still be useful. Give it a try.” ____

He also surprised you with these bursts of intense vulnerability, sparsed out between his usually more gruff or sarcastic responses.

Whenever he was about to reveal something to you, you could almost see it coming. He would always position himself next to you, leaning over on the railing and facing out over Pittsburg like he was that first night you found him up here. He wouldn’t look in your eyes like he usually did. Would just stand next to you there and focus on some point, far out on the horizon. He’d be quiet for a while, and you would just wait, just being there with him.

____

“That guy we both saw today, the boarder in North 7?”

“Yeah?” you encouraged him to continue.

“I know him. Well not him, really, but his brother. We served together. He lost his brother the same day I lost my leg.” He pulled up the hem of his scrub pants a bit to reveal a glimpse of his prosthetic.

“Oh…Jack. I’m so sorry. That must bring up a lot of old memories.”

“It was a long time ago. Can’t change it now.” He wants to pull away from the exposure he felt at saying this to you. But you draw out something in him. Sharing with you is easier sometimes, and he doesn't know why. It's because he’s falling in love with you and hasn't let himself admit it yet.

“Doesn’t mean it can’t still hurt.” You’re always trying to encourage him to feel.

“Yeah... still hurts like hell. Hurts more because I hadn’t thought about Eddie in months, maybe years. I forgot about him.”

You turn your head to face him, frowning. He maintains his gaze on some faraway spot. “You can’t blame yourself for that. If you remembered them all every second of every day you would drive yourself crazy.”

He took a shaky breath in and just nodded. That was as much opening up he could take for the moment. “I gotta go back down there, check on the patients,” he says, letting the voice telling him to run win, for now.

You pause for a beat, trying to replicate his own incessant gaze that would always get you break and look up at him. The trick doesn’t work on its own master. He continues to put that distance between you and stares out at the city beyond the roof, then down at his feet.

“Okay. But just be careful with yourself, Jack. And if you ever want to talk more, I’m here.” You jutted your hip out to bump his, trying to coax him out of his unease, show him that it was okay to open up to you. He stood fully up from the railing, giving you a double thumbs up. That was becoming his signature move with you when he didn't quite know what to say. He kept doing it because it always made you smile. ____

Sometimes his appearances on the roof were just as scattered as his ability to show vulnerability. After times where he opened up you might not see him for days. He would go brood and throw himself into the work to get his mind off the memories, or off of you, when the way you were making him feel scared him a little too much. He would chastise himself for letting his feelings slip out like that. Would convince himself that you didn't want to hear anything about it, no matter how supportive and kind you were whenever he did share.

Deep down he longed for connection, even though he actively pushed everyone away.

Once you found him on that roof, finally someone was pushing back. You would come and find him if he didn't show up on the roof, or send him a message as you were heading up, pestering him to come join you if you could.

And the way you responded to him showing how he felt, admitting what ate at him inside, it started to show him that it was okay to reveal himself. It didn’t make it any less uncomfortable, but still he kept coming back to have lunch with you.

Tonight would be just like any of those other nights, he told himself as he hiked up the stairs to the roof entry. Just be normal.

You were already up there waiting for him when he came through the stairwell door. The light midsummer night breeze blew your hair around your face and he sensed something heavy on your mind. Brooding on the roof was usually his forte.

As he approaches you barely register his presence. He places a hand on your shoulder, which makes you jump and turn to him. “You good?” he asks gently.

“Yeah–fine.” You shake your head and give him a little smile but he sees it's not the kind that you usually flash, the kind that's earnest. He doesn’t push.

“Well, if you weren’t good I would offer some crab rangoons as a pick me up.” He lifts his takeout bag up. “But if you’re fine then you don’t need em.”

“Gimme that,” you snatch the bag from him and dig out the rangoons.

“That’s what I thought.” the corner of his mouth twitches into an almost-there smirk.

You two dig into the combo of takeout and packed food spread out before you. All of his nervousness from earlier in the day had dissipated. Up here, in the dark, just the two of you, he was calm. As calm as Jack Abbot could be these days. He lets himself think about being with you like this in the daytime. Somewhere else, like having a picnic in a park where you would admire the spring flowers and he would admire you with the same reverence.

He had to ask his question, because failing would mean missing that chance.

“You’re looking at me like that again.” you said.

“Like what?” he keeps his gaze locked on yours like if he blinked you would disappear.

“I don’t know. I just recognize that look in your eye.” It's the look I get when I admire you, he thinks.

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking if you go first.” You let out a huff of a breath. “Fine. I just… I guess I’m tired– getting really tired of all the roadblocks in my work. People always need more than I’m able to give them. Shelters are always full or the patient doesn’t meet some eligibility requirement and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“You’re doing everything you can with what you have, that’s more than most people. You rock it in there everyday,” Jack responds.

“I know that, in theory. It’s just been harder and harder to believe it lately.”

“Well, I’ll keep reminding you.”

“Okay, your turn.”

He scratched the back of his neck, then forced himself to look at you head on. “Uh, I’m going to have everyone from work over at my place for a barbeque. But I wanted to, uh, make sure that you would be there, with me. And…maybe it will help you decompress from work and everything.” It was as un-awkward as he could possibly make it.

You found his subtle bashfulness cute. It was endearing to bring the steady Jack Abbot to jumbling his words. “I would love to come.” The biggest smile you've ever seen on him spreads across Jack’s face.

“When’s the next Saturday you’re off?” he asks.

“Two weeks from now.”

“Then that's our party then.”

You giggle. “Our party, huh?”

“Well you’re the guest of honor, I decided.”

“Oh, how gracious of you.”

The banter slows, both of you feeling the tension of crossing a new line that you can't go back over. It's quiet for another beat, then Jack speaks again, quietly.

“Ellis is gonna be proud of me for this one.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told me I had no game, earlier at the beginning of shift. I meant to ask you then but got too nervous. So she gave me some pointers.”

That made you blush. You had liked Jack Abbot for a while, but did not want to risk your friendship on making the first move. You didn’t want him to think that your support of him was conditional on him reciprocating feelings. You could see him deeply struggling and cared about him, just wanting to be there for him. So even though you had butterflies tingling in your stomach more and more after each encounter, you tried to keep the relationship as professional as possible. After this– him asking you to come to his party like that, admitting it made him nervous to do so. It finally showed you that you could want more with Jack. That he wanted it too.

It emboldened you, and you reached out to lace your fingers with his. “I like you the way you are Jack. It's okay to be nervous, but please just keep being you.”

He squeezed your hand and nodded his head. “I think I can do that sweetheart.”

#jack abbot fic #jack abbot x reader #jack abott #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot #the pitt fic #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt hbo #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot fic #dr abbot #doctor abbot #you should probably leave #the pitt #shawn hatosy

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hereforuconnwbb · 12 hours ago

Text

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 10

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 5.1k

warning: none

hey lovelyssss heres chap 10 !! nm to say abt it but that once again it is unedited 😭 lmk what yall think abt this chapter !! hope u guys enjoy🫶🏽

‼️‼️this wasn’t edited

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday morning came quietly. The week had flown by faster than either of them realised. The days had been spent sitting close, papers spread across the desk, voices low and patient, the steady rhythm of their sessions folding into something natural and comfortable.

Azzi’s alarm on her phone buzzed softly next to her bed. She’d woken early and instinctively reached for it.

Azzi: morning p 💗

Azzi: u ready for tdy ?

A minute later, Paige’s reply appeared.

Paige: morning az 💗

Paige: not too sure tbh

Paige: i feel liek ik some things and then other stuff js slips away when i try to focus 😭

Paige: but tysm for sticking with me thru this whole thing tho

Azzi smiled to herself, the warmth in her chest growing as she typed back quickly.

Azzi: u have worked hard for this. that’s what matters most

Azzi: we got this

There was a pause before Paige’s next message.

Paige: would it be alr if i come over ??

Paige: maybe we could go thru a couple last things before we leave ?

Azzi didn’t hesitate.

Azzi: yea ofc. come on over whenever

Azzi: i will make some eggs and toast too :)

She set her phone down and started getting ready, the morning moving around her in slow, easy steps. There was no rush. The day was theirs to face together.

—---------------------------------------------

The soft knock on Azzi’s door barely echoed in the quiet dorm hallway. She was just pulling on a sweater when she heard it, and a smile spread across her face before she even moved.

“Coming !” Azzi called, stepping quickly to open the door.

Paige was there, looking a little tired but with that familiar spark in her eyes that always made Azzi’s chest warm. Without thinking, Azzi reached out and pulled Paige into a gentle hug, fingers threading through her hair for a moment.

“Hey,” Azzi whispered, voice soft.

“Hey,” Paige replied, leaning in just a little before pulling back, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks for letting me crash your morning.”

Azzi shrugged, stepping aside. “You know you’re always welcome.”

Paige slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her. She moved toward the small lounge area, lowering herself onto the couch with a sigh. Azzi watched her for a beat, then turned toward the kitchen.

“I’ll bring us some breakfast,” Azzi said, moving quickly but carefully.

In a few minutes, Azzi returned carrying two plates, the steam rising from the warm eggs and toast. She set them down on the low table, then sank down beside Paige.

They ate quietly at first, the comfort of shared space wrapping around them like a soft blanket. Paige’s fingers toyed nervously with the edge of her sleeve, and Azzi caught the small gesture with a quiet smile.

“You ok ?” Azzi asked, voice gentle.

Paige nodded, though a little hesitantly. “Yea, jus… you know, the usual jitters. But this feels good—being here with you.”

Azzi reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair behind Paige’s ear, the touch light and reassuring.

“We’re ready. You’re ready. No matter what happens today, that’s what counts.”

Paige’s smile deepened, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a bit. In this moment, the world felt steady, grounded in warmth, quiet companionship, and the unspoken promise of whatever was unfolding between them.

—---------------------------------------------

They lingered over breakfast longer than they needed to, neither 1 in a rush to break the easy quiet between them. The eggs were simple, the toast a little unevenly buttered, but Paige swore it was perfect.

Azzi didn’t argue. She just smiled softly as Paige reached for the last bite on her plate and made a dramatic show of how good it was.

When they were both finished, Paige stood and reached for the plates before Azzi could stop her.

“I’ll wash them,” she said, already headed toward the kitchen.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Paige tossed a glance over her shoulder. “You cooked. It’s only fair.”

Azzi let her go without protest, watching her move around the space like she belonged there. It did something small and tender in her chest.

While Paige worked at the sink, Azzi crossed the room and grabbed her folder of notes from the desk. She brought everything to the couch and settled in, folding 1 leg underneath her, waiting.

When Paige came back, drying her hands on a paper towel, Azzi looked up and smiled.

“Ready ?” she asked.

Paige nodded, then paused scanning the space beside Azzi. Without saying anything, she slid onto the couch next to her, close enough that their sides brushed. Then, gently, she leaned into Azzi’s back, arms slipping around her waist as her chin came to rest on Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi’s breath caught for half a second but then she relaxed into it like it was the most natural thing in the world. She leaned back slightly, letting herself fit into Paige’s hold, her head tipping slihgtly to the side so her temple could rest against Paige’s cheek.

“This ok ?” Paige murmured.

Azzi nodded, her voice soft. “Yea. More than okay.”

They sat like that for a moment, the notes still untouched on Azzi’s lap. Then Azzi picked them up and flipped through the pages.

“Alrighty. Let’s go over a couple things, yea ?”

Paige gave a sleepy hum of agreement, her arms still wrapped around Azzi, her thumbs tracing absent circles just below her ribs. Azzi’s voice stayed calm and focused as she moved through the review, occasionally tilting her head to glance at Paige’s answers, her own handwriting scrawled neatly across diagrams and formula sheets.

“Ok,” Azzi said, tapping the corner of the next problem with her pen. “Let’s try this one—eigenvalues for this matrix here.”

Paige squinted at it, pulling her arms in a little to think. “Um… you find the determinant of A minus lambda I, right ?”

“Right,” Azzi nodded. “And then ?”

“You… set it equal to zero and solve for lambda?”

“Exactly.”

Paige tried to work through the problem in her head, but her brows knit together after a second. “Wait, how do I know I’m setting it up right again ? I always get stuck when there’s variables in the diagonal.”

Azzi paused for a second, then smiled. “Remember how I explained it before ?”

Paige blinked, then let out a breath of laughter. “Oh my god, yeaaaaa. You said the diagonal was like the players running a full-court press, and the rest of the team had to hold their zones until the pressure backed off.”

Azzi laughed too, her body shaking lightly in Paige’s arms. “Exactly. And you subtract lamvda from the diagonal entries because they’re the ones applying pressure and everything else stays the same unless the press breaks.”

Paige grinned against Azzi’s shoulder. “Okok, that actually helped so much.”

She refocused, working through the rest of the problem aloud while Azzi listened patiently. When she got to the end, Azzi glanced at the work and nodded.

“You nailed it.”

“Let’s gooooooooo,” Paige whispered dramatically into Azzi’s ear, squeezing her gently.

Azzi laughed again, leaning her head back further until it bumped lightly against Paige’s. “Told you you were ready.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, the review continuing in quiet fits and starts. Calculus derivatives turned into little memory games. Paige mumbled through integrals and Azzi softly corrected her when needed, guiding her through it like they had all week.

Eventually, Azzi’s notes thinned out, more comfort than study material now. Paige had gone quiet, no longer tracing patterns on her side, instead, just resting, arms loosely around Azzi’s waist, her cheek warm against her shoulder.

Azzi checked the time, a small sigh escaping before she turned her head slightly. “We should probably head over now.”

Paige groaned into her shoulder. “Five more mins ?”

Azzi smiled. “If we wait five more, you’ll ask for ten.”

Paige leaned back, releasing her with a dramatic stretch. “Fine. But only because I’m feeling weirdly prepared and don’t wanna jinx it.”

Azzi set the notes aside and stood, brushing her palms over her sweats. “You are prepared. You’ve been locked in all week.”

“Not true,” Paige said, rising to her feet with a small bounce. “There were at least two days where I zoned out thinking about mac n cheese and couldn’t remember what a derivative even was.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “And yet, you still nailed that practice quiz we did last night.”

Paige beamed, grabbing her jacket from the back of the coach. “Welp, that was mostly thanks to you.”

Azzi glanced at her, the smile soft and quiet. “You didn’t need much help. You just needed someone to believe you could do it.”

They both moved around the room in an easy rhythm. When everything was packed, they met near the door.

Paige bumped her shoulder against Azzi’s as she reached for the handle. “If I blank mid-exam, I’m blaming you.”

Azzi tilted her head. “For what ?”

“For setting the bar so high,” Paige said, grinning. “Now my brain thinks it’s supposed to remember everything.”

Azzi laughed. “That’s the idea.”

—---------------------------------------------

The walk was filled with light convos and the occasional shoulder bump when Paige got too animated describing how she’d probably freeze on question 1 and have to wing it with confidence. Azzi just smiled through most of it, offering a quiet reassurance here and there that Paige really was ready, even if she didn’t fully believe it yet.

As they neared the lecture hall, the mood shifted slightly to something more focused and a lil heavier. Other students were already filing in, some reviewing notes, others sitting with blank stares like they were trying to mentally teleport somewhere else.

Azzi and Paige paused just inside, scanning the projector screen where the seating chart was displayed. Paige squinted, reading aloud under her breath. “Ok… I’m seat 4B… and you’re—”

“4D,” Azzi finished, already spotting the row. “We’re kinda next to each other.”

Paige exhaled with mock relief. “Thank god. If I have a meltdown mid-test, at least you’ll be close enough to hear it.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Just read the questions first. Don’t panic.”

“I make no promises,” Paige whispered dramatically as they made their way down the aisle.

Coincidentally their assigned row was already partially filled. Aubrey sat in 4A, legs stretched out and tapping her pencil against the desk rhythmically, while Caroline was on 4C, flipping through flashcards. Both looked up when they noticed Paige and Azzi approaching.

“Well well well,” Aubrey said, her grin already forming. “Look who finally showed up. Had to squeeze in one last study cuddle ?”

Paige shot her a look as she dropped into her seat in between Aubrey and Caroline. “It was a review sesh.”

“Mhmmmmm,” Caroline said, not even bothering to hide her smirk as Azzi quietly took her seat on the other side of her. “You look very academically prepared.”

Azzi didn’t say anything, just busied herself with pulling out a pencil and glancing forward.

As students continued to file in, the professor finally stepped up to the center of the room and clapped his hands once, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“Alright,” he called out. “Linear algebra and calc. You’ve had all week to prep, and now it’s time for the real deal. No phones, no notes, no excuses.”

The professor began walking through the aisles, handing out last-minute instructions and exam booklets. When he reached their row, he paused just in front of Paige’s desk.

He offered her a kind, knowing smile and lowered his voice. “Good luck, Paige. I’m sure you’ll smash it today… especially after all that extra tutoring with your girlfriend I’ve seen.”

A beat of silence.

Azzi’s head snapped up.

Paige blinked. “She’s not—” Her voice came out too fast, too high. “We’re not—uh—we’re just friends.”

The professor raised a brow like he didn’t buy it for a second. “Right right. Of course. You said that last time.” He gave them both a wink. “Still. It’s been nice watching you both work so hard. Very sweet.”

Then, before Paige could muster a reply, he gave her a light, encouraging pat on the back.

Paige opened her mouth again, then closed it, clearly at a loss.

Beside her, Aubrey let out a loud cough that suspiciously sounded like a laugh, and Caroline didn’t even try to hide hers, covering her mouth as her shoulders shook.

Azzi had gone completely still, the tips of her ears visibly pink.

The professor moved on like nothing happened, continuing down the row to distribute the rest of the exams.

Paige froze for a moment, cheeks flushing deep as she glanced sideways at Azzi, a nervous laugh bubbling out that quickly turned into a quiet, embarrassed smile. She dropped her eyes, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve.

Azzi’s own laugh was low and awkward, her head tilting down just slightly, trying not to meet Paige’s gaze. Caroline, sitting between them, caught the moment and snorted softly, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.

Paige cleared her throat, still blushing, and just murmured, “Ok… that just happened.”

Azzi gave a small, shy nod, eyes still on her lap. “Yep.”

Aubrey leaned forward slightly from her seat. “Girlfriend, ay ?”

Caroline chimed in, still grinning. “You two are so bad at hiding it.”

“We’re not hiding anything,” Paige muttered, tugging her jacket up like it might shield her from further embarrassment.

“Exactly,” Aubrey said. “That’s the problem.”

Before Paige could fire back, the professor returned to the front of the room.

“Alright class, you may now begin,” he called, and the room filled with the sounds of pages turning and nervous throat clears.

Paige stared down at the first problem and let out a slow, focused breath.

The quiet rustle of pages and scratching of pencils filled the room. Her fingers curled slightly around the pencil, but for a moment, her mind blanked.

Azzi noticed immediately. Her pencil paused mid-scribble, and without a word, she angled her body just enough to catch Paige’s eye. Azzi took a slow, deliberate breath, in and out, steady and even. Then she gave Paige a small, encouraging smile.

Paige’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, the tension loosening. She mirrored the breath, slow and steady, matching Azzi’s rhythm, and the warm confidence spread like a spark across the court of her nerves. Her pulse slowed, the panic retreating behind her focus.

The first few questions flowed beneath her pencil—straightforward matrices, simple derivatives, nothing to trip over. She moved with more ease, her mind settling into the rhythm of problem-solving. The numbers and variables felt less like obstacles and more like players moving on the court, each with a role and purpose.

Then she hit a stop, a layered problem, a tangle of integrals and eigenvalues that made her pause. Her breath hitched as the old fear bubbled up again. For a split second, the room seemed to tilt, the numbers blurring like defenders closing in fast.

But then, just as suddenly, the memory flickered of the late-night study session with Azzi a few days ago, the way they had talked through it slowly, breaking it down step-by-step. She pictured Azzi’s hand tracing through the problem, Azzi’s voice breaking down the “pick-and-roll” of the calculus, the way 1 part set up the next, how you could anticipate the moves and find the open shot.

Paige’s fingers tightened around the pencil, steadying, and she began again, this time with a clear path forward. Step by step, she dismantled the problem, the pieces falling into place like a practiced play. The panic faded again fully now, replaced by a quiet confidence as she wrote the final answer with a small, satisfied nod.

Azzi glanced over once more, her eyes bright with encouragement and a subtle pride, before returning to her own test.

Paige settled deeper into the chair, the nervous energy replaced by a steady determination

—---------------------------------------------

The final question appeared across the bottom of the page. Paige gave it a quick scan, noting the multistep logic and a sneaky limit tucked at the end, but instead of the familiar wave of dread, she felt momentum. Like the game was tied and the clock was winding down, but the ball was in her hands and her footing was solid.

Her pencil moved with purpose. She could almost hear Azzi’s voice again, low and clear: “Start with what you know.” So she did. She worked through each piece slowly, cautiously, and then faster as confidence grew. Substitution, simplification, draw the line between what’s real and what’s just noise. She boxed her final answer with a small flourish.

Just as she leaned back to glance over her work, the professor’s voice rang out from the front.

“All right, everyone—pencils down !”

A collective exhale filled the lecture hall. Some students stretched. Others slumped forward, mentally drained. Paige let her pencil roll off her fingers and onto the desk with a soft clatter. Her shoulders fell in relief, a slow, satisfied grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I’ll come around to collect,” the professor added, already making his way down the rows.

As he approached, Paige turned her test over neatly and slid it to the corner of her desk, fingers brushing over the cover one last time. She caught Azzi’s eye again, she looked calm and unfazed, like she’d just jogged a mile and hadn’t broken a sweat. Their gazes locked, and this time, Paige was the one who smiled first.

“Seems like you killed it,” Azzi mouthed, her eyes crinkling ever so slightly.

Paige’s grin widened.

As the professor passed, they handed in their papers 1 after the other, then gathered their things in unison. Aubrey let out a groan as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Well, that was kinda evil,” she muttered.

“Speak for yourself,” Caroline said breezily, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “That was the least painful one yet. I’m calling that a win.”

The 4 of them filed out into the hallway, their steps naturally syncing as they moved away from the room.

“I’m gonna head back to my dorm and get my stuff together,” Aubrey said, nudging Caroline lightly with her elbow.

“Yea, same,” Caroline replied. “Gotta finish packing before I head out.”

They shared a knowing glance as Aubrey shot a playful look back at Paige. “Text if you forget your toothbrush again.”

Paige rolled her eyes with a soft laugh. “Bruh that was one time.”

“Sure it was,” Caroline called back over her shoulder as the 2 of them disappeared down the corrifdor.

And then it was just Paige and Azzi.

They lingered just outside, the hallway quieting now that the post-test rush had eased. Paige leaned against the wall for a second, letting the calm wash over her. Azzi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and turned to her, voice soft.

“So…” Azzi asked, tilting her head slightly. “How’d it feel?”

Paige looked at her. She didn’t need to think long.

“Better than I expected,” she said honestly. “There were a couple problems that tried to mess with me, but I think I handled them ok. I didn’t freeze up, at least not for long.” Her eyes flicked to Azzi’s. “And… I remembered a lot of what we went over.”

Azzi’s smile grew, quiet and proud. “I could tell. You looked pretty locked in.”

Paige gave a modest shrug, but her cheeks warmed again—this time for a different reason entirely. “I mean… having you there definitely helped.”

Azzi laughed gently. “I didn’t do anything but breathe and stare at you.”

“Exactly,” Paige said, nudging her with her elbow, then immediately pretending like she hadn’t just flirted. “Anyways… I should probs go and pack my stuff too before it gets late.”

Azzi nodded, lifting her backpack a little higher on her shoulder. “Makes sense.”

There was a small pause. Paige rubbed her thumb along the strap of her own bag before looking back up.

“Hey,” she said casually, “you wanna come with ? I mean, just to hang around while I pack.”

Azzi blinked, surprised by the offer, but she recovered quickly with a soft smile. “Yea,” she said, voice light. “Sure. I’d like that.”

Paige’s lips curled into a grin she couldn’t quite suppress, heart tapping just a little faster again but for the best reason.

They fell into step together, headed down the hall and toward Paige's dorm. The test was done, the stress was behind them, and now, for the first time all day, the world felt a little lighter.

—---------------------------------------------

The door clicked shut behind them as Paige dropped her keys into the small dish by the entrance.

“As usual, make yourself at home,” Paige said as she took off her shoes.

Azzi was already moving toward the couch, sinking into the far corner like she belonged there, legs folded under her and an easy expression on her face. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Paige shot her a quick look, the edges of her mouth curling upward, before turning to the open bag on the floor. She crouched down next to it, unzipping the main compartment and tugging out a few folded items that had clearly been laid out with care earlier.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t awkward—it was warm, comfortable, but still laced with the faint hum of something unspoken. Azzi watched her from the couch, chin resting on her knuckles, a soft smile tugging at her lips every time Paige muttered to herself or double-checked an item.

Paige reached for a few pieces of neatly stacked gear on her dresser and tucked them into the duffel 1 by 1.

“Ok,” Paige mumbled to herself. “Shoes, airpids, contact case… what else, what else…”

“You packed chargers?” Azzi asked from the couch.

Paige turned slightly over her shoulder. “Are you calling me predictable?”

Azzi lifted a brow. “No. I’m calling you practical. That flight is like three hours if I remember correctly, and you can’t survive without your tech.”

Paige smirked, but her cheeks warmed as she turned back to her packing. “Maybe I packed a backup portable.”

Azzi grinned, satisfied.

Paige zipped a smaller side pocket closed and let out a breath. “I always feel like I’m forgetting sum.”

Azzi stretched out 1 leg, then the other, letting her knees fall slightly apart as she slid down a little more into the couch cushions. “Want help remembering ?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She glanced up, then stood briefly only to drop down again—this time right between Azzi’s legs, back to the couch, shoulders settling in front of Azzi’s thighs. Her bag rested in front of her, one side still open. “You can keep me company instead,” she said lightly, reaching for her ipad and slipping it into the side pocket of her bag.

Azzi blinked, but recovered quickly. Her hands, hesitant at first, rested gently on Paige’s shoulders. A pause. Then her thumbs moved, slowly tracing circles against tense muscles.

Paige melted under the touch without meaning to, the smallest sigh escaping her lips. “Oh damn. Ok. That’s pre dangerous.”

Azzi chuckled, her fingers pressing a little deeper now. “Guess all those hours of helping my mom with shoulder knots finally paid off.”

Paige leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed for a second before reopening. She tilted her head slightly, gaze finding Azzi’s out of the corner of her eye. “Seriously. You’ve got magic hands.”

“Don’t tell everyone,” Azzi murmured. “They’ll form a line.”

Paige hummed, not quite joking. “Maybe I’ll keep you to myself then.”

Azzi’s fingers slowed for a moment before resuming their rhythm, and Paige, sensing the shift, smiled to herself.

After a few more moments of comfortable silence, Paige tilted her head all the way back, resting the crown of it between Azzi’s thighs so she could look up at her properly. Azzi’s hands stilled, one trailing to Paige’s jaw as if instinctively. She brushed a thumb along Paige’s cheekbone, then lightly tapped the tip of her nose.

Paige blinked at the gesture, grinning. “What was that for ?”

Azzi shrugged softly, her voice low. “You were making a face.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Exactly.”

Paige let her eyes roam upward, taking in Azzi’s features from this new angle—soft lashes, curious eyes, the way her smile lived more in her eyes than on her mouth right now, though the dip her dimples gave her away. She exhaled slowly, no longer pretending to be unaffected.

“You’re really pretty,” she said quietly but without heistation.

Azzi’s hand froze for just a beat, the fingers that had been tracing her jaw stilling before brushing again, slower now. “That’s not fair,” Azzi said softly.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What’s not ?”

“You looking up at me like that and saying things like that.”

The air between them turned even more charged, the soft hum deepening into something heavier, fuller. Paige didn’t move. She just let her head rest there, gaze steady, vulnerable.

“Then don’t look away,” Paige whispered.

Azzi didn’t.

They stayed like that for a long, suspended beat—until Paige gently lifted her head and refocused on her bag, cheeks flushed but a smile tucked into the corner of her lips. Azzi, gently regrouping herself, let her hand trail down Paige’s arm instead, giving it a little squeeze.

“So,” Azzi said eventually, her voice a bit steadier, “Tennessee huh ?”

“Yep.” Paige stuffed a long-sleeve into the side pouch, then zipped it up. “In their house. Whole crowd yelling at us. My fave kind of chaos.”

Azzi chuckled. “I’ll be watching.”

Paige turned her head again, eyes bright. “Really ?”

Azzi nodded. “On my ipad. Gonna lay in bed and get comffy.”

Paige’s grin was immediate, sincere. “That actually means a lot.”

Azzi shrugged, almost shy again. “I like watching you play.”

Something about the way she said it made Paige feel like it meant more than just basketball.

She reached up blindly, catching Azzi’s hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I like knowing you’re watching.”

Azzi didn’t answer, but her hand tightened around Paige’s.

Eventually, the moment slipped into stillness, like they both knew it had to end but weren’t quite ready to let it. Paige gave Azzi’s hand one last squeeze before standing, brushing her hands on her sweats and grabbing the now fully packed duffel by the handles. Azzi stood too, slower, pulling her sleeves down as she followed Paige to the door.

“Got everything ?” Azzi asked softly.

Paige gave a soft laugh. “No idea, but at this point, I’ve committed.”

They didn’t say much on the way. Paige’s fingers brushed against Azzi’s once, and she didn’t pull away, didn’t apologize. Just walked close enough that their arms occasionally bumped, hearts thudding a little harder with every step that brought them closer to goodbye.

The team bus came into view parked outside the athletic center—lights on inside, engine idling low. Half the team was already on board, some voices floating through the open bus door, laughter mixed with music.

But Paige didn’t head straight for the bus.

Instead, she veered slightly, leading Azzi toward a narrow space between the building and a row of hedges that offered some privacy. Just enough.

She set her duffel down against the wall and turned to Azzi, suddenly slower in her movements, gaze flickering over the girl in front of her like she was trying to memorize her.

Azzi smiled, something gentle and a little crooked. “You’re only gonna be gone a few days.”

“I know,” Paige said, but her arms were already winding around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in. “But imma miss you.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. Her arms looped around Paige’s shoulders, tucking herself close, cheek resting against Paige’s jacket. “I’m gonna miss you too,” she said quietly, voice muffled by the fabric.

The hug wasn’t quick. It stretched on, warm and real, their bodies shifting slightly every few moments just to hold each other a little tighter. Paige buried her face into Azzi’s shoulder for a second, letting herself lean in fully before pulling back just enough to press a soft kiss to Azzi’s temple.

“I’m gonna message you every time I’m free,” Paige murmured. “Even if it’s just to say something dumb. You better answer.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath. “Wouldn’t dream of ignoring you.”

Paige smiled and kissed her temple again—slower this time. Then again, like it was the only way she knew how to say everything all at once. Azzi’s hands slid up Paige’s back, fingers curling in the material of her jacket.

“I’m serious,” Paige said against her skin. “Every break. Every meal. If I don’t see your name pop up I might actually forget how to function.”

Azzi tilted her head to look at her, eyes warm. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you seem to like it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she reached up, brushed a stray piece of hair from Paige’s face, and held her gaze with a soft steadiness. Then, just as Paige moved to step back and reach for her duffel, Azzi leaned in quickly, pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek.

It lingered.

“Good luck P,” she whispered against her skin, voice almost shy now.

Paige’s breath caught. Her hand hovered halfway to her bag before dropping again, a dazed grin tugging at her lips as her cheek warmed beneath Azzi’s touch.

“Ok,” Paige breathed, blinking a few times. “Ok, I’m ready now.”

Azzi smirked softly, but her arms hadn’t quite let go.

Just then, a voice called out from near the bus.

“Paige !” Caroline’s voice, amused. “Let’s go, lover girl ! Bus is heading out in two !”

Paige didn’t even look embarrassed. She just turned her head a little to call back, “Yea yea ! I’m coming !”

She glanced back to Azzi with a soft, almost bashful laugh. “She’s the worst.”

“She knows what she’s talking about,” Azzi said, eyes glinting.

Paige chuckled as she reached for her duffel again and slung it over her shoulder. But before she stepped away, she leaned in 1 more time, pressing 1 last kiss to Azzi’s temple—gentle, affectionate, like she didn’t want to go.

“I’ll text you once i arrive at the airport,” she said.

Azzi nodded, fingers brushing Paige’s wrist as if reluctant to let go entirely. “I’ll be waiting.”

Paige stepped backward, eyes still on Azzi. She then took a deep breath, gave her 1 final smile and jogged toward the bus steps.

Azzi stayed behind in the shadow of the building, watching as Paige climbed aboard, greeted her teammates and the staff, then turned at the top of the stairs to find her again through the window.

She waved.

Azzi smiled and waved back, her heart full.

And then the doors shut, the engine sounded, and the bus pulled away taking Paige with it but leaving something sweet behind in the quiet air between them.

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