#and like!! this is such a chapter!! a very chapter

[baepsays]

I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN) ‧₊˚𓇢𓆸 ⸻ clan head Gojo

CHAPTER THREE: Pink Camellias

𓍯𓂃 pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

𓍯𓂃 description⋙ navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.

𓆰𓆪 cw in this chapter⋙ canon divergence, NSFW, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, one sided conflict, one sided pining, eventually both sided pining, so much yearning, slow burn, in a sort of eccentric way ngl, suggestive stuff, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, angst, some fluff, eventually fully hashtag trust chat, Mr. wife guy (non derogatory), condescending Gojo, down bad Gojo, this is a very rollercoaster chapter, less sad than last one.

𓍯𓂃 a/n: art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

word count: 8.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

Gojo Satoru often wonders what kind of flowers there would have been at his funeral if he had remained dead.

Maybe the usual white wreaths of chrysanthemums, or perhaps something more grand. White dahlias, or maybe white roses? Maybe that’d be too hopeful for a funeral. Maybe even in death Gojo Satoru, the one alone honored through heaven and earth, the strongest, cannot have flowers that match his caliber, and maybe it's better to leave these things unanswered. 

Because more often than not, he wonders if there would’ve been a funeral to even begin with—because something tells him his body would have been preserved for ages to come, displayed in some glass case, or hung up on some wall. Like a war-winning sword, too rusty and worn out to use, but gallant as ever to boast and display as a threat over the enemies’ heads. 

And he wonders if that was the death he would've been satisfied with. If he would've gladly passed away, knowing there would not even have been a grave with his name on it. But then again, death does not knock at your door with options in its hands. You do not get to choose how, where, or when you were born, and neither do you get a say about these things in death. Even if you lose all your hope and will to live, death is supposedly always predetermined. Even if you are Gojo Satoru, no, maybe especially if you are Gojo Satoru, these things are simply out of his hands.

Maybe it is precisely why Gojo Satoru has not let his guard down many times in his life. Because whenever he did, he met his eventual demise.

Time and time again, he was proven right that he could not let himself be treated like any other human. Or even get treated humanely enough to begin with—that it is not possible for him to exist if it is not to aid others' peaceful existence. Even if he does not understand the better part of humanity, the majority that occupies this earth, the people for whom he relentlessly serves quietly and loses his friends. His existence signified something bigger than the deities in heaven, the ‘Gojo’ name attached to him meant more than his given name, and his powers required more acknowledgement than his identity.

He is a deeply flawed person for someone meant for greatness and divinity. 

Sometimes he thinks maybe that he wasn’t meant to be the bearer of the burden. He came to believe more in strength above virtues and all. He became someone who cannot accept his emotions, as they always turned out to be his most fatal weaknesses. The past that haunted him and the future that terrified him—how they crippled him and obstructed the path he wanted to carve out for the generations after him.

Though what truly prevented him from understanding what he stood against was himself.

No one is Gojo Satoru’s biggest enemy other than himself. No one truly cared about Gojo Satoru's failures more than himself. And no one wished more than Gojo Satoru that the world one day would finally get fed up with him enough to finally leave him alone.

And that is probably the biggest tragedy of Gojo Satoru's entire existence. The things he never understood and the things he refused to understand—those are the true reasons behind his demise. And the reasons why he never became anything more than a cautionary tale. The god who failed to gauge his opponent’s strength and met his eventual death. Truly the fate of a tragic hero is to crumble and die during the most crucial of times. Shining under the spotlight during the climax, lying lifelessly on the ground in a pool of his own blood, with a smile on his face.

So what if he could feel the ground soaking in his blood, pooling underneath him, cooling down as his consciousness slowly drifted away into some abyss he did not think he'd return from? If it meant that his loved ones got to have another shot at survival at the cost of his life depleting from his cold corpse, he would not mind that choice, again and again. 

Maybe finally, then, the world had enough of Gojo Satoru. Maybe his life was enough of a bargain, perhaps not the first time, but the second time around, it was the prize for restraint. 

But dead or alive, he will always remain the enigma, the unmatched, the strongest, and the honored one. In life or death, the biggest weapon of jujutsu society, and in the entire existence of this world, is nothing more than a myth. That only manifested once in a few centuries and eons.

When the cold winter air becomes warm, and spring starts to quickly flee, the cherry blossoms all fall off the tree. 

It is disheartening to see once full and pink trees lacking those hues. But when the ground gets covered by those fallen petals, and the air smells sweet, those trees start to sprout little leaves. The shiny little light shade of greens that pop up signifies that summer was just around the corner. Time for new beginnings to turn into age-old stories.

And yet, for one couple suffering from the great effects of misunderstandings created by their unfortunate circumstances and their poor understanding of emotions, it was misery.

To be completely honest, you have often wondered how things would have been if you had married an unkind man instead. If instead of averting his gaze from you, he looked you in the eye and told you that he could not stand you. Maybe things would have been easier that way. Maybe it would have been easier to hate him like that. It would have been predictable at least, the same age-old stories you have been watching unfold with your grandparents, your parents, and almost every lady who was unfortunate enough to have been born at the same status as you. And maybe you would have become one of them, ignored, neglected, bitter, and forgotten. It would be way easier then to keep to yourself in the boundaries that you have established for yourself in this estate, and there would not be any presence of this nagging feeling to cross them constantly. 

It’d have been easier that way to understand why Gojo Satoru looked like he was suffering through deep pains when you were anywhere near him. 

Instead, now you are left with your incomprehensible personal thoughts and actions. Why, despite all the kindness he showed you—more than what most husbands of arranged alliances have probably shown to their spouses—could you not bring yourself to be satisfied with just that? Could you not be glad that he was not at least similar to the men you have grown up around? Could you not accept that bare minimum? Have you been foolishly expecting some whirlwind romance to sweep you off your feet? 

You should not bite the hands that are feeding you. Just because for once someone has given you some respect in this society that holds you a prisoner does not mean you get to act like a fool. It is crucial you understand your place in this equation. You are a normal and weak human being, somehow tied to the strongest— Gojo Satoru, the once-in-a-lifetime myth of this jujutsu society. 

Though you must say, you never really understood the myth of Gojo Satoru. So self-sacrificial and benevolent, all for what? 

But it does not take understanding to worship a myth. You were aware of that when you gave up all your hope in the heavens above, when you saw others closing their eyes and praying for everything their hearts desired, while you stood there blinking and wondering what the point of all of this was. What was the point of asking God to pardon you from the inevitable? Things like birth, sacrifices, hatred, and death. And like these many inevitabilities, it just happened to be that you married a man who is as mythical as the gods in heaven; perhaps that is why you don't really get him. But perhaps he was a god you could finally believe in or a myth you could worship? 

But what was the point of worshiping your husband when you cannot truly love him?

And you cannot make any sense out of this bizarre relationship you have come to form with him. Not truly a husband, neither a lover, but more than an acquaintance, less than a friend. It is not that you enjoy being around him, but you get anxious when you do not see him for prolonged periods of time. You do not seek his approval, but you wish to appease him. Inevitabilities cannot be avoided, but things like love and affection can be carved out of a stone. And perhaps you have started to fool yourself into thinking that you are deserving of such a thing when you are stuck in a relationship lacking those feelings.

It is exceptionally greedy to want so much from a god, to want more and more from him when he has given up his literal life for others. So how could you ask your human husband, on par with the gods, to become the truly idealized husband you secretly always hoped for? 

Hasn't he given you enough?

“Ma’am? MA’AM!” Mia, one of the girls given the responsibility to look after your immediate needs, called you out of your daydreaming. 

“Are you alright, Gojo-san? You have been looking lost for the past couple of days.” Suki leaned down to fix your makeup while Mia continued to work on your hair. Mornings have never had such a routine for you. 

“Yes, yes, I am. Do not mind me. Also, you two should stop addressing me as Gojo-san.” Your voice dimmed out of shyness.

“But we cannot, ma’am, orders from Gojo-sama.” Mia smiled at you in the mirror and went back to fixing your hair. 

Their concern was justified. Since what happened with your husband at the lake, things have been awkward between the two of you. You have been anxiously hiding away from him, directly calling Ichiji to ask about the dinner preparations, and trying to delay your breakfast until he goes to his home office in the left wing or gets called out for meetings or work, even going as far as to have dinner earlier or later than usual by yourself with some lazy excuse. Because it was embarrassing. 

Why did you even say those things to him at the lake? Did it even matter? Even if he hated you, did that matter? Or was it the fact that he didn't deny it even once?

Instead, you've started getting bouquets of flowers from him every day. He never shows up to deliver them or hand them to you himself; it is either one of the staff or Ichiji who gets them to you. Sometimes the staff will decorate them in a pretty vase on the dining table or on the little coffee table in front of the windows by the armchair in your bedroom, and other times they’d be wrapped up neatly in some sort of decorative paper in an intricately arranged bouquet. And every time you look at those gorgeous flowers, they make you think about just how shallow this relationship is.

“Good morning, Gojo-san. Late again, huh?” The chef said, as you sat yourself at the little dining table in the corner of the kitchen, mostly used by the kitchen staff, and now you.

“Good morning, Suzuki-san, just been tired lately.” You flashed him one of your practiced fake smiles. But unfortunately, in the brief period of time he has come to know you, he got a hold on how you actually look when you smile. When you eat the dessert at the end of the meal, the way your face lights up can be easily distinguished from when you force yourself to eat cucumbers and put on this smile after swallowing them down with what looks like ease. 

“No cucumbers in the salad today.” He gave you a smile before setting it down with the rest of your breakfast. 

“Thank you very much.” You sheepishly thanked him before digging into your meal, hungry from making yourself wait to have the first meal of your day. All just to avoid running into your husband.

“So, what flower is it today?” The chef asked with his back turned towards you; he only chimed in once you were about halfway through eating your food. Even though he was busy tidying up the kitchen and putting away dishes, the nonchalance with which he asked the question had mirth in it.

His question made you think back to the lilies sitting in your room, tall, beautiful, and fragrant, in hues of pink and white. You only looked at them once in passing when Suki mentioned where she should place them. And you offhandedly told her, ‘anywhere.’ As gorgeous as they were, they meant nothing. Just a sad apology for a sad situation. Where it feels as if you both are at fault, but also not quite really. 

“Lilies.” 

“Oh, my granddaughter loves them!” 

“Would you like to take them back with you?” 

You offered him the flowers more enthusiastically after you finished the rest of your coffee, but the chef stiffened up. 

“Oh, ma’am, that is so kind of you, but I cannot do that.” Mr. Suzuki rubbed his hand dry once he was done cleaning up, and he fully turned towards you to deny your offer.

“Why not? I am sure they will stay fresh for a few days. If you are concerned that the flowers will wilt, With your dirty plates and mug, dodging Mr. Suzuki’s attempt to take them off your hands, you walked towards the sink.

“It is not that-just—” 

“You know you can speak freely with me, Suzuki-san.” You continued to wash the dirty plates as Mr. Suzuki kept fretting beside you. 

“Gojo-sama got them for you. How could I—” The chef nervously tried to explain to you. 

“Technically he gave them away to me, so now they are mine, and I can do as I please with them.” Mr. Suzuki kept staring at you, blinking away, with nothing to refute your analogy.

“I would rather they wither with someone who actually wants them.” You finally looked at him after drying your hands, with a pleading voice.

“Oh, now you are making me feel bad.” Mr. Suzuki smiled at you sympathetically. He was stuck in a dilemma. On one hand was his employer, the head of the clan, the kid he saw growing up into a fine young man, for whom he couldn't help but root. And on the other hand was you, the new madame of the estate, the timid little girl whom he has come to think of like his own granddaughter.

“If it makes you accept them, then sure.”

“I insist, please.” The way you looked at Mr. Suzuki, with your face scrunched in a little sad frown, the old man could not help but concede.

“All right.” The old man said with a long sigh. But your smile and incessant thank yous made him smile to himself when you skipped out of the kitchen, happy to have successfully negotiated something in your life for once.

Mr. Suzuki was glad to have made you happy and could already imagine how happy his granddaughter would be as well when she sees those flowers tonight when he gets back home. 

Yet he couldn't help but feel pity and a tinge of pang in his chest for your husband.

Gojo Satoru often wonders what kind of flowers there would have been at his funeral if he had remained dead.

Recently, he has been thinking about flowers more often than he used to. But for a completely different reason.

Since that night at the lake, he has been trying to come up with different ways to express how apologetic he is. Which is hard for Gojo Satoru. There haven't been many instances where he had to genuinely apologize for hurting someone's feelings. And no, it is not because he is some compassionate, empathetic soul; he just has the power, strength, and wealth to get away with anything. 

It is true that privilege makes you blind. Gojo Satoru realized that the hard way after he married you. He has unfortunately hurt you one too many times in the brief time he's known you, even before he married you. He remembers when, after you two got engaged, he asked your father to have dinner at your house. He wanted to see the place where you grew up; maybe after dinner he'd have asked you for a tour of the estate and a walk in the gardens with you after dinner—to get to know you better. 

And yet his duties didn't let him do that.

Professionally, in the context of the reformed jujutsu society, things have been better overall. Even for him, his messed-up schedule has become somewhat adequate. Now instead of three hours of sleep, he gets five whole hours! Not the hallmark of a healthy sleep routine, but that's an improvement nonetheless.

Unfortunately, on the day of the dinner, he was called away for an emergency meeting. If you asked him now, his opinion would be that it was not important enough to skip dinner with you (and your family). But sadly, even just a few months ago, Satoru wasn't the married, mature man he is currently! Still, the next day when he heard from your father that you didn't eat anything at the table, it stung. 

He told himself he'll make it up to you somehow. And yet, since he married you, he's stepped on all the wrong stones around you. 

This time around, he felt worse. It might have been because he's come to acknowledge his feelings for you. The fact that he has developed slight feelings of affection for you is astonishing. But he does need this to work out between you two, because he can't get married again. It’s all just so tedious! Yeah! That's the reason why. These are feelings similar to when you wish to permanently keep a kitten found on the side of the road, even though you planned on just fostering it.

Or maybe it was the fact that despite all his pretenses, you still managed to see through the facade he has perfected over the years. It scared him, but it made him more and more upset with himself. Not because he failed to fool you, but because everything has been so confusing for him—these feelings he has never truly felt before to this degree, and the lack of understanding he has for them, and the fact that you are getting caught up in this mess of sentiments and getting hurt by him. Unintentionally or not, he made you feel bad about yourself.

He couldn't just live with that. He couldn't just stand there and act like everything was fine. Not when you were ignoring him, avoiding being in his presence, and moving to sleep on the cramped loveseat in your bedroom when you felt like he was deep asleep—as much as your presence pained him, your absence pained him more.

But why was he even feeling all these intense feelings? He would rather not know the answer.

He just wanted to make amends with you as soon as possible. He genuinely does not fancy Ichiji showing up at his door to ask what he'd have for dinner, to relay the answer back to you—he means, the kitchen. 

Satoru wants you to ask him, personally, what he wants for dinner. To have meals with you at the dining table as usual and wake up to your sleeping face, to stare at it for forty-five minutes before getting off the bed. And if he wants things to go back to how they used to be, he needs to say his sorrys. Which he sucks at. So here he was, doing what he was best at—buying things!

And since he doesn't know you well enough, actually, he knows basically nothing about you—he does plan on changing that—except for the fact that you like staring at the trees and the flowers at the lake. Which is why he went with the flowers.

After what happened at the lake, he tried to follow you to your bedroom, but when he got there, you had already locked yourself in the bathroom. In the morning when he woke up, you were not there beside him; the bed on your side looked neat, like it wasn't slept in. He later noticed the blanket and pillows on the loveseat in his bedroom and added two and two together. So he waited at the dining table for you to join him for breakfast with a bouquet of tulips. And when you didn't show up even then, well past breakfast, he had no other choice but to leave the bouquet with someone to hand it over to you. 

Later that night, when he found those tulips arranged in a pretty glass vase on the dining table, his entire face lit up. He sat down in his chair, expecting you to join him, and when you didn't, he went to the kitchen and got to know you ate earlier before he arrived. Then when he went to your room to look for you, he found the little card, saying sorry in his handwriting—that he slipped into the bouquet—in the trashcan in his bathroom. And he understood that you, in fact, hadn't accepted either the bouquet or the apology. 

But Gojo Satoru is nothing if not persistent! Since then, he kept getting you different varieties of flowers. Telling himself that, at least one of these days, your heart will melt looking at the pretty blooms. He got sunflowers, more tulips, roses in different colors, lilies, and some varieties of hydrangeas—whatever flowers were in season or he could get with his bottomless wallet.

He’d place the flowers on your nightstand every morning, and when he'd come back home, he'd ask either Mia or Suki if there was any noticeable reaction from you. Often you’d just hand over the flowers after instructing them to place them in a sunny spot. Sometimes they'd tell him that you took some time longer to smell certain flowers, like hydrangeas and lilies, before handing them over—and he'd make a mental note to repeat those flowers on his roaster. 

But the cards with his handwritten sorrys would always end up in the trashcan of your shared bathroom.

Today, he got you an assortment of lilies, pinks and whites, some in full bloom, some still unopened buds. And he hoped that you liked them; maybe you finally smiled a little and kept the card this time. He really hoped that was the case as Ichiji pulled up in the driveway of the Gojo estate.

He kept staring at the mansion from his window. As it got closer and closer, he saw your silhouette at the main entrance. Standing there smiling, bidding goodbye to some staff as they retired for the night, including Chef Suzuki, who was the last one to bid you goodbye with a smile on his face. As he was walking away, Satoru saw a bouquet of flowers in his hands, lilies to be exact. And when he rolled down his window, he saw the same pink and white lilies in the chef's arms. Some of the buds were now partially open, and the flowers he saw blooming in the morning were upright and bigger than before. 

“ICHIJI! STEP ON IT!” Satoru leaned forward and shouted at Ichiji with urgency, making the poor man stiffen up in his seat.

“Y-yes sir!” Ichiji nervously looked back and forth between the glass in front of him and his boss in the rearview mirror as he did what he was instructed to do. 

In that instance, Satoru wished he lived somewhere smaller. An apartment, maybe. One bedroom, one living room, one bathroom, barely a kitchen, a nightmare to live in, but that's all he wished for right now. Somewhere small enough that it wouldn't take thirty minutes for his stupid car to go from the main gate to the main entrance. 

“Oh, fuck it.” 

With those last words, Gojo Satoru teleported away. 

It was almost a routine for you to bid the staff goodbye at the door; after all, they always took such great care of you. Sure, it got lonely at night when most of the people in this massive mansion were gone, but nonetheless you were glad they had loving homes to get back to after a long day of work. It made you somewhat jealous that you never had that, a home to look forward to going back to. You had at least hoped that maybe someday you'd be that home for someone to come back to. But how things are going with your husband seems like it'll stay a wishful dream.

“WAIT!” 

You couldn't help but pick up your pace, hearing Satoru’s voice suddenly speak out from behind you. Even though his legs were longer than yours, you speed-walked as fast as you could and made sure to not turn around even once. Once you took a turn down the hallway that led you into the main part of the estate from the entrance, you couldn't hear his footsteps. 

But you were forgetting there is no point in running from the lion in the lion's den. Especially if the lion can teleport.

From there on, you kept turning around to check if he was following you. Fortunately, you didn't notice his shadow or his voice. Soon enough you were in the hallway that sat between the main part and the right wing of the mansion. 

Calling this place a mansion was honestly not appropriate; the way the structures were built and how every route to one part of the mansion connected to another, the gorgeous lighting down to the lit marble floors—it was nothing less than a castle to you. Including how beautifully this hallway was built. Each hallway that separated the main part of the mansion from the left wing and the right wing was designed to look alike. There were gorgeous pillars that lined up from one end of the hallway to the other end, standing tall on each side of the marble floor that led to the right wing. On each side, between the pillars, there was just enough space to fit an intricately carved statue, or a big vase, or two people. You've only heard how the one leading to the left wing looked exactly the same. 

Whenever you're here, it makes you want to peek into the spaces between the walls and the pillars, but you never got around to doing it. That is until now.

“Got you.” 

Satoru pulled you by your wrist and dragged you with him behind the pillars. He pressed you back to one of the pillars; with both his hands on the pillar behind you, he had you caged between him and the long structure.

“Were you trying to run from me?” He raised one of his eyebrows in question, and something in his voice sounded like a challenge.

“I-I wasn't...” You tried to look away from him and turned your head to the side.

“You really want to do this right now?” He also turned his head and once again looked straight into your eyes. The blue pupils that wavered a few weeks ago to even look in your direction now looked straight into your own irises with no hesitation.

“Just how did you even get here?” Everything about this situation was frustrating. From where you were exactly standing, how close to him you were standing, how his eyes looked at you, and how they didn't even blink for at least a minute straight. 

What a strange man.

“I can teleport if you're forgetting.” His eyes followed your pupils in every direction they moved.

“Right…” You dryly swallowed, nervous about where this conversation was going.

“You're not going to ask me why I asked you to wait? Also, how rude of you to instantly start running when I asked you to wait for me?”

“It just—I just—it happened automatically.”

“Are you serious?”

He looked at you incredulously. Like you've gone and personally offended him. Which you've probably done more than one time since he sat down in front of you the very first day you two met. 

“Gojo-san?” Before Satoru could continue with reprimanding you, Mia’s voice came into both of your ears.

It was already well past 12:00 AM. Usually by now you're already in bed or at least in one of the sitting rooms reading something. It was expected that Mia would come looking for you since you asked her to draw you a bath before you could head to bed. 

“I wonder if she got lost again.” Mia mumbled to herself as she looked around the area for you. 

Each individual pillar was thick enough to hide one or two people behind it easily. So when you tried to get Mia’s attention, it came in handy for Satoru. He pressed his right hand’s palm to your mouth, and his left hand flew to your waist as he leaned in to keep sandwiched between the pillar and him.

“MMHMF!” Your voice was completely muffled by his huge hand.

“What?” He whispered close to your face; you could feel the warmth of his breath mixing in with yours. You could even feel the coolness of his hands on your mouth and through the silk of your robe. 

“Mmmf mf mmff mm!” You muffled some more in his hand, trying to get your words across to him, and hoping some of the stupid noises you were making would get to Mia's ears before anything worse than what was happening happened.

“Want me to take my hand off?” You nodded vigorously while gripping onto the wrist of his right hand, futilely trying to tear it away from you. While he just smirked at your struggle.

“So, what are you offering if I do take it off?” Satoru’s eyes were taking their time to move between your left and right eyes. The more intently he gazed into your eyes, the playful smirk on his face fell. He could feel your lips on his palm; he felt a little discomposed to be touching them, and now that he is cognizant of that, it was making his heart beat unusually fast. And he was afraid you could hear it too. But he could not just take his hand off your lips. 

“Mmhf.” You tapped his hand, trying to signal him to take it off so you could answer him. But not really; you were planning on escaping as soon as he'd take it off.

“Yeah, I could take it off, but I know very well you'd just run.” You shook your head aggressively and looked up at him with your best puppy-dog innocent eyes. And it did partially work; you best believe he was tempted to do as you asked.

“Hmm. How about you nod yes or no to my questions? When I'm done, I'll take it off.” Though you were a little nervous about what he was exactly about to ask you, still you nodded yes. He smiled for a second before furrowing his eyebrows. He looked serious, and he never really looked serious. Especially without his blindfold on, it was jarring to be this close to him and see him make such a face. 

It almost made you wish he continued to wear his blindfolds again. Which he has completely stopped wearing around you since what happened at the lake. 

“The lilies in Suzuki-san’s arms— were they the ones I gave you?” 

You stared at him dumbfounded for about two minutes or so. There was nothing wrong with what you did; you just gave them to someone who will appreciate them better instead of watching them wither away in front of your eyes. You shouldn't feel guilty about that, yet with each passing second you could see his eyes getting somber, and they looked like you had somehow hurt him again. 

With a guilty gulp, you slowly nodded yes.

“Why—I mean, I got you lilies before; did you not like them? Or just, it's this whole thing; do you want me to stop with the flowers?” Usually when your husband speaks, he speaks in precise hits and points. You don't remember him being a blabbering mess in a way that felt, for once, like he didn't intend on this. 

You nodded yes again. 

“Alright… But—just know that—I, I'm sorry. I really am. I don't know how to explain myself. I want to, but—can I ask what I can do to properly say sorry to you?” With a sigh, he looked at you expectantly as he removed his hand off your mouth.

You stared at each other in the shadows behind the pillars. You were free to run away, but you could not. You could not leave him like this; you just couldn't do that.

“Instead of flowers, I'd—uh—much rather you got me a plant. And explained things to me. And I'm sorry too. I was being too harsh.” 

“You were not, trust me.” 

“I really want to.” 

There was no lie to what you just said. You did feel sorry about how things went down and how things have been going. You want to be nicer to him because he has been so kind to you. But he seems so unfathomable and like someone in another realm above you. And you are just you. Not worthy to stand beside him, much less eat with him at the same table or someone he could share his surname with. But what's done is done, and if you must coexist, there should at least be some mutual trust. 

“Gojo-san!?” When you heard Mia’s voice echoing at the end of the hall again, you moved out from the back of the pillars, leaving him behind in that little alley of shadow. With one last look at him, you walked away. 

A plant. Of all things, a plant. 

Since he got engaged to you, then married you, to now, you've never asked him for anything. And now you asked him for a plant. No jewelry, a no to flowers as well apparently, not even books or something more expensive. But a plant. And what plant exactly? 

“Ichiji.” Satoru sighed and rolled around in his office chair again. 

“Y-yes, sir?” There has never been one day when Ichiji didn't feel like throwing up if his boss asked him some stupid question.

“What plants are good as a gift?” And Ichiji's streak remains intact, because right now he feels like throwing up. 

“I—I don't know, sir, maybe a cactus?” What kind of stupid question even is that, and how do you even answer that?

“No, absolutely not. Too prickly, no. Maybe a flowering plant?” Satoru turned in his chair to stare out of the window behind his desk.

“Maybe a rose plant?” Ichiji suggested as he looked at the stack of papers on Satoru’s desk while piling up more papers on top of them.

“NO! Why are you just suggesting plants with thorns? Just go, leave!” And this is why Ichiji feels like throwing up everything Satoru asks him some stupid question. 

If Gojo Satoru wants to get his wife a gift she will actually like this time, he needs a second opinion. Which is not from him, assistant. So he left for home early that day, early enough to catch the gardener, who mainly looks after his estate gardens. 

“Watanabe!” 

The gardener stopped shearing the bushes and turned around to look at the source of the voice. Every time Satoru screams his name and runs to him, he remembers when he was barely three, running behind him, asking about plants. And he feels a smile stretching on his lips, looking at the snowy fluff of hair rushing to get to him. 

“How are you doing today, Gojo-sama?” Mr. Watanabe smiled at him and moved slowly to put his shears down; his age is finally catching up to him.

“Later, Watanabe! Can you tell me what's a good plant to gift someone?” Satoru asked him in a hurry, like time was ticking away too fast.

“Oh, well, succulents are everyone's favorite to gift.” The gardener was perplexed at his question; that was the last thing he was expecting.

“No, no, something pretty! Flower-bearing plant. Not roses; they are thorny, and everyone keeps recommending roses.” Mr. Watanabe laughed at his whiny tone. 

“Alright, if you don't want roses… But how about something similar? Without the  thorns, of course— how about camellias?” Satoru blinked at him, hearing about the flower for the first time.

“I don't know that one; do we have one here?” 

“No, unfortunately, we do not. But you might remember them from your grandfather’s funeral. They were his favorites.” 

Satoru does remember those flowers almost vividly. The white flowers were used to decorate for his grandfather’s funeral. Ever so stoic was the old Gojo, so hearing he liked such a bright and beautiful flower made him see his dead grandfather in a new light. But it did make sense for him to like those flowers. As beautiful as those flowers are, they were just as bold and elegant, words anyone would use to describe the old Gojo clan head. Satoru always thought those were just some very full roses, but apparently not. 

“Some reason why we don't have one in our garden?” Seeing all the varieties of roses in the west part of the estate’s garden, it didn't make sense to him why something so rose-adjacent wasn't here already.

“Well, your mother didn't like them. Unlike flowers like roses, camellias drop their entire flower instead of letting go of it petal by petal.” Satoru tilted his head and thought to himself about the eccentric plant.

“Your mother didn't like that; she said it was dreadful.” Mr. Watanabe sighed as he went to clear up some of the cuttings.

“Ok, so can I ask you… Uh, could you get me one of those plants?” Suddenly Satoru felt shy in front of the gardener. The same one to whom he'd run up as a child and demand whatever flower that would catch his eye that day.

“Oh, do you want us to plant one in the garden? Surely it could be arran—”

“No.” Satoru interrupted his train of words, “I mean—as a gift. Could you get me a small one?” The gardener stopped doing whatever he was doing to look at Satoru. For a moment he forgot why Satoru came up to him asking about plants. He thought the gift must have been some sort of formality. But if he is putting this much thought into this, it could only mean one thing. 

“What color do you think the camellias should be, Gojo-sama?” Mr. Watanabe’s smile widened. 

“Does it matter?” Gojo Satoru didn't know much about flowers or plants, which is why for the last few weeks Ichiji was responsible for sourcing out the most suitable and best flowers so he could give them to you.

“It sure does! Flowers have a language of their own!” Satoru blinked cluelessly at the old man.

“Well, what is the purpose of this gift?” Even though Mr. Watanabe had an idea who this gift could be for. He may be old, but he still keeps up with the gossip that goes around the estate.

“I want to—to apologize.” Satoru meekly said everything about this situation was a new experience for everyone. 

“And who are you apologizing to?” When Satoru’s ears became redder at his question and his eyes wavered a little in nervousness, Mr. Watanabe felt it was best to not tease the man any further.

“Alright then! How about a pink Camellia plant? It'd be perfect!” With many pats on Satoru’s back, the gardener picked up his shears and walked away smiling to himself, excited to make arrangements for Satoru's request. 

Satoru didn't know flowers could mean something other than, ‘Oh pretty!’ So he was curious why Mr. Watanabe thought particularly pink Camellia flowers would be perfect to get his feelings across.

Things have been somewhat better since your husband cornered you in the hallways the other day. You two have been eating together again; you're not sleeping on the couch, but you're still not really speaking to him. So the regular calls inquiring about dinner are still going to Ichiji, and other than eating at the same table and sleeping in the same bed, nothing is really back to normal.

Like how usually on Sundays your husband is locked up in his office or hiding away from you or you're hiding away from him. But today, on this particular Sunday, Satoru is dragging you somewhere by your hand.

“Will you just tell me where we are going?” You were right behind him, and being this close to him, holding his hands, was not something you were used to. You could feel the rough calluses on his hand and the sheer size difference between yours and his hand. And it irritated you to even think that this feeling of his skin on your skin is not fading away anytime soon.

“How about I show you instead?” Even though all you could see was his back, you could hear the excitement in his voice.

“I really don't like surprises.” You mumbled to yourself as you looked around, realizing you two had already crossed the main part of the building and were well into the left wing. 

The colors of the walls, the marbles and stones on the floor, the painting on the wall, and the decorations scattered everywhere were cohesive with the rest of the mansion. It broke away the little illusion you had in your mind about the boundaries you created for yourself.

“Here we are.” 

Satoru walked through another hallway, which had large glass windows for walls. It felt like you were already outside, given how the pathway was lit with natural sunlight and overlooked everything in its surroundings. At the end of the hallway was an opaque glass door, which, when he opened, led into a room with plants. 

It was a greenhouse, with light blue tinted glass and humid, dewy air inside. There were not many plants inside, just some little seedlings and small plants that you were sure the gardeners were growing to plant in the gardens for the next season. 

“What is this…?” You could not help but be in awe of the place as you walked between the little plants on each side and a raised platform in the middle with a table on it; everything felt like it was meant to be exactly where it was. Sure, it was not the most gorgeous feature of the Gojo estate, but to you, it was just as awe-inspiring as the lake or the huge, soft couches all over the mansion. 

“Your gift!” He excitedly pulled you to one of the corners, where in a pot was a little plant, and there was a little card hanging over the edge of the pot. You looked at Satoru for approval to reach out for the card, and when his smile stretched bigger on his face, you reached out for the card. 

On the card, it was written in a somewhat messy but familiar handwriting you've been seeing for the last couple of days—‘I am still very sorry; I hope everything I'll say next will get that across to you.’

“I am sorry. I know nothing makes sense, but just know you don't cause me any pain.” Satoru said from behind you. You didn't have it in you to turn around and look at what kind of face he was making, so you kept staring at the plant in front of you.

“You're the only reason why I look forward to meals, especially dinners. I look forward to sleeping in our bed, and I don't just sleep in my office chair.” He didn't explain any further. Because he could not. He could not say why he looked like he was always in a dilemma when you were a little too close to him or why he has been so unfairly kind to you. But it was enough for now. He didn't really owe you any more than what he has given, and you could not help but feel like you've just been ungrateful to him. 

So with a knot in your throat, you put on your best smile and turned towards him to nod in acceptance of his apology. And he didn't push you to say anything more; he didn't ask why you looked like you were in so much pain, or why you couldn't look him in the eyes, or why you looked like you were on the verge of tears.

“Can I ask you something?” Satoru asked you after a few minutes of silence.

“Sure.” He noted that you didn't sound like you were about to break down into tears anymore.

“Why a plant though?” He stood beside you, staring at the side of your face while you stroked one of the leaves on the plant.

“I used to have many plants at my father's estate; I used to spend a lot of time in the gardens. I just liked taking care of them.” Your eyes lowered again. And you didn't look like you were about to cry again, but you looked somber.

“You could still do that here! I mean, we have so many plants in the gardens.” He looked genuinely excited to gesture to your surroundings with both his hands.

“Yes, but they're not mine.”

“Everything with my name on it is naturally more yours than mine.” 

You didn't know how to respond to that. But then again, that's just how things always are with your husband. He unknowingly says something too kind, too misleading, that has your tongue heavy as a stone in your mouth and your chest contorting in foreign shapes and feelings.

“Can I ask you something now?” You were clearly trying to divert the conversation, and Satoru knew that, but he didn't stop you.

“Mmhmm?”

“What kind of plant is this?” You looked at him for the answer.

“Huh? I thought you were a plant expert?” The signature Gojo Satoru smirk was back on his face, and you were surprised at yourself to feel relieved to see it.

“Oh, come onnn.” You whined and playfully pushed his side while he looked down at you with a smile. 

“I don't know.” Satoru playfully shrugged his shoulders.

“You don't know?” He shook his head from side to side, with no intention of answering you.

“Find out for yourself when it flowers.” And he walked ahead to get out of the humid glass house, with you whining from behind.

Satoru didn't know why he didn't just answer your question. Maybe because you didn't acknowledge when he said everything of his now also belongs to you. Or maybe teasing is just a natural part of his personality; that is why. Either way, it worked in his favor. In the last few days you have been talking more and more to him, trying to figure out what exactly the plant he gifted you was. You tried to compare it with the plants in the gardens, now free to roam around everywhere, with at least one of the staff trailing behind you with Satoru's orders.

“Is it Peony?” You handed him his blindfold as he put on his watch.

“Thank you. But nope.” He took it from you with a smile and walked out of the walk-in closet.

“Just tell me!” You shouted behind him while he giggled and walked away.

Satoru already told the gardeners who look after the estate gardens, specifically Mr. Watanabe, so he does not give you any answers. But you still somehow figured out it was a camellia plant. And he remembers how ecstatic you were when he finally agreed with you that it was a camellia plant. But now your concern was what color?

“S-sir, it's ma'am. Should I ask her to call back in a bit?” Ichiji held Satoru’s phone in his hand; it flashed ‘wife’ on his screen.

“No, give it to me.” Satoru took his phone from Ichiji while everyone in the room looked at him with eyes that said, ‘sigh, newlyweds.’ Suguru smirked at him from his left with a raised eyebrow. He is getting teased later.

“I’ll be back.” But that doesn't mean he's hanging up on you. You're finally calling him, actually him, and not Ichiji to ask about your regular dinner inquiries; there is no way he is hanging up on you. 

“Good afternoon to you, Gojo-san.” He said in a sing-song voice as he walked out in the hallway to pick up your call.

“You too, I was calling to ask ab—”

“Dinner, right?” 

“...Right.” He couldn't see you, but he could tell from your voice you were feeling a little nervous again.

“The usual is ok.” You hummed from the other side. He never really asked for anything particular; it always went like this, and you just chose whatever you thought he'd like the best. 

“Also can I ask again—”

“No, I am not telling you the color of the flowers. You'll see when they bloom.” You whined from the other side of the call, and he couldn't help but giggle at your response. You were really resilient, huh? 

“Asking me constantly won't give you the answer, sweets.” His voice sounded so fond; if anyone nearby heard that, there'd be gossip going around that Gojo Satoru has become a hopeless romantic since he married his wife.

“Ok, then bye.” Satoru didn't mind your tantrums; in fact, he welcomed them. He wanted you to be able to eventually talk back to him and converse with him freely, and this was a step in the right direction. With one last glance at his phone, he walked inside the room full of people staring him down. In partial disdain and partial awe from most people and teasing glances from friends, still confused that this was the same Gojo Satoru they've always known.

The rest of the day, Satoru spent half anticipating when he'd get to leave work. And half thinking about pink camellias.

Sure, Mr. Watanabe didn't tell him what they meant, but he understood why they were the perfect gift Satoru was supposed to get for you. And Satoru understood that after doing a quick research after talking to Mr. Watanabe. Anything could be given to apologize, but there should be something meaningful behind the gift other than just feeling sorry.

To say broadly, pink camellias are given to someone you admire. And at certain times, they can mean longing for someone. Someone out of your reach, someone you know, has been trying their best. It's a sign of affection, admiration, and yearning. And Satoru believes that's precisely what he felt for you.

So, Gojo Satoru often thinks of flowers when he thinks about his own death. But now he believes whenever he surely thinks about flowers, he'll be thinking of you.

NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from watashitachi wa douka shiteiru drama. art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

yeah so april and may were not it.

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[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 6

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content

word count: 12k

a/n: this was originally like 8k words but the wings made me stress write for the rest of my saturday so we made it to 12k lmao. this chapter is just the rest of their lil cabin trip so enjoy 🤭. let me know what you think of the chapter if you can and feel free to let me know anything you’d like to see or if there’s any typos <3

—————————————————————————

Azzi blinked once, twice, five too many times against the morning light that seemed to be blinding her from the cabin windows. The spot next to her was empty and the only evidence that Paige had even been there was the faint scent she left behind on her pillows. It felt way too early to be awake on an off day so Azzi laid there for a few extra moments absently trailing her fingers over the space Paige had occupied however long ago. With real rest finally behind her, Azzi could understand what she felt last night more clearly. She had a gnawing ache in her chest, an uneasy flutter in her stomach every time Paige so much as looked at her.

She’d been in flings before, very casual relationships that never asked for much more than a familiar person to sleep with. But whatever the hell she felt for Paige lived under her skin, in the small crevices of her brain. Paige had a way of setting her pulse off rhythm by just existing, of showing up in her thoughts when Azzi was doing something as simple as drinking a smoothie. These thoughts had a way of making her throat feel like sandpaper and gave her a hollow ache behind her eyes because she knew they weren’t anything…technically. Not yet at least.

She was sure Paige felt something for her. She just didn’t know if it was a simple attraction, if she was lining up to be in another casual relationship because trying to read Paige was like trying to catch a reflection in moving water.

Eventually after growing tired of her own thoughts, she rolled out of the bed with a soft groan, grabbing her sweater on the way out of Paige’s room. She walked quietly back to the guest room she was supposed to sleep in, brushing her teeth and pulling her slightly tangled curls into a low bun.

When she made her way downstairs, the living room and kitchen were empty with no sign of Paige.

Azzi grabbed a banana from the counter before slipping out the back door, the crisp morning air nipping at her exposed legs as she made her way around the side of the cabin. When she reached the gym she heard what was becoming a familiar sound of Paige hitting a bag.

She pushed the door open and sure enough Paige was standing in front of a hanging bag as she moved through precise movements. All of them were thrown with the kind of control that reflected just how much time she put into her craft.

Azzi leaned silently against the doorframe as she ate her banana, letting her eyes wander over the scene. Paige’s hair was pulled up haphazardly, a few damp strands clinging to her neck, her shirt clinging to her torso. She moved like the world faded away when she was training, like her and the bag were the only things in existence.

When she was done with her banana Azzi tossed it in the nearby trash can and pushed off the doorframe. “Weren’t we just here less than twelve hours ago?”

Paige glanced over with her breath coming steadily but a little heavy, sweat trailing down her temple. She gave a small shrug in response, letting her knuckles connect with the bag again.

Azzi tilted her head. “You good?”

“Mmm,” was all Paige offered, her gaze drifting back to the bag as if it held answers she still needed to knock loose.

Azzi stepped closer moving around to the far side of the bag. She placed her hands on it, steadying it as Paige was about to throw another combo.

“I wouldn’t suggest that,” Paige said, pausing mid-motion.

Azzi raised her eyebrow, keeping her hands where they were. “What, am I gonna mess up your rhythm or something?”

Paige shook her head, a small chuckle escaping her. “Not tryna hurt you.”

“How would I get hurt just holdin—”

Paige stepped forward slightly, pressing her hand against the bag so it pushed into Azzi’s hands. Her gaze dipped, nodding toward Azzi’s shooting hand.

Azzi glanced down, noticing how her wrist was bending awkwardly under the pressure.

“If I throw a hard elbow into the bag, like I was about to,” Paige said, her eyes still on Azzi’s wrist, “it’ll fuck that up real quick. You’ll feel it in your elbow too.”

Azzi slowly pulled her hands back, lifting them in surrender, and Paige gave a small smile before turning back to the heavy bag. The sound of her hits continued immediately after.

Azzi watched her for a moment before asking, “Why are you in here so early?”

“I fought like shit.”

Azzi leaned against the wall, folding her arms across her chest . “How so?”

Paige’s fist sank into the bag.“They knew I watched tape,” she said between strikes. “So they made the fight unpredictable. Switched up every round. Took me too long to find a rhythm.” Her right leg snapped up into a sharp kick. “My footwork was slow. Escape time was off. I wasn’t reading her tells quick enough and got a fuckin concussion cause of it.”

Each of her sentences was punctuated by a harder connection to the bag—frustration dripping into every maneuver. Azzi pushed off the wall, a little unease growing in her chest as she approached.

“I wasn’t sharp,” Paige said, her voice low this time, almost like she was just speaking to herself. “I should’ve seen it coming.”

Azzi stepped behind the bag again, gently placing her hands on both sides, hoping Paige would register her in time. She caught the subtle flicker in Paige’s eyes just before her next punch landed as she halted mid-swing, breathing hard, eyes moving up to meet Azzi’s. “Azzi, I just told you not to do that.”

Azzi made sure her voice was soft when she spoke. “You know there’s no such thing as perfect, right?”

Paige stared at her for a moment with sweat glistening along her eyebrows. Her jaw was tight, her knuckles most likely red underneath her gloves.

Azzi tilted her head to the side slightly. “You’re allowed to mess up. You’re allowed to be human.”

Paige exhaled through her nose, shaking out her hands. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I’m not saying you should,” Azzi said, keeping her voice soft. “I’m just saying don’t beat yourself up for not winning every second. That’s not what makes great people great.”

Paige looked away for a moment, wiping her neck on the towel nearby with her jaw tight. She didn’t respond to Azzi’s words, her breath still coming out in short, controlled bursts.

Azzi smiled as she watched Paige process her words. To soften the moment she added, “You look kinda good when you’re brooding and all that, though. But that’s beside the point.”

That earned a huff from Paige. “That so?”

Azzi shrugged. “I make it a point not to lie to people who can knock my head off.”

Paige cracked a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She tilted her head a few times, still trying to bring herself down from the frustration humming in her muscles. When it didn’t work she sighed quietly. “Can you move for me?” she asked, not unkindly but edged with a slight tension. “I gotta let it out or Imma tweak eventually, and I’m not tryna do that.”

Azzi didn’t move right away, but she gave her a soft look. “You’re not as bad as you think Paige.”

Paige chuckled. “You haven’t seen me pissed off.”

Azzi’s gaze lingered on her, watching the way Paige’s hands flexed at her sides, itching to hit something again. Slowly, she stepped aside. “Okay,” she said softly. “Do what you gotta do.”

Azzi turned to walk away, but before she could take more than a few steps, Paige reached out, her fingers wrapping gently around Azzi’s wrist.

“Thank you,” Paige said, making her voice more sincere than before. “For checking. I’ll come back inside in a lil bit.”

Azzi gave her a small nod, her fingers giving Paige’s forearm a soft squeeze, lingering longer than she needed to. “Don’t stay out too long,” she said before turning and walking back inside.

…

Paige came in about 45 minutes later, her shirt clinging to her skin and her grey shorts noticeably damp with her sweat. She didn’t say anything to announce her presence, just wiped her face with the towel around her neck and made her way into the kitchen. Azzi, who was stretched out on the couch, lifted her head watching her move.

Paige started grabbing ingredients: frozen fruit, almond milk, protein powder. “You want one?”

Azzi nodded, pushing herself up a bit more on the couch. “Yeah, sure.” She stayed where she was, watching the way Paige moved around the kitchen. Eventually, she slid off the couch and wandered into the kitchen, leaning against the counter just a few steps away. Paige didn’t look at her, just kept blending until the machine whirred to a stop.

“Feel better?”

Paige shrugged, pouring the smoothie into two cups. “Well enough,” she mumbled. Her voice was a little horse, like she hadn’t used it at all since Azzi left the gym—potentially letting out a few frustrated yells.

She handed one of the cups to Azzi and finally looked at her. With the way Azzi was leaning on the counter, Paige’s frame loomed a little bit over hers naturally. Azzi took a sip, her eyes on Paige as she tried the drink. She pulled back with a slight smile and a shrug. “It’s alright.”

Paige shook her head, letting out a scoff. “Aight bro.”

Azzi reached out to stop her from moving away, her fingertips brushing against Paige’s stomach only to immediately recoil with a scrunched nose. “You’re sweaty.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, laughing a little. “Observation of the year,” she said before taking a sip of her smoothie. “I just came out the gym, what you expect?”

Azzi wiped her hand on her thigh exaggeratedly. “A towel, maybe? A rinse? Courtesy?”

Paige stepped a little closer, crowding Azzi just enough to make her lean back against the counter again. “You knew what this was, you came in the kitchen on your own.”

Azzi gave her a playful glare. “I came in here for a smoothie.”

“You’re still standin’ here.”

Azzi paused, eyes moving between Paige’s eyes and lips before saying, “That’s your fault.”

Paige’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “How?”

Azzi nodded toward the small space between them, then motioned subtly between their bodies. “This.”

Paige shifted, about to step back, but Azzi’s fingers grabbed her shirt, stopping her.

“Thought I was sweaty,” Paige said, smiling a little.

Azzi’s hand slid under Paige’s shirt slightly, her fingertips resting against damp skin. “You are,” she said. “But now I don’t care.”

Paige's eyes moved down to where Azzi’s hand was resting under her shirt. “Little bipolar, no?”

“Or a woman who’s allowed to change her mind.”

Paige’s lips twitched into a half-smirk. “Fair.”

She looked down at Azzi, her bottom lip tucked in between her teeth a little.

Azzi shifted under her gaze. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not lookin’ at you like anything,” Paige said. “Just usin’ my eyes.”

Azzi arched her eyebrow. “Exactly.”

Paige grinned, then closed her eyes dramatically, lifting her hands in a phoney surrender.

Azzi snorted, giving her a light shove in the chest. “You’re so stupid.”

Paige stepped back with the push, laughing under her breath. “Assaulting me in my own kitchen for just lookin’ at you is crazy.”

Azzi leaned against the counter again, sipping her smoothie trying to hide that she was a little flustered. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Paige shook her head, wiping a bit of sweat from her temple with the towel still around her neck. “You started it.”

“No, you started it. Walking in here all...” she gestured vaguely at Paige’s body, “...like that.”

Paige looked shocked. “So what, I’m the problem now?”

Azzi met her eyes, holding the stare. “I never am.”

They stood there with the tension increasing between them. Paige leaned in a little, her eyes drifting to Azzi’s lips purposefully.

“You gonna keep lookin’ at me, or do something?”

Paige swallowed once, then smiled. “You keep tellin’ me I’m sweaty so I should prolly go handle that.”

Azzi took a small step forward, close enough that their chests were touching. “I already said I didn’t care.”

Another small moment passed before Paige took a step back with a grin, heading for the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

Paige looked over her shoulder. “Gotta go shower. Not tryna drench you with my sweat.”

Azzi laughed before mumbling to herself, “Bit late for that.”

…

The rest of the day was comfortably slow. Exactly what both of them needed.

They started with a couple of movies, laying on the couch with Paige’s legs stretched out in front of her and Azzi’s legs thrown over her lap despite the side-eye Paige gave her when she initially did it. Azzi was in charge of picking the first movie and without saying anything put on a romance movie. Paige once again gave her the biggest side-eye known to man, barely holding back a groan as the soft piano music kicked in. She only made it ten minutes in before glancing at Azzi and saying, “This for real what we’re watching?”

Azzi didn’t even look at her. “Shh. Let your heart grow a few sizes.”

An hour later, Paige had to physically bite her lip to stop herself from laughing when she noticed Azzi wiping her eyes. “Yo you crying?”

Azzi sniffled dramatically. “Mind your business.”

Lunch was simple, mostly because Azzi insisted on making it and Paige insisted on doubting it. The moment Azzi put the plate in front of her, Paige squinted at the meal.

“You made me leaves?”

Azzi gave her a look. “It’s arugula, actually.”

Paige poked it with her fork a few times like it might fight back. “Tastes like grass.”

“Keep talking and I’ll go back and add kale.”

Despite the back and forth, Paige ended up clearing her plate, mumbling something about it not being "terrible" after the third bite. Azzi only rolled her eyes and stole a piece of chicken off Paige’s plate.

After that the rest of the afternoon passed with small conversation, a second movie (this one more tolerable by Paige’s standards), and a few hours of simply existing in each other’s space for the first time.

Eventually, as the evening started to creep in, it was time to get ready. Paige had been downstairs for 30 minutes, dressed in simple black pants and a light button-up, her hair pulled into a bun. She was sitting on the couch with her phone, trying to act casual but checking the stairs every few minutes like clockwork.

When Azzi finally walked down the stairs she had on a simple black dress, her naturally curly hair falling around her shoulders, and a subtle glow to her skin from the soft makeup she put on.

Paige did a double take from the couch. Her hand that was draped over the backrest, tensed as her eyes tracked Azzi’s every step.

Azzi noticed her stare almost immediately and raised her eyebrow. “What?”

Paige blinked once then let her eyes roam a little more deliberately the second time. “You’re gonna make us late.”

Azzi glanced at the time on her phone. “I’m right on time.”

Paige finally pulled her eyes away saying, “Not what I meant.”

Azzi caught on, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, okay.”

Paige stood up, brushing her palms over her pants to smooth out any creases. Azzi’s eyes take a slow pass over her, appreciating the fit of Paige’s outfit, the way her button-up hugged her frame, and how that bun had her thinking unspeakable things.

“You clean up alright.”

Paige scoffed. “Alright?”

Azzi just smiled, walking past her toward the door. Paige followed, shaking her head as she reached for the door, holding it open for Azzi to step through, her hand brushing against Paige’s as she passed.

“Not bad at the chivalry thing either,” she whispered, half to herself.

The drive to the restaurant was pretty quiet. Azzi was starting to realize that Paige had her moments. Times when she was more open and willing to talk, and others where she just…wasn’t. This seemed to be one of the quieter ones, so Azzi didn’t press for a conversation. She just leaned into the silence, watching the trees pass.

Every now and then, she’d feel Paige’s eyes on her. It was just quick glances at first, then longer ones once they got off the highway, like she was studying her. Azzi didn’t say anything about it, just tucked the observation away for later.

When Paige finally pulled to a stop they were outside of a small restaurant near the water. The sky was starting to streak in soft pinks and oranges, taking on a sort of quiet glow that made everything feel a little slower, a little softer.

“You been here before?” Azzi asked with her eyes still trained on the building and the stretch of a beach behind it.

Paige nodded, keeping her gaze ahead. “Yeah a few times. Usually during breakfast or lunch when it’s more casual though.”

Azzi hummed at that as a small smile grew. “So you’re really showing me all your spots hm?”

Paige gave a subtle shrug, like it was no big deal that she was taking Azzi to one of her favorite places to go when the world seemed too big. “Just figured you deserved something decent to eat.”

Before Azzi could give a sarcastic response, Paige was already stepping out of the car. A few seconds later, the passenger door opened and Paige was offering Azzi her hand to help her step out. Azzi didn’t need to know that Paige had never done any of this for anyone else. That she actually used to clown Ben when she would see him doing shit like this for Cam.

Azzi took her hand as she stepped out with a smile on her face that she didn’t even try to hide. “You’re committed to this chivalry thing, huh?”

Paige just shook her head before letting their hands drop and walking with her toward the entrance.

The inside of the restaurant was warm and elegant with dim lighting. After checking in with the hostess, they were led through the main dining area and out toward the back. The outdoor patio opened up to an incredible view of the beach and the eventual sunset, the sound of the water soft in the background.

Azzi glanced around as she settled into her seat. “Okay, this is kinda perfect.”

Paige leaned back slightly, her gaze drifting out toward the water. “Told you I’m not a bum.”

Azzi smiled across the table, her fingers toying with the edge of her menu. “So…what do you usually get when you come here?”

Paige met her eyes. “You ordering what I get now?”

Azzi smiled. “I’m just trying to understand you.”

Paige lifted an eyebrow. “Good luck with that.”

The restaurant patio had a dreamlike quality to it. There were soft amber string lights that twinkled overhead, tangled with ivy vines that framed the white wooden beams. A breeze rolled in from the water, lifting the edge of the linen tablecloths slightly and carrying the scent of salt that mixed with the jasmine candle that was lit at the table.

Paige sat comfortably with her elbow resting on the arm of her chair, fingers lightly tapping the stem of her glass. She didn’t say much to start, just watched Azzi; her curls blowing slightly when there was wind, her eyes shifting across the menu.

When Azzi looked up she caught Paige looking but didn’t say anything. “I’m torn. Do I want the salmon or the pasta with—”

“Pasta.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes playfully. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“You were about to say shrimp pasta. I could feel it.”

Azzi laughed quietly. “Okay, maybe I was.”

“I just saved you some time princess . You’re welcome.”

Azzi rolled her eyes at the comment but ended up ordering the salmon anyway. Paige stuck with the pasta.

As the food and drinks came—just sparkling water tonight . Their conversation grew steadier.

“You said you came here a few times before. You ever just…sit out there?” Azzi asked, gesturing toward the shoreline.

Paige leaned back a little, eyes squinting at the horizon because she didn’t have on her glasses or contacts. “Not as much as I’d prolly like to. When I come here it’s usually quick. Food and go.”

“So never the romantic beach walk?”

Paige gave her a side glance at the subtle question. “A romantic beach walk with myself?”

Azzi smiled but didn’t say anything else on the topic.

They talked about random things. Azzi told Paige how she used to daydream about being a chef when she was younger but couldn’t commit to anything that required her to chop onions everyday without crying. Paige admitted that she tried to learn the guitar but gave up after a few weeks because her fingers hurt.

“You quit because of a little finger pain?”

“My fingertips felt like I was slicing them in half after an hour of practicing.”

“Yeah, but imagine you serenading me today if you stuck with it?”

“No chance,” Paige said, and Azzi laughed, throwing her balled up straw paper at Paige.

Halfway through the meal, Azzi leaned forward looking a little suspicious. “Yours smells better.”

“Because it is,” Paige said flatly as she chewed on her food.

Azzi stared, then leaned forward further, extending her fork toward Paige’s plate.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Just one bite.”

“That’s how it starts.”

Azzi pouted, giving Paige her full brown eyes. “Please?”

Paige stared at her for a few seconds, fighting a smile, then slowly pushed her plate toward her. “One.”

Azzi tried the pasta and her eyes closed blissfully and a huge grin overcame her face.

Before she could even ask Paige sighed and grabbed Azzi’s plate before pushing hers toward the curly haired girl.

Azzi thanked her and did a little dance in her seat before she started to eat again.

They kept talking throughout the meal and at one point Azzi said something under her breath that was dry and completely unexpected from her and Paige let out a laugh that surprised herself. Not a short snort. Not a chuckle. An actual laugh that sounded completely genuine.

Azzi’s eyes lingered on her after that. “You should laugh more.”

Paige looked at her, still amused and now a little flustered. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. It sounds pretty and it looks good on you.”

Paige sucked her teeth as she chuckled. “You’re really pushing it tonight.”

“I mean,” Azzi said, leaning back in her chair and sipping her drink, “I’m calling a spade a spade.”

The sky darkened until only the soft amber bulbs and the fire of the candlelight on the table kept them illuminated. The patio started to thin out as other couples finished their meals, but Paige and Azzi lingered just talking.

By the time the plates were cleared, Paige had moved her chair slightly and sat with her body turned slightly toward Azzi. Azzi mirrored her with her chin resting on the palm of her hand.

They ordered one dessert to share because Azzi didn’t want to eat it alone. It was some sort of lemon tart Azzi picked and they took turns taking bites until it was gone. Paige’s favorite part was watching Azzi close her eyes after the first taste and she told herself Azzi didn’t need to know that she didn’t even like lemon cake that much.

Paige eventually stood and pulled her wallet out, brushing off Azzi’s attempt to split the bill with a shake of her head mumbling about not being stupid.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?”

“Pretty much,” Paige said.

Azzi shook her head, standing to go back through the restaurant to the parking lot, but Paige reached out and gently caught her by the wrist nodding her head toward the beach.

The smile on Azzi’s face was impossible to hide. “Seriously?”

Paige gave a small shrug. “Figured you mentioned that walk on the beach for a reason earlier.”

Azzi smiled at that and Paige crouched slightly, motioning for her to step out of her heels. Azzi placed her hands on Paige’s shoulders for balance, stepping out one foot at a time. Paige put both of the shoes in one hand and helped Azzi step off of the patio.

“You’re romantic,” Azzi said as they started walking along the shore.

Paige chuckled. “Am I?”

Azzi nodded, slipping her hand into Paige’s and lacing their fingers together.

Paige glanced down at their hands, raising an eyebrow like she was about to make a comment about it but decided against it. Instead, she let her thumb gently graze the side of Azzi’s hand as they walked.

The beach was quiet at this hour, only a few scattered lights from distant houses and the moon casting a shimmer on the waves.

“So what do you usually do after a date?” Azzi asked.

“I don’t usually do dates.”

Azzi looked over, genuinely surprised. “Really?”

Paige side-eyed her, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Why do you sound surprised? Have you met me?”

Azzi laughed, thinking about it. “Fair,” she conceded. Then, a little quieter, “You’re just…you. So it’s a little surprising.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azzi shook her head, grinning. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.”

“Whatever,” Paige mumbled, but she was smiling as they walked along the sand, the silence between them easy.

A minute passed, filled by the sounds of the waves. Then Azzi asked out of nowhere, “What’s the hardest you’ve ever been hit?”

Almost instantly Paige's brain rewound to the moment. “Shit,” she said, shaking her head laughing a little. “I was out with Cam and them. I feel like I’m always getting into some shit when I go out with them… Anyway I don’t even remember what had me pissed off that night. Just one of those nights where somebody blinking at me was pissing me off.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted at this information.

“I was tryna stay to myself, just vibe,” Paige went on, “but this dude kept talkin’ shit. Just chirpin’ in my ear, So of course, I get up.”

“Of course,” Azzi echoed, biting back a smile as Paige tells the story.

Paige gestured with her hand holding Azzi’s heels like she was reenacting it. “I didn’t even get to him. Bro met me halfway and rocked my shit. I mean, like, fully body weight rocked my shit. I barely saw it. Whole night turned sideways after that.”

Paige shook her head as she thought about it. “I blacked out after that…not like passed out, but I just tweaked. Next thing I know, Cam and Rae are dragging me off him and Cam’s yelling in my ear about how I’m going to get arrested.”

Azzi burst out laughing. “You beat his ass?”

“Unfortunately,” Paige said. “I don’t even remember connecting the first hit, just remember how quiet it got after.”

Azzi leaned into her a little bit, still laughing. “I’m so glad I’m on your good side.”

Paige gave her a look. “Are you?”

Azzi glanced down at their linked hands, then back up at her with her eyebrows raised.

Paige shook her head at that, laughing a little. “I got hit with a lawsuit after that night, though.”

Azzi’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm.” Paige nodded. “I settled before it went too far though. Dude didn’t want his face all over social media”

Azzi tilted her head. “How much?”

Paige shrugged. “Like sixty grand, I think.”

Azzi blinked. “You think?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Have you had any more like that?” Azzi asked.

Paige looked over. “Lawsuits?”

“I was thinking more like…blacking out, but yeah that works.”

Paige hummed, thinking about it. “No more lawsuits, thank God. But blacking out? Maybe a few more times. It’s rare, though. Takes a lot for me to get there.”

Azzi nodded. “What kind of ‘a lot’ are we talkin’?”

Paige exhaled, her eyes narrowing like she was filtering through memories. “It’s usually not just one thing. It builds. Pressure, fatigue, frustration…being misunderstood. Feeling cornered.” Paige pauses for a moment before saying, “I can deal with all the physical shit that comes with fighting but I struggle with the silent stuff that creeps in.”

Azzi let that sit between them, then asked, “So what do you do now, when you feel it…I don’t know…building?”

Paige looked down at their hands again, thumb brushing lazily over Azzi’s knuckles. “I’m still figuring it out. Some days I just hit the bag until I damn near can't feel my hands. When that doesn't work I come here to Minnesota, try to recenter.”

Azzi nodded at that saying, “That's healthy-ish. Well at least the coming to Minnesota part.”

They walked a few steps in silence before Paige nudged Azzi with her shoulder. “You ever black out?”

Azzi grinned. “Emotionally or legally?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

Azzi laughed. “Emotionally? I’m sure. Usually when I let things build, kinda the same as you. But legally?” She squinted at Paige. “I’d probably cry if someone sent me a letter with the word ‘lawsuit’ in it.”

Paige bumped her again saying, “Of course you would. We gotta toughen you up, princess.”

Azzi looked appalled at the thought. “Toughen up and princess don’t go together.”

“Yes they do. Ever seen a pissed-off disney princess in one of those sword fights? Shit’s crazy.”

Azzi squinted at her. “You’re comparing me to a Disney character now?”

“Depends,” Paige shrugged. “You more Elsa or Mulan?”

Azzi scoffed. “Mulan, easy.”

Paige gave her a once-over. “I can see it. Definitely got some fight in you but you cry at romance movies, so...”

“That’s called being in tune with my emotions.”

Paige snorted. “That’s called soft.”

Azzi squeezed her hand. “Seems like you like that.”

Paige didn’t respond to that, just looked ahead at the shoreline, before a smile she couldn’t control formed and she looked away shaking her head.

Azzi stopped, tugging Paige gently until they both stood still. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

Paige glanced at her, her blue eyes smiling for her. “You’re welcome.”

There was a softness in the way they looked at each other now, like they were more aware of one another.

“So what happens after this?”

Paige shrugged, like she didn’t want to put too much pressure on it. “Whatever you want to happen.”

Azzi smiled. “What if I just wanna keep walking with you for a little longer?”

Paige tugged Azzi with her saying, “Then we’ll keep walking.”

The two of them walked for what felt like hours, their footsteps slow as they talked about everything and nothing all at once. From favorite albums to childhood nicknames, to the most random hypotheticals Azzi could come up with just to hear Paige’s dry responses. The beach completely emptied and all lights turned off, leaving just the sound of the water and the occasional laugh between them echoing into the dark.

Eventually, they started making their way back toward the car, Paige promising that she knew where they were going and that she wouldn’t get Azzi lost. The breeze had cooled enough for Azzi to fold her arms over herself, though she didn’t say anything about it because she was almost positive that Paige would strip out of her shirt just to warm her slightly.

Halfway through the walk, Azzi groaned. “My feet hurt.”

Paige looked over at her, unimpressed. “Thought you were supposed to be an athlete?”

Azzi shot her a glare. “You didn’t tell me I’d be walking miles on our first date.”

Paige snorted, slowing down her pace. “We’re almost there.”

Azzi stopped in place, lifting one foot out of the sand in dramatic protest to ‘inspect’ it. “Define ‘almost.’”

Paige turned toward her, folding her arms as she looked at her. “You’re capable of walking, Azzi.”

“I’m capable of a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I should have to do them.”

Paige sighed like she was fighting a smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” Azzi said sweetly, extending her arms. “Gimme a piggy back ride.”

“You’re outta your mind.”

Azzi just blinked at her, still holding her arms out.

Paige groaned but turned around, crouching a little. “Get on before I change my mind.”

Azzi lit up, carefully hopping onto Paige’s back, arms wrapping around her shoulders as she smiled. “See? Was that so hard?”

Paige adjusted her grip under Azzi’s legs and made sure she still had her heels secured in her hand before she straightened up. “You’re lucky I think you’re cute.”

Azzi rested her chin on Paige’s shoulder. “I know.”

They walked the rest of the way like that. Azzi’s curls occasionally brushed against Paige’s cheek, and every now and then she’d hum softly under her breath, like she didn’t want the moment to end.

“Hey, Paige?” she said quietly in her ear after a while.

“Mhmm?”

Azzi paused, like she was searching for the right words. Then she decided, “Thanks for tonight.”

Paige gave Azzi’s thigh a gentle squeeze with her hand.

…

By the time they got back to the cabin, the sky was pitch black, scattered with stars, and the wind had grown quieter away from the water.

Inside, the warmth of the cabin was a nice contrast to the outside world. Paige moved on autopilot kicking off her shoes and pulling her hair down from the bun, and heading straight for the shower. Her muscles still ached from being in the gym early in the morning and the hours-long walk, but it was the good kind of tired. The kind that settles in your bones after a day that would be sure to hold memories that you’d look back on.

After washing off the ocean and sand, she tossed on a tank top and boxers. Her voice was already a little horse when she went to go say goodnight to Azzi who was in the middle of taking off her makeup. She offered a soft, “Goodnight,” before going back to her room and falling face first into the mattress.

It was nearly 3 a.m. when the knock came on Paige’s door.

Paige barely opened her eyes this time. Her face was buried deep into the pillows, her limbs felt heavy and unwilling to move so she just yelled out with a hoarse voice. “Come in.”

The door creaked open a second later, quiet footsteps walking across the floor. Paige didn’t lift her head. But she felt Azzi standing there lingering in place.

“What’re you doin’?” Paige asked.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

There was a pause. Paige shifted slightly, patting the empty space beside her without lifting her head. “Don’t stand there like a creep.”

That made Azzi smile as she crossed the rest of the room and slipped under the covers next to her, the mattress dipping under her weight.

They didn’t touch at first. Paige was still on her stomach with her face pressed into the pillows and Azzi laid on her side, watching the curve of Paige’s back rise and fall.

“Long day,” Azzi whispered after a while.

Paige hummed in agreement. “Mhm.”

Azzi starts tossing around for a few minutes restlessly shifting. At first, Paige ignores it, chalking it up to the usual fight to get comfortable after being hot. But when Azzi rolls again, her elbow brushing Paige’s side, Paige groans softly and blindly reaches out, wrapping an arm around Azzi and tugging her back against her chest and tangling their legs.

“Jesus,” she mumbled, her lips moving against Azzi’s shoulder. “You don’t ever stay still?”

Azzi didn’t answer, just exhaled softly. The sound wasn’t so much from her being tired, more so…thoughtful. Her breathing was different from the night before. Less casual. A little heavier.

Paige noticed, vaguely but she was so far gone from exhaustion that her brain wrote it off as nothing.

She kept her arm draped around Azzi, her fingers resting on Azzi’s bare stomach from her only having on a sports bra. Paige’s eyes were already closing again when she felt Azzi subtly pressing herself back into her.

Paige’s eyebrows knit together, even in her half-sleep daze as she tightened her grip on Azzi slightly.

Another few minutes passed. Then Azzi shifted again a little more deliberately this time as she pushed herself back into Paige’s space more firmly. Her hips met Paige’s body with a subtle arch.

Paige blinked a few times, suddenly feeling wide awake.

Her breath got stuck a little. Not in an alarming or surprising way. Just in the sudden rush of clarity. Her arm stayed locked around Azzi’s waist, but her fingers flexed against her stomach slightly.

“…Azzi,” she said softly, her breath warm against the back of Azzi’s neck.

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She reached down, gently lacing her fingers with Paige’s where they rested on her stomach. Then she whispered a little recklessly, “I thought you were tired.”

Paige swallowed hard, her nose brushing Azzi’s hair. “I was.”

Azzi let her thumb stroke across Paige’s knuckles. “Are you still?”

Paige exhaled through her nose, her eyes were heavy but the rest of her body felt fully awake. She tightened her hold to pull Azzi back into her again, not saying anything but answering.

“I don’t think that’s a no.”

Paige chuckled softly, pressing her forehead against the curve of Azzi’s shoulder. “It’s a ‘don’t start something you not ready to finish.’”

Azzi didn’t answer with words. She reached down and gently guided Paige’s hand beneath the waistband of her pajama shorts. Settling Paige’s hand where her body was screaming for attention. Her core was already warm from the wetness between her legs that Paige felt instantly. Paige’s fingers twitched and Azzi responded by pressing Paige’s fingers through her folds, a soft inhale escaping her lips at the feeling.

Slowly Paige trailed her hand up and used her middle finger to trace small slow circles against Azzi’s clit, each one softer than the last.

Azzi let out a sigh and tilted her head back against Paige’s shoulder. Letting her body melt into her.

Neither of them said anything. There was only the sound of them breathing, Azzi’s having shifted from steady to something heavier. Paige could feel everything, the rise and fall of her chest, the wetness that was growing underneath the pads of her fingers, the tension in Azzi’s body that wasn’t entirely tension but anticipation.

Paige kept her lips close to Azzi’s ear, but didn’t speak. Just allowing her breathing to be another form of stimulation.

Her thumb brushed against Azzi’s thigh as her middle finger continued to move in slow circles learning what got reactions out of Azzi.

Azzi’s breathing deepened and her chest started to rise slower as she took fuller breaths. Each of her inhales drawn out like she was trying to hold it together.

Paige’s hand didn’t move from Azzi’s clit. The way she was moving was patient. The position they were in was intimate in a way that made it hard for Azzi to breathe.

Azzi let out a quiet, broken whisper when Paige added a little more pressure. “That feels good…”

Paige leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against the crease of Azzi’s jaw. Her lips lingered there, her breath warm on Azzi’s skin as she brushed her nose against Azzi’s neck, before she pulled back.

Azz’s legs somewhat twitched as her fingers clutched the pillow in front of her, then released it, before clutching again.

She shuffled her hips against Paige’s hand trying to feel more of her but Paige kept the same gentle circles against Azzi’s center with the pad of her finger, like she was committed to the rhythm.

Azzi swallowed hard and her breath hitched when Paige’s fingers moved toward her entrance, gathering her wetness before moving back up again. Azzi’s jaw tightened, pushing her thighs together subtly to add more pressure.

Paige felt the tension building in Azzi’s body, felt the way Azzi arched into her hand so she pressed a little more firmly against Azzi’s bud, occasionally grazing her lips against Azzi’s neck and shoulder.

Azzi exhaled shakily. “Fuck Paigie…”

Paige kissed her just under her and whispered, “I know,” dipping her fingers back down causing Azzi to whimper quietly.

Azzi doesn’t know how long Paige circles her clit. Doesn’t know how many times she sucks in a breath when Paige dips her fingers down just to move them back up to perfectly circle her clit again.

The heat initially from Azzi’s chest was lower in her stomach, a pooling sensation that made it hard for her to stay still. Her body kept shifting: her legs tightening together, then relaxing when Paige kissed her skin, her hips pressing forward into Paige’s hand, her breath falling out in uneven, whimpers.

“Shit Paige…” she choked out. The sound made Paige’s lips twitch into a faint smile against her neck as she sucked on the spot gently, tracing it with her tongue.

Azzi let out another whimper, that was louder. She felt flushed and breathless, her thighs were trembling slightly. It only made her wetter when she thought about how close she was to coming undone just from the pad of one of Paige’s fingers.

When Paige saw Azzi’s eyes starting to flutter she pulled her finger away, to cup Azzi’s center with her palm.

Azzi let out a surprised sound at the loss of stimulation her body was aching for “Wait…”

“Trust me,” Paige whispered before pulling her into a slow kiss. Mirroring the way Paige’s fingers were moving, there was nothing rushed about the kiss. Paige kissed her like she knew exactly how to control Azzi’s body, like she was trying to slow down the sensations pulling at her core. Azzi let herself fall into the kiss, let herself breathe through it, even while her center pulsed in Paige’s warm palm.

Paige deepened the kiss, tracing Azzi’s tongue with her own before sucking on it as her hand free hand held Azzi’s jaw in place gently. Azzi moaned against her mouth. Every nerve ending still on the edge Paige left her on, causing every inch of her skin to feel alive.

Their lips stayed tangled for a few minutes that made Azzi feel like she was suspended in time and just when Azzi’s head started to clear, Paige’s fingers moved back to her clit. Starting those same circles with the pads of her fingers.

The contact was barely there to start but somehow it felt more intense than before.

Azzi's breath got stuck in her throat at the reintroduction to the sensation and her entire body reacted like Paige flipped a switch.

“Paige,” she whimpered out as her voice cracked slightly.

“Mhm?”

Azzi tried to swallow a moan by biting her lip as her fingers clutched the sheets. “You’re…so fucking mean.”

Paige chuckled, moving her mouth to brush against Azzi’s ear. “I’m mean?”

Azzi nodded, trying and failing to keep her hips from moving. “Y-Yeah…”

“Mmhmm,” Paige hummed again, her lips grazing the hinge of Azzi’s jaw. “Just from makin you feel good?”

Azzi whimpered at the cockiness she heard in Paige’s voice. Her breath was unsteady, every part of her fighting to stay composed. “You’re not even fucking me—”

“I am fucking you,” Paige whispered, her thumb now circling Azzi as the rest of her fingers dipped down to tease her entrance before moving back up. Azzi moaned at this, trying to press her thighs together subtly.

Paige soothed her by kissing her temple. “You’re doing so good.”

Azzi’s hand reached for Paige’s forearm, squeezing it like she needed it to ground her. Her voice came out desperate as she said, “You’re gonna make me cum before I feel you.”

Paige smiled. “I know. But I got you.”

She kept her same rhythm against Azzi, sometimes with just one finger in small circles, other times she used two, dragging the pads of her fingers loosely, changing the pressure. Each variation pulled something different from Azzi: little gasps, broken breaths, soft moans that Paige accentuated by sucking on her neck gently.

It didn’t take long for Azzi to feel the heat pooling again, this time obviously stronger, her nerves already frayed from the first time. The closer Paige got her to the edge, the more erratic Azzi became, words slipping from her mouth before she could catch them.

“Fuck daddy I—” she whimpered, her voice cracking before she could finish. Her head tipped back against Paige’s chest as she reached behind her to grab at Paige’s head.

“I—” she tried again, the words trailing off again before she finally got them out. “I’m so close—”

Before she could tell her not to stop, Paige’s fingers left her clit again. Her palm cupping Azzi’s center that she felt pulsing beneath her hand.

When this happened Azzi let out a frustrated, helpless sound. Something between a gasp and a whine. Her fingers pulling at Paige’s forearm trying to guide her back, but Paige just kissed the side of her neck gently, her own breathing completely steady.

“Not yet,” Paige whispered, almost apologetically.

Azzi exhaled unevenly before Paige caught her lips in a kiss that deepened far too quickly. Despite the unbearable heat building inside Azzi’s Paige kissed her like they had all the time in the world. She mapped Azzi’s mouth with hers, her tongue sliding every slowly as she controlled the pace of the kiss. She used just enough pressure to keep Azzi on edge without giving her relief.

When Paige pulled back, it was only to drop kisses to Azzi’s jawline, then lower, finding a spot just under her ear that made Azzi squirm. She palmed Azzi’s center with a little more pressure to reward her but she felt the subtleness of Azzi’s thighs pressing together, trying to create any form of friction. Paige knew it was probably involuntary, she could feel the tension radiating off of her body, feel the effort Azzi was making to not fall apart without what seemed to be Paige’s permission

“Stop,” Paige stated simply.

Azzi’s breath hitched. “I—” she started, her voice embarrassingly stuck. “I can’t control it.”

Paige pulled away everything for a second, just long enough for Azzi to feel the complete loss of sensation. Before she lifted her head to brush her nose against Azzi’s cheek. “Yes, you can.”

Azzi whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to control the tremble in her body.

Paige’s lips brushed against her ear, “Promise I got you. Just wait a little longer for me gorgeous.” Azzi took a long shaky breath and nodded before Paige reconnected their lips. After what felt like forever tangled in slow, aching kisses, Paige’s fingers returned to their familiar place on Azzi’s clit. Causing Azzi to exhale a sound that was closer to a moan than a breath.

She whispered Paige’s name and her voice cracking around it. The blonde’s name left her lips again and again, tangled with fragmented words and half-formed pleas that made Paige smile against her neck.

“Mhmm?” Paige whispered, pretending to play innocent as she kept Azzi trapped in that unbearable space just shy of her release. Paige shifted her touch subtly, the circles beginning to take on more shape.

At first, Azzi didn’t catch it, too caught in the haze of feeling Paige touch her. But after Paige whispered, “Focus for me,” she realized Paige was spelling something.

G-O-O-D G-I-R-L

Azzi’s body jerked at the subtle praise as she bit down on her lip hard enough to sting, swallowing the sound that clawed its way up her throat.

Paige chuckled softly, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “You like that?” she whispered as her fingers continued spelling it out in firm lazy strokes.

Azzi nodded, unable to speak.

It only took a few more minutes—just a few slow, devastating minutes of Paige circling her clit before Azzi completely came undone. Paige was still calm behind her like this wasn’t affecting her in the slightest. Like Azzi falling apart in her arms didn’t have her boxers soaked.

Azzi’s head lolled back against Paige’s chest, her dazed eyes blinking slowly as her parted lips released soft sounds without her permission. The pressure in her body was unbearable in that beautiful, addictive way that blurred the lines in her brain between someone she wanted and now needed. She felt hot all everywhere, her nerves were stretched thin, her muscles twitching with every circle Paige made with her fingers.

Her body started to tighten again “Please don’t stop,” Azzi said, barely loud enough for Paige to hear. Her tone was gentler this time. It wasn’t tinged with frustration or impatience, just quiet begging like she couldn’t take another second.

Paige pressed a kiss to her shoulder before moving down and easily curling two of her fingers into Azzi, causing her to shatter. Her legs tightened and trembled, a visible shudder running through her body as her breath caught then spilled out in uneven waves as she moaned out Paige’s name loudly. Words tumbling from her lips again and again. Her entire body felt like it was shaking as pleasure overtook her.

Azzi went limp against Paige’s chest, a mess of heavy breathing and boneless limbs, and Paige kissed the back of her shoulder as she kept moving her fingers inside of Azzi’s entrance, her fingers hitting that spongy spot every time she slid them in.

Azzi’s head tipped back against Paige’s shoulder when she added another finger, trying to form words and trying to catch her breath from what just happened. “Shit P-Paige, I—” Whatever she was trying to say got swallowed by the feeling of Paige speeding her hand up, pushing into Azzi at a faster pace as the bottom of her palm smacked against Azzi’s clit.

The contact had Azzi’s body jolting each time, her hips moving to meet the slaps, completely drawn to the pressure as she fucked herself on Paige’s fingers as her eyes fluttered, glassy and dazed.

The way Paige fucked her so confidently, so naturally, it was like Azzi’s body recognized her before her mind could even process what was happening. Azzi moaned as her fingers curled around Paige’s forearm again to hold onto something.

“Too much?” Paige whispered against her neck, her lips brushing the shell of Azzi’s ear.

Azzi tried to answer to say no, but her brain was fogged over and she suddenly didn’t know how to use her words. Her body felt hypersensitive, and each touch from Paige was magnified tenfold after how long the blonde dragged out the first orgasm.

Paige smiled and sped up, her fingers disappearing into Azzi at a faster pace, smacking the back of her palm against Azzi’s sensitive clit each time she pushed into her.

Her breath was warm against Azzi’s ear as she started whispering shit she would never be caught dead saying outside of this room.

“You hear that shit?” she whispered, referring to the sound of Azzi’s wetness echoing around the room. “You so easy for me.”

Azzi let out a shaky sound, her hand gripping Paige’s forearm again. She was barely able to speak, but still trying. “Y-You’re so,” she started, but it came out cracked and she couldn’t finish initially. “You’re so fucking good.”

Paige smiled at the admission. “I’m fucking you good Azzi?”

Azzi arched into Paige as she nodded, her body acting on its own every time Paige’s fingers curled. She was already unraveling again but trying to ground herself to extend the pleasure. “Fucking me so good I can’t even think straight daddy,” she admitted with a strained voice.

“I can tell it's mine already,” Paige whispered as she nipped at Azzi’s neck before soothing the skin with her tongue.

Azzi wanted to deny it, put Paige in her place a little but the way her chest opened at the words had her falling deeper and spilling out more onto Paige’s hand. She couldn’t do anything but let herself start to unravel again.

Paige slowed down and used her thumb to circle Azzi’s clit as she pushed deeper into her at a slower pace, drawing out the feeling each time she pulled her fingers out.

Azzi’s body tightened again as her hips twitched without any control. She let out a panicked sound as her hand flew to Paige’s wrist attempting to stop her. “W-Wait, wait I—” Azzi gasped, trying to shift away from Paige’s hand. “Paigie, I…I think I have to pee.”

Paige caught her wrist easily with her other hand that was under Azzi pulling it away. “No you don’t,” she whispered over the shell of Azzi’s ear before she tugged on it with her teeth. “Just relax for me. You trust me right?”

Azzi nodded her head faintly, as she tried to relax, but she was too far gone. She was too sensitive, too wound up from the hours Paige spent edging her without giving her a full release until a little bit ago. Her head was still spinning from the first orgasm, her legs started trembling again, and her mouth parted around broken breaths.

Before she could process what was happening, Paige pressed her thumb down in a firm, perfect circle just as she curled into the spongy part inside of her core..

White heat shot through Azzi’s entire body, wave after wave that felt like it would never stop, crashing over her so hard it stole her breath and made her arch into Paige’s chest. Her hands gripped blindly at the sheets, Paige’s thigh, Paige’s hair, anything she could find, as an involuntary scream tore from her throat, louder than anything she'd meant to make tonight.

She barely registered the warm, soaked mess that came from between her legs, or the aftershocks that rolled through her like she was vibrating from the inside out as Paige kissed along her neck and shoulder. She was whispering things Azzi couldn’t fully hear, her voice not fully registering against the ringing in Azzi’s ears.

Paige pulled her fingers out slowly, her palm dripping as she rested her wrist on Azzi’s hip, her wet fingers hanging idly in the air as Azzi fought to catch her breath, as aftershocks spread through her body in Paige’s arms.

They laid there for a few minutes as Azzi came back to earth, to catch her breath while her skin was still humming. When she gathered the strength she reached down and slid off her soaked pajama shorts before she rolled on top of Paige, settling her weight evenly as her hands braced both sides of Paige’s shoulders.

Paige blinked up at her, dazed but still trying to be composed as she processed how good Azzi looked up there. “I’m good…you don’t have to.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted, her expression teetering somewhere between confusion and skepticism. “‘You’re good’?” she repeated, her voice a little incredulous even repeating the words. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Paige chuckled under her breath, still trying to play it cool. “I’m just saying you don’t have to…We can just go to bed if you’re—.”

As she started to explain, her voice tapering off when Azzi leaned down and took Paige’s hand. The one that had been lying stiffly beside her because it was still coated in Azzi’s wetness and brought it to her lips.

Paige froze.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first, just held Paige’s gaze as she licked at her knuckles, her tongue feeling soft and warm before she let her lips part, taking three of Paige’s fingers into her mouth, her eyes only leaving hers when she closed them and hummed around Paige’s fingers.

Paige swallowed harshly as she watched completely frozen as she looked at Azzi in complete disbelief. Azzi’s lips dragged over each of her fingers, her tongue tracing each finger gently as she tasted herself, and it was like Paige forgot how to think as she watched.

When Azzi was done she placed Paige’s hand down then leaned closer, her lips brushing Paige’s jaw. “I wanna make you feel good,” she whispered, almost purring. “You can let me do that for you, right?”

Paige barely managed a nod as the tiniest most helpless sound escaped her before she swallowed it back. Her blue eyes locked on Azzi like she couldn’t fully believe what was happening.

Azzi smiled at Paige’s dazed nod, already knowing she had her exactly where she wanted her. Suddenly stripped of all that calm composure, completely folding at the slight display of dominance. Azzi slipped off Paige's boxers without much protest before straddling her again.

She pushed up Paige’s tank top, revealing the toned lines of her abs and let her fingertips ghost over the skin first, feeling the way Paige’s stomach twitched at the contact, before she leaned down and kissed just above her belly button.

She moved her lips slowly like she had all night. She kissed and licked at the skin of Paige’s stomach, soothing it with her tongue every now and then when she bit a little harshly.

When she glanced up to watch Paige struggle to hold it together Paige’s head fell back almost instantly at the eye contact from that angle.

Azzi somehow knew and felt that if she told Paige to move, to shift, to breathe deeper or softer or stop thinking altogether, she would do it with no questions asked. Something about that made Azzi want her more. Something about having somebody like Paige submissive for her went straight to Azzi’s head.

“Move your hands for me,” Azzi whispered softly as her lips were still brushing against Paige’s stomach.

Paige listened, raising her arms above her head and resting them against the pillow without a single question.Her hands twitched above her head when Azzi sucked harshly over one of her abs leaving a bright mark.

Azzi’s mouth curved into a grin when she felt Paige’s breath catch. “Mm,” she hummed before softly adding, “Good girl.”

Paige opened her eyes at this. “Watch your mouth.”

Azzi mumbled, “Yeah, okay,” clearly not sorry, and clearly not planning to stop. With that same confidence, she slid her hand between Paige’s legs and Paige’s body welcomed the touch like she had been waiting for it.

Azzi slowly eased two fingers into Paige until her palm rested flat against her center. She let Paige adjust to the feeling, letting her hand just linger there before starting slow strokes of her fingers.

She kept her eyes on Paige’s face, watching every small reaction: the twitch in her jaw, the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed, the way her hands that were still obediently tucked above her head grabbed at the pillars of the headboard.

“Still good?” Azzi whispered, her fingers never stopping their rhythm.

Paige blinked her eyes open slowly, jaw tightening for a second before she gave the faintest nod and closed her eyes again. “Y-Yeah…good,” she said, even though her voice was more breath than sound.

Azzi grinned again and leaned down to kiss just below her ribs, her fingers pushing just a little more firmly into Paige. “Good.” She shifted her weight, moving up until she was fully hovering above Paige looking down at the blonde saying, “When’s the last time somebody made you feel good?”

Paige’s eyes fluttered open slowly and when they did they were dazed. Her eyebrows furrowed as if she genuinely had to think. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.

Azzi cocked her head to the side slightly, as she increased the pace of her fingers between Paige’s legs. “You don’t know?”

Paige shook her head, struggling to keep her voice steady with the way Azzi’s fingers were curling into her. “ No I—just don’t usually. Hasn’t been good, so I don’t usually—”

She didn’t get to finish because Azzi’s eased in another finger pressing, right into that soft ache she was building in Paige’s stomach, causing her to suck in a sharp breath.

“Am I good?”

Paige choked on a short, surprised laugh, her head tipping back into the pillow.

Azzi waited for an answer.

Paige nodded, trying to catch her breath.

“Use your words,” Azzi whispered, ghosting her lips along Paige’s jaw.

Paige’s eyes squeezed shut as she exhaled, already starting to unravel. “Shit…yeah. Yeah you’re good.”

Azzi leaned down, capturing Paige’s lips in a messy kiss. The shift in her weight caused her to press into Paige more and she against her mouth with a broken sound that Azzi swallowed as she deepened the kiss.

When Azzi pulled away, it wasn’t for long as she started trailing kisses down the slope of Paige’s jaw to her neck, her lips brushing messily over the sensitive skin, licking and tasting the salt of her flushed skin from sweating slightly in her sleep. Paige’s head rolled to the side against the pillow.

“God, Azzi…please,” she moaned, not even sure what she was begging for. Her voice had dropped to something a little rougher showing just how far gone she was.

Azzi smiled against her neck, letting her tongue glide and suck over her pulse.

“I never felt…fuck, I’ve never—” Paige cut herself off with a sharp inhale when Azzi shifted her leg pressing her fingers deeper into her cervix.

Azzi pulled back to look at her. “You like this?” she asked, just to hear how Paige would respond.

Paige gave a short, breathless laugh that cracked halfway through. “Yeah shit. Love it. You don’t even know—” Another gasp. “Shit I don’t even know what I’m tryna say.”

Azzi tilted her head, watching her unravel with a soft hum. “If I knew I just needed to fuck you to get you talking,” she said, her voice a little arrogant, “I would’ve had you in my bed a lot sooner.”

Paige let out a low laugh at Azzi’s comment, before it was replaced with a moan when Azzi pressed against her stomach. “I’m close.”

Azzi just smiled softly, pressing into the same spot on her stomach as her thumb moved in slow circles and her fingers curled perfectly. The sensation of all three movements caused Paige’s fingers to twitch near her head as she bit her bottom lip. It only took a few more strokes before Paige was gone, her body tensing under Azzi as she came undone with a harsh exhale, her back arching off the bed. Her eyes rolled back and her lips parted as another quiet “fuck” slipped out along with a few other words that Azzi couldn’t make out as she helped her ride out her orgasm.

When it seemed like Paige was done Azzi pulled her fingers out slowly and eased next to her. After a few seconds, Paige let out a chuckle.

Azzi, now nestled in her side, glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

Paige turned her head to look at her, mumbling through the remnants of a grin, “You just bitched me.”

Azzi laughed. “That really wasn’t even that bad.”

Paige shook her head, fluttering her eyes closed again. “Mmm. That’s crazy.”

Silence lingered for a moment as the air between them started to cool down despite their warm skin.

Paige broke the silence with a quiet sigh. “You ruined my sheets.”

Azzi didn’t open her eyes to respond. “We’re not talking about that.”

They just shifted to the other side of the bed that was dry, Azzi maneuvering herself so she was laying halfway on top of Paige, her arm draped loosely over Paige’s stomach and one leg hooked around her thigh.

“I’m just throwing it out there,” Azzi added, “You can’t blame me for what happened. You told me to relax.”

Paige grinned. “Didn’t blame you.”

Azzi propped herself up on one elbow, brushing a few strands of hair off Paige’s forehead. “You kinda did. ‘You ruined my sheets,’” she mimicked. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

“Mm. Make sure you color match ‘em.”

“Obviously.” Azzi grinned and rested her head against Paige’s shoulder again. “You know, for someone who fights for a living, you’re kind of easy to fold.”

That got a small snort out of Paige.

Azzi smiled at the sound, quiet for a second before continuing to talk, “You tired?”

Paige nodded, barely opening her eyes. “Exhausted.”

“Me too. But I still have, like, five more things to say.”

Paige cracked one eye open as she looked down at Azzi. “Say ‘em.”

Azzi sighed into Paige’s neck, “Nah…I’ll save some for the morning.”

Paige didn’t answer this time, just decided to run her fingers along Azzi’s spine in slow lines to settle her down. Sure enough Azzi’s eyes fluttered closed a few seconds later, and the room settled into a peaceful quiet, their breaths falling in sync as the birds outside started chirping.

…

A few hours later Azzi’s body naturally started to stir despite only getting a few hours of sleep. She felt the warmness of someone else’s skin and the tangle of their limbs before her eyes even opened. Bright light filtered through the curtains and it took her a few seconds to adjust. She blinked a few times and eventually her vision cleared enough for her to realize she was still draped across Paige, her cheek pressed against her chest.

Paige was already awake with her eyes fixed on the ceiling and when Azzi lifted her head slightly, her weight shifted enough for Paige to notice. Without looking down, Paige said, “Morning.”

Azzi smiled, her voice slightly raspy. “Good morning.”

Paige didn’t move to look at Azzi and her eyebrows were pinched slightly, something far-off in her expression.

Azzi reached up, gently brushing her thumb between Paige’s eyebrows, smoothing out the crease. “What are you thinking about?”

“My fight.”

Azzi’s fingers paused over her skin. “You think about that every morning?”

Paige’s eyes stayed on the ceiling. “The moment I open my eyes honestly.”

Azzi let her hand move to rest lightly on Paige’s cheek, her thumb brushing against the soft skin. She pressed a kiss to Paige’s jaw, whispering, “You’re allowed to have mornings without it, you know.”

Paige didn’t offer a response right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling like she was still thinking about something. Eventually, she said, “I haven’t been able to watch it yet.”

Azzi stayed quiet, letting the words settle as her hand moved slowly, her fingers tracing the line of Paige’s jaw, then brushing lightly over her lower face; her chin, the curve of her mouth, her cheekbone. “Why not?”

Paige let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s bad,” she said, dryly. “Feel like pouring bleach in my eye and never stepping foot in the cage again every time I try,” she offered a little dramatically.

Azzi hummed, her thumb still brushing along the edge of Paige’s mouth. “Well…that wouldn’t be very good,” she said, adding a little humor to the situation.

That got a real laugh out of Paige.

Azzi smiled at the sound. “We can watch when we get back to LA,” she offered. “Tonight after I’m done with practice if you want.” There was a pause before she added, “I’ll make sure you don’t pour bleach in those pretty eyes…promise.”

Paige’s lip twitched at the joke. It wasn’t fully a smile, but it hovered to something close. “We don’t gotta do that.”

“We gotta do something,” Azzi said, her tone changing just enough to make Paige glance at her. “Most people wake up a little more gleeful after sex, and I woke up to Oscar the Grouch.”

That earned an eye roll from Paige, but a smile finally broke through as she mumbled, “Whatever bro.”

They laid there in silence for a while just letting the quiet morning wrap around them. Paige had one arm resting behind her head, while Azzi still laid halfway on top of her, tracing shapes on Paige’s forearm.

“Are you coming to my game?” Azzi eventually asked.

Paige tilted her head to glance down at her. “You want me to?”

Azzi shifted enough to meet her gaze. “Yeah. I do…I mean only if you want to though.”

“I was already coming,” Paige said casually. “Just wanted to hear you say you wanted me there.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “You’re such an asshole.”

“You told me you liked that.”

Azzi sat up and swung one of her legs over to straddle Paige’s waist, her hands finding both of Paige’s wrists and pinning them to the bed. “You got a smart mouth this morning.”

“I had a smart mouth last night too,” Paige replied, smirking a little, “somebody was a lil too busy squirting all over my sheets to notice though.”

Azzi gasped, pretending to be offended and went to smack her, but Paige caught her hand easily and rolled them over making Azzi end up beneath her. Azzi let out a surprised squeal as Paige hovered on top of her, pinning both of her wrists above her head with one hand.

“That’s rude,” Azzi mumbled, squirming a little trying to get out. “That’s twice now you’ve manhandled me.”

“You keeping count?,” Paige asked, grinning at her.

Azzi glared, but she couldn’t hide her smile. “You’re so lucky I kinda like you.”

Paige leaned down a little. “Since we’re admitting things. Don’t know if you knew,” she added casually, “but you’re possessive.”

Azzi blinked in confusion because she’s definitely not, she’d never been jealous in her life.“No, I’m not.”

Paige tilted her head to show two dark marks, one under her jaw and the other on the side of neck, then used her free hand to pull her shirt up revealing a constellation of faint bruises and bite marks on her stomach.

“…Okay. Maybe I’m enthusiastic.”

“Enthusiastic,” Paige repeated. “Sure, let's call it that.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints when I was doing it.”

“I’m not complaining,” Paige said, brushing her nose along Azzi’s jaw. “Just saying next time you wanna mark your territory, maybe let me know so I can stretch my neck first.”

Azzi laughed and let her head fall back into the pillow. “Oh my God, you’re annoying.”

Paige just laughed before flipping them again, not wanting to lay her weight on Azzi. Neither of them wanted to start the day. The bed was warm but Azzi’s phone starting to buzz reminded them that they had to go back to LA.

Azzi was the first to groan and peel herself away from the bed, mumbling something about needing extra time untangle her hair. Paige just hummed as she watched Azzi walk out of the room before letting her eyes flutter shut for a few more minutes before dragging herself to the bathroom.

When Azzi came back, freshly showered and a little more put together, she found Paige in front of the mirror, a toothbrush hanging from her mouth as she looked down at her phone. Her wet hair was down and she had on a sports bra and sweatpants.

Azzi walked over and wrapped her arms around Paige from behind, resting her cheek between her shoulder blades. Azzi closed her eyes and just let herself enjoy the moment before saying, “You gonna be nice to me when we get back?”

Paige leaned forward and spit into the sink before whipping her mouth with a towel. When she was done she turned around, wrapping her arms around Azzi’s waist. When she spoke her voice was low in the way that made Azzi's stomach flutter. “You think I brought you to my family's cabin, walked with you on the beach for hours and carried you back to the car just to turn around and not be nice to you?”

Azzi blinked and her forehead creased as she thought through the logistics. Realizing just how long they'd walked yesterday, and how far back Paige had actually carried her, and how unbothered she’d been about doing it. “Good point.”

Paige smiled at her a little before smacking her ass and kissing her forehead saying, “Alright let’s get outta here.”

[mrgoldmc26]

Yuna goes to School Part 1

Tags: Different sexual partners, blowjob, anal, creampie, lots of dirty talk, spanking, school sex, cum swallowing, facial, daddy kink and more...

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: Hey, guys. Sorry for the long wait for another chapter. I hope you guys like this one. Decided to try something new, not only in terms on kinks, but also writing style. Wanted to make some words stand out (in terms of their meaning), so I made them bold just add that little extra umpf to it.

Also, no way near as many pics as in my other chapters, because I wanted to keep the theme of this chapter.

The following is a Fan Fiction and should be treated as such.

"Ten more days in this shithole, and I'm free forever." Yuna thought to herself.

Life as an idol wasn't easy, especially if you were still in school. There wasn't a single spot inside the school where Yuna could go without feeling someone looking at her. Because she had debuted with Itzy at such a young age, almost 3 years ago, it meant she was by far the most popular girl in the school, and with that came great responsibilities.

There was a lot of pressure on her at all times. She couldn't get caught lacking. Yuna had to look flawless at every moment. She also had to be extremely careful with what she said and did, or else all it took was one video out of context and her career would be over, just like that. But perhaps most importantly, just like any other student, her grades had to be top-notch. Netizens would destroy Yuna online if they found out she was just as dumb as the average BTS fan...

Unfortunately for Yuna, balancing idol life with school studies was starting to get increasingly more difficult, and with the final exam just around the corner, she knew she needed help.

Knowing this, Yuna decided to head over to the school library, where she luckily found the smartest student in the whole school. He was one of those prodigy kids...a black guy that came to Korea through one of those exchange student programs. Not only was he the smartest guy in the school, but he was also in her class, which meant that if there was anyone who could help her, it was him.

"Hey...do you mind if I sit here, next to you?"

The boy was very shy, and why wouldn't he be? Hottest girl in the school wanting to sit right next to you...a celebrity, an idol, a legend in the making, and a future icon of the business...it was perfectly normal for him to feel this way towards her, especially when she wanted to be right next to him.

He nodded very quietly, and Yuna sat down next to him.

"Can you help me study for the test? I really need it." She asked, giving him the eyes.

"Uhhmm, y-yeah...of course..."

Yuna almost burst out laughing with how much the poor boy was shaking, but she managed to hold it, and instead she just smiled at him.

The two started going over the potential exercises that could show up in the test, and it was going nicely for the first couple of minutes until Yuna decided to rest her hand on his thigh, and that's when she felt a large bulge in his pants. The guy was rock hard, just from being next to Yuna, and he shifted in his seat as soon as he felt her hand touch his boner.

"Uhmmm, sorry." Yuna said, immediately removing her hand.

The guy gulped down hard, hoping that she didn't feel how hard he was for her, but Yuna knew...Yuna knew and she wanted it...badly.

It was Yuna's biggest weakness...cocks. The bigger, the better. The more, the merrier. She couldn't help herself. Not ever since Ryujin opened her doors to this side of the universe, shortly after she turned 18, almost two months ago. Ever since the day that Ryujin invited a fan backstage after a show for a special "Meet & Greet" with both of them, Yuna couldn't think of anything else other than cocks. During classes, all she could think about was which guy she should pick to bring over to the bathroom and blow him during the intervals.

Yuna never would've guessed that this shy smart boy had a big cock, but she should've, given he was black.

As for him, he lost all composure once he felt her hand on his pants. After that, he could no longer help Yuna with studies...hell...he could barely string a sentence together...

"Do you want me to take care of that?"

"Huh?...what?!"

"C'mon, I know you want it."

"B-but...we are in the library."

"Chill, look around...there is barely anyone here, plus we are like in the most hidden corner of the library. We are not gonna get caught." Yuna said, getting off her chair and sliding to her knees.

She immediately started working on his pants, unbuttoning them and pulling them down to his ankles alongside his boxers.

"Yuna, are you sure? This is cra..fuckkkkkk"

His sentence died in his mouth as soon as Yuna took his whole length down her throat. She deepthroated his enormous black cock a few times before pulling back, and she already had multiple strings of spit dripping down her chin.

"Fuck, I love sucking big black cocks." She said, giving his shaft a few strokes before sliding her lips past his dick and taking him into her mouth once again.

The guy was in utter disbelief of how he managed to get into this situation in the first place, but he didn't care. He very well knew this was his only chance of fucking a K-Pop idol, and he wasn't going to waste it. He no longer cared if he got caught, and neither did Yuna.

He remained seated on the chair and let Yuna do all the work. The 18-year-old idol happily bobbed her head up and down on his big black cock and kept slurping away. The guy threw his head back as Yuna constantly choked herself on his dick.

"Yuna...I'm not going to last much longer."

Yuna smiled with his cock in her mouth and kept sucking his dick for a couple more seconds before releasing him with a loud pop in the practically empty school library.

"Good...then don't. Stand up, fuck my face, and cum down my throat." She said, holding his massive black cock with both of her hands and rapidly stroking it whilst sliding her tongue across his sensitive tip.

Every word that came out of the mouth of Itzy's maknae fueled his lust for her, and his shy barrier was rapidly cracking. He was eager to fulfill Yuna's request, and so he stood up, put his hands on each side of her face, and started smashing his cock into the back of Yuna's throat. Yuna proudly gagged around his black cock like the naughty student that she was and took it all the way down. Her school uniform was covered in drool in just a matter of seconds, but that didn't stop him from thrusting his hips and giving Yuna all of his cock.

Seeing Yuna on her knees with her mouth stuffed full of his brown cock only made him grow in confidence, and he decided to show her this by slapping the left cheek of her face with his right hand a few times, until it became red. Yuna was loving every single second of it, and she made sure to tell him by removing his hard dick from her mouth and slapping her face with it for a couple of seconds.

Yuna's efforts on his cock sent him to a point of no return, and he quickly grabbed hold of her hair and shoved his dick right back into her mouth. Yuna's eyes were wide open as she got caught by surprise, but she didn't mind it. She loved it, actually. Loved feeling his hard cock slide past her lips each time he went in and out of her mouth. Loved feeling his heavy balls hit her chin with each thrust. And she fucking loved when he eventually blew his load inside her mouth, sending multiple ropes to the back of Yuna's throat, filling it entirely.

She tried to swallow everything, but it was too much cum, even for someone like Yuna, and she had no other option but to spit half of his seed onto her uniform. It created a large stain that would be pretty difficult to hide, but that was the last thing on Yuna's mind right now...

"Fuck, I didn't know you had so much cum."

"Yeah, well...black men always cum a lot, you should know."

"True, but I don't think the cum I've sucked out of black dicks so far compares to yours."

"Didn't you turn 18 like a month ago or something?"

"I did, but I've got some experience already...Ryujin unnie is teaching me the ropes."

Yuna's reply made his cock twitch, and it only got harder when Yuna stood up and turned around. She gave him a brief smile over her shoulder before bending over and sliding down her soaked panties.

She shook her butt a little bit, as if she was begging him to slide his dick inside her.

"Yuna, what the fuck...I...I can't. It's still sensitive."

"But it's hard, and I want it. Don't you wanna fuck my tight pussy with that big cock?"

"You are crazy..."

"Crazy for cock, yes. Now shut up and fuck me. And don't you dare pull out. I want you to cum inside me."

There was no chance in hell that he was going to give up on this offer, and so he placed his hands on Yuna's waist and started teasing her by rubbing his hard dick between her pussy lips.

"Don't tease me, please. Put that dick inside me and fuck me hard."

"I need that huge cock inside me right now."

Cock was what she craved, and cock was what she got when the guy slowly slid his entire length into Yuna's cunt. Yuna was extremely tight, which was always going to be the case given how young she was, however, luckily for him, she was indeed very wet, and with the blowjob from earlier, it made his cock slip in and out of her Korean pussy not as difficult of a task as one might think.

He pumped her at a steady pace, not slow or fast. All he wanted was to feel her walls and the way they hugged big black cock perfectly, as if Yuna was born to take such a huge dick (which she definitely was).

The longer he fucked her, the more Yuna begged him to go harder, and once he did, she started moaning loudly. His reactions were insanely fast, and he quickly put his right hand over her mouth, preventing Yuna from revealing their location to the one or two people still inside the school library at that time.

"Are you fucking crazy? Do you wanna get caught?" He asked, removing his hand so she could answer.

"Sorry...Fuckkk, I can't help it. It's too good. Your cock is just so fucking perfect...It's much bigger than any other black cock I've taken so far."

"And no...I don't wanna get caught. All I want is your cum, so please...give it to me."

"Pull my hair and pump me full of cum. I wannabe your BBC slut."

With his hand back over her mouth and now a grip on her hair, he began fucking Yuna hard and rough. Her moans might've been muffled, but anyone who would come close to their proximity, could 100% hear the sound of Yuna's cheeks getting absolutely clapped and pounded with immense force...he did not hold back, whatsoever.

At that time, the library was nothing more than Yuna's sex chamber...a place for her to be fucked and ruined by a fellow classmate that had a ridiculously huge black cock.

Yuna took his cock like a pro and let him use her as his personal toy. A few seconds of rubbing her clit after putting her hand between her legs was all it took to make her cum on his cock, and once she did, her legs almost gave up. In fact, if not for him or the table that she was currently being bent over, Yuna would've collapsed to the ground. Instead, she was able to just remain there and take his big black cock over and over and over again, with her pussy being stretched to the absolute limit.

With fear that someone else might hear him, he didn't tell Yuna that he was close and instead kept hammering away at her pussy. He fucked her balls deep, and after a couple of more minutes of using Yuna as his personal cumslut, he unloaded inside her just like she asked.

"Oh my god, fuckkkk. It's so warm...I can feel your cock throbbing inside my pussy."

"I can't believe I just fucked a K-Pop idol inside the school..."

"It definitely won't be the last time. I can guarantee you that." Yuna replied, as the guy pulled out his cock and watched as his cum slowly leaked out of Yuna's pussy and ran down her thighs before falling onto the floor.

And she was right...it wasn't the last time. For the entirety of the next week leading up to the final exam, Yuna and him fucked her all over the school, in the most hidden of spaces. She took his cock everywhere...in her mouth, in her pussy and she even let him have her ass. Yuna let him use her as his personal cumdispenser. All that Yuna could think about was him and his huge black cock, that it actually caused a huge problem for her...she didn't study. She actually didn't study...not one bit. Yuna was fucked, and not in the good way.

The final exam was a disaster for Yuna. For the next two days after the exam, she prayed that it was enough to pass. When the day of receiving her grade arrived, her professor waited for the very last minute of the class to hand out the results. He had the exams on a stack on top of his table and told everyone to grab theirs and leave his classroom. Yuna was the very last one to grab hers because she feared the worst, and her professor confirmed her fears before Yuna even had the chance to pick up her exam and look at her grade.

"Shin Yuna...what happened?"

"Professor...I don't know..."

"It pains me to do this to you...to end your career, just because of a test..."

"Please, don't do this...this can't get out...I need a passing grade, or else it's all over...my dream of becoming an idol will end." She said, walking over to his side of the desk with the most pleading face she could pull.

"Yuna...I can't do anything for you. My hands are tied. I'm sorry."

"You can't, but...maybe I can do something for you..." Yuna said, slowly reaching over to his crotch with her hand.

"Yuna, what are you doing? I can't do this."

"Your dick says otherwise." She replied, feeling his cock already getting hard.

"I can't do this...I can't risk my job."

"Nobody is going to find out. Everyone has already left."

"It's just me, you, and your big cock." She added, felling him getting harder and harder with each rub.

"Yuna...fuckkkk."

"No...fuck...shit...I can't do it. I'm married."

"Oh, come on...I see the way you look at me when I'm in class. I know you want to fuck me." She said, as she stopped working on his pants and moved behind him to give him a massage on his shoulders.

"I see the way you arrive every day...stressed. Is your wife not doing the job, Mr. Professor?"

"Is she not draining those balls properly?" She doubled down, whispering in his ear.

"Don't you wanna fuck a hot, popular K-Pop idol?"

"Yuna, please don't do this...I can't cheat on my wife. We've been married for over 30 years."

"We met in this exact school. We are high-school sweethearts. She's the only woman I have ever been with."

"Well, time to add another one to the list, then..." Yuna said, lifting her school uniform and briefly flashing him her tits.

"Yuna, what the fuck!"

"C'mon, touch them. I know you want to."

Her teacher was unable to take his eyes off her small breasts, but he remained professional, and didn't reach out for them. In the end, it didn't really matter, because Yuna reached out to grab his right arm and placed his hand directly on her tits, forcing him to feel them.

"Yuna!!!"

"Shhhhhhhhhh." She said, by pressing her finger to his lips, forcing him to stay quiet.

"Here is what's going to happen..."

"You are going to pull out your cock, and I'm gonna suck it like the good little slut that I am."

"Afterwards, I'm going to let you use me as your anal slut and you're going to pound the shit out of my asshole until you paint my insides."

"And in return for giving you the best sex you will ever have, I want you to change my grade to A+."

"Do we have a deal...daddy?"

A hard cock in his pants combined with a handful of her tits plus the dirty talk...Yuna knew she had him on the palm of his hands, and he knew that too. It was physically impossible for him to resist Yuna and the chance to fuck one of the hottest K-Pop idols of all time, even though she was still only 18 years of age.

After a brief moment of silence and consideration, only three words left his mouth.

"Lock the door."

"Victory." Yuna thought to herself.

With a smile on her face, she turned around and did what she was told. After locking the door, she walked over back to him. She tried to lean in and kiss him, but he had other plans.

He spun Yuna around and pushed her against his desk, bending her over at a 90º angle. Her head was pressed sideways against the cold steel table, and despite wanting and needing this to happen, this wasn't in her bingo card.

"What are you doing, daddy?"

"I'm going to teach you a lesson."

"A lesson of what happens when cute little girls like you decide to behave like naughty dirty sluts." He added.

"Hmmm, well, you are my teacher, so...teach me. Teach me what happens to dirty sluts like me."

"You wanna know what happens, Yuna? They get punished, and that is what I'm going to do to you...I'm going to punish you for being a dirty slut."

"Hmmmm, okay...I like the sound of that. How are you going to do that?"

Her question went unanswered, with the professor opting to remain silent and let his actions speak for themselves. He grabbed her mini skirt and pulled it down slowly, watching her supple and round butt appear from under it, only made bigger and more inviting by her perfect wide hips.

"Pfffff...of course you're not wearing any panties...fucking slut..."

Yuna just smiled and waited for her punishment. In that position, Yuna thought she was in for a nice hard spanking coming from her professor, and her thoughts were confirmed when she saw him reach for a large wooden ruler on his desk, right next to where she was bent over.

With the 18-year-old folded in half over his table and her bare butt sticking out, he raised his right arm and started giving her some nice hard slaps across her buttcheeks, as a nice warm-up for what was about to go down.

"Slap me harder, daddy. I've been such a naughty student."

"Yeah...you have. Why did you stop studding? Your grades have fallen off a cliff this past couple of weeks." He responded, not only with his words, but also with a hard smack across her ass, leaving his handprint on her cheek.

"Fuckkk...I was too busy sucking cocks left, right, and center."

"You will not make it in this industry, Yuna. One day, people will find out how much of a slut you really are, and your career will be over."

"I don't care about the future...I care about the present...the now."

"I love being a naughty, dirty, slutty, cock hungry bitch. I love sucking cocks and getting fucked by guys with big dicks."

"And right now...I want that. I want you to punish me until you deem me worthy of your huge cock, daddy."

Lust had taken over Yuna's mind, and for her, this was no longer about her grades or her future. The only thing Yuna cared about was getting fucked and used by her teacher. Yuna wanted him to dominate her, and that is what he did. He grabbed her arms and put them behind her back before taking a few steps back and admiring his work. Yuna...the 18-year-old K-Pop idol...Itzy's maknae...bent over his desk wearing nothing but the school uniform, with her holes exposed for him and him only. The grin on his face said it all, and he was ready to put Yuna in her place.

He put the ruler in his hands and gave her a swift but not too hard slap. Yuna let out a soft moan once she felt the large wooden object hit her skin, and she smiled every time he spanked her with the ruler.

"Hit me harder, c'mon. Make me your slut." She said, shaking her butt from side to side.

Her teasing only made his cock throb against his pants even more, and if Yuna wanted it harder, she was going to get it. The professor pulled his arm further than before and began hitting her with his ruler. Yuna's cheeks shook with each spank and she bit her lip hard. She was enjoying the constant stinging sensation on her buttcheeks, and the handprint that was previously on her ass had been replaced by numerous red marks. However, unsurprisingly, she wanted more.

For a horny slut like Yuna, being butt naked and bent over a table whilst getting spanked in a classroom inside the fucking school was just simply wasn't enough for her. As for her professor, it was dreamland. He had easily the hottest girl in the school, half naked in front of him. That alone in any other scenario would be enough to send any man into a euphoric state, but Yuna wasn't any other girl...

She was an 'It Girl' of the K-Pop industry. Yuna was already so famous that it was practically impossible to step foot outside without seeing her face on a big ass billboard. To have someone that famous...that talented...that rich, right in front of you and at your mercy...it's something capable of turning any man into a lust-frenzied animal, and in this case it was no different.

Her teacher kept unleashing a barrage of spanks on her ass, and those were always met with the same word.

"Harder!"

Yuna was a complete masochist, and he fucking loved that. At the start, he was a bit afraid of hitting her hard, but now he wasn't holding back anymore. With each slap, the ruler left a nasty red mark, and the sounds of it hitting her ass echoed inside the classroom.

"HARDER!"

Yuna wasn't the only one taking a beating, as all this spanking was absolutely draining his energy, and Yuna could feel that because of the longer time between each hit. He took a step back for a little bit of a breather and admired the damage that he had done. Yuna's cheeks were so red that it was as if she had decided to tan only that part of her body.

"Do you want to spank me some more, or do you want to put your hard dick inside my mouth and make me choke on it?"

"S-Shut up...shut up and spread that asshole for me, slut." He said in between heavy breaths.

Yuna didn't waste any time and put her fingers between her asscheeks. As soon as her fingertips made contact with her skin, she felt just how much pain she was really in. It was going to be a long time before she could sit her sweet ass on any surface...

She was still eager to comply, so she grabbed her asscheeks once again and spread them wide, to give him the perfect view of her tight little hole.

"Take a good look, daddy."

"That's what you will be pounding in just a few minutes."

"I can't wait to feel that hard cock filling me up and stretching me out."

"I bet your wife doesn't even take it up the ass, now does she?"

The bare mention of his wife turned all that lust into pure rage. He didn't want to be in this situation to begin with, but Yuna gave him no other option, with how naughty she behaved and talked. Without saying a single word, he grabbed her hands and put them on the table before taking a few steps back.

Yuna was completely unaware of what her teacher was going to do. Her head was pressed sideways against the table, and all she could do was wait in anticipation. The professor held the wooden ruler with both of his hands, as if he was holding a baseball bat or a katana and lifted it above his head before smashing it against her right cheek with all his strength.

"FUCK, OH MY FUCKING GOD, FUCKKKKKKK!!!!!" She cried out.

He used so much power that the ruler broke in half once it made contact with Yuna's ass. Even he was in shock once he saw one piece of the ruler flying across the room and the other one still in his hands. Yuna was in complete pain, and she definitely bit off more than she could chew. It was safe to say that she learned her lesson. She had spent so many moments inside that classroom over the years, and yet, despite all the pain she was in, this was still by far her favourite moment of being there.

A short moment of silence settled in the classroom, with them realizing that they had both crossed the line in their lust for each other. Yuna slowly turned around and looked him in the eyes, with a painful look on her face. As for him, he had mixed feelings all over the place. He had just smashed a wooden ruler against his student's ass so hard that it broke in half!!! And it wasn't just any student, no...it was Yuna. Someone who could easily buy his whole house. Someone who made more money in two years than him in his entire career as a teacher. And to add to that, he had his wife in the back of his mind. Technically, he wasn't cheating on her...he still hadn't had sex with Yuna. He could stop right here and walk away, but his cock had a mind of its own, and he knew he couldn't resist Itzy's maknae any longer.

"Are...are you ready for your reward?"

"Yes, daddy. I've never been more ready for cock in my whole life. I'm so wet for you."

"I'm going to suck your cock so good, that you won't be able to think of anyone else." She added.

Yuna was treading through dangerous waters. She made sure to avoid his trigger word, but he knew very well what she meant by that. He shot her an unpleasant look, before moving on.

"Good. Then get down on your knees and open your fucking mouth."

Despite his order, there was no chance in hell Yuna could sit with how sore her ass was, so instead she just squatted and unbuckled his pants before pulling them down. A wide smile appeared on her face once she was finally had his big cock in front of her.

Her hands immediately latched onto it, but swatted them away, which brought out Yuna's puppy eyes. It was if someone had just taken away her favourite toy.

She wasn't left sad for too long though, as he placed his hand on the top of her head and started slapping her face with his big dick. Yuna stuck her tongue out after the first couple of slaps and happily let him use her face for his pleasure.

Yuna loved feeling his ridiculously hard cock hitting her face and tongue, and he knew it. And despite knowing how much she was enjoying herself, he knew what she really wanted, and he decided to make her beg for it.

"Tell me what you want, Yuna. Say it."

"Please, daddy...push your cock down my throat."

"That's not good enough!" He replied, slamming his fist on the table.

"Put that big dick in my mouth and make me take it like the slut that I am. I know I can give head way better than your lame, ugly wife."

"Oh, shut the fuck up and take my cock, you fucking slut." He said, grabbing her hair and forcing his cock down Yuna's throat.

Yuna knew exactly how to trigger him, and she got what she wanted from him...his cock right into the back of her throat. No going slow...no time to adjust...none of that bullshit. Just straight up intense facefuck from the very start.

The professor held her head and kept pounding away at her face, fucking her throat without any mercy. Yuna's jaw was forced wide open, and she couldn't help but gag around his length each time it went down her throat.

Her mouth was filled with cock and she had drool all over her chin. Spit was constantly leaking out of the corners of Yuna's mouth, despite her having her lips wrapped tightly around his cock.

The only thing that could be heard inside the classroom was the sound of his balls slapping her chin and Yuna's gagging. Her throat was being demolished by her teacher's dick, and yet, she didn't want to have it any other way. He kept on using her as his personal fleshlight for a while longer, until he decided to stop his thrusts into the back of her throat. However, instead of pulling out, he remained balls deep inside her throat, taking on the view that he knew he would surely only see once in his life...

He admired the bulge of his cock in her neck and how pretty she looked with his dick stuffed down her throat.

"You look so beautiful with my dick in your mouth, you know that?"

Yuna smiled around his length, which made a lot of saliva escape her mouth and drip down her chin before it landed on her school uniform.

"So this is why you failed in the final exam, huh? Turned 18 and discovered your true passion...acting like a slut, sucking dicks, getting fucked and draining big cocks, huh?" He asked, letting his cock slip out of her mouth.

Before Yuna could even answer, he started slapping her a few times with his cock, just to make a complete mess of her face. Yuna smiled and let him rub is dick all over her lips as much as he wanted, before finally coming to a stop and letting Itzy's starlet answer his question. "I can't lie...my music career is no longer my number one priority."

"All I really want these days is a nice fat cock to play with and drain as much as I want." She said, opening her mouth for him to stick his shaft back inside.

He was slow this time, just enjoying the way her lips felt every time he slid his dick past them. Yuna hummed around his length and made sure to match his movements by slowly bobbing her head back and forth on his cock.

"You love that, don't you?"

"Yes, daddy. I love having dick in my mouth. I love sucking huge cocks like yours." She said, releasing him from her mouth.

"Then prove it. Show me how much you love this dick, Yuna."

His words had barely left his mouth, and Yuna already taking his cock inside hers. She started to bob her head up and down his cock rapidly, making loud slurping noises each time his dick went past her lips.

Yuna made sure not to leave an inch of his cock untouched. She ran her tongue all over his balls, coating them in her spit before popping them in her mouth and sucking on them, all whilst rapidly stroking his wet cock. She then licked the underside of his shaft all the way to the tip before pushing his cock back inside her mouth, where she immediately deepthroated his entire length over and over again, gagging and coughing all over it.

She kept was choking herself on his dick and her eyes became watery, but not once did she think about stopping or pulling away. Yuna's face was turning red with each passing second, but that wasn't going to stop her.

What did end up stopping Yuna was her insatiable thirst for having his cock deep inside her holes, and after a couple more deepthroats, she released him from her mouth with a loud pop before standing up and turning around.

"Are you ready to pound my asshole, daddy?" She asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Is that what you want, Yuna? To get fucked by your teacher?"

"Yes, I need it so badly! I want to be your naughty, slutty student, bent over your desk, waiting for her teacher's dick."

"I'm going to make you scream on my fucking cock." He whispered at her ear, before pushing her back down on the table, with her head against the cold steel surface.

Instead of going straight into the action, he decided to tease her just a little bit by running his finger up and down the length of her pussy lips. Yuna's juices were starting to drip down her legs, and her teacher used it to lube her asshole up, rubbing his fingers against her tight hole.

He then spat on his fingers and shoved three inside her asshole, basically giving her a signal that he wasn't here to play nice...Yuna was going to get it and she was going to get it hard.

Yuna let out a couple of moans once she felt his fingers enter her tight little bumhole. Her professor began pumping them in and out, stretching her as much as possible to prepare her for his big fat cock.

"You don't need to waste any time stretching me, daddy. I want your cock right now."

"I want you to break me in half, fill my tight little hole with your hot cum and claim my asshole for yourself."

Yuna's request was loud and obvious, and he was eager to give her what she wanted. He grabbed his cock and pressed it against her hole before slowly pushing his hips forward until his entire length was buried inside her tight butt.

"Oh god...fuckkkkk. That's just what I needed."

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head once she felt his whole shaft inside her, and once he slowly pulled back, Yuna knew it was about to go down.

The teacher thrust his hips inside her and began fucking her asshole. Not slow, not fast. Just the perfect pace, giving her the perfect amount of pain and pleasure without blowing his load so soon.

Her moans became slightly louder with each thrust, and they echoed inside the room. Yuna's breasts were pressed against the table, and her asscheeks jiggled every time his hips met hers.

It was practically heaven for Yuna, especially when she felt his balls slapping her pussy. The longer they went at it, the better and louder it got.

"Give me that cock. Just fuck me as hard as you can. I can take it, daddy."

"Who's a good slut for daddy's cock?" He asked, grabbing her hair with one hand and slapping her sore asscheeks with the other.

"I am, daddy! I'm your anal slut."

"I am nothing but a K-Pop idol that loves taking huge dicks up her ass!" She cried out, closing her eyes as he kept on pounding her tight hole.

Just like she had said it, Yuna was indeed his anal slut, and he loved it. Yuna's walls were squeezing him for all his worth, and he could feel the pressure building up. It was time to dump his thick load inside her asshole.

He held her hips tightly and increased his speed. If when he was spanking her earlier on, he made sure Yuna couldn't sit for a week, now he was making sure Yuna wouldn't be able to walk for a week. Yuna was being treated like an absolute fuckdoll, and she was moaning every step of the way. She curled her toes as she felt his cock splitting her open and stretching her butt, and it was becoming too much for her to handle, even for a total cumslut like Yuna.

"Oh, Yuna...I'm so fucking close."

"Fill my ass with cum, please."

His dick was going in and out of her ass as fast as he could, and with a young moaning mess like Yuna bent over in front of him, begging for cum, it was too much for him to handle and he ended up unloading a huge amount of cum inside the 18-year-old.

Almost immediately he slumped backwards, balancing himself on a student's table, and watched as Yuna remained in position, unable to move due to the pain.

"Ahhhhh, fuckkkk...daddy. So much fucking cum for me." She said, reaching for her ass and feeling the cum leak out from her butt.

She put a finger inside and collected some of his seed before bringing it to her mouth, where she unsurprisingly poured it on her tongue to taste it.

"Hmmmm...so warm and tasty. I could drink this all day long."

Tired and drained from this extracurricular activity, her teacher stood up and quickly picked up a pen before changing Yuna's exam grade.

"There, done. You got what you wanted. Now, please....leave my classroom."

"Oh, we are not done yet. I'm not leaving until I get my pussy fucked and my face covered in cum."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I'm not. Plus, I can see that your toy is still hard for me." Yuna said, making her teacher roll his eyes into the back of his head and sigh in disbelief.

"Don't you see how wet I am for you?" She added, grabbing his hand and making him touch her wet folds.

"You are fucking crazy, Yuna..."

Her teacher caved in and began voluntarily dipping his fingers inside Yuna's pussy as the two started making out with one another. The young starlet hummed into his mouth, and the older man explored the maknae's cunt. This lasted for a couple of minutes before Yuna's thirst for cock got the better of her.

"Your cock. My pussy. Now!"

"Is that what my cumslut princess wants?" He said, putting his thumb inside her mouth and making her suck on it.

Yuna shook her head up and down and slowly swirled her tongue around his finger. Her teacher smiled and told her to turn around and place her hands on the edge of his desk. The idol patiently awaited for his next move, and after a few seconds, she felt a pair of hands on her ass. It was still sore due to all the slapping that it had endured earlier on, and she let out a soft cry because of it.

Her whimper became a moan when the professor introduced his tongue inside her cunt and started lapping at her folds.

"Oh fuck, daddyyy, hmmm. Keep eating my pussy...just like that."

He feasted on Yuna's pussy like it was a goddamn buffet, constantly swirling his tongue inside it and tasting her juices before spitting in it. The deeper he shoved his tongue in Yuna's cunt, the louder she moaned. She shut her eyes and her mouth fell open as he kept working her over. The way he was going at it, it was only a matter of time before Yuna came, and she had zero intentions of letting that happen...the only way she was going to cum today, was with his cock buried in her young fertile pussy.

"I'm going to cum if you keep that up, daddy."

"And that's a bad thing because...?"

"I want you to do it with your cock, please."

"Fuck, you are such a greedy little cock slut." He said, standing up and slapping her ass one more time just for good measure.

Having sex with Yuna had drained so much energy from him, that he had to take a moment to grab a water bottle from his bag and take a sip, or else he might've had passed out inside her, not that Yuna would complain...she probably would've ridden his cock until he woke up a few hours later...

After several seconds, he made his way back to Yuna and grabbed her leg, putting it on top of the table. He had seen way too many fancams of her, so he knew she was flexible and could easily take his big white cock in this position. He grabbed his thick shaft and rubbed it all over her pussy lips, sliding it back and forth across her folds and coating it in her wetness, much to Yuna's annoyance, as she just wanted to get fucked hard and nothing else.

"What are you waiting for, daddy? Put it in and start fucking the shit out of me."

If it wasn't for Yuna begging for his cock like the absolute slut that she was, he swore that he could've spent hours just looking at Yuna in that position...a leg on the floor and another one on top of the desk, creating the most perfect 90º angle he had ever seen. Her holes were out and in full display, with some cum still dripping down her leg...she was impossible to resist.

Most people thought that Yuna was like the forbidden fruit...nobody could have her. Except, that very much wasn't the case. Any guy half decent looking and with a big cock could have a crack at her and her tight holes, and thankfully for her teacher, he was him.

After slapping her asscheeks with his hard shaft a couple more times, he pushed his cockhead past her cunt, and he watched how her tight teen pussy swallowed the entire length. Thankfully for him, it was no way near as tight as her ass, but even then, her pussy wasn't very far behind.

Yuna couldn't help but bite her lower lip as her teacher's cock stretched her walls out. She looked over her shoulder and watched him as he slowly began to pump his dick in and out of her tight pussy.

The face Yuna was making as she was getting her pussy pounded hard was so insanely sexy that he couldn't help but grab her hair and pull her in for a kiss. Yuna moaned into his mouth as he kept thrusting in and she couldn't wait for his second load of the day.

"Your pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock, Yuna."

He stopped kissing her and put a hand on the side of her neck to be able to watch her dead in the eyes. Yuna's mouth was wide open and her forehead was touching his. The two were so close to each other that the teacher could feel the heat irradiating from her body, but he wanted more. His hands moved to the bottom of her school uniform and he pulled it over her head, leaving Yuna only with her boots on.

Almost immediately, her breasts became the center of attention, as her professor couldn't keep his hands off them whilst he continued hammering away at Yuna's pussy. Her back was completely arched, and the position she found herself in was a testament to how insane her flexibility was. Yuna was made to be fucked...simple as that.

Everything about her was pornographic. Her gorgeous face, her insane body and her tight holes. She was perfect, from top to bottom, and she very much was a bottom. Yuna loved being a submissive slut for guys with big cocks, and with the constant pleasure of getting her pussy railed hard and fast by her teacher, combined with having his hands pinching her nipples, she couldn't hold any longer and came on his cock.

Her orgasm hit her so hard, that if it wasn't for him holding her in his arms, she would've fallen face first into his desk. Thankfully that didn't happen, and instead he kept fucking Yuna like there was no tomorrow, feeling his own orgasm approaching. "You are such a fucking whore, you know that, right? Cumming on my cock like that."

"I know, daddy. I'm such a whore for big dicks. I love spreading my legs and letting guys use me however they like."

Her dirty talk was the final nail in the coffin, and he quickly pulled out and dragged Yuna onto her knees, where he started stroking his big dick and aiming it right at her face. Yuna wasted no time in sticking her tongue out whilst she rubbed her pussy like the good little slut that she was proud to be.

"Beg for it, Yuna. Tell me how much of a slut you are."

"I want your cum, daddy."

"I need you to cover my face with it and turn me into your personal cumdumpster."

He grinned from ear to ear and held her face close with one hand whilst he kept jerking off with the other until he finally shot his load all over Yuna's face, with some spurts going directly into her mouth. He took a few steps back and looked at the complete mess that he had done. Yuna's entire face was coated with his cum. Her cheeks, forehead, eyelids, nose, lips and even hair all had cum blasted on them.

Yuna giggled upon feeling so many warm spurts land on her face, and once she stopped feeling that pleasant sensation, she took his dick into her mouth to completely milk him dry out of every last drop.

Some of the cum on her face had started to drip down her chin and drop onto her tits when she released his girthy cock from her lips, and she wasted no time in collecting that same cum and pouring it in her mouth.

"Hmmm...just as tasty as the first time."

"Thank you so much, daddy."

"I love draining cocks dry, especially when they are massive like yours."

"The pleasure was all mine, Yuna...trust me."

Yuna smiled before standing up and picking up a tissue from her bag to clean up her face and try to be as presentable as one can be after being completely fucked for the past hour. As for her teacher, he put his clothes back on and watched the young starlet as she was fixing herself. Even though he looked at a naked Yuna dressing up, all he could think about was how on earth he had managed to have sex with an insanely hot and famous K-Pop idol, who practically threw herself at him.

"I should probably go." She said, grabbing her stuff.

"Hey, don't forget your exam...you deserve it, after...you know..."

"Thanks. I hope you had fun, daddy. And just remember...if you need your cock drained, or want me to be your little slutty student again, I'm all yours."

"My...my wife is out of town for the weekend, actually...if y-..."

"Say no more. I'm in!"

"Actually...I'm in as long as you promise me you'll fuck me where your wife sleeps."

"You fucking little slut....."

End of part 1

[tojicide]

chapter four ── lab partners.

the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader

(i forgot to post it with tags the first time around so i have to repost it… so sorry for spamming your notifs </3)

synopsis. caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

tags/warnings. college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni

chapter summary. after a series of unfortunate events, caleb shatters any hope of reconciliation with you… or so it seems.

prev: chapter three. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

Caleb didn’t remember making it to his bed last night.

That wasn’t unusual these days. Most nights ended in a whirlwind of aching limbs and crashing adrenaline, a blur of alleyways and sirens, limbs sore from swinging through Linkon’s crumbling skyline until he could scale the fire escape outside his dorm and collapse.

Sometimes he didn’t even bother removing the suit.

The only proof he was even back in one piece was the dull throb in his shoulders and the familiar, worn-in scent of his dorm—old laundry detergent and someone’s leftover Cheetos. That, and the familiar protest of the bunk mattress digging into his back.

A groan slipped from his throat as he tossed an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the god-awful morning light filtering through the slats of their half-broken blinds.

He could feel the grime still clinging to his skin, last night’s victories sticking to him like second skin. Three attempted robberies, a handful of purse snatchers, and one very memorable dive into a dumpster full of Caesar salad.

(He was trying not to think about that last one.)

The sound of someone clearing their throat sliced through the morning silence.

His whole body went rigid.

He cracked one eye open slowly, only to find Zayne sitting across the room in his desk chair—legs crossed, arms folded, wearing a judgmental expression that practically screamed intervention.

“…Morning, Batman,” Zayne said flatly.

Caleb groaned and rolled over, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then explain why you came in at three in the morning with a limp, croutons in your hair, and—unless I was hallucinating—a fork sticking out of your shoulder.”

Caleb blinked, slowly reaching beneath the blanket to pull the crumpled remains of his suit deeper out of sight. “I got it out. No biggie.”

Zayne gave him a look that could only be described as hardened. Silent. Cold. Stern.

“The silence is so loud,” Caleb muttered, burying his face in his mattress.

“I can wait all day.”

“Okay, okay,” he groaned, pushing himself upright and scrubbing a hand over his face. His hair stood up at odd angles, and he knew from the ache in his back that he probably looked as bad as he felt. “But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone. Not even the snowman plushie on your bed.”

Zayne raised a single brow, then solemnly held up two fingers. “The snowman takes all secrets to the grave.”

“Good.” Caleb exhaled. “Alright, I’ll just rip the bandaid off. I’m Spider-Ma—”

“Spider-Man. Yes. I know. Figured it out two weeks ago.”

Caleb’s words stuttered to a halt. “…You what?”

Zayne reached down, plucking something off the floor. It was Caleb’s mask—plain as day, just lying there like a dirty sock. “Aside from the suspicious injuries, the weird new muscles, and the fact that you literally crawl through the window every night, this thing hasn’t exactly been subtle.”

“Aw, man,” Caleb collapsed dramatically onto the mattress. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You are,” Zayne agreed cheerfully, tossing the mask onto Caleb’s stomach. “But, for what it’s worth, I admire your… let’s call it ‘unshakable sense of justice.’”

Caleb peeked over the edge of his pillow. “Really?”

“Sure. Very noble. Very heroic.” Zayne tilted his head. “Unless you get arrested, in which case it is just incredibly embarrassing.”

Caleb snorted, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it at him. 

“Anyway,” he said, fluffing the pillow in his lap, “that was question one.”

“There’s a second question?”

Zayne leaned forward with a nod. “Have you seen the paper this morning?”

Caleb squinted. “The school paper? No offense, but I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who reads that before noon.”

“Unfortunately for you, today’s edition is a little more… relevant than crossword puzzles and department bulletins.”

He pulled out his phone and chucked it toward Caleb, who caught it with the sluggish reflexes of someone who had dodged bullets but not slept.

Bright screen. One swipe. Bold title.

The Spider’s Sense.

And beneath it, a photo—clear, high quality, unmistakable—of him, mid-air, suit vivid against the valley of skyscrapers.

Who Is Spider-Man? Weeks ago, witnesses reported a masked individual, clad in red and blue, moving with inhuman agility...

Caleb didn’t even register the rest at first. He was too focused on the photo. That was him. There was no doubt, and his stomach churned.

The rest of the article blurred into a wash of phrases. Masked vigilante. Real-life superhero. Enhanced human? Technology? Guardian or threat?

His hands trembled slightly as he scrolled. “Who wrote this?”

Zayne shrugged. “No clue. It’s anonymous. Might’ve been a student, or one of the permanent writers trying to make a name for themselves.”

Caleb’s chest tightened. The words on the screen burned themselves into his brain. His entire existence was no longer just speculation—it was documented.

And worse? That was just the beginning.

“Check socials,” Zayne added. “It’s… sort of everywhere.”

With the dread of someone opening a cursed scroll, Caleb tapped the next app.

Twitter. Instagram. TikTok.

The internet was flooded. Hashtags. Edits. Fan accounts. A clip of him saving a cyclist from an oncoming truck looped with dramatic music.

And the comments—

victoriastoji: nah girl if he’s saving cats from trees i’d let him web me up aaaanytime batmanstanfr: This has to be AI. No way he’s real. coolgirl45: oh yup. I just know there's some fine shyt under that mask. BRING ME HIM.

“My Lord,” Caleb whispered.

“You’re famous,” Zayne said, chewing thoughtfully on a granola bar. “Or infamous. I suppose we’ll find out.”

Caleb dropped the phone into his lap and buried his face in his hands. “There’s no way.”

“There is a way,” Zayne echoed. “And that way is: you’ve gone viral.”

He should’ve felt proud. This was what heroes were, right? Public symbols. Masked protectors. Instead, all he found in its absence was a sinking weight.

This wasn’t just about sneaking around and stopping small-time crooks anymore. It wasn’t just about helping old ladies cross the street or making sure kids didn’t get their bikes stolen.

This was bigger.

His name—his face, sort of—was out there. His anonymity was already cracking.

The mask had kept him safe. But now… the city was watching. 

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Tara was sprawled across your bed like a tragic heroine from a Victorian novel, one arm slung over her face as though she’d just received news of an ill-fated engagement. Her jacket had half-slipped off her shoulder, one boot still on, and one sock-covered foot twitching in dramatic protest.

“If I still smell like car wax for the rest of my life,” she whined, “at least I’ll die knowing I did something charitable.”

You snorted quietly, glancing at her from the mirror where you sat cross-legged at your desk. Lip pencil in one hand, tiny sharpener in the other, you worked through the uneven point with surgical focus. Your fingers still ached from scrubbing windshields and hoods three days ago, but the ache was a dull, familiar one. The kind that said: you did something that mattered. That helped. Even if it left you sore.

“At least you raised more than your goal,” you said, turning slightly to flash her a small, knowing smile. “Enough for all your upcoming events, and then some. Plus, the extra for the community clinic next month. And, most importantly: more than Lambda Chi Alpha.”

Tara shot up like she’d been electrically charged, her eyes suddenly alive again. “Okay, so—about that,” she said, voice hushed like she was letting you in on a secret. “Because we absolutely crushed it, and because the universe is clearly in our corner for once, the boys are throwing a party this weekend.”

You blinked. “The boys?”

“The frat rats. Xavier, Raf, the entire losing side.” She twirled a hand in the air. “They’re calling it the Midterm Mixer, which is… definitely a choice… but it’ll be so fun, I promise..”

Your face already contorted into a grimace. “Mm, I don’t know. That actually sounds like my worst nightmare.”

“Come on,” Tara pleaded, flopping back into the—your— pillows. “It’s just one night of pretending we’re not slowly drowning in deadlines. A final hurrah before midterms consume us whole.”

You hesitated, stomach tightening with quiet reluctance. It wasn’t just the looming tests or the pile of lab reports waiting to be written. It was the chance that he might be there..

Caleb. 

You hadn’t seen him properly since the meeting prior to your lab presentation. He’d left you hanging—again—and you’d buried your irritation in your workload, trying not to dwell on it. But you had. Of course you had, no matter how much you tried to hide it.

Tara, of course, picked up on your hesitation like a bloodhound. “Wait… is this about he who shall not be named?”

You frowned. “What? No.”

“That was the most suspicious ‘what’ I’ve ever heard. It had, like… three silent subtexts.”

You tried to wave her off, but she grinned, relentless in her pursuit of the truth. “Oh my God, it is. You don’t want to go because you’re afraid of seeing your favorite academic nemesis.”

“He’s not my favorite anything,” you muttered, opening your laptop a little too forcefully.

Tara tilted her head. “Sure he isn’t. That’s why you twirl a finger in your hair every time his name gets mentioned.”

You paused, lip parting in protest, then closed it again. Your hand not-so-suspiciously fell from your hair and into your lap. There was no winning this one.

“What? There was a knot…” you grumbled.

“Right,” she said, lying through her teeth with a smile. “Just admit it. You don’t want to go because you don’t want to look like you care.”

“I don’t care.”

She looked at you, entirely unimpressed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just know that whatever it is that you’re avoiding, it’s pretty obvious that he feels it too.”

A scoff breaches your lips. “If he did, would he have skipped out on me for the past few labs? I don’t think so.” 

Even with your back turned to her, you can hear the smile in Tara’s voice. “Hmm… you certainly have a lot of bitterness in that beautiful voice of yours for someone who ‘doesn’t care.’”

You flushed, caught. You shook your head without a reply, fingers nudging your laptop open once more.

The page for the Linkon Gazette was already pulled up, cursor hovering over your article. The one about him—the masked figure who’d swung across your city like a myth in motion. The one who, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, kept showing up. The one who’d endured your pepper spray like it was a mild inconvenience and vanished before you could ask a single question.

You knew it was just a story. A journalistic lead. But still… something about him stayed with you.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or the way he’d moved—graceful and fast and human in the most impossible way.

Or maybe it was the lingering suspicion you couldn’t seem to shake: that you knew him. Or had seen him. Or—

No. That was crazy. 

Still, the article had gone semi-viral. Readers were hungry for updates. And you—no matter how much you told yourself it was just curiosity—kept thinking about the man in the mask.

You hadn’t written everything. Not yet.

“I’m not saying yes to the party,” you mumbled, mostly to distract yourself.

Tara smirked. “You will. You’ll pretend to hate it, then show up wearing that liner and make someone’s son question his entire life path.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your mouth tugged upward in a way you couldn’t fight off.

She stood and stretched, looking far too pleased with herself. “I’ll circle back later. I’m gonna go ice my legs and emotionally prepare myself for Xavier’s attempts at DJing.”

“Good luck,” you said through a laugh, already clicking through the Gazette’s backend to check the article’s traction.

As she reached the door, she called over her shoulder, “By the way, if you don’t come, I’m sending you a selfie of me at the party every ten minutes until your phone explodes.”

You made a noncommittal noise in response, but something about her words lingered. You didn’t want to go. Not really—but maybe that was the problem.

Because part of you did want to. And you weren’t sure if it was the music, the drinks, the celebration—or the possibility of running into someone whose eyes you hadn’t stopped remembering.

Whoever he was.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

The lab room was too quiet.

Not the comforting kind of quiet that came with focus and cooperation. This was tense. Brittle. Like if you breathed too loudly, the whole ceiling might come down on your heads.

You sat hunched over a spreadsheet, highlighter uncapped and poised like a weapon. Your eyes scanned row after row of Caleb’s recent data entries, and your stomach sank. These weren’t just lazy mistakes—these were guesses. Sloppy ones. You knew it because you’d been carrying this project on your back for weeks while he’d been… elsewhere. Distant. Distracted.

He stood across the table, spinning a pen between his fingers like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth. His foot tapped restlessly against the floor.

It wasn’t for the stress relief.

He was spiraling.

Not just from guilt—which had been eating away at him since the day the spider sank its fangs into his skin—but from everything. The missed assignments. The long nights swinging between rooftops. The adrenaline spikes. The way his GPA was inching closer to ruin, and his spot as top of the class, the thing he’d clawed toward for years, was now hanging by a thread.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t even explain it to you, the single person who might be owed it.

His gaze flicked—again—to the terrarium at the edge of the bench. Three spiders inside. Neatly labeled, color-coded tags. Clicked shut. 

But there were supposed to be four.

And the second your eyes drifted toward it, he saw the exact moment you noticed.

“Hold on,” you muttered, blinking down at the log sheet in your lap. “Where’s the fourth one?”

Caleb swallowed, heart pounding in his throat. “Huh?”

“The… the striped one,” you clarified, already cross-checking labels. “The one we dosed with the neuromodulator last week.”

He leaned in, squinting at the enclosure like maybe—maybe—it would pop back into existence if he looked hard enough. “Weeeird,” he said weakly. “Maybe it’s in the soil?”

You didn’t even dignify that with a full look. “It’s not a burrowing species.”

Your voice was clipped. Frustrated. Like you’d had enough.

And Caleb couldn’t blame you. He’d been showing up late to labs, forgetting deadlines, spacing out mid-analysis. You had every right to be pissed. Every time he left you to pick up his slack, he told himself he’d make it up to you somehow. And then something else would happen—a car chase, a mugging, a building on fire—and he'd vanish all over again.

Maybe you didn’t know why, but you felt the absence.

“Maybe it teleported,” he tried.

You whipped your head around and gave him a look sharp enough to cut steel.

“Seriously?”

He raised his hands like a white flag. “Just sayin’. Science is full of surprises.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned toward the tank, muttering to yourself as you checked the corners. Caleb watched the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the subtle furrow between your brows. Your fingers moved with purpose. Precision. You were good at this. So good. Better than him, really.

“This doesn’t make sense,” you said under your breath. “Dr. Rappaccini keeps everything airtight—she’s obsessive about it.”

Caleb shrugged, voice too casual. “Maybe one of the other labs took it?”

“Without logging it?” You looked up sharply. “That’s not protocol.”

And there it was again—that hint of disappointment. Not the loud kind, but the quiet, exhausted one. The one that meant you expected more from him.

He felt it like a gut punch.

“Well, we’ve got enough data from the other three, right?” he offered, trying to sound optimistic.

You hesitated. “Barely. It’s not as conclusive without the fourth set, but… I guess we can still present the trends.”

He nodded quickly, seizing the olive branch. “Yeah. And we’ll figure out how to make up the missing variable later. I’ll talk to Rappaccini.”

You blinked, eyebrows lifting. “Since when do you volunteer for extra lab time?”

He looked down at the pipette in his hands. “Just tryin’ to be better.”

Your gaze lingered on him a second longer, like you didn’t quite believe it. “Is this your attempt at a redemption arc or something?” you asked dryly.

Caleb coughed, recovering fast. “You wish.”

You snorted, but the tension between you didn’t ease. He watched you scribble something in your notebook, your pen tapping against the margin in steady, rhythmic bursts. It was always like this—silent patterns, little rituals you probably didn’t even realize you had. He used to think they were annoying. Now they grounded him.

Now they made his chest feel tight.

He wasn’t sure if it was the spider venom mutating his bloodstream or just… you.

Without a word, you slid your notes across the table toward him. “Here. You’re presenting Part B, right?”

He blinked. “Uh… yeah.” He hesitated, frowning. “You sure you don’t wanna split it more evenly?”

“I’ve got the intro and the methodology,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I trust you to handle the analysis.”

A pause.

“…Ish.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ish?”

You smirked, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, I did hear you tried to answer a short-answer question last week with ‘vibes.’”

Caleb groaned. “That was in philosophy! It was a joke.”

But you were already standing, packing up your notes with brisk efficiency.

Before he could say something else—maybe something too real, or too vulnerable—Dr. Rappaccini’s assistant poked his head in. “You’re both up next.”

Chairs scraped against tile. Caleb shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, repeating his talking points in his head like a mantra.

Buzz.

His phone vibrated once.

Buzz. Buzz.

Twice more.

You turned to him, already scowling. “Seriously? Put it on Do Not Disturb already.”

“I—sorry,” he mumbled, pulling it out to check.

LINKON PD ALERT: Robbery in progress. 5th & Linwood. Nearby units respond immediately.

His stomach dropped.

Everything in him screamed go. People were in danger. If he waited, if he chose himself—chose you—people could get hurt. But—

Your voice broke through, sharp with disbelief. “Caleb?”

He looked up. Your expression was expectant, slightly nervous. Vulnerable.

You needed him here. Just once.

“I—uh,” he stammered, backing away. “I gotta go.”

Your eyes widened. “What? Caleb, we’re literally about to present!”

“I know, I just—something came up, okay?”

“Caleb!” Your voice was louder now. Shaken. “I— I don’t have your parts practiced! I trusted you!”

“I’m sorry, I just— I gotta go!”

And just like that, he turned and ran.

You stood frozen in the lab, fists clenched, heart hammering. All the missed labs. All the vague excuses. All the silence.

You didn’t know where he was always running off to, and maybe you didn’t care anymore.

But what hurt the most was that a small part of you did, even if it was for a reason you couldn’t name.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

It wasn’t until later that night—or more rather, early the next morning—that Caleb got around to checking his emails. 

His most recent email was from you. 

Subject: I HATE YOU I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!!! we got a C+. thanks a lot bucko.  Sent from my iPhone.

Right as he opened it, a Canvas notification pinged at the top of his screen.

Your instructor has updated: Lab Partners – Spring Semester.

His eyes scanned the page.

Lab Partner: None

Lab Partner: None

His slot—and yours—were both empty.

And just like that, the panic he felt in the alleyways of the city wasn’t so different from the one spreading in his chest now.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb spotted you across the dining hall like a spy on a mission, armed with a tray that held exactly one sad cookie and all the dignity of a man facing trial.

You sat at a table with Tara and Yvonne, both mid-conversation while you absently picked at your salad, two chocolate chip cookies lined up beside your bowl like trophies. Unbothered. Thriving. The vision of a girl who had deleted him from a shared spreadsheet like she was erasing a stain.

And the worst part? You hadn’t answered his apology emails.

He swallowed and approached anyway. “Is the second cookie for me, or…?”

You didn’t even glance up. Didn’t have to.

“It’s for my dignity,” you said flatly.

“Ah. So… symbolic.”

“Exactly.”

Yvonne looked between you both and muttered something under her breath about emotional turbulence before grabbing her tray and ghosting out of there. Tara followed a moment later, tossing Caleb a brief good luck with that expression.

Now it was just you, him, and the two cookies between you.

He sat down across from you, setting his tray down with a thud that sounded louder than it should’ve. “Okay, I get that you’re mad—”

“Oh, do you?” Your tone was clipped. “Because ditching me during our presentation with zero warning kinda gave the impression that you dropped the class entirely.”

Caleb winced. “It was an emergency.”

“Right. A life-or-death emergency?”

“Yes.”

And it had been. Just not the kind he could explain.

You finally looked up, eyes sharp and cold, and for a second he forgot what language was. “Well, while you were off saving the world or whatever you’re calling it, I had to present your analysis with no prep. I looked like an idiot.”

“You never look like an idiot,” he said instantly. Too instantly.

You blinked.

He blinked.

“…W-What I meant was—” he started, voice catching.

“Too late.”

“Okay, fair.” He shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of how warm the room was, how close you were, how he could still smell the faint citrus of your shampoo from across the table. “I’m sorry.”

You arched a brow. “For?”

He hesitated. “For… ditching you.”

“And?”

“…And making you carry the project alone.”

You tilted your head, gaze unreadable. “And?”

He exhaled slowly. “And pushing you to the point that you deleted me from the lab spreadsheet like I was some failed experiment.”

You gave a little hum of satisfaction, grabbing one of your cookies and taking an infuriatingly slow bite. “Apology not accepted.”

Caleb slumped. “C’mon. Seriously?”

“Not unless you find a way to make up the points you lost us.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So this is, what—conditional forgiveness?”

“This is consequential forgiveness,” you corrected, calm as anything. “You cost me an A. You’re lucky I haven’t broken a beaker over your head.”

He nodded slowly, a wry smile creeping in. “That… actually feels fair.”

The truth was, he had screwed up. Repeatedly. Not just with the lab, but with the way he’d pulled away from everything lately—classes, responsibilities, you. And maybe what made it worse was that you noticed.

He didn’t want you to notice.

He didn’t want you to care.

But he really didn’t want you to stop.

You held him accountable, and never wavered. It was… refreshing, in a way.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said. “Extra credit or… something. Just—don’t write me off yet.”

You shrugged, licking a crumb from your thumb in a move that was definitely not lethal but still managed to short-circuit his brain. “If you do that, then maybe I’ll consider reinstating you. Maybe.”

Caleb leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“You bailed mid-step,” you easily reminded him. “You’re lucky I didn’t file for academic abandonment.”

“Academic abandonment,” he repeated, chuckling despite himself. “That’s new.”

“I’m submitting the paperwork as we speak.”

“Ooh. Terrifying.”

You didn’t break eye contact as you reached across the table, plucked his lone cookie off his tray, and took a bite.

His eyes widened. “That was mine.”

You chewed. “Should’ve brought two.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re a flake.”

“You’re… kinda evil.”

“And you’re lucky I haven’t poisoned your food.”

There was a pause. Not icy, but charged. He looked at you—really looked—and wondered when exactly the rivalry had blurred into this. This feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with radioactive spider venom.

Caleb leaned back, the smile still tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I’m gonna fix this. Mark my words.”

You narrowed your eyes, but something behind them softened. “You better,” you said. “Or next time, I’m eating your entire tray.”

He stood, picking up his tray and muttering as he walked away, “Betrayal stings more when it’s chocolate chip.”

You didn’t answer.

But you were smiling.

Just a little.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb stood outside Dr. Rappaccini office, staring at the little nameplate on the door like it might spare him. It didn’t, of course. He could never be so lucky.

He knocked three times for good measure.

“Come in,” her voice called from inside—calm, efficient, a little like she had five other things she’d rather be doing than speaking to one of her students.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, trying to look less like someone whose lab partner had asked this very professor to sever their lab partnership.

Rappaccini didn’t look up at first. She was grading with the speed and surgical precision of a woman who’d seen one too many poorly labeled graphs in her day. When she finally glanced up, she set her pen down slowly.

“Mr. Xia,” she said with a forced smile. “I was wondering when you’d crawl out from whatever hole you vanished into.”

Wow. No sugarcoating. Maybe he really had been missing class a bit too much lately.

“I deserve that,” he admitted with a wry grin, hoping it’d earn him brownie points. “Totally fair.”

“Mm.” She leaned back in her chair. “Let me guess. You’re here to ask for extra credit.”

“Sort of. I’m here to ask how I can fix what I broke.”

She stared at him, then gave a dry little laugh. “Well, that’s a refreshing amount of self-awareness. Most students come in blaming poor time management or divine intervention.”

Caleb smiled sheepishly once more. “No lightning strikes or mysterious illnesses. Just… bad decisions. And poor communication.”

She gestured for him to sit. “Your partner already presented the project. I imagine she wasn’t… thrilled.”

“She left me an email that said, ‘I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU’ in all caps, so…” He paused. “I’d have to agree with you there.”

Rappaccini allowed herself the tiniest smirk. “Concise.”

“I’m just… I’m trying to make it right,” he then said. “If there’s anything—and I mean anything—I can do to make up the points for us, I’ll do it.”

There was a long pause as she folded her hands over the stack of papers in front of her.

“Funny you should say that,” she said. “Dr. Connors is running an independent experimental study this month at Oscorp. It involves cellular regeneration—specifically, lizard DNA.”

Caleb blinked. “Lizard DNA?”

“Yes,” she said. “He’s studying regenerative properties—limb re-growth, accelerated healing, that kind of thing. It’s early-stage, but it’s part of a bioengineering cross-collaboration with Oscorp’s pre-clinical research team.”

Caleb sat up a little straighter, curiosity stirring. “And he needs students?”

“Volunteers,” she corrected with a raise of her finger. “No grade boost guaranteed, but participating students will receive consideration toward incomplete assignments if the data is thorough and the effort is there. Both you and your lab partner can volunteer. It’s not easy work, though. It’ll take late nights and actual commitment.”

Caleb asked hesitantly, “Do you think my partner would even want to sign up for this?”

Rappaccini deadpanned. “She already did. Yesterday.”

And once he heard that, Caleb didn’t even hesitate. “Okay. I’m in. I mean—we’re in.”

Rappaccini raised an eyebrow. “That confident?”

“I have to be,” he said. “I need to prove I’m not just… the guy who bails when it matters.”

She nodded slowly, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small stack of forms. “Here. Fill this out, and bring it to Dr. Connors’ office by the end of the week. Orientation starts Monday.”

He took the form, feeling something like relief start to uncoil in his chest.

“Thank you, Dr. Rappaccini.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, picking her pen back up. “This is you digging yourself out of a hole you made. Don’t stop halfway.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, and Caleb?”

He looked back over his shoulder.

“If you ditch this study the way you ditched that presentation,” she said, looking directly at him, “I will personally request your removal from the department.”

He raised a hand solemnly with a sheepish smile. “Message received, ma’am.”

She went back to grading, placing her glasses on her nose bridge. “Good. Now go earn back your lab partner before she finds someone smarter and… less difficult.”

“Wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Caleb muttered on his way out. But even still, he clutched the Oscorp packet in his hand like it was gold.

Because somewhere between the disaster presentation and the sound of your voice yelling his name as he sprinted away from you… he realized something.

He didn’t just want to make this right for the grade.

He wanted to make it right for you.

series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

a/n i’m an idiot and forgot to post it without tags, i’m sorry to the taglist bc i tagged you guys like four times 🙁🙁🙁

anyways….. long time no see………. the semester is officially over sooooo i can finally get back to writing. i have a few other wip that i’d like to finish before chapter 5 tho ☝️☝️ currently working on a knight!sylus fic and zayne in a pride and prejudice au :p

taglist. (join it by commenting under this post!)

@leonskenthusiast @universallysoulcreator @devonjs-blog @lacieohlacie @kisswithyoureyesclosed @lovesick-sylus @livonianmaia @hqnge @yuuuumii @mizzfizz @simpfortheseven @nyxthejinx-rantsaboutlads @mariojins @rcvcngers @yizhoupilled @irlsammy @gloomuri671 @risagichi @drinking2nite @seikamuzu @flowers-wilt-on-juniper-lane

@that-one-scoundrel @joy-laufeyson @missaengg @wheatrice @gvenone @desiree-archive @jayhyunglover @flwerie @miffysoo @jijijihanji @ssetsuka @mglwhor3 @sureconfused @vorfreudevortex @honehbee42 @angelbeat994 @codedove @cheesemachine44 @mocha-the-muse @msanimeotaku181 @breadiestpuffs @idkwhatursayinh @hannahchk @rxelarailuj @littlebabyypeach @wooasecret @nikilig @theweevilofsweetreef @etsuniiru

[64reprieve]

picture you (e.w.) ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚

pairing: butch!college!loser!ellie x femme!camgirl!reader

synopsis: you need promo for your business. ellie’s tuition is due. or ellie’s a college student in her junior year scrambling to get her shit together and desperate to make ends meet with side jobs. you need pictures taken by someone who isn’t a creep from craigslist and won’t kill you. your friend knows just the person.

content: (18+ content), angst, smut, fluff, amateur!photographer!ellie like she really only knows to point and shoot, loser!ellie, college!ellie, recreational use of weed bc ellie needs a vice, other substance use, ellie is intimacy-deprived/abstaining, lesbian yearning, pining, useless lesbians, explicit language, power play dynamic, friends with benefits, self-harm ideation, mentions of agoraphobia, family issues, depression, soft dom!ellie, sub!reader, jealousy, miscommunication, ongoing themes

nsfw, men and minors dni

prologue ➤ chapter one ➤ chapter two ➤ (tbd.)

Ellie tossed her skateboard down, watching it roll to the wall with a light thud. She ran her palms down her face, puffing air from her cheeks before falling on the bed.

You were likely straight. These pictures were probably meant for your boyfriend–where were her thoughts heading?

Her arm extended to smack the bedside lamp, filling the space of her nightstand. She closed her eyes in exhaustion, groaning at flooding visions of you; how pliant and perfect you’d been when she moved you into another pose, how your dimples deepened at her poor jokes.

Your frame stamped her inner eyelids with vexation, a multitude of strained curses misfiring as she hooked a finger in the collar of her flannel, tugging it from her neck. 

Her shirt smelled like you.

“Fuck.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ new series! a few of the chapters are already in drafts but i’m still in the process of tweaking a few things. chapter one is coming very, very, very soon however. please reblog or comment if you’re interested in being added to the series’ taglist!

thank you!

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language, sexism, you're going to want to grab a man and shake him, brief argument between Lando/Amelia, protective!Lando, possessive!Lando.

Notes — In honour of Lando's Monaco win, enjoy this long ass chapter xxx

2024 (Bahrain)

The hotel bathroom was quiet, lit only by the soft gold glow of the sconces and the flickering of a candle perched on the windowsill. The bathwater had gone from hot to lukewarm, but neither of them wanted to move. The air was humid, vanilla scented fog clinging to the mirror, and the silence was beautiful.

Amelia sat with her back against Lando’s chest, her legs stretched out between his, one arm resting over his knee, the other trailing lazy patterns in the water. His arms wrapped loosely around her middle — not tight, just steady. Warm. Anchoring.

His fingers brushed the edge of her tiny bump, which was just now starting to round out more noticeably under the water.

“Susie texted me,” he said eventually, voice low, lips near her ear.

“I know. She sent me a screenshot.” Amelia hummed. “Said you told her you were proud of me. Thought it was very sweet.”

“I am.” His nose nudged against her temple. “You said yes to something that was scary for you.”

“I always try to say yes to things that matter,” she corrected, soft but firm.

“Same thing, sometimes.”

She smiled a little, the kind that didn’t quite reach her mouth but warmed her anyway. They fell quiet again, letting the moment stretch. Steam curled in the air above the water.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lando said after a while, “about how we announce it.”

Amelia turned her head just slightly, enough to glance back at him. “The baby?”

He nodded. “People already suspect. We could just... confirm. Say it in our own way, before someone takes that away from us, you know?”

She thought for a second. “No awkward statement. No grid-side reveal or something ridiculous like that. Just a photo.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“A bump pic. Me dressed comfy. I don’t want to show anyone my scans, they’re private. Ours.” She said.

He hummed his agreement. “I can take the picture if you want.”

She pushed further into him. “Yes, fine. I’ll post that, and you can post whatever you want.”

Lando grinned. “Yeah? Thanks, baby.”

“Mm.”

They sat for another beat before Lando asked, quieter this time, like he was tiptoeing toward something sensitive. “You want to go back to work after?”

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She watched the water ripple as she moved one toe, trailing it lazily beneath the surface.

It was a fair question. With Lando’s salary and her own savings, they were more than secure. Add in both their families’ wealth, and their future, their child’s future, was already built on something solid.

But it wasn’t about money.

It was about legacy.

She loved her work. Loved the process of building something from nothing. Loved running strategy with Oscar and chasing that edge-of-your-seat adrenaline from the pit wall. She loved knowing she’d carved out a place in a world that had once been her only real comfort; a world where she hadn’t always felt welcome, but had made space for herself anyway.

Not many autistic people got the chances she’d had. She knew that. And she wasn’t ready to give them up.

Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He’d known her answer before she said it.

Still, hearing it, the certainty in her voice when she said “Yeah. I do.” — settled something in his chest that he hadn’t even realised was unsteady.

Of course she was going back to work.

Of course she wouldn’t be able to stay away.

She wasn’t built to. And honestly, he hadn’t fallen in love with someone who could. Amelia wasn’t passive. She didn’t sit still well. Her happiness lived in spreadsheets and simulations, strategy calls and sharp, direct problem-solving that left most people scrambling to catch up.

And he was obsessed with it.

Still; some part of him, ancient and primal and just a little bit unhinged, wanted to keep her home. Keep her wrapped up in soft jumpers and warm beds and low, steady heartbeats. Keep her safe. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he didn’t trust anyone else.

And now she was carrying his baby.

That knowledge struck him like a wave sometimes. The reality of it. The fragility. The ferocity of what he felt when he looked at her now; the kind of love that walked hand in hand with fear.

“I’ll get a sling,” she was saying, shifting slightly in the water, her voice more animated now. “Or one of those carrier things. I’ll bring the baby to the track with me. Nap time during debriefs. I’m sure they’ll be able to sleep through Oscar talking.”

Lando huffed a laugh, nuzzling the damp curve of her shoulder. “Probably sleep better with it.”

“I’m serious.” She turned a little, looking back at him. “I’ll make sure they’re safe. Make sure it’s never too loud or too dangerous. But I want them to be involved. Even if they’re too small to remember it.”

“They’ll remember how it felt,” Lando said, voice low. “You being happy. In your element.”

That made her pause.

She blinked. Once. Then again. She didn’t cry, not quite, but the weight of the moment settled heavy between them. “We’re going to be fine, aren’t we?” She whispered.

Lando tightened his arms around her, chin tucked into her shoulder. “Yeah,” he murmured. “We’re going to be brilliant.”

—

Later that evening, Amelia stood in front of the mirror in one of Lando’s old t-shirts; soft, worn-in, hit mid-thigh. The hallway light was low behind her, and Lando leaned silently in the doorway, watching her.

The bump was barely there. Just a shift. A curve where there hadn’t been one before. But he saw the way she looked at it — clinical, detached, like she was trying to solve a problem that couldn’t be defined by numbers.

He knew that look. Had seen it a hundred times when she was deep in a design challenge, stuck on something she couldn’t brute-force with logic.

Only this wasn’t CFD. This wasn’t something she could sketch her way out of.

“Beautiful,” he said finally, softly.

She startled slightly, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. “Sorry,” she muttered, like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

He crossed the room in a few slow steps and slid his arms around her from behind, hands warm over the gentle swell of her stomach. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Just… talk to me. Yeah?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into him slightly. “It’s stupid.”

“Bet it’s not.”

Her gaze dropped to the fabric of the shirt. “It’s just… weird. My body. It’s not mine the same way it used to be.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just held her tighter.

“I know it’s normal. I know it’s supposed to be this way. But I feel like I have to keep checking if I’m still… me.”

“You are,” he said, no hesitation. “You’re still you.”

She let out a breath, shaky. “I have two heartbeats.”

“Yeah.” His hand slid lower, covering hers. “Just another one for me to protect, hm?”

Her laugh was quiet. She looked down again, hands still hovering at the hem of her shirt.

Lando’s thoughts ran in quiet loops behind his steady face.

Amelia was already strong. Already capable. But she was also vulnerable in a way that twisted something primal in him. Not because she was weak, never that, but because she mattered. More than anyone. More than anything.

She turned in his arms and looked up at him. “I didn’t know you’d be like this,” she said softly.

“Like what?”

“Protective.”

His jaw tensed slightly, but his thumbs were gentle as they traced the curve of her waist. “You’re you. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her breath hitched.

“And if anyone even thinks about making you feel less than perfect, or looking at you wrong, I swear to God—”

“You’ll what?” She said lightly, looping her fingers in the hem of his hoodie. “Run them over with your big scary Formula One car?”

“If I must.”

Her laugh was breathy, but her eyes were wet again. She leaned in, forehead to his chest, small and quiet and warm in his arms.

The mirror behind them had fogged over, hiding their reflection.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into her hair. “Both of you. Mine.”

And if it was possessive, if it was a little bit selfish, well, maybe it didn’t matter.

Because it was true.

—

Amelia was called in just after Oscar’s final lap time had been logged and the garage started to empty. The paddock buzzed around her with its usual noise and movement, but her mind was quiet. Focused.

She didn’t knock.

Zak and Andrea were already inside, both standing.

She blinked at them.

Her dad looked uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the heat. His hands were on his hips, eyes on the floor. Andrea was less rigid, but equally tense, shifting a folder between his hands. When Amelia stepped in and closed the door, they both looked up.

“Sit down?” Andrea offered.

“I’ll stand,” she said evenly.

Andrea gave a small nod. Zak exhaled, a breath heavier than it needed to be.

“We spoke to the factory team,” Andrea began, “Reviewed the data from the past three days alongside their notes from the adjustments we made pre-season.”

“They admitted it,” Zak added. His voice sounded rough, like he’d rehearsed this and it still didn’t come out right. “They said you were right. About the aero balance. About the centre of gravity shift. About the torque distribution. Everything.”

Amelia didn’t react. Of course she’d been right.

Zak looked at her like he wanted to see something more; a smile, vindication, even relief. She didn’t give it to him.

“We should’ve listened when you flagged it the first time,” Andrea said. “It was a mistake to sideline your design philosophy.”

“You didn’t sideline it,” Amelia corrected, voice flat. “You replaced it. And let the factory team run with their own version of the spec, assuming I was being difficult instead of accurate.”

Andrea winced slightly. Zak flinched like she’d slapped him, not because her tone was harsh, but because it wasn’t. There was no heat behind the words. Just truth. Clean. Clinical.

Like it was data.

“I’m sorry,” Zak said.

Amelia finally looked at him.

She tilted her head slightly. “For which part?”

Zak swallowed. “For all of it,” he said. “For doubting you. For not defending your position when it counted. For treating you like a junior instead of a peer just because you’re my daughter.”

Silence.

Amelia’s hands were still. She blinked once, slow.

“I’m not here because I’m your daughter,” she said. “I’m here because I’m the best person for the job. I’ve proven that more than once. I led a driver to two incredible championships. But every time I push back, you treat it like a personal affront instead of professional disagreement. And Andrea—”

He looked up, eyes tired.

“—you’ve spent months pretending you trust me when it’s clear you don’t. That has consequences. Real ones. You compromised the car’s integrity because you didn’t want to back me.”

Andrea opened his mouth, but closed it again. There was nothing to say.

Zak was the one who stepped forward slightly, voice quieter now. “I didn’t know how to separate it. You being my daughter. You being in charge. I thought if I gave you too much leeway, people would say I was biased. But pulling back, letting others make the calls, it wasn’t the answer. And I see that now.”

Amelia didn’t move. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fold.

She just looked at him, measured and calm.

“Your worry about nepotism made you blind to sexism,” she said simply. “I wasn’t just second-guessed because I’m your daughter. I was second-guessed because I’m a woman in a room full of men who think engineering should look and sound like them. And you let that happen.”

Zak looked gutted.

Andrea rubbed a hand down his face, shame written clear across it.

“We’re reverting the car to your spec,” Andrea said quietly. “As soon as possible. We’re thinking it might take a while, but you’ll have full oversight. We’ll make sure your pipeline through the factory is restored — direct, no interference. We’ll back you. Properly, this time.”

Amelia gave one small nod. “Miami was your deadline.”

“I know,” Zak said. “It might still look like that — with how long it’ll take to introduce the upgrades in a way that won’t piss off the FIA.”

She hesitated, then nodded again — a fraction slower. “Good,” she said. “Then let me get back to work.”

She turned, her braid swaying behind her, and left without needing anything else.

No smugness. No triumph. Just forward motion; the kind she’d built her whole career on.

—

Amelia stood by the far window, sipping from a paper cup. Her badge was clipped to her belt still, her braid loose from where she’d pulled it apart during debrief. She didn’t move when her dad walked in.

He didn’t speak right away.

Neither did she.

He poured himself a coffee, too. Let the quiet stretch. Then, “I’ve been awful, haven’t I?.”

Amelia didn’t look at him. “Yes. But that wasn’t the worst part.”

He waited.

She turned, arms folded, the paper cup tucked loosely in her hand. “You’ve always believed in me as your daughter. I don’t doubt that. But you’ve never made space for me to be more than that when we’re here. You tell me you’re proud; but the second I disagree with you, or someone else in that room, I become a liability.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not.” Her voice stayed calm, level. Not emotional — precise. “I’m not irrational. I’m not reckless. I know that sometimes I communicate differently. But I am good at what I do. You don’t get to keep acting like those things are mutually exclusive.”

Zak looked down. His face, tired and slack under the motorhome lights, was older than she remembered seeing it last.

“You’re not a liability,” he said quietly. “Honey, I know you’re not. I swear.”

She nodded once, accepting it. No more, no less.

“I’m not angry,” she added. “But I’m not going to forget it happened.”

Zak nodded too. “You shouldn’t.”

They stood there for a beat longer.

Then he cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

She gave him a look.

“I mean—” He raised his hands slightly.

“…Fine.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, awkward. “Is this a bad time to ask if you’re going to want maternity leave?”

She blinked. Slowly. “Seriously?”

“Well, you’re already doing the job of three people. I just thought I should check.”

“I’m not going to be sitting around crocheting for six months, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Amelia shrugged. “I’ll take a few weeks to recover. But I’m not vanishing. I’ll still be consulting. I’ll have a baby sling. And my iPad.”

Zak gave a small, helpless laugh — the first one all day that wasn’t exhausted. Then quieter, “You’re going to be a phenomenal mom.”

She looked down at her cup. Said nothing. But her lip twitched.

Zak stepped forward and pulled her into a quick, firm hug. For a moment, she stayed stiff — then let herself soften against him, just for a second.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “For everything. For trying to keep you away from Lando all those years ago, and for underestimating you again and again. I’ve learned my lesson. It'll never happen again.”

She didn’t say thank you.

But she hugged him back.

—

There were four days until the first race of the 2024 season.

The worst of the heat had passed, leaving just a shimmer of warmth on the breeze as Amelia and Lando strolled side by side down a quiet stretch of narrow street, tucked away from the busier tourist spots.

Amelia had her sunglasses on, hair up in a messy bun. One hand rested lightly on her hip through the oversized linen shirt she’d borrowed from Lando that morning. Her other hand was cradling a half-finished bottle of water.

“You sure you’re not too tired?” Lando asked as they slowed near the edge of a small, shaded plaza.

“If I sit still for too long, my brain starts building hypothetical aero upgrades. You don’t want that,” she replied dryly.

Lando grinned. “God forbid you solve our side-pod turbulence in your sleep.”

“I already did that.” She told him seriously.

They found a little cafe tucked between two sandstone buildings; one of those slightly touristy places, but quiet, with mismatched chairs and a handwritten chalkboard menu. The awning fluttered faintly overhead as they took a seat outside, the table wobbly until Lando kicked a piece of stone under one leg.

Amelia squinted at the dessert menu propped behind the till. “What’s that?”

Lando followed her gaze. “‘Tiramisu stuffed brioche’,” he read aloud. “Nice.”

“I want it.” She said.

“You want it?” He blinked. “You never eat sweets before four pm.”

Amelia gave him a look. “Yes. Well. Apparently, now I do. Make sure it has no alcohol.”

Lando stood without another word and went to order. She watched him through the front window as he paid, then turned slightly to rest a hand on her stomach — absently. Still not fully used to the motion, but grounding herself in it more every day.

When he returned, two drinks in hand and the promised pastry on a little ceramic plate, he placed it in front of her like it was some precious offering.

“Moment of truth,” he said, eyes dancing.

She took one bite.

Then blinked. Chewed. Blinked again.

“Oh wow.”

Lando laughed. “Oh yes.”

“I want twelve more.”

He leaned back, looking smug. “Say the word, and I’ll clear out their kitchen.”

Amelia broke off another piece, then paused mid-bite, frowning at the treat with faint suspicion. “Is it normal to fixate on food like this?”

“Yes,” he said easily. “And very cute.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s irrational. There’s no scientific reason why—”

“You’re building a human,” Lando said, gently interrupting. “You can have cravings. It’s fine. I find it… weirdly hot, actually.”

She choked on the next bite.

Lando grinned wider. “What? There’s something kind of sexy about watching the most brilliant mind in motorsport fall madly in love with wildly specific flavoured carbs.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Amelia swallowed her mouthful and rolled her eyes, but she did smile, just slightly, as she reached for his drink and took a sip without asking.

They sat in the quiet for a while longer, warm air brushing against their skin, the low hum of the city around them. At one point, Lando reached across the table and took her hand, just held it there, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles.

“Tell the group-chat.” She said. “Before we post on Instagram. It’ll be nice for them to hear it directly from you.”

“Okay, baby.”

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2024 F1 Grid

Lando N.

alright lads

Serious message incoming

George R.

Everything alright mate?

Alex A.

Did Amelia lose her iPad somewhere in Bahrain and you expect us to go searching for it? Bc I’m busy

Charles L.

i will NOT be clicking any weird links this time

Lando N.

shut up all of you for 5 seconds

i’m being SERIOUS

Oscar P.

👀

Lando Norris:

Amelia’s pregnant.

We’re having a baby!

Carlos S.

BRO

FELICIDADES

Pierre G.

WHAT

YOU’RE GONNA BE A DAD????

Fernando A.

Congratulations!

I already knew of course, mi Nina informed me herself x

George R.

Mate. Mate.

MATE.

A BABY NORRIS.

Charles L.

❤️❤️❤️❤️

Esteban O.

So you’ll be like… a real life dad? Omg

Lando N.

Yes very real. Baby Norris will be arriving late summer.

Logan S.

Does this mean I won’t be the baby of the grid anymore?

Oscar P.

Sorry Loges. Feels like you’ve been dethroned.

Oscar P.

Also

Lando’s baby is 100% going to know more about aero than half this group before it can talk.

Lando N.

not even a joke

Yuki T.

omg

tiny paddock baby

can i be godfather

Lando N.

we’re not discussing godparents yet 💀

George R.

Tell Amelia congratulations from all of us — and that she’s the real hero in all this

You just did the fun bit LOL

Lando N.

already told her

Max V.

Happy for you both, mate

Hope you’re ready for zero sleep for the rest of your life 👍

Lando N.

ready as I’ll ever be

(i think)

Carlos S.

Let’s gooooooo

Grid uncle squad is forming

Message pinned by George Russell:

GEORGE R.

🎉 CONGRATS LANDO + AMELIA 🎉

Baby Norris incoming — Summer 2024

—

amelianorris just posted . . .

amelianorris We’re having a baby and I am always nauseous 🧡

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, mclaren and 4.7m others

Tagged: landonorris

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landonorris my beautiful baby and my perfect little miracle. ❤️ by amelianorris

user82 the fact that i dont know if amelia is 'beautiful baby' or 'perfect little miracle'.... im so soft for them ohmygod. parents fr

maxverstappen1 Congratulations! You will be wonderful parents x

user26 BABY NORRIS IS REAL OMG!!!!!! THE SPECULATION WASN'T US BEING CRAZY!? BABY NORRIS TRUTHERS RISE

maxfewtrell Congrats!!!! So unbelievably happy for you and Lando. Can't wait to be an uncle 🥰

user60 you're telling me that little lando norris is going to be a dad?????? oh my word im speechless

oscarpiastri All my love to you both (baby and mommy) x

landonorris bro??? oscarpiastri oh right congrats ig user16 LMAO so we all know who his favourite norris is 😭

mclaren A McLaren baby! How exciting. Congratulations to you both!!! xxxx

—

The sun was already climbing, casting shadows across the paddock as the first media crews began setting up. There was a crispness to the desert air, the kind that would vanish by noon. The paddock wasn’t loud yet. That would come later, with the rush of media pens and mechanics and cameras and the first official laps of the year.

Amelia stepped out of the car first, tugging her sunglasses into place. Lando was out a second later, gently shutting the door and circling to her side without a word. His hand found the small of her back automatically, a steady point of contact as they began the familiar walk toward the paddock entrance.

She didn’t need the support, not physically, but she didn’t mind it either. His hand there was warm, grounding. She let herself lean into it slightly.

They weren’t walking fast. They didn’t need to.

A few fans had gathered at the edge of the barriers lining the team access road; early risers, most wearing McLaren caps and orange shirts, phones already out. Normally Amelia would’ve walked right past with a nod or a quick wave, but a young woman in a papaya tee held up a tiny baby onesie with the McLaren logo printed across the front.

Amelia paused.

The girl’s voice was soft but bright. “Congratulations, Amelia! I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Amelia blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sincerity. “Thank you. I’m… working on it.”

Lando smiled at that and stepped in slightly closer beside her, fingers brushing over the back of her shirt as she reached for the onesie the girl was offering.

“It's for you. I sewed it myself.” The fan said.

Amelia took it gently. Held it up. It was impossibly small, white with papaya trim, and a little line of checkered flags stitched along the sleeve.

She let out a quiet breath, something unreadable flickering through her expression.

A few others along the barrier were calling softly now — well-wishes, smiles, and congratulations. One older woman, probably in her sixties, just clasped her hands together and said, “You are both going to be wonderful parents.”

Amelia handed the onesie to Lando without comment and took the offered Sharpie. She signed everything that was shoved at her quickly but carefully. “Thank you,” she said, a little quieter this time.

They hung around for a few more minutes. Lando signed hats and flags; Amelia posed for a few photos, a little awkward, but always soft around the eyes. One teenage girl told her she wanted to be a motorsport engineer because of her. Amelia find herself sniffling, embarrassingly emotional over something she’d been told a hundred times, and Lando reached for her hand again without saying a word.

As they turned to leave, he leaned in close. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

“Good overwhelmed?”

She nodded once. “Yeah. It’s nice. People caring. Being so kind. You have nice fans. You and Oscar. They’re good people.”

Lando didn’t respond straight away. He just kissed her temple, hand still on her back as they walked into the paddock.

The baby onesie remained tucked into Amelia’s bag.

—

The atmosphere was calm — a rare thing for the days leading up to the first Grand Prix weekend of the season. A few drivers had filtered into the lounge after media duties, still in their polos, half-watching a muted F2 session on the TV overhead, trading quiet comments about the heat and the track changes.

The sliding door opened. Lando stepped in first, a hand gently guiding Amelia at the small of her back. She was dressed simply in team kit and a pair of dark sunglasses perched atop her head, posture straight but relaxed.

Oscar was leaned back in one of the corner chairs, legs stretched out, nursing a bottle of water. He glanced up, and his face lit up with something that looked like pride. “Hey,” he greeted simply. “All good?”

Amelia nodded. “All good.”

Charles was beside him, already smiling, the kind that started in the eyes, easy and genuine. “It’s nice to see you both,” he said.

“You too,” Amelia replied, quiet.

Max was near the back wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He gave a small nod. “Well done,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for Amelia to hear as she passed. “It’s nice not to have to worry about keeping your secret.”

She offered him a rare little smile. “I know you struggle with secrets. You did a good job.”

A few others looked up; George, Alex, Esteban.

George was the first to speak now, rising from the edge of the sofa. “Hey. Congrats, guys.” His tone was steady, no teasing. “Really happy for you both.”

“Thanks, mate,” Lando said, his hand still resting gently against Amelia’s back.

Alex gave her a quick nod, not pushing. “You feeling okay in the heat?”

“Tired,” Amelia admitted. “But not bad. The heat is frustrating.”

“You’re in Bahrain,” Esteban said, smiling lightly. “No avoiding it, unfortunately.”

There was a quiet round of low chuckles. No one pushed closer, no one stared too long. No inappropriate questions or drawn-out fuss. They all knew Amelia; knew she wasn’t a spotlight kind of person. They treated her like they always had. With respect. With a bit of caution. With something close to admiration.

Amelia turned toward Oscar for a moment. He tilted his head. “Hi.”

She gave him a small nudge. “How are you feeling about today? First practice of the year.”

“Good,” he said simply.

Lando leaned in slightly. “You want to head over to hospitality? Get some breakfast?”

“In a minute,” she murmured.

It was nice. For now. To be surrounded by people who respected her. Loved her, even.

—

Oscar sat half-suited in the car, balaclava tucked loose around his neck, race gloves rolled halfway up his wrists. The garage was alive around them; murmurs between mechanics, the steady beep of telemetry syncing, a dull hiss from an air hose being disconnected.

Amelia was perched on a stool pressed up against the side-pod of the car, elbow resting on her thigh, iPad propped in one hand. Her hair was tied back into a braid with clinical precision.

“The wind direction’s shifted twelve degrees since morning,” she said, eyes on the live atmospheric feed. “Downforce will wash out quicker through sector two. Turn ten’s going to be problematic for you.”

Oscar leaned his head back against the padding and gave a wry smile. “So, usual Bahrain things?”

“Yeah. Except a little meaner today.” She tapped through the sim data, cross-referenced it with the downforce models. Without looking up, she added, “Let the rear settle through seven or you’re going to spike your tyre temps and ruin the run.”

“Do my best.”

She flicked him a glance, dry and fond. “Thanks.”

One of the support engineers leaned over Amelia’s shoulder. “We’re showing high differential pressure variance through the right rear. Might need a last-minute check.”

Amelia didn't look away from the screen. “Yeah, I flagged it an hour ago. We already swapped sensors — it’s the wind skewing the read. Don’t touch it.”

“Copy.”

Oscar snorted. “Still terrifying when you do that.”

She tilted her head. “Do what?”

“Know things before anyone says them.”

“It’s my job.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath, flexing his gloved hands. “Do I need to worry about rear-end grip into Turn 11?”

“Not unless you've forgotten everything you know about driving a Formula One car.”

“Reassuring.”

Her hand came up, instinctively pressing against the curve of her lower belly for just a second, her expression twisting with something that looked a little green around the edges. 

Oscar noticed, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched her quietly, then offered, “You’re not too hot?”

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question. “No. I’m fine.”

His brow arched slightly. “You always say that, so I never know when to actually believe it.”

“I’ve got a thermometer that I keep using to check my temperature. It’s consistent. I’m drinking the exact amount of water that my doctor has recommended. I’m taking regular breaks from the sun and eating in intervals of three hours. I am, by definition, absolutely fine.”

He stared at her. “Sure.”

“I’ll bring you something nice for lunch if you can get through this session without causing a red flag.”

“Wow. Conditional nourishment. You spoil me.” He said sarcastically.

Before she could fire back, Lando passed behind them on his way to the other side of the garage, pausing only to brush a hand lightly along the back of Amelia’s shoulder as he went. She didn’t react outwardly, but her entire body softened for half a second.

Oscar clocked the moment. “He’s not going to wrap you in bubble wrap, is he? I need you.”

“He can try,” she muttered, before standing and glancing down at her iPad again. “Alright. First run’s mediums. Five-lap stint. I want lift-and-coast into lap two so we can log some cooling data. Don’t race the lap. This is recon.”

“Understood.”

She stepped back as the mechanics moved in. One of the tyre engineers looked to her for confirmation.

“Release him. Let’s get it done.”

Oscar gave a lazy two-finger salute as the engine roared to life. “Catch you in ten.”

She rolled her eyes but said, “Bring it back to me in one piece.”

—

McLaren’s pit wall pulsed with quiet, meticulous focus.

Amelia sat on her usual stool; headset already in place, tablet resting on her lap, one foot tucked under her thigh.

Andrea leaned against the back rail beside her, arms folded. “Any nerves?”

Amelia didn’t look up. “No. I never get nervous for practice sessions.” She paused. “Unless there’s extreme weather conditions.”

Zak, just settling into his own chair a few feet down, let out a snort. “Let’s not tempt fate.”

Will took his place beside Amelia, offering her a quiet nod. “Track temps are rising quicker than expected,” he murmured. “Oscar might get wind shear on the back straight.”

“I know,” Amelia said, already flipping through telemetry with a few well-practiced taps. “Told him we’d adjust diff mid-run if it hits. He’s got the override mapped.”

The strategists filtered in, eyes flicking between live data and evolving models. One handed Amelia a fresh printout of projected stint lengths based on wind intensity. She scanned it, adjusted two numbers with her pen, and passed it back without a word.

There was a beat of quiet as the first few cars fired out of the pit lane. The soft whoosh of tires on tarmac passed through the headsets. Oscar was next.

“Box clear. You’re good to go,” Amelia said calmly into her mic, eyes on the screen. “Watch your entry on Turn 4 — wind's picking up.”

Oscar's response was dry, as always. “Copy. Let’s have some fun.”

She noticed the red light on the camera above them flicker on. Without missing a beat, she lifted one hand and gave it a small, wry wave; the sort that said, ‘Hello, I’m aware that you’re broadcasting my face right now.’

Oscar’s voice crackled over the radio again as the first run of the day ticked down. “Rear’s light into six, but I can manage.”

“Okay,” Amelia said, scrolling across the telemetry. “I’ll bump rear brake bias up two clicks on the next run. Ride’s holding well, though.”

“Yeah. Feels sharp.”

Andrea stood nearby with arms crossed, eyes on the live delta. Will leaned in closer to her screen, already logging feedback. Zak occasionally asked short, pointed questions and her answers were always clipped, accurate, unemotional.

Still, there was something softer in Amelia’s tone with Oscar. A dry edge, yes, but the undercurrent of investment and care was impossible to miss.

“Sure, ducky,” she’d muttered when Oscar said he was ready to “have some fun” on his out-lap. “Fun.”

Andrea had caught it immediately. “You’re soft on him.”

Amelia didn’t even look up. Just took a drink from her McLaren water bottle — her name printed in block letters on the side, a bold red ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ sticker slapped under it like a warning label. “He responds better to praise. I yell at him a lot when he’s on the sim. There’s a balance.”

The morning wore on like clockwork. Data rolled in, Oscar ran clean stints, and Amelia barely left her post except to swap tablets or double-check tire degradation stats with the Pirelli engineers. FP1 ended solidly — no fireworks, but tidy and consistent. Exactly what she liked.

At lunch, she peeled off her headset and headed toward the hospitality area with Lando. He met her halfway, already peeling a banana and offering it to her mid-stride.

“I don’t want your banana,” she said flatly.

He grinned and took a bite himself. “Thought I’d try to help with your potassium. You looked grumpy.”

“I always look grumpy.”

“Grumpier than usual,” he clarified.

Amelia rolled her eyes but accepted the bottle of blue (her favourite flavour) electrolytes he handed over without question. They found a quiet corner inside the team’s motorhome, away from the usual pre-race noise. He sprawled lazily in the booth; she sat opposite, tugging the hem of her McLaren shirt down.

“How are we looking out there?” He asked after a moment, nodding toward the pit lane.

She shrugged, already halfway into reading the FP1 debrief notes on her iPad. “Stable. Better than expected on the straights. Wind's dropping slightly toward sunset, so you’ll get a cleaner second session.”

Lando watched her. “You’re amazing at this.”

Amelia didn’t look up. “Yes.”

He smirked. “But also very modest.”

“No point in pretending I’m not good at my job.” She finally looked up, softer now. “Especially with you and Oscar relying on me.”

He reached across the table and tugged her iPad down slightly. “I rely on you even when you’re not working.”

She blinked once. Then twice. “Lando.” She said. Her cheeks were pink.

Lando just laughed.

—

The desert heat had lessened, but the wind hadn’t. It whipped around the paddock in short bursts, rustling the pit board labels and tugging at Amelia’s hair where it was braided and pinned to the back of her head.

This time, Lando was out first. Amelia watched from her usual perch, shoulder to shoulder with Will, strategists reading live delta and fuel burn beside them. Her gaze bounced rapidly between live feeds and overlays, fingers dancing over the touchscreen surface like it was second nature.

When Lando’s rear stepped out slightly in Turn 12, her voice was calm. “Tell him to adjust your brake migration one click forward.”

Will relaid the information.

“Copy,” came Lando’s voice, low and focused.

Oscar followed soon afterwards on fresh softs. Amelia’s tone changed; not gentler, but more measured. “Remember what we talked about. Brake release into 7. Gentle. Controlled. Don’t throw the car in.”

Oscar’s lap lit up green across sectors.

She let a satisfied breath out through her nose.

—

By the end of the day, both drivers had done consistent long runs and given the strategy team a solid amount tire feedback.

Andrea glanced at her as they began packing up. “Good work today.”

Amelia gave a small smile — appreciative, but measured. Still, she noticed he was making more of an effort lately, and that counted. “Thanks.”

Later, back in the garage, with the mechanics winding down and the last of the day’s noise settling, Lando found her perched on a tire stack, sipping from a cold water bottle. Sweat clung to her temples, and the last of the sun lit her skin in warm gold.

He bumped her hip lightly with his. “Hi, gorgeous. Missed you today.”

She arched a brow. “You’ve been glued to my side every second you weren’t in the car.”

“Still,” he said, grinning as he pulled her into a soft, end-of-day hug.

Under the buzz of the Bahrain floodlights, she pressed her face into his neck with a tired groan. “My feet hurt. And my ankles are swollen.”

Without missing a beat, Lando lifted her off the ground. “Better?”

She sighed, tension melting out of her shoulders. “Much.”

He kissed the side of her head and held her a little tighter.

—

The balcony doors were cracked open, letting in the night air and the quiet hum of the city. Amelia sat cross-legged on the bed in one of Lando’s oversized T-shirts, blue-light glasses on, tapping idly at her laptop. Notes and track maps were scattered beside her, though she was only half-committed to actually reviewing them.

Lando, sprawled beside her with one leg over her thigh and a bowl of popcorn between them, was glued to his phone, thumb lazily scrolling through TikTok. His curls were damp from the shower, and his body still smelled faintly of sunblock and whatever soap the hotel stocked.

He stopped suddenly.

“Babe,” he said, voice quiet, almost unsure.

Amelia didn’t look up. “Hm?”

“No — look.” He turned the screen toward her.

She leaned closer, adjusting her glasses. The video was a fan edit. A slow, cinematic montage. Piano music overlaid with soft synths. The caption read, “Amelia and Lando through the years — from lovers to soulmates.”

The first clip was grainy; a 2018 paddock interview where a much younger Lando, awkward in his race suit, stood across from her in his garage. She looked different and the same all at once: neater, maybe. Definitely tighter, definitely more guarded. She didn’t meet his eyes once.

Then the timeline rolled forward. Garage zoom-ins. Candid paddock moments. A clip of them bickering while walking into the McLaren garage. Amelia pulling Lando’s cap off and tossing it down the corridor. Him handing her a coffee. All of the podiums he’d taken her to watch before it flashed to him up there and her watching, always somebody behind her in his place.

Her in the garage, arms in the air after a good quali. Him grinning at her during interviews he wasn’t even supposed to be a part of.

And then the quiet moments; fan-captured videos of her fixing his collar or brushing lint off his overalls. A slow-motion clip of him watching her walk away, soft-eyed. The first time they were caught holding hands. Her head on his shoulder during a rain delay.

The final clip was from just a few days ago; her at the Bahrain pit wall, hand resting lightly on her small but visible bump, waving at fans. He was standing just behind her, barely in frame, but watching her.

Lando said nothing.

Neither did Amelia.

The music faded out. The screen went black.

Some things are just meant to be — the caption said.

Lando lowered the phone slowly, gaze still fixed on the screen, eyes slightly wet. “Wow,” he muttered. “They got me.”

Amelia blinked a few times. “I remember that day,” she said. “Barcelona test, 2019. You spilled your coffee on my notebook.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, nudging her foot with his. “You yelled at me.”

“I had to yell at you,” she replied, deadpan. “You tried to dry the notes with a heat gun.”

He laughed, soft and fond. Then he turned more serious, his voice quiet. “You think they’re right?”

Amelia tilted her head. “About what?”

“Meant to be.”

She looked at him fully now, taking in his expression — open, a little uncertain. His hand brushed over her shin, anchoring.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that if someone had shown me that video back then, I’d have said no.”

Lando’s mouth pulled into a crooked smile. “Ouch.”

“But,” she went on, “I’d have been wrong. So... yeah. Meant to be. I married you, didn’t I?”

He exhaled, tension she hadn’t realised was there easing from his shoulders. Then he reached up, hooked a finger around her collar, and tugged her into a kiss — soft, sure, familiar.

When they pulled apart, he whispered, “I’m saving that video.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there’s a million more like it.”

His eyes lit up. “I’m going to watch all of them.”

“Yeah. Should’ve seen that coming.” She sighed.

He grinned and went back to scrolling — but his free hand stayed wrapped around her ankle, thumb brushing slow, unconscious circles against her skin. Amelia turned back to her laptop, but her smile lingered, half-hidden behind the screen.

Meant to be.

That was nice.

—

The sun hadn’t even reached its peak, and Amelia was already overheating. Her McLaren polo clung to her back, her hair was twisted into a no-nonsense knot, and she was halfway through her third bottle of water.

Lando trailed beside her through the paddock, annoyingly energetic. “Okay, but Atlas is cool. Strong. Powerful.”

Amelia didn’t even glance up from her iPad. “An atlas is a book of maps, Lando. Not a person.”

“Exactly. It’s smart. Worldly.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “We are not naming our child after a book of maps.”

They passed a few team staff who wisely kept walking despite the tension radiating off them.

“Fine,” Lando said. “Your turn. What name do you like?”

“Lando.”

“We’re not naming the baby after me,” he said, somewhere between amused and sarcastic.

Amelia stopped walking. Her iPad hung loose at her side. “Please,” she said flatly. “Please can you just… stop.”

Lando blinked. His smile thinned. “Fine. Whatever. Veto all my names. Not like I give a shit.”

The words hit harder than he intended; and he knew it the second they left his mouth.

Amelia didn’t respond. Just looked at him—sharp, unreadable—then turned and walked off toward the garage. The heat shimmered on the tarmac between them.

By the time Lando caught up, she was already perched on a stool in Oscar’s garage, scrolling through tire data like nothing had happened. Oscar lay sprawled across a tire stack beside her, eyes flicking between them with his usual diplomatic neutrality.

“What about Nico?” Lando offered again, voice cautious now.

Amelia turned her head so slowly it was almost theatrical. “Are you joking?”

“It’s a good name.”

“It’s Rosberg, Lando. I work in this paddock. Do you want me to be humiliated?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. Lando looked sheepish.

“Didn’t think about that,” he muttered.

“Clearly,” she snapped—sharper than she meant to be.

The room went still. Even the mechanics seemed to pause, pretending to check something on their tablets.

Amelia exhaled hard and pressed her fingers to her temple. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”

Oscar lifted a hand like he was waving off a foul. “She’s growing the baby, mate. Obviously she gets to pick the name.”

Lando scowled. “That’s not—”

“No,” Oscar cut in. “It is that.”

Amelia gave him a grateful look. Lando, meanwhile, folded his arms and slumped into the seat beside her. He didn’t speak again for ten minutes.

They made it through the rest of FP3 in a strained kind of silence—not quite a fight, but not not one either. It sat between them through briefings, hydration checks, and another read of Oscar’s sector times.

When qualifying was called, Amelia handed off her tablet and sent Oscar toward his chassis—but instead of returning to the pit wall, she made a detour to the other side of the garage.

Lando was already in the car, helmet on, gloves secured, visor still raised.

She leaned in beside the cockpit, one hand on the halo. “Hi.”

He looked up.

“I don’t want you going out there with us still angry at each other.”

His mouth parted slightly. Some tension uncoiled in his shoulders. “I’m not angry. Just... frustrated.”

“I love you,” she told him.

His eyes locked with hers. The crease between his brows softened. “Baby, I love you too.”

She gave his shoulder a light squeeze—not an apology, just... a truce. 

“I’ll be on the pit wall.”

He nodded once, then pulled his visor down.

Amelia turned on her heel, walked past the media and telemetry boards, and took her seat at the pit wall. She pulled her headset on, pen tucked behind her ear, posture sharp.

Zak glanced over from a few seats down. “Everything alright?”

She didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

He paused. “You and Lando—”

“Fine,” she repeated, firm this time. A quiet warning.

Zak let it drop. He’d learned: if Amelia wanted to talk, she would—and if she didn’t, nothing would pry it out.

Andrea leaned in with a printed tire strategy. “Piastri’s prep lap?”

Amelia nodded, already focused. “He’s ready. Track temp’s down two degrees. We go aggressive into Turn One—he’ll have the grip.”

Zak leaned back and watched her work—cool, composed, headset like armour. Her voice calm, crisp, in control.

—

The motorhome was quiet after quali. Amelia sat cross-legged on the sofa, head tipped back, one hand resting lightly on her stomach. Her water bottle sat half-finished on the table. She hadn’t said much since lunch.

Lando stood nearby, helmet bag in hand, chewing his lip.

“Hey,” he said at last.

She didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

He stepped closer. “I’m sorry. For earlier. I was being a prick. A boyfriend, not a husband. You deserve better.”

That made her glance at him, eyes tired.

“You’re growing a human,” he said, crouching in front of her. “You’re doing it in forty-degree heat and still carrying the whole team on your back, and I’m over here sulking because you don’t like the name Atlas.”

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but her eyes stayed glassy.

“I’m sorry I made today harder than it needed to be,” he said softly.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m trying so hard to act normal. But I’m always tired. I can’t sleep. And I feel like I’m failing if I slow down, but my body won’t let me keep up.”

He didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the couch, pulled her straight into his lap, arms tight around her. Her head dropped to his chest. She melted into the pressure like she’d needed it all day.

His hand moved in slow, steady strokes over her back.

“You’re not failing,” he murmured. “You’re doing something impossible, and you’re doing it perfectly.”

She didn’t respond, just pressed her cheek against him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “We’re a team, yeah?”

She nodded, silent.

When she finally sat up, brushing a tear from under one eye, he kissed her temple.

“You sure you’re okay to run Oscar’s quali?”

“I’m fine,” she said, voice steadier. “As long as you go out there and qualify well for me.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

When they stood, she slid her hand into his, fingers lacing tight. The tension had eased. They were okay. They were fine.

—

Oscar caught it first on Thursday. Lando pulling out Amelia’s chair, grabbing her breakfast, nudging her seat in like it was second nature. She said something under her breath, but didn’t stop him.

Oscar bit back a grin. So domestic.

—

On Friday, Oscar glanced over the monitor just in time to catch Lando’s hand at the small of Amelia’s back as they passed behind the pit wall. Subtle, constant—like he didn’t trust the world to make room for her unless he made it himself.

Andrea muttered, “If he stands any closer to her, they’re going to merge.”

—

On Sunday, Lando hovered. One step behind Amelia, intercepting wandering hands, redirecting nosy media, stepping into frame when someone aimed a camera too close.

“Mate,” Oscar said, helmet under his arm, “we have security, you know.”

“They’re not quick enough,” Lando said without missing a beat.

—

Post-race, Oscar unclipped his belts and looked over to find Lando, still suited up, wrapped around Amelia at the edge of the chaos, whispering something into her ear. She didn’t even flinch, like she was used to the weight of him.

Oscar shook his head. Smiled despite himself. 

—

At the team dinner that night, Amelia leaned to stretch her back and Lando noticed immediately, rubbing slow circles into the base of her spine. Then one of Lando’s engineers came over, and Oscar found himself absolutely ensconced by how it all played out.

Immediately jealous, Lando draped an arm behind Amelia’s head and said, without smiling, “You lost, mate?” He asked the engineer. Poor bloke.

Oscar pushed his plate of chips across the table.

Amelia beamed at him. “Thanks.”

Lando narrowed his eyes at his wife. “You ordered mash, baby.”

“Want chips now.” She told him. She was already dragging one through a puddle of ketchup.

“Should’ve ordered chips for your wife, mate,” Oscar teased.

Lando glared at him.

—

It all came to a head on the Monday.

They were flying commercial, first class, but still, alongside a handful of McLaren personnel for the long-haul back to the UK. Amelia was curled up beside the window, hoodie pulled over her head, eyes closed but clearly not asleep. Her hand rested over her stomach like it always did now—subconscious, protective and probably trying to quell nausea all the while. Lando was next to her, flipping through a movie menu without actually picking anything.

Two rows back, a small cluster of engineers were half-whispering over the tops of their seats. Tired, still wired from the adrenaline of the race weekend, and just loose enough from the champagne at the hotel bar the night before.

“She’s got him wrapped around her little finger, hasn’t she?” One of the engineers muttered — the youngest in the group, barely out of uni and already puffed up with the kind of confidence that comes with zero experience and too many opinions.

Another snickered under his breath.

“Please,” the idiot went on, leaning in like he was about to deliver a punchline. “She so much as fakes some weird little meltdown and Lando probably rewrites the whole weekend’s strategy just to keep her from crying.”

That got a quiet laugh.

“And let’s be real,” he added, voice dropping a touch. “He’s not still at McLaren because he’s irreplaceable. Man married the boss’ daughter. Locked in his contract and his pit wall privileges in one go. Fucking genius, honestly. Should’ve tried it myself.”

A third engineer made a noise halfway between discomfort and amusement. “You know she’s, like, three months pregnant, right?”

The first one just shrugged. “Not like that ever stopped a girl from using it to her advantage.”

Lando’s head turned, slow and sharp. He’d heard every word.

Amelia, mercifully, hadn’t. Her noise-cancelling headphones were still on, hoodie hood pulled down like a signal not to bother her.

Lando’s eyes flicked to her, still unaware, then back to the cluster of engineers. His jaw locked.

He stood without a word and walked two rows back, stopping just beside their seats.

“You. Up.” His voice was low, cold. Directed squarely at the younger engineer.

The guy blinked. “What?”

“I said get the fuck up.” There was no raise in volume, but the danger in it was unmistakable.

Around them, a few passengers glanced over. Lando didn’t care.

The kid stood, suddenly very aware that everyone else had stopped laughing.

Lando jerked his chin toward the galley. “Now.”

They stepped past the curtain separating the cabin from the service area. Lando folded his arms, body angled just enough to block the guy from view of the rest of the cabin.

“You think you're funny?” He asked, voice still quiet but razor-sharp.

The engineer’s face had drained of colour. “I—I didn’t mean anything. It was just—”

“No, you did mean something. You meant every word.” He took a step closer. “My wife’s name doesn’t belong anywhere near your ugly fucking mouth. You hear me?”

The engineer opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Lando stared him down. “You don’t speak about her. You don’t joke about her. You don’t look at her the wrong way. You want to talk shit about me? Fucking fine, I couldn’t give less of a shit.” He let the silence stretch long enough to let the weight settle. “But if I hear anything even remotely like that again, you’re done. I’ll really live up to the guy you think I am and go straight to Zak.And then you won’t just be off the travel team; you’ll be blacklisted from the entire industry. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” the guy croaked.

“Good.” Lando stepped aside, gesturing back toward the seats. “Go sit down. And if I see you look at her one fucking time for the rest of this flight, I’ll assume you didn’t understand me, and mate, I know how to throw a fucking punch.”

The engineer practically bolted.

Lando waited a beat, steadied his breathing, then ran a hand down his face and returned to his seat. Amelia had shifted, half-waking at the curtain being drawn back.

“Hey,” she mumbled sleepily, tugging her headphones down. “Where’d you go?”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “Needed to piss. You okay?”

She nodded, settling back into the seat and tucking her feet into his lap.

Lando glanced back two rows, just once, then looked down at her and wrapped a hand gently around her ankle.

He was smiling, just faintly. But his eyes? His eyes were still on fire.

—

The hotel room in London was dark, save for the soft glow from Lando’s phone. Amelia had crashed the second her head hit the pillow, curled into the sheets, one knee pulled up to her chest and the other thrown haphazardly across the entire bed.

Lando stood at the window in his boxers, thumb swiping absently across his screen.

He called Max.

It only rang twice before the Dutchman picked up.

“Alright, mate?” Max sounded half-asleep, but not annoyed. Just Max.

Lando hesitated. “Did anyone ever say shit about her when she was working with you?”

Max was quiet for a beat. Then, with a tight tone, asked, “What kind of shit?”

“About her,” Lando muttered. “Just… you know. Fucking guy shit.”

Another beat.

“Yeah,” Max said eventually. “A couple of times. Why?”

Lando exhaled. “One of the new guys in our team said something on the plane back. She didn’t hear it. But I did.”

“Ah.” Max’s voice was a little clearer now. “You threaten to kill him?”

“Pretty much.” Lando rubbed his jaw. “Told him next time he even looks at her sideways, he’s off the team.”

There was a pause on the line. Then Max said, “That’s the right call. I did that a few times, only had to get physical once or twice. Everyone seemed to get the hint after that.”

Lando sank down into the armchair, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “She’s feeling like shit, still nailing every call, and this guy, this fucking kid, thinks he can talk shit about her?”

“I had a guy once say she was a distraction,” Max said quietly. “Because she was wearing a skirt in the garage.”

Lando barked a laugh, mirthless. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Max said, with that resigned sigh that only came from dealing with idiots too often. “She’s the smartest person I’ve ever worked with. Some men just don’t know how to handle seeing a woman be better than them.”

“I just—” Lando exhaled hard. “She doesn’t even know. She trusts these people. And it’s like… she deserves to feel safe. Not watched. Not judged. Just—respected.”

“You can’t fight every battle for her.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

Max chuckled under his breath. “You sound like me in 2021.”

“She’s my wife,” Lando muttered. “And she’s growing my kid. I don’t care if it makes me look soft or dramatic. She deserves better.”

“You’re not soft,” Max said. “Well, maybe for her, but we all are, aren’t we?”

Lando laughed quietly. “She’d murder us both if she heard this.”

“Oh, absolutely. We’d be six feet under.” Then Max said, “You want me to have a word with Christian? Make sure this kid doesn’t try to abandon camp and find refuge with us?”

Lando smiled faintly. “Thanks, man. But I’ve got it.”

“Alright. Call if you need me.”

Lando paused, glanced toward the closed bedroom door. “Yeah. Night, mate.”

He hung up. Stood. Crossed the room and slipped back into bed beside Amelia, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

He lay there for a long time, eyes on the ceiling, thinking of all the things she’d never know he protected her from.

And how proud he was that she never needed him to; but how damn sure he was that he’d do it anyway.

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 5, Part 2

masterpost (please no editing, still sick and now with migraine!)

“We can’t be stuck,” Danny said. He knew he was pouting, but he didn’t care. They couldn’t be stuck. Maybe his pout wasn’t even that obvious with how he was laying upside down on the couch, his legs flung over the back of it.

“Saying that again won’t solve anything,” Raven said.

“Might stop people from giving up,” Danny muttered.

Next to him, Wally sighed. “No one is giving up, Danny. We’re just… being realistic.”

Danny snorted. “Ah, yes, a carnie, two emissaries of time, a demon witch, and a half ghost sit around a room, trying to be realistic.”

“We’re not ‘emissaries of time’—wait, half ghost?” Barry asked, cutting himself off. “What do you mean half ghost? How are you a half ghost? Wait, why are you a ghost? Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Barry, you’ve worked with Deadman,” Dick pointed out, almost absently. All of his very focused attention was on Danny.

It made Danny want to squirm. “Ah. I have I not mentioned that before? I know I’ve said I died in a lab accident.”

“And that it made you a psychopomp,” Raven said dryly.

“Well, it did. I can talk to ghosts. I’m just also sorta… half one. I came back because I was killed by electricity and revived by ectoplasm at the same time. But because it was ectoplasm, not all of me came back alive. It’s complicated.”

“That… actually explains so much about the way that you feel,” Raven said. She was looking at Danny like he was a whole new puzzle to study. He didn’t like it. Immediately she gave a little shake of her head and the expression cleared. “Sorry. I would never study you without your permission. None of us would.”

“Shit, kid, of course we wouldn’t,” Barry said, sitting up from his slump. “Has… I mean…”

“Your parents are ectobiologists,” Wally said slowly, horror dawning on his face.

Danny sighed and twisted around on the couch to sit up. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “My parents never learned what I am, at least not in this timeline. But they pretty regularly hunted my hero form. I’m human like this, and I’m a ghost when I’m Phantom. There were some close calls. And my godfather, who’s like me, cloned me, so there was that whole mess. And there used to be this government organization, the GIW who were intent on studying ghosts… just it was a whole mess. There’s a reason I moved all the way across the country once I could.”

“Is the GIW gone?” Barry asked, “Because if not, I’ll bring it to the League.”

“And what about the clones? Are they somewhere safe now?” Dick asked.

“And your parents…” Raven started, softly.

Danny held up a hand. “The GIW went defunct; no results, no funding. There might be a few zealots out there still, but they don’t have any real power anymore. My parents and I… look, there’s just a lot that we don’t talk about. And the two clones that are around—the rest… destabilized—they’re actually the responsibility of my godfather. He had a… change of heart, you could say. I don’t love the guy or anything, but I trust him with them. And if he fucks up, I know they won’t just take it. Things are… they’re settled enough. It’s just how they are now.”

“Okay. But if shit hits the fan again, you let the Titans or me know, okay? I’m not kidding, I’ll bring it to the League if you need protecting,” Barry said seriously.

It was warming, really, to have an adult say that. Sure, Danny was an adult now, but like, an adulter adult. He never had that before.

“Thanks,” Danny said, eyes on the ground rather than the group of people who had quickly become his friends. “That means a lot really.”

“Okay,” Wally said after an uncomfortably quiet moment, “but what did you mean about timelines?”

“Oh, one of the Ancients, ah, think of them sort of like god or demigod ghosts, is of time. Clockwork is what he goes by now days. He likes to meddle in stuff, sends me bright green post-it notes about the fate of the world and such. The last one I got was actually warning me about my seizures,” Danny said with a little snort. “I wish I had figured that out before I had the first one.”

“Why?” Wally asked with a tilt of his head. “I’m not exactly fate of the world stuff.”

“You’re my world,” Dick cooed, hands on his heart and batting his eyes.

Wally snorted, but he had a fond look in his eyes.

Danny did his best not to laugh at them. “Dick aside, you are a Titan. You being around could be the fate of the world. Or maybe—oh.”

Everyone else in the room exchanged a look, but Danny hardly noticed. His attention was hung up on a tangle of a thought.

“…oh?” Dick prompted.

“What?” Danny shook his head. “Oh. Just ‘two emissaries of time’. It’s what I called Barry and Wally.”

“Yeah, but I told you that we’re not,” Barry said.

“Yeah, but you don’t eve believe in ghosts and I’m sitting right here,” Danny said with a dismissive wave. He got up with a little stumble and started to pace. It helped to move when he was trying to untangle things. Sure, he was a little lightheaded, but he’d deal. “It makes sense that you don’t see the Speed Force as the entity that it is.”

“He never has,” Raven said.

Danny spun and pointed a finger at her. His world tilted dangerously. “But you know what it is.”

“Danny, honey, why don’t you sit down,” Dick said.

When Danny tried to start pacing again, Dick reached out and snagged Danny by the waist. A simple little tug was enough to unbalance Danny and send him tumbling down into Dick’s lap. Obviously please with his capture, Dick wrapped his arms around Danny and rested his head on Danny’s shoulders. Danny gave a a little huff of air, but leaned back against Dick’s chest.

Raven was smiling, just barely. “I know the Speed Force is something beyond my understanding.”

“Sure, but it is something and that something is related to time,” Danny said. As he talked, he started to lean forward again. “Clockwork’s whole thing is about time! He has rewound time at least twice just for my bullshit! It makes sense that him and the Speed Force have a connection. Which means I’ve had this all wrong!”

“Danny, Danny, don’t fall off my lap,” Dick said with a tightening grip. “You can stay right here and tell us what you had all wrong.”

“This was never about me being a psychopomp!” Danny exclaimed, words slightly breathless. Dick held him a little tighter. “This is all about Clockwork being convinced that I need to be his apprentice! That’s why I can see Wally! It’s not about death, it’s about time!”

“Hey, Danny, hon, take a deep breath for me,” Dick urged. His palm tapped a rhythm against Danny’s sternum. Danny grumpily followed along, but it did help the tightening feeling in his lungs. Once Dick was satisfied with Danny’s breathing, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Danny said, “that Wally isn’t dead.”

Wally just looked bemused. “I’ve been telling you that.”

“I know, but it didn’t make sense. Now it does! Wally’s not dead, and because Wally isn’t dead,” Danny continued, “I’m not his anchor because I’m half ghost and a psychopomp. I’m his anchor because I’ve got one of Clockwork’s medallions inside me!”

Dick’s hand twitched as if he wanted to hold on to Danny’s very being. “Inside you?”

“Ghost thing.” Danny patted Dick’s hand reassuringly. “I have a cellphone in there too. And maybe a fork still? It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it matters,” Dick grumbled.

“What matters,” Danny continued blithely, “is that I know how to unstick us.”

---

AN: Barry: This is my new nephew Danny. If anything happens to him, I'm declaring war on the government and his parents.

Rest of the JL: ???

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 16

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T (soon) ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, rafe ovulating, angsty and overthinking reader, some verbal tension, some very long-ass conversation starting in the second half, reader having some intense episode of spiraling and need for reassurance, rafe being very dramatic at the end aka him jumping to the craziest conclusion known to man aka he's actually going insane (monologue only), also rafe being possessive and if you look closely also some unresolved trauma of abandonment, some hints at past platonic kiara x rafe

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ waking up with a hangover, the first thing you saw when opening your phone was the drunk texts you’d sent to rafe after getting home last night. the two of you had exchanged blurry selfies, and rafe had made some very suggestive comments. cringing at yourself, you texted cara to meet up later. after your shower, you found rafe in the living room bc he wanted bring you your forgotten bag. his bruise getting looked at by your dad (rafe later claimed he told your dad the bruise was an accident with a golf club). your mom invited rafe for lunch and they seemed to like him. afterward, you and rafe are left alone with him suggesting to continue your project. you being too hungover declined. rafe decided to drag you outside so you could properly sober up. in his car, rafe gave you his phone to shut kelce's spamming up. however, opening the chat, an upper body pic of kelce greeted you. after replying to kelce in rafe's name, you got a little too curious scrolling through the chat and finding thirst trap of rafe (the boys seemingly update each other with their gym progress). rafe caught you staring but he shrugged it off with a cocky remark. you finally arrived at the health store rafe claimed had magical anti-hangover smoothies. and somewhere between the car ride and the smoothies, you started to get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, rafe actually liked you more than you originally thought.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 10.4k+ (reader's fault)

✿ A / N ✿ getting to add some barry action into KMS? don't mind if i do hihihii;; also literally so anxious about this part (i know i say this with every new chapter help) bc the second half took me a while to figure out or rather i had a hard time debating how i wanted their convo to go AND which pov i wanted it to be in and ngl i actually had to keep my own patience in check with reader 🤣 and well, i’m always scared some stuff might feel forced or rushed, especially bc i’m aiming for a natural development BUT ANYWAY, it is what it is and i hope you guys enjoy. as always, lmk what you think <3

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"That looks like the stuff that came out of me this morning," you said with scrunched-up brows as you crouched in front of the smoothies' fridge at Bulk & Bloom (shit, yeah, that was the actual shitty-ass name, and no, Kelce was not a co-founder).

And somehow, seeing you in that position there beside him, lips slightly parted in a way that could be viewed suggestive in a different setting, Rafe had no fucking clue why, but the sight did something to him. Suddenly, there was an urgent need to think of wrinkly old grandmas and dead puppies.

Rafe let out a chuckle. "Which end?"

You blinked at him, deadpan. “Your sense of humor is horrible.”

Fucking hell. And now you were looking up at him with that bratty gaze. Rafe tried to think about literally anything other than how badly he wanted to—

Fuck, what.

"Shit, still better than expressing my feelings through some fucked-up images that look like they came straight out of a crackhead’s brain," he shot back with a crooked smile.

Because yeah, your weird-ass reaction pictures? Only Wheezie seemed to understand what the hell those pictures were supposed to mean, or how to use them (not that he'd shown them to anyone else anyway). And Rafe still questioned his own sanity for actually asking his little sister to explain them to him.

Not because he cared, of course. He just didn’t want you to think he was beneath you when it came to that crap.

You turned your gaze back to the line-up of smoothies. "Should be easy enough for you to understand, considering you and the crackhead share similar hobbies."

Oh, how badly Rafe wanted to shut you up and teach you some respect in a way that made his blood rush faster and adrenaline shoot higher.

He had skipped the fucking coke this morning on purpose, and he was still having these insane thoughts. Worsening by the minute.

"Real funny," he muttered.

You chuckled. "Who says I’m joking?"

Rafe scoffed. You were definitely doing this on purpose—acting all bratty, just to get a rise out of him. And he seriously questioned how the fuck you had the confidence to act like that when just earlier in his car, you’d been a stuttering, awkward mess after he'd caught you staring at his post-gym pic like you’d just pulled a legendary FIFA card.

“Feeling bold now, huh?” he said. “Funny, considering you were damn near drooling on my phone a few minutes ago.”

And the little side-eye you threw him? Brows furrowed, lips pressed together? Rafe drank that shit up like ice-cold water.

He raised his eyebrows in anticipation as you looked at him. Yeah, how were you gonna talk your way out of that one? With another I-I didn’t mean to, sorry, I just—

"I'm not ashamed to admit that Kelce has a nice build."

what.

Rafe didn’t even feel his smile drop or his brows furrow because the sudden rush of anger hit so fast, it short-circuited everything else.

Like, what the fuck.

Obviously, he hadn’t been talking about fucking Kelce. It had been his pic. Him your nosy little ass had been staring at.

Shit. No fucking way.

Had he been right to suspect something during that project session at Kelce’s? Did you actually have a thing for that fucker? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Couldn’t fucking understand how—

You little shit.

The second that sly smile crept onto your lips, the tension in Rafe’s jaw eased.

Shit, how badly he wanted to shut your mouth. And you still crouching next to him only fueled the flashing images in his head.

"Hilarious," Rafe muttered with a scowl, gesturing toward the fridge. "Now have you finally picked one? They all taste the fucking same anyway."

And you had the audacity to chuckle in response.

God, you were eating away at Rafe’s last nerve, which somehow just worsened the pressure building in his chest. And the crazy part? It was the kind of pressure he usually only got rid of when he was knee-deep in some random girl.

And that thought triggered more images. Of you. Sounds you’d make. The way you’d get all flustered and—

Fuck this shit.

No way he needed to get off that badly that you ended up being the one his brain fixated on.

It was just pent-up tension. Yeah, that was it. Just because he hadn’t gotten the chance to take care of it last night—thanks to fucking Topper crashing in the guest room with him—and you just happened to be the nearest girl around for his brain to throw into those kinds of scenarios.

It’s fine, he told himself. Gonna take care of that shit later at home.

"Well, you claimed one of them helps with hangovers," you said, eyeing him with an amused smile. "How am I supposed to know which one to pick when they're called..." You leaned forward (Rafe took that as a green light to check out your ass) and squinted at the name tags on the dumbass smoothies. "Maxx Mass Mango, Triceps Tropic Thunder, or," you let out an embarrassed laugh, "The Triple Load."

Rafe let out a low chuckle because the way you'd said it—so innocent, so awkward—was fucking priceless. You getting flustered over anything even remotely suggestive? Stupidly hilarious.

"I think one load will be enough for you today," he said with a lopsided grin, relishing the way you immediately looked away with a frown, all awkward again. Then he reached into the fridge for the Thirst Aid bottle and held it out to you. "Now let’s get the fuck out of here before the first wave of lunchtime joggers comes crashing in."

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“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Rafe unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his wallet from the center console, and reached for a backpack in the back seat.

Okay. Three funny things: One, he had clearly lied to you earlier at home because this definitely meant he was about to do something sketchy. Two, you still hadn’t recovered from those ridiculously named smoothies. And three… guess where you were?

Barry’s pawn shop.

Like yeah, you'd kinda figured he and Rafe knew each other with Rafe selling fucking coke to his classmates. And sure, Barry probably wasn’t the only plug in the Cut but still, funny coincidence that it was him.

Aka the same guy Cara got her weed from.

Aka the guy she lowkey tried setting you up with since you'd first met him.

Barry was chill and cool, and okay, objectively speaking, he had a pretty face if you ignored the tangled hair and commitment-issues beard. And yeah, okay, you did like him, but in a completely platonic way.

More like two bros. Except for that one very steamy dream you'd had about him once that we’re never, ever talking about again from this point on.

Okayyyyy, hahaha, moving on.

But since you were already here, you kinda wanted to say hi.

"The fuck are you doing?" Rafe snapped as he saw you unbuckle your seatbelt just as he was about to get out of the car.

You eyed him dryly. "Getting out?"

"No. I told you to wait here." Oh, this dude was DEFINITELY picking up drugs with that sudden change in tone.

"Yeah, I have ears," you said with a scoff, slinging your bag over your shoulder and reaching for the car's door.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. "I’m fucking serious. Stay here."

You chuckled at how ridiculous he sounded, your gaze flicking to the backpack on his lap. "Why? Because you’re about to do some sketchy shit in there?"

"Because I don’t need some girl clinging to my ass everywhere I go," he snapped.

Braincells = 0.

You blinked. "Correct me if I'm wrong but weren't you the one asking me to come along?"

He looked so dumb with his lips pressed tight, brows drawn, and hugging his backpack like a pissed-off schoolboy running out of patience.

Eyeing you with an irritated smile, he said, “You don’t actually think—”

“Okay, no,” you cut him off, body shifting back toward him. “Which part of what I've said offended you now?”

Rafe’s brows twitched. His brain was probably running a marathon trying to figure out why he was actually pissed off.

“I don’t have the fucking patience to argue right now,” he muttered, voice strained. “Just fucking stay here. I’ll be back in five minutes, okay?”

Considering his usual reactions, that was almost a polite reassurance.

“Well, maybe I’ve got business in there too,” you said, brows raised.

Oh, this idiot found that hilarious. His face lit up like a kid watching a clown trip over its own shoes. “Yeah, nah, I doubt that.”

You held his gaze without saying a word. He didn’t want a discussion? Fine. Let him stew in the awkward silence and realize how dumb he was acting.

National Geographic should honestly study this dude because the silent treatment riled him up more than anything else, and you were this close to snapping a photo of his dumb little expression.

He ran a hand over his face and nodded dramatically. “Fine, then come along, for fuck’s sake. Don’t piss me off. But don’t start whining if some crackhead in there gives you a dirty look.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to suppress a smile. He sounded mad, but: “So you were trying to keep me away from shady people. How heroic."

“If it helps the voices in your head,” he muttered, the most dramatic scowl painted across his face. “Now get your ass moving, don't wanna get stabbed out here.”

“I’ll be damned,” Barry said with a lazy grin as you and Rafe stepped into the little shop. “Country Club and Little Alley Cat showing up together? What is it—my birthday?”

You chuckled, heart skipping a beat for… WHATEVER REASON. OKAY, MOVING ON.

The shop was completely empty, aside from grumpy Larna who sat in the back room behind a desk, glancing up with a death glare before going back to whatever she was doing.

Fucking dumbass Rafe just blinked, flabbergasted and visibly disoriented. Apparently, he hadn’t expected you to know his plug, and for some reason, that made the whole thing feel like home turf.

“You two fucking know each other?” he asked, face scrunched like he’d just bitten into a lemon.

Barry chuckled, leaning on the counter. “You can bet your spoiled little ass on it.” Then he turned to you with a smirk. “And I see Little Kitty has finally gotten herself a guard dog.” He nodded toward Rafe. “Hoping you got him checked for rabies with that temper of his.”

Why did everyone just assume you and Rafe had something going on? You two weren’t exactly radiating happy couple energy. Then again, Rafe wasn’t known for having female friends (which you also weren't), so... yeah.

Rafe tilted his head toward you, ignoring Barry completely. “How the fuck do you know this fucker?”

You had to bite your lip not to smirk at the way he immediately got so worked up.

“Easy, pretty boy,” Barry cut in before you could even respond, clearly amused. “You better be nice to that lady or I’ll beat your rich ass.” He tapped his own cheek. “That bruise of yours? Don’t wanna end up with a matching one on the other side.”

OH. MY. GOD.

The butterflies in your stomach that usually went berserk for Rafe? Yeah, a few of them were dancing for Barry now. Because Dealer Barry stepping up for you in front of Dumbass Rafe? That was… kinda sweet, not gonna lie.

Rafe furrowed his brows, clutching the strap of his backpack like a schoolboy on his first day, about to throw a tantrum because he didn’t wanna go.

He squinted at you. “So what—you're secretly a fucking crackhead now, or what am I supposed to take from this?”

Seriously. Did this guy ever think before he spoke? Like, he literally dealt coke and snorted it himself, but you’re the crazy one?

At this point, you should question your own sanity for even crushing on this guy.

But the funny part wasn’t how hypocritical he was being, no, it was the fact that he chose to go after you instead of Barry despite him basically threatening Rafe. And there was no way Rafe would let a chance pass to put another guy in his place.

Which made the whole thing even more entertaining because, for once, he clearly didn’t have the upper hand. Usually, he carried this presence, this aura, that screamed “look at me wrong and I’ll beat your ass.”

But here? He seemed small.

Like a hyena baring its teeth at a lion.

Rafe Cameron, proud Kook and official Pogue-hater, actually keeping his mouth shut in front of little pawn shop owner Barry? Fucking hilarious.

“No. Sometimes I'm just tagging along when Cara's picking up her weed,” you said amused, watching the gears in Rafe’s brain grind themselves into dust.

“Miss Fancy Boots actually dropped by earlier,” Barry said. “Had her little mutt with her too.” He made a cupping motion in front of his chest, smiling all big. “Top barely holding on for dear life. Wouldn’t even tell me which backwood shack she was visiting.”

Oh, she was really trying to bag JJ Maybank this time. Best of luck, bestie.

You chuckled, but Rafe beat you to a response with a scowl, stepping forward and dropping his backpack on the counter. “Okay, fuck this. I’m not here to fucking chit-chat.”

Barry gave him a look, something sharp flashing in his eyes, but then he just laughed and peeked into the backpack. “Keep running that mouth and I’ll tell Lil’ Alley Cat who was whining on my couch just a few days ago.” He pushed the backpack back toward Rafe and nodded to the right. “Now move your ass to Larna. She's gonna take care of the rest.”

Rafe smiled bitterly, shaking his head. “Nah, that's not what—”

“I’m in a good mood today, Country Club,” Barry cut in, tapping the counter. “Don’t make me introduce you to the girl hiding under here.”

And somehow… you really didn’t think he was joking and you hoped Rafe knew how to behave.

Thankfully, he did.

With a scoff, he grabbed the backpack, threw you an unreadable look, and disappeared into the backroom where grumpy Larna was waiting.

"So, you and Country Club, huh?" Barry stepped around the counter, leaning against it with a lazy smile on his face. "Didn’t think you’d fall for a Kook prince."

After seeing his idiot side, I hadn’t thought so either.

You smiled sheepishly and adjusted the strap of your bag. “He’s not—I mean, there’s nothing going on between us.”

Barry let out an amused chuckle. “Was already wondering how he managed to get you to stick around, ‘cause that stupid boy?” He pointed his thumb toward the backroom. “Nothing but daddy issues and anger problems. Ain’t worth one look from an Alley Cat.”

Shit, that stupid nickname? Only Barry could make it sound right.

“Yeah, he’s an idiot,” you said with a soft smile, sounding like a widow reminiscing about her dead husband. “But he’s actually kinda fun to be around once you figure out how to deal with him.”

Were you seriously defending Rafe’s stupidity right now?

Barry raised his brows, eyes lighting up with the biggest grin. “Cat’s all smiley and dreamy over a boy. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

“What? No, I just—” Heat crept up your neck and you shook your head with an embarrassed smile. “We were paired for a school project. That’s how I got to know him better.”

“Ain't seeing you doing school work right now,” Barry replied, his grin widening. “Must be serious if he’s letting you tag along to this stuff here.”

I actually annoyed him so much he just gave in.

You shook your head again, feeling like you were digging your grave deeper with every word. “No, I’m serious. This is just—”

“I’m just messing with you, Lil Kitty Cat. No need to puff your tail,” Barry said, raising his hands with a lazy chuckle. “But you should watch out. Wouldn’t call that fancy-looking boy my friend, but I know his type well enough to say—if he’s keeping you around, there’s a reason.” His tone shifted ever so slightly. “Don’t want my Alley Cat getting bitten by some spoiled hound dog.”

You eyed Barry quietly for a moment. Him warning you about Rafe stirred something strange in your gut, and part of you knew better than to ignore it.

But right now, you were too scared to question it, so all you did was offer a soft smile. “He’s more of a wired Doberman anyway. Big attitude, but pull the leash once and he gets all dramatic.”

To your surprise, Barry didn’t laugh. “A dog’s a dog. They bite if you’re not careful. And for a sweet kitty like you? That shit can turn bad real fast.” He nodded toward the backroom. “And Dobermans? You don’t wanna pull their leash too hard. Loyal and shit until they start thinking they own you. Then it ain’t cute no more. Had an uncle—couldn’t be around people without his mutt flipping out. Damn thing almost took my hand off once."

Your brows furrowed in irritation. It had been funny when Cara had joked about Rafe being possessive and jealous and all, but hearing Barry say it like a genuine warning... yeah, that hit differently.

And suddenly, Rafe’s weird behavior since yesterday started making sense.

Him getting mad when Topper asked you to come along. Him nearly beating the crap out of Rob for no reason. Him now suddenly wanting to spend time with you, being all flirty and suggestive and—oh god, please no.

Maybe this wasn’t about him liking you. Maybe he just hated the idea of someone else playing with a toy he’d throw away the moment he got bored, found another, or worse, shredded it to pieces. And until then, he'd bark at anyone reaching out for it.

The smoothie you'd drank earlier threatened to come back up. You didn’t want to be someone's toy.

“Aww, no. Didn’t mean to wipe that smile off your face, Kitty Cat,” Barry said, his lazy smile returning. “I’m just saying—be careful around a boy like that. Though, I trust you’ll know when to pull your claws out.” He knocked on the counter and chuckled. “Otherwise, just say the word, and I’ll introduce his fancy ass to my girl.”

Barry probably meant well, but your brain had already soaked up his words like a sponge, throwing them into a spiral, dragging them into the most anxious corners of your mind.

Still, you managed a smile. “No worries, Barry. I don’t think he even—”

You didn’t dare finish that sentence as Rafe came out of the backroom, a deep scowl on his face. He didn’t even look at you as he passed between you and Barry, only muttering, “Let’s go.”

“Nah, nah, nah, Country Club,” Barry said, raising his brows and pushing off the counter with a grin. “We ain’t done yet.”

Rafe stopped, turning back with a glare that practically screamed he was done with everyone. He towered over Barry, but somehow still looked small. “I got your shit. What fucking else do you wanna piss me off with?”

Barry ignored him, smiling softly at you. “Was nice seeing you again, Alley Cat. Don’t go running off too far.” He nodded toward the door. “Now get those little paws outta here, I still got some business with this boy.”

An uneasy feeling spread in your stomach, but you knew better than to argue, so you just smiled with a nod. “Yeah, see you around, Barry,” you said, trying to ignore Rafe’s burning stare on you.

You passed him quietly, trying to suppress the sudden thoughts threatening to tear open a pit you thought you’d buried not even a few days ago.

And while you’d entered Barry’s little pawn shop with a smile and warmth in your chest, you left it now with uncertainty in your eyes and a deep heavy feeling in your gut.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“Okay, what the fuck is going on between you and Barry?” Rafe asked after the two of you had gotten back into the car.

And the reason for that question? Such a funny fucking story. And it started with you even knowing this fucker in the first place. You two apparently getting along—and oh, fun fact—apparently getting along really well, because guess what? Barry hadn’t kept Rafe in the shop to talk business. Oh no, he hadn’t just talked.

He had fucking threatened him.

Said stupid shit like he’d show Rafe how people in the Cut handled things when no one was looking if Rafe didn’t behave. If he dared to hurt or play with you or whatever fucking else Barry had preached like some back-alley saint.

Rafe couldn’t even wrap his head around what that fucking Pogue thought he was doing. Like if Rafe actually wanted to, he could send every cop in town straight to Barry’s crusty little pawn shop and have him write his bullshit threats on the damn cell wall.

Fuck. Like seriously, what the hell was that shit?!

You just shook your head, a weird smile on your lips that didn’t even come close to your eyes. “What? Nothing. Like I said, he’s Cara’s dealer. That’s how I got to know him.”

And now you had the audacity to lie straight to Rafe’s face in his car? Nah.

“He literally threatened to blow my brains out if I looked at you the wrong way,” Rafe said, tapping his temple with a confused laugh. “Like—what kind of crazy-ass psycho bullshit is that? And that weird-ass nickname? No way in hell he isn't your fucking boyfriend or some shit.”

The idea that you belonged to someone—Barry, of all people? That messed with Rafe’s head in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain. It filled him with such rage and confusion, he was so close to grabbing that damn backpack on the backseat, taking out a bundle of coke that stupid grandma had handed him, and snorting a line right off his Mercedes' hood.

But he was so thrown off by your sudden change of demeanor, your whole vibe completely off since Rafe had come back from the shop—strange, distant, almost... bitter—that he decided he'd rather demand some fucking answers.

And when you just smiled weakly instead of snapping back like usual, pushing his buttons, he knew something was up.

“No, that’s just how he is,” you said while buckling your seatbelt, the weird tone in your voice not sounding like you at all. “He only means well.”

Rafe blinked at you, his chest tightening as your eyes finally met his, but something was missing.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” he asked, his voice sharper than he meant it to be.

Your brows twitched, and there was a flicker in your gaze he couldn’t place. Again, that strange smile that didn’t fit your face. “What? Nothing,” you replied, shaking your head slightly.

Just nothing. Normally you’d say some shit like, ‘Why are you getting all worked up, I don’t owe you any explanation, blah blah’—but this? It confused Rafe. And it pissed him off that he couldn’t figure it out.

“Barry said some shit to you?” Rafe raised his brows.

That was the only logical explanation. You went in all cocky and smiley, and now you looked like someone had shot a puppy in front of you.

You shook your head again, and Rafe felt a sharp stab of disappointment from how empty you sounded. “No, I’m just tired. Guess the lack of sleep’s finally catching up,” you said with a soft smile.

Rafe clenched his jaw, fingers tapping against the console. He was this close to snapping, but he didn’t want to yell. You’d probably shut down completely. Wheezie did the same thing when Dad started raising his voice and Rafe hated witnessing that.

“Okay, something’s clearly bothering you,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “You’re always on about how important it is to talk shit out, and now you’re the one being all weird.”

Seriously, why did your behavior even bother him in the first place? Normally when some chick was trynna act sulky he’d drop her off at her place or kick her out immediately because he didn’t care about that shit.

But with you, he somehow couldn’t and that irritated the fuck out of him. Probably because I deserve some fucking answers.

“There’s nothing to solve because there’s no issue,” you finally said softly, clearly bullshitting.

Rafe clenched his jaw, running through every possible reason why you were suddenly acting like this. “Fuck that. There’s obviously an issue.” He tapped his chest with his fingers. “Did I say something that got the minions in your head running again? Shit, I was just pissed earlier because—”

“No, really. Everything's—”

“Fine? Don’t bullshit me. You were all bold and mouthy earlier and now?” Rafe furrowed his brows, trying to understand what the fuck was going on in your head. “Now you’re acting all wilted and melancholic like Topper after some chick rejects him.”

That got a chuckle out of you, and Rafe felt his features soften.

“I’m not acting wilted,” you said, a little amusement finally slipping back into your voice.

Rafe nodded. “You are. I’m guessing Barry ran his stupid mouth while I was gone.” He narrowed his eyes, another thought hitting him. “Or did that fucker creep on you?”

“What? Oh my god, no,” you replied, shaking your head, puzzled. “No, it’s just…” You held his gaze like you were the one with questions. After a second, you looked down at your fidgeting hands, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess you’re right. I’m probably just creating a problem in my head that doesn’t even exist.”

Rafe frowned. “What the fuck did he say?”

You looked up, pretty eyes somehow carrying that sad little shine again, and Rafe had to fight the sudden urge to storm back into Barry’s shitty shop and drag the guy’s face across the counter.

“I...He didn’t exactly say it… I mean, I’d already been wondering...,” you started, clearly struggling to continue.

Rafe was so fucking close to losing it. He shook his head and gestured to his chest again. “What, huh? Me dealing coke? Is that what suddenly has you all scared? Shit, I’m not some criminal like Barry, okay? I just—”

"No, that's not it", you cut in, voice lacking your usual attitude. "I mean, sure, it's—"

"Holy fucking shit, just spit it out." Rafe couldn't bear you dancing around the answer any longer. Aggressively he gestured toward the pawn shop. "If Barry didn't fucking harass you then I seriously can't fucking imagine what's got you acting like this."

You pressed your lips together, eyes wide, brows raised like some deer about to get shot. "I don't know how to phrase it without it sounding like I'm ... delusional or crazy."

Rafe scoffed amused, both hands gesturing toward you. "Shit, you are crazy. Now fucking spit it out or I'm driving the car into the next fucking tree."

"Okay," you replied with a laugh, the smile quickly fading as your gaze drifted to the fidgeting fingers in your lap. "Okay, I just—" You seemed to take a deep breath in. "What's your business with me?"

Rafe blinked. “What?”

“I…” You pressed your lips together, clutching your bag tighter. “I’m not saying there is any business," you said, a nervous chuckle escaping. "I’m just… confused. I mean, I know we’ve had this conversation before. I know it’s stupid, I’m just…”

You furrowed your brows, meeting his eyes again. “You need to understand, I’m not trying to piss you off. I mean, you're probably right. It’s just my brain spiraling over nothing again. It's just… shit, I know this here is completely casual, I mean we aren't even friends, I just..."

You let out a strained breath, voice unsteady. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. I really don’t wanna come across like I’m assuming something’s going on in the first place. I mean, you already think I’m crazy,” you said, a distant smile tugging at your lips. “But obviously it’s totally fine if you’re only looking for a chance at some temporary fun. It’s just… in the hypothetical case you actually do expect something to happen...”

Another awkward laugh slipped out, and you sank into your seat, brows furrowed as you smiled nervously, “God, this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry, I probably sound—”

“Holy fucking shit, you need to chill the fuck out,” Rafe cut in, staring at you like you’d lost your damn mind. Because this? How much fucking longer did you wanna go on?

This was absolutely insane. The way your brain made up all this shit. How the fuck did you even function at all?

He pointed to his temples, eyes wide. “Seriously, this is not just borderline crazy. This is straight-up insane. I mean I am going insane just by listening to this."

“Well yeah, that’s actually what I was trying to say,” you muttered, hands fiddling in your lap. “I just don't understand why you'd wanna hang out with me if I'm getting on your nerves—unless there's some other motive.”

Jesus Christ. Rafe didn’t know anyone with this level of anxiety and overthinking. Not even Wheezie came close.

But that wasn’t what really pissed him off.

Sure, if you were a little nuts, fine. It was even kind of amusing, honestly. At least you had the brains to think about shit.

No, what really pissed him off was that you were questioning him, even after he’d already told you the answer to this topic in school just a few days ago. He'd just tried to help you by suggesting to work at Tannyhill for the next project session but you fucking declined because you'd thought he was just trying to hook up with you.

Okay, yeah, maybe at this point the idea of sleeping with you wasn't exactly unwelcome—though with your nerves, you'd both probably have a mental breakdown halfway through—but it wasn’t about that.

It was about the fucking principle.

You were acting like his word meant nothing. Like he was just some lying, sleazy, piece-of-shit Pogue.

Rafe clenched his jaw, using every ounce of self-control not to snap. “There's no fucking other motive. You make it sound like I'm plotting some crazy-ass shit.”

Your brows twitched, lips pressing together. Somehow, you still didn’t look satisfied.

For a moment, you just stared at him, hesitation flickering in your eyes, but then your voice came out soft, so soft it made Rafe's chest tighten in a way he didn’t like. “I’m not trying to be annoying or—”

“You are,” Rafe interrupted, surprised by the lack of bite in his tone. His face twisted and he raised his shoulders, gesturing at his chest. “Like, I don’t fucking get why you’re questioning me when I already told you—”

“I know.” You nodded, frustration leaking into your voice. “I know and I really appreciate it, but I just… it’s my brain, okay?” You tapped your finger against your temple. “It talks shit and I start believing it and I just can’t stop it. And then I get anxious—especially when someone gives it something to chew on—and it’s just so frustrating because I'm definitely not trying to piss you off, I don’t wanna ruin—I mean, I’m just asking for some reassurance, that’s all.”

Your brows knit together. “But then again, I don’t want some fake reassurance either if you actually—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I like hanging out with you, okay?” Rafe pressed his lips together as the words left his mouth, not even sure why the fuck he’d said them. Why he even cared enough to listen to all this bullshit. But right now, all he wanted was to shut you the fuck up, so he didn’t bother filtering.

“I’m not trying to get in your pants, alright?” he added, wearing an irritated, almost amused smile. “I’d have to be fucking desperate to put up with all your messed-up crazy shit just for the chance to hook up with you. That's... fuck, I’m not that needy.”

He gestured to you, frustration seeping through his voice. “You piss me off, but I can deal with it. Shit, I think I even like it. You’re not some boring-ass gossip bitch like Ruthie.” He furrowed his brows, refusing to unpack what the hell that meant, now tapping his chest with his fingertips, voice strained. “But what I can’t fucking stand is not being taken seriously.”

Judging by your face, he hadn’t just shut your brain off, he’d completely nuked it. Your eyes were wide, lips pressed tight, and even your fidgeting had stopped.

He half expected you to start crying for whatever reason, but thank fuck you didn’t. You just frowned, that softness still in your expression. “I do take you seriously. That’s why I'm so confused. All these… I don’t know, suggestive comments and stuff. You say you don’t mean anything by it, but then you’re all teasing the next second. It’s confusing.”

Seriously, had you ever even interacted with a boy before Rafe?

He let out a frustrated smile, nodding. “Shit, yeah, ever heard of fucking flirting? That’s the thing people do because it’s fun. It doesn’t fucking have to lead to anything.” Rafe raised his brows. “Unless you want it to.”

And there it was again—that shift in you. Your whole vibe changed, whenever he said shit like this. And he couldn’t fucking tell if you were flustered, uncomfortable, or just weirded out.

You shook your head, a nervous laugh bubbling up like he’d asked you to strip in the backseat. “Of course, I know what flirting is. It’s just—In my head, this feels like… I don’t know mixed signals or whatever and—“

“Okay, fuck. Stop.” Rafe had hit his limit. He ran a hand over his face, voice tight with frustration. “I’m only saying this once, so fucking listen, alright?” He gestured to you again. “I fuck with you. You’re somehow fun to be around, even though you’re literally the least chill person I know.”

His brows twitched, a moment of hesitation flickering across his face, but he pushed through. He wasn’t gonna overthink—he wasn’t you. “And shit, yeah, of course, I’m flirting with you. You’re a cute chick. If you said the word, I’d be down to bend you over in the backseat right now, but why the fuck would I waste my energy on someone who’s clearly not into casual shit.”

Fuck. Now that he’d said it, he felt just as stunned as you looked.

Saying these words out loud ... it angered him. He'd basically just given in to you. But the thing that actually riled him up? The fact he'd just acknowledged out loud that he knew you weren't interested in him. That he couldn't get you into bed with some charm and a little flirting. That you were out of reach.

And fuck, this just made hanging out with you all the more confusing because why the fuck did he enjoy this shit if he was well aware that he wouldn't take you home later for some quick fun.

But worse than all of that was the way he found himself waiting.

Desperate for your response. Hoping you’d push back. Hoping you’d say something—anything—to let him know he'd just interpreted your signals wrong, that, yes, you did indeed find him attractive, that you actually enjoyed his presence, his flirts, and teasing. That you'd love to be his new friends-with-benefits-chick.

Jesus fucking Christ, he should go back inside Barry’s store and beat the shit out of that fucker for whatever the fuck he'd said to you that made you spiral this hard, and now Rafe was out here saying and thinking shit like this.

"Okay, now I'm even more confused," you said, smiling awkwardly. "You say you like spending time with me but at the same time, you also feel like you're wasting your time here."

Rafe was so close to smashing his head against the steering wheel. He raised his hands in exasperation. "And you say you're not trying to piss me off but right now I'm so close to losing my shit."

He aggressively tapped his finger on the middle console. "I just tried telling you that I'm not here because I'm looking for a chance at a fucking hookup, okay? Seriously, how much clearer do I need to be?"

“Okay. Just to clarify, for my own sanity,” you started slowly, voice soaked in nervous energy (Rafe was literally one second away from having a fucking stroke). “You like hanging out with me but according to your logic, you're not someone who's wasting his time with a girl if you're not gaining something from it."

With a pained expression, Rafe closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and nodded with a distressed "Uh-huh".

Maybe if he just continued agreeing with you, then you'd finally shut up, because clearly snapping back only seemed to continue dragging on this horrible limbo of yours.

Some strained chuckle escaped your lips. "And considering you're still asking me to chill with you even though you seem to be aware that I don't wanna be someone's pastime, does that mean… I mean, is what you're hoping to gain from spending time with me… a friendship?"

Rafe's head snapped up.

That was your fucking conclusion to all of this?

Fucking hell. Did he look like someone in need of more clingy idiots crowding his life? Topper and Kelce were already enough and he didn’t even receive anything in return for dealing with their bullshit.

And having a female friend without getting to bend her over once in a while? He'd never even considered it. The only girls Rafe had ever privately hung out with were the ones he'd benefit from.

And all of them either got so fucking annoying, he'd dropped them, or worse—they'd wanted more. Dates, gifts, PDA. A label. The title of Rafe Cameron's girlfriend.

They all wanted the benefits that came of being with him but none of them had actually wanted him.

But you? Well, he had to admit you were different. You didn’t do hookups. You didn’t chase him because of his last name and the benefits that came with it.

And the crazy part? That just fucking pissed him off more.

Because for some fucked-up reason he'd actually learned to tolerate your presence enough that he could deal with your crazy-ass brain outside of the project despite him not receiving some fun time in return. And now you assumed he wanted this to actually result in some permanent shit.

But for whatever reason, the idea that this might be over after handing in your project next week? That actually stirred something weird in his chest.

Right now, Rafe could still claim the project was the reason for you two spending time together (if you ignored the fact you weren't doing school shit at the moment). Sure, he’d admitted he liked you—but everything about the way you two had been hanging out this past week could still be chalked up to the assignment. But once that was over… then what?

Fuck, all of this was giving him a headache. And now you were pressuring him to define whatever the fuck was going on between the two of you.

Rafe shook his head in irritation. "Why do you even need a fucking label for some casual hangout? Can't we just fucking chill?"

You gestured to your chest, a distressed smile on your face. "Yeah, of course. I just… my brain needs to make sense of this somehow, so I can place this in either ‘okay, this ends when the project’s over’ or ‘alright, get ready to make space for this person, they’re gonna stick around.’ It’s fucking stupid, I know, but it helps me adjust to new people."

This right here was the biggest fucking test of patience in Rafe's entire life and he was so fucking sick of you demanding him to clarify shit when you were the one that made him question his sanity.

"Shit, I don't fucking know, alright?" Rafe raised his shoulders with an irritated smile. "I mean what the fuck do you want? You’re calling me confusing, but I don’t even fucking know if you actually like me or if you’re just tagging along because you’re too scared to decline because of some people-pleasing bullshit or whatever.”

Like he'd admitted all this fucking shit just now, but why didn't you? Why didn't you offer him some reassurance?

Your gaze softened, and that only irritated him more.

“I'm actually very capable of saying 'No',” you replied.

“Yeah, the fuck do I know.” Rafe threw his hands up. And then, a disgusting thought crossed his mind. “Or are you just tagging along because you're hoping for some attention of being seen with me?”

Finally, your frown returned—thank god. That little bit of fire he was used to.

“What? No!” You shook your head, clearly confused. “Aside from the fact that I couldn’t care less about shit like that, I’d rather jump off a cliff than draw unnecessary attention to myself.” Your expression softened again, lips quirking into a crooked smile. “I came along because I wanted to. Not because I’m trying to get some pics snapped of me being seen with an A-List celebrity.”

Just say it, Rafe thought, not even caring about your stupid comment. You were so fucking close to saying it. Tiptoeing on the edge of it. So damn close to saying what he needed to hear.

But you didn’t. And it pissed him off. Fucked with his head. Just—

Fuck all of that.

Maybe it sounded pathetic, maybe it was, but he didn’t care. He had to know. “So you actually do like hanging out with me?”

A soft laugh left your lips and your brows knit slightly. “Yes? I’m not spending my time with people I can’t stand.”

And just like that, something in Rafe finally let go. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. It felt like a win—even though he hadn’t actually won anything. Actually, he’d probably lost some fucking braincells discussing that shit.

He sank back into his seat, staring through the windshield, running a hand through his hair, no fucking energy left after this marathon of a discussion.

He tilted his head toward you with furrowed brows, motioning between the two of you. “So where’s the fucking problem, huh? We both like hanging out and neither of us is hiding some secret agenda or some shit.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Except you literally said—”

“Yeah, I know what I fucking said,” Rafe cut in, already regretting having voiced that he'd be down to bend you over. But whatever. It was out there now, so who the fuck cared.

“I’m not some horny perv who's unable to be in a room with a chick without trying to get in her pants,” he added, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna pass up on a little flirting and teasing.”

You raised your brows slightly, chin tilting downward. "So—"

"YES, for fuck’s sake!" Rafe raised his hands, shifting up in his seat, absolutely at the end of his rope. "If that helps to end this fucking stupid discussion, then yes please, go ahead and tell your crazy-ass brain it can open a new fucking folder titled ‘I made Rafe Cameron lose his fucking mind to the point where I force-befriended him’. And put some big-ass lock on it because that shit stays closed from now on."

He let out a strained breath, an exasperated smile twitching on his lips. "There. Does this shut you up or do I need to craft you a fucking friendship bracelet with my name on it?”

The worst part: The image of you wearing his name around your wrist sparked fucking JOY in his fucking chest for some fucked-up reason.

SEE. YOU'RE MAKING HIM GO THIS FUCKING CRAZY, HE WAS GETTING EXCITED ABOUT STUPID FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS.

You just stared at him, lips parted slightly like your brain was still spiraling over the obvious. Rafe almost thought he’d have to go back into the pawn shop and ask Barry to blow his fucking brains out, but you simply shook your head, a gentle smile forming.

“I don’t think that’s necessary", you replied with a soft smile.

Rafe eyed you impatiently, waiting for you to go on and spiral into another damn monologue about how you had to figure out the right color for this mental folder, and which fucking font would best match the content—because god forbid you’d use some bullshit like Papyrus or—WHAT THE FUCK DID HE KNOW, JESUS CHRIST YOU MADE HIM THINK ABOUT THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT.

To top it all off, you had the audacity to stay quiet and Rafe could physically feel his nerves blow up. “That’s it?”

No fucking way that actually resolved this fucking discussion.

You eyed him amused like he’d just hallucinated this whole fuckass conversation. “Well, yeah.”

Rafe’s brows dropped to a scowl. “You're fucking kidding me, right?”

“No.” A small laugh left you, and that familiar glimmer was back in your eyes. “I just needed some clarity to calm my nerves. That’s just how my brain works. I’m okay as long as things make sense. But the second a thought enters my mind that could mess with that—even if it’s ridiculous—it sticks. And then it ruins the whole logic. And until the thought can be ruled out, it stays, and my head chews it up until it gets worse.”

That's it. You were officially the reason Rafe considered therapy just so someone could tell him why the fuck he even put up with your shit.

Like, seriously, Rafe had some fucked-up shit going on in his head, but you? Holy shit, if he had to deal with the crap your brain pulled every day, he’d fucking lose it.

Your head sounded like a fucking prison.

Rafe let out a distressed breath. "Now, care to tell me, what was the actual fucking reason for you spiraling this hard in the first place?" He gestured toward the pawn shop. "And don't fucking think about lying. Either you tell me or I'm gonna go back inside and beat the answer out of that fucker."

He wouldn’t, though. Barry might’ve looked like a little bum, but Rafe had seen it enough times—his threats didn’t usually stay just threats. And sure, Rafe might’ve had the upper hand physically, but Barry didn’t do fights.

He'd pull out a gun and even Rafe's fists had no chance against that.

You pressed your lips together, hesitating for a second. “He just told me to be careful around you. It wasn’t even really what he said, it was more the way he said it.” You shook your head, puzzled. “And I guess my brain just filled in the worst-case scenario because… well…” A flicker of uncertainty in your pretty eyes. “I mean, not to sound like a dick, but it’s just a fact that you don’t really hang out with girls. And when you do it’s like... you know.”

Yeah, that was true. Rafe didn’t deny it. But still, why the fuck did you have this fucking player image of him?

Sure, he did hookups once in a while—every few weeks maybe at some random party. And yeah, he’d had friends with benefits, but like four or five times at most in his whole damn life. But the way you made it sound? Like he was out here fucking someone new every night.

“So instead of just asking me straight up what’s going on, you’d rather fucking… what? Sulk and act weird as hell? What kind of childish reaction is that?” Rafe asked, face twisting in frustration.

You let out a short laugh. “I didn’t wanna piss you off by bringing this up. Which, clearly, I did.”

“Well, yeah, because I practically had to beat the answer out of you,” Rafe said with a scowl, motioning to his chest. “What actually pisses me off is when people won’t just say what the fuck they're trying to say.”

You nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m sorry for making this so messy.” A soft chuckle slipped out. “I guess we both value clear answers… just on different scales.”

Yeah, except Rafe didn’t have a mental breakdown when he didn’t get one.

“I just don’t fucking understand why you can’t just ignore these fucking thoughts,” he said, oddly calm for some reason. "When some shit starts bothering me, I just fucking ignore it. If I need to make a decision, I just do it. If some asshole pisses me off? I put him in his fucking place.”

He scoffed. “And your brain sounds like one big asshole. You just gotta show it who's boss.”

Surprisingly, you laughed—soft, genuine—and Rafe blinked, confused.

“What?” he asked. “I’m serious. It’s absolutely insane that your own mind is your worst enemy. That’s fucking fucked-up.”

He gestured to himself. “I mean that dude pisses me off so badly, I wanna smash his face into a wall just to get him to shut the fuck up. How the fuck do you let him pull this shit on you?”

“That’s—” You laughed again, and something weird flipped in Rafe’s stomach. “I appreciate the energy,” you said, “but honestly, I’m already good when people just have a little patience with me.”

Your expression grew distant. “When I bring stuff like this up, I’m not trying to be annoying. I’m just genuinely trying to find clarity in the chaos up here.” You tapped your temple, smiling gently again. “That’s why I really appreciate that you actually talked with me this time—even though I’m sure you wanted to smash my head through the window.”

He'd rather have your head pressed against some sheets to let go of this fucking pressure inside him but Rafe forced this thought down (see? easy).

So he just shook his head. “I did but I’d rather not have your dad on my ass because of that. That dude’s got some crazy aura.”

Another laugh slipped from your lips, and Rafe felt his features soften. “I guess. He served as a combat medic in the military, so I think some of that still lingers beneath the surface.”

Shit, that made sense. Rafe knew there was a reason that guy had given him the creeps the first time he'd looked at him. He seemed nice, sure—kind even—but deep down Rafe was certain that man could knock someone out cold with a single punch.

The weird thing was: Rafe actually felt less tense around him than around his own dad.

“Shit, another reason to keep my hands off you,” Rafe muttered with a low chuckle. “Don’t need Liam Neeson in Taken chasing me down.”

Another laugh. And damn, that made Rafe feel like some kind of winner.

“I doubt you have to worry", you said. "He actually seemed to like—”

Your phone started buzzing inside your bag.

"Cara," you said when you pulled it out with an apologetic smile. “I should take this.”

Rafe gave a reluctant nod, even though the sudden interruption annoyed the fuck out of him.

“What’s up?” you said, holding the phone to your ear. After a beat, you added, “I’m with Rafe.”

His head snapped up like he’d been struck by lightning.

That was... he couldn’t remember you ever saying his name out loud before. And now that he’d heard it—coming from your sweet voice—fuck.

It did something to him. A weird kind of something. Buzzing in his stomach, warmth blooming in his chest, and this deep, unfamiliar ache for something he couldn’t quite name.

“Really?” You laughed. “We’re actually close by—Yeah, at Barry’s—Girl, no—Yeah, I know he told me—Yeah, I know I was the one who asked you—Okay, yeah, sure—So I assume you're with—yep, thought so—Okay—Seriously?—Alright—Yeah, nah, let’s not.” You laughed again. “Okay—Yeah, see you in a bit.”

You hung up, your whole presence lighting back up.

“Sorry,” you said with a soft smile, slipping the phone back into your bag. “She’s at the beach nearby and asked me to join her. Or well... I kinda asked her earlier if we could hang out, so....”

Rafe felt a frown creeping in, disappointment taking over his entire body. You were about to fucking ditch him.

He raised his brows. “Now?”

You nodded, toying with your bag strap. “Well... yeah. She needs some backup.”

“What, her boots got stuck in the sand or some shit?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “No, she’s with some people and… well, she needs help with a boy.”

“Her?” Rafe scoffed, disbelieving. “She’s the most upfront and confrontational person I’ve ever met. What the fuck does she need help with?” He tilted his head. “And didn’t she have some thing going on with Topper?”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” you said, holding your hands up in amusement. “She’s super complicated when it comes to that stuff.”

Girls. Rafe didn’t fucking get them.

“So what, you want me to drop you off now?” He didn't even try to hide his disappointment.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Well, yeah, that’d be nice.”

Rafe clenched his jaw. You were actually going to leave him now—after he'd helped you get rid of your hangover, after he’d actually shown patience and calmed the voices in your head, after all his nerves were fried beyond repair.

You were scared he might play you? Nah, he was the one who felt toyed with right now.

But as much as Rafe wanted to call you out for it, snap at you for being all anxious and now daring to pull this shit, he just didn’t have it in him. No strength left. He really didn’t have the fucking energy or patience for another long-ass conversation with you monologuing about shit.

Sure, he could just decide to tag along, because when did Rafe ever ask for permission, but his gut told him that was a weird fucking move. He wasn't your fucking dog to accompany you everywhere.

Fuck, he didn't fucking know how to handle shit with a girl like you.

So he just nodded, buckled up, and started the engine. Letting out a tight breath as he pulled out of the parking lot, he asked, “Where to?”

You hesitated for a second. “Do you know where the western beach of the Cut is?”

Rafe scoffed and nearly stopped the car. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Of course, he knew where that fucking beach was. Sarah always went there after school to hang out with her stupid little Pogue friends.

So yeah, he could already guess exactly what kind of people Cara was hanging out with: those annoying-ass rats.

The thing that pissed him off the most wasn’t even you ditching him. It wasn’t driving you around like a damn chauffeur. It wasn’t even that you were trading him for a group of Pogue losers.

Nah. It was the fact that Sarah had once again managed to stick her nose into shit that didn’t fucking concern her. Because somehow this reeked of her meddling.

And the worst part? It felt like she was winning again. Like she’d won over their dad, like she'd won over Kie during her time at Kildare Academy by turning her against Rafe just for them to end up having some bitchy fallout shortly after.

Like she’d get to win you over too with some fake-ass bullshit.

And you, being prone to falling for shit like that with that brain of yours, would probably believe her too. Not because you were naive, nah, but because your head would probably soak Sarah's sweet words up, falling back into a spiral over Rafe's intention or some bullshit.

Fuck.

Rafe actually liked this weird acquaintanceship with you (THERE, THAT'S THE LABEL THAT FIT THIS SHIT). He didn’t need Sarah to ruin that—or worse—take you from him. Pull you into her little shitty-ass, feel-good Pogue bullshit friend group.

And the most fucked up thing? You weren’t even his. But the very thought of Sarah turning you against him anyway?

Nah. He wouldn't let that happen.

You said Rafe was hoping to gain some shitty-ass friendship from this? Fine. If that’s what it took for your brain to hold on to Rafe, he’d gladly be your fucking friend.

He’d throw every goddamn principle he had out the window before he let Sarah take something else from him before he even had a chance to claim it for himself.

Because for the first time in years, Rafe actually felt like he didn't wanna let go of a girl. Nah, he actually wanted to keep you around. Not as some warm body in his bed—it fucked with his head that you weren’t into hookups but he could accept that—but because somehow, you were the first girl who didn't hang on his ass to brag to her friends later about getting to ride his dick.

Shit, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were either a lesbian or just completely uninterested in sex altogether. Which only messed with his head even more, because if both of you were here willingly, what the fuck was the point if no one was gaining anything from it?

Like, why the fuck did Rafe feel this pull toward you? Not just sexually… more like—fuck, he didn’t even know. He also couldn't compare it to the short-lived whatever-thing he'd had with Kie either because he'd only ever seen her as some extension of Sarah that he tolerated. Thinking of her even remotely sexual had just felt fucking weird.

But you? Being around you came close to landing a hole-in-one during golfing, the feeling after being praised by his dad, the way his body buzzed after a line of coke. Which honestly made him wonder if the perfume you were wearing was laced with chemicals or some shit that messed with his head like that.

Fuck, this? Him thinking about this shit at all—that was your fucking fault.

Rafe just knew he liked having you around so there was no need to let you go.

For now.

So as much as he hated, despised, and loathed the idea of you ditching him for some beach party with dirty-ass Pogues and Princess Sarah, by now, he'd learned that if he kept his temper in check, his patience with you would pay off.

Shit, he'd even add a little bonus.

So, when you'd asked if he knew the way, he shot you a raised brow and a casual side-eye, and in the most unbothered tone he said, “Yeah, it’s just down the road. Assuming your friend's succeeding with that guy, I’m guessing you’re gonna need someone to pick you up later.”

And when your brows twitched and your eyes lit up, Rafe knew he was one step closer to keeping you around for real.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T (soon) ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[crystallilytarot02]

What kind of partner do they dream of?

Keep in mind, that people's ideal type can change, and even if you are not their exact type, they will love you if you are meant to be together, no matter what!

Pile 1

Someone who will be their friends too. There's a lot of movement here, they want to travel and do exciting, active things with their partner. They are probably open to different cultures and moving to another place too. Also they want someone who can move on from the past. This doesn't mean that you can't be sad or nostalgic sometimes because of past things, but they will appreciate if you don't live in the past all the time. They would like someone who can be serious if needed, but also can have fun. A loving person. They don't mind a little unique or outside of the box mindseat either.

Pile 2

A little romantic right here, they dream about a soulmate. Someone who can be their real partner in life, in good and bad times too. Someone who will be a good match with them. This person is emotionally mature, and they probably don't care a lot about looks, a good personality is the most important here. They would like their partner to have similar values, beliefs, goals, also have a good sense of humor, they want to talk a lot with their lover. But of course, some attraction is good too, chemistry, because intimacy is important for them too. They have a strong desire to get married, they are looking for a partner for life.

Pile 3

There's some sign about different cultures, different locations here, this can resonates with some of you. But the most important here is moving on with life, starting a new chapter. They probably had some bad experiences, but they healed and ready to fall in love again. They just want someone who will love them, a loyal, understanding, nice partner, who has a kind smile. Someone they can talk to about anything, and they can be each other's supporter. They are probably a little bit serious and/or introverted, but with their partner they are very loving and they will give them the word.

[aceecee]

Miseria - Caleb

AU: What if...?

You wanted nothing to do with them.

Synopsis: Six different timelines. In each one you find yourself taking over the life of an extra in the game you had been so smitten with. In each life you’re different, whether it’s a different job, or where you live and even your personality. But only one thing remains constant, you’re determined to avoid them. You’re not in the body of the MC so it’s not like they’ll even notice. 

You really shouldn’t have underestimated them.

MC | Zayne | Sylus | Xavier | Rafayel

TW/Tags: breakups, angst, reader is a widow and single mother (so mentions of pregnancy and some sentences on the effects of it but I’m not going deep into it otherwise we’d be here all day), death, loss of a loved one/minor character, grieving, there is a child in this I’m sorry, stalking, plus size reader, suggestive content (16+), forced second chances, small mention of drink spiking, pseudo-incest? (I hated even typing that out but it’s literally part of MC and Caleb’s dynamic), yandere caleb, possessiveness, obsession, implications of child abuse, small mentions of Caleb and MC’s past, sabotage, forced kissing, threats against a pregnant lady (not you), unrequited love, implied future non-con/babytrapping, forced marriage, dead dove do not eat

WC: 14.3K

Masterlist

Disclaimer: This is a yandere work. The character's personalities have become dramatised as a result. This is not what I think of them at all even as yanderes, it's just for pure indulgence. MC in the boys chapters is not the same one in her's, she's just generic but she will always be a friend (not in this one though). This is not a safe space for MC haters. If you don't like any of this then don't read.

Caleb is very out of character in this. I cannot emphasise this enough.

One moment you’re relaxing on your bed - your own way of celebrating that you had aced your job interview and landed your first big job which made those hell years at uni all worth it - the next you’re standing in someone else’s bathroom.

The sudden change leaves you disoriented but even with the room spinning around you, you still take notice of your appearance in the mirror. The air is humid and the mirror itself is foggy. Someone clearly took a shower. That’s when you feel the water drip down from your head, you reach to touch your hair and look in shock at the liquid on your fingertips. It was you that did. The realisation doesn’t make sense. You had just been on your bed, how did you get here?

You reach for the corners of the sink, an attempt to ground yourself, making sure to take deep breaths. It works, you find yourself calming down. The shakiness in your arms starts to disappear and the thundering of your heart slows down to simple rainfall. 

Lifting your head back up you concentrate on the woman in the mirror. She looks just like you, the same scars and blemishes adorn her, her mouth creases the same way yours does when you smile, she has every single one of your features. So, then why does she feel like an imposter?

Perhaps it’s the differences you’ve started to notice. You’re not sure of her age but she looks more mature than you. It’s in her eyes, very clear that she had experience you had yet to gain. Her body feels weird too, it’s the exact same as yours though, thick thighs, flabby arms and a round stomach. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this sluggish. She’s exhausted. You lift the pyjama shirt to examine deeper. She has stretch marks, around her thighs, leading up to the stomach and even in the corner of her breasts, just like you did. It happens from excess skin but the marks on her stomach are deeper than they had been on yours.. There’s a scar on the lower stomach, a line. It’s faded but still visible, when you reach to touch it - you don’t feel it much.

Oh.

In a panic, you leave the bathroom desperate to run away and find help. But then the pain comes in your head. You find yourself on your knees clutching your head as you groan in anguish.

Flashes of white hit you, whispers and sensations. 

Memories, you realise.

The next time, you wake up on the bedroom floor unsure of how much time has passed.

You’re much calmer this time. You’re not her but you are. She has your name, you’re the same age and have the same birthday but you have lived different lives. You remember every detail of her life even the moment she was born. You remember her happy moments, her sad ones and the ones so painful she bottled them away. You remember that she had fallen in love twice, each one ending in pain. You remember as she discovered her pregnancy and raised a child with the man she continues to love but it’s just her and the child now.

More than that, you’ve realised you’re in a fictional world. One you had grown to love. That had been crafted for the characters you adored in it. 

Your favourite had been the purple-eyed childhood friend but as you recall her memories, you want nothing but to pummel him to the ground. Your heart twists with the ache she has memorised in relation to him.

“I don’t understand why I have to go,” you whine to your best friend, wrapping yourself around her.

She throws you off her shoulder. “Because you’re the president!” she tugs at your cheek. “I can’t believe someone so lazy as you was picked!”

Pen is only joking with you. Your vice president is aware that despite your affinity to laze around, you’re the best for the job. The year before you had been chosen, you had created and implemented a program at Skyhaven University. One simple yet invaluable. The name for it was simple, ‘TELL’. Not an acronym. A website focused on anonymity, where students could go and ask for anything. Whether it was advice, or help with winning over a professor or with assignments. Responses would come from students themselves.

The site was heavily monitored and every resource on it was free. The fees required to keep it running were taken care of by the donation you had received from the competition. The one you had entered before when you were still in high school. You had run a similar website back then but on a much smaller scale, only between your class. You documented everything, the good and the ugly. But no one could deny the benefit it brought, in just a few months differences could be seen. Assignments were done with ease, morale was up and your class? You all became so close that you all still regularly meet up.

No one was shocked when you won the competition and that was when you garnered the attention of several universities but the one in Skyhaven paid the best. You sold the idea to them for an amount that would ensure your grandkid’s grandkids would be taken care of. You got a nice scholarship and instant admission into your desired course with the added bonus of taking care of the site until you graduated.

The program had been running for a few months before you started university, so you had attention on you when you did. Your first year had been amazing but no one told you popularity could be so tiring. Only you were shocked to learn you had been elected the president of the student council for the next year.

You didn’t even know there was one. Wasn’t it only a thing in high school?

You had every intention to decline - it was too much work - but Pen had convinced you otherwise. As your oldest friend, she had flashed those puppy eyes at you knowing it would work. She’s an art student, her sculptures are ethereal. As revenge you recommended her for vice president. It backfired because she actually enjoys her job.

It’s 6AM in the morning. You have two hours to set up for the annual orientation day. It’s a day meant for all those who are new. The one you attended last year was dull. That won’t happen this year.

As tradition, all organisations have a booth but you had personally collaborated with each one to ensure everything would go smoothly, making recommendations to tweak their set up. There was already buzz about the event due to the meticulous posters that you commissioned an actual graphic designer for and not the sweet but very tired/underpaid receptionist who had simply slapped the words ‘Orientation Day’ in a fancy font and called it a day. There will be a variety of food stands, suitable for all diets. There was a stage where clubs were welcome to show off their talents and so much more. The hope was that the event would last the entire day with the goal of collecting donations.

You spend the next two hours simply going around and making sure everything is organised.

When the time on your watch shows 7:58AM, you and Pen wait with bated breath. “It’ll be okay,” she assures you. You nod back.

To your relief students flood the area right on time. “There’s so many of them,” Pen whispers to you in awe. The two of you grin at each other. It would be nice to set a precedent. 

It was the longest he had been away from her. The two of them had a tearful goodbye before he boarded the train to Skyhaven. Even with his friends chatting his ear off as they make their way through the crowd to the stage, all he can think about is her.

Is she eating okay? Does she miss him as much as he misses her? 

He hopes the answer is yes.

His thinking is cut off by the sudden lights on the stage. A figure steps on the stage.

“Welcome to Orientation Day, everyone!” the girl speaks normally into the mic with a bright grin on her face. 

Cheers erupt all around him but all he can focus on is the girl.

You’re wearing a simple white shirt with the logo of the university and blue jeans. The only accessory is the watch on your wrist. Such simple clothing yet you make it look priceless. You introduce yourself. He watches as you explain the event and as you lay out all activities available. He drinks in your laugh, your smile and any mannerisms. 

After telling everyone to relax and have fun, you walk off the stage. He keeps his gaze on your figure until you disappear into the crowd. A nudge to his side demands his attention.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Gideon asks him.

“Huh…?” he clears his throat. “...I guess.” 

It just might be the biggest lie he’s told. You’re unlike anything he’s ever seen but shame eats him up inside at the thoughts. How could he easily forget her, even if just for a moment?

Gideon rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. You never find anyone attractive.”

It’s true. All his life his attention has only been on one woman. He’s never even glanced at another simply walking by, never cared for any of the celebrities his friends go crazy over so what changed now? 

He brushes it off. It’s just a one time thing, he soothes himself. You’ll never see her again.

Not even ten minutes later he’s face to face with you.

“What did you want to sign up for?” you ask him with a smile. The words and gesture don’t mean anything to you, you’ve been repeating it to those looking to sign up for the activities available but the simple act might just be his ruin. 

You can’t help the amusement shining in your eyes as the boy in front of you struggles to speak. His ears are tinted pink as he realises it too. You give him a patient smile and look him over. You’re not one to care much for romance despite the line of suitors you’ve acquired (yeah, you’re not humble about it either) but the boy is cute. The bright rays of the sun bring attention to all the freckles on his face. It takes everything to not lose yourself in his eyes, the purple a shade that reminds you of the same galaxies you had ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over as a child. You’re sure if you search deep in them, you’ll find speckles of gold resembling the stars. 

Over the years, you’ve found that you don’t really have a type. On the rare occasions you happen to develop a crush - which never seem to last more than a week - each person had been different. You’ve met a variety of people over the course of your life but none have captured your interest this quick. Or even managed to make your heart beat fast like he was.

His friend throws an arm around his shoulder. “We’d like to join the basketball game happening,” the friend grins at you while the other boy looks away. 

You pick up the tablet and bring up the list. “Sure, I’ll need your names.”

“I’m Gideon and this is Caleb. You’ll have to excuse my friend here, he’s shy,” Gideon reaches up to ruffle Caleb’s hair. Said man groans and swats his hand away.

“All done! I hope you enjoy yourselves today,” it shouldn’t please you so much as both of them fluster at the smile you send them. “My contact details are on TELL if you ever need help with anything.” You have to say this to all new students as the president but this is the only occasion where you hope it happens.

Becoming all too aware of the long line behind them, the two boys walk away but not before Caleb takes one last glance at you, one that you don’t see. Which might be a good thing since you don’t see the dark expression he wears as you converse with another man with the same smile you had given him.

A few months go by after that. Orientation day had been successful. Even though they had been optional, the donations received should fund the TELL website for an extra year and should still have some leftover. 

The boy with the name Caleb takes refuge in the back of your mind and refuses to leave. It’s frustrating pining over a man you met once and it’s so unlike you. There’s nothing you can do about the need to see him again as the second year of your course only gets more complicated and your other responsibilities only add to the stress you’re slowly accumulating. Any free time is gone and your precious sleep was the first to be compromised, something that leaves you different. Gone is the laid back girl you used to be, you’ve been replaced with someone who snaps at the smallest thing. Your relaxed smile has been switched with a frown. You’ve become your worst enemy.

A grump.

The changes in you have started to affect those around you as well. You still feel guilty that you had shouted at Pen over a small mistake, you had apologised like crazy straight after but Pen hadn’t even been mad. Instead she fretted over you, asking if everything was alright. You don’t deserve her but her concern was valid. 

You detest shouting. In the decade you’ve been friends, Pen has never seen you raise your voice, not even once. 

“[Name], they’re expecting too much from you,” she had held you in her arms as you cried. “How the fuck do they expect one person to do all this?” That was when she had gotten angry, when she looked over your bullet points of everything you had to get done before the month was over. Again, you don’t deserve her.

After confiding in her a little more and with lots of reassurances from her that you weren’t weak for “giving up”, you held a meeting with the rest of the student body. They agreed to shoulder some of the responsibility for you and for the first time in months, you slept through the whole night. Have you mentioned you don’t deserve Pen?

It took a while for you to go back to your original self but no one could deny the ease that rolls off you now. The magnetic pull in you that draws in anyone within radius. 

As president, another thing you had to do was keep up appearances. If students and staff don’t actively see for themselves you running around, then it doesn’t matter how much you accomplish, they’ll label you as lazy. So, the fact that you’ve been cooped up inside for the last few months wasn’t ideal.

Luckily an easy fix is something that happens every night without fail. Parties. The campus guidelines state that no parties can be held on the grounds without a member of the student council present.

You volunteered for the one tonight and Pen offered to join as well. Since you’re on supervising duty, you can’t drink anything. Which is probably for the best, the president before you ended up getting spiked and shoved into a closet so the rest of the party could let loose. Such extensive measures weren’t needed, you were all meant to be there so the university could look good, not actually intervene.

Your eardrums might just rupture from the loud bass music playing as you and Pen approach the building. There are people lingering outside on the lawn, groups talking to each other and some failing to walk straight. They all greet you as you pass by and you respond to each. 

A drink is shoved in your hands as soon as you enter. “Drink with us Prez!” a drunk boy yells at you. You raise the plastic cup to your lips and pretend to take a sip, the boy cheers completely unaware of your trickery. As a formality you remind him to be careful and walk away, dumping the cup on a random table. 

Pen gives you a subtle nudge. “That guy’s been staring at you since you entered,” she gives a quick nod in a direction. Your gaze moves to the area and you halt as your eyes meet violet ones. The block you had put up in an attempt to ignore how those eyes made you feel collapses in on itself. Heat creeps down your body and settles down between your thighs at the intensity of his gaze. 

Caleb did not want to go to the party. His resolve didn’t weaken no matter how much Gideon begged him. Normally he would be down but he had an early class and the material was important. All Gideon had to say was that you would be there for Caleb to change his mind. To his frustration, Gideon had caught onto Caleb’s…whatever it was he had with you and he never failed to remind him of it. 

Caleb had only seen you once after your first meeting. You didn’t notice him, too busy trying to get to your destination but he took notice of you. Of your exhausted state. He felt the need to stop you and demand why you looked so fatigued. He wanted nothing more than to usher you back to bed with force if needed but instead he willed himself to walk away.

Over the last few months he had a mental list forming in his head with every single detail he learnt about you. Any information learnt came from the mouth of others. You are spectacular, shining so brightly amongst them all. He should stay away, he knows that, but he can’t. He’ll apologise for it later.

Because he knows it won’t last.

It feels like eternity waiting for you to arrive. He watches the clock and counts every second. Numerous people come up to him but he pays attention to none. They all wonder why his gaze keeps drifting to the entrance. When you enter, his eyes are on you. He downs the beer in his hand and crushes the cup in his hand at the way you look. You don’t notice the desire in the eyes of all those who greet you, their every action tainted with corruption.

You’re wearing a simple black dress that ends at your thighs. Nothing extravagant or noteworthy. Except for the fact that it’s you wearing it. The dress moves up slightly with every step you take and he can see the safety shorts underneath. He doesn’t know you wore them to prevent any chafing or that you rubbed baby powder in your inner thighs just in case. You’re wearing shoes with a short heel, for practicality reasons he’s sure but he can’t help appreciate how well they compliment your legs. 

You look much better than you did the last time. Well rested and more put together. Part of him is glad for it and the other disappointed that it had not been him who helped you.

The redhead that has been by your side tries to subtly tell you about him but he notices. He has plenty of time to look away and pretend otherwise but instead he keeps his gaze with you. Caleb delights in the way your eyes widen, just a little. You turn to whisper something in your friend’s ear, she nods at you and walks away and in turn you approach him.

“Caleb, right?” you ask him. He doesn’t know that you don’t need an answer and you don’t know that you’ve ignited something in him simply by saying his name. Your lips covered in a shiny gloss look so pretty when they say his name. 

“Yeah.”

You join him and lean against the wall. You don’t look at him, instead looking around the room and surveying all the people. “How have you been so far?” It’s a question you have to ask everyone, he’s aware of it but he’ll take whatever you can give. He sighs, leaning his head back up against the wall, gaze on the ceiling. “It’s been stressful,” he drops his head back down and looks at you. “-but nothing I can’t handle.” 

You smile at him in response. 

“What course are you doing, Prez?” he asks you.

“Computer Science.”

When you don’t receive a reply, you look at the tall man beside you only to find him staring at you in slight shock.

“Pfft,” you can’t help but laugh at his expression. “I’m guessing you too, huh?”

He nods, his voice far too weak from your laugh to function. Pride settles in him, he made you laugh. 

“Do you have Mr Wrestly as well?”

At the name he can’t help but let out an involuntary groan which only makes you laugh harder. “He picks on me all the time. I don’t think he likes me very much,” seeing him pout only makes him more endearing to you.

“Yeah, he did it to me too. I felt so stupid every single time until I learnt that he only does it to those who show potential,” you reassure him. His eyes light up at your words. “Really?” He reminds you of a puppy right then and there, one who you’ve just given a bone. “Really,” you confirm.

You understand his reaction, getting a hit after another to your intelligence was not a fun experience. “But still, I’m glad I don’t have him this year.” 

It’s silent for a while.

“So…,” he starts and trails off. “-that means you’re graduating this year, right?”

“Yup.”

Truth be told you’ve been trying not to think about it. The future seems so scary, especially since you have no plans in motion. Right now all you have is to apply to some internships and go from there. 

“I don’t really see you as a CompSci major,” you admit to him.

“It gives you extra credits for the Aerospace Academy,” he informs.

“Ah. I can definitely see you as a pilot.”

There’s a childlike wonder in his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve wanted to be one since I was a kid.”

Your finger reaches up and traces the outline of his collarbone through his shirt, his breath catches in his throat. You make a point to not return his gaze, only doing so when you utter your next words. “It’s a good thing you’ve got someone who can share all her notes,” you pause. “As long as you’re good.”

His hand moves fast to capture your finger, you give a soft tug giving up when his hold tightens in response. His head moves closer to yours, until you can feel his breath mingling with yours. 

“Oh, really?” it comes out as a whisper but his voice has deepened. There’s a slight smirk painted on his lips and his eyes are dark and hooded as they rest on you.

“Really.”

He tugs you into some empty room, shutting the door behind him. His lips are on you before you can say a word. The two of you lose yourself in the other. You have more experience so you lead but he’s a fast learner. In a sudden move you pull away from him, making sure to keep a distance. He looks a little dumbfounded at your change in attitude.

“I can taste the alcohol in your mouth, Caleb. How much have you had to drink?” you ask him gently. He chuckles - despite the relief that it wasn’t because you regret it - and his arms wrap around you before he pulls you to him. “Not even enough to feel buzzed,” he nuzzles his head into your shoulder. 

“Hmm,” you contemplate. “I’m still not taking any chances.” You want to concede when the man lifts his head up and pouts. “If you’re serious then kiss me again when you don’t have anything in your system.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Caleb finds you again on day two after the party. It would’ve been one but he didn’t want to seem desperate. He waits for you outside the building of your class, not saying a single word as he approaches. All he does is kiss you.

Neither of you have any experience with relationships. You think you might have been moving too fast but it should be okay, right? You two feel so strongly about the other and that isn’t for no reason. Any doubts are shoved away.

A month goes by and life is nice. 

You’ve hosted more events for the university and each of them have done well. Some could’ve been better however you’re determined to not let it ruin your mood instead using them as a learning experience. 

Caleb and you are still navigating your relationship.

You live in a one bedroom apartment off campus. Any free time he has, Caleb spends it there. He never spends the night. He’s determined to change that.

You have a research paper due in a week. Normally you would do it the day before while panicking as if you didn’t put yourself in that situation. You can’t do that this time, you’ll be busy then. Caleb lounges on your bed as you sit by your desk.

It’s silent. The only sounds are from your keyboard or the odd rustling of pages moving. You don’t notice the silent plotting brewing in the man’s head.

“It’s nearly 8pm,” he tells you. “I should head back.”

You give a hum in response, flicking your hand up to say goodbye.

Caleb knows how you can get when you’re focused so he doesn’t take it to heart. Your ears pick up the sound of him getting up from the bed. He lets out a small sigh. You don’t say anything. He finds his socks on the floor and puts one on with another sigh. You don’t say anything. He puts the other on and sighs again, this time a little louder. You don’t say anything. His eye twitches, he grabs his shoes and puts them on with a big sigh. You don’t even move.

“Yup. I’m going back to the dorms because my girlfriend hates me.”

You swivel around in your chair and stare at him with a deadpan expression. He bats his eyelashes at you.

Your lips quirk in amusement. “Why don’t you just stay the night, Caleb? You’ll be back here in the morning anyway,” you play along, giving in to him. But your heart is light as his expression changes. He kicks off his shoes and plops back down on the bed. 

Thinking everything is dealt with, you turn back around only for a hand to clench around your chair and pull it towards the bed. “Wha-” you jump in surprise. An arm pulls you and you land on your back on the bed. The perpetrator hovers above you with a satisfied smirk. The second your lips begin to move, kisses are being peppered onto your face, an effective way to shut you up. 

His lips are on yours. The kiss is different from the others you’ve shared. This one is slow as he takes his time, savouring every moment. His hands reach to tug your hoodie and he pulls his mouth away. You’re both breathing hard. His hand digs into your bed sheets as he tries to restrain himself. The air around you has changed, growing thick from the tension. He doesn’t say anything but you hear the question. You nod. Any control he has is gone as he recaptures your lips in a frenzy.

The next day you wake up from light traces all over your body. Your joints ache and your shoulder and neck throb from the markings. You’re bundled up in his arms. Caleb smiles at you when he sees you’re awake, leaning in close to plant a kiss on your forehead. You can’t say a word back. Not when he looks at you like that.

Like you’re everything he’s ever needed.

You and Pen are closer than ever. She’s one of the most important people in your life so you introduce Caleb to her. The dinner seemed to have gone well. You brushed off any awkwardness, deeming it an occurrence of a first meeting.

Except before she had left, Pen had pulled you away to speak privately.

“Just be careful with that guy,” she warns you. “I know I shouldn’t judge without reason but something about him seems…off.”

“You know me, Pen. First sign of trouble and I run,” you smile in an attempt to comfort her. She gives you a weak one back. “I know you can take care of yourself but you’re different with him.” You look at her in confusion. She takes a deep breath, unsure if she should continue but for your sake she does. “You like him [Name], a lot. No…I think you love him. I-I just don’t see this ending well and I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

While you’re too busy spiralling over her words, especially as they ring true, she watches you. What she doesn’t say is that your biggest weakness will always be the way you love. Platonic or not. It’s rare for you to get attached to a person but when you do, it’s intense. Not in an overbearing way but because you kept your heart in a cage and you’d only let in those who you deemed worthy. After that you would love freely, thinking everything would be okay, not realising that people can change or that they might’ve been lying to you from the start. 

She’d been by your side (and you her’s) through all your friendship breakups, she saw the way you grieved the loss. The sheer anguish you felt would leave her paralysed. But you had never fallen in love romantically before. Pen doesn’t think she could handle how it would affect you. It just might kill her. 

She doesn’t know if shining a light on your feelings had the effect she wanted.

And it doesn’t.

You ignore her warning, Caleb hasn’t given you a reason to doubt him. All the conversation did was make you realise how deep your feelings ran. You itch to say it to him but at the same time something holds you back.

The topic of family comes up one night. You don’t go into much detail about yours, alluding to the fact that your home life wasn’t the best. Thankfully he doesn’t push for more. He tells you about his adoptive sister, how they grew up together and that he cares for her a lot. 

What you don’t know about is the turmoil inside Caleb’s head. When he’s with you, he forgets all about her. He doesn’t think about what she’s doing and if everything is alright. He doesn’t forget you when he’s with her. You’re always there in his heart, mind and soul. But then his phone will ping with a message from her while he’s watching a movie with you, asking why he hasn’t been responding. In those moments, he thinks he’ll drown in the shame and guilt and then you look his way and give that angelic smile he adores. He wonders how long he can do this for.

It’s now nearly the end of the year. He’s gone back home while you remain in Skyhaven during your last break in the school year. His family doesn’t know he’s dating you, Caleb sneaks away when you call. It all comes to an end when she pulls him away with a confession.

“I feel like you’ve been distant, Caleb,” her eyes shine with unshed tears. His body moves on its own to cup her face. “What do you mean, Pipsqueak?” 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she struggles to even ask the question. All he can do is wrap his arms around her and say no.

His resolve to end things washes away when you’re waiting for him at the train station. You smile and hug him. She’s forgotten again. It’s an endless cycle. 

One that you end up breaking.

He’s standing before a bright green tree, waiting for you. Your tree. The one you went to for peace. The one you had shared with him.

“Surprise!” a figure jumps on him. He recognises the voice. He’s too caught up in the joy to feel dread.

You see the distant figure of your boyfriend. A smile breaks onto your face as you walk faster but you halt when another figure runs towards him. She jumps at him and he catches her with ease. You see it all.

The way he looks at her. How easily she jumps into his arms and he returns it with a serene smile. The emotions and love you thought had been reserved for you are being displayed. In that moment you remember Pen’s warning. Your heart twists as you realise she had been right. How did she see it before you?

You feel so humiliated. It had been right in front of you. How he would always excuse himself to answer her call, no matter the situation. How soft he was when he’d talk about their childhood together. That ugly necklace that was constantly around his neck.

Your steps are slow as you walk up to them. They turn to look at you and Caleb jolts. “[Name]!” He knows it’s over when he sees the look in your eyes. His heart is beating so fast he can hear it drumming in his ears. 

Thinking you’re a simple friend, she reaches her hand out and introduces herself. For a split second you want to hate her. But it’s not her fault. You return the handshake and introduce yourself. 

“Hey, pips? Why don’t you wait for me in the cafeteria? I need to talk to [Name].”

Unaware of the tension in the air, she agrees and leaves but not before letting you know it was nice to meet you. 

You don’t say a word, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m sorry.” 

The guilt on his face means nothing to you, not anymore. Caleb’s hands twitch, he wants nothing but to beg for forgiveness. To get on his knees and promise his devotion. But the blank look on your face has him frozen.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why did you even date me?” you speak the words with a venom he’s never heard before. “Was I just a distraction?” you continue.

“Wha-No! You were never a-”

“Or was I meant to stop others from realising you have feelings for your own fucking sister?” 

“I didn’t tell anyone we’re dating.”

“Oh! Even better. But you can’t even deny your feelings for her are true.”

“I’m sorry.”

You let out a cold laugh. “You already said that. I want an explanation.” 

But he can’t give it to you. He doesn’t have the answer himself. So, you’ll force them out.

“Choose.”

He looks at you in alarm.

“Me or her? Pick one.”

You already know the answer but you need to hear it. Even if by some miracle he chooses you, you’ll never pick him. Never again.

Flashes of images go through his head. Of her laying on the cold floor with no heartbeat. The fear in her eyes. The anger coursing through him. Their shared cries and pain.

“It’ll always be her.”

His face stings from the force of your slap. He welcomes the pain, it’s what he deserves.

“You’re a coward, Caleb.” You take a step closer. “A weak, pathetic, coward.” 

It’s you who physically walks away. You’re numb as you do. All you can focus on is that…

He ruined your tree. Ruined your peace.

Caleb returns to her with a fake grin plastered on his face. No one notices the trembling in his hands or the slight shakiness in his voice.

You don’t see each other for the rest of the school year. In public you’re the same as always but in private you break down. You have no words to describe how you feel. One day you had been so mad that you ripped all the photos you had taken with him. The next you cried over the discarded paper. 

Pen is the only one who knows you’re a mess. She tries her best to comfort you. 

“[Name] our final exams are next week,” she cradles your head in her hands. “You can’t let him dull your shine. Not now.”

They’re not the words you want to hear but the ones you need. 

You bottle up your emotions after that. Keeping the lid shut tight. 

You ace your exams and graduate. Happy to never see this place again. Once it had been home to you but now everything about it was tinted with him.

You’re completely unaware as purple eyes watch you in the crowd as you accept your degree and give a speech. How they drink in your smile, laugh and mannerisms. How they are laced with regret.

Even if you did, you wouldn’t care. Not anymore.

Back in the present, you’ve lifted yourself off the floor and have sat down on the bed as you process your(?) memories. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:00AM.

The emotions your other self had years to process are now raw within you. You’re not sure if the shakiness of your body is from the rage simmering inside or the tears making their way down your face.

It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that your comfort character had done all this. Bile rises in your throat, suddenly you feel so disgusted in yourself. You feel used.

The toilet flushes and you turn on the fans in the bathroom to get rid of the smell of vomit. With slow steps you make your way to the bedroom. You look over the decorations and the size of it. At least in this life you’re rich. 

You don’t know what to make of this situation. You can no longer delude yourself that it is all a dream. It’s your new reality. You want to go back home. Back to your old life. It wasn’t the best but it also wasn’t this shitshow.

For fucks sake, you have a kid! 

You don’t know the first thing about raising a child! All you have are your memories, you’re overtaken by panic.

You leave the bedroom. The hallways are dark but you don’t bother turning the lights back on. You have the floorplan mapped in your head. You take a couple steps right to avoid a table and find yourself standing before a room. Stickers decorate the door. Sparkles and glitters. There’s a big sign on the door. ‘EVE’ is all it says. She had decorated it herself as best as a two-year old could.

You slowly turn the door handle and peek inside. There’s a small frame bundled on the bed. You can see the rise and fall of her chest even under her blanket. The sight of her fills you with peace. All panic is forgotten. 

You know exactly where to step so the floorboard doesn't creak. You settle down onto the bed with her, pulling her to your chest. She doesn’t awaken but instead rests deeper into your chest. You caress her head. Maybe this life isn’t so bad after all.

At age twenty you had graduated and found yourself stuck. You had done a bunch of internships after but none stuck with you. One day you had been on the bus, dozing off when you overheard a conversation between two school girls. One of them made an off hand comment about how annoying it was to have so many apps for different things. It didn’t come to you straight away but the girl’s comment stayed with you for a while.

It should’ve been hard to get investors but the reputation you had gained from TELL had been your saviour. Plenty of interest was shown. The first person you brought on was Pen. A way to pay back the friendship and support she had always shown you. She became the lead designer for the app interface.

It’s how Moment’s was born. It’s weird that you designed the very app used to communicate with the love interests themselves. 

It’s also how you met him.

Elijah Kennedy.

One of your investors.

You didn’t care for him much at first.

He was attractive, tall with blonde hair and the most majestic brown eyes you’d ever seen, especially under the sunlight. You never really paid much attention to him, all he was is a means to an end. Elijah wasn’t your type, too stoic for your taste. But then, during a meeting he accidentally let slip that he found you pretty and his face got so red. He spluttered on his drink and tried but failed to rectify the situation.

Unlike Caleb who had made your heart beat fast, Elijah made it stutter. 

Something changed between you two after that. It was quiet and subtle. Suddenly he was asking you more personal questions and you found yourself answering them. Your meetings started taking place over dinner. Light touches that lingered. 

Until one day he tried to ask you on a date but stuttered so much he couldn’t even get the words out. With a teasing smile, you had asked the question for him. 

You told him the truth then. That you had been hurt so bad you don’t think you could take a chance again. Elijah confided in you about his ex-girlfriend, who had cheated, in return. Maybe it's because you saw kinship in the other but the rest of the night was spent laying bare all your hurt. It had been therapeutic for Elijah, who felt he would be looked down upon for being so upset, and you, who had to bottle everything up just so you could function.

You didn’t date right away. A friendship started first. Your relationship built slowly. When you two first shared a kiss, it felt so right. Then you went on a date and started dating. After a year, you got married. Pen ended up being your maid of honour. She gave you her approval for Elijah a month into dating and you’ve learnt to listen to her. 

Shortly after the honeymoon, you found yourself in the bathroom with a positive pregnancy test. Your hands shook as you stared down at the stick, anxiety pooling in your gut. It was too fast. It was all happening too fast. 

You’d learnt nothing from the last time and here you are repeating the same mistakes.

When Elijah finds you on the bathroom floor and tries his best to reassure that everything will be okay, that he’s not going anywhere, the feeling never goes away.

Not even during the pregnancy, or after you gave birth and even when you celebrated Eve’s first birthday. It disappeared when you got the news that your Elijah had been in a car accident. Dead on arrival. 

You had been right.

Why did you have to be right?

Eve’s two now, it’s been a year since his passing. It’s a weird sensation to grieve someone so hard yet still feel like they’re a stranger. You sniffle into your daughter’s blonde hair, a few tears escape. 

Around the time you had been grieving your husband, you received an email. It had been from her. An invitation to a funeral. There was a line of text at the bottom, ‘He would want you there.’

You didn’t go.

The sound of the doorbell drums through the house.

You don’t get up.

It rings again.

And again.

Until you finally move out of frustration.

She looks concerned at your state. She’s wearing simple clothing, not a hair out of place. While your eyes are bloodshot from all the crying, your skin dry from the salty tears. Everything about your appearance is a mess. Not that you even care.

But you recognise the look in her eyes. She’s a mess just like you, only on the inside.

Neither of you say a word. With a roll of your eyes, you open the door for her and walk inside. The house too, is a mess. Eve’s toys are littered all over the floor of the living room, you grab a basket and start dumping them back in there.

She lingers at the large family photo. “I-I knew you were doing very well for yourself. There was no mention of you getting married or…that you have a child.”

“Yeah? Well, he died too. That’s two for two now. I just might be cursed,” you chuckle darkly as you throw Poppy the Unicorn a little too harshly into the basket. You’ll need to apologise later or Eve won’t be happy.

You feel her gaze on you as you move around the room, trying to clean whatever you could. 

“I’m sorry. I had no idea. I think I should just go,” she turns to leave.

“Wait,” at your command she looks back. “Just say what it is you want to and then go,” you gesture at the couch. “Besides it’s not like my day can get any worse,” you mutter softly but she still hears every word.

You sit before her, arms crossed and wait for her to speak.

“I came to apologise.”

Her words shock you.

“Really? I thought you came to yell at me for missing the funeral.”

“No!” her eyes widened in alarm. It’s a comical sight, one that might have made you laugh once. “It’s my fault. I’m the reason it all happened. Back then, I felt him pull away so I asked if he had a girlfriend. I didn’t know he actually did. It never occurred to me that he would ever get one.”

“It’s not your fault nor did I ever blame you for anything,” you wave her off. You can tell from her expression that the answer isn’t enough. “You were a child who didn’t know any better. He went from being around every day to being gone for months. It would’ve been hard to adjust for anyone. Any blame is on him. He should have never gotten in a relationship with me when he loved you.”

The last sentence doesn’t shock her.

“Huh. When did you realise?”

“I think I always knew,” she looks down at her hands, twiddling her fingers. “I just…forced myself to ignore it. I’ve never seen him in that way and I don’t really think he did either.” Her head is back up at you but there’s a fire in her eyes now. “I didn’t just come here to apologise. I need to tell you something.”

That gets your attention. You motion for her to continue.

“His feelings for you were real. After you graduated, something in him changed. He still took care of me the same but the intent was gone. Like it was an obligation. I think he realised it was meant to be for you but by then it was too late. He started seeing me as a sister only. He wasn’t even phased when I got my first boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“I know,” she smiles weakly. “It’s selfish of me to unload this on you, especially with what you’re going through currently but I had to. For him.”

There’s some more silence.

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“We named her Eve.”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“What?”

“It just doesn’t sound like a name you would pick.”

“It was Elijah’s grandmother’s name. She raised the man I came to love. It was the least I could do.”

The two of you make small talk for a while before a ping on her phone reminds her of her other plans. She bids you goodbye.

You stay on the couch, staring blankly at the wall.

Then the tears fall and you wail.

Your other self was too nice. Caleb didn’t deserve her grief especially since you know he’s still alive. 

You have no idea when you drifted off but the feeling of small hands on your face is what wakes you up. Sunlight trickles through the curtains. Brown eyes stare back at you. Eve blinks before breaking out into a huge grin now that you’re up. “Awake?’ she asks. 

You kiss her on the forehead. “Awake,” you confirm. “Hungry?” you ask back. It was a daily ritual. She nods. You lift her off the bed and enter the bathroom. She has school today. It’s easy to fall back into your other self’s routine. Every action you take is so natural that it keeps messing with your head. With no issue you enjoy your breakfast with your daughter and drive her to school. She gives you a hug goodbye and you’re left alone again. You don’t have work and you’re in the mood to be outside so the only plans you have is to sleep.

There’s a white box with a ribbon waiting on your doorstep when you arrive. A card is tucked into the ribbon. You bring the box inside.

You’ll need this

Those are the only words written on the card. You flip it over and read the words over and over again but nothing changes. They seem so certain but you’re more shocked at how calm you are. 

Inside the box is a silk dress, a shade of emerald green. You run your fingers over the material, it’s beautiful yet simple. Just the way you like it. 

The normal thing would be to experience panic in this situation but it never comes. It doesn’t make any sense. You should feel something yet you don’t. 

A melody rings through the silence. Something in your pocket vibrates. It’s your phone. You recognise the caller ID, it’s Pen. 

You pick up the call, neither of you bothers with trivial greetings. 

“We’ve been invited to an event,” her tone is off.

“I’m not going. They’re all the same.”

“Normally I wouldn’t argue but you can’t decline this one [Name].”

“Why?”

“It’s the annual Skyhaven gala. The one where all the important figures attend. People from the Farspace Fleet, military leaders and any important political figure. It’d be social suicide not to go.”

Your gaze settles on the box. “Pen, was it you who sent the dress?” it’s a shot in the dark but it just might land.

“What dress?”

You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Nothing. I just forgot I ordered one,” you divert. Pen already dealt with so much of your shit, she’s married now too and four months pregnant. She doesn’t need the extra stress. 

“Oh, okay. Come visit me later and bring my niece!”

As Pen’s voice drones off on the phone, your eyes remain on the box. You still feel nothing about the situation.

Maybe because you recognise the handwriting.

It feels like deja vu once again as his eyes continue to glance at the entrance.

He has to be careful not to give it away but he can’t deny how nervous he feels at the chance that he’ll see you again.

It took him far too long to realise how deep he had fallen for you. His entire life has revolved around her, just the way he foolishly thought he wanted. It wasn’t until you entered his life that he saw a different path. But he had been too blinded by the role he forced upon himself to notice. After all she had been through, the least he could do was ensure a good life for her. Everything was her, her, her…

But as she grew up, she needed him less and less. He tried so hard to hold on unaware that he was suffocating them both in the process. Then, you came in and slowly his grip loosened. It was entirely his fault that he had been too much of a coward to let go. You had been right to call him one.

Caleb can’t begin to imagine the pain and suffering his actions caused you. All of it made worse by the fact that he knew it would end that way, yet he let it happen. 

He’s missed you so much these last few years. You were in everything. The warm rays of the sun reminded him of the way you would glow under the sun’s embrace. The moon made him reminisce of all the times you would take him stargazing. He saw parts of you in everyone. Your smile. Frown. Laugh. 

It was the betrayal on your face he saw before the explosion. Memories of kissing you were what he held onto as he healed. The sensation of your hand clasped in his would make him cry at the arm he lost. Even now, as the chip whirs in his head, you’re the reason he hasn’t lost himself. You’re why he’s still holding on. He needs you, you’ve become his salvation.

Caleb can no longer give you a choice in the matter. 

Not when you had moved on. You kept your personal life private but as the Colonel it was easy for him to access any information on you. He’s glad your…husband (he struggles to even think the word) died, one less thing for Caleb to take care of. 

Then you walk in.

You’re a little taller now. Even when you’re all dressed up, he can see the exhaustion in your eyes. Taking care of a baby all by yourself can’t be easy. His eyes flicker down to your body, you’re not wearing the dress. He expected it but his gloved hand still clenches by his side.

You don’t notice him. But others notice you. They swarm around you like parasites and he can see it’s all making you overwhelmed. Your eyes dart around, trying to find someone you knew and that's when they meet his. 

He had expected you to be surprised to see him but you remain unphased. Not a single hint as to what you’re thinking is shown. It’s frustrating. This wasn’t how he wanted the evening to go.

You don’t make a move, not a single step either towards or away from him. Your gaze slips away from him as you bury yourself in another meaningless conversation.

It feels like hours have passed before you can catch a breath. You leave the floor quickly before anyone else can interrupt, heading for the upstairs floor. To your luck it’s empty. You take refuge in one of the terraces, counting the minutes until you could go home. You miss Eve. She’d been left with a babysitter, who texted you hourly updates.

The setting of the sun distracts you from your thoughts. The sky a blend of orange, purple and pink. Beautiful. 

“Did you not like the dress?”

You hadn’t heard him at all. You don’t turn around to see his face.

“It was hideous.”

His steps indicate that he’s right next to you. You hear his clothes rustle as he rests his hand on the railings, just like you are. To think that the sight of him in the uniform used to be so enticing and now he’s standing before you. He’s real. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body. Yet all you feel is fear. 

“I’ll do better next time,” his gaze digs. It’s like a flashlight shining on your face, when all you can do is look away to avoid going blind.

“There better not be a next time.” Your body moves on its own. Your hand grasps hard on his upper arm. His breath hitches when he feels your touch. It’s been so long. It’s not enough. 

You dig your nails further into the material, not caring that it does nothing. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

You don’t see the way his eyes harden at the gold ring around your finger.

You release his arm and storm off.

Shivers run through you as you feel him watch you leave.

You know this isn’t the last time. 

A week goes by.

And you spend it on edge every single day. Your paranoia gets the better of you. You call and let Eve’s school know you’re going on a trip so she won’t be in. You do the same for work. The two of you spend it at home. 

You can’t keep this up for long. Soon, questions will start being asked. Yet the fear of running into Caleb again leaves you paralysed. 

A phone call from your assistant comes as soon as the weekend is over. Her voice is laced with panic as she begs you to come in. There’s a huge issue with the app.

You have no choice but to call the babysitter on short notice, promising to pay extra for the emergency. 

Pen is waiting for you when you enter. She gives you a guilty smile. “If it wasn’t urgent we wouldn’t have cut your vacation short,” she says as you walk to your office.

“It’s fine.” It’s not. “What happened that’s so bad you had to call me?”

You gesture for her to sit on your chair. It’s far more comfortable for a pregnant woman. You sit on one of the armchairs opposite. Not as nice but the exhale Pen gives out of relief is worth it. You make a mental note to order a chair just like it for her office. And to get better armchairs. 

She plops a file on the desk. “What isn’t happening? Something is wrong with the servers but we’re slowly managing it. I have to go pee every second, I don’t know how you did this. But the real issue is that the app keeps crashing. Something’s wrong with the code but no matter how much we dig, we can’t find it.”

You sigh and lean back into the chair. Your hand comes up to drag down your face. “How much have we lost?”

She doesn’t answer.

“That bad?”

She pauses and mouths ‘worse’ at you. 

Great. 

“Your phone’s been ringing all morning too. I’m sure it’s the board members,” she slowly gets up and makes her way out the door but not before patting you on the shoulder. 

You spend the next hour on the phone, apologizing and promising to fix the issue to each individual member. You’re left holding your head as you try to massage the headache. This used to be fun, back when the app was just an idea. Somewhere along the way you started dreading coming into work. You’re not made to be like this. You’re meant to create.

What was it they used to say?

Never turn your hobby into real work. 

Wow, you really have a habit of not listening to advice. 

You order your assistant to buy everyone whatever they desire for lunch and dinner before heading down to the programming teams. They’re not enthusiastic about the situation but who can deny overtime. 

Morale seems higher when they learn that you’ll be staying back with them. It was your baby at risk after all.

Your eyes are about to pop from the strain, you’ve been staring at a screen for hours. And then you come across it. One single line. Nudged into the code. That nearly destroyed years of hard work.

12 5 20 19 20 1 12 11 

The numbers stare back at you. They confuse you. It makes no sense for them to be there. It’s not actual programming. Unless they were deliberately written in…

Your mind runs through all possibilities of what the numbers mean, each one more complicated than the last. But, what if it’s not difficult? You blankly gaze at the numbers.

No way. It can’t be that simple. 

Your hand reaches for a pen and you scribble down onto a notepad. 

12=L, 5=E, 20=T, 19=S, 20=T, 1=A, 12=L, 11=K

‘Let’s talk’ 

Your hand scrunches the paper into a ball, it remains in there. The other grasps the pen so hard that it breaks in your hand. Blue ink explodes all over the desk. 

It takes several deep breaths to calm down. You still see red as you highlight the issue and email your team to fix it.

With no second thoughts, you rush back home. You can’t stay in Skyhaven any longer. 

It’s eerily quiet when you enter your house.

Usually the babysitter would be waiting on the couch for you. The living room is completely empty and a mess. There are still dishes from the sink indicating that Eve had lunch at least. Your intuition screams that something is wrong. You grab a knife from the block, slowly making your way through the house, checking every room as you go on. The only one remaining is Eve’s bedroom. The light is on.

Your mind begs you to not go in but it surrenders, for Eve’s sake. 

The door opens with a light creak from your touch. He’s sitting on the armchair in her room. The same one Elijah used to sit on with her. Caleb has your daughter in his arms. She’s fast asleep, seeing her unharmed brings you some relief. It snaps when his hand reaches to brush hair away from her face. 

“Let her go!” You try to rush at him but something immobilizes you, like you’re getting crushed by something. The knife you were carrying clatters on the ground.

“Shhh,” he brings a finger up to his lips. “Do you want to wake her up?”

“I sent the babysitter home. She didn’t put up much of a fight when I threatened to arrest her. Don’t get mad at her, she didn’t have a choice.” His voice is too calm. He doesn’t even look at you, gaze fixed on Eve. “I didn’t know what I was going to do with her at first,” he admits then he looks at you. “She’s your daughter but she looks just like that bastar-” 

“Don’t call him that,” the words escape from your mouth before you can stop that.

His hand on her stills. You watch as the emotion dies down in his eyes. The same notion you saw play out on your phone, when MC refused to go with him. His possessiveness had you swooning then. You had cried for him, for the tragic story they shared. It didn’t excuse his actions but you could understand them. None of that is present here. None of this should even be happening. There are no excuses for him anymore. 

“I was going to give her away, so I could have you to myself.” He doesn’t respond to your remark, you wish he did so you didn’t have to listen to those words. You gasp and open your mouth to plead but he cuts you off. “All I had to do was spend two hours with her. She might look like him but everything else is from you. She smiled at me the way you used to.”

You look away from the sickening devotion on his face. It’s disgusting. 

Caleb isn’t pleased by your disrespect. He knows how to finish the blow. “She asked me if I was her father. She doesn’t even remember him.” He gives you a soft smile. “I told her yes.”

He gets up from the chair and walks over to her bed, placing her down gently on the bed. He makes sure the blanket covers her before turning to you.

“I’ll admit there’s another reason I’m letting her stay. To keep you in line.”

He takes slow steps towards you, like a hunter taking his time to end his prey.

You can’t help the tears running down your face. His gloved hand reaches up to wipe a tear away. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, his evol stops just so he can bring you into his arms, comforting you like he isn’t the cause. He doesn’t use it again, he has you right where he wants. 

“Why are you doing this?” the words come out hoarse.

He brings your head back up, both hands cradling your cheeks, level to his face. “Because I’ll go insane without you.” His thumb rubs circles on the skin underneath. Each touch is more revolting than the last.

“You’re already insane,” you whisper. 

Caleb lets out a soft laugh. “I can be worse than this,” his demeanour is gentle but you know it’s a warning.

“It’s not just Eve, [Name]. I’ll go after everyone you love. Penelope will be the first. Do you think a pregnant woman can survive the fleet’s harsh interrogation methods?”

Your eyes widen even more. “No, no, she has nothing to do with this. Leave her alone. Please, Caleb.”

He groans when you say his name. Your bodies are pressed so close that you can feel him get excited. It takes everything to not rip yourself from his hold.

“Then promise you’ll be mine. Say it.”

You don’t respond, taking your time to say the words. But you don’t even get to make that choice as his eyes slowly lose the spark.

“I-I’ll be yours, Caleb.”

His mouth is on yours. You make no move against him or to stop him. His lips press deeper into yours, his tongue darts out in an attempt to make you open your mouth. You don’t. A sound rumbles from him, like a growl before a sharp pain erupts on the corner of your lips. He bites you so hard you can feel the skin rip and the blood drip. You try to jerk your head back but his hold on your face tightens, enough to bruise. The yelp you give from the pain gives him the access he needs. 

“Kiss back,” he growls and this time you know to listen.

When he finally pulls away, you’re left trembling as you struggle to breath. Your blood coats his mouth, making him look like the monster he truly is. He has that blank look again. His finger caresses the scab forming on your lips before pressing down hard enough for you to hiss in pain.

“When your partner kisses you, you’re supposed to do it back, [Name]. Don’t make me do this again.”

You nod, too tired to fight. Not like you even can. His behaviour shifts again at your obedience. “Good girl,” he praises.

He looks around Eve’s room. 

“Pack your bags. Enough for a couple of days. You’re moving in with me.” It’s an order, one you can’t refuse. 

Caleb watches with unconcealed satisfaction as you follow his command. 

It’s been a week since you entered this hell hole. 

Just like in the main story, his apartment is devoid of anything that isn’t grey. It’s soulless, just like its owner.

He tells you to decorate to your taste and for Eve’s sake, you have to. Kids can’t grow up in a stale environment. 

Speaking of Eve, she’s smitten with the man. You die a little inside every time she calls him Dad. Elijah only exists in your memories now. Caleb had taken one look at your wedding photos before burning them. Seeing the daily routine of her running into his arms when he comes back from work is torture. He’ll hold her in his arms before coming up to you and placing a kiss on your forehead. Then you give a smile that you both know is fake. It’s all an act.

Luckily, the collar around your neck is invisible. You’re free to come and go as you please. No one in your life has any idea what you’re going through and it’ll remain that way. Pen asked you once if everything was okay, you brush her concern off and tell her you just miss Elijah. 

On your second day in his house, you had asked him about work.

“As long as you behave.”

It’s yet another thing he holds over you. 

It’s Monday morning now. As you wake up, it’s to the sounds of something sizzling in the kitchen. Caleb had a rare day off, he had pushed you back on the bed when you tried to leave, claiming he’ll get Eve ready and take her to school. You had no choice but to remain in bed until you fell back asleep.

You share the bedroom with him. It’s the largest in his apartment. The one he was supposed to give to MC. Every night you go to bed without him and every morning you wake up to him tightly wrapped around you. You ignore the feeling of it pressed up against you, just glad he doesn’t act on it.

He still kisses you. A deep kiss before he leaves that always ends in a make out, leaving you breathless and panting each time. He looks at you in a way like he’s contemplating throwing you on the counter and having his way. Something always stops him, he ends up reaching for his hat, placing it on his head to hide the hunger in his eyes, before leaving. 

You worry about the day he won’t hold back. 

You make your way to the bathroom and do your morning routine. You remain in your pajamas, throwing on a robe before you enter the kitchen.

Caleb’s standing shirtless, clad only in plaid pajamas bottoms. He’s grown even more muscular from the last time you saw him at university. He doesn’t tell you about the scars on his body or why he no longer has an arm unaware you already know the answer. You have yet to see him wear that necklace. For a few seconds, you try to make yourself believe this is a normal domestic scene, desperate to make this easier for you but you can’t. You just can’t. 

You want that brown hair to be blonde. You don’t want to look at purple eyes that resemble galaxies, you want deep brown eyes staring back at you. 

“Good morning,” he doesn’t turn around, busy flipping a pancake.

“Morning,” you say back, walking closer to the kitchen island and taking a seat on the barstool. There’s a laminated paper on it. You bring it closer to you so you can read. ‘Certification of Marriage’ is typed at the top in big fancy letters. You stop reading when you see yours and Caleb’s full names next. 

“What did you do?” you whisper. It feels like there’s a ball stuck in your throat.

He turns the stove off, finished with the last pancake. Taking his time to answer, he sets up the counter for breakfast. You know better than to push him. It doesn’t stop your hands from shaking.

“It’s only normal for couples to get married, honey,” he says to you like you’re stupid. Then he steps closer and grasps your hands in his. The action lets you notice the gold ring glinting on his ring finger. “I might not be your first husband but I’ll certainly be your last.”

When your expression doesn’t mimic his excited one, he gives you a sly grin. “Notice anything different,” his eyes focus on the ring in your hand. You look down, nothing about it had seemed off originally. It had always remained in the corner of your mind, never in your focus since you had already gotten used to it being there. But as you look deeper you notice differences. It’s a bit thicker and the gold is brighter than normal. It doesn’t look like it’s been worn for years.

It’s not your ring.

Caleb lets you snatch your hands out of his, he says nothing as you yank the ring off. You look for the inscription inside, begging inside to whatever gods that exist that is all a trick. That it’s still the ring Elijah gave you.

‘Forever yours’ is nowhere to be seen. ‘Eternity’ is written instead.

“When did yo-”

“While you were sleeping. You’re a very deep sleeper, you know? Could do whatever I want to you.”

You get the message. With no other words you put the ring back on your finger. All you can give him is a strained smile. “It’s beautiful,” you say as you cry. 

One night when Caleb enters the apartment, she’s trailing behind him.

Her eyes look at you in surprise. You’re sitting on the couch with Eve in your arms, watching some princess movie she was obsessed with. As your daughter sees him, she rushes out of your arms to hug him.

Caleb drops her luggage down and welcomes her in his arms. 

Eve has never been a shy kid, so she walks over the young girl and tugs on her pants. “I’m Eve!” 

The girl crouches down and pats her head before introducing herself. In that moment Caleb makes his way to you, crouching down before you. “She has some business here in Skyhaven. Is it okay if she stays until then, pretty?” 

His question leaves you dumbfounded. Why would he need your permission?

“It’s fine,” you respond. He leaves a kiss on your hand before walking back to them. His hand comes down to pat Eve’s head. “You can call her Auntie, sweetheart. She’s my sister.” Eve’s eyes go wide in wonder. 

It makes you a little happy. All you could give Eve was one aunt, your real family could burn for all you care. 

“Choose any room you like. Except our bedroom and Eve’s,” Caleb lets her know.

That causes your eyebrow to raise. So, he wouldn’t be giving up his room to her like he originally had. And even though she looks so confused why you’re there, she asks nothing. You suppose she’s already too busy trying to grapple with him being alive. 

The dinner you all had together that night was so awkward. Eve gave a tired yawn in the baby chair. “You tired, baby?” you coo at her, slightly pinching her chubby cheeks. She gives you a tired nod. 

You don’t notice the adoring look Caleb sends your way but the girl sitting next to him does. 

“I’ll take her bed,” he says, getting up and carrying Eve, who makes herself at home in his arms. You watch as they enter her bedroom.

“I suppose you’ve forgiven him then.”

Her voice catches your attention. For a moment, you contemplate telling her the truth but you have no idea what Caleb will do in response. She still doesn’t know that she’s in a snake’s nest but she’ll come to that conclusion herself.

“Something like that.”

You get up and put the dishes in the sink. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times, trying to come up with a suitable question but it's interrupted by Caleb coming back. He sits back down next to her and they start talking. All you need to do is hear the words ‘Kevi’ and ‘lockdown’ to mentally check out. You’ve never been one to disassociate before but it’s how you survive in this place.

You jump a little when muscular arms wrap around you. You hear his chuckle as he presses a kiss on your shoulder. “Missed you at work today,” he mumbles against your shirt. “You say that everyday,” you quip. 

“Cause it’s true everyday.” 

His hands uncurl just so he can feel every part of your stomach, they explore, kneading the skin as they go. You turn the sink off. 

The tip of his nose nuzzles into your nape before he replaces it with his mouth. You yelp when he bites down, not from pain since he’s being gentle but from shock. Thinking otherwise, his mouth lets go before you feel him kiss the bite, his way of apologising. But then the kisses trail off, to any part of your neck he can find. You bite your lip to try and keep the noises in but a small whimper escapes when his tongue licks a stripe down your neck. 

“Caleb I don-”

“I know,” comes a husky reply. “I won’t go further than this.” Not yet.

He tugs you into your shared bedroom, not bothering to let you change. You lay together on the bed, with him practically pulling you on top of him. He absentmindedly traces shapes on your back, soothing you to sleep.

The glass makes contact with the floor and shatters.

Eve cries out of fear in your hold and you try to comfort her.

“Did that calm you down?”

You wait for him to say that. It never comes. The pats you’re giving Eve come to a stop as you stare at the rage on Caleb’s face. He’s mad at her. He shouldn’t be, not in this scene. 

His hand reaches for her wrist in such a tight hold that you wince with her. Eve shakes in your arms.

“Are you crazy?” he says through gritted teeth. “That could’ve hit them!” His voice booms through the room. Eve’s cries become louder.

Her eyes widen and her head snaps to you. “I-I didn’t mean-I’m sorry.”

“CALEB!” you force out. You hate yelling. You hate fighting. That’s when you realise you’re shaking too. You promised yourself as a kid, staring at the bruises on your arms, that you would never let your children be scared in their own home. You couldn’t even keep that promise. 

The sound of your voice breaks him out of his rage. 

“You’re the one scaring Eve right now. Let her go. You’re hurting her!”

He lets her arm go. She’s quick to let go and assess the damage. It’s red and you can see imprints of Caleb’s fingers. It’ll definitely bruise. 

Caleb stares down at the arm that hurt her. He wishes it was the mechanical one. It’s not. 

“P-pips, I-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as she pushes her way past him back to her room. You make eye contact with her but neither of you say a word. He stares at you, lost. But you’re the same. He’s not supposed to act this way. He shouldn’t be putting you above her. It’s unnatural. It goes against everything he is.

There’s nothing you can say to comfort him, you walk away and bring Eve into her room. She cries and hiccups and all you can do is repeat ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again as you press kisses into her hair.

A few days after the incident occurred pass by and tensions have started to melt away.

The two are still a little on edge around each other but you see it in their eyes. They still care for each other. Caleb had apologised profusely to Eve the next day, taking her out for ice cream. The little girl forgave him too quickly for your taste. You’ll have to teach her better when she grows up. 

Currently Eve is at school and Caleb at his job, not much was needed for you at work so you’re back. You laze on the dining chair, your mind is clear for once. But peace never lasts long for you. She enters the apartment, out of breath.

You stare at her and wait.

“He’s keeping you here, isn’t he?”

“And ten points goes to the winner,” you clap. “What would you like for your reward?”

“Help. I’d like help.”

She sits in front of you, launching into details about the toring chip in his head. What it is and what it does. The professor that did it to him. She tells you about what Kevi has become. All of it you already know.

She looks at you for a reaction but you keep your blank expression.

“And it matters to me, why?”

Her expression falters. “B-because it means he’s doing this under the chip's influence. It’s not his fault! We can help him!”

“We?” you raise an eyebrow. “Okay, let’s say I’m willing to entertain this. You said the chip could wipe all his emotions?”

She nods.

“Good.”

“W-what…?”

“I hope that fucking happens. After everything he’s put me through, it’s what he deserves.”

“Don’t you get it? If we find a way to get rid of the chip then he’ll go back to normal. He’ll let you go.”

“No, he won’t,” you lean back in the chair. “You don’t see it because you’re still blinded by the man you think he is. The chip didn’t give him this…infatuation out of nowhere. It just took away the resolve that stopped him from acting on it. Which is why it’s best that the chip works, if he doesn’t feel then he’ll let me go.” 

She stares at you in horror. 

“Did you really believe I would want to help him?” you scoff. “That’s cruel, especially from you. Are you sure you’re a hunter?” you shake your head at her. “Maybe you two are more alike than you think.”

She stares down at her hands, her hair covers her face so you can’t see what expression she’s wearing. You wait for her to start yelling but it doesn’t happen.

“...You’re right,” she admits. When she lifts her head back up, tears are running down her face. “I just want him back, the way he used to be. Even if it meant looking the other way.” 

You should feel anger. You should feel the need to give her a slap or two. But all you see sitting before you is a little girl crying out for her brother. Besides, nothing you say or do will match the disgust and guilt she’s currently feeling at herself.

She gets up. “I’ll find a way to get you out of here.”

“And what? Can you guarantee protection for my child? For my loved ones? Because he threatened all of them. And he’ll go through with each one.”

She goes silent again.

“That’s what I thought. I think it’s best that you finish whatever you came here to do. And then go back to Linkon. The Caleb you miss died in that fire. Grieve that version of him and move on. Don’t come back. It’ll make all our lives easier.”

“I can’t just leave you here!”

You scoff again. “You and I both know you’re not going to do anything. You love him too much. Even if you tried, what’ll you do when, not if, when the Fleet finds out? They’ll dispose of him but not before killing me and my daughter in the process. So, drop that righteous attitude and just leave.” 

She’s gone the next day.

It’s been a month since then.

You sit in the most uncomfortable position on the couch. It’s the only thing bringing you relief from the cramps.

Your husband enters the room.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as a small groan escapes you.

“Period,” you’ve taken to giving him one worded answers, sometimes no answer at all. 

“It’s okay. You won’t have this problem next month.”

He watches as the confusion on your face is replaced with horror. He gives you a smile and kisses your temple. “I have to go now. I’ll be back at night, hon.” He leans down to your ear. “We’ll get started then,” he rubs your round stomach, like he already sees what he plans. “Eve deserves some siblings.”

You don’t respond as he leaves. Those words repeat in your head. They throb in your ears. 

Siblings. As in plural. As in more than one. 

There’s nothing you can do to combat the dread you feel for the rest of the day. He’s already decided your future and you both know that you can’t do anything about it. 

You stand before the shelf. The one with the picture of her and Caleb in their childhood. A bitter feeling grows at their happy smiles.

While she always got the perfect Caleb - the act he performed only for her - you got the real one. The one who’ll say it’s time he gets to be selfish when you both know selfish is all he’s ever been with you. 

A crack had begun to form in you the day you met him, one so small you never noticed. It stayed that way even as it began to get larger and new ones joined for you were too lost in him to realise. When you did notice, it was too late. All you heard as he left you was the sound of you shattering.

Then he waited for you to patch yourself back up so he could do it again. You’ve finally realised what you should’ve back then. He’ll destroy you, ruin you if it means keeping you by his side.

He’ll do it all with no remorse.

And it’s too late for you, you realise as you hear the sound again.

He won.

AN: I know nothing about programming. Why did I make the reader one, then? Maybe because I like making my life difficult! Don’t take anything I’ve written in regards to her job seriously, I just made shit up. 

I did make reader plus size but I’ve never been one to focus on the bodies of those I write about. 

I did not mean for Caleb to turn out this way but I lost the 50/50 to him and didn’t get Master of Fate so this is my revenge :) (I waited so long for the fucking rerun) 

Let me know if you would like to be on the tag list for the other versions!

Tag list: @zeverean @quill-for-glory @smittenlynn @nm4565natty @miuangel

[happyk44]

[Text ID: 1. #literally #i stopped posting because no one engages with my fics at all #it's not a pleasant feeling #i don't want to have to join fucking discord servers or some other forums just for the off chance that people might be discussing my fic #you have to leave comments on fics #or else what is the point

2. #how infuriating to know there are people saying nice things about you who won't say them *to* you

3. #i remember finding out once #that a group of mutual fandom acquaintances had an entire roleplay server based off one of my fics #meanwhile it was sitting at 50 hits 3 likes and 0 comments #then they got upset at my for shelving the fic like #what did you expect

4. #yeahhhhhhhh #every day my desire to write again is knocked down by shit like this

5. dude feed your writers and your artists #making art is lonely and we share it to find community

6. #ao3 #fandom #i struggle with the lack of comments so much #like I legit feel like there's no point in posting sometimes might as well just keep shit in the google docs

7. #my non-secret AO3 account's been updated recently and there hasn't been much engagement #it kind of soured me on updating those stories for awhile

8. why is there this weird push to make fandom less accessible to OTHER FANS?

9. #writing #i get kudos nearly every day and it's lovely #but i get comments like #once every few months #people are reading but not leaving their thoughts and ngl that kinda sucks

10. #How are writers supposed to know you like their work if they CANOT see it??? #How are they supposed to stay motivated and write more if they cannot see how many people actually like it??? #I am writing 13k - 15k chapters; do you know how LONG that takes??? How much time and effort??? #It's why I reblog the chapter index as much as I do; I NEED people to tell me if they like them #Otherwise it just feels like I'm posting my stuff on a brick wall that nobody is looking at #It's SO demotivating; to the point where I start to wonder if it's even worth continuing at times

11. #Brb literally crying at the very idea of how cheated I would feel if people did this for my fics

12. #(I keep discovering people that have - according to them - been gushing about my writing on discord) #(often I didn't even know these people existed because they never left me a comment) #(sometimes it's only months later through discord that I learn lots of people loved a scene that I thought totally flopped-) #(-because nobody ever once said anything about that scene in my comments.) #(if nobody says they liked it - I assume nobody liked it. please tell me if you like it.) #(you can tell your friends too but I'm gonna get more out of it than they are.)

13. #yeah I got six kudos the other day on a 150k fic from three years ago #and i was like ok clearly someone has shared this in their discord group and they've all read it and that's lovely! #they must have said really nice things about it for the whole group to presumably have about it a lot (it is 150k of fic) #wish a single one of them had said that in a comment instead of me having to just imagine the situation!

14. #fics literally need comments to survive like #yeah it's for yourself and for the job of creating #but it's a STORY #with detail put into it and plot twists and things that I want to #i'm TELLING YOU a story #of course I want to see how the people I'm telling the story to think lol #PLEASE comment

15. #i tried to get back into writing fic #but the sheer lack of comments made me feel less motivated #kinda need feedback or i feel like my writing is getting lost into the Void #so i deleted the fic and gave up

16. #this #like my god why go to such lengths to NOT tell the author you liked their fic #this sort of thing leads to despair and to writers quitting #please let writers know you appreciate their work #please #why must we beg for crumbs

17. #yeah #I try to avoid being driven or encouraged by comments too much #no matter how much I deeply love and appreciate everyone who DOES take that time #because people are tired and busy #but that feeling of if I stopped 10000 people would take my place #that hit kinda hard today

18. #I had this experience #people were talking about my fic on a server I wasn't on #meanwhile I was having an existential crisis because no one was commenting on the fic itself #i was ready to abandon it until someone told me about the server #only a few years ago i could expect at least 20 comments on each chapter #now if i hit double digits that feels like a win #fic writing woes

19. #please do this #writing is hard #[left arrow] prev tags #Ain't it #I see people rave about my stories on rec lists or see lovely comments in the bookmarks #You're already writing all that down #Why would you not tell ME #You know I am a human person right? #I publish these this for you to enjoy; I want to SHARE them with you

20. #sometimes i will get half a dozen kudos on the same fic in one day #(my fics are not popular so this is notable for me lol) #and it does make me wonder if the link just got posted in a group chat somewhere that i'm not part of #i did once get added to such a group chat and i was like... why didn't any of you comment?

21. #yeah I had dozens of docs on ff.net #ao3? 2 #what's the point of writing fanfiction when it can stay perfect in my head and I get the same level of engagement anyway #I posted to find people to talk about the stuff I liked #nobody wants to chill so I don't post anymore

22. #THIS #I'll randomly get an uptick of kudoses on an older fic and know someone shared it in a group chat #But no comments :/

23. #jfc that just makes me want to scream #hey kids guess what - if you create these little book clubs and exclude fic authors #you won't get any more fic #i can't tell you how much the comment count on my fics has gone down over the years #because this generation of fans think that kudos or inbox-squeeing or DMs is a substitute for an actual comment

24. I've been told by a reader "they love your fic in my server" and like oh.... Okay, guess I'll never find out. Oh well.

/end ID]

someone I follow on the bird app just announced they’re starting a very exclusive private fic server because they and a bunch of other people want to talk about how much they love the fics they’re reading, and as an author can I just say that a really great place to talk about a fic you love is in the comments for that fic

I understand that people are trying to create safe spaces, but as the number of comments that I get on my fics dwindles with each passing year, knowing these spaces exist where my fics are being discussed, places that I am excluded from, makes me want to write fic LESS

I mean I guess who cares, right, because if I stop writing, there’s 10,000 other people that will continue…but if you participate in a fic “book club” server and you say nice things there about a fic you loved, maybe copy and paste that into a comment on AO3?

the only thing fanfic writers are asking for in return for hours of hard work is attention. please don’t rob us of the one thing that we hope for when we hit “post”

[dammit-tazmuir]

Something I think people don't acknowledge or appreciate enough about Paul is that they existed before their full official birth. They were test run temporarily. In (chapter) 9, in the beach flashback, Camilla becomes Camilla-and-Palamedes, not quite with Paul's eyes but with one of Cam's and one of Pal's, and Nona recognizes them as a new person who smiles at her with a new person's smile.

Afterward, Camilla-and-Palamedes return to being Camilla separated from Palamedes. This happened at least once, but despite the horrific toll it takes on Camilla's body after the fact, the way Pyrrha yells at them at times also implies this happened a more than once.

Now please consider that alongside Camilla crying with absolute relief. Camilla who knows what it feels like to be Paul, or at least a proto version of Paul, and so deeply enthusiastically proclaims, "Palamedes, yes. My whole life, yes. Yes, forever, yes. Life is too short and love is too long." Camilla who has addressed him by name on-screen exactly once before this moment (as a child in Doctor Sex, when they finally dropped all professional airs and let themselves be stupid kids laughing until it hurt) breaking that out here of all places. Palamedes who has suffered so much guilt about the burden she's taken on in his name, knowing full well she wouldn't stop even if he begged her to, who also knows what if feels like to be Paul and how much they can do when they're like that. Camilla and Palamedes who understand that accessing that power in half measures will also kill them both, but in a way that makes them useless to everyone else they love, and without doing so at all they can be of very little use, but going all in will make them a nearly unstoppable asset.

Would you truly tell me you would have rather had them suffer being forever divided by a matter of seconds? "Love and freedom don't coexist" but Paul is the closest thing they will ever have to it. Is your attachment to who they were worth hating who they've become, even knowing that they made this decision fully informed, having tested it and decided together it's what they both wanted more than anything in the world?

You can miss them and still be happy for them. You can be sad that they're no longer the same and still recognize the beauty and triumph in what they've become. If you loved Camilla and you loved Palamedes, how can you not love Paul? Would you really look at them of all characters and proclaim without irony that you're taking your love away?

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR IX

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 2.3k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I hope I got everyone who asked to be added to the taglist. if possible, if you want to be added, can you let me know in the most recent chapter? that way I don't have to scour through all the previous chapter comments, I'm worried I'll miss or forget to add you 🩵

RACE TRACK

You were having the time of your life.

The last thing you expected when Jason texted you about a second date was to end up behind the wheel of a vintage muscle car, roaring around a private race track like you were in Fast and Furious: Gotham Drift.

Yet here you were—hands gripping the steering wheel, wind whipping through your hair, tires screeching against hot pavement.

And the best part?

You were driving.

“You know, my brother used to love cars,” you babbled, voice rising over the thunder of the engine. “We used to sneak out to the track at night and watch others race. He swore he’d be a professional driver one day.”

Jason’s ears perked up at the mention of your brother.

It was subtle, the way his posture shifted—just a slight tilt of his head, a flicker of interest in his eyes. He kept his expression relaxed, but inside, his mind sharpened,

He leaned in, ever so slightly, hoping you’d keep going. Hoping you’d slip something. A name. A location. A breadcrumb he could follow.

But instead, you let out a wild cheer, head thrown back in exhilaration as the car hit the straightaway.

“This is amazing!” you shouted, laughter bursting from your chest, raw and unfiltered, as the engine snarled like a beast beneath the hood. The tires screeched against the asphalt, and wind tore through the open windows, stealing your words and replacing them with pure adrenaline.

Beside you, Jason barked out a laugh—half amused, half alarmed—but his eyes kept flicking toward the speedometer.

You were a very good driver.

You were also going very fast.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he called over the roar of the engine, “but are you trying to kill us on our second date?”

You grinned, wild and unrepentant, shooting him a quick glance. “Is that fear in your voice?”

Jason scoffed, but the way his hand clenched the door handle said otherwise.

“In your dreams,” he shot back, though his voice pitched a little higher as you took the next corner without so much as tapping the brakes.

You let out a delighted laugh and downshifted with an aggressive flick of your wrist, sending the car into a perfect curve along the bend. The tires screamed. Jason did not—but it was a close thing.

“God, you’re insane,” he muttered, but there was unmistakable admiration in his tone.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, eyes gleaming as the straightaway opened up ahead. “Think I can hit 120?”

“Absolutely not—”

But you were already gunning it.

The engine howled, the track blurred, and Jason’s curses were lost to the wind. You were flying now, a streak of black and chrome cutting across the asphalt.

As you were having the time of your life something in the rearview mirror caught Jason’s attention. His eyes narrowed and subtly he angled the side mirror, just enough to catch the glint of something, cutting through the sky behind them.

A small, black silhouette trailing in their wake, a Bat drone.

Dick.

Jason’s jaw ticked, just once as he glanced back and subtly raised his middle finger at the camera.

BAT CAVE

Dick, who had been leaning over Barbara’s shoulder watching the live feed, blinked in disbelief. “Did he just give our bird the bird?”

Barbara didn’t even look up, her jaw working steadily as she lazily chewed her gum. She casually tapped a few keys, zooming in on the grainy screen. “Yep.”

There was a beat. Then her chewing slowed.

“Wait… what’s he doing?”

Both of them leaned in, eyes narrowing as Jason shifted in his seat. The camera caught the subtle movement—his arm reaching behind the passenger seat, fingers curling around something just out of view. Then, without warning, Jason twisted toward the drone in one fluid, practiced motion.

And the screen blinked to static.

Barbara whipped around in her chair, eyes wide. “He just shot my drone! That was a custom build!”

Dick took a small step back, hands raised as if she were about to launch something sharp at his head. “Okay—okay, I didn’t think he’d see it!”

Stephanie smirked. With a few keystrokes, she brought up the final frame before the drone feed cut to black—Jason caught mid-motion, his face half-lit by sunlight and locked in a cocky smirk, one hand proudly raised with his middle finger aimed directly at the lens.

She grinned. “This would make a killer profile picture. The ladies will go crazy for it.”

“Stephanie!”

“What was that?!” you exclaimed, twisting slightly to glance over your shoulder at the sudden pop that echoed behind you.

“Eyes on the road!” Jason yelped, one hand flying out instinctively to steady the wheel as you started to turn. “What was what? That was just the… exhaust. Yeah. Backfire.”

You squinted at him. “Sounded more like a gunshot or explosion.”

He winced, then plastered on a smile far too fast to be innocent. “Performance vehicle. Loud pipes. Very normal.”

You didn’t look convinced, but before you could press further, the track opened up again into a long, gorgeous straightaway—and Jason seized his moment.

“Alright, speed demon,” he said, leaning close with a glint in his eye, voice low and tempting, “think you can beat your last time down this stretch?”

Your attention snapped back to the track, the corner of your mouth lifting. “Is that a challenge?”

He shrugged, smug. “Unless you’re scared.”

“Oh, you are so going to eat those words.”

The car shot forward once more, tires screaming as you floored it, laughter spilling past your lips. Jason leaned back, grinning as the wind whipped around him—less concerned now that you were distracted, and more impressed than ever at your driving skills.

He’d have to apologize to Barbara later.

Probably.

Maybe.

Barbara was already turning to glare at Dick. “I’m going to strangle him.” She crossed her arms, jaw tight. “And you’re not off the hook either, Romeo. That drone wasn’t cheap.”

Dick winced. “We’ll pay for it.”

Barbara narrowed her eyes. “You two better.”

He held up his hands in surrender, then turned quickly—perhaps wisely—to Stephanie, who was back to lounging at the nearby console, one leg hooked over the arm of the chair, scrolling through a tablet.

“What do you have for me?” he asked.

Stephanie didn’t miss a beat. “She likes red wine and has a secret sweet tooth—keeps chocolate-covered almonds in her bedside drawer.”

Dick arched a brow.

“She’s not subtle about it,” Steph added, shrugging. “Lavender bath salts. Her Spotify history is a surprising mix of everything, but she primarily listens to indie rock, electronic house, and top 40 hits. Gotta say… not what I expected from a scientist like her. I would’ve clocked her for some Beethoven, maybe a little Philip Glass if she was feeling edgy.”

Barbara raised a brow. “You hacked her Spotify? How is that even relevant to the Joker case?”

“Hey, I’m just covering all my bases,” Steph shot Dick a knowing wink, “and I temporarily borrowed access,” Steph corrected. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Dick waved a hand. “Keep going.”

“And that painting you noticed hanging in her apartment?” Steph tilted her head with a grin. “Gustav Klimt. The Kiss, limited reproduction. She’s an art lover—deep dives into symbolism, expressionism, romanticism.”

Dick leaned back, brows drawing together thoughtfully. “Huh.” Then he paused looking to Stephanie.  “You got all that since yesterday?”

Steph looked up, smug. “Please. I got all of this in one hour”

ART GALLERY

You were still buzzing from your date with Jason—adrenaline thrumming through your veins, your hair windswept, your cheeks sore from smiling. You had barely made it home and kicked off your shoes, when your phone buzzed again.

Another missed call. You ignored it.

Instead, your attention drifted to the text that had just come in.

Dick:

Got any plans tonight?

You bit your lip, heart skipping. Two dates in one day should’ve been too much. Should’ve felt like whiplash. But somehow, with him, you couldn’t say no.

Which was how you ended up here—standing in a dimly lit private gallery, surrounded by warm golden frames and soft overhead spotlights.  It was just the two of you. No crowds. No noise. Just the art and him.

You turned to Dick with wide eyes. “How did you even do this?”

He flashed you that signature smile, that you’ve come to associate to him— warm and utterly charming. “I have my ways,” he said casually, hands in his pockets as he led you deeper into the exhibit. “And finally, we get to the main piece.”

Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze landed on the painting in front of you. “Is that—? No. Is this what I think it is?”

You both spoke the artist’s name at the same time, voices overlapping in perfect harmony. Your head snapped up to meet his eyes, both of you frozen in mutual shock.

“He’s my favourite artist,” Dick said, voice softer now, almost reverent.

Your lips parted. “He’s my favourite artist. Are these the originals?”

He nodded, clearly pleased. “Yeah. You recognize this one? The Harpist, 1895?”

“Yes!” you gasped, stepping closer, instinctively leaning in to examine the texture, the detail, the brushwork. “The lines, the composition...”

“Pre-Secession movement,” Dick said smoothly, strolling beside you like a seasoned curator. In a van parked discreetly outside, Barbara’s voice crackled in his earpiece.

“Now say: ‘Look at the tension between two and three dimensionality.’”

Dick echoed obediently, “Do you see the tension between two and three dimensionality? It’s… incredible.”

You turned to him, laughing in disbelief. “How do you know this?!”

He just grinned and pivoted smoothly, guiding you to the next painting.

“This is one of my favourites,” he said.

Your breath caught. 

“Undine, 1902.”

“Undine, 1902,” Dick repeated a heartbeat later.

You stepped closer to the canvas, your voice dropping to a hush. “Gorgeous,” you murmured. “Dick, this is amazing.”

“Innovation became Intrinsic…”

“…to Degas and other modernists,” he continued reciting Barbara’s information. “You can see the influence of art nouveau in the curvature and thematic flow.”

You turned to look at him, eyes wide with something between shock and admiration. “You really know your stuff.”

Dick smiled faintly, hands clasped behind his back in his best art-patron pose. “Well… you know.”

Then, a pause—Barbara’s voice chirped in his ear a split second too late.

“You know,” he added, “he was a strong advocate in the finger painting movement.”

Silence.

You blinked.

He blinked.

“…What?” you said, your brow furrowing.

Dick froze. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. “I—uh…”

BAT CAVE

Unknown to Dick, it was no longer Barbara coaching him. Jason and Tim sat hunched over a custom console, cackling at the fact they managed to hack into Barbara’s comms.

Tim leaned back with a satisfied smirk, spinning slightly in his chair. “Told you I could get into her comms.”

Jason grinned, shushing him as he leaned forward with a glint in his eye, dragging the mic close to his mouth. He pressed the button and, with the voice of Barbara Gordon—courtesy of a little audio sorcery—he purred, “Sometimes, he would finger his paintings…”

“…to get closer to them.”

Dick squinted slightly, doing his best not to react outwardly even as his stomach dropped. What the hell was Barbara saying?

“He… um…” He cleared his throat. “He used his… he…”

You tilted your head, confused by the sudden hesitation.

Dick forced a smile, though it looked more like a grimace. “The intimacy with the canvas. To finger a painting—”

Your eyes widened. His did too.

“—To paint,” he corrected quickly, voice rising in pitch as he panicked, “using hands. With his hands.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence where your expression teetered between bemusement and concern.

“Sometimes he would use mud and sticks,” came Barbara’s voice again—or what sounded like Barbara’s voice.

Your brows furrowed. “He did?” You squinted at the painting in front of you, genuinely puzzled. “I don’t remember reading that.”

Dick winced internally, already praying to every art god in existence that you wouldn’t fact-check this later.

“And if he couldn’t find a stick…”

“And if he couldn’t find a stick…” 

“…He would use his dick.”

“…He would use his di—” The word stopped dead in his throat as his brain finally processed it.

Your head snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle your neck didn’t cramp. You stared at him, eyes wide, searching his face.

Dick cleared his throat, his fingers twitching as he reached up to scratch behind his ear—only it wasn’t a scratch. With one swift, practiced motion, he tore the earpiece out and tucked it into his pocket, all without breaking stride.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice a touch hoarse, “I think that’s enough talking.”

He gestured toward a tall, sheet-covered frame near the far end of the gallery. “Let’s let the paintings speak for themselves.”

Curiosity flickered across your face, but before you could ask anything, he reached up and pulled the linen sheet down in one smooth motion.

The fabric fell away—and time seemed to stop.

Framed in delicate gold leaf and soft lighting stood Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss. The gilded masterpiece shimmered beneath the spotlights, rich with warmth and intimacy, every curve and contour singing with emotion and longing.

You took a breath—but it hitched, catching in your throat. “Oh my god…” you whispered. “This is amazing. It’s so beautiful… just… just incredible.”

You stepped closer, as if drawn by gravity alone, and without thinking, your arms slipped around Dick’s, your head coming to rest gently against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He didn’t even blink.

“Yeah,” he murmured finally, barely audible over the hum of the room. “It is…”

But his eyes weren’t on the painting.

They were on you.

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[azzibueckers5]

i want you to need me (need to want something more)

part 2: in which paige is so up. like so fucking up.

(ao3 link) (part 1) (wc: ~ 8k) (read iwkpa before this series)

cw: sexual content

AN: i hope this fixes the heartache adequately? if not don't let me know I'll cry <3 ummm I wrote the majority of the smut having been up for like 36 hours straight and then edited it after three glasses of wine? so uh good luck— ill go through and edit again in a couple days lmfao but im warningggg you i got really lazy towards the end like. i’m sorry <3333333 also pls suspend your disbelief about the wings theoretically making the playoffs in 2026 cause... whewwwww not looking likely. also this is literally twice as plotless as the last chapter of iwkpa... and three times as nonesensical and ridiculous so just like. keep that in mind. also it wasn't supposed to be this smutty man idk it got away from me. happy day!

+1 october 2026, dallas, texas

paige’s phone finally rings with the familiar ringtone she’s been waiting on for what feels like hours, just as she’s ushering her straggling teammates out of her apartment. she’d hosted a watch party after practice for the final game of the liberty–mystics semifinals, and though she loves her teammates, she’s been subtly (and then entirely unsubtly) trying to kick them out since the final buzzer in dc’s overtime loss. 

nai and lyss had tried valiantly to cheer her up, but not being able to be there for azzi and having to watch her expression crumple through the television screen had been entirely awful and she’d just wanted to sit on the alone couch in silence until her girlfriend called. 

the silver lining of their loss meant that azzi might be able to make it to her semi game tomorrow night, but she puts that thought on the backburner when she answers the facetime, jumping straight into sympathetic girlfriend mode. 

azzi’s already talking on the other side of the line, hammering on angrily about “the fucking shit ass refs” and how it was a “rigged ass fucking game,” and paige fights to keep her smile at just seeing azzi’s face on her screen a secret. post-loss azzi is a force to be reckoned with and she won’t jeopardize putting herself as the target by showing positive emotion.

it seems azzi has skipped being sad about it entirely and jumped straight into being pissed, which is precisely paige’s post game specialty, and she lets her ramble, chiming in here and there with indignant comments on how bad the refs were and agreements with how poor their screens had been. 

azzi had, surprise surprise, played spectacularly, and had unofficially locked in rookie of the year with a 27 point effort, but paige knows the competitive nature of her girlfriend is cut from the same cloth as her own, and her main goal is to try and keep azzi’s anger directed away from her very few mistakes and make sure she doesn’t veer into self-deprecation. 

she’s mostly successful, and by the time azzi leaves the facilities, she’s calmed down enough to let the loss sink in a bit more. when she finally climbs onto the bus that will take them back to the hotel, she seems to relax even further, and lets out a quiet “i miss you.” 

paige’s face softens immediately. “miss you too, az. so bad.”

“booked a flight already for tomorrow morning, but i might not get in early enough to see you before the game.” she says it apologetically, like she’s sorry she can’t charter a flight there herself, and paige smiles a little bit at how in sync they are, how much she can tell they both just want a hug. 

seeing each other four times over a four month span wasn’t exactly conducive to a honeymoon phase, and though they were putting up a valiant effort anyways, she craved azzi’s physical presence more than anything. paige doesn’t think she’d ever been on facetime this much, and that’s including the month before she’d quarantined with the fudds and had been stuck inside all day, on the phone with azzi every millisecond. 

it still isn’t enough, though, and her heart rate speeds up at just the thought of having azzi within arms reach in only a day’s time. 

“s’okay, i’ll play better even just knowing you’re in the stands,” she says, and means it. azzi has always been the best motivator.

“you better. one of us has got to wi-”

“shhhh,” she cuts azzi off, “don’t jinx me.”

“yeah, yeah.” she pauses for a second, just looking at paige through the screen, and then there’s commotion on the other end and she gets distracted for a bit, clearly trying to negotiate seating arrangements. when she turns back, she sighs, “listen, baby, i’m gonna hang up so no one kills me for being on the phone on the bus, but i’ll text you when i get to the hotel.”

paige pouts. “how about you call me when you get to the hotel.”

azzi’s face is soft and knowing when she says “you’re gonna be asleep by the time i get there.”

“nuh-uh,” she claims, fighting a yawn. “gonna wait right here, awake, on the couch till you call.”

azzi just laughs. “if you say so. i’ll see you tomorrow, baby. love you.”

paige hangs up with an i love you too and a smile, and is only a little guilty when she thinks about how excited she is that azzi is coming to dallas tomorrow, instead of having to wait longer for their teams to arrange it.

she wedges herself further into her couch cushions, and puts on a random show, determined to stay true to her word and wait up for azzi’s call. 

she must fall asleep like that, though, nestled into the couch, because she wakes what feels like hours later to the gentle sensation of hands in her hair and the murmur of her name. 

she blinks, disoriented and disbelieving, to the sight of azzi standing above her, looking soft and delightful and angelic. 

paige stares. 

“hi,” the vision before her says, bashful, and paige’s brain suddenly registers that she’s not dreaming and that azzi is in fact, standing in front of her. 

in her living room. in dallas.

she shoots up from her position on the couch to sit up and pull azzi down into a hug, and the brunette sinks into her, pressing her face into paige’s neck like she’s needed the contact just as badly. 

“az, wh- what’re you doing here?” 

her words are slurred into azzi’s shoulder, voice thick with sleep and confusion, and she can feel azzi’s laugh at her bewilderment against her chest, because azzi here. in paige’s arms. 

what.  

“changed my flight, couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” she says, and paige’s heart swells. she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to hearing azzi say things like that and knowing that she means for them to come across exactly as paige’s heart interprets them. “needed a consolatory cuddle.”

paige just hums and burrows closer, relishing in her presence. “what time s’it.”

“little past three. told you you’d fall asleep.”

paige slides her hands up underneath azzi’s sweatshirt just to feel more of her skin and ignores the opportunity to argue with her about how she’d only fallen asleep because azzi took too long to call, and instead leans back to press a gentle kiss to her mouth. “missed you.”

“mmhm.” azzi knocks their foreheads together in agreement, kisses her again, short and sweet, and then climbs off paige’s lap, ignoring her grumbling protests.

she holds her hand out, waiting, and says “c’mon. more of that after but in your bed.”

and well. paige would be crazy to refuse. 

she latches sleepily onto azzi’s back as they stumble down the hallway, and paige knows azzi has missed her because she doesn’t complain when she stays tucked up against her side throughout their entire nighttime routine– even while they brush their teeth at the same time, knocking elbows– and making the process of getting ready for bed highly inefficient. 

they shed their day clothes simultaneously, and paige bats a t-shirt out of azzi’s hands when she goes to put one on, pressing her now naked front up against azzi’s bare back and running her hands down from her ribs to her hips, grunting in protest at the idea of azzi covering any skin. azzi glares, entirely non-threateningly, over her shoulder.

“s’too late for that. sleep only. save it for tomorrow.”

“yes, ma’am.” she presses a kiss to her shoulder, “just like to feel you.”

azzi melts immediately– score– and when they climb into bed, paige instantly pulls azzi into her arms, relishing in the skin on skin contact and burrowing them under the covers.

she curls closer, trying to crawl inside azzi’s skin, and presses a contented sigh into her shoulder as their legs tangle. “goodnight, rookie of the year azzi fudd.”

her responding giggle is soft and just for paige, and she wants to bottle up the sound and keep it for a day when she’s desperately missing this. “night, p. love you.”

they drift off in seconds, and paige sleeps better than she has in weeks. 

…

when she wakes, a second time, it’s to little rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks in her blinds and the vision of azzi sleeping peacefully next to her, head pillowed on paige’s bicep and face relaxed. 

her heart clenches in her chest at the view and she takes a second to imprint the sight to memory, eyes tracing the slope of azzi’s nose and the birthmark on her jawline and the dark smudge of her lashes. it feels peaceful in a way that waking up first in their dorms in storrs and watching azzi sleep had never been.

aside from the fact that she’s only gotten to wake up next to her a measly four times since july, she also relishes in the security of an azzi that was entirely hers in her arms. 

she’d spent years stirring to the same sight, but never for the reasons paige had so desperately dreamed of, and it was surreal, in a way, to know that she could gently shake azzi awake and kiss her as much as she pleased. 

she’d done just that their first night together, in this very bed. paige had jerked awake before dawn with wet eyes and the crippling fear that she’d dreamed up the entirety of the prior day's events, and even the sight of azzi sleeping steadily beside her hadn’t been enough to stop the racing of her heart. she’d coaxed azzi awake, gently, just to kiss her, to cement it as real, and azzi had caught on immediately to her insecurity, whispering reassurances and apologies into paige’s skin until they’d both drifted off again, appeased. 

paige loves her so much. 

she’d almost forgotten, in the year they’d started referring to as the between, how well they could read each other's thoughts, and she’d missed the intimacy and comfort of just being so wholly understood by someone else. 

they’d slotted right back together as if they’d never been separated, except this time with awesome things like blatant flirting and sex and transparent feelings, and after spending so many years pining after azzi and thinking hopelessly that she’d never have her in the way that she truly wanted, whenever she’s reminded that she does have her, she gets a little bit breathless.

her attention is pulled from her nauseatingly sappy thoughts when azzi begins to stir, blinking awake slowly, and paige watches, enraptured, trying to catalogue every flutter of her eyelashes, every shift of her brow. she opens her eyes briefly, and glances at the way paige is unashamedly observing her, before closing them again and nestling closer, smile growing on her face. 

paige curls the arm azzi’s been using as a pillow tighter around her side, wanting her even closer, and is delightfully reminded by the bare skin of azzi’s lower back that they opted out of clothes the night before. beautiful. past paige was so thoughtful. 

“s’rude to stare, y’know,” azzi mumbles into the skin of her shoulder, eyes still shut. 

paige debates if she wants to be sentimental or annoying in response. being strictly sentimental might have quicker morning sex odds, but why choose one path when you can have both? 

“can’t help it, you’re too beautiful.” her voice comes out raspy in the way she knows azzi loves, and she fights to keep her smirk internal when the brunette’s cheeks flush. incredible. she’s so in there.

azzi pokes her gently in the stomach, yawns (extremely cutely), and says “corny this morning.” 

“s’not corny if it’s true.”

“that just made it doubly as corny.”

“whatever. missed you while we were sleeping.” paige’s grin is wide and pleased, and azzi fights a smile, nose scrunching. paige wants to bite her nose. mornings apparently give her cuteness aggression. 

“how’s that possible when you told me on facetime last week that you dream about me every night.” 

paige brushes a thumb over the smooth skin of azzi’s cheekbone, soft and fond. “s’not the same as the real-life thing.”

azzi rolls her eyes, disbelieving. “alright prince charming.” 

paige flicks her forehead affectionately, and they lapse into a comfortable silence for a minute.

and then azzi makes a point to be a pest and drags her frigid toes up paige’s calf, nudging at the back of her knees, and it’s extremely annoying, and entirely unsexy. 

in an completely unrelated turn of events, heat pools like lava in paige’s core, and her abs clench on instinct. 

azzi laughs, disbelieving and gleeful, and pushes up on her arm a little bit to look down at paige. “there is no way that turned you on.” 

paige has been more or less half turned on since the second azzi got here last night. 

“bruh,” paige turns her face away from azzi in defiance and grunts, “it didn’t.”

“really,” the brunette’s fingers tease down paige’s stomach, and she grins, taunting, when goosebumps erupt across paige’s abdomen. “so you’re saying if i move my hand down-” she drags knuckles lower and ghosts a touch over the apex of her thighs “-here, i won't find you wet?” 

her voice comes out low and intentional, and paige doesn’t know how the mood switched so fast but she’s absolutely not complaining one bit. 

it’s too early to come up with a quick response, so instead paige just surges up to kiss her, tongue slipping in almost immediately, and she shifts azzi fully on top of her when she returns the kiss with the same fervor. 

it’s languid and heated all in one, and paige lets herself bask in the feeling of having azzi on top of her for the first time in weeks, dragging her hands across her back and down to grip her ass, swallowing her moan at the contact. 

“g’morning,” azzi says when they break apart to breathe, smile radiant and achingly beautiful, and paige can feel her own answering grin splitting across her face. 

“excellent, fantastic morning.”

azzi giggles– paige wants to wake up to that sound for the rest of her life– before dragging her mouth down to paige’s neck and trailing kisses down her throat to her collarbone, careful not to leave any marks. this cautiousness must fly out the window when she gets to paige’s tit, however, because she immediately sucks a bruise into the soft skin of her flesh, before continuing on a warpath down across paige’s abdomen. 

she starts at her navel, biting a mark into the muscle of her stomach and pausing to admire, before repeating the process twice more, moving down. by the time she gets to paige’s pelvis, she’s downright dripping, hips twitching against azzi’s arms and begging for contact. 

“azzi, baby, you’re killin’ me,” she slurs, when the younger girl sucks a particularly deep bruise into the meat of her inner thigh, so close to where paige needs her. 

“i’ll get there, be patient,” she says, voice unfairly clear in comparison to paige, eyes dark and teasing. paige has never been particularly patient to begin with, and if she expects her to start now, she’s sorely mistaken.

“need it now, please,” she keens. it seems she’s not above begging this morning, and she’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how hot the brunettes gaze is, how affected she looks from between paige’s legs.

“need what?” she simpers, the bitch, breath blowing across paige’s cunt in a way that must be intentional. 

paige nearly cries at the ghost of sensation, arching her back in search of more, and whines out “your mouth, please azzi, need it,” hands coming down to tangle in her hair.

it seems azzi is feeling accommodating this morning, because she smiles, bites at the mark she’s just left high on paige’s quad, and then dives in, flattening her tongue immediately and lapping at paige’s dripping center like she’s starving for it. 

and jesus christ, paige is so super not gonna last if she keeps this up. because paige is worked up from the teasing, and from azzi’s general presence, and from the fact that she just slept naked next to her after almost a month of not seeing her. and also the fact that azzi has decided to fucking devour her, hands pressing into paige’s thighs to keep her steady, tongue dragging down to her hole and circling before tracing back up to suck at her clit. 

she repeats that motion several times, before moving down to focus at paige’s cunt, thrusting her tongue inside and letting her nose brush the bundle of nerves above, and. 

and usually, under normal circumstances, paige takes a minimum of ten minutes to come. usually, also, however, paige is not being given the most attentive head of her life, and isn’t coming off a month of being touch starved.

thus, it only takes a few minutes before she’s slurring out  “fuck, azzi m’gonna come fuck,” hips trying to grind up into the younger girls tongue. 

azzi nods, the movement nudging paige’s clit, and breathes out “want you to, please.”

she sounds almost as desperate for it as paige is, like she needs her to come this instant, and this thought combined with another purposeful lick at paige's entrance has her coming with a cry, the world falling away beneath her. 

her vision goes white, hips twitching as her orgasm crashes down onto her, and her legs tighten around azzi’s head. 

but azzi keeps going, flicking her tongue around to trace at paige’s entrance as she spasms, and she whines when paige tugs her off, like she’s actually upset. 

jesus fuck.

if paige hadn’t come literally seconds prior, the sound alone would’ve pushed her off the ledge. 

her whole body is buzzing, limbs lax against the sheets, and she grins lazily down at azzi when her body begins to resume normal functioning. 

“be honest, are you cheating on me?”

“baby, what,” azzi laughs, full and surprised, as she crawls up paige’s stomach and returns to prime kissing range. 

this means that paige has to kiss her for a second, slow and intimate, and she gets distracted by the taste of herself on azzi’s lips and how hot it is to have her in her lap again, nerves still buzzing with her release. 

and then they part for a second, and paige remembers her question. she elaborates,“how did you get better at that. gonna make a girl suspicious.” she pairs this thought with an exaggerated pout for good measure. 

“you’re ridiculous,” azzi says, smiling, trying to lean back down and slot their lips back together, but paige holds her still, stubborn.

“you didn’t deny it.” 

“oh my god. there’s only you, p.” 

“swear?”

“swear,” she says firmly, indulgently, and pairs it with another lingering kiss. 

and then azzi shifts on top of her, but she’s too distracted by her mouth to notice the new placement of azzi’s legs until she grinds down, and paige’s brain shuts off when she realizes that azzi has maneuvered their hips so that their cores are aligned, clits grinding together whenever she rocks down. 

it should be too much sensation– and it is, she’s just come– but she chases the feeling anyways with a strangled cry, feeling her entire body shudder when she realizes what azzi’s goal is.

she wrenches their mouths apart when azzi grinds down again and her head drops back against the pillows. “azzi, fuck,” she moans, and her hips move away from the feeling on instinct, still reeling from her first orgasm. 

“s’it too much?” azzi breathes, and. isn’t that a great question. 

because it is– she’s so sensitive that the pressure of azzi’s hips on her own hurts a little bit– but she doesn’t really want azzi to stop, despite that, so she just chokes out a groan and holds the brunette’s hips above hers for a second, giving herself time to breathe.  

azzi’s kneeling, a little awkwardly, above, and it would be an uncomfortable position to hold steady if it weren’t for the strong muscle of her thighs, flexing a little bit as she hovers, looking like a fucking godess-sex-demon-angel-creature. or something. 

she’s looking down with half-lidded, knowing eyes, and she keeps eye contact as she drags two fingers through the slick at her own core and then grazes paige’s, hips twitching, before mixing their wetness together on her fingers. 

paige watches, in a trance, and her blood gets so hot at the vision that she has to look away for a second to contain herself. 

“fuck, azzi.” 

she doesn’t think she’s said anything but those two words for the past ten minutes. 

“you wanna taste?” she asks, and before paige answers, she’s moving her fingers up to paige’s mouth and asking for entrance and jesus fucking christ. 

paige’s body might ascend to a higher plane

she opens, immediately, and the taste of them mixing together on the pads of azzi’s fingers has her moaning, desperately and without restraint, hips moving up to find azzi’s again despite the sensitivity. she licks at azzi’s two fingers, sucking them further into her mouth and watching the azzi’s expression, her eyes stay transfixed on paige’s mouth. distantly, she appreciates how turned on and wild the other girl looks too, her composure slipping with every movement of paige’s tongue, every meeting of their hips.

“we taste good together?” she asks, voice low, before removing her finger from paige’s mouth to allow her to answer. 

paige can only nod vigorously, though, not sure that she’s capable of words right now considering azzi is trying to kill her. 

the brunette grins wickedly. “wanna taste it.”

she repeats the process from before, dragging her fingers– still damp from paige’s tongue– through her own slick, before sliding them briefly into paige’s entrance. the intentional stroke leaves paige gasping, but she doesn’t get a chance to catch her breath because instead of bringing her fingers to her own mouth, azzi returns to paige’s, pressing them down on her tongue and ensuring their mixed wetness coats her mouth before she’s dipping down to kiss her, hungry and desperate. 

holy fucking shit. 

the action has paige already close to the edge of another orgasm like it’s nothing, hips grinding together and mouths moving messily. she doesn’t know where azzi learned this, doesn’t even want to know, but she just counts her lucky fucking stars that she gets to experience the hottest thing in the universe. 

in an ideal world, paige would wait for azzi to work herself up in tandem with her, would be able to stave off her own orgasm until they could come together. this simply is not possible, however, with how keyed up she already is from getting eaten out, and how hot it is to have azzi moving above her, just as desperate, and the vision of her, fucked out expression and curls bouncing as she grinds their cores together with reckless abandon. 

she grips azzi’s hips to assist her, adding more force to her thrusts, and azzi must be able to tell that she’s close from the noises she’s making– paige has long since stopped paying attention to the string of needy whines coming out of her mouth, too pleasure drunk to care– because she asks, voice desperate, “you gonna come for me again, paige?”

paige keens an affirmative “yeah, gonna come, fuck,” and azzi makes an approving noise in the back of her throat, reaching down to tug at one of paige’s nipples. 

the new sensation, combined with a particularly delicious grind of their hips and the view of azzi’s concentrated, pleasure-ridden expression has paige arching off the bed and coming with a scream, azzi’s name tearing from her throat. 

blood rushes to her ears, muscles spasming, and she tugs azzi off immediately, pulling her up to straddle her abs as paige’s body tries to catch up to the earthquake that just tore through her. 

she’s sure she takes a minute to come down, and when she blinks her eyes open, she’s met with the sight of azzi hovering over her, looking like she’s desperately trying not to grind too hard into paige’s stomach, biting her lip, and the view almost makes her come again on the spot. 

she looks angelic— in a demonic, sinner sort of way? if that’s possible?— curls framing her face, lips bitten raw, a flush spreading down from her cheekbones to her chest. 

“you back with us?” she asks, self satisfied and teasing. which is like. fair, because she’s just absolutely ruined paige, twice, but also. paige needs to even the playing field a little bit. can’t have her getting too big a head. 

there’s a reason paige usually gets her off first– more than just for her own enjoyment of seeing azzi fall apart. because if she doesn’t fuck an orgasm out of the younger, coax out the needy side, she gets an ego like this. paige is determined to fix that. 

she raises an eyebrow and tightens her hold on azzi’s hips in response, before pulling her down so her cunt grinds hard, on the taught skin of paige’s abdomen. 

immediately, she keens, head thrown back, and her hands fly up to her chest to play with her own nipples, fingers tracing the skin of her areola and squeezing. she’s dripping, slick pooling on paige’s stomach, and the feeling of it makes paige dizzy with the desire to get her off.

she keeps her hands rocking azzi down into her stomach and back up, watching the arousal echo across her face and down the rest of her body, and when azzi moans particularly loudly at the feeling of her clit pressing down, paige smirks. “you wanna come, baby?”

azzi keens. “yeah. please.”

paige just hums, and stops the movement entirely, holding her still and relishing in the broken whine that she releases when paige prevents her from grinding down again to get friction. 

she curls her hands behind azzi’s thighs and tugs, almost moaning at the feeling of the strength of her quads and the drag of azzi’s wetness up her navel and in between the valley of her breasts. she looks confused for all of two seconds before realization crashes over her face, and she keens, even before paige tugs her over her mouth. 

she pulls azzi fully over her, gazing at her fluttering cunt, the soft pink just begging for her mouth, and when azzi whines again, waiting, paige listens, settling her over her mouth and immediately getting to work. 

she drags her tongue through her soaked folds, and she feels like a dying man in a desert who’s just found an oasis, moaning at the taste of azzi on her tongue and relishing in the answering moans she can hear above her. 

she sucks at her clit for a few seconds, and smirks into her when azzi’s thighs twitch, before switching to her entrance, tracing slowly and then thrusting in, slick dripping down her chin. 

“please, paige– i need it please– love your mouth so much–” azzi sounds absolutely wrecked above her, and paige thinks that if she could pick the way she dies this would be her choice in a heartbeat: azzi, needy and pliant above her, blissed out expression on her face and moans of paige’s name tumbling from her lips, the muscle of her thighs caging paige in and the taste of her, sharp and sweet, flooding her senses. 

she knows she’s close, can feel it in the tremor of her legs and the grind of her hips and the clench of her walls around her tongue, and when azzi breathes out “so close, please,” and throws her head back, paige drags one of the hands that’s been holding azzi’s thigh to her entrance, curling two fingers immediately into her cunt to press down on her g-spot and sucking at her clit, hard. 

and azzi positively sobs above her, clamping her legs down firmly and cutting off paige’s ability to breathe as she comes, wetness flooding out of her. paige keeps at it, licking her through it, watching as she keeps her head tipped back, fingers still clutching her breast. she looks positively sinful. 

azzi slumps backwards when the last of her orgasm washes away, and paige reaches up to maneuver them into her desired post-sex cuddle position– fronts pressed together and legs tangled. 

it’s a little sweaty, and there’s slick all over paige stomach and thighs, and more on azzi, but they curl into each other anyways, contentment settling deep in their bones. 

“missed that,” she says, pressing a messy kiss to azzi’s forehead, “solid elven out of ten.”

she mumbles “fourteen,” in response and bats at paige’s shoulder lazily, somehow pressing even closer, and paige laughs softly at how needy azzi always gets after sex, wanting to be practically inside paige’s skin. she’s never once minded, knows with certainty she never will. 

she wonders if there will ever be a time when she gets used to the sex– both how good it is, always, and just how unreal it feels to have azzi like that, under her or above her but always wholly paige’s. 

she doubts it. 

she thinks that if she had to pick a moment to hold on to forever it would be this one, them tangled together, skin on skin, just basking in the warmth of each other, and the intimacy of it makes her feel light headed in the best way possible.

they doze for a bit, sun casting shadows through the blinds over azzi’s back and making her look holy in the morning light. 

azzi starts drawing lines, softly, over her stomach at one point, and paige glances down at where her fingers are tracing the marks she’d left on paige’s abdomen and then back to azzi’s self satisfied face. “possessive, hmm?’

“yeah,” she breathes, and then presses down on the biggest one. “mine.” 

and. well. paige is wet again. 

she rolls her eyes a little bit at azzi’s conviction, like she has the need to scare everyone else off, which is absurd. “been yours since we were, like, sixteen.”

“yeah.” azzi smiles and nips paige’s shoulder. “been yours too, y’know. even if i didn’t know the depth of it.” she laughs a little before continuing, “used to get so fucking jealous when you would flirt with girls in front of me, but i convinced myself it was cause they didn’t deserve you.” 

“yeah?” paige grins, wide and happy, something settling in her stomach at the idea that azzi had been just as possessive as her in college even if she didn’t know why. 

azzi nods in paige’s shoulder. “mmhm. i was so stupid. teenage paige was much smarter, should’ve just listened to her.”

“maybe, maybe not. she was a little overeager,” paige says, wistfully. her sixteen year old self had thought they’d be locked in by the time they were twenty, probably would’ve, like, proposed by twenty-two. she’d definitely be a little disbelieving at how long it took them to get here, but she’d think it was all worth it if paige gave her the details. especially if she emphasized how pretty azzi sounds sitting on paige’s face. 

azzi breathes out a laugh, seemingly agreeing. “true. it’s probably a little soon to be married with like, seven kids which is i’m guessing what we’d be according to her life plans.” 

she says it so casually, like the thought of marrying paige, having kids with her, isn’t some ridiculous idea but instead a given. as if it was obviously part of their future one way or another. paige’s heart flutters sickeningly in her chest. 

her grin is a little soft on her face when she asks “yeah? gonna let me put a ring on you?”  and it’s supposed to be teasing but she just sounds entirely soft and hopeful. whatever. 

“yeah,” azzi smiles radiantly right back. “if the ring’s big enough, probably,” she adds airly. 

paige laughs, bright and disbelieving. “liar. you wanna marry me so bad.” she basks in the thoughts of their future, giddy. “an’ imma put at least seven kids in you, mama. prolly more.”

azzi hums happily in agreement. “i’m maxing you out at ten.” 

“so we can run five on fives?”

“exactly.” 

they sit in contented silence for a minute, and paige lets herself revel in the future that azzi is laying in front of them as the other girl curls closer, hiding her face from the blonde. 

“speaking of like- putting a baby in me,” azzi starts, and paige’s ears perk up. this promises to be a delightful sentence. 

she fiddles with paige’s fingers and stays buried in her shoulder, shy. “could we maybe- if you like- if you like wanted- maybewecouldgetastrap.”

the last part comes out jumbled together, and it takes a second for paige to process. and then.

her brain whites out. 

wow her life was awesome. like so, so awesome. 

despite the fact she just came, twice mind you, heat pools immediately in her core, and she feels a little lightheaded from the idea. her imagination is having one of its best days in a while. oscar worthy film productions are being written. 

they are so having sex again before they get up. 

a slow, obscene grin drifts across her face. “azzi fudd, you’re filthy.”

“whatever. your hips just twitched.” she burrows further into paige’s neck.

“i’m ordering one as soon as we get out of bed,” paige agrees, and then, just to be annoying, “gonna get a neon green one for the wings.” 

“absolutely not,” comes azzi’s indignant response, though paige can feel the smile against her skin.

she gasps in mock offense and rolls them over so she can look down at azzi’s wonderful, flushed face beneath her. she pouts.  “you sayin’ you won’t love our children if they turn out a little green? i can’t help what i am.”

it says something about how sickeningly in love she is, probably, that they’re discussing sex toys and she’s focussed on the thought of how endearing it would be to have imaginary little green alien kids of theirs running around. whatever.

azzi rolls her eyes, affection seeping out of her pores. “i’m saying that if you come anywhere near me with a chartreuse dick i’m calling the police.”

paige is sure her grin is enormous. “yeah, baby? what’re you gonna tell ‘em– that your incredibly hot girlfriend wants to fu-”

azzi cuts her off with a kiss. “shut the fuck up.”

they absolutely have sex again before they get up. 

…

paige has to be at the practice facilities at one, so they eventually drag themselves out of bed around eleven, the blonde grumbling the entire time about leaving the warmth of her comforter. 

they bicker in the shower over where they should go on vacation during the offseason (they settle on azzi’s idea, hawaii, because paige relents immediately when she mentions the word bikini), argue about how many vegetables azzi puts in paige’s omelet while they’re cooking (“you need nutrients, paige, they’ll make your muscles stronger.” “you seemed to think my muscles were plenty impressive earlier, given the bite marks on my abs.” “just shut the fuck up and eat your eggs.”), and fight over who has to sit on the rickety bar stool while they eat (they compromise with azzi on paige’s lap on the good stool, and only feel half as ridiculous as they should.)

it's the best morning paige has had in quite some time. 

and then azzi drops her at the facilities, driving paige's car, with a lingering kiss over the console and a “love you, baby, gonna kill it,” before promising to go grocery shopping and stock up on even more vegetables to torment paige with, and she could cry at the domesticity. 

she doesn’t, but. it's a near thing. 

she walks into their shoot around with the most lovesick smile on her face, feeling like she’s floating on air.

the aces won’t know what hit ‘em. 

…

the game is physical in the way only the knockout game of a playoff series can be– elbows jabbing with a little more force than usual and boxing out more aggressively than strictly necessary. paige is expecting this, is prepared for this, and even knocks in her own unusually rough shoulder bump when an aces player throws too much weight behind a screen. 

it’s a close but winnable game by the time the fourth quarter rolls around, and paige can taste the championship finals. she’s proud of her efforts, 21 points overall and 12 from the three. (she always shoots threes a little better when azzi is near, like her impeccable form rubs off on paige).

the wings start really trailing away after a three from maddy puts them up by 9 with four minutes remaining, and las vegas goes from physical to downright reckless, trying to do anything to get a block, a steal, some points. 

young gets the ball to start the aces next play, and paige narrows in to guard her, aware that there’s a screen incoming. it still catches her off guard, however, when a player– she can’t even tell who it happens so fast– collides with her back and gets tangled with paige’s already moving body, somehow catching on her jersey and sending them both tumbling, hard, to the ground. 

paige lands smack on her back, head thumping against the floor, and she takes a second to evaluate the damage. her head is throbbing, dull ache already spreading through her skull, but her limbs seem to be relatively fine, and her jersey is rucked up high on her chest somehow from how the aces player– whose identity is still a mystery to paige and who is lying in a heap a foot away. she covers her face with her hands in an attempt to block out the noise of the crowd and decipher if this feels like a minor annoyance type of injury or a big fuck up. 

nothing seems broken, which is good. 

a little deliriously, she wonders if maybe this clip will go viral, what with her abs being out and her head tipped back in pain. is that weird to be thinking about? she doesn’t really care. 

when she establishes that she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a concussion, she widens the fingers over her eyes and peeks up at the circle of teammates around her. 

she’s expecting to see some concerned looks, considering she just fell pretty hard and might have hit her head, which is why she’s bewildered by their smirks of amusement, and only a few concerned comments.

“you okay there, lil’ paigey?” says nai, who’s squatting to her left, positively gleeful, and instead of gesturing at her head, like a good, concerned teammate, pokes paige in the stomach, laughing. 

“bruh, what the fuck,” she grits out, and covers her eyes fully with her hands again. maybe if she acts more injured, dijonai will stop being so annoying. 

but even maddy, usually a little more motherly in that regard, looks at paige a little funny when she asks sympathetically, “how bad does your head hurt?”

before she can respond, jj piles on immediately with shit eating grin on her face, saying “her head or her stomach,” and paige finally sits up enough to glance down in confusion. 

distantly, she hears nai say “we should ask azzi,” but she’s too busy looking at the unmistakable trail of marks starting from her navel and sensually trailing down past her waistband from where azzi had been focussed this morning. 

and ohmygod. 

paige now understands why everyone is trying not to laugh at her. 

she jerks her head back up in panic, frantically shoving her jersey back down across her stomach, and generally contemplates how bad it would be to try and hang herself from the basketball hoop. 

jesus fuck she is going to kill herself. 

the hickies were, like, so extremely visible. to everyone. for at least fifteen seconds.

to like. the entire arena probably. and the millions of people watching on tv–

“i don’t- um. it’s not,” she stutters, hands trying to shove her jersey back into the waistband of her shorts while still sitting, eyes wide and cheeks burning. 

this might be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. probably. 

azzi is going to murder her. 

the medical staff crowd in just as arike whistles out a low “she claimed yo ass reallll nice huh, paigey. gotchu all marked up.” fucking bitch. 

and paige has no response, couldn’t even give one if she wanted to anyways because their trainer is helping her onto her feet, and grilling her about her fall. 

she actually thinks she might collapse from the humiliation. 

her ears and cheeks are probably redder than a tomato. 

as the medical staff usher her over the bench to get her evaluated, she glances involuntarily over to where her family and friends are sitting courtside. nika and kk are on either side of azzi absolutely cracking up, and surely saying something exceedingly inappropriate, while azzi stands in the middle, hands over her face. 

awesome awesome awesome. 

it's not like they’d been trying to hide their relationship– it’d be kind of hard to come up with excuses as to why they’d been spotted flying to random cities just to get less than 24 hours together and posting random funny anecdotes from their time together on social media– but this is a level of out there that was sort of undeniable if you were paying attention. it was quite clear that someone had given paige those marks– she supposed a cupping excuse wasn’t going to cut it– and it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together on who that had been, especially given the fact that azzi had been spotted in the dallas airport the night before. the plausible deniability of the nature of their relationship had sort of just crumbled into nothing.

cool cool cool cool cool. 

like azzi can feel her eyes from across the court, she lifts her hands for a second and makes eye contact with paige. her cheeks are crimson, concern and embarrassment warring across her face and eyes wide like she can’t believe that's just happened, and yet. 

she looks like the prettiest girl in the arena, prettiest girl in the world. 

and paige can’t help the lopsided, guilty grin that spreads across her face. she’s sure this will be clipped a million times, but she doesn’t even care because the embarrassment is sort of fading away. 

because everyone with half a brain cell now knows that paige definitely belongs to azzi fudd. and that’s the best thing she’s ever accomplished– certainly not something to be ashamed of– and. whatever. let people talk. 

paige can see azzi roll her eyes from all the way in her spot on the sidelines, and her smile only grows, pleased and unabashed, and then turns to give the poor trainer her full attention. 

the short rest of the game involves paige enduring a litany of comments from the bench while trying to convince the training staff and coach to let her back in, insisting that she’s not concussed. she’s unsuccessful, but the wings pull off the win anyways, and then she gets to bask in the glory of a trip to the league championship, which is fucking awesome.

she breezes through the post game handshakes and celebration with her head held high, humoring the comments about making sure she ices her head and her stomach, and simply sits with the euphoria of winning the series. 

when her friends and family are finally allowed onto the court, she’s still sweating, confetti sticking to her jersey and grin wide across her face as she catches drew when he leaps into her arms. 

“you and azzi are nasty,” he says, instead of congratulating her. of course. brotherly love in all its wonderful glory.

“bruh shut up,” she says, shoving him off with a hand to his forehead. “fuck outta here.” 

he just cackles maniacally, and runs off, surely going to find dijonai, his favorite. 

and then azzi herself is in front of paige, smiling small and proud, a little sheepish. 

paige’s grin turns impossibly fond, a little cocky. “hey there, baby.”

“hi,” she says, eyes furtively looking around to see who’s paying attention to them. she must either not realize that the answer to that is everyone or decide she doesn’t care, because she brings a hand up to paige’s cheek and asks earnestly, “you okay? it's not a concussion, right?”

paige smiles at the concern- it's ridiculous how a simple gesture like that can make her cheeks flush– and shakes her head. “nah, we chillin’. you can still kiss it better though.”

azzi just groans, and pulls the older girl in for a hug. “bro. imma kill myself. or you. haven’t decided which yet.”

“nooooo,” she drags out, wrapping her arms tighter around azzi’s back and pulling her closer. “don’t do that, i like you possessive. gotta make sure everyone knows i won jus’ for you.”

azzi huffs, sending goosebumps skittering across the skin of paige’s shoulder, and pokes paige’s side. “makin’ it real hard to want to congratulate you.”

paige grins into her shoulder. “you gonna let me kiss you as a prize since everybody knows i’m yours now?”

“no,” azzi whines, emphatically, and then hums like she’s reconsidering, smile pressed into her skin, and paige knows she doesn’t really care that everyone will be in their business now either, can feel the humiliation in azzi falling away. “beat the liberty for me and i’ll think about it.”

as motivators go, it’s a fairly good one. 

(the wings do not win the championship, and it’s a heartbreaking, well fought loss, but azzi kisses her anyways– wet cheeks and cameras around them be damned– and as consolation prizes go, it’s pretty up there. paige promises sweetly that they’ll win it the following year against the mystics and gets an elbow in the stomach as retaliation.)

(a clip of that interaction goes almost as viral as the tv clip of paige’s fall in the semis: her, getting dragged to the floor by her jersey and immediately covering her face in pain, the hickies ridiculously visible to the camera, and carrying an undeniable insinuation. the broadcast must desperately want to change the stream to a less graphic display because they immediately switch it to the camera view of paige’s family and friends, who begin to realize what’s on paige’s abdomen and who immediately turn to azzi in amused disbelief. the announcers stumble through a comical explanation of the people in frame, and one laughs when the other says and that is azzi fudd, probable rookie of the year for the mystics and paige bueckers’ uh. close friend.)(it's not the worst thing that’s ever been part of paige’s digital footprint, even if her mother disagrees.)

AN: badda bing badda boom. such concludes this journey fr fr fr this time. this was ridiculous I'm. deeply sorry if you wanted plot. if you give me a comment/ask/anything I will personally kiss you on the mouth I'm so serious they make me so happy and motivate me so much. ily for reading <333333 ok bye

[wemlygust]

I see your point here, but for me personally, how I feel about this depends on whether the first/previous book ended on a decently satisfying conclusion, or a cliffhanger. I bought a book once that straight up cut off in the middle of a scene with "TO BE CONTINUED..." And that was at the end of a "book" that was very clearly written as just the slow intro quarter to third of a much longer book; it was cut off literally as soon as something finally started to happen. There was no way on Earth I'd ever bother continuing with that series after that. Even though I imagine this was likely the fault of the publisher, who probably accepted a doorstop book manuscript and said, "we'll just split this into 3 chunks! And the cliffhangers will make people want to buy the next!" But yeah, no. That was very stupid of them. And probably screwed that newbie author over big time :< So on one end of the spectrum there's that, and on the other the other end of the spectrum there're series books that can stand alone. Also on the good end of the spectrum are series books that leave a lot of hanging threads, maybe even major ones, but that still end at an emotionally satisfying stopping place (especially if having completed some subplots and/or character arcs). ANYWAY, tldr, the point I'm trying and failing to get to here is that if a book ends on a cliffhanger, that second book BETTER be there for me snappy like. Because if it takes 2 or 3 or more years, dangling off that cliff? By the time it comes out, I'll have forgotten what was happening to the point of needing to reread the first book, and/or I'll have simply ceased to care and moved on. And if an author leaves me on a cliff for years like that once... Well, I'll expect they might do it again, perhaps even within the very same series. Will I be raring to jump at book 2, after glancing at reviews and seeing that book 2 likewise ends in a cliffhanger, and especially if knowing it may be another 2-3+ years before book 3 resolves that? Fuck no. An experience like that can make me avoid all future unfinished series by that author. And a whole bunch of experiences like that, accumulated over years and years and years, are why I usually try to avoid unfinished series in general, now, unless I am very confident that book 1 (or each subsequent) can be expected to stand on its own. I don't have the patience for cliffhanger baloney anymore, not when I have other options. I just go for standalones, or at least for series by authors who I know (from experience or a quick check of reviews) conscientiously end each book in their series at a good, satisfying stopping point. Or for series that aren't actually tied together by characaters/story but only tied together by the general world setting or even just by theme. I guess this is just a very long, roundabout way of saying, "it depends on the kind of book it is". Especially, some books are purposefully genre fluff - offputting if it's not your personal flavor of fluff, but catnip for its core audience - that tends to be more formulaic and which hence can be written faster and doesn't necessarily benefit any from being written slower. Another factor is whether the author is writing as their primary job or as a side gig. In this case, the person who puts out way more books per year might do so simply because they have more time to write, not because they're writing faster or rushing anything or phoning it in. Re. the fanfic point someone made up above, though: for people who read a lot of fanfic, trad. published authors are competing with fanfic for our time. And... fanfic is hard to compete with, especially within the categories and styles that are most popular on ao3. Fanfic is free, and if you find some fandoms (or one huge fandom) that you love, it is practically infinite in supply, and you get chapter by chapter updates most of the time for WIPs. Hard to beat, tbh.

i think it is unrealistic for fans to expect sequels to be published a year after the first one and also want the book at its highest quality. it's okay to expect a few years in between and i think it weird how much pressure authors face to publish their next book immediately. that's a lot of stress on authors and i think it often leads to books being put out before they are ready.

[clairewritesfanfics]

Inside an Otoge: Mister Dragon, Let Me Love You Chapter 6

Pairing: Dragon!Sylus x Non-MC!Reader

a/n: I know, I know–it's been 800 years and the jellyfish are walking naked–but before you throw rocks at me, I have a very good reason for not updating in so long; two words: Invincible hole. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! edit: I'm also sorry if I haven't replied to your comments/replies in the previous chapters, it's hard navigating Tumblr replies 🤧

CHAPTER 5 | Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

You don’t think you were an envious person. You aren’t completely immune to feelings of inadequacy, but you didn’t spend a lot of time comparing yourself to others. Except for special cases.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Sylus says.

He brought you to a tavern, in a different city this time, brighter and looking more like a Disney theme park than medieval Gotham. Despite his mild grumpiness when the sun is out, Sylus is quite fond of walking around outside, provided that it was the afternoon or near the evening. Before you arrived, he’d been alone, stuck in that sad cave in the Abyss for over a thousand years. Neither of you understood how you managed to free him, but all that matters to Sylus now is that he can stretch his wings whenever he wants–and that he can drag you along.  For this trip, you wore a period-appropriate outfit he bought for you, but he didn’t bother putting on anything, saying that his illusion magic would be enough.

When you don’t reply, he calls out your name again.

“What?” You turn away from the slice of cake in front of you.

He raises an eyebrow. “It has been fifteen minutes since you last spoke, and you’re not eating like it’s your last meal today.” 

He’s teasing you but you only grin as you pick up your fork. “I was thinking.”

“I gathered as much.”

“Sylus.”

He hums, pouring himself another cup of tea.

“Tell me, what do you think of a person who gets jealous of someone who is not real?”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?”

“You see, even from a young age I liked to read books, some were fairytales and love stories, others were meant to scare me or take me into a journey beyond the stars. At some point, I developed… affection for certain characters.”

“Affection? Are you speaking of romantic love?”

You smile. “Something like that–rather than outright love love, I think it’d be fairer to call it infatuation. It’s silly. I became obsessed with these figures of imagination to the point that I would get angry when they fell in love with other characters.”

You expect him to say something mocking, but instead, he drops a sugar cube into his cup and says, “I don’t think it’s silly.”

“That’s surprising. Most people would call me crazy, after all, what’s more insane than loving something that doesn’t exist?”

“I’m not most people. Desire is simple, humans make it more complicated than it needs to be. It’s far more foolish to lie to ourselves about what we feel.” He shrugs.

“You’re right, it is simple,” you laugh wryly and poke the strawberry on top of your cake. 

He watches you. He then sets down his cup and looks at the street. “Fictional people aside, have you experienced true love?”

“No.”

“Huh.”

“Shocked?”

“Yes.” He meets your gaze. “You struck me as a hopeless romantic.”

You laugh for real this time. “It’s precisely because I am a hopeless romantic that I have never experienced that kind of love.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I told you, I like to read. Love that transcends time and space is a common theme for a lot of books.” You stab the cake. You spent most of your life admiring the stars so now, no earthly gem can ever compare. “One would have a higher chance of meeting a mythological creature than finding true love.”

He chuckles. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Well, from what you’ve told me about your reality, don’t I qualify as a mythological creature?”

The cake crumbles and you push the pieces apart. “That’s true.”

Ruby eyes fall over to your sulking form. 

Sylus clears his throat and looks at the stores. “It’s truly fascinating how much this place has changed since I last remembered.”

Your ears perk up. Since you’ve met him, Sylus has barely shared anything about his childhood or his life a thousand years ago.

“What was it like?” You ask.

A little girl passes by the street with what looks to be her grandfather; her twintails bob with each step she takes. Her head turns and she sees Sylus. Without missing a beat, she offers a toothy grin and waves her arm in greeting. 

Sylus weakly raises his hand, the faintest smile evident on his lips.  

Satisfied, the girl continues dragging her grandfather around the town.

“It was a little village, barely big enough to house more than maybe 300 people. There used to be a town square where this very tavern stands.” There’s a far off look in his eyes, mind somewhere you cannot see.

Heart aching, you say playfully: “I bet you were a cute kid.”

He snorts. “I was small.”

“I have a hard time picturing that.” The Sylus you came to know is a big guy, not just physically, his presence has a way of enveloping you. When he’s in a room with you, you can’t help but look at him.

“I was a tiny thing,” he continues, “it was ridiculous, really, even the human children were taller than me. My horns and tail and wings used to be much bigger than my body. They feared me, but because I was smaller they still had the guts to throw rocks.”

You hum, watching him reminisce. 

After a while, he exhales and looks at you. “Anyway, is there anything you’d like to do today?”

“I’m going for a job search.”

“...what?”

“You’re already letting me live with you for free, not to mention paying for my meals, I figured it’s about time I earn my own money.” You sip on your tea. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

You hated your job back on Earth, and you fantasized about living a carefree life without having to worry about rent or food. But you soon discovered that life as a homebody is no fun and games either. As much as you enjoy annoying–ahem, admiring and praising Sylus, staying alone with him for too long is making you feel things. Things that have no place in your heart. 

“You can’t–you don’t have to work,” he insists. “I have more gold than I know what to do with, you can use them all you want.”

“As tempting as the offer is–” who doesn’t want to be a handsome dragon’s sugar baby? “–I’ll have to decline for, let’s say, ethical purposes.”

“But–”

“Sylus,” you cut him off, the soft clinking of your teacup on its saucer sounds sharp, like a warning bell. “I’m doing this.”

He is about to protest, but then he catches sight of the bruising on your wrist, so he purses his lips and folds back on his chair. “I’m sorry.”

The Sylus in-game is the epitome of a perfect man: confident, secure, respectful and devoted. But the Sylus sitting in front of you is basically Rapunzel. Over a thousand years spent alone in his tower with no human contact may not have broken his mind, but the gaps in his emotional development are evident. He’s growing too attached. You knew of the consequences of staying with him and you selfishly let it happen. You don’t know how destiny works, but you know that somewhere in the future, there is a world where Sylus can be happy, truly happy with the woman he loves. And you love him too much to rip that away from him, so you will do the right thing and leave before either of you can make a mistake.

***

Sylus doesn’t understand. 

Humans work to make money, so they can buy things. From what you told him, you always worried about money, that’s why, even though you loathed your job, you did not stop until you died.

But his cave is full of treasures already. He has enough money to last him for eternity, enough to last the both of you for as long as you live. 

He hates that he does not understand. He hates that small trinket shop that hired you, and he hates that human boy–no, the young man who looks at you like… like you just told him really good news and now he can’t stop smiling.

It’s infuriating. 

He would never admit this to you, but sometimes–not all the time–he wishes you were a bird. You would be a very adorable bird, he thinks. A loud and cute thing. If you were a bird, he would build you the biggest, most intricate, most beautiful golden cage. Only the best bird seeds and fruits would be given to you. You would never want for anything.

If you were a bird, you could stay with him.

If you were a bird, you wouldn't have to leave ever again.

***

“Everything’s been running more smoothly since you came along,” says Orson as he carries the newest delivery of antiques inside the store. He’s the grandson of the owner and an incredibly polite eighteen-year-old. 

“Well, I’m glad you find me satisfactory.” This place isn’t so bad. Compared to your old nine to five, this is easy money. The people are also nice enough. No one calls you an idiot every second and the only other employee, Orson, knows how to pull his weight. 

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. We used to lose a lot of the smaller stuff, but your–what do you call it, inventory? Your inventory makes it easier to keep track of everything.”

You laugh and help him unload the crates. You fish out the usual knicknacks that are sent to this store: silverware, secondhand books, old toys, a kettle–no. 

You rub your whole face.

Orson peers over from his crate and teases, “Dust in your eye again?”

You ignore him and look back at the contents of the box. This can’t be. 

He calls your name as you reach inside and carefully pull out a lamp, its gold sheen nowhere to be found under layers of dust and dirt. Wrapped around it is a small, black and red dragon.  

@phisen @leryg0 @capribun @sinnamon-bunn @wegottastayfocus @erisnxxi @syyyy4ever @limerenceisserenity @shiorihoshino @poptrim @jeleryyy @serenity-loves-red @vigtore @imagineblaqkttv @calverkeys @malleus-draconias-rose @traumaramacenter @tak3yourpill @lucifers-silhouette @lanxianschoenheit @anixx1 @cupid-gene @animechick555 @lostpsycho13 @roselleviennesstuff @athanasia-day @nazifa613 @multisstuff @shadowqueen09 @sleepykittycx @perla-drg @codedove @mentaltrouble2201 @seris-the-amious @alyssac9 @kira-loves0905 @yutterfly @nerrivm @sharlinna @sleepykittycx @huuvu

Sorry if I missed /repeated someone in the tags, Tumblr doesn’t exactly have the best commenting system.

a/n: How’re you guys liking the verb tense change? I know I originally wrote everything in the past tense but since this is set in an otoge I went with the usual present tense used in such games. Or does it feel too awkward? ALSO PLEASE NO SPOILERS ABOUT THE NEWEST ADDITION TO THE MAIN STORY. I have been busy with finals so I still haven't played them.

CHAPTER 7: Coming soon.

Disclaimer: The image of Sylus used in this post does not belong to writerclaire, it is an official image from the game itself.

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