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sowerpatch · 2 days ago

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terms of play [chapter 9 - off the bench]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: The spotlight follows Paige, but Azzi’s eyes never leave her. Between rooftop parties, silent understandings, and a coffee table no one asked for, the shape of their relationship starts to shift. What was once careful becomes comfortable, and what was once tentative turns certain—with nothing left to prove.

Warning: Jake is here

Author's note: I hope it met your expectation. Probably the longest chapter I wrote for this series.

Word count: 6,412

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. June 2025.

The sunlight cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows didn’t soften the edge in Nika’s voice as she flipped through the printed contract.

“If we fast-track this, we’ll need the final numbers from legal before Wednesday.”

Azzi sat at her desk, posture perfect, pen poised over a draft that had already been signed twice. She didn’t look up.

“I’ll have Ines coordinate with compliance.”

A buzz sounded from the corner of the desk.

Neither woman acknowledged it at first. Azzi’s eyes remained fixed on the page, but her hand hovered slightly, as if instinct wanted her to reach before her mind allowed it.

Another buzz, longer this time. Then two in a row.

Nika raised her head.

“Someone’s persistent,” she said lightly.

Azzi didn’t move. “It’s nothing.”

Nika set her papers down. “That didn’t sound like nothing.”

Before Azzi could stop her, Nika reached across the desk and picked up the phone.

“Nika,” Azzi warned, but it was too late.

Nika’s eyes scanned the lock screen. She let out a low whistle.

“Instagram, Twitter, ESPN, even Bleacher Report. All Paige, all day.” Nika raised an eyebrow as she held out the phone. “You really weren’t going to say anything? Or were you hoping no one would notice you’ve got alerts turned on for your favorite All-Star?”

Azzi stayed quiet, her face unreadable.

Nika arched a brow, still grinning. “You really keeping tabs on her like that? Thought you didn’t care for social media.”

Azzi leaned back, voice smooth. “It’s in my job description. Player oversight.”

“Player oversight my ass.”

“Language, Muhl.”

Nika gave a short laugh, “Come on. You really going to sit there and act like that’s all it is?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Azzi finally took the phone back, clicking the screen dark with a touch that was sharper than necessary. She slid it face down on the desk. Her voice was calm.

She hesitated, gaze lingering on the turned-over phone like it had asked her something she didn’t want to answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was even, but softer than before.

“Admitting things complicates them.”

Nika leaned back in her chair, arms folded, eyes sharp with amusement.

“Or maybe it just makes them real. You ever think of that?”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. She reached for her pen again, clicked it once, then set it down without using it.

Nika’s grin widened. “You know, for someone who built a multi-million-dollar roster from scratch, you’re really bad at pretending this isn’t obvious.”

Azzi finally looked over, brows raised. “You finished reviewing the clause?”

Nika laughed. “Sure. But you might want to start reviewing your poker face, boss.”

The phone buzzed once more. This time, she didn’t stop herself from reading it.

Paige’s name flashed on the top banner.

Just a tweet — a screenshot of the announcement, her own words captioned underneath:

wtf y’all. okay i’m crying.

Azzi’s thumb hovered over the notification. She didn’t open it.

But the corners of her mouth lifted, just barely. A quiet smile, not meant for anyone else in the room.

She turned the phone over slowly, face down again, and set it aside. Then reached for her pen, signing the next page without a word, the smile still lingering, soft and unmistakably proud.

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. June 2025.

Azzi tied her hair back loosely, letting the silk tie settle at the nape of her neck as she leaned toward the mirror. Her movements were methodical, practiced. The soft white light of the bathroom washed over the marble counter and the screen propped beside the sink. Paige’s face lit up the phone, cheeks flushed from excitement, expression animated even through pixels.

“…and then the trainer told me, ‘You’re going to have to start charging people for autographs now.’ I swear I almost choked on my milkshake.”

Azzi reached for her cleansing balm, the container cool in her palm as she unscrewed the lid. Paige’s voice filled the space, fast and unfiltered, words tumbling over each other.

“I mean, I knew people liked me, but number one? Babe, that’s insane. Over actual legends. This is like, not real. Are they sure they counted the votes right?”

Azzi smiled faintly, dabbing the balm across her cheekbones with her fingertips. Her voice was calm, but there was warmth under it.

“They were right. You earned it.”

There was a pause on the other end before Paige laughed again, head falling back onto what looked like a hotel pillow.

“I swear, I don’t even know what to say. I’ve been smiling all night.”

Azzi began to massage the balm into her skin, small circles along her jawline, voice steady.

“You should. I’m proud of you.”

That quieted things.

Azzi didn’t notice at first. She moved to rinse her hands under warm water, the faucet humming low. It wasn’t until the absence of Paige’s voice stretched too long that Azzi glanced toward her phone again.

Paige wasn’t talking anymore. Just watching.

Azzi blinked once, turning the tap off before reaching for a towel.

“What?”

Paige tilted her head slightly on the screen, lips tugging into a lazy smile.

“You look really pretty.”

Azzi exhaled, soft and exasperated.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Paige shrugged, chin propped against her knuckles. “Maybe. But you do. That robe is kind of cheating, though. You look like you should be drinking wine and reading poetry.”

Azzi glanced down at her ivory robe, expression unreadable. “It’s my skincare robe.”

“Right. Your skincare robe.” Paige grinned, teasing now. “God, even your skincare routine is hot, ma.”

Azzi shook her head, but the faintest smile curved her lips as she reached for her toner.

“Do you ever stop?”

Paige was still smiling. “Only when you make me.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She swept the cotton pad gently over her cheek, gaze flicking to the screen again.

Paige hadn’t looked away. Her expression had softened, a little slower now. A little closer to something that mattered.

Azzi took a breath. “You should get some rest.”

Paige smirked. “I will. Eventually. You staying on the line again?”

She just set the phone back against the sink, making sure the camera still caught her face.

“Wash your face first, Rookie.”

And then, just barely, her smile returned.

Conrad Indianapolis, Indianapolis. July 2025.

The couch was soft enough to sink into, which Paige had already done with her usual chaotic sprawl. One leg hooked over the backrest, the other stretched long, toes nudging a pillow that looked designer. Her hoodie was half-zipped, and the All-Star patch stitched on her sweatpants caught the gold of the suite’s warm lighting every time she moved.

“That lamp’s gotta be a thousand easy,” she muttered, eyes scanning the room. “And that side table? Solid marble. Top five, easy.”

She rolled to her stomach, chin propped on a throw pillow.

“I’m ranking the most absurd things in this suite. Right now, it’s a tie between the curved art sculpture and the fruit bowl that looks like it’s never seen fruit.”

From the kitchen island, Azzi’s fingers hovered over her laptop. She hadn’t typed anything for minutes. Paige’s voice filled the space like she belonged in it.

“I thought you had press,” Azzi said.

“I did.”

Azzi turned her head slightly, enough to catch Paige’s smirk over her shoulder.

“I needed to recharge,” Paige said. “With my non-girlfriend girlfriend.”

Azzi looked back at her screen, but her lips gave her away. The edge of a smile, impossible to hold down. She clicked once, then again, more to keep her hands busy than anything else. She didn’t answer right away, and Paige caught that too.

“You like when I say that,” Paige teased as she sat up on the couch. “Admit it.”

“You’re delusional,” Azzi murmured.

Paige grinned wider. “And you’re blushing.”

Azzi closed her laptop without replying. She walked over with that composed stride she always carried, then knelt beside the couch and brushed Paige’s hair from her face.

“You’re anxious.”

Paige didn’t deny it. Her fingers tugged at a loose thread on the blanket as she sat up, gaze drifting past Azzi to the windows behind her. The city view blurred with night, unfamiliar and too far away.

“I’m excited. But it feels like everyone’s expecting me to prove something. Like one wrong step means I was a fluke.”

Azzi climbed onto the couch, one knee sliding between Paige’s thighs before she settled directly in her lap. Her hands rested at Paige’s shoulders, fingertips brushing the base of her neck.

Paige leaned back into the cushions, body already relaxing under the weight of Azzi’s presence.

“I’m trying to hold it together,” she said. “But I just wanted to see you first.”

Azzi shifted closer, thumb tracing over the edge of Paige’s jaw.

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “You belong there.”

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s back, slow and certain.

“I want to kiss you so bad.”

Azzi didn’t move away, but she didn’t lean in either. Her eyes held steady.

“You said you didn’t want to share,” she said quietly. “That was your term.”

“And you haven’t ended it,” Paige replied. “With him.”

Azzi nodded once. “I know.”

The air between them stretched. Paige didn’t fill it. She just watched her, fingers curled gently into Azzi’s waist like she was trying to be patient.

Azzi took a breath.

“I want you. But I want to come to you clean. I don’t want our first anything built on someone else's name still in the room.”

Paige pressed her forehead against Azzi’s collarbone. She didn’t speak, just stayed there with her eyes closed and her arms wrapped tighter.

Azzi stayed right where she was, holding on just as hard.

Astrea Rooftop Bar, Indianapolis. July 2025.

The rooftop bar was already warm with too many bodies and expensive cologne. Strings of low lights crisscrossed above them, casting soft shadows over gold glassware and open jackets. The crowd was loud in a familiar way, full of players riding post-game adrenaline, media professionals lingering near the most photogenic faces, and agents circling like polite sharks. Everyone wanted to be seen.

Paige was impossible to miss.

She stood near a heat lamp with her sleeves shoved up, drink in hand, a group of players pressed around her. Her All-Star teammates flanked her like an unofficial security detail, but it didn’t stop people from drifting in and out, trying to catch a word, a smile, a picture.

Paige kept laughing. Shoulders back, confidence effortless. The light caught the All-Star patch on her chest, and her grin made it look earned.

From across the deck, Azzi watched. She stood near the bar with a drink untouched in her hand, nodding occasionally as someone in a linen blazer droned on about sponsorship deliverables. Her posture didn’t falter, but her attention clearly had. Her gaze kept returning to the same point, always landing on Paige.

The woman beside Paige was older, polished. Hair sleek, heels impractical for the wood floor. She laughed too loudly, touched Paige’s elbow like they were already familiar. Azzi saw the way Paige didn’t move away. She leaned in, said something with a crooked smile. The woman laughed again.

Azzi’s grip on her glass shifted slightly.

She didn’t hear the end of the man’s pitch. When he finally excused himself, Nika slid into the space beside her.

“You look like you’re working,” Nika said, eyes tracking the same scene.

“I am.”

Nika took a slow sip of her drink. “Is that what we’re calling jealousy now?”

Her lips parted slightly, then closed again, whatever words she considered left unsaid.

The woman leaned in closer to Paige. Something she said made Paige tip her head back and laugh. Then Paige looked the woman in the eye, hand resting on her own chest like she was setting a boundary and not apologizing for it.

“Can’t,” Paige said loud enough to carry. “I’ve got a scary-hot non-girlfriend back at home who would absolutely murder me.”

It drew another wave of laughter from the crowd. Paige raised her glass like a punchline. The woman laughed too, then slipped back into the flow of the party. Paige’s grin didn’t falter, but she turned toward the bar, eyes scanning the deck until they found Azzi.

Azzi’s expression didn’t change, but the fingers around her glass eased.

“You going to talk to her?” Nika asked, amused.

“I have nothing to say.”

“Right.”

Nika lingered only a second longer before she disappeared into another group.

Later, Paige approached alone. Her sleeves were still shoved up. Her cheeks were flushed from too much attention or maybe just the heat. Azzi hadn’t moved far, still half in the shadows near the edge of the rooftop. Paige leaned beside her on the railing, facing outward toward the skyline.

“You looked like you were about to commit a felony earlier,” Paige said lightly.

Azzi didn’t look at her. “And you looked like you wanted me to.”

“I was being good.”

Azzi’s voice was even. “I doubt that.”

Paige turned toward her, expression teasing but something sharper beneath it.

“Jealousy looks good on you.”

“It doesn’t suit me.”

“Still. You looked ready to ruin her life.”

Azzi’s gaze didn’t waver. “She wouldn’t have been the only one.”

Paige didn’t laugh. She reached out, fingers brushing Azzi’s wrist before dropping away again.

“You know I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Azzi looked down at the half-full glass in her hand, then back at Paige.

“I know,” she said. “But that doesn’t make it easier.”

Paige’s voice softened. “Then why are we still here? Stuck like this?”

Azzi exhaled, slow. “Because I haven’t done what I need to.”

“Then do it.”

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. July 2025.

The sound of heels on polished hardwood echoed faintly through the open-concept condo. Nika moved through the entryway with a familiar ease, her arms full of slim folders and a small parcel wrapped in navy paper. The late afternoon light stretched through the windows, casting long shadows across Azzi's sculptural furniture and untouched white walls.

"I brought the updated contracts from Boston," Nika called, placing them carefully on the marble counter.

Azzi stepped out of her home office, barefoot and understated in a charcoal sweater and fitted slacks. Her hair was loosely pinned, a single strand tucked behind one ear with casual precision. She glanced at the documents without moving closer, then lifted a hand in mild thanks.

Nika turned to speak again, but her eyes caught on something unusual.

A large brown box sat by the wall near the couch. Its sides were unmarked except for the taped shipping label, creased slightly along the corner like it had been dropped. It looked completely out of place in Azzi’s space. A raw, cardboard rectangle in a room made of intention.

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that... from Amazon?”

Azzi moved toward the sink and poured herself a glass of water. “It’s a coffee table.”

Nika walked over, inspecting the box like it might be mislabeled. “Since when do you buy furniture from Amazon?”

Azzi’s voice remained even. “It was recommended.”

“By who? Your interior designer having a breakdown?”

There was a pause. Azzi’s eyes shifted toward the box, then back to her glass. “Paige sent me the link.”

Nika blinked. She stepped away from the box and crossed her arms. “Hold on. You mean Paige Bueckers Paige?”

Azzi gave the smallest nod.

Nika stared. “You’re letting your starting point guard pick your furniture now?”

“She mentioned the table I had was a hazard.”

“Well, she’s not wrong. That thing looked like it belonged behind velvet rope.” Nika’s eyes narrowed. “So she just... replaced it for you?”

“She offered to help. I didn’t object.”

Nika circled the box once, grinning. “And you’re letting her build it?”

Azzi hesitated. Her fingers traced the rim of the water glass without lifting it. “She said it would make the place feel more like a home.”

That landed heavier than either of them expected.

Nika gave her a look, somewhere between amused and affectionate. “You let someone tell you your space feels inhuman and your reaction was to let them fix it?”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. She picked up one of the folders and turned it in her hand, even though she wasn’t reading the label.

“She said the table was cold. And that real people live around clutter and scratches and things they built themselves.”

Nika watched her, something like wonder blooming in her expression. “You’re letting Paige build you a life.”

“It’s a coffee table,” Azzi said quietly.

Nika smiled. “Sure. And next, she’ll be moving your wine glasses lower because they’re not reachable for people under six feet.”

Azzi didn’t look up from the folder. Her lips curved slightly, barely there.

“I’m bringing wine next time I visit,” Nika said, heading for the elevator. “I want front-row seats when she uses the Allen wrench like a power tool.”

She left without another word, her laughter echoing faintly down the hallway.

Azzi stayed at the counter, eyes on the box. She didn’t open it. She just stood there, picturing the way Paige had smiled while adding it to the cart. How she’d said it would be easy to build. That she wanted to help make the place less of a showroom and more of a space where people could laugh and exist and feel.

It was only a coffee table. But the weight in Azzi’s chest told her it might be more than that.

Steak 48, Los Angeles. July 2025.

The restaurant was lit in a curated kind of warmth, the kind that softened sharp edges and helped people forget the weight they walked in with. Tables were spread apart with intention. Conversations were low but not hushed, each table a small world, unaware of the others. Somewhere near the bar, a piano filled the air with notes that tried their best to feel elegant.

Azzi didn’t remember the name of the place. Jake had made the reservation after knowing she will be in town for the Sparks versus Valkyries game. He mentioned it earlier in the week with the kind of confidence that came from Yelp reviews and corporate dinner experience.

She had said yes out of habit, not excitement. That was the pattern lately — her calendar was full, her days structured, and Jake had learned how to slot himself in with efficiency.

He sat across from her in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to look casual. His watch caught the light as he gestured, recounting the chaos of a server failure during a mid-tier client presentation. He was good at this. Charming in a low-maintenance way. Polished, but not flashy. The kind of man who knew how to invest, how to explain blockchain to aging board members, how to turn minor annoyances into compelling stories.

Azzi heard the shape of the story but not the details. Her attention hovered somewhere above the table, above the candlelight, above the space between them that felt increasingly hollow.

She wasn’t present. And she hadn’t been for a long time.

Across from her, Jake smiled. “The whole system nearly crashed. I stepped in, rewrote the line in real-time. CTO was impressed, told me I saved the pitch. Got a bonus out of it.”

She nodded, the motion small and polite.

Jake picked up his glass, took a sip, then shifted the conversation. “I’ve been thinking about us.”

That made her look at him properly.

He didn’t hesitate. “After the season ends, maybe we take a few weeks. Get out of the city. You’ve been in overdrive, Azzi. You need air. We both do.”

She said nothing. He took that as permission to go on.

“I can work remote, so I’ll block off the time. Doesn’t have to be anywhere dramatic. But we’ve talked about Japan, right? Or Portugal? Somewhere new. Somewhere that lets us stop being... whatever this pace has turned us into.” He paused there, watching her. “I want to be with you when things slow down. Really with you.”

Azzi was motionless, watching him.

He’d said it with hope, not desperation. But the words hung between them, and in the stretch that followed, she felt a slow tightening in her chest. Not because she was moved — but because she wasn’t.

He wanted stillness with her. She only wanted to leave.

The realization wasn’t sudden. It had been unfolding for months, slow and private. She had told herself it was stress.

Pressure.

The newness of the team. That she didn’t have space to be open, not now, not with all eyes on her. But those were excuses dressed as logic.

The truth was more precise. She didn’t feel anything for Jake beyond appreciation. Gratitude. Politeness.

And he deserved more than that.

But what haunted her most was that she hadn’t even missed him when she had been away. Not once. Not even in the kind of way that felt obligatory.

She had thought of someone else instead. Not in theory. Not as fantasy. But as the first person she wanted to call when her day went well. Or badly. Or when it was so heavy that only one person’s voice could cut through it.

Paige.

That name didn’t exist at this table, but it was everywhere inside her.

Jake was watching her now, waiting for the kind of response that might unlock something.

Azzi lowered her eyes to her plate, then back up to him. Her expression stayed careful. But inside her chest, the decision solidified.

She wasn’t going on a vacation. She wasn’t planning a future with someone she didn’t ache for. She wasn’t lying to herself just because it made sense on paper.

When she finally spoke, her voice didn’t falter.

“I can’t go with you, Jake.”

He tilted his head slightly, confused. “Go where?”

“On that trip. Or forward.”

He blinked once. “Azzi…”

“I’ve tried,” she said gently. “More than I probably should have. You’re everything someone would want. But I don’t feel it. I’ve been trying to make sense of it for weeks. But I think I’ve always known.”

He sat back in his chair, processing. The waiter approached, then wordlessly retreated. Azzi didn’t shift. She let the weight of what she’d said settle.

“Is there someone else?”

She hesitated, just for a second. “Yes.”

The word landed without embellishment.

He didn’t flinch. Just looked at her with a kind of tired understanding. “Of course there is.”

She wasn’t cruel enough to say it wasn’t what he thought. That it was complicated. That nothing had happened the way people assume it would.

“I didn’t mean for it,” she said. “But it’s not going away.”

Jake exhaled, jaw tight. “You could have just told me. Earlier.”

“I was waiting for the feeling to change. I thought maybe I was just tired. Or closed off. But the truth is, I’ve never really been in this the way you deserve me to be.”

Jake leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “That’s the worst part. You mean that. And I can’t even be angry about it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, searching hers like he was piecing together a puzzle she hadn’t finished.

After a moment, Jake’s gaze sharpened. “Is it that rookie? The one you always pause for, even when you act like you don’t notice?”

She looked away for just a second, and when she met his eyes again, she nodded.

Jake let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen the way you light up whenever her name is mentioned. It’s different. Real. Something I’ve never been able to reach with you. I thought maybe I was missing something, that it was just me not being enough. But seeing you react when she’s the topic—it’s like you become someone else. Someone alive.”

Her jaw tightened, tension pressing behind her words. “It’s not like that, Jake. You make it sound like I’m chasing after a prize, or like I’m throwing you away for some fleeting thing.”

He shook his head, voice low but firm. “This isn’t a game. I’m not stupid. You’ve been distant for months. And I see it in your eyes when you talk about her. Don’t pretend it’s casual.”

Azzi’s voice softened, the edge of regret clear in her tone. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t know how to say it before. I thought if I waited, if I tried harder, maybe I’d feel something. But I can’t lie anymore—not to you, and not to myself.”

Jake took a moment to absorb her words, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough. “Thank you for saying that.”

She swallowed hard, the mix of guilt and relief heavy in her chest. “You deserve more than I’ve given.”

He nodded slowly, voice steady but carrying a hint of sadness. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Azzi’s throat tightened. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That he’d never done anything wrong. But words tangled somewhere deep inside.

Jake stood, brushing a stray crumb from his shirt. “You also deserve to be with someone who makes you feel like that all the time. Not just sometimes, or in moments you’re not trying to hide it.” He looked down at her then, the smile faint but genuine. “I just hope you find that, Azzi. Even if it’s not with me.”

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. July 2025.

The sun filters in through the tall windows of Azzi’s sleek downtown condo. Half-assembled pieces of an Amazon coffee table are scattered across the floor, cardboard and Allen wrenches everywhere.

Paige is cross-legged on the rug, sleeves rolled up—well, no sleeves really. Just a faded tank top clinging to her back in the July heat, collar tugged loose from wear. Her arms flex slightly each time she tightens a bolt, jaw clenched in mock frustration.

Azzi sits nearby, leaning against the couch, holding a bag of screws she’s forgotten to hand over. She’s trying to stay helpful, but her attention keeps drifting. She tells herself it’s just the light or the novelty of seeing Paige out of her usual game-day gear. But the truth is, it’s distracting.

Unfairly distracting.

There’s something about the casual way Paige exists in her space, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She’s cracking jokes and cursing the instructions, a thin sheen of sweat on her collarbone, and Azzi can’t help but watch her.

And not just watch—want her, in a way that’s starting to feel impossible to ignore.

Paige mutters, “I swear this thing came with thirty-two bolts just to test my patience.” She bites her lip, adjusting her grip on the wrench. “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve cursed Amazon this week, I could retire early.”

Azzi hums, distracted, trying not to stare. She fails.

Paige glances up and grins, her mouth quirked, teasing. “Wonder what your boyfriend would think if he saw me doing manual labor in your living room. Might start to get jealous.”

Azzi’s smile falters, and for a second, she debates brushing it off. She could make a joke, deflect, like usual. But something about the way Paige says it—so light, so easy—makes it harder to keep hiding.

“I ended things,” she says quietly.

Paige’s hand stills. She blinks, surprised.

Azzi keeps her gaze low, voice steady but soft. “I broke up with Jake.”

Paige straightens up a little, trying to read her. “When?”

“Last week when I was in LA.”

“When we played against the Sparks?”

Azzi nodded.

Azzi had said it so quietly. I ended things.

She’s still crouched on the floor, tank top clinging to her back in the heat, sweat glinting along the line of her collarbone. Her breath is shallow—not from the work, but from the shift that just happened in the room.

The Allen wrench slipped from Paige’s fingers, hitting the hardwood with a soft metallic sound that seemed louder than it should have. She didn’t move to pick it up. She stayed crouched where she was, hands braced on her knees, breath uneven.

She looked up slowly, her voice losing its usual edge of humor. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Azzi sat curled on the edge of the couch, her legs folded up, arms wrapped around her knees. The packet of screws she had been holding crinkled under her fingers. She didn’t look at Paige right away. Her eyes followed the lines of the floor like she could find the answer in the pattern of the grain.

“I didn’t know how,” she said, her voice small and steady. “It felt like unraveling something I hadn’t dared to look at too closely.”

She paused, her throat working through the words.

“It’s not like I’m not over him. I didn’t love him like that—not the way you’re supposed to when you say forever. But we were together for a year. He saw me through shit most people don’t even notice. And he cared. Even when I pulled away, he stayed. That kind of steady doesn’t just leave quietly. Even if it was never right.”

Paige’s mouth parts slightly, heart kicking up in her chest. She leans back on her heels, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. “I didn’t mean to come between anything,” she says. Her voice sounds too big in the room, like it doesn’t belong in this hushed, aching space. “If I hadn’t said all those dumb things, kept pushing maybe you guys would’ve worked it out.”

Azzi looked at her then, eyes soft but steady. There was something delicate in the way her expression shifted, a sadness not for what was lost, but for how long she had waited to let it go.

“You didn’t take anything from me,” she said. “You were just the mirror. I couldn’t keep pretending once I saw what I actually wanted. Once I realized I was reaching for my phone every night hoping it was you.”

Her lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but something close.

“And maybe,” she added, her voice lighter now, “I dragged it out because I liked that you kept flirting with me anyway. Like I was yours already.”

Paige let out a laugh, half breath, half disbelief. “I was committed to the bit.”

Azzi tilted her head, amused. “I know.”

The space between them grew warmer, softer. Paige’s teasing faded, replaced by a gentler tone. “I’ll flirt with you forever if you let me.”

Azzi moved without a word, crawling across the floor. She didn’t look at the mess around them. Her eyes were locked on Paige. She reached out and casually brushed a screw from Paige’s lap, then another, until all the clutter was gone between them.

Then she climbed into her lap.

Paige’s brows lifted, just a little, her whole body going still as Azzi straddled her thighs. “Oh,” she said, breath catching. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?”

“Should I stop?” she teased, her lips brushing close. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Paige grinned slowly, cocky and amused, but there was a tightness in her chest she didn’t know what to do with. “You’re lucky I like bossy women crawling on top of me. Kinda my weakness.”

“Yeah?” Azzi leaned in, her voice warm at Paige’s ear. “Thought your weakness was getting beat by furniture instructions.”

“You wanna talk or kiss me?” Paige asked, hand already sliding up Azzi’s thigh like it had been waiting for this opening all week.

Azzi laughed, not backing off. “You always this smooth?”

Paige tilted her head, eyes flicking to Azzi’s mouth. “Only when I actually want someone.”

That made Azzi pause. Just long enough for the weight of Paige’s words to settle deep in her chest. Her gaze dropped to Paige’s mouth, and her restraint thinned in the space between them. Something shifted in her eyes, softening, like the wall she always kept so carefully in place had finally started to lower.

Then she kissed her.

Azzi leaned in slowly, not out of hesitation but intent. One hand lifted to cradle Paige’s cheek, her thumb grazing the skin just beneath her eye. Her lips found Paige’s with a tenderness that carried everything she had never said out loud. It was a kiss that held its own kind of gravity, pulling Paige in without urgency, just certainty.

She kissed her like she meant it. Like she had thought about this moment so many times she knew exactly how to make it last. Her mouth moved with purpose, firm and slow, her other hand sliding around the back of Paige’s neck, holding her steady, holding her close.

Paige melted into it, drawn to her like breath to lungs. Her fingers tightened on Azzi’s waist, grounding herself in the reality of this—of being wanted, of being chosen. She kissed her back with a kind of awe, every motion an answer to a question neither of them had dared to ask.

Azzi deepened the kiss. Not to take more, but to give—her quiet, buried feelings spilling through every press of her mouth, every inch of closeness. She tilted her head, fitting herself closer, and Paige responded with a soft sigh, her body instinctively angling to meet her.

When Azzi finally pulled back, her hand lingered at the curve of Paige’s jaw. She rested her forehead against hers, her breath still mingling with Paige’s, lips parted from the closeness.

Her fingers stayed curled at the back of her neck, unwilling to let go just yet. Holding on like the moment might slip through her hands if she stopped touching her.

Then, like there was no caution left, Azzi moved like she had been holding back for far too long. The restraint had burned away.

Her mouth found Paige’s with a kind of urgency that left no room for doubt. Her lips pressed firm, her breath warm, and when Paige opened to her, Azzi deepened the kiss until it was everything she had been trying not to want.

Her other hand slid beneath Paige’s shirt, splayed against her back, drawing her closer. Paige let out a low sound in response, hands curling into Azzi’s neck, holding her right there.

“Fuck, baby.”

When they stopped for air, Azzi’s lips were swollen, her pupils dark, and her voice was teasing but breathless. “What?”

“You’re ridiculous. You’ve been sitting next to me all day acting like we’re building a table, not dancing around this.”

Azzi shrugged, pretending to be innocent, though her fingers were already on Paige's defined abs. “I thought we were building tension.”

Paige laughed, short and low, chasing her mouth again. “Well, congrats. You built it. Now you’re dealing with it.”

She kissed again her like she meant it. Azzi kissed her back harder, hips shifting again like she wanted to feel every inch of Paige pressed beneath her. Her shirt rode up, and Paige’s hands found bare skin, her touch rougher now, her breath uneven.

“You know,” Azzi said between kisses, “I kind of hate how good at this you are.”

Paige smirked against her mouth. “Told you I had talents.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

Paige’s hand slipped up Azzi’s back, holding her firmly as she shifted their weight. Azzi let herself be guided down onto the floor, her back hitting the rug with a soft thud. Paige hovered above her, a smug glint in her eyes and breath hot against her mouth.

“Why don’t I show you?” Paige murmured, her voice thick with heat.

Then she paused. Smiled. Slower this time.

“Or better yet, why don’t I take you out for dinner first?”

Azzi blinked, caught between the tension thrumming through her body and the sudden, unexpected softness in Paige’s voice. She stared up at her, lips parted, flushed and confused.

“Are you seriously trying to be romantic right now?”

Paige shrugged, one hand resting lazily on Azzi’s waist, the other brushing hair away from her cheek. “Yeah. I am. Sue me.”

Azzi let out a noise of protest, half frustration, half disbelief. “You’ve got me like this—” she gestured between their tangled bodies “—and now you want to go on a date?”

Paige grinned, entirely unbothered. “Exactly. Because if I keep kissing you right now, we’re not stopping. And I actually want to do this right.”

Azzi squinted up at her. “Right? You mean like, feelings right?”

“I thought we already established I like you?” Paige leaned down, nuzzling along Azzi’s jaw, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, just barely not kissing her mouth. “Don’t wanna sneak around, not acting like it’s nothing. Just you and me. I want to know what it’s like to take you out, not just take you apart.”

Azzi sucked in a breath and turned her head slightly to hide her face, but Paige caught the hint of a smile anyway.

“It’s not a good idea,” Azzi murmured. “Us going out. Not in public. Remember our terms?”

Paige’s expression softened. “It’s not gonna be public. Just dinner. My place. Your favorite food. Me pretending I know how to use the stove.”

Azzi turned back to her, her frustration melting into something gentler. Her voice was quiet, and the edge was gone. “Okay. Yeah. Yes.”

Paige smiled, satisfied, and kissed her again before Azzi could second-guess it. Slower this time, deeper. Less frantic than before, but no less hungry. It was a kiss full of promise, and Azzi kissed her back like it meant something.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Paige smirked and glanced sideways at the mess around them.

“You know,” Paige said, glancing at the half-built disaster beside them, “that coffee table is gonna need therapy after this.”

Azzi snorted, her fingers idly tracing the hem of Paige’s shirt. “We didn’t assemble it, we emotionally damaged it.”

“Pretty sure we voided the warranty just by looking at it wrong,” Paige muttered, shifting to dislodge a rogue Allen key from under her thigh. “It’s definitely judging us.”

#paige bueckers #paige buckets #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi fic #pazzi #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfic #uconn wbb #azzi fudd fanfiction #azzi fudd #pazzi fics #terms of play series

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bruisedboys · 2 days ago

Text

fighting chance — kang daeho

daeho helps shy!you feel a little less alone in the games. (set in s2 so no spoilers for s3)

note: hii um I wrote this in one sitting so if it’s bad.. that’s why lol. also! I’d love any requests you have for this pairing, I’m obsessed with them already hehe

kang daeho x shy!fem!reader, fluff + hurt comfort, 1.6k words

Your hands wont stop shaking.

You squeeze them together to stop the trembling, trying not to show how horribly frightened you are. The chaos that was the aftermath of the first game has worn off. You should have calmed down by now, as has every other player in the room, but you can’t seem to stop shaking. Especially now that the vote has been settled, and the majority has voted to stay for another game.

You’re stuck here, at least until the next game is over.

You glance down at the red X velcroed to your chest. You’re certain you made the right decision — no matter how much you need the money, and you really do need it, you weren’t willing to risk your life again. Though you suppose your vote doesn’t matter much now, anyway.

The line moves forward and you follow the man in front of you, staring at his back to avoid eye contact with the other players around you. The masked guards are giving out food, and while you’d prefer to hide in between the bunks somewhere, your stomach aches with hunger.

You can’t stand being around this many people at once. You’re terribly shy at the best of times.

“Are you feeling okay, miss?”

You jump, whipping around. Someone’s tapped you on the shoulder from the line next to yours. It’s Player 388 — a tall man with longer hair, stands right next to you in his line. You remember his face — during Red Light, Green Light, you’d been standing near him and he’d grabbed you, letting you duck behind him and use his body as a shield. You would’ve thanked him, you should’ve, but you’ve been far too shaken up since then.

He looks concerned. You don’t like the earnestness in his gaze, it makes you all sorts of nervous. You nod vigorously, if only to get him to stop looking at you like that.

“I’m okay,” you manage, though your feeble voice suggests otherwise.

Player 388 frowns. “Are you sure? Are you feeling unwell?”

You must be pale in the face, or maybe you look like you’re about to throw up. You sure feel like it. You shake your head. “No, I’m—“

Someone behind you clears their throat and shoves you forward a little. You stumble, and look up to realise you’ve reached the front of the line. You’re face to face with a masked guard.

He holds out your food without a word.

“Sorry,” you mumble to the woman behind you who’d pushed you.

You don’t notice Player 388’s gaze lingering on you as you quickly take your food and book it out of there, your face hot and your heart thudding. If the death games aren’t enough, you’re sure your nerves are going to kill you one day.

You make your way to the back of the room, to a small nook between the beds where you’d been hiding before you lined up for your food. Only, your spot’s been taken by a trio of older men who don’t look like they want to be disturbed. One of them raises a brow at you, eyeing you up and down.

You suppose you look quite weak, with your trembling hands, your food clutched to your chest. You’re surprised your knees haven’t started to tremble.

You mumble an apology and turn on your heel, searching for another spot to hide yourself away. There aren’t many left. You’d been one of the last to get your food, too frightened to emerge from your hiding spot until you knew it was absolutely safe. Most of the bunks are full now, and the players have started to group together, most likely forming alliances. You, on the other hand, are very much alone.

You’re considering doing something absurd like sliding under one of the bunks to hide, when you spot Player 388. He’s settling in the corner of the room, but he’s looking right back at you, something like concern etched into his face. You’re about to look away when he lifts an arm and waves you over.

Should you go? You don’t know if you can trust him — you’re pretty certain you saw him vote blue. Still, he’s the only person who’s been kind to you in this place so far. The only person who’s spared you even a glance.

Your feet make your decision for you. You’re moving before you can stop yourself. You cross the room to where he’s sitting, climbing a few metal steps to get to his bunk, your knees knocking together as you climb.

Player 388 smiles at you as you approach.

“You want to eat with me?” He asks. He shuffles over and pats the spot next to him. “Come, sit.”

You pause. What if he tries to hurt you? Or trick you? Well, you’re here already, aren’t you? And he’s been nice to you so far. You sit down before you can change your mind, pulling your legs in so as not to take up too much space.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, ducking your head. Embarrassment warms your face.

Player 388 shrugs good-naturedly and starts to eat. Your knee bounces uncontrollably, but you ignore it, desperate to look anything but weak. You open your container of food, pulling back the lid to reveal a small meal of rice, sausage, greens, and fried egg.

You blink. For some reason, and despite your hunger, the sight of it makes your stomach turn. It looks like the lunchboxes you used to eat as a kid, something your mother would’ve made you. She’s gone now, and you suddenly miss her very much. Your heart starts to climb up your throat. What are you doing here? You’re going to die in this place, surrounded by strangers. Your last moments will be spent with people you don’t even know.

You start to panic, your heart thud thud thudding it’s way up to your throat. You press your palm to your chest in a poor attempt to calm yourself. Your hands are shaking again, you notice absentmindedly.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Player 388 puts his food down and reaches out, moving to take your wrist in his hand.

His fingers brush your skin and you jolt away instinctively, clutching your hand to your chest. 388 looks worried, his brow furrowed, his eyes doe-like as they bore into yours, but he puts his hands up as if in surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says slowly. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you, I swear.”

You nod. “I…I’m sorry. I know you won’t.”

Do you, though? You’re honestly not sure. You lower your hand, rubbing at your thigh roughly with your palm.

“I’m… jumpy,” you explain poorly.

Player 388 nods. “It’s okay.” He says again, soft.

He reaches for you again, and this time you don’t jerk away. He slides his hand over your bouncing knee firmly, the pressure of his hand stopping your anxious tic. His hand is warm through your trackpants.

He smiles, and the look in his eyes is so kind it almost makes you cry. “What’s your name?”

You blink away the beginnings of tears. You won’t cry, not now.

“Y/N,” you manage.

Something about the way he looks at you is calming your nerves in mere seconds. You suppose it’s not very smart to let your guard down in a place like this, but he seems so sweet. Besides, if you’re going to die soon anyway, what does it matter? He might as well know your name.

“Y/N,” 388 repeats, like he’s testing it out. Then he nods firmly, satisfied. “It’s pretty. Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Daeho, Kang Daeho.”

He removes his hand from your knee and holds it out for you to shake. You take his hand in yours for a moment, his palm warm and calloused, yours embarrassing clammy.

Despite this, Daeho smiles at you, tilting his head to the side like a puppy.

“I won’t hurt you, okay?” He says reassuringly, and you find yourself believing him. How could you not, when he says it like that?

Daeho lets go of your hand, and takes up his food again.

“Are you going to eat?” He asks you, glancing at your untouched food. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

You wonder to yourself if he’s only being nice so he can take advantage of you later. You decide you don’t really care.

“Yes,” you nod, picking up your spoon.

You scoop up a spoonful of rice. Your hands aren’t trembling anymore, though your heart is still a riot. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re scared, or because the handsome man sitting at your side is being so sweet to you.

You manage to spoon the rice into your mouth and swallow it without throwing up, and Daeho’s right, you do feel better, even after only one spoonful. You manage a few more, and then Daeho opens your water bottle for you, and after a few sips you feel infinitely better.

Daeho watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye while you eat. When you’re halfway through your food, you turn to him.

“Thank you, Daeho,” you say shyly. “And for, um, protecting me in the first game, as well.”

Daeho grins, graciously ignoring your stuttering. He’s got a pretty smile.

“No problem, Y/N,” he says.

You watch as he takes a swig of water. He’s oddly charming in the way he moves and speaks, and you can’t help staring a bit.

“Stay close to me from now on, okay?” He adds, setting his water bottle down. “I’ll look after you.”

You nod, turning back to your food. It’s not long before you and Daeho notice the men just behind you discussing what the next game will be, and one of them mentions dalgona.

Daeho perks up at this, and practically jumps to join their conversation, tugging you with him to listen in. You realise, with a rush of hope, that the man who’d mentioned dalgona is Player 456. He’s apparently done this before, and he’s the reason most of you made it through the first game.

Between Player 456, who seems to know what he’s doing, and Daeho, who really does seem intent on looking after you, you realise you might just have a fighting chance in these games after all.

thank you for reading! reblogs are appreciated as always ᡣ𐭩

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maskedbyghost · 1 day ago

Text

In Sickness, In Health, In Surveillance (2)

Synopsis: To spy on a dangerous neighbor, you and Simon have to pretend you’re married, even though you’re constantly at each other’s throats. The longer you fake it, the harder it gets to keep your distance.

Tags/CW: slow burn, fake marriage, undercover mission, forced proximity, invasion of privacy, mild violence, explicit sexual content

Masterlist

The tour of the house didn’t take long.

It wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big either. Just enough space to feel like you were supposed to settle in and make memories or whatever. three steps from the living room to the kitchen, two turns down the hallway to the bedrooms, and every corner filled with furniture that was too clean, and obviously picked out by some intern in the intel department who probably googled something like suburban interior vibes and called it a day.

Simon didn’t say much as he moved through it all. Just kept walking, glancing at things without really looking at them, making mental notes in that calculating way of his that already made your skin itch.

You followed a few feet behind, arms crossed, your eyes moving over the fake decor and the perfectly placed picture frames. There were slippers by the door, matching robes hanging in the bathroom, and a half-finished crossword puzzle open on the coffee table.

The bedrooms were down the hall, one on each side, both similar in size, both painted the same soft gray that was supposed to feel relaxing but just made everything feel colder.

You stopped in the doorway of the master, watching as Simon stepped inside and glanced around like he was scanning for cameras, even though they’d already been told there weren’t any. King-sized bed, two nightstands, dresser, closet. Nothing fancy.

He turned slightly when he noticed you hadn’t followed him in.

You stayed where you were. “So. Sleeping arrangements.”

He blinked once. “Yeah.”

You crossed your arms tighter. “I don’t care where you sleep, but we should keep both our stuff in here. Just in case.”

He didn’t ask what you meant. You both knew.

If Delaney or his wife decided to pop by, if someone got curious, if anyone snooped, they’d expect to see signs of a shared life. Two people in one room, with clothes mixed in the closet. Toothbrushes side by side. Little things that mattered more than anyone wanted to admit.

Simon looked around again, then nodded once.

“Fine. I’ll take the other room.”

You stepped into the master now, walking past him toward the closet, opening it up just to see how much space you were working with. “Don’t spread out over there. If it looks too lived-in, it’ll raise questions.”

“Wasn’t planning to decorate,” he muttered, setting his duffel down on the end of the bed.

You didn’t look at him as you pulled open the top drawer of the dresser. “And leave your boots in here, the nice ones.”

You placed a few shirts in the drawer and closed it again.

“This is already hell,” you said, almost under your breath.

Simon didn’t turn around. “You picked the job.”

“No,” you corrected, grabbing your toothbrush from your bag and heading toward the bathroom, “I picked intelligence work. Not a fake marriage with a man who hates me.”

“Guess we’re both suffering, then,” he called after you.

You left the bathroom door open, letting the sound of your toothbrush hitting the cup echo a little louder than it needed to. The floor creaked behind you, and you didn’t turn when he passed by the door, heading toward the second bedroom at the end of the hall with his bag slung over one shoulder.

No goodnight. No see you later.

Just footsteps and silence and a house that already felt too full.

You couldn’t sleep.

You weren’t even trying, really. You were just lying there in the dark with the covers bunched around your legs and the bedroom ceiling somewhere above you, waiting for your brain to settle and knowing it wouldn’t. The bed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it didn’t feel like yours, nothing in the house did, and the whole thing was already starting to crawl under your skin in a way you couldn’t shake.

Eventually, you gave up and made your way down the hall, bare feet quiet against the floor, already expecting to find him awake. And of course, you were right.

Simon was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a mug in front of him, shoulders relaxed but not at ease, like he wasn’t tired enough to sleep but too on edge to do anything else. The lights were off except for the dim one above the sink, and the kettle was still warm when you touched it, so he hadn’t been there long.

You grabbed your own mug and poured the rest of the water, not saying anything as you sat across from him. The table was small, and you were close enough to feel how tense the silence between you was. You hadn’t spoken much since unpacking, just a few short sentences about where things should go, and nothing else.

For a while, it stayed like that. The occasional shift of your mug on the table, the faint creak of the house settling.

“We’re not just watching him,” you said eventually, voice low, more to break the tension than anything else. “We’re testing how far he’s willing to go. If he’s connected to anything serious, we’ll know within the first week.”

Simon gave a small nod. “He’s careful. But not perfect.”

“He won’t trust us overnight,” you said. “But his wife might.”

He looked at you then, enough to make sure you knew he was listening.

“She’s the one who waves from the window. She’s the one who makes cookies. If anyone’s gonna bring us into their little circle, it’s her.”

“She’ll like you,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?”

“You’re good at smiling when you’re lying.”

You blinked. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

“It’s supposed to be useful.”

You leaned back a little in your chair, mug still in your hands, fingers warm around the ceramic. “If we’re doing this, you need to try a little too. You can’t just stand around looking bored and hope no one notices. We’re supposed to be married, not roommates who barely speak.”

He didn’t argue. But he didn’t agree either.

“You don’t have to flirt or be charming,” you added. “Just... try not to look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

He gave a slow shrug, like the request didn’t faze him but also didn’t promise anything.

“I’m not doing all the talking,” you said. “I’m not carrying this whole thing while you grunt your way through conversations and hope no one finds it weird.”

Simon looked at you, quiet for a second too long. “I’ll do what I need to do.”

You nodded, jaw tightening just a little, not out of anger but because you already knew how this would go.

“We need to get the story straight,” you said after a second, softer now. “How we met. How long we’ve been together. Where we lived before this.”

“Met at a hardware store.” he said immediately, like he’d already memorized it.

You blinked. “That’s the story you want to go with? A hardware store?”

He didn’t even flinch. “Simple and easy to remember.”

“Right,” you muttered, setting your mug down, “nothing says romantic origin story like locking eyes over a box of screws.”

Simon stared at you flatly. “Would you rather say a pub? That’s where people go to meet strangers and cheat on their wives.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Okay, hardware store it is.”

He nodded once. “You were buying paint. I was getting drill bits. We argued over who was next in line.”

You stared at him for a second, mostly because it sounded too rehearsed and annoyingly plausible. “Fine. How long were we dating before we got married?”

“Eighteen months.”

“That feels fast.”

“We’re in love.”

You snorted under your breath and leaned forward on your elbows. “Right. Completely head over heels, we hold hands when we walk.”

“Too much,” he said immediately.

“What, the hands?”

He gave you a pointed look. “You and I don’t hold hands.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You and I aren’t actually married.”

“Exactly.”

After a second, he leaned back in his chair again, arms crossed. “We’ll keep it simple.”

You nodded once. “Fine. No over-the-top affection. But enough that they don’t think we’re sleeping in separate beds.”

He didn’t answer that. Just held your stare for a second longer before finally picking up his mug again.

You leaned back too, quieter now, staring at the wood grain on the table. “You snore?”

“No.”

“You better not be lying.”

“I don’t lie,” he said, taking a slow sip.

You rolled your eyes and stood up, stretching your shoulders, already dreading the morning. “We’re gonna suck at this.”

Simon didn’t look at you. “Yeah. This’ll be a disaster.”

You didn’t think waking up in that house would be worse than falling asleep in it, but somehow, it was.

The bed was too warm, the light that slipped in through the blinds was blinding despite the overcast sky outside, and for a good five seconds, you forgot where you were when you opened your eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

It was the smell that grounded you, eventually, fresh paint, and the faint, sharp scent of whatever cleaning solution had been used to make the house feel "ready." None of it smelled familiar. None of it smelled like home.

By the time you got up and shuffled into the kitchen, Simon was already there, fully dressed and half through making tea, of course. He didn’t look at you when you walked in, just stepped slightly to the side to make room as you passed behind him and reached for your mug in the cabinet.

You filled your mug and leaned back against the counter, watching him stir his tea without looking rushed, already settled into his annoying little routine like he belonged here.

“You slept?” you asked, not because you cared, but because it felt too awkward not to say anything.

“A bit,” he said, still facing the kettle.

You nodded once and took a sip from your mug. It wasn’t good, but it was warm.

“Need to check the cameras later,” you said. “I want to make sure the angles catch the street without being too obvious.”

Simon finally looked at you. “I’ll handle that.”

You gave a small shrug. “Fine. I’ll go through the cover stories again. Just in case she asks anything weird.”

He didn’t respond. Just raised his mug to his mouth and took a slow drink like there was nothing urgent about any of this. You resisted the urge to tell him to blink more like a human being, but it was too early and not worth the effort.

It was only when you turned slightly toward the window that you saw her in the garden next door, watering the row of flowers that lined the little white fence separating your yards. Blonde hair up in a loose ponytail, sandals on despite the cool weather, a ridiculous pink watering can in one hand, and a little smile on her face.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

Simon followed your gaze, then moved a little closer to the window. “Michelle.”

“Yep.”

Neither of you moved at first. Just stood there, two half-awake soldiers in a borrowed kitchen, staring through the glass. And then she looked up and waved.

You waved back automatically, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Get your shoes.”

Simon didn’t argue. Just set his mug down and turned toward the door, already reaching for the loafers they’d picked out for him to wear.

You followed a second later, slipping into the backyard with a polite smile already fixed on your face and dread curled tight in your stomach. The grass was too green. The fence was too perfect. And Michelle? She was already walking toward you like she’d been waiting for this.

“Hi there!” Michelle called out as you stepped into the yard, watering can hanging loosely from one hand.

“Morning,” you said with a polite smile, stopping just short of the fence. Simon stayed close beside you, silently.

“You two must be the new couple next door!” she said, beaming. “I was going to wait until a more reasonable hour, but then I saw you through the window and I thought, well, why not?”

“I’m glad you did,” you said, offering a quick smile as you stepped closer to the fence. You gave her your names, and she nodded, still smiling as if you’d already passed some kind of invisible test.

“I’m Michelle. My husband, Mark, would’ve come to say hello too, but he had to run out early this morning. Some work thing, as usual. But he’ll be back later this afternoon. He’ll be thrilled to meet you both.”

Simon nodded once. “Nice to meet you.”

His voice was low, even, and just friendly enough. You resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

Michelle leaned a little over the fence, gesturing toward the row of neat houses across the street. “We’re actually planning a little get-together later this week, just a casual thing in our backyard. Food, music, drinks, you know. We usually invite the neighbors a couple of times a year, and it’d be the perfect chance to welcome you in properly.”

You smiled like you hadn’t already guessed that was coming. “That sounds lovely.”

“A lot of people will be there,” she continued. “Just so you’re not surprised. It’s a little tradition now. The Johnsons next door bring this awful potato salad but no one tells them because they’re sweet. And the couple two houses down, Emma and James, they’ve been having marriage issues for the past five years, but always show up like they’re on their honeymoon. Honestly, it’s more entertaining than anything on Netflix.”

You let out a polite laugh, more from the ridiculous amount of information than anything else.

“I’ll text you the details,” she added. “It’s nothing formal, and don’t worry, we always end up with too much food, so no pressure to bring anything.”

Simon nodded again. “We’ll be there.”

You glanced at him, surprised he answered before you could, but Michelle didn’t seem to notice.

She checked her watch. “I better head in before the dog gets into the cereal again. But I’m really glad I caught you both. It’s so nice to finally have new faces on the block.”

“We’re happy to be here,” you said, and didn’t even flinch at the lie.

Michelle smiled again, gave one final wave, and turned back toward her house, already humming something to herself as she disappeared through the side door.

The second it closed, you let your shoulders drop and glanced at Simon. “Look at us. Already the picture of suburban bliss.”

Simon didn’t blink. “You smiled too much.”

“You didn’t smile enough.”

He gave you a blank look. “I said more than you thought I would.”

You huffed out a breath, starting back toward the house. “Yeah, and it’s already terrifying.”

He followed a step behind, hands in his pockets, voice low as the door shut behind you.

“This week’s gonna be hell.”

You turned to him, reaching for your mug again with a small smirk. “Better get used to smiling, sweetheart.”

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973 @jajouska @fruitymoonbeams-blog @cece2608 @starryylies @silmarilniky @venavanup @lostintransist @m00nl1gh4 @fertilise-me @blush-haze @sigynxlokiwifelover @dollfwn

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you

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c4tluver02 · 3 days ago

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Oki sooooo I have an idea… I want like imagine having a sleepover with everyone… it’s chaotic, loud, people sleeping on the floor (only robin, reader, and Steve get the queen bed) so in this it would be like Steve and reader are together and robin is readers bestest friend(they definitely cuddle) maybe a movie or board game stuff to keep everyone busy idk just I feel it would be so fun and chaotic to get all of the gangs back together in one cramped room THANK YOU YOURE THE BEST!!!

-🫀

group sleepover

wc: 3k

cw: fem! r, robin and r are bffs <3, flufffff, Steve is whipped for r, Steves house isn't canon w the show cuz that layout is atrocious!!!!

a/n: thank you so much for your request!!!! sorry it took me a second to get out, i hope you enjoy! <3 :D

Having a sleepover with the whole gang could be considered one of Steve's worst ideas. It’s the last weekend before summer ends, meaning soon the kids will be in school. Once they are busy and Steve starts working full time nights like these will be few and far between. Which is the only reason he agreed to this big sleepover.

Four bowls of chips sounds excessive, shit it even looks excessive. But when 6 growing teens are coming over you gotta do what you gotta do. Robin is even coming over, Steve knows he is gonna be the third wheel between the two of you but at least you’ll sit near him. Sometimes running your hands through his golden hair, highlighted from the sun.

There are three games on the coffee table; clue, sorry, and a card game. One Dustin brought over the last time he was here. Steve blew up an air mattress that should hopefully fit three kids, two can sleep on his large couch and one will have to suck it up and take the floor. Robin, you, and Steve will sleep in his room.

It’s hopefully a fool proof plan, everyone has a spot, there's food and games, nothing should leave anyone bored. The kids will probably swim while the three of you watch a new horror movie that came out. Working with Robin at Family Video has its perks.

Speaking of, Robin is the first to arrive. You greet her with a big hug and the two of you go into the kitchen to set up more snacks. He can hear you laughing so clearly from the living room, where the air mattress is still being inflated.

“Buckly!” Steve yells over the loud air machine.

“What!” She yells back, you’d think she would go towards him to see what he needs but nope, not Robin.

It immediately makes Steve roll his eyes and step over the mattress. When he enters the kitchen he can see you sitting in a chair getting your hair braided. You didn't necessarily get all dolled up for the sleepover but Steve still thinks you look gorgeous right now. With a wide smile and knees pressed to your chest he wants more than anything to give you a million kisses. But Robin of course is quick to ruin the mood.

“Why are you staring at her you perv.” You can't really move your head to see him because of the braiding but you can hear his sigh.

“What types of drinks should we put out?” He’s mainly asking you since you know what's in his fridge but for some reason your voice isn't what he hears.

“I want dr pepper.” Robin states.

“I second that.” You finish.

It’s enough of an answer for him and he takes the big gallon bottle out. It’s perfect timing since the doorbell rings.

When he opens the door it’s Max, El, Lucas, and Mike. He can see the back of Hopper's car, he must have picked some up and dropped them all off. How lucky of him to not have to deal with six kids. Still Steve widens the door so they can all come in, they only stop in the living room to drop off their overnight bags then immediately head towards the kitchen.

“Hey guys.” Robin says finishing your braid. They all give hi’s back.

“Whatever you guys do, do not touch the air mattress yet. It’s not done filling with air. Capeesh?” Steve says only a few steps behind them.

They all give a lazy nod and head back into the living room to look at the games. Finally Steve has a moment alone with you. No Robin or kids taking up all of your attention.

“Y’lookin real pretty honey.” He compliments.

“Thank you. So do you.” You give a kiss and Steve practically melts into you. He’s nice and tan from all your pool days and it's doing a lot for you right now.

Your fingers massaging the back of his shoulders feel so good he lets out a low groan. But he gets probably 30 seconds of calm before he hears a loud shout from Robin.

“Guys Steve said don't-”

A loud rip is the only sound that can be heard.

His hands leave you milliseconds after to see what happened. Will and Dustin are on the air mattress as it quickly deflates. A loud rush of air comes out of the side of it.

“What did I just say, like, not even two minutes ago?” His voice is loud to compensate for the leaking air. It looks like they jumped onto it which pushed air out of the hole that the machine was connected to, causing the hole to rip even wider from the weight.

“I wasn't here two minutes ago!” Dustin yells.

By the end of his sentence the air has completely left the mattress leaving them flat on the floor.

“Well I guess most of you are sleeping on the floor.” Steve rubs his temples as he pops his hip out, doing what you call his ‘mom pose’. The kids let out a collective groan at the information.

“I thought you were rich, don't you have like 7 rooms in this place?” Dustin asks.

All Steve does is turn to you with an annoyed look on his face. It makes you smile because he’s such a parent at heart. You hear a small ‘idiots’ come out of him as he makes his way back to the kitchen, to get a beer no doubt.

“Did you guys want to swim still? Steve set everything up with the heater and lights.” It needs to be heated as fall is approaching, no longer warm from summer. In reality you need a minute or more of silence. Already a little overwhelmed with the fact that they all just got here and some things are already going wrong.

They go outside and Robin takes the movie out of her bag to put it in. You grab Steve from the kitchen and the three of you sit on the couch. Your head is on Robin's shoulder as your feet rest on Steve's lap. He’s being so kind and massaging your calves. When things jump out it’s Robin that you grab onto and Steve starts to wonder how he’s not the one you’re leaning on. He doesn't even know if it’s him you'll be sleeping with tonight.

Robin talks during the scary parts to self sooth and you fell asleep from the massage but overall the movie is a hit. The kids only bothered you guys twice to get towels and drinks but nothing that took you away from the film for long. It’s a nice break overall and just in time because the kids are over the pool already.

Steve has to lock them outside so they don't walk inside wet and it lands him a few shouts and banging on the slider door. But it works because they dry off enough to put their pjs on.

The two of you sit on the couch again as you wait for everyone to change into night clothes.

“What would you rate the movie?” He’s being a smartass because he knows you fell asleep during it.

“Well what a great question! I’d give it a 4.3 stars.” You answer back sarcastically.

“To be honest I think if you fall asleep during a horror movie that must mean it’s a 1 star.”

“Did you enjoy it?” You can't confirm it deserves a 1 star because you were too busy watching the back of your eyelids.

“I mean I’m glad I didn't buy it, but I am glad I got to watch it.” So basically it was like a 2, maybe 3 star. Steve is generous and easy going which means his rating needs to be altered.

The sound of people coming downstairs ends your conversation there. Still you don't move from your spot of laying against his chest.

“God you guys, get a room!” Mike shouts as he sees you clearly from the top of the stairs.

If anything his comment cements you to your warm boyfriend. You even give him a long kiss on his lips to upset them even more.

“Okay game time?” Robin asks, coming out of the kitchen with a donut in hand.

“Um, where did you find that?” One of the kids ask

“I got it from the back of the pantry.” She responds with her mouth full.

You and Steve tried to hide it but obviously you have little miss snoop here that can't keep her hands to herself. It’s not long before Max brings the box out for everyone to have.

Once donuts are done being eaten you all circle around for a board game, because there's too many of you there have to be teams. It’s Max and Lucus, Mike and El, Will and Dustin, and you with Robin. Steve sat out for the game, but really he’ll help you by cheating off the others. And when you win the faux look you give could get you an oscar. The look of shock and surprise takes over your features. No one cheers for you but Steve and Robin, too busy being sore losers.

“I think we have a cheater on our hands.” Will states as the others nod in agreement.

“I agree, I think there's no way she won that all alone.” Mike adds.

This gives them a real scoff. “I can win alone, especially when my opponents are 10 years olds.”

“I'm 15.”

“Really? Cause you dont act like it and you for sure didn't play like it.” You fold your arms and it makes your boobs look amazing in your tank top, Steve has to pull his eyes away.

They all just give you little huffs and rolled eyes. Not taking it as any real fight. However, between the swimming and board game they've been over for around 5 hours. The pool took all their physical energy as the board game took all their mental energy. Leaving you with a bunch of sleepy kids who had to still fight over who got the couch and who got the floor.

All of you were still sat on the floor besides Steve and Robin. You were between Steve's legs as he re braids your hair.

“I think the girls deserve the couch.” Max's fights.

“Funny I think you're wrong.”

“Okay then who do you think deserves the couch?” You can tell by her sigh she isn't in the mood to fight about it, which might cause an even bigger fight.

“Easy, me and Will.” Dustin speaks out. This earns a small laugh from Steve as he shakes his head.

“Why would the two people who broke the bed get to sleep on the couch?” Mike’s voice is sharp and leaves Dustin scratching his neck with no response.

Steve squeezes your shoulders to let you know he's done with your hair. You lean your head back and it hits the edge of the couch with pouty lips, signalling to Steve you want a kiss. He gives you one and for the first time the kids don't make any comments. Only too busy with the sleeping situation to tell you how gross you two are.

Now that you no longer have a reason to be on the floor you get up. Steve lets you use his legs to push yourself up with his hands going to your hips as your legs go out. The fuzzy feeling in your bones lets you know that you've been sitting on them for far too long, going to sleep.

When he gives your butt a small slap Robin is the one to call you guys out. Kissing is one thing, ass slapping is another.

Since she's still sitting on the couch you walk around it to get behind her, your arms lightly wrap around her shoulders and her head falls against yours.

“Are you ready to go to bed?” It comes out all mumbled but she still understands you.

“I’m ready for some peace and quiet, is that the same thing?” She whispers just enough that the kids can't hear, not that they would, they're still arguing, but enough that Steve hears her from the other end of the couch and lets out a laugh.

“I’ll go get some blankets for them.” He gets up from the couch with a loud groan. His arms stretch up to the sky to stretch and it shows a little bit of his tummy. The happy trail that leads to below his pants and a belly that's full of food from your early dinner. He’s truly perfect. You have the most perfect boyfriend.

“I can get pillows from your parents room?” You know Steve's house inside and out which is a small thing but it makes Steve all ooey gooey. It’s basically your house as well just from how many nights you stay over, he’s not even sure why you're asking him.

“Good idea, Robin, are you gonna do anything to help or just sit there?”

She makes a ‘hmm’ noise and Steve rolls his eyes for the 50th time tonight. He needs to be careful or they’ll get stuck!

“Nah I think I’ll just wait for you two to get everything out.” Her long legs stretch out on the couch, taking the spot where Steve was just sitting.

You just shrug, never mad at Robin for anything the way he is. It only takes you guys a few minutes to get all the extra stuff for the kids, really no chore at all. By the time you both get back the kids are no longer yelling at each other and Robin is gone from her spot.

“So who's getting the couch?” You ask.

“Me and El.” Max smiles at you. Her pretty smile makes you smile. The boys will always put up a fight but when it comes down to it Mike and Lucas will do whatever their girlfriends ask and Will just follows suit. Dustin is high strung but only for so long.

“Here's blankets, I'll let you fight over those too. The boys get pillows since they are on the ground.” Steve says throwing a bunch of different blankets on top of the girls.

Unlike him you hand the pillows to each person. They all take it with a ‘thanks’, something Steve didn't get due to his different method. El and Max give you hugs goodnight as your boyfriend waits by the stairs for you.

“You’ll see them in the morning cmon.” He says, throwing his head back. Is asking for an hour alone with your girlfriend really too much to ask?

You know you’re spending too much time with him when you copy his eye roll. A sass that has transferred to you within record time. You guess that's what happens when you spend two weeks straight with him.

Still you let go of them and make your way up the stairs. Steve's hand is holding yours, it forces him to slow down going up. Your tired body is not going as quickly as him. He doesn't know how you're more tired than he is even after your hour nap during the film.

When he opens the door to his room Robin is already in bed. Thankfully he has a queen bed so really no part of him will have to deal with Robin tonight. Her body is pressed against the wall, a slight snore comes out of her. You will have to sleep in the middle but this isn't your first sleepover with these two. Normally it’s Robin pressed against the wall because she's such a deep sleeper, then it’s you, and then Steve who almost falls out of the bed.

He complains every morning about it but he’s never fallen so nothing changes tonight. Because you didn't get fully ready for this sleepover all you had to do was brush your teeth. If Steve was in a good mood maybe you'd ask if he could do it for you. But he’s gonna be on the edge of the bed with barely any covers so you do it yourself.

Not without laying your back to his chest, making him support all your weight as you brush your teeth with your eyes closed. Steve’s arm is tight around your tummy to keep you up. His fingers tap against your side to keep you awake, a barely there hum comes out of him to have a beat to follow.

When both of you are done, he lifts the covers so you can slide into his big bed. He follows suit and your head is on his chest in seconds. Steve sets a challenge with himself in his head that you’ll be asleep in 3 minutes. He’ll have to keep an eye on the clock, that is if he himself doesn’t fall asleep. Your hands find his in the dark and a leg tangles with his.

When he wakes up however, you're no longer stuck in his grasp like you were going to bed. This time you and Robin are spooning, you being the little spoon. Both of you are dead asleep, completely comfortable in your position.

Steve can hear little voices downstairs and he sighs knowing he has to make breakfast for 6 kids. Maybe having 6 little Harringtons isn't in his future. It’s not sounding too great to him at 8am as it did at 8pm. He’s able to get ready, cook, and eat with the kids whilst you both sleep. At 10am he wakes you up with a few small kisses on your forehead and a flick to Robins. It gets you both up the same which was his plan.

He can hear a yell from one of the kids, then another screaming out his name. The carpet in his room is starting to hurt his knees from kneeling down to be face level with you as you wake up. Steves is just about ready for this sleepover to be done with.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things au #steve harrington x you #writing #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x y/n

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mallory-likes-whales · 1 day ago

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The point of Superman as a character is that he is a moral paragon. The most important power to Superman's characterization is not his strength, or laser vision, or even his invulnerability; it is his moral compass. His other powers could be aggressive and brutal, the point of Superman is that he does not use them that way. Written effectively, Superman is the manifestation of a natural human wish that somebody would just set right whatever horrible thing is happening in the world. Judging Superman as a character based on his ability to do harm is a fundamental misunderstanding of what makes him interesting as a character.

Superman is, fundamentally, good. None of his other powers matter as much. In the animated Justice League cartoon, there is an episode where Superman is presumed dead after being sent thousands of years into the future. In this episode, J'onn j'onzz gives a speech at Superman's funeral. One line of the speach goes like this: "The Man of Steel possessed many extraordinary gifts, and he shared them with us freely. None of these gifts were more remarkable than his ability to discern what needed to be done, and his unfailing courage in doing it, whatever the personal cost." Superman's courage and ability to know what is right are what make him Superman. Is that realistic? No, but the man shoots lasers out of his eyes. Any critique of Superman that stems around the question of "but what if Superman did bad stuff" is fundamentally not a critique of Superman. There is absolutely a place for that discussion, but it is much more relevant to the real life questions about how much power we want to rest in flawed individuals. When the defining feature of a character is "paragon who is morally flawless", that particular discussion is not effective. The will always be evil forces that have godlike might and seem unstoppable. We need characters like Superman, because they represent the idea that good is always stronger, no matter what.

OP is right to point out that Superman's powers are extremely vicious when analyzed for combat. A lot of adaptations of Superman lean into the punching and lasers, in part, I think, because they look really cool. The fundamental point of superheroes, at there root, is to help people. Today there is a lot of stories that focus heavily on the big bad supervillains, but, structurally, a villain exists only as a punchable mechanism to put people in danger. One of the things that makes Spiderman interesting is his propensity for doing simple things like stopping muggings or other minor threats, because these actions are helping people. It is much easier to connect to a hero when they are doing stuff on a scale we can relate to. Superman struggles with this, because his powerset is so absurdly over the top. This makes it, as OP said, farcical to picture Superman fighting anyone other than an equally powerful villain. The idea of having real-world, flawed law enforcement with the strength and impunity of Superman is genuinely horrifying. The point of Superman is that he doesn't use them like that, that he genuinely cares about every single person regardless of position, that nobody is beneath Superman's help or above him stopping them. Yes, his powers let him punch a car in half. No, he can't cure leprosy. But find me a firefighter who wouldn't do anything for the ability to blow put a housefire in a single breath. Find me a search and rescue team who wouldn't do anything for the ability to look through a collapsed building, then move anything that's between them and the people who need help no matter how big it is. Find me someone who could stand in front of an advancing army and tell it to stop. Superman has the powers of a god, and he uses them to make things better for everyone he can.

Superman, written wrong, is a bad character. I cannot deny that. He is, objectively, very simple. Trying to add angst, or any sort of grey morality for that matter, fundamentally breaks the very thin thread that makes him, at least to some, compelling. There is definitely something to be said for the idea that no good character can be flawless, but in the case of Superman, his flawlessness is what makes him good. He is not supposed to be realistic, he is not supposed to be flawed, he is supposed to be perfect. He is the bar for what a hero should be. Well written stories about Superman acknowledge this, stories written without this in mind tend not to do a good job of characterizing him, because again, without moral perfection, he is fundamentally impossible to make work as a hero.

"Kal-El of Krypton, the immigrant from the stars who taught us all how to be heroes."

- J'onn J'onzz, Justice League

I do completely understand not liking Superman, he is extremely simple, and really isn't that well utilized in the vast majority of his stories. On the other hand, I think that ignoring the non-violent applications of his powers for the sake of an argument is unfair to the ideals that Superman represents.

Also zero shade to Brennan Lee Mulligan's comic, I read the first few chapters and it looks like a marvelous look at superheroes in a world of systemic issues where villains don't really matter. I think it wonderfully engages with a side of godlike heroes that isn't explored often, I just think that's a very different conversation from "[Superman] doesn't have a lot of options besides domestic terrorism [without apolitical villains to beat up]".

I know the superman desconstruction thing is the deadest horse there is by now, but yet still can't help but find it kinda... farcical? that he's gassed up as this inspiring paragon of virtue in-universe and out, but his entire powerset revolves around his incredible capacity for violence. He's a jesus figure but instead of curing your leprosy he can punch a truck in half. The laser vision is just the punchline, there, no wonder all the evil supermen love pulling out that card.

It even frustrates me that "evil superman" is the only way anyone seems to take this character to task. Even a good-natured kansas kiddo would struggle to use those powers constructively. He's lucky his universe keeps softballing him apolitically evil supervillains to beat up, cause otherwise he doesn't have a lot of options besides domestic terrorism.

#Superman #discourse #Pardon the 800 word essay on Superman #I think that now more than in most recent times we need the optimism that Superman represents.#mallory's thoughts #<- This is a reblog but I wrote an essay so I'm putting it here #long post

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illusory-nomad · 2 days ago

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01 OUT OF FRAME!! - Only Love Can Hurt Like This

Human idol! Jinu × Manager! Reader | OUT OF FRAME!! masterlist

Word Count : 1120

TW : None

'[BREAKING] Huntr/x's Y/N and Soloist Jinu Spotted on A Date'

'Experts Predict Career Fallout for Huntr/x and Jinu's Amid Dating Rumors'

'Fans Demand Removal of Y/N from Huntr/x After Dating Scandal'

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched Bobby scroll through the articles, some headlines harsher than the rest.

"Would you like to explain yourself, Y/N?" Celine asked, her voice low. Y/N's gaze flitted around the room: to the other Huntr/x girls sitting on the sides, to her own brother whose gaze seemed glued to the laptop screen in front of him.

Anywhere but to Celine.

"It was just one night," her voice was shakier than she wished it was. "I— We were careful, I promise! It's just been so long since we saw each other..."

"If you were really careful," Celine gestured to the screen, "you wouldn't have been caught."

Y/N went quiet at that. She clenched her fists under the table. All eyes were on her, and she felt like she was being put on trial for something as harmless as falling in love. But this response... Was love harmful after all?

"I don't get it," Y/N spoke up again. "The contract said artists under Honmoon Entertainment are allowed to date. Why is me going out with Jinu a problem?"

"Yes, but this backlash was unexpected," Celine argued, but still kept her cool. "We have to be responsible in protecting Huntr/x's image."

Y/N's eyes widened. She had a feeling she knew where this was going, "What are you saying...?"

The room was quiet for a moment. Celine heaved out a sigh, shaking her head.

"Y/N, it's best if you leave Huntr/x immediately."

"What?!" the Huntr/x girls straightened, ready to protest.

"Celine, there has to be another way!" Zoey was the first to speak up. "We can't lose Y/N! She's important to the group!"

"What if we let the situation play out?" Rumi suggested. "Maybe the fans will eventually let it slide."

Celine's gaze sharpened, "and if they don't?"

The room went quiet once again. Zoey stopped herself from saying more, Mira clenched her fists, and Rumi looked at Y/N with apologetic eyes.

Y/N swallowed again, looking at Bobby like he was her last hope. Surely her older brother would help her, right?

"Bobby," her voice shook. "Bobby, please. Say something. Anything."

Bobby didn't move, his gaze glued to the articles in his phone. He took a deep breath, apologetic and worried expression morphing into a more serious one.

When he spoke, it wasn't as her brother, but rather as a manager who was willing to do anything to protect his group.

Even if it meant sacrificing family.

"You know how this works, Y/N," his voice held no hesitation. "I can't stop this."

Y/N's stomach twisted into knots. Her eyes glossed over, but she held them back, digging her nails into her own palms. She wouldn't let herself cry. Not in front of everyone like this.

"You're kidding," she scoffed, a bitter laugh catching in her throat. It was almost pathetic, like she was laughing at herself. "You're... You're seriously kicking me out over something like this?"

Celine sighed, almost like she pitied her. Or was trying to. Y/N couldn't really tell.

"Y/N, if I could protect you from this, I would," she started. "But the public has already decided and you’ve left us with no choice. You'll need to have your things cleared out by tomorrow."

Y/N wanted to defend herself. Why did something as ordinary and human as going on a date with your beloved have to be followed up with a punishment so cruel?

But the verdict was already written whether she liked it or not: she was no longer a member of Huntr/x.

"Fine," Y/N spat, standing up and walking straight for the door. "Have it your way."

"Y/N, wait!" Zoey stood up, ready to follow her ex-groupmate and comfort her.

"No, Zoey," Celine's cold tone stopped the girl in her tracks. "This is for the best."

"Isn't this too much?" Rumi looked at Celine pleadingly. "She's just going on a date. It's not harming anyone."

"I understand this is a difficult choice, but she has to understand the consequences of her own actions."

"Consequences? Of hanging out with a boy?" Mira's voice raised. "You could've just put her on timeout, but you chose to kick her out!"

"That's enough," Celine stood up, glaring down at the girls. "The choice is made. Y/N will leave, and Huntr/x will resume activities as a three-membered girl group."

The girls went quiet. They shared a look, then left the meeting room quietly.

"I wish it didn't come down to this," Celine heaved out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. Bobby looked at the door, debating on going to talk to his younger sister. Maybe he could offer some support and get her back on her feet...

But in the end, he chose against it.

And he let her leave alone.

Her room was a mess. Boxes and bags everywhere with her belongings hastily shoved inside. The other girls had told her to take it easy, that they would talk to Celine and let her stay with them until she figured things out. However, Y/N was too prideful. She loved the girls, but she wouldn't let herself stay.

She had to leave. Fast.

Her gaze averted to her phone charging on her desk, showing her chat with Jinu.

'I need you'

She sent the text 15 minutes ago. Still no reply from him.

Y/N didn't want to believe it. The world felt like it was against her. Surely, her own boyfriend wouldn't leave her alone, right?

He promised.

She grabbed her phone and called his number. Each beep left her heart beating faster than before. She wanted to hear him comfort her. To meet him again, and cast the pain aside.

"Please pick up, please pick up..."

But there was no answer.

"C'mon, Jinu... Where are you...?" her breathing grew heavy as she tried again.

Still no answer.

She wasn't the type of person to beg, but that night, she was willing to get on her knees if it meant he would answer even a single call.

But he didn't.

Every call was left unanswered.

Every text was left unread.

Y/N collapsed on her messy bed and finally let the tears fall. Because she had to accept the bitter truth: she was really alone now.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not with him, not with anyone else. But it happened anyway, and the cause of it all? Love.

Love is a beautiful thing, but it's also a rebellious bird no one can tame.

And tonight, love chose to hurt her.

Author's Note : I managed to finish this earlier than expected to here ya go. I genuinely hope it's up to the expectations cuz I didn't expect all the attention 😭😭

Again, thank you so much for all your support!! Lotsa lovee!! 🥹🫶

Taglist (open) : @brithedemonspawn @jammycheese @xxsadlovexx @saltedcoffeescotch @hydeonysus @katzline @blackstar-gazer @ateezswonderland @charlie-xo @azzberry @rai-xxx @kyxmlii @yeast-ken23 @snoweclipsese @nyanyanihao @kyuki07 @reiofsuns2001 @ratchetprime211 @arcaneh0 @berryhobii @amery-benson-cvii @scara-simp69 @thesimppotato11 @whimsiecat @elegancefr @doodle-with-rhy @mysteris-things @animegamerfox @faerie-soirxx

(Bold : Can't tag ;-;)

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh #kpdh x reader #kpdh x you #kpdh saja boys #saja boys #saja boys x reader #saja boys x you #jinu kpdh #jinu x reader #jinu x you #abby saja #baby saja #romance saja #mystery saja

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cinder-stella · 3 days ago

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𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐒𝐞𝐱 <3

because once they’re inside, nothing else really matters.

a/n: i know i said i’m taking a break from smut but i couldn’t resist. it’s just something about making fictional men as human and real as possible lol. also i finished this at work.

<18+ NSFW> kento, toji, satoru, suguru, choso<18+ NSFW>

There’s a lot they don’t tell you about sex.

Like how sometimes you might queef mid-thrust and both of you have to either power through or collapse in laughter. Or how lube will for sure end up somewhere ridiculous. Or how a simple phone ding can interrupt the filthiest moment of your life and make you both pause like you just got caught red-handed by God.

But that’s what makes it real. Because for all the hunger, the heat, the spine-arching, toe-curling need—sex isn’t perfect. It’s messy and human. And when it’s with someone who wants you bad enough to keep going through the interruptions, the cramps, the spills, the laughter—it’s honestly better than perfect.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

KENTO

He’s got you on all fours, in his cozy weekend sweats. There’s no tie (sadly..), just a clingy black tee and that quiet, focused energy that always makes your stomach flip. The sun’s out, the house smells like fresh linen and Kento is absolutely rearranging your guts.

Rhythmic…loving…patient thrusts. One hand steady on your hip. The other lightly trailing down your spine like he’s actively trying to release the tension in your body. He’s so thoughtful.

And then…thwop.

That sound. A very real, treacherous, unapologetic queef.

You freeze, mortified. “Oh my god.”

Kento blinks once. Then, with a dry edge, he says, “Don’t worry. She’s just…speaking to me.”

You wheeze out a laugh as he slides out a little and then back in, this time a little rougher.

“She says she really enjoys my work.”

“Stop—” You’re full-on laughing now, face buried in the pillow but your body is still clenching around him and he groans like you’re torturing him.

“I’d rather not,” he pants, glasses fogging from the heat rising off your bodies.

He tries to keep them on, he really does. But another deep stroke and they fog again, completely useless.

With a frustrated grunt, he yanks them off and tosses them somewhere behind him.

“Can’t see a damn thing,” he mutters, grabbing your waist with both hands and picking up the pace. “Luckily, I know this body by heart.”

You’re breathless, sweaty, laughing and moaning and making noises you didn’t know you were capable of. All while he stays locked in, no glasses, just raw, sexy determination and a sense of humor that hits harder than the strokes. (no not really his stroke game is immaculate, i would know)

TOJI

Toji’s not a slow lover even when he tries to be. He pounds like he’s got something to prove. Probably because he does—to himself, to you and to the entire structural integrity of the bed.

Right now, he's got you pinned under him with one big (sexy, veiny, manly…calloused…thick fingered…*drooling*) hand gripping your thigh while the other’s planted next to your head, keeping himself steady as he thrusts with that deep, shuddery rhythm that makes your brain glitch.

Unbeknownst to you, he's fresh off a workout. Didn’t stretch—was too cocky to cool down. And you can feel the exact moment where it all backfires.

Toji freezes mid-thrust and hisses through his teeth like someone had stabbed him in the ass.

“What?” you gasp. “What happened?”

“My fuckin’ leg,” he bites out, body seizing. “Cramp. Cramp—fuck—cramp—”

Before you can ask if he’s okay, he collapses right onto you with a heavy grunt, his full weight pressing into your chest like a sweaty, panting, human weighted blanket.

You choke on a laugh. “You ok grandpa?”

“Shut up,” he grunts. “Don’t make me laugh—it’s getting worse.”

You rub lazy circles into his back while he pants against your collarbone, muttering curses into your skin. And just when the cramp lets up and he starts moving again.

Slip.

He groans in frustration as he slides out, tip nudging awkwardly against your thigh. (i kinda think this is hot like…how frustrated they get when it slips out…🫤 )

“God—damn it,” he mutters, lining himself up and trying again.

You’re trying not to laugh but you feel it coming—the dreaded...Slip.

This time he growls.

“I swear to fuck, if this pussy doesn't stay put—”

“She’s obviously protesting,” you snort.

He smacks your ass. “She loves it.”

Finally he sinks back in and stays there. His thrusts turn a little rougher, a little more desperate and that growl that rips from his throat when he hears your breath hitch…Oh yeah. That’s a man who’s reclaiming his pride.

“Still think I’m a grandpa?” he pants against your neck.

“Yeah,” you gasp, smiling through the moans. “Sexy grandpa.”

GOJO

You’re on the bed, tangled in sheets and limbs, Gojo’s hands all over you like he’s marking his territory. He’s got that cocky grin plastered across his face as he moves, eyes sparkling with mischief and something else entirely.

His rhythm is relentless—exactly how you like it. You’re gasping, biting your lip, trying to hold back a moan but failing immensely. And he’s definitely too loud but he doesn’t care.

Right as he’s hitting that sweet spot, his phone on the nightstand starts buzzing. The ringtone is obnoxiously cheerful, cutting through the hot tension like a fire alarm.

Gojo freezes for a split second, then laughs breathlessly. “Seriously? Now?”

You try to reach over to silence it but he stops you with a lazy smirk, sliding deeper inside you. “Lemme handle it.”

The buzzing turns into a full-on ring. You both know this is gonna be a disaster.

“Hello?” Gojo pants into the phone, voice a little breathless, “Sorry, can’t talk right now. Havin’ sex.”

“Satoru!” you exclaim, slapping his arm.

The person on the other end immediately got silent and then hung up. “Alright. Where were we?”

He goes right back to work. You moan, clutching his shoulders as he grins, completely unfazed by how clearly embarrassing that was.

He leans down, kissing your jaw. “Who needs phones when I’ve got you like this?”

You giggle, breathless and already craving the next round.

RYOMEN

You’re lying on the bed, chest rising and falling with every deep thrust from Ryomen. His grip is firm. Every movement is deliberate and slow like he’s savoring the moment—and you’re sweating uncontrollably.

You begin to realize you’re really thirsty. Like, desert-level thirsty. Your throat is dry, your mouth sticky and it’s starting to feel like you might pass out.

You try to mention it but Ryomen’s so caught up in the moment, his fingers digging into your hips that he doesn’t notice.

“Ryo,” you pant, voice hoarse. “Water.”

He doesn’t stop. Not even to look up from the obvious trance he was in. (i firmly believe when he’s in it HE’S INNITTTTUH)

You whimper. “Baby—I’m serious. I feel like I’m about to evaporate.”

A sharp slap of his palm against your breast. Not cruel, just territorial. (oh fork yes)

“Should’ve hydrated,” he mutters, still not slowing.

You whine. “Come on.”

He growls clearly annoyed to be pulled out of the moment, then finally, “Uraume,” he barks. (insert trin’s voice hehe iykyk)

Uraume—quiet as a shadow—materializes at the door with a bottle of water. Uraume sets the water down, then retreats silently like you aren’t being busted wide open.

Ryomen leans down, brushing hair off your face, then shifts carefully to take a sip of water himself, making sure not to lose his rhythm or position. He groans low, the thirst clearly hitting him too.

You giggle, teasing, “If only you’d finish faster.”

His grin turns wicked. “I like to make it last.”

But thirst isn’t the only thing. As he continues his relentless pace, you find yourself slipping off the bed. I’m talking back halfway off, legs wrapped around him, hands gripping anything you could hold for dear life.

“I’m gonna fall!”

“Damn it, stop moving so much,” he snaps but it’s all heat and no real anger.

“But I’m slipping,” you laugh breathily, curling your legs around him tighter.

He grunts, adjusts your position and powers through, determined to finish strong.

By the time he’s done, you’re both soaked, breathless and absolutely wrecked.

CHOSO

You’re pressed close together, skin slick and warm. Choso’s hands grip your waist as he moves with a slow, deliberate rhythm. There’s a heavy silence between you like the whole room is holding its breath.

The tension is so thick, it’s almost suffocating but in that delicious way where every inch of your body is buzzing.

He’s trying really really hard to pace himself. His jaw clenches, eyes focused but dark with desire. You can tell he’s dangerously close to losing control, but he’s fighting it because of course, he wants to last. Inside, he’s screaming. Not out loud, of course. But inwardly- “Do not cum. Do not cum. You are stronger than this.”

Evidently, that didn’t work so almost instantly, he pauses, pressing his forehead to yours, breath ragged. “I need a second,” he mutters, voice thick.

“You ok?”

He sighs softly, biting his lip. “Uh—I’m trying not to…y’know..”

You laugh breathlessly, the honesty turning you on even more. “Ohhhh, take all the time you need.” And just cause, you squeeze around him to see his reaction.

He growls and holds you still. His fingers dig into your hips. He slows down just enough to catch his breath, forehead resting against your shoulder, body trembling from the effort of not finishing too fast.

“I think I just leveled up as a person,” he mumbles.

You laugh, breathless. “Like spiritually?”

“No. Sexually. This is growth.”

You giggle harder. “Should I throw you a party?”

“Yes. But let me finish first.”

SUGURU

You’re on your stomach, hips propped up on a pillow and Suguru is behind you, both hands on your hips, body blanketing yours, fucking into you with the kind of precision that made you think he might actually be AI.

“God, you feel perfect,” he murmurs into your ear, the weight of his body grounding you and keeping you from levitating.

Your mouth was open, cheek pressed to the sheets, his slow grind driving you absolutely feral. That slow build, your hips rocking back against him, his hand occasionally reaching under to rub you. (i’m emotional)

Then he pulls out slightly, grabs the bottle of lube on the nightstand and tries to add a little more, just for that extra slippery slide.

Well, he missed.

Splat.

A cold, slippery glob lands on your lower back, then rolls to the side and begins leaking onto the sheets.

“Oh—fuck,” he mutters. “Shit. Sorry.”

You were laughing before you could stop yourself. “Did you just miss?”

“Can’t exactly aim when I’m trying to stay hard and coordinated,” he deadpans.

You reach back blindly. “Give it here, I’ll do it.”

“No—no, let me,” he says, chuckling under his breath as he wipes the rogue lube off your ass with the edge of the pillowcase. “Guess I’m out of practice.”

He frickin’ lied. Because the second he slides back in, you gasp with a full body shudder and his hands gripped your waist, reanchoring himself to the moment.

His strokes were deep and dragging. The kind that left your brain buzzing with white-noise. You barely noticed the sheet sticking to your hip where the lube had spilled and honestly, you didn’t care.

He stayed inside even after you both finished, arms wrapped around you like a human heating pad, murmuring something about washing the sheets later.

It’s gross but he never does. You both just fall asleep in the mess.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

After all was said, done, and thoroughly rearranged, you blinked and realized your body was entirely boneless and your soul had briefly left your body.

Kento walked around trying to find where he put his glasses. It was under the couch.

Toji was doing post-cramp stretches while still naked. I bet you he’ll never not warm up for a workout again.

Suguru solemnly removed the sheets and carefully moved around your body so as to not disturb you.

Sukuna looked smug despite finishing a full five business days after you did.

Choso hadn’t moved. He was still lying on top of you. What can you say? Cookie put him straight to bed.

All in all, there was sweat. There was laughter. There was at least one queef that got a sexy reaction.

And yet somehow, it was perfect.

Chaotic. Unfiltered. 100% Human.

The kind of sex that leaves you breathless. Not just from pleasure but from knowing you’re safe enough to be a little messy, a little real and a little ridiculous.

Now you deserve a steak dinner and a nap :))!

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prettydaisygirl · 3 days ago

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Hi beautiful <33

I love your writing, especially James Bombero's. I need that man to be real.

Some fluff, maybe suggestive if you want (?) where the Pregnant reader is very happy to see James training and exercising and maybe because she is a little insecure about her body, he shows her that no matter the weight, he can carry her.

hi nonnie! Thank you so much for this request, I need to write something with them and their baby because I can't get enough of this. Hope you enjoy <3

firechief!James Potter x fem!reader who feels insecure about her body ✿ 710 words

cw: pregnant!fem!reader, body insecurity, James being hot but also gross, suggestive but no actual smut

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

You bite your lip, shifting on the couch again. It’s been difficult to get comfortable recently, what with your body adjusting for new growth and the swell of your belly. That’s not why you’re squirming though, not really. That’s just your excuse.

The real reason is across the room, wearing a headband and shining with sweat.

James is doing bicep curls with weights you’re sure you’d never be able to lift. His small grunts with each rep have you hot and bothered no matter how hard you try to focus on your novel. Your eyes trace the same sentence four times before you give up, looking up to admire him again.

His muscles shift under the thin fabric of his sleeveless shirt. You find yourself staring, the book in your hand falling into your lap. James shakes his hair off his forehead again, beads of sweat dripping off his chocolate-colored curls. Your body heats, an ache between your legs that only worsens as you continue to watch him move.

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve let James touch you. You don’t feel right in your body.

You’re happy. Incredibly, wonderfully, amazingly happy to be carrying his baby, it’s not that. Every time you look in the mirror, you don’t feel like yourself. The thought of him touching you, seeing you like this, makes your skin crawl. You know James would love you no matter what you looked like, but you’re having trouble loving yourself enough to let him touch you.

The heat in your gut mixes with the icy coldness of insecurity. Your face crumbles and you look back at your book, nausea rising up your throat despite the fact that you’ve long surpassed your morning sickness phase.

Of course, it’s at this moment that James chooses to look at you. He takes out an earbud, a frown on his face. “Are you alright, love?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” You say, though the words are hollow and your voice wavers enough for him to notice. “I just… you look really good right now.”

“Why do you sound disappointed by that?” He asks, grabbing a towel to wipe off his sweat as he steps closer to you. “Normally you’d say ‘oh wow Jamie, you are so hot with such big muscles, I love you so much!’” James does a very poor impersonation of you, but it’s enough to have one corner of your mouth tilting up into a smile.

“I would never say that.” You say back in a low voice, rolling your eyes at him. The tight feeling in your gut doesn’t go away, though, and your hands instinctively find your bump. Despite it being the main source of the insecurity, feeling the skin there also brings you a sense of comfort. It’s an internal battle that just leaves you feeling like there are bugs below your skin, like you’re an imposter. “I’m just… afraid to let you touch me right now.

James’ face contorts like this is the most confusing thing he’s ever heard, and then he looks almost offended. “Do you think so little of me? Angel, you’re carrying my child, I would never-”

“No, it’s not you, it’s… I don’t like how I look right now.”

A thick silence fills the room, lingering long enough that you interrupt it with a sharp gasp in surprise as James slides an arm under your legs, the other behind your back, and lifts you into his hold gently. He just chuckles.

“James!” You wrap your arms around his back to stop yourself from falling.

“You know I love you no matter what you look like, right?” James’ voice is soft.

“Yes.” You say, just as quiet. “I know.”

“And you just told me that I look good.” Not a question, but you respond the same.

“Yes, I know.” With a smile this time.

“And I’m really turned on right now, so can I please carry you upstairs and make love to you?” He doesn’t give you the chance to get shy or embarrassed. “I’ll worship you until you forget all about your insecurities, baby.”

Your cheeks heat, and you bury yourself into his chest. He smells like sweat and man, and you crinkle your nose.

“Only if you shower first.”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

#daisy's writings #james potter #firechief!james potter #firefighter!james potter #james potter au #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter drabble #james potter x fem!reader #hp marauders #marauders fic #james potter oneshot #james potter imagine #james potter smut #james potter fanfiction #james potter x you

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loveharlow · 2 days ago

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Can you do one where you broke up with rafe in he just won’t leave you alone

⋯ ♡ᵎ 💬 : idk i kind of love this

soft!rafe(?), swearing, fluff at the end

The first few days, your phone was a constant buzzing in your pocket, his name flashing across the screen. You let it ring, the vibration a dull ache against your thigh.

Then, the ringing stopped, replaced by the satisfying click of you declining his calls. You thought, hoped, that he was finally getting the message.

You were wrong.

One afternoon, a call came through, and without thinking, you answered.

"Hello-"

"Please, baby, just talk to me. I'm so sorry. I messed everything up, I know, but please, just give me a chance." His voice, hoarse and desperate, filled your ear.

"Rafe..." you sighed, the weariness heavy in your voice. "You can't keep calling me. I said I needed space. And I really do. I need to think."

"Think about what? A-about us? About whether you want to be with me?-"

"About whether it's healthy to be with you." You interrupted his ramblings. You'd broken up because Rafe, lately, had just become too much — too many parties, too many drugs, too many arguments, too many apologies. "I...I'm sorry, Rafe."

So with those last words, you hung up, the silence that followed almost deafening. You immediately put your phone on do not disturb, hoping for some semblance of peace.

It lasted all of five minutes.

Your screen lit up with a barrage of texts. You scrolled through them, each one a fresh wound, especially since you hadn't had the heart to change his contact name just yet, or the picture of you two that accompanied.

(4) New iMessages from Rafey (My Baby)💕🧸 Please, I can’t live without you. Just tell me what to do. I'll do better, okay? I'll do whatever you want me to. Baby, please, let me fix this. I love you.

You took a deep breath, willing any lingering tears to go away as you typed out a curt reply.

You Please, don't make me block you, Rafe.

But he didn't listen. And the texts kept coming, interspersed with notifications of money being sent to your Cash App. He was trying to buy his way back in. And that was the final straw. So, with an extremely heavy heart, you blocked his number.

The quiet was a relief, but it was once again short-lived. He moved to social media. Every picture you’d ever posted, even ones from years ago, or ones he’d already liked, suddenly had a fresh like from @TheRealRafeCameron. He was reliking them, a desperate plea. Then came the DMs.

New Messages from TheRealRafeCameron You took our pictures down? Babe, please, don't do this I love you. Tell me you still love me. I need you.

You blocked him there too.

Minutes later, your phone buzzed with a text from your friend.

Nat💙 omg, did u see rafe's story?

You No, I blocked him.

Suddenly, a screenshot popped up. It was Rafe's Instagram story, a white background, a photo of the two of you in the middle, with black text above it: "$1000 to the first person who can get my girlfriend to unblock me. No questions asked."

Nat💙 girl, if it was me, i'd unblock him but maybe i'm too weak for this actually, yeah no, stand on business!! (idk what he did)

Your blood ran cold. He was really doing this. You took a deep breath, opened your own story: "If you message me about Rafe, I'll block you too."

Moments passed and, finally, everything went quiet.

You were able to drift off to sleep, the silence welcome. But in the middle of the night, a familiar roar shattered that peace.

Rafe's car.

Outside your window.

You shot up, heart pounding, and rushed to the window, careful not to wake your parents.

And there he was, standing in your driveway, the headlights of his car illuminating him, blinding you. He was holding a ridiculous, oversized stuffed animal, a bouquet of flowers, and a bag from your favorite restaurant.

You cracked your window. "Rafe!" You hissed, hands gripping the edge of you window seal. "What are you doing? My parents are sleeping!"

He looked up, his eyes wide and earnest. "I had to see you. I know it's late, okay, I know. But I can't do this, baby."

You gritted your teeth, rolling your eyes. "Wha- When-" You sighed, giving up whatever thought was trying to roll. "And where the hell did you find Valentine's stuff? It's June."

He offered a sheepish grin. "I have my ways." He said, a hint of smugness in his voice before it disappeared. "Please, just come down and talk to me. I know you're mad, but please..."

You stared him down without a word, though a part of you was already weakening.

"Just come down." He pleaded. "Five minutes. That's all I ask."

You hesitated, then sighed. You knew he wouldn't leave until you did. But there was also a part of you that didn't want him to.

You tiptoed downstairs, unlocked the front door, and stepped out into the cool night air.

He was there in an instant, the stuffed animal almost as big as him. He handed you the flowers and the food, then the giant plush. "I know I messed up..." He started, a hand reaching out to caress your face, voice low. "But I'm willing to do anything to fix this, okay? I mean it this time. I'm not lying, and I won't fall back, I swear. I just... I love you, and I don't know what to do without you. I don't know what life looks like without you, but I don't wanna find out. I never meant to hurt you and I won't do it ever again. I promise, okay?"

You looked at the ridiculous array of gifts, at the genuine remorse in his eyes, and a small, reluctant smile touched your lips. "...You're unbelievable, y'know that, right?"

He took your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. "Is that a good unbelievable or a bad unbelievable?"

You shook your head, a laugh escaping your lips. "Good."

©loveharlow.

follow & turn on post notifs for @theharlowpost for writing exclusive updates!

heads up: i added emoji anons to my blog, so feel free to send an ask to take one if you frequently send in asks!

#req. ♥︎#rafe fic #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader

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ahnaiee · 14 hours ago

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summary. It didn’t matter that you loved him first. The only thing that mattered was that he loved her, and she loved him. tags. Non!Mc x LADS, angst, hurt/no comfort, unrequited love, reader isnt mc!! now playing.I love you, I’m Sorry by Gracie Adams

“You were the best, but you were the worst As sick as it sounds, I loved you first”

It was unfair.

Every universe, every dimension, for some reason, you always fell for him.

A prince, a God, a dragon– every one. You loved him. In every, single, one, you always did.

He was the best thing to ever happen to you, really. A stretch, but it was true. Soft hands, gentle eyes, and in every single universe, in every life, you were there with him.

But she was always there, too.

If he looked at you with those gentle eyes, then the gaze he has every time it lands on MC was sickeningly sweet, gentler– loving. If he had ever held you for a moment, a hug, a handshake, a helping hand, with soft hands, then the way he held her was softer. In those ways, he was also the worst thing to ever happen to you.

Because just as he became the reason for your heart to beat quicker, he was also the reason why it began to break.

It was truly unfair– how he was the one your heart kept choosing, yet his own heart never chose you. Of course it didn’t, because there was MC.

In the same way you loved him, he loved her.

You were always on the side, then, weren’t you? Cursed to watch them fall for each other while hiding the way your heart broke into pieces.

It’s a sick, sick feeling, especially when you couldn’t help the ugly emotions of hurt, anger and jealousy. Because you loved him first, before she came along. Because you were always by his side before she was, weren’t you?

It was unfair, how your feelings seem to be nothing but a stepping stone for their love story. It didn’t matter that you loved him first. The only thing that mattered was that he loved her, and she loved him.

“I was a dick, it is what it is A habit to kick, the age-old curse”

There were times in your lives where you harbored deep resentment for the two. There were moments where your anger, your jealousy got the better of you and you became the worst version of yourself, and you took it out on them. It is what it is, but those were moments that you wished to never repeat. Times and lives that you bury deep into your mind, locked away, but never forgotten so you would never repeat those mistakes again.

Funny, how even then, you never deemed your love for him as a mistake.

Because loving him was a curse, and also a blessing.

You hated him, you hated MC, but at some point, you stopped hating them– because they don’t deserve the hate you had harbored. No, they don’t deserve it.

Even so, those feelings never truly went away, and even now, as you watch him fall for the Hunter, you couldn’t find it in yourself to even harbor any other deeper feelings other than hatred for yourself, and the feeling of being resigned to your fate.

You were resigned to a lifelong curse of falling for someone you can never have. And that was all you could do.

“I tend to laugh whenever I'm sad I stare at the crash, it actually works”

It was easy. After many lives of pretending, the smile was easy to pull off. The casual “I’m okay!”, the laughs in moments that needed a laugh, and in every life, that was all you could do.

Laugh. Smile, and stare at the wreck of who you are.

It works. It made things easier to move past from. But it never truly healed those hurts, did it?

Instead, it strains your cheeks, it leaves laugh lines that remind you of how much you have to pretend, how much you had to laugh just to keep the underlying sadness hidden.

Because who are you to stand against fate?

It never worked in the other lives, so why would it work now?

So whenever MC casually invites you out for a hang out, whenever he greets you with a smile, you nod, you smile, you laugh. Even when seeing them together hurts.

It was easy to pretend.

But it never truly got easier on your heart.

“Making amends, this shit never ends I'm wrong again, wrong again”

It doesn’t matter how many times it happened. The universe doesn’t care what you think about your situation.

It was unfair. But that was what life is.

You, always the one to fall, and never be caught.

©ahnaiee [do not repost, copy, translate, or modify]

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xylatox · 2 days ago

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The Craved Misfit || hk

Another Kai fic from Raya ahh, ive been super excited to read it and I finally got to it :)

Omg the beginning is so intense and I am in love with it honestly. I am genuinely living for this version of Kai like

He has always hated disorder, the way it jars the symmetry he craves.

This line is so good ugh

I just also love his thought process and despite the way his words have a bite to them, theres so much more to him that just genuinely makes him so intriguing.

How hurt must she be to let someone else see her so wrecked, so undone?

Such a beautiful line. I will always be blown away by Raya’s words

Not here. Not now. But back in that cold, too-quiet house where no one looked like you. Where you sat at the dinner table and watched mouths move around you like you weren’t even there. Where you learned, early and without being told, how to be invisible.

I swear, you always know how to break my heart in all the right places

You were the one who showed up on the doorstep with nothing but a trunk and a name no one knew how to say. You tried your best to earn your place, to blend in, to make yourself useful, but they still looked at you like you were something foreign. Something misplaced.

Ugh. Raya I man. Your words really are some of the most beautiful things my eyes have been blessed to read

"If you really liked me, you’d do it too. You know?"

Jay why must you be a bad guy ;-;

Jayyyyy why must you be a bad guy ;-;-;-; not the bet what. Dont yall think she’s been through enough

You remember trying, really trying to open up. The effort it took to prioritize someone else's wants over your own. The nights you rehearsed words in your head, how to say things gently, carefully, so he wouldn't feel rejected. You remember the ache of being left out, how his friends would talk around you like you were invisible. The silence when you spoke. The forced smiles when they laughed at jokes you didn’t understand because they were never meant for you.

I love that despite what mc goes through, she tries her best to not make her words not seem harsh so he never misunderstood/felt hurt and ugh, for him to do this is seriously heartbreaking. I also really love the way her voice and entire presence feels so much sharper and you can tell that she holds back so much and ugh :( i love her

A boy in red caught up to you, fumbling for your attention, desperate to be seen. Kai watched, as you turned to him with a look of pure disdain. The boy stammered something, like he was apologizing. You slapped him. Hard.

YES GOOD FOR HER!! So proud of her

Also obsessed with the fact that Kai sees the attitude in her but he cant look away then he thinks the craziest thing ever

His chest tightened, something crawled under his skin. How much sweeter would it be if he were the one to do it? He could already picture it: your pride, your voice breaking, your pretty face crumpling; under his hands, under his mouth, under his name. Not for some sniveling boy, but for him.

Only him.

Like this is so freaking insane and I am living for it

You were raw, undone, human. Everything he wasn’t. Everything he had been taught to crush.

What would it take to ruin you completely?

Oh my god (totally not freaking out rn)

Your fingers twitched. You didn’t need a wand. The goblet in front of the boy crushed. Water soaked his robes. Gasps echoed. You didn’t look back. You kept walking.

Forget Kai I am so in love with her.

“I have power. You just have a last name.”

Oh my god I am so in love with her

I think shes the coolest freaking person ever. Like her magic is so cool to me wtf

HELLO??? HE KISSED HER JUST LIKE THAT??😭OH MY GOD. WAIT MY BRAIN FREAKING FRIED HE KISSED HER WAIT FUCK????? THATS SO (i am so freaking out)

“Stop crying,” he said. “It ruins your face.”

I will pass out

She exhaled through her nose, almost amused. “Oh. Yeah.” There was a flicker of something beneath her expression then something real. “I’m ambitious,” she said. “And if being ambitious makes me a bad person… then I guess I’m a Slytherin.”

I cant help but find Yunjin super cute here.

“Am I hurting you?” Kai shushed when you hissed, feeling a hint of pain as he filled you.

I will pass out

“I’ll learn how to move the way you do. I’ll learn how to speak the way you understand. I’ll change the way I live if that’s what it takes. Every single day, I’ll do it, just to fit you.”

Oh my god ugh.

Raya. I genuinely become one of the happiest people when I read your work. It turns a bad day good, a rainy day into a sunny one. Just, I love every aspect of your writing and just, always, thank you for choosing to share your work with the world.

‎₊ ˚ ⊹ ིྀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐅𝐈𝐓

pairing: slytherin!kai x gryffindor!reader

He was supposed to look away. He was never supposed to crave the one who didn't belong.

warnings: hogwarts au, set in college age, romance redemption, strangers to lovers, pureblood/halfblood societal norms, mdni. bullying!, family!trauma.

smutwarnings: virginity-loss, missionary, oral!fem receiving.

wc: 10k — playlist

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: so happy to be part of this event! thank you to my girls, rain, ash yun and nina for being awesome ily all ^.^ see the event masterlist here.

He grips the back of her head, his fingers sinking into her hair as he thrusts into her with a steady, punishing rhythm. Skin into skin. Her soft moans turn ragged, a needy, breathless chorus in the dimly lit room. The air is thick with the cloying scent of her perfume, almost too sweet, making his head swim.

“m-more, Kai, please,” she whimpers, her nails scraping at his shoulders, her legs tightening around his hips.

He smirks. They always beg the same way.

He watches her, how her lips part with every gasp, her brows knit in desperate pleasure but as she reaches up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, he knows what she’s after.

A kiss.

He shoves her hand down, ignoring the flash of irritation in her eyes. He doesn’t want to see that. He doesn’t want to see anything but her writhing beneath him as he chases his own high.

He keeps pounding into her, the bed creaking under them, her breaths turning into sharp cries. When he feels himself tip over the edge, he holds her hips still, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard into the condom. He stays there for a moment, head bowed, catching his breath. He pulls out and steps back, his chest heaving. She lies flushed and trembling, a sheen of sweat on her skin, her hair a tangled mess. He’s already made her release twice tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to press his lips to hers.

A line he never crosses.

She sits up, tugging down the hem of her uniform skirt, smoothing it over her thighs. She ties her hair back in a tight ponytail, her green scarf slightly wrinkled. She watches him with narrowed eyes, her lips still parted and pink. “Why don’t you ever kiss me?” Yunjin says finally, her tone somewhere between curiosity and frustration. “I used to think it was just me… but I talked to some of the other girls you’ve hooked up with. You never kiss them either.”

He shrugs, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark as he tugs on his jeans. “Should I?”

“Asshole.” Yunjin’s voice is clipped, her eyes sharp with hurt as she stands up. She can’t let him be the one to leave first, not tonight. She smooths down her skirt and grabs her bag, shoulders squared as she heads for the door.

Heuning Kai just watches her, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk. He’s known her since their first year, long enough to read every flicker of her mood, how she tries to cover her hurt with anger, how she thinks he can’t see it.

He doesn’t bother trying to stop her. He doesn’t have to.

She leaves with her head high and her footsteps light, and he doesn’t move until the door clicks shut behind her. He shakes his head, a small huff under his breath as he stands and tugs his jeans back up, his shirt still undone.

Kissing. It’s always been too intimate, too close; something that feels like more than he can give. He’s never been interested in playing at something deeper than what they already have. He’s never found the will to do it.

He glances at the rumpled sheets. He will need to have them smoothed out, made right again. Things should be neat, aligned.

He has always hated disorder, the way it jars the symmetry he craves.

He strides through the grand halls with the effortless poise of someone who believes the castle itself was built for him. Every step is confident, his polished shoes clicking softly on the stone floor. When someone calls his name, he turns enough to flash them a half-look. His name is on everyone’s lips. His robes are cut to perfection, dark green and silver threads woven just so, a mark of being a pureblood heir and wealth. He sees the girls watching from the corners, cheeks flushed. Some whisper to each other, others just stare in open admiration. The boys in his own house, look at him with a mix of camaraderie and begrudging deference. They share the same colors and the same crest, but not the same steep.

He doesn’t slow down for them. The air around him seems to shimmer with an arrogance that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.

Everyone knows who he is and what he represents.

He’s about to turn the corner when someone barrels into his shoulder. He glances up, finding himself face-to-face with a student dressed in vivid red.

A Gryffindor.

“Honestly, must you always be this clumsy?” Kai sneers, his voice dripping with scorn as he glares at the boy. There’s no kindness in his eyes, just the sharp gleam of someone who delights in cutting others down. He’s never had patience for Gryffindors, the way they strut around, so certain of their own virtue, as if bravery alone could make them special.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” he adds with a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Or did you leave that famous Gryffindor courage somewhere behind you?”

He hates their pride, their blind sense of righteousness. It’s always been a sore spot for him — the ones in this house always seem so sure of their own moral, so quick to wear it like a crown. They don’t understand real power. They don’t understand how quickly their loud ideals can be torn apart.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Not everyone here is as forgiving as I am.”

The Gryffindor boy shoves his hands down into his pockets and walks off without a word. Kai’s smirk falters, turning into a disappointed scowl when he realizes he won’t get the reaction he was hoping for.

He turns back to his locker, swinging the door open and rifling through his books. His fingers move. A sudden burst of laughter echoes from the other side of the hallway, loud and grating. He can’t see them, but the harsh, triumphant cackle is enough. Another group of Gryffindors, undoubtedly.

He hates how their lockers are practically pressed up against his own. How he has to see them every day, laughing like the world is theirs for the taking. It makes his skin prickle with annoyance.

He heard them leave.

With a grunt, he shut his own locker and started toward his first class, but not without catching a faint, choked sound from the direction of the lockers he hated so much.

It’s not that he’s curious. It’s not that he wants to see it.

It’s just that it’s on his way, like a grain of sand stuck in his shoe, like a pedestrian standing in the road he needs to cross. A path he has to take, whether he likes it or not.

At the end of the row, a girl is crumpled in defense, her face hidden in her hands. Her shoulders are trembling, the soft, broken sounds slipping past her lips even as she tries to swallow them down. Even from here, he could see the ache written in the curve of her back, in the way her breath hitched and faltered. The world feels too bright around, the hallway too bright and uncaring.

He breathes.

How hurt must she be to let someone else see her so wrecked, so undone?

"I am not the Darkling" he said softly, his eyes searching mine. "I am not the monster you think I am."

You echo the words under your breath, the pages of your battered book trembling slightly in your hands. You feel your eyes burn, but you don't dare blink. The darkling tried dragged her into the dark, but it was her light, Alina, that ended up swallowing him whole.

Fairy tales for the lonely. Lies stitched into paper and ink. Because in the real world, no one survives being consumed by someone else.

And no one asks to be.

“Hey.” You hear your name. When you glance up, Chae Won is standing over you, eyes sharp with contempt.

She’s supposed to be your friend. A fellow Gryffindor.

Without warning, she snatches the book from your hands and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from where you’d been sitting quietly on the floor. “Can we just stop this, please? I—”

“Stop what?” she snaps, already stepping closer. “Crying to Jay? Playing the victim again?” His name stops you cold.

She doesn’t let up. Her hand fists your hair, enough to hurt. “Do you forget you’re a Muggle-born?” she hisses. “And him? He’s everything people want. We were fine before you. You just had to show up, cry to him like some helpless little thing, and now he thinks you're this princess he has to save.”

Chae Won shoves you hard against the lockers. The metal slams cold into your back, the sound echoing down the empty hallway. She leans in, eyes burning, and says the one thing that never stops hurting, no matter how many times you've heard it. “You’re dirty.”

And just like that, you’re six again.

Where no one taught you how to belong.

You don’t say anything. The words are there, caught in your throat, but they taste like shame. They always have.

The afterthought. The charity case. Strange eyes. Odd temper.

In the darkest corners of the night, you wished you’d never gotten the letter. That magic had skipped over you. That your name had never burned through that parchment. Never touched a wand. Maybe then, you could’ve had a normal life. One where you didn’t have to watch your adopted siblings shine in a world that only ever dimmed you.

Because then maybe, just maybe, you’d get to be normal.

Not this. Not the ghost haunting a place that was never yours. Not the muggle-born mistake among children who made spells sing on their tongues, while yours stuttered, cracked, and bled.

You didn’t even feel that you were crying.

Chaewon stares down at you with a cruel smirk, almost entertained by your tears. You’re frozen, your chest tightening, looking like a ghost of yourself. Pathetic. That’s probably what she’s thinking. Then she shoves you again hard. Your body hits the cold locker room tiles with a sickening thud, pain through your spine. You flinch, but you don’t even try to get up.

“Tell anyone,” she sneers, leaning down. “and you’ll regret it.”

They left you right after that.

No one would believe it anyway. You’ve spent your whole life fighting, pretending you're fine, building yourself up just to keep surviving. You wear strength like armor. But now?

Now you’re nothing but shattered pieces on the floor. No one saw you break. No one knows how hard you cried.

No one fucking knows.

"What?" Your voice comes out sharper than you meant, caught off guard.

It was the morning after — after everything and Jay had found you outside like he always does. The golden boy of Gryffindor, the one everyone seemed to adore without question. For months, he'd been chasing you. Sweet smiles, thoughtful words, persistent in his way. He asked you out more times than you could count and a month ago, you said yes.

That was why Chaewon hated you more now than ever.

Jay leans in across the picnic table, casual and unbothered like nothing had shifted in your world. Like you hadn’t spent the night before crumpled on a locker room floor, swallowing sobs and blood.

"I said you should sneak into my dorm later," he repeats. You blink at him. You had planned this picnic, thought maybe today would give you a moment of peace. A needed softness, but now his words float in the air like smoke, invasive and unexpected. He doesn’t notice the way your hands tremble slightly. Or if he does, he says nothing.

You swallow hard.

"Why would I do that? I could get caught," you say, your voice uneasy, the words tumbling out. Jay laughs, it was as if your nerves are a joke to him.

"Come on," he says, grinning. "It’s been a month now. I wanna be with you. Do that thing with you."

Your stomach turns. You might be naive but you’re not stupid. You open your mouth to say something, to maybe ask what he really means, to question the way he’s looking at you like he’s owed something, but he cuts you off. "If you really liked me, you’d do it too. You know?"

You look at him, stunned, like a deer caught in headlights. The boy you thought wanted you for you is now dangling your feelings like bait on a hook. "That... that won’t prove if I like you or not,"

"What do you mean?" he asks, brows furrowing. "So you don’t wanna do it?"

"Of course I would," you say quickly, your throat tightening. "But not right—"

"Not right now?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "That’s always your excuse."

"Excuse?"

He leans back, annoyed. "You know, if you don’t want me, just say it."

You freeze. His next words come out in a bitter, quiet mumble, like he doesn’t even realize he’s saying them aloud. "If this wasn’t for a stupid bet, I wouldn’t—"

"What?" Your voice is almost breathless. Cold rushes through your chest like someone ripped the air straight from your lungs. He doesn’t answer. His eyes widen, just for a second — just long enough to tell you everything you needed to know.

Your mind races. You remember the guilt that bloomed in your chest every time you turned him down, thinking you were the one being difficult. You remember how sad he looked when you said no, how it made you feel like you were failing him. How you apologized for it, over and over, thinking you were the one ruining things.

You remember Chaewon's cruelty and you remember convincing yourself it was all worth it because he chose you.

"I was a fucking bet?" Your voice comes out hoarse. You stare at him, this boy who once looked like something good. Something kind. All that softness you thought you saw in him feels like a lie now.

You can feel the fire start to rise in your blood. You wore the same house colors.

"I—It was from the start, but then—"

“We’re done.” A blade slipped between the ribs.

You stand, your eyes focused on anything but him. You don’t look at the people beginning to notice, don’t care about the whispers. Your chest is hollow and screaming, but your face doesn’t show it. You walk the grounds like your heart isn’t shattering with every step.

You feel him behind you, his frantic footsteps, his form clinging to your shadow. You feel the stares, the weight of every eye on you.

"Can we please talk?" he pleads, his hand wraps around your wrist.

You turn your head and slap his face so hard it echoes. He doesn’t even get to process it before your foot collides with his, a sharp kick that throws him off balance. Pain, humiliation — all of it written across his face now for everyone to see.

“I said we’re done.” Your voice cracks but not out of weakness. It cracks from the sheer force of holding back everything you could’ve screamed. "You're evil."

He’s looking at you now like he’s the one broken. You turn, this time for good. Your body is trembling, anxiety crawling beneath your skin like a thousand needles, but your steps are steady. You're done.

Kai lounged on the stairway, tuning out the crude, drunken laughter of his housemates as they bragged about the girls they’d had the night before. Their voices blurred into nothing. His eyes scanned the grounds lazily, flashes of yellow, green, blue, red, the usual mess of students he barely cared to notice.

He saw you.

He saw you and remember how you cried that night.

He leaned forward without thinking, resting his chin on his hand, the world narrowing to just you. Everything else fell away against the blinding, face of yours. You moved with a kind of arrogance he recognized instantly: head high, steps sharp, like the world didn’t deserve you. The fire in your eyes. Typical of your house — spoiled, untouchable. He should’ve been bored.

He couldn’t look away. He couldn't stop hearing remembering your soft whimpers the night before.

Kai’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked grin.

You didn’t stop there. You kicked the boy’s foot out from under him, angrily spat a few words he couldn’t catch, and walked off, not even glancing back. Kai’s eyes stayed locked on you, tracking every furious step you took across the grounds. You tried to hide it; the tremble in your hands, the way you blinked too fast but he caught it.

You're crying.

Only him.

You didn’t even know his name. He stayed where he was, eyes following your broken form.

Kai had grown up as the only son of a pureblood family, where reputation bled deeper than blood, and control was not a suggestion but a rule etched into the spine of every morning. He was taught to be composed, restrained, untouchable — never too loud, never too soft. Smile, but not too often. Speak, but only when it matters. Feel, but never let it show.

He’d been raised that way.

His life was built on legacy. Emotions were weakness. Kindness was liability. He was not held, not comforted, not loved — only shaped.

They carved obedience into him like marble.

He watched his father hold entire rooms in silence with nothing but a stare. Watched him speak to people as if their existence was a favor, an inconvenience he barely tolerated and everyone listened. Everyone bowed. He learned early that power wasn’t just about magic.

He wore it well. Better than most.

He learned how to mimic empathy without feeling it. He learned how to laugh on cue, how to listen without caring, how to look someone in the eye while thinking of a thousand other things.

He drifted through life half-asleep, wearing the world like an ill-fitting coat. Friends, lovers, enemies; it was all noise. Meaningless. Predictable.

You were raw, undone, human. Everything he wasn’t. Everything he had been taught to crush.

What would it take to ruin you completely?

With every difiance in his body he stood up. He found himself taking step forward. Kai moved before he realized he was moving.

The sound of his housemates' laughter faded behind him, smothered under the pounding in his ears. He descended the steps with the same cold precision he was raised with, but something feral stirred beneath his ribs. His strides were steady, calculated, like a shadow stretching to meet its mark.

You were walking fast, too fast, your back stiff and your steps clipped. Anger clung to you like perfume, sharp and choking. He trailed you from a safe distance, ignoring the students who brushed past, oblivious. All he saw was the set of your shoulders, the shake in your hands. He could practically taste the heat radiating off you.

You turned a corner. So did he.

You passed the greenhouses, cut through the arch, your pace stuttering as if your own breath was betraying you. You didn’t notice him. Or maybe you did. Maybe you felt it — that feeling like you're being watched, hunted. The air changed around you.

Kai waited until you slowed near the old stone path that led toward the empty wing of the castle. Then he spoke.

His voice didn’t waver. “Why did you hit him?”

You stopped walking.He watched your back rise with a breath, then you turned.

Your eyes met. For the first time.

Up close, you looked even more dangerous. Even more breakable. Fire and ruin, cloaked in pride. Your lips were trembling, but your jaw was clenched. He took a slow step closer, tilting his head slightly, studying your face like it was a spell he hadn’t learned yet. Something unreadable flickered in your eyes — recognition? fear? anger?

He spoke again. “Is he the one who made you cry?”

Your fingers curled at your sides. You narrowed your eyes, not answering, as if silence could keep you safe.

Kai smiled, cruel. “You're not very good at hiding it.”

“I heard you last night,” he said, voice so calm it almost sounded kind. “In the hallway. You were crying.”

Your expression twisted. “Were you spying on me?”

“Observing,” he corrected, as if it mattered. “You’re... difficult to ignore.”

You scowled and turned to walk away, but this time he moved,faster than you expected, cutting into your path. “Your name,” he said. “Tell me.”

You stared at him like he was insane. Like something in him wasn't right and you were right. Something wasn't right. “What, so you can tell your little pureblood friends? Have a laugh?”

“So I'll know what to call you.”

Your breath hitched. He didn’t smile this time. His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes. He could see it, the flicker of panic behind your bravado, the instinct to run, the ache in your throat from holding everything in. And yet, you didn’t move. You stayed rooted.

Still burning. Still human.

Still too much for someone like him.

“You're insane,” you said.

“I've been told.” Kai murmured. The wind caught your hair, brushing it across your cheek. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out and touch it, feel if it was as soft as it looked, feel if you would flinch. “Tell me your name,” he said again.

You stared at him for a long time. Seconds stretched like hours. A war in your eyes, as you spoke your name. Maybe if you gave him your name, he would leave you alone.

“Wasn’t hard,” he said softly, almost mockingly. “Was it?”

He stared at you for a second longer, and when you didnt answer him he turned and walked away; no grand gestures, no parting words. A slow retreat, like he’d taken exactly what he came for. You stayed frozen in place, blinking hard, as if shaking off some invisible fog. The anger you felt with Jay minutes ago completely erased in your mind.

You told yourself he was just another entitled, pureblood brat playing mind games. But somehow… you knew he wasn’t done with you.

It was a surprise that you didn't cry a tear when you returned to your dorms that night.

The sun filtered through the high windows in thin, silver lines, catching on the dust that hovered in the still morning air. Breakfast chatter filled the Great Hall.

You walked in alone. As usual.

Your boots echoed softly against the stone as you passed through the threshold, robes hanging heavy off one shoulder, the collar of your uniform just slightly wrinkled. Your hair was pulled back, but loose strands clung to your cheeks from where you’d barely bothered to dry it. There were shadows under your eyes. A bruise of exhaustion, of restraint.

People noticed. They always did.

You could feel it, the way heads tilted toward each other when they thought you weren’t looking, how eyes followed you just long enough to make your skin crawl. It wasn’t new.

That’s her, they’d whisper. Muggleborn. Dangerous. Did you hear what she did to that Golden boy? How dare she?

You could’ve explained. You could’ve said he tricked you. Said he turned you into a bet, but you’d learned a long time ago, they never really wanted your side of the story.

You crossed the room, spine straight, steps controlled, passing the long tables like you didn’t notice the silence blooming around you like mold. You sat at the edge of your table. Your plate filled with food, untouched by your hand. A flick of your fingers beneath the table, no wand. No words.

A few first-years flinched.

Your fingers hovered over the rim of your goblet, then curled back. You weren’t hungry. You hadn’t slept much. A voice still rang in your head like a spell that hadn’t worn off.

“So I'll know what to call you.”

Kai sat three tables over, surrounded by his housemates; all perfectly-groomed pureblood sons and daughters of old families, boys with bloodlines like poisoned roots. He wasn’t speaking. He rarely did, but his gaze was fixed on you like a blade laid flat across your skin. He didn’t look smug. He didn’t smirk. He just watched. As if you were something worth waiting for.

You held his gaze. Steadily.

He didn’t look away. The last time you locked eyes with someone like that, they ended up on the floor, clutching their ribs, coughing blood, but Kai didn’t flinch.

He simply raised a single brow, like he was inviting you to do it. Daring you. Testing the temperature of your fury. You clenched your jaw and shoved your chair back, the scrape echoing louder than it should’ve.

Screw the eggs. Screw the toast. Screw this whole bloody castle and the way it always stank of legacy and rot.

And just as you stood, “Filthy little freak. Thinks she’s special.”

Your fingers twitched. You didn’t need a wand. The goblet in front of the boy crushed. Water soaked his robes. Gasps echoed. You didn’t look back. You kept walking.

You weren’t afraid of what you could do. You were afraid of how easy it was now.

The doors slammed behind you as you left the Great Hall, but you didn’t get far. You’d barely made it into the courtyard, “Well, if it isn’t our little wandless wonder.” The steps behind you were deliberate. Stiletto-sharp. The sound of privilege. You turned around.

Chae-won stood there, arms folded, robes pristine, her platinum hair twisted in a perfect knot that screamed power. Her prefect badge gleamed on her chest like it mattered. And behind her, always behind her. trailed two other girls.

“Chae-won,” you said flatly.

Her smile was razor-thin. “Did you think we wouldn’t hear? Poor Jay.”

“What?”

“You slapped him. Humiliated him. In front of everyone,” she hissed. “He was apologizing, you freak.”

“You know nothing.”

Chae-won’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, please. He did something, or what? That gives you the right to act like some dark creature in the middle of the grounds?”

You didn’t flinch. “I said you know nothing.”

Chae-won blinked, her voice lowered to something crueler. “So? Do we care about a mudblood like you?”

You looked at her. Really looked. And wondered how many people had handed her the world and called it earned. You remember the first year you were friends, the first year she knew all of you, and the once smile on your face whenever you see her. It all became a blur when people looked at you as a misfit.

Your hands twitched again.

“You planning to explode something else?” Chae-won taunted. “Go on. Show us what you can do. Everyone’s already terrified. Might as well give them a real show.”

You stepped forward. “You want to know the difference between you and me?” Chae-won raised a brow.

“I have power. You just have a last name.”

Her jaw tightened, but before she could respond, before she could reach for her wand or hurl another insult, a voice broke through from behind: “Chae-won.” She froze.

Kai stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes locked not on her but on you.

“I’d stop if I were you,” he said, calm, lazy, terrifying.

Chae-won blinked like she hadn’t heard him right. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not repeating myself,” His shoulder brushed yours, intentional as he passed and stood between you and her. Not defending you, but as if staking a claim.

Chae-won’s face burned. “This has nothing to do with you, Kai.”

“It does.”

She stood there for a second, jaw clenched, then scoffed. “Figures. Your house never know where to keep your standards.” Then with one last look at you, all venom and fury, she turned and stormed off, her little shadows flurrying after her.

You looked at Kai. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He didn’t look at you. “I didn’t do it for you.” And yet, he was still standing there. Still between you and the world.

You hated how you lived your years.

You hated the way your life had built itself around survival; around silence, around swallowing things that no one else ever seemed to choke on. You hated that you were born like this, like a wrong answer in a question nobody asked.

You hated that once, long ago, you’d called Chae-won your friend. That you’d laughed with her, studied with her, braided her hair in the dormitory mirror. You hated that she knew all the parts of you worth breaking and now she used them like blades.

You hated that even now being Muggleborn wasn’t enough. Wasn’t already a mark on your back. No, you had to be different, too. You had to wield wandless, wordless magic, the kind they couldn’t control, couldn’t track, couldn’t replicate and that made them stare, like you were unnatural.

You hated that, out of all the people in this castle, the one who wouldn’t look away was him.

Kai. A stranger. A Slytherin. A boy born with a silver knife in his mouth, and the gall to look at you like he saw past your fury, like he saw you about to break.

You walked away; fast, sharp steps that echoed off the stone corridor — hoping he wouldn’t follow.

He did.

You didn’t stop him. You hated that, too.

You didn’t speak, didn’t glance back, you kept walking until the hallway emptied behind you. Until there were no portraits, no prefects, no Chae-won, no whispering mouths. A stone and silence and the feeling of someone watching you like a match watches a flame.

When you reached the end of the corridor, where the light didn’t quite reach and the air felt still and forgotten, you stopped. Your shoulders rose once, then fell. The first sob cracked out of your chest so violently it startled even you.

You tried to cover it, your hand flying up to your mouth, like that would make it less pathetic, but it didn’t matter. You were already shaking, already crying, already too human to stop it now.

Behind you, he didn’t say anything.

You sank down against the wall slowly, like your legs had given out — not from fear, not from pain but from carrying it all too long. The silence between you pulsed, thick and unkind, and still he stayed. No comfort. No lies.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” you whispered, not even knowing if you meant your life, or this day, or this moment. Maybe all of it. You could feel his eyes on you. You could feel the way he was listening.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, voice raw.

You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying like this in front of him of all people. Your lips trembled, and your vision blurred, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

And Kai just sat there.

Watching. Unmoving. Unbothered.

Or so you thought.

Kai exhaled slowly, like a man tired of waiting, because watching you; ruined, furious, crying and still managing to burn like a goddamn wildfire — it made something unravel inside him. Something unholy. Something that clawed its way up from beneath all the manners and legacy and careful obedience.

You, with your defiance. You, with your trembling hands and splintering voice. You, who didn’t even look his way.

You felt too much. You burned too brightly. You cracked in places he didn’t understand. You cried like it meant something. You fought like the world still owed you something soft.

A single, smooth motion and before you could ask what he was doing, before you could read the shift in his expression, he was standing over you. Looking down at you like you were a problem he couldn’t solve, like you were noise in his carefully constructed world of silence.

His jaw twitched. “I don’t like messy things,”

You opened your mouth, to apologize, to yell, to tell him to leave but your voice didn’t come.

Instead, he crouched down. Slowly. His hand reached out, not toward your face, but beside it, bracing against the wall near your shoulder, boxing you in. His other hand hovered near your chin, pausing midair. A breath. A hesitation. Something nearly human.

He kissed you.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of your robes. Your chest ached from the sobs you hadn’t finished, from the weight of the day, from the way his mouth pressed against yours like it was the only language he knew.

It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry.

He tasted like someone who hadn’t felt anything in years and hated that you made him want to. His hand moved to your jaw, holding it, not harsh but unrelenting.

His breath was unsteady when he pulled back. So was yours.

Your tear-slick lashes fluttered as you stared at him, chest rising and falling with everything you hadn’t said, everything you didn’t understand.

Kai didn’t blink. You didn't too.

You weren’t sure who looked more shaken.

“Stop crying,” he said. “It ruins your face.”

It was past curfew when the door creaked open.

A soft, deliberate sound, barely loud enough to disturb the quiet hum of sleeping breaths in the girls' dorm. The enchanted lanterns were low, casting dull golden shadows across the hardwood floor.

You were curled on your side, blanket kicked off, facing the wall like it might protect you from the dreams that had been growing more vivid lately — filled with brown eyes, the weight of a stare, the press of a mouth that never should have touched yours.

It has been a week since he kissed you, and all he did now was consume you.

You heard a slow footstep across the floorboards that didn’t belong. You sat up in an instant. Your hand instinctively curled, breath caught in your throat.

It was him.

Kai stood there leaning just inside the doorway like he owned the place. His eyes flicked over the room, over the slumbering forms of your roommates, and then back to you.

You were too stunned to speak. He shut the door behind him with a careful click.

“You can’t be here,” you whispered.

“Then tell me to leave.” He said it like he already knew you wouldn’t.

He didn’t move toward you. “I won’t skulk around and pretend I don’t know what I want.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how your heart was hammering. Of the ache in your hands from clenching them too tight under the blanket. Of the way you hadn’t breathed properly in hours.

His voice lowered. “I wanted to see you.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. His hair was messy from wind or sleep, his collar half-open. His expression, unreadable as ever, but void of any smug.

His look scared you more than any smirk ever had.

You were walking to your next class, trying to keep your head down, your thoughts together, your breathing even.

Kai walked beside you. Beside you. Shoulder to shoulder, step for step, like he belonged there and he wasn’t hiding it, either. He was adamant in the way he moved.

You rounded the corner and saw them.

Jay was seated on the ledge just outside the main stairwell, one arm slung lazily around Chae-won’s waist as she perched in his lap. They looked like a painting, like every pureblood fantasy the school worshiped. Perfect posture, perfect hair, perfect detachment. Chae-won was smiling; a perfect, cold little curve of her mouth that never quite reached her eyes while Jay just stared.

He saw you before you saw him. His gaze locked with yours, cold and pointed, like you’d wronged him. As if he were the victim. Chae-won didn’t even glance your way, but she leaned in just enough to whisper something in his ear, and though he didn’t smile, something in his jaw flexed. His hand tightened on her hip and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

Your vision went blurry. Your throat tightened. The corridor felt too bright, too narrow, the sounds too loud, too far away. Your breath stuttered; shallow, clipped, your heart racing like you’d been running.

Kai's gaze move from your face to your hands, where they clenched and twitched at your sides. You tried to blink it all away, tried to keep walking like nothing was happening, but your body had betrayed you.

“Has this happened before?” His voice came low.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your limbs felt heavy and useless, and the corridor seemed to stretch further with every step. You were floating and falling all at once. You barely noticed when his hand reached for you, until you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist — not tightly, not to restrain, but to feel.

He pressed his thumb lightly over the spot just above your pulse. He didn’t need words to know. The panic was there, thundering under your skin, alive and frantic and loud enough to silence everything else. His brow furrowed. “You’re panicking.”

The words landed heavy, simple and precise. You flinched like he’d struck a nerve, tried to pull your arm back, but he didn’t let go.

“You don’t get to worry about me,” you snapped, voice sharp and broken at the edges, as if saying it out loud could make it true.

Kai tilted his head, expression unreadable. He didn’t react to your words. He didn’t need to. He just looked at you like you were the one thing in this corridor that mattered. And then he said, calm and quiet, “Continue walking with me.”

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t even a request and you hated that your legs obeyed before your mind could fight it. Hated that some fragile part of you wanted to keep walking, if only he stayed beside you.

You closed your eyes for half a second, just enough for the tears to sting. You wouldn’t let them fall, not here, not with them still behind you but your chest ached, and the shame pressed hot against your throat.

His hand found yours again.

His fingers slipped through yours like it was instinct, and then he held on careful, steady, like he was holding something breakable. You kept walking. One step after the other.

He walked with you ike the entire castle wasn’t watching, but even if they were, he didn’t let go.

“So, you’re Kai’s girlfriend?”

You looked up from the ancient, half-crumbling book in your hand and blinked at the girl now standing beside you in the dim library aisle. She was dressed in green and silver and wore the kind of smile that had probably gotten her everything she ever wanted.

“Pretty,” she added, tilting her head slightly, eyes raking over you not with curiosity.

“I’m not,” you replied evenly, turning back to the shelf, hoping she’d take the hint but her presence didn’t waver. You could feel her shadow shift with yours. She followed as you stepped further down the aisle, her footsteps light but intentional.

“I’m Yunjin, by the way,” she said. Her voice had that lilting quality warm, but not soft. “I always see him around you. I mean, everyone’s noticed. It’s kind of hard to miss, the whole... obsession he has with you.”

Your fingers paused mid-reach. Obsession?

“And I guess,” she continued casually, “that must be the reason he stopped seeing me.”

“…What?” The word left your mouth before you could hold it in, too stunned to coat it in disinterest.

“Oh, don’t worry.” She gave a light, musical laugh. “It wasn’t serious. Kai doesn’t do serious. He’s unwell. Emotionally, I mean. Brilliant, but broken. The type of boy you keep behind glass until he cuts you with it.” She said it like she knew. Like she’d bled.

You stared at her. Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. “But I do see something different now,” she added, “He looks at you… differently.”

You expected cruelty to follow. A sharp comment tucked behind a smile. A passive-aggressive jab meant to draw blood beneath the surface because that’s how it usually came, wasn’t it? From the people who knew how to dress poison up in perfume.

You thought of Chae-won. A girl from your own house. People from your own house who doesn't even dare to smile at you. It was strange, wasn’t it? That someone from your own house had been so much crueler than the students from the house everyone warned you about.

So much crueller than Kai. Than Yunjin.

“Why are you being kind to me?” you asked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Yunjin tilted her head like she was trying to decide whether to laugh again. Then, with a small shrug, she said, “What?”

You held her gaze, unflinching.

You were sitting in your bed, knees tucked loosely to your chest, the blankets crumpled around you like a forgotten thought. The castle was quieter than usual. Music pulsed faintly from somewhere down the hall. There was a party for your batch tonight; a celebration, one you were meant to attend, smile through, pretend for.

Instead, you were here. Alone.

You were counting the minutes.

The door opened without urgency, a soft sound not trying to sneak, not trying to impress. You didn’t turn your head. You didn’t need to. You already knew who it was.

Kai stood in the doorway like the rest of the room didn’t matter. His eyes swept across the space, landed on you, on your still form in the sheets, on the way your gaze had already been waiting for him.

“You knew I would come,” he said.

“Yes,”

He strode toward you with his usual measured grace, never rushed, never nervous and you moved slightly on the bed. “You never told me anything about you,” you said, and your voice didn’t accuse, “You’re always around. You help me. You... show up but you never talk.”

Kai looked at you, and there was something different in his eyes tonight. “What do you want to know?” he asked.

You didn’t blink. “You.”

There was a long pause.

Long enough that you thought he wouldn’t answer. Long enough to feel the ache of expectation rise in your chest, but then Kai huffed, soft through his nose, and there was a shape to it that almost — almost — sounded like a laugh. Not the full thing, but the ghost of it.

You wondered, not for the first time, what he sounded like when he really laughed.

Your eyes flicked to the empty space beside you, and you shifted further inward on the bed, a small movement, but clear.

He caught it.

He sat on the edge of your bed, hands resting on his thighs, the weight of him sinking into the mattress beside you. His posture was still too careful, still too contained, but he was there.

“I don’t talk about myself,” he said suddenly.

You didn’t answer. You knew better than to fill silence that didn’t ask to be filled. Kai exhaled softly, the sound shallow. Measured. Then he looked up, his eyes distant but focused on you, like he was reading from a page only he could see. “I was raised to be an heir. Not a person.”

You didn’t flinch. He noticed that. It made him keep going.

“My father were strict. He didn’t believe in wasting time on things like comfort, or affection. If I cried, he said it was noise. If I asked questions, he told me to read faster. If I smiled too easily, he asked if I was bored, or foolish.” He paused. Not for effect. To breathe.

“He had this saying. You were not born to be loved. You were born to lead. And I repeated it to myself every morning. For years. Until it didn’t sound like cruelty anymore.” he shakes his head, “When I was five, I learned how to duel with a real wand. When I was seven, he started leaving me alone in the manor for days. Said it would teach me independence. I didn’t speak to anyone for weeks.”

His voice didn’t shake. Not once. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t even sound sad. He sounded like someone explaining the weather. Like grief was just another season he’d already lived through.

“I don’t know how to talk about feelings,” he admitted. “I know how to talk around them. How to look someone in the eye and not let them touch a single part of me.”

He looked at you again. “But then I saw you.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t dramatic. “I didn’t mean to care. I don’t know how to. But I do. I hear your voice in my head even when I try to ignore it. I look for you when you’re not around.”

“And when you’re upset, I want to fix it.” His hands unclasped slowly, then gripped the edge of the bed. “I want to fix it because it’s you.”

You moved closer. He didn’t stop you. He just looked at you like you were the first warmth in a life made of glass and granite and rules. “I hate how much I feel now,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to go back.”

His words made you reach out the back of his neck and pull him to you. You hugged him and you let out a shaky breath. "I'm here. I'm here Kai."

Two strong arms snaked around your waist as soon as you said those words, and Kai's lips were against your nape. He left trails of kisses on your neck up to the back of your ears, his body pressed on yours. "Good."

He presses a few more soft kisses to the back of your head, then his voice drops to a whisper against your ear. “Can I touch you?” Your breath hitches, but you nod. His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers brushing lightly across your stomach. “Can I touch you here?” he asks, voice gentle.

You nod again, barely able to get the word out. “Yeah.”

His hand travels higher, fingertips gliding up until they meet the bare curve of your chest. He pauses, just long enough to make your heart race. His lips are at your neck now, breath hot. “Here too?”

When he feels you nod, his hand moves with more purpose, fingertips gliding over the curve of your breast. He cups you fully, palm warm, thumb brushing the softness, squeezing just enough to make you arch subtly into his touch. He teases, exploring everywhere except where you need him most, drawing out the ache with every careful touch. When his fingers finally graze your nipple, a quiet moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. He pauses, his breath brushing against your neck. “You can tell me to stop anytime.”

Then he pulls his hand away from under your shirt, and the sudden absence makes you whine, your body instinctively chasing after his warmth. Before you can speak, he cups your face gently, tilting your head until your eyes meet. It’s dark but he's close, so close — you can make out the shape of his face, the softness in his gaze.

He leans in, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. Then another. You smile softly, breath mingling, and when your lips part, he takes it as invitation. This time the kiss is deep — hungry. His mouth moves against yours with desperation, like he’s been craving your taste for far too long. His hand finds your waist, tugging you closer, bodies aligning in all the right ways as the heat between you builds.

“I want you,” you whisper, voice barely there, lost in the way his lips trail along your neck, warm and wet. “Please.”

He pauses just enough to meet your gaze, then his hand slips between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric. The pressure makes your hips jerk, breath hitching.

“Here?” he murmurs, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You want me here?”

It’s too much, and not enough. Heat pools low in your belly, a need that feels raw and overwhelming. You nod, biting your lip, your voice trembling. “Yes. There. Please.”

He groans, low and deep, and that’s when clothes start disappearing—slowly, messily. Every layer peeled off is interrupted by his mouth; on your lips, your jaw, your collarbones. His hands, greedy and gentle all at once, explore you like he’s memorizing every inch. The room is filled with nothing but breath, the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional hitch of a moan.

When he finally sinks lower, eyes locked on yours as his lips trace a burning path down your body, you don’t stop him.

“Kai…” You moaned as you clenched your fist on his dark locks. His tongue was doing to your buds as his fingers part your wet folds. You don't know what it is, but it makes your legs quivered as his tongue lapped at your entrance.

Kai grunts as he hears your soft moans, sucking on your clit to hear more. Your taste in his mouth got him drunk as he shook his head from side to side, making your moans go higher as you moved your hips to grind your wetness on his tongue. "Hmm?"

He pulled back, replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing her wet clit as he kissed and sucked your inner thighs. Your eyes rolled back as your chest rose up and down, glistening with sweat.

You're fucking beautiful. Kai thought as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. The sight of your blushing cheeks, eyes asking for more with your lips between your teeth made Kai slightly rut his hips on the bed.

"Do you know how long have I imagined this?" He pumped a finger inside your pussy, curling it to hit your spot as he put his mouth back to work again, flattening his tongue over your swollen pearl before flicking it with the tip. You cried out in pleasure, throwing your head back.

“I couldn't help myself but think of you.” He begged as he doubled the finger inside your soaking cunt, making you cry out in pleasure as your hands grabbed the pillow under your head.

“I can't resist having all of you.” He kissed your clit, making you whimper at the brief contact. He took off his shirt and pants before pulling you by your arm, sitting you on his lap as he took off your blouse and bra. He kissed around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

He moved your position to grind on his bulge, letting out quiet moans as he desperately kissed you. He stopped your hips as he moved to your other nipple, lightly biting it while staring at your glossy eyes, making your breath hitch. He hummed as he sucked the pebbled flesh into his mouth, nibbling on it. He laid your back down, admiring your body as you panted. Your eyes are glistening, and so is your cunt. He groaned at the sight, pushing his hair back and taking his erected cock out of its confinement. He pumped it a few times before you sat up and took it into your hand.

“Let me make you feel good.” Kai stopped your hand, giving a kiss on your forehead. “Fuck.” He murmured as he moved to your lips, sucking on them, making you whimper as you laid back down again.

“Kai, please…” You cried when Kai started to rub his shaft on your slit. Every time his head hits your bud, you let out a whimper, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as you look up at him.

Kai took his time, grunting before pushing the tip inside. You gasped, grabbing the sheets under, feeling the pain as his length invade you. Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him let out low growls. You felt tears in your eyes as you watched half of his length disappear inside you. Kai took your hand, intertwining your fingers. He kissed your tears.

“Am I hurting you?” Kai shushed when you hissed, feeling a hint of pain as he filled you. His other hand began rubbing circles on your clit to ease the burn from the stretch.

"No,"

Kai kissed your hand when he was entirely in, giving you time to adjust. You look gorgeous underneath him. Legs wide open,mouth slightly parted, and body glistening under the dim lights of his room.

Kai started moving slowly when you nod your head, until your whimpers turned into moans. His name echoed in whispers, as you clawed on the skin of his back, leaving red marks. He was cradling your head, and his lips pressed on your ear. He was whispering the sweetest things to you.

“The things you do to me,” Kai whispers, kissing your ear lobes. "I can't even look at anyone else now."

“Yes, yes, Kai, please…” You begged as his hips started to thrust harder into you.

“Fuck.” He groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. He could tell that you were both close. Your walls spasmed around him, and his thrust started to stutter.

“Look at me.” He stared into your eyes, feeling your orgasm take over your body. His mouth reaches for your sweet lips, your toes curling as your legs wrap around his waist. Kai thrustied into you a few more times before pulling out to spill his thick load on your thighs.

It was slow, and it was soft, the way he helped you clean up. No magic. Just his hands and yours, sleeves rolled up, fingers brushing as you folded the same blanket twice just to have an excuse to linger near each other. The silence between you wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. It was full.

Your scent clung to the air; a little floral, a little tangy, something warm and alive, like late spring clinging to skin. It was in the sheets, in the corners of the room, in him. He’d never been the type to notice things like that, but here he was, trying to memorize how the air felt with you in it.

You were fussing with the pillows now, distracted, focused on symmetry but he was just watching you.

“I’m going to work every day,” His voice was low, almost rough with restraint. “I’ll work every fucking day, just to follow you.”

You feel your eyes burn.

“Why?” you asked, voice almost a whisper. “Why would you change for me?”

Kai’s eyes found yours. “Because you made me want to,”

It's the truest thing he’d ever said in his life.

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sowerpatch · 2 days ago

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do you have a mad by neyo inspired pazzi fic if no, can you do one pls 🥹 I've been finding fics like that pls IM NOT DEMANDING HEHE JUST TRYNNA REQUEST 🥰💗 THANK YOUU

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: A fight leaves both Paige and Azzi worn out and hurting. They say too much, hold too little back, and everything that has been building finally breaks the surface. But neither of them wants to end the night angry. Love like theirs has never been easy, but it has always been worth staying for. Author's note: this is an AU where Paige doesn't play basketball anymore. And what is with the Ne-Yo song requests? This is the second one I got. Do you like me writing angst that much? LOL. I hope this is what you're looking for @anon Warning: Sexual content Word count: 2,631

Four months into Azzi’s rookie season, their apartment felt more like a stopover than a home. The nights together were growing fewer, their routines out of sync. Paige didn’t ask for much. She told herself she was adjusting. This was Azzi’s dream, after all.

It was supposed to be hers, too.

She had spent her entire youth chasing it. Summer tournaments. AAU. The long winters at UConn, packed arenas and national headlines.

Then her knee gave out.

Again.

That second injury had ended everything. No professional contract. No farewell tour. No chance to prove she belonged on the same stage Azzi was now thriving on.

Instead, she worked ten-hour days building media campaigns for brands she didn’t care about, fielding Slack messages and pretending her past life didn’t ache in her chest every time she opened Instagram.

She came home at 6:23 PM. The apartment was quiet except for Azzi’s voice coming from the half-closed bedroom door.

“She’s having a hard time,” Azzi said. “I’m trying to be patient. I just don’t know how much to say without making it worse.”

Paige stood by the door, keys still clutched in one hand. The voice in her head warned her to walk away. Let it go. But her legs didn’t listen.

“I feel like I’m walking around her grief,” Azzi said, softer this time. “And some days I don’t know if I’m helping or just waiting.”

Paige moved toward the kitchen like her body wasn’t fully attached to her. She put on water to boil and started dinner, methodically cutting up vegetables she didn’t want. Her chest ached and she tried to breathe through it.

Maybe the call had nothing to do with her.

Or maybe it had everything to do with her.

Either way, she had already heard enough.

By the time Azzi walked in, barefoot and in sweatpants, her hair up in a quick twist, Paige had already set the table.

Azzi smiled like nothing was wrong. “Smells amazing.”

Paige handed her a plate. “Eat.”

They sat across from each other, chewing in silence. The walls felt closer tonight.

Azzi broke it first. “You okay?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Azzi put her fork down, finally catching the weight in Paige’s voice. “What’s going on?”

Paige didn’t look at her. “Want to tell me more about how I’m a grief cloud you have to walk around?”

Azzi went still. “You heard that.”

“Hard not to.”

“That wasn’t about you.”

“Then it’s a real coincidence that it felt exactly like it was.”

Azzi sat back in her chair. “It wasn’t.”

“You really want me to believe that?”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you the truth. I was talking to Coach about one of my teammates. She’s been off. I didn’t even say your name.”

“You didn’t need to.”

Paige’s voice wasn’t angry yet. It was quieter than that. The kind of calm that came right before the cut.

“I’ve been trying,” Azzi said. “I didn’t know you were this upset.”

Paige finally looked at her, eyes tired and rimmed with something sharp.

“You didn’t know? You’ve been living next to a walking cautionary tale and you didn’t know?”

Azzi flinched. “That’s not what I see when I look at you.”

“Because you don’t look long enough.”

“Stop putting that on me.”

Paige stood, pacing away from the table. Her arms wrapped tight around her waist. “You want to know what it’s like? I spent my whole life working for something. Every summer, every rep, every day when I didn’t want to get up. I gave everything to this sport. And I didn’t get to choose when it ended.”

Azzi rose slowly. “I know you didn’t.”

“No. You don’t.” Paige turned, eyes wet but defiant. “You still have it. You still get to walk into an arena and feel like your body belongs to you. You still get to be on a team and matter. I clock into a job where no one knows my name. And I come home and pretend like I’m okay watching you live the life I used to want.”

Azzi’s voice was low. “So this is about jealousy.”

Paige’s head dropped, then lifted again with a bitter laugh. “It’s about loss. And you treating that loss like it’s something I’m supposed to be done grieving because it makes your life easier.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither was what happened to me.”

Azzi stepped closer. “You think I don’t feel guilty every time I get good news? Every time a headline says my name and I know it used to be yours?”

Paige said nothing.

“I was scared to say the wrong thing. Scared to make it worse. So I said less. And you took that to mean I stopped caring.”

“It felt like you did.”

Azzi looked at her, face drawn and tired in a way Paige hadn’t seen since draft week. “I’ve been carrying my career with both hands. Trying not to drop it. Trying not to mess it up. But I have been trying to carry us too.”

Paige’s voice dropped. “I never asked you to.”

“You didn’t have to.”

They stared at each other across the width of the small kitchen. The pasta sat untouched between them. Somewhere on the street below, a car alarm went off, then stopped. The room stayed still.

Paige spoke first, her voice barely audible. “If you think I’m angry because you’re successful, you don’t understand me.”

Azzi shook her head. “I think you’re angry because I keep winning while you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.”

Paige turned away, eyes on the sink now. Her voice caught but didn’t break. “You want the truth? I’m scared you’re going to outgrow me.”

Azzi stepped forward again. “Then tell me how to stay.”

There was a pause. Paige didn’t answer. Her fingers gripped the countertop like it was the only solid thing in the room.

Azzi waited.

But the distance between them wasn’t just physical. It had been building for weeks, silently stacking between schedules and silences and everything left unsaid.

And neither of them knew what to do with it now that it had finally surfaced.

The air outside cut against her lungs, but Paige welcomed it.

She had grabbed the first hoodie by the door, still in her socks when she stepped into her shoes. She didn’t even stretch. Just ran. Down the block, past the corner store, past the closed café with the flickering neon light, past a group of teenagers smoking on a bench who didn’t turn to look.

Her breath came in sharp bursts, her knees aching more than they should. She had been careful with them lately. But tonight she needed to feel the burn.

Her body still remembered this. The cadence of feet slamming pavement. The relief in motion. The temporary forgetting.

By the time she circled the block and returned to their building, sweat clung to her skin beneath the cotton. Her chest heaved. She wiped her face with her sleeve, eyes catching the orange glow of their apartment window upstairs.

She almost turned away again.

But she didn’t.

Inside, the lights were still on. The kitchen was untouched. Her half-full plate. Azzi’s untouched one. Nothing had moved. The pasta had dried on the edges.

Then Paige turned the corner into the living room.

Azzi was curled on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. Her face was pressed against the throw pillow, shoulders trembling in that way Paige recognized too well—trying to cry quietly, trying not to let it be heard.

Paige froze in the doorway. Every part of her wanted to retreat, to give Azzi space. But her feet stayed planted.

Azzi didn’t look up right away. When she did, her eyes were red.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Paige’s voice came softly. “I almost didn’t.”

Azzi nodded. Her lips were parted, but she said nothing else.

Paige sat on the floor in front of the couch, legs bent, arms draped over her knees. She didn’t look at her at first.

“I didn’t go out because of what you said,” she began. “I went out because of what I almost said.”

Azzi didn’t speak.

Paige kept going. “I was going to say something I’d regret. And I didn’t want that to be the last thing between us tonight.” Her hands shifted, fingers curling. “We fight like we’re trying to win. But I never want to win if it means hurting you.”

Azzi reached forward, slowly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to. Her hand brushed Paige’s shoulder. That was all.

“I didn’t mean to talk around you,” Azzi said quietly. “I was trying to protect something, but I think I ended up pushing you out of it instead.”

“You don’t have to protect me.”

“I don’t know what else to do. You come home every day and try to smile. You cook. You ask about my schedule. And I can feel how much you’re holding inside. But I don’t know how to touch it without making it worse.”

Paige’s voice cracked. “It already hurts. You don’t make it worse.”

Azzi slid off the couch and joined her on the floor, legs folding beside Paige’s. Their knees touched.

“I hated seeing you in pain,” Azzi said. “Back when it happened. I hated that I still had games to play and you were stuck watching. And now I’m living the dream we used to share. And I keep thinking, how is that fair?”

“It isn’t.” Paige didn’t say it with malice. Just truth. “But it’s not your fault either.”

Azzi’s fingers curled in the fabric of Paige’s sleeve. “I love you.”

The words hovered in the space between them, soft but heavy.

Paige looked at her, eyes tired, but less guarded now. “I love you too. I’m sorry.”

Azzi leaned her forehead against Paige’s. The contact was warm. Familiar. Tethering.

“I don’t want to go to bed mad at you,” she whispered.

Paige let out a breath. “I don’t want you to go to bed mad at me.”

They sat like that for a while. No need to apologize again. The words were already there, tucked into the things they didn’t say.

Azzi’s arm slipped around her waist, and Paige let herself lean in, resting her cheek against Azzi’s shoulder. The hoodie was soft. Worn down by wash cycles and late nights. The kind of comfort Paige used to find in gym bags and shooting drills. Now it lived here.

Azzi’s voice returned, even softer. “I’m going to mess up sometimes.”

“So will I.”

“But I’ll still choose you.”

Paige closed her eyes. “I'd rather have you in my life than basketball.” Azzi didn’t let go when Paige kissed her. Her arms stayed loosely wrapped around her, her eyes still glassy from crying, her breath caught somewhere between relief and exhaustion. Paige held her in silence for a moment longer, forehead pressed to hers, letting her feel the steadiness of their closeness after everything had splintered.

Then Paige pulled back just enough to look at her. One hand lifted, brushing gently against the side of Azzi’s face, her thumb passing beneath her eye.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Paige murmured. “When you let yourself fall apart a little.”

Azzi’s lips parted, barely forming a reply.

Paige didn’t wait for one. She leaned in and kissed her again, slower this time, tasting her carefully, savoring the way Azzi softened under her touch. The tension between them had shifted, no longer sharp with misunderstanding but ripe with the ache of wanting to be seen, to be chosen, to be held as they were.

Paige moved deliberately, coaxing Azzi to lie back along the couch. She kissed her along the jaw, down her throat, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of Azzi’s hoodie with purpose. The fabric lifted slowly, inch by inch, and Azzi raised her arms to let it go.

Paige’s eyes dragged across her. She took her time, letting herself look.

Azzi’s skin was flushed. Her chest rose in short, careful breaths. Her sports bra came next, and Paige leaned down to kiss the space between her breasts, letting her tongue drag softly there before trailing to one side. Azzi’s back arched, hips shifting against the cushion.

Paige glanced up.

“You okay?”

Azzi nodded, voice already faint. “Please don’t stop.”

“Anything for you baby.”

Paige kissed lower. Her hands slid down Azzi’s waist, hooked in the band of her shorts, and began to ease them down. Azzi lifted her hips, helping. Paige pressed a kiss to her hipbone as the fabric slipped past her thighs. Her mouth followed the motion, kissing along every inch of newly bare skin like it mattered.

And it did. Every part of Azzi mattered.

Paige knelt on the floor in front of the couch, guiding Azzi’s legs apart slowly, with reverence. She pressed kisses to the inside of one thigh, then the other, letting the tension stretch between them. Azzi’s head tilted back against the cushion, her chest rising higher now. Her hand found Paige’s hair and threaded through it gently.

Paige didn’t rush.

She kissed the soft skin where her thigh met her center, then paused—her breath warm, her mouth close enough to feel but not quite touching yet. Azzi whimpered.

“Paige,” she whispered.

“Tell me what you need.”

Azzi exhaled, voice shaky. “Just you.”

That was all Paige needed to hear.

Her mouth met her with a slow, deliberate kiss, her tongue parting her carefully. Azzi cried out softly, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair, her thighs pressing closer around her shoulders. Paige held her open with steady hands, thumbs resting just above her hips, anchoring her as she moved her mouth in slow, languid circles.

Azzi’s whole body reacted, hips rolling upward, breath stuttering.

Paige never let her fall. She moved with purpose, her tongue stroking deeper now, each movement calculated but tender. She changed rhythm when Azzi’s breath caught. She pressed firmer when her legs trembled. Her hands didn’t leave her body, always touching—always saying, I’m here, I’m with you.

Azzi moaned her name again, softer now, more desperate.

“Right there, baby,” she gasped.

Paige gave it to her. The same pressure, the same angle, letting her build. Azzi’s legs trembled. Her back arched harder into the cushions. Her moans grew uneven, breaking with each inhale.

“I’m—” Azzi started, then couldn’t finish.

Paige didn’t stop. She kissed through it, tongue coaxing her to the edge and holding her there until Azzi shattered. Her body shook with release, breath stolen, thighs clenching tight around Paige’s head. Paige stayed with her, kissing softer now, gentler, until the spasms eased and Azzi fell back against the couch fully spent.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Paige kissed the inside of her thigh, then her hip, then her stomach. She rose slowly, moving over her again, careful and quiet. Azzi reached for her, still breathless, and pulled her down into her arms.

Her voice was a whisper.

“That was…”

She couldn’t finish. Paige kissed her shoulder.

“I know.”

Azzi curled into her, limbs tangled, face pressed into the crook of Paige’s neck.

“You always know exactly what I need,” she said.

Paige ran her fingers through Azzi’s hair. “Because I love you.”

Azzi kissed her collarbone, slow and lingering.

“I missed you,” she said.

“I’m right here, not going anywhere.”

And this time, they stayed like that. Tired from everything that had been said, aching from what almost came undone, but wrapped in the one thing they still believed in.

Love that had weathered a hundred storms and still knew exactly where home was—right here, in each other’s arms.

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

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xoxosierralane · 19 hours ago

Text

| ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴ |

✎ from sierra: hii sweets, i know this is a little late lol.. but home love island they stressing me tf out (if u watch ttm!!). But anyways this is really just an opening to this little series yum still working on, if you guys like this enough i will definitely keep continuing. Also if you wanna be on the tab list just lmk and i got you !

✎ synopsis: Azzi Fudd didn’t plan to see Paige Bueckers again. She didn’t plan to feel anything either—not the nostalgia, not the anger, and definitely not the ache in her chest. But when the past walks back into the same room—wearing a ring and someone else’s name—plans don’t really stand a chance. Some people move on. Some people move home. And some people… never stop wondering what if. This wasn’t the plan. But when has anything ever gone according to plan?

✎ taglist: @asapeveryday @thaatdigitaldiary

Azzi Fudd—that’s me.

Or at least, it’s the name they put on magazine covers, Instagram tags, and those weird commercials for skincare products where I smile like there’s no tomorrow.

Nothing real. Nothing close to the truth.

Because if you’d looked harder, you’d see the silence beneath the noise.

The way I disappeared.

The half-smile that never quite made it past my lips.

Leaving? That was the easy part.

Coming back? That’s the one that really hits.

—

Airports and I have an understanding: I hate them.

They smell like fake soap and stress you can’t avoid, and this one was no exception.

Hoodie pulled halfway up, suitcase dragging behind like it owed me money. Not really rushing. At least not anymore.

Today wasn’t another gig, another brand deal, another event I was supposed to pretend I cared about.

I was just… back. Washington.

For better. Or worse.

My phone buzzed nonstop the minute I landed. I didn’t even need to look.

I knew it was Aaliyah, she’s been texting me more and more ever since I told her I would be coming back home.

lili 💕 (12:11 PM): did you land???

lili 💕 (12:12 PM): how was the flight

lili 💕 (12:13 PM): DID YOU BRING ME ANYTHING

lili 💕 (12:14 PM): azzi jazlyn mf fudd.

lili 💕 (12:14 PM): why do you hate me??

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. Some things don’t change.

(12:15 PM): oh please

(12:15 PM): the government is crazy and foul lili

(12:15 PM): also pls stop texting 4 times in 2 minutes

lili 💕 (12:16 PM): sue me???

lili 💕 (12:16 PM): i’m hungry we’re getting lunch together!

(12:16 PM): bold of you to think i haven’t eaten since yesterday

lili 💕 (12:16 PM): what’s wrong w u

(12:16 PM): next question

(12:17 PM): calling a cab, try not to rush me i WILL stay home.

Acting calm was the plan. But inside, I was losing it.

I hadn’t had something to look forward to in months. Maybe years.

Cold hit my face stepping outside like it was punching a bag labeled Azzi Fudd.

Welcome back, Washington. (kill me.)

My career? Thriving in its own weird way.

Modeling worked out better than basketball ever did.

People still recognized me. “Oh, you’re the one who hates Gatorade.”

Yeah. I hate it. Passionately. Coconut water overrules easily.

But me? I was a mess.

Emotionally? A bigger mess.

Romantically? Don’t even ask.

The divorce was quiet.

Just a handful of people knew about the year I spent undoing the damage he did—his insecurities, his control, the noise that wasn’t love.

And now? He was gone, I thank the man above.

lili 💕 (12:19): i have news IMPORTANT news which you need to hurry your ass here for :)

(12:25 PM): on my way. what’s the tea?

aaliyah (12:25 PM): not telling. but it’s good. you might even scream.

(12:26 PM): better not be no new gatorade flavor you’re excited about

aaliyah (12:27 PM): you’re dramatic

(12:30 PM): literally poison, y’all sick

I dropped my phone on my lap and leaned back.

This place wasn’t home anymore.

But at least I didn’t have to pretend today.

Soon, overpriced brunch with the one person who made me feel okay when nothing else did.

I didn’t know it yet, but this was the beginning.

Not perfect. Not easy.

But real.

The cab was quiet—the kind of quiet I liked.

Tipped the driver like I was throwing cash at my anxiety.

Brain fueled by airplane snacks and two hours of sleep.

Pulling up to my mom’s place felt like rewinding a VHS.

Same cracked driveway with the basketball court. Same faded welcome mat yelling Come in and stay awhile.

Key under the mat (because yes, mom still did that), and there she was—Katie, scrubbing dishes like I hadn’t just flown cross-country, like none of the last few years even happened.

“Az!”

Her voice was warm, like a hug you never wanted to let go of.

She hugged me tight. I hugged back harder than I meant to. Missed this. Wouldn’t say it.

“I thought you landed at three,” Mom said, studying my face. “You look tired. Hungry?”

I was about to lie.

Then Dad’s voice came from down the hall.

“Who’s that? My superstar?”

Tim grinned like he always did, like he had no clue.

I laughed. “Hi, Dad.”

“How’s LA? How’s Jackson? He with you?”

Damn it dad really?

“Dad. We’re divorced. Remember?”

His smile slipped like he was caught in a sitcom dad moment.

“Oh—right. You told us. Or—after?”

I gave him a look.

He scratched his neck. “Aaliyah said something first. Figured I’d wait for you to say it official—”

Mom smacked his arm with a towel. “You weren’t supposed to say that.”

I shook my head, heading for the door. “Y’all are unbelievable.”

“Y’know we just love you!” Mom called after me.

“Uh huh sure.”

“Where you headed?” Dad asked, disappearing into the pantry.

“Lunch.”

“Oh, you and Paige catching up already?”

I froze.

Not dramatic. Just paused. Like my brain short-circuited and rebooted.

Paige. That name. I hadn’t heard it in months. Maybe years.

I looked back slow. “Paige?”

Mom nodded, sipping coffee. “Yeah. She moved back after you left. You didn’t know?”

“Mm mm.” I shook my head.

Suddenly I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Or my brain.

Paige was back.

She was here.

Why wouldn’t the universe wait for me to be freshly divorced, scrambled, unprepared?

Mom tilted her head. “I thought you two were still close after everything. Best friends don’t just stop talking.”

I was about to say something when—

Honk.

A loud, dramatic honk from outside.

I moved to the window, already knowing what I’d see.

Aaliyah, sunglasses on, head out the window like she was about to start a protest.

“AZZI. DO YOU NOT CHECK YOUR PHONE?! LET’S GO!”

I didn’t say anything to the crazy canadian. Just looked at my parents, waved like everything was normal, and booked it out the door.

Aaliyah stared like I owed her rent once I got in the car.

“Do you have government-level Do Not Disturb or something? I’ve been waiting ten minutes. This is disrespectful.”

I laughed. “Hi to you too.”

“You’re annoying.”

“I missed you.”

“Drive.”

She did.

I didn’t say anything about Paige. Not yet.

Some things you don’t unpack in the car.

But I felt it. The knot in my stomach.

The one that only shows up with that name.

Aaliyah drives like her life depends on it, even when it doesn’t. One hand on the wheel, one scrolling Spotify, acting like she didn’t just honk up a storm.

“You want music or no?”

“Your call. But no moody playlist.”

“It’s actually good.”

“Depression.”

“You literally just got divorced.”

“Woww really?”

“I missed you. What do you want me to say?”

“Something nice?”

“Your hair looks good.”

I ran my hand through my curls, smirking. “Thanks.”

“Better than when you were with what’s-his-face.”

“Jackson.”

“Right. The walking dry erase board.”

I laughed. “You’re mean.”

“Honest.”

“He looked like he called his mom before every decision.”

“You hated him from day one.”

“You fumbled your twenties.”

I laughed again. Felt good. Like exhaling after holding your breath too long. “Enough about my tragic past. What about you and Prince Charming?”

“Don’t call him that.”

“You called him ‘God’s apology for your exes’ last time.”

“Okay, true. But now he’s into Formula 1 and thinks he’s a pro driver.”

“Real love.”

“Shut up. Anyway, this is about you. Your ‘starting over’ era.”

“Enough.”

“Girl you modeled for Vogue.”

“Digital Vogue.”

“Still Vogue.”

I stared out the window. City the same but not. Or maybe I was. My timeline never matched everyone else’s. Basketball didn’t go like Paige’s or the others’. It stings.

“I feel behind.”

“Behind what?”

“Everyone. Everything. Like I’m still figuring it out.”

“The finish line’s fake. Nobody’s really ‘there.’ They’re just pretending better.” I smiled. Sounds like something mom or Paige might’ve said before everything changed. “This got deep.”

“Restart. Tell me something dumb.”

“I still hate Gatorade. Whole chest hate.”

“You’re the only basketball player ever who says that.”

“I’m not a player anymore.”

“Still hoop in your sleep.”

“Trauma.”

“Okay Dr. Phil, relax.”

We laughed. The silence between felt like understanding. Aaliyah pulled up to the cafe more aggressively than needed.

“I’ve been holding this in for days.”

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“That face where you pretend not to care but don’t blink for three minutes.”

I threw the door open.

“No idea what you mean.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

I shrugged. “Spill.”

We sat barely ten minutes before I started bouncing my leg. “Spill. You’ve been dying to tell me since yesterday. She sipped water. “Let’s ease into it?”

“No. Sun’s out. You’re suspicious. Spill.” She groaned. “Why do you always bully me?”

“Because you have a big mouth until it matters.” She smiled nervously. “Okay. I’m engaged.”

I gasped loud. Old couple nearby flinched.

“Shut up. Lying.”

“Nope.”

“Shut up!”

“Stop yelling.”

“Will not! You’re engaged??”

“Yes.”

I grabbed her hand. “Where’s the ring? How? When? Who?” She blushed. “Boat ride. Cheesy. Sweet. I cried a lot.”

I sat back clutching my chest. “This is so cute. I’m so happy for you lili.”

Then she muttered something.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Aaliyah.”

“I’m doing a double engagement party…with Paige.”

I blinked. “With who?”

“Paige. She’s engaged too. And her fiancé is kind of cool.”

My brain blue-screened. Hands dropped.

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“To Paige Bueckers.”

“Yes.”

Jaw open. “You knew she was here? Engaged? And you dropped this mid-convo like it was nothing?”

“I thought it’d be fine.”

“Aaliyah.”

“Okay, yes, I screwed up. Don’t kill me, but you guys can’t avoid each other forever Az.” She said with her fake sappy face. “I’m not avoiding anything okay?” I said knowing damn well.

I dropped my face in my hands. “Need a drink.”

“It’s noon.”

“Exactly.”

“You were actually exciting to see.”

“I am.”

She smiled nervous. “If it makes you feel better—”

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

“I mean—ugh. Double engagement party?”

“Not planned that way!”

I looked up at the ceiling. “Did you ask how I’d feel being in the same room as Paige Bueckers and her fiancé?”

She winced. “No.”

“Oh great. Reassuring.”

Silent clinking. My mind racing.

“She’s not supposed to be here.”

“Where?”

“In Washington.”

“She grew up here too.”

“Okay, like six years.”

“You don’t own the city.”

“I’m just saying. She left, I left. I thought—”

“You thought you could pretend she didn’t exist?”

I said nothing. Jaw clenched.

“She’s not Voldemort.”

“Shut up.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen her, but I already feel hit by a bus.”

“It’s okay if you cancel. Don’t come.”

“Miss your party? I’m petty not heartless.”

She smiled. “That’s my girl.”

“But if she looks at me like I’m that same girl from college—”

“You’ll what?”

“Probably cry. on my fifth glass of champagne.”

She snorted. “So dramatic.”

“Says the girl who fake-passed out so a guy wouldn’t break up with her.”

“Bought me three more days.”

I laughed, tired but real. Looked out at the cloudy sky. People walking by. Couples holding hands. Dogs in sweaters. Phone-yelling men.

The world spins. Doesn’t care who’s married, heartbroken, or pretending not to be wrecked by a name no one says out loud.

“You think she’ll actually show with her?”

Aaliyah paused. “It’s her party too. But Paige is Paige.”

I nodded. True.

Silence thick. Not awkward. Just heavy. I pulled out my phone. She peeked.

“Who ya texting there?” Jeez ms nosy.

“No one.”

I lied.

Almost typed Paige’s name.

Almost sent a text.

But didn’t.

Not yet. Maybe never.

Smiled at Aaliyah. “Dessert?”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “You’re taking this better than I thought.” I shrugged. “Growth.”

But my mind spun fast—dangerously—whenever Paige Bueckers was involved. Because I’m good at hiding. Too good. Hiding cracks in my marriage. Bruises from love that wasn’t love. Late at night, I still dream in jump shots, gold medals, blonde ponytails, and what-if.

Years of practice folding feelings into sharp-edged smiles. Yeah, I looked fine. If Aaliyah could see inside, she’d cancel the party.

Instead, I speared a piece of cheesecake. Ate it like I wasn’t thinking about the last time Paige hugged me.

Smelled like spearmint and stress and something I can’t name. “Mmm. You’re paying.”

She side-eyed me. “Emotional blackmail. Toxic.”

I smiled. Dimples and all. “Learned from the best.” Outside, rain finally picked a side. Soft and quiet. The kind that makes you remember.

I didn’t look out the window again.

I didn’t have to.

The past was already here.

And oh boy was I not ready to go back.

——

Most people think heartbreak is loud.

That it kicks down the door and wrecks everything in its path. That it screams. Demands. Destroys.

But sometimes it’s quiet.

Sometimes it waits.

Lurks in the corners of your good days, and whispers on the bad ones. Like the song you swore you deleted. Like the sweatshirt you still sleep in. Like a name that still makes your chest pull in strange directions.

Paige Bueckers is in love.

That’s what she tells herself every morning, brushing her teeth in a bathroom she shares with the woman she’s going to marry.

That’s what she tells Taryn, when they hold hands across the table, planning wedding playlists and reception seating like none of it feels like choreography.

That’s what she tells Aaliyah. When she’s brave enough to ask.

And maybe she is.

Maybe this is love.

Not the kind that explodes.

But the kind that folds your laundry. Buys oat milk. Remembers your mom’s birthday.

Love with clean lines and good lighting.

But sometimes, when the world goes quiet—

She still thinks about her.

Azzi.

She’s not supposed to.

It’s been years. People move on. People grow. People change. But memory doesn’t care about growth.

Memory’s a cruel little thing.

It brings her back anyway.

And sometimes, that’s worse than forgetting.

———

The morning starts like most do.

Paige wakes up to the smell of eggs she always asks for the night before and a Spotify playlist that sounds like it’s personally attacking her sleep schedule.

Taryn’s singing. Loud. Enthusiastic. Completely off-key. It’s 8:52 a.m. and already the kitchen is full of syrup and sunshine.

And love.

Real love.

So Paige gets up. Smiles. Stretches like everything in her body and head isn’t heavy. She grabs the hoodie off the chair—Taryn’s favorite one to steal—and pads into the kitchen barefoot.

“You’re awake!” Taryn beams. She’s flipping pancakes with way too much joy for someone who worked a night shift. “You ruined the breakfast-in-bed surprise. Rude.”

Paige kisses her cheek. “M’bad. Smelled the cinnamon, had to come .”

Taryn laughs. “I gotta keep my fiancée on her toes.”

Paige smiles again. It almost reaches her eyes.

She should feel full. Loved. Settled.

But there’s a flicker.

A familiar static in the back of her head.

Azzi.

Still there.

Even now.

Even here.

Paige takes a bite of pancake. Nods like it tastes perfect. Doesn’t mention how it sticks to her throat. She pretends she doesn’t notice the ring on her finger feels tighter today.

———

Earlier today

The message comes at 9:42 a.m.

Right as Paige is rinsing out a protein shake she didn’t finish.

aaliyah (9:42 AM): btw. azzi’s in town. like. now.

also. don’t freak out

also. don’t throw up

also. don’t be weird at the party ! bye!

The phone doesn’t vibrate again. It doesn’t need to. Paige just stares. Until the screen fades to black. Then flips it face down like it burned her.

Azzi.

Back.

Here.

Now.

Washington was supposed to be safe. This city was supposed to be after. Not again.

Her hands are wet from the sink. But they’re shaking, so she blames the water. She continues her day folding laundry. Answering emails. Working out and overthinking. Halfway through, she realizes she’s folding that hoodie again.

The one Azzi used to steal.

The one Azzi wore the night they said too much and not enough. Taryn walks in, gym bag slung over her shoulder.

“You good?” she asks. Paige doesn’t flinch. Too well-practiced. “Yeah. Just… thinking.” Taryn raises an eyebrow. “Scary.”

“Shut up.”

Taryn kisses her forehead. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She means it. She does.

But her chest stays quiet.

The rest of the day is a blur.

Paige doesn’t cry. She doesn’t fall apart. She’s grown. She’s evolved. She makes slushies and answers calls. But her brain keeps looping back.

To Azzi’s laugh in the tunnel before games.

To the way she said Paige’s name when no one was listening.

To that fight. That ending. That almost.

She opens Instagram.

Azzi’s profile is now public after having her blocked every other month.

Paige scrolls.

Just once.

Just enough to see that smile. The effortless one that used to be hers to witness.

She closes the app. Opens it again five minutes later.

She types out a message.

Deletes it.

Types it again.

Closes her phone like it said something unforgivable.

She throws it onto the couch.

Watches it bounce.

Tells herself she’s fine.

Tells herself she’s over it.

Tells herself she’s happy.

Tells herself she’s in love.

Repeats it until it sounds like static.

———

There’s a pair of sneakers in the back of her closet.

White with gold trim.

Barely worn.

Azzi once said they were her favorite.

Paige almost donates them every year.

But they’re still there.

Still clean.

Still hers.

Like a maybe she never let go of.

Like a version of herself she keeps buried under meal prep and wedding plans. Somewhere across the city, Azzi is back. And Paige is pretending her whole body didn’t react to that message like it was a live wire.

She sits on the couch. Legs folded. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands.

She thinks about texting her again.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she whispers her name into an empty room like it might echo.

“Azzi.”

She says it soft. Like an apology. Like a prayer.

Like she’s still in love with a memory.

Like she doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore.

Because maybe love isn’t loud.

Maybe it’s quiet.

Maybe it’s the part of you that never really left.

Even when you swore you moved on.

Paige Bueckers is in love.

She just doesn’t know who with.

Not anymore.

#from:sierra 🌺#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fics #sierrasworks 🌺#uconn wbb

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