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sophiamcdougall · 2 years ago

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I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

#story time

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jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw · 1 month ago

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manny setting you and abby up on a blind date, even though you’re “just friends” 𓂃⊹ ࣪ ˖

──────

“You owe me,” Manny said, tossing a towel at Abby as she finished a set.

“For what?” She chuckled, catching it midair. She was trying to drown him out and finish her workout, but he was making it damn near impossible.

“That patrol I covered for you last week? Come on. One drink. One dinner. I set you up with someone cool. Trust me.” Manny grinned, leaning up against the barbell rack.

“I hate when you say that,” she muttered, wiping her face, rolling her eyes as she glared back up at him.

Manny clutched a hand over his heart. “She’s smart, funny, not annoying. You’ll actually like her.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He held up his hands. “Just… be at the mess hall tonight. Eighteen hundred. I promise you’ll be glad you went.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s gonna suck. I don’t wanna waste my time.”

“Come on, hermana. If it’s awful, I owe you a week of patrol coverage.” Manny replied, unfazed as he reached out to shake Abby’s shoulders.

Abby sighed, pressing the towel against the back of her neck, trying not to smile. “Manny. You say that like your word means anything. If it’s awful, I’ll lock you in the supply closet myself.”

“You’ll thank me later,” he said with a wink, finally walking away and leaving Abby to finish her routine.

── .✦

I sat on the edge of my bed, unlacing my boots, when a knock hit the door. I opened it to find Manny already leaning on the doorframe with a ridiculous grin.

“No,” I said immediately.

“Oh yes. You’re going out tonight.”

I squinted at him, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of ‘out’?”

“Blind date,” he said. “Before you say no—they’re solid. Bit serious, but big heart. Strong as hell.” He shrugged. “I figured that’d be your type.”

I hesitated, wary. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch. Just dinner in the mess at eighteen hundred. You need to get out more.” He smiled, poking me in the ribs.

“Is this some kind of prank or something…?” I groaned, rubbing my forehead.

“Do I look like a man who plays pranks?”

“Yes, actually you do. Because you are.” I respond smugly, pushing him out of the doorway.

He snorted, turning away. “Just go. Please.”

── .✦

The mess hall space within the stadium had once been a cafeteria, now dressed up with mismatched linens and strings of warm lights that someone (Manny) had hung with care. It wasn’t fancy, but he tried. Like everything else we’d built here.

I sat at the table first, my knee bouncing restlessly with barely contained anxiety. I hadn’t asked for this. Manny had cornered me this morning, and then again during rounds, spun something about “someone thoughtful, serious, into books,” and I’d caved out of equal parts curiosity and peer pressure.

Abby walked in two minutes late, her hair swept back into a quick braid, and a clean shirt on. I did a double take, standing up from the table. She immediately stopped in her tracks when she saw me. We both stood there for a second. Confused. Suspicious.

“…Hey,” I said slowly, stepping closer, a bit cautious.

“Hey,” Abby echoed, her brow furrowing.

“Wait. Are you here for…?” I looked around the room slowly.

“No way.” Abby let out a low laugh, running a hand down her face. “Manny?”

“Yeah. Manny said I had a date.”

We stared at each other for a moment, then both broke out into a fit of soft laughter, something easy and fond settling between us.

“Oh my God,” Abby mumbled under her breath, shaking her head. “That bastard.” We both laughed.

“So we’re each other’s blind date… cool.” I sighed, thinking about heading back to my dorm.

A moment passed between us. Abby rubbed the back of her neck. “You wanna just stay? Make it dinner anyway?”

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “We’re already here. Might as well enjoy it.”

We found a quieter table near the back, away from the louder patrol squads trading stories and jabbing each other over canned chili. The mess hall wasn’t exactly candlelit, but under the dim overheads and faded posters on the wall, the space felt a little more intimate than usual.

“Guess we’re already past the awkward first impressions.” I muttered, gesturing to the chair across from me.

“Guess so,” Abby said, sitting down. “He’s a real piece of work.”

I smiled, a little soft, a little teasing. “I would’ve said yes if you asked me yourself, y’know.”

Abby’s ears turned a little pink. “Maybe I will next time.”

“Next time…” I mumbled to myself, fingers wrapped around my mug. “So, this isn’t a date.”

“Definitely not,” Abby agreed, a little too quickly.

“Just… two friends being tricked by a mutual idiot.”

“Exactly.”

We both smiled, but something hung in the air. Quieter than laughter, a little heavier than coincidence.

“Well, if this was a date, it wouldn’t be the worst.” I said softly.

Abby looked up. “Yeah?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

Abby grinned. “Then maybe I’ll pay next time. Stadium rations and all.”

Dinner was simple. Lentils, rehydrated steak, and overcooked carrots. Whatever passed as a meal these days. Abby glanced down at her plate. “Luxury...”

“Don’t be a snob,” I teased, poking at my own food with a fork. “It’s got… protein?” I shrug.

“And seasoning that tastes like the floor.” Abby mumbled, her lips tightening.

I laughed softly, and Abby looked up at the sound, catching the way my eyes crinkled slightly when I smiled. The awkwardness melted fast. We already knew each other’s tells, each other’s quiet humor. We ate while talking about patrol rotations, about the book I had picked up from the trading post, about how one of the younger recruits had nearly shot their own foot.

“You clean up nice, by the way,” I added, trying to be casual but sincere.

Abby glanced down at her plain black t-shirt and jeans. “This is… me trying.”

“It works.” I answered warmly, taking a bite of my carrots.

Abby watched me for a second longer than she meant to. “You don’t look too terrible either.”

I raised a brow, amused. “Wow, what a charmer.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t usually do the whole date thing.” She responded, her voice going a bit quiet.

“Neither do I,” I said, voice softer now, a bit more honest. “But this doesn’t feel… weird. Not with you.”

Abby was quiet for a minute, her jaw working like she was chewing on a thought. “Yeah. I was kind of relieved when I saw it was you.”

“Same,” I responded, leaning forward and nudging her boot lightly under the table. “Way better than some sweaty patrol guy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Abby huffed a laugh, finally relaxing into the conversation. “He played us. Got you to go, got me to go, and left us here like it’s some romcom setup.”

“Joke’s on him,” I said, softly. “You’re not bad company.”

There was a brief pause, not awkward, but full. Warm. I tilted my head slightly. “Have you ever… thought about it?”

Abby blinked. “Thought about what?”

“Me and you,” I mumbled softly, picking at my food. “Not seriously or anything, of course. It’s silly.”

Abby’s throat bobbed with a quiet swallow. “Maybe. Once or twice.”

I looked down at my plate, smiling into it. Neither of us said anything for a long moment, just the clatter of trays and distant conversation around us filling the space.

Then I said, teasing again, “If I’d known it was you, I might’ve actually brushed my hair.”

Abby gave me a playful glance. “That’s how it always looks.”

“Shut up,” I said, laughing again.

Abby grinned. “You look nice. Always do.”

My cheeks flushed at her compliment, and I tried to hide my smile behind my fork.

The “date” label faded, until it didn’t. The air shifted after the shared cookie we agreed to split “because it’d be a waste.” Abby handed me the bigger half without thinking. I paused, looking at the cookie, then at Abby. “You didn’t even fight me on it.”

Abby shrugged. “You like the soft center.”

There was a moment of silence. My brows softened just slightly. “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot about you,” Abby said, quiet now, then took a sip from her tea as if to cover it.

I looked down at the cookie, then broke off a piece and passed it to Abby. “Split the soft center, then.”

Our fingers brushed. Abby’s jaw flexed slightly, a muscle twitching.

“This still isn’t a date,” I murmured, my eyes flickering up to hers.

“Nope,” Abby said, eyes on her hand.

── .✦

We slipped out of the mess hall and into the open walkway, the stadium quiet in the way it only ever was after curfew, when most had gone to their bunks and the air was left to echo through the old corridors. The moonlight slanted through the upper windows, casting soft pools of light that guided our way. Abby walked a little slower than usual. The air between us felt different. The denial a little thinner. Glances a little longer.

“You didn’t have to walk me back,” I said, hands in my pockets, voice gentle.

Abby shrugged one shoulder. “Figured I should, since I’m such a great date and all.”

I smiled faintly. “Oh, so it was a date?”

Abby smirked but didn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

We reached the hallway that led to my room. I paused outside my door, looking up at Abby. Her gaze softened a little in the low light. “I had a good time,” I said quietly.

Abby nodded. “Me too.”

For a second, it felt like neither of us knew whether to linger or say goodnight. My hand hovered over the door handle, but I didn’t turn it yet. Abby glanced down, eyes flicking briefly to my lips, then back up.

I gave a soft, teasing smile. “Goodnight, Abby.”

Abby’s voice was lower than usual when she replied. “’Night.”

But she didn’t go right away. She leaned in, barely brushing her shoulder against mine.

“Meet me in the greenhouse tomorrow afternoon?” She asked.

I nodded, just once, eyes soft. Abby’s smile returned, quiet and sure. I slipped into my room, closing the door with a quiet click.

Abby stood there for a few seconds longer than she meant to, hand curling and uncurling at her side. Then she turned and walked away.

Inside my room, I leaned against the back of the door and let out a slow breath. My heart was still thudding. Not hard, just steady, like it was trying to tell me something. I crossed the room to my bed and sat on the edge, absently untying my boots. The bracelet on my wrist— a rough one I’d braided weeks ago, caught the light. I tugged it off and held it loosely in my hands, thinking.

Outside, Abby’s boots echoed softly as she walked. She wasn’t headed straight to her room, not yet. She took a detour, climbing the narrow stairs that led to the rooftop, where the wind hit harder, cleaner. She braced her forearms on the railing and looked out over the dim lights below.

She thought about the way you had smiled tonight, less guarded, more present. She thought about the warmth of your laugh, the way their boots had bumped under the table and neither of them had pulled away. She thought about what you had asked — if she’d ever thought about them. Abby stared out into the dark, muttering to herself. “More than once.”

── .✦

The greenhouse was tucked away on the far end of the stadium, lit by golden strips of late afternoon sun through weathered glass. The scent of damp earth lingered, the soft buzz of insects in the corners barely noticeable over the creak of the old door as I stepped inside.

Abby was already there, crouched near a planter box, inspecting a cluster of overgrown tomatoes. She looked up when I entered, face unreadable at first, then softening in that way I had started to recognize as being just for me.

“You found it,” Abby said, straightening.

I smiled and closed the door behind me. “You’re not as hard to find as you think you are.”

Abby gave a small chuckle and leaned back against the wooden frame of the planter, arms folded. I came to stand beside her, letting the silence settle for a moment. Out here, away from everything, it was easier to breathe. “Didn’t know you liked plants,” I said.

“Yeah, my dad used to have a greenhouse,” Abby replied, glancing at me. “It’s quiet. No one comes out here much.”

I nodded. “Except when they want to disappear.” We stood there for a minute. Then another. And when Abby tilted her head to look at me, something shifted.

“About last night…” Abby started, voice a little rough around the edges.

I shook my head gently. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, I…” Abby paused. “I liked it. More than I thought I would.”

My heart thudded, hard. I took a step closer, close enough that our arms brushed. “You mean the steak or the part where we almost had a date?”

Abby exhaled a laugh through her nose. “Both.”

We turned to face each other more fully now, my gaze lingering on Abby’s mouth, then flicking up to meet her eyes. “I think,” I said slowly, “we might be bad at pretending we’re just friends.”

Abby’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I think you might be right.”

Neither of us moved, but the air between us felt electric. Then, carefully, almost like testing gravity, I reached out and laced my pinky through Abby’s. Not a full handhold. Just a small touch. Abby looked down at our joined fingers, then back at me, and gave a single, subtle nod.

“Okay,” Abby said, her voice softer than I had ever heard it.

“Okay,” I echoed, my thumb brushing lightly over the back of Abby’s hand.

── .✦

We left the greenhouse as the sun dipped behind the far edge of the stadium, casting long shadows and staining the clouds with streaks of orange and violet. The walk back wasn’t long, but we stretched it out without saying so. Steps slow, close, unhurried.

“You’re quiet,” I said eventually, my tone light, coaxing.

“I’m just… thinking,” Abby replied. “Trying not to mess this up.”

I looked over at her. “There’s nothing to mess up yet.”

Abby glanced back, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Yet?”

I grinned. “I mean, unless you’re planning on vanishing into the barracks and avoiding me all week.”

“No,” Abby said quickly, too quickly. She scratched the back of her neck. “I’m not. I liked being with you today.”

My expression softened. “Me too.”

We reached the hallway that split off toward the living quarters, quiet except for the hum of generators and the occasional far off clang. Abby slowed near my door, lingering as if uncertain whether to say goodnight or something else.

I leaned against the wall beside it, looking up at her. “You’re really not gonna kiss me yet?”

Abby blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I… didn’t want to rush you.”

“That’s considerate,” I said, voice low and playful. “But next time, don’t overthink it so hard.”

Abby stepped a little closer, close enough that I could smell the faintest trace of pine soap and sweat on her collar. Her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “Next time?”

I reached out and brushed a speck of dirt off her sleeve. “Mhm. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a second, it looked like Abby might lean in. Her gaze lingered, jaw tightening just slightly. But instead, she gave a quiet breath of a laugh and pulled back, eyes warm. “Goodnight.”

I smiled, pushing the door open behind me. “Goodnight, Abby.”

The door clicked softly shut, and I stood still for a heartbeat. Then two. Then three.

The quiet hum of the hallway just outside my door buzzed in my ears, my pulse louder than it should’ve been. I stared at the handle, lips parted, heart thudding.

To hell with it.

I yanked the door back open and jogged barefoot into the corridor, scanning until I saw Abby’s back, just a few paces down, slow moving, like maybe she wasn’t quite ready to leave either.

“Abby,” I called softly.

She turned.

She didn’t have time to say anything before I was in front of her, reaching up, fingers curling into the collar of her jacket, eyes searching hers for half a second. Just enough time for hesitation to flicker. Then none at all. I leaned up and kissed her.

It wasn’t polished, but it was warm and certain. The kind of kiss that carried the quiet weight of something that had been building for a long time. Abby froze just for a second, startled, then softened beneath it. Her hands hovered at my waist, then settled there, careful, steady.

We didn’t pull apart quickly. It was slow, a soft press, a breath, then another. I stayed close enough that my forehead nearly rested against Abby’s. “I didn’t want to overthink it either,” I murmured.

Abby looked at me like the world had shifted a little. Like maybe everything would taste different tomorrow. “You didn’t,” she said quietly. “You got it just right.”

I smiled, slow and sheepish. “So… goodnight again?”

Abby nodded, brushing a loose curl from my cheek. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

This time, I didn’t turn away immediately. I lingered a second more, memorizing the feel of Abby’s hands still warm on my waist, before slipping back toward my door.

And this time, Abby didn’t take another step until she heard the door shut again.

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robbysreaders · 18 days ago

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pairing: jack abbot x f!reader word count: 2.1k notes: Another part to ex!reader and babydaddy!jack thanks to @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange's reply to part 3! Fits before the Prequel!

Jack Abbot does not want to be interviewed.

He’s made that clear to everyone — grumbling to Gloria, threatening Robby, muttering under his breath about “puff pieces” and “PR bullshit.” But he shows up anyway. Apparently, losing rock-paper-scissors and the thought of Gloria owing him a favor are enough to get him in the room.

He’s already five minutes late when he walks into the break room at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, barely glancing your way.

“Dr. Abbot?” you ask, voice a little too bright.

He doesn’t answer right away — just finishes pouring his coffee. Then, deadpan: “That’s what the name tag says.”

You blink. Smile tight. Off to a great start.

You introduce yourself, give a quick rundown of the piece — community health spotlight, frontline ER coverage, equity in urban hospital settings.

“Yeah, I read the email,” he says, finally turning. He looks like hell: scrubs wrinkled, hair a mess, a twitching vein in his temple that suggests he’s running purely on caffeine and spite. But his eyes — sharp and unexpectedly curious — hold on you.

“Let’s get started?”

You pull out your notes and recorder, settling into the seat across from him.

“This is for a piece on how ER staff are adapting to systemic constraints in—”

He lifts a hand. “Please don’t say ‘in these trying times.’”

You smirk, hitting record.

Thirty-five minutes later, your recorder is full. Your notes are chaotic. And your opinion of Dr. Jack Abbot… has evolved.

He’s still kind of a dick. But he’s compelling — sharp, honest, surprisingly self-aware. He talks with his hands, voice softening when he mentions residents by name. There’s a story there. Probably a few. But every time you try to dig, he deflects with dry humor and pointed looks that feel more teasing than defensive.

You’re packing up when he clears his throat.

“So,” he says, “you get what you need?”

“Think so,” you reply. “Unless you want to give me a stirring quote about resilience. Maybe something involving a phoenix.”

He leans back, arms folded. “How about: ‘Most days I want to punch a wall, but we’re out of budget for drywall repair.’”

You laugh. “Wow. Poetry.”

“You asked.”

You hesitate. “Honestly, I expected you to be more…”

“Hostile?”

“I was going to say ‘buttoned-up.’ But sure. Hostile works.”

He smirks. “If you wanted polished, you should’ve interviewed Robby. But I lost rock-paper-scissors.”

“Lucky me.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, voice low, “I think I’m the one whose luck is shifting.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, suddenly aware of how close he still is.

“Well… thanks for the time. I know your shift was long.”

“Mm.” He doesn’t commit to gratitude — just watches you.

You hesitate. Then — against instinct — you reach into your bag and pull out a card. “Here’s my email. Just in case anything else comes to mind.”

He takes it, thumb brushing over the raised print. “Of course. Let me show you out.”

Two days later, Jack is in a mood.

“Who pissed in his Wheaties this morning?” a nurse mutters.

“He’s been like that since that hot journalist left,” another chimes in.

“Maybe he got rejected.”

“I didn’t get rejected,” Jack snaps, startling them. “I’m just a sleep-deprived idiot who washed her damn business card with my scrubs.”

“Oh my God,” someone groans. “She’s a journalist. Just look her up and make up a reason to email. Jesus.”

Your inbox pings.

Subject: Quote Clarification From: [email protected] I meant “systemic negligence” not “strategic indifference” in that part about state funding. Also, I never said “heroic.” Ever. Want to make that crystal clear. If you want to double-check the phrasing, I know a place with good fries and strong drinks. -Abbot

You stare at it. Then reread. Is he… asking you out?

God help you, you kind of hope he is.

You reply:

Sure. As long as you don’t try to rewrite your quotes mid-pint.

The bar is dim, divey, absolutely his pick — confirmed when the bartender greets him with, “You back already?” and your drinks hit the table before you sit down.

“You have a tab here?” you ask.

“I had a chair with my name on it,” he says. “Until they caught me revising journal drafts on my days off.”

You laugh. “Work-life balance going well, I see.”

“The fries help.”

He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt. Still rumpled, but clearly intentional. Hair pushed back, eyes clear. The difference is subtle. But it’s there.

“So,” he says. “Am I worse in print than in person?”

“Oh, definitely,” you tease. “But very quotable.”

“That a line you use on all your sources?”

“Only the ones who share their fries.”

You both reach for the same one. Fingers brush. His breath hitches.

The air shifts.

You fall into easy rhythm. He tells stories — the worst shift, the weirdest patient, the quiet things that don’t make the cut but still shape the job. You tell him about being locked in a janitor’s closet at a mayoral debate. By the time you finish your drinks, you’re both laughing more than talking.

Your knees knock under the table.

He glances down. Then up. “So… is this part of the fact-checking process?”

You tilt your head. “Would you prefer it was?”

“Depends,” he murmurs. “You gonna quote what I say next?”

You pause. Then: “Not unless it’s good.”

His eyes stay on you. Then he leans in.

“How about this?”

The kiss is quiet at first. Soft. Testing. But deepens fast — hands in your hair, thumb at your jaw, like he’s been thinking about this since the interview and just needed the excuse.

When he trails down your neck, you forget your name.

You’re still catching your breath when he mutters, “Too forward to ask if you want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” you say. “But I like forward.”

He grins, hand low on your back. “Fifteen minutes this way. If you don’t mind walking.”

“Lead the way.”

You wake up slowly — not to an alarm, but to the quiet shift of weight beside you. Sheets tangled, room faintly lit by the early gray of morning. For a moment, you don’t move. Just listen.

Jack’s already awake. You can feel it in the way his breath has steadied, his body warm and solid beside yours, one hand resting lightly at your waist like he forgot to move it.

Your voice is quiet. “You always up this early?”

“I don’t sleep well. Occupational hazard,” he murmurs.

You turn toward him. He’s propped on one elbow, hair a mess, shirtless, gaze already on you. There’s something cautious in it — like he doesn’t want to push too hard, too soon.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“I think so.” A beat. “Little disappointed you didn’t try to sneak out. Would’ve made things easier.”

He smirks. “I thought about it. But then I realized, this is my house and I didn’t have anywhere to sneak off to.”

Your heart drops a bit “Oh shit, I spent the night. I don’t spend the night.” You try to get out of bed but his arm has you lightly locked in.

He watches your expression, then adds, voice lower, “I’m not in a rush. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

You search his face. “So what is this then?”

He shrugs, but it’s not dismissive. “Something I haven’t stopped thinking about since the break room.”

You huff a laugh. “God. I really thought you hated me.”

“I did,” he says. “For like the first two minutes. And then I realized you were just really fucking good at your job.”

You smile. “You know this is probably a bad idea, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, gaze lingering on your lips. “But not the worst one I’ve ever had.”

There’s a stillness between you. Not awkward. Just quiet.

From then on, you’re basically attached at the hip. Any free moment either of you has is spent together—or texting, though Jack is, hands down, the worst texter you've ever met. Half the time it’s just one-word replies. Sometimes emojis that don’t make sense. Once, a photo of a traffic cone with no context. But you find it weirdly charming.

Two months in, he invites you to grab breakfast after one of his night shifts. “Swing by the hospital,” he says. “We can walk from there. Just let them know you’re here for me, they’ll let you in.”

You’re nervous walking in. You’ve been here before, obviously—it’s how you met Jack—but it feels different now. Like meeting the family. And you haven’t even talked about labels.

But the moment he spots you, his whole face lights up. He cuts across the nurse’s station toward you without hesitation.

“Hi,” he says, giving you a quick kiss. “You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

“No, no,” you murmur, caught off guard by the PDA, especially in his workplace. “Just got here.”

“Perfect.” He glances at a chart in his hand. “I just need to hand this off and then we’re good to go. Mind sitting here for a sec?”

He leads you to his desk, and it’s all so… Jack. A photo of him and a few Army buddies, a coffee-stained mug with a jackrabbit on it, a bumper sticker that reads Honk if you love amputees, and—tucked behind his monitor—your article, folded up like something worth saving.

You don’t even get a chance to sit fully before a couple of nurses wander over.

“That article you wrote? Incredible,” one of them says. “You really captured the systemic issues. We appreciate you shining a light on it in such a visible way.”

“Oh—it was an honor to be trusted with the story,” you reply, a little flustered. “You all do the hard work. I just hope it helps spark something.”

You feel Jack behind you before you hear him.

“You two done harassing my girl?” he teases, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You don’t miss the look exchanged between the nurses before they excuse themselves, already whispering as they disappear down the hall.

“Alright,” he says, tilting his head toward the exit. “Ready to go?”

“What, no grand tour? You were so rude the first time I was here—I didn’t get one then.”

He smirks. “Fine, whatever. Let me show you around.”

He takes you on a brisk loop, introducing you to a few of the names you've heard in passing—Santos, Samira, the guy who once threw out his back trying to do a TikTok challenge. Then a voice rings out:

“Abbot, leave. You were off fifteen minutes ago. Get out.”

You turn to see Robby, grinning, arms crossed.

Jack sighs. “Just showing a guest around before heading to the diner.”

“Ohhh,” Robby says, eyes narrowing.

“This is the Robby?” you ask, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for being so good at rock-paper-scissors. I wouldn't have met this guy without you.”

Robby laughs. “Ah, the journalist. It’s about time. Great article, by the way.”

“Had some great sources,” you reply.

You leave the hospital together, walking a few blocks to a small diner. Once you’re settled in a booth and sipping coffee, you nudge his knee under the table.

“Demoted from ‘your girl’ to ‘a guest’ in a matter of minutes. Think I failed the family meet-and-greet.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, I’ve been panicking about that for the last twenty minutes. I froze. First time felt natural… saying it again, in front of Robby, just felt…presumptuous.”

“I didn’t mind,” you say, voice a little quiet. “We haven’t talked about it, but… I didn’t mind. I’m not seeing anyone else. Just… so you know.”

He looks at you, serious now. “Yeah. Me neither.”

You smile, tentative. “Good to know. I’m not really planning on seeing anyone else.”

“I sure hope not,” he says, then falters. “I, uh… don’t really want to keep doing this unless we’re exclusive. But if that’s not what you’re looking for, I—”

“Jack,” you interrupt, amused. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He groans again. “You don’t have to make it sound like we’re in third grade.”

“Well, you’re kind of acting like it.”

“Okay, yes,” he says, finally meeting your eyes with a grin. “I’m asking. Officially. Want to be my girlfriend?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmmm. Depends. Will you start texting like a normal person?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then yes,” you say. “But only because you’re cute.”

He laughs, reaches across the table to tangle his fingers with yours. “Deal.”

And just like that—without fireworks, without ceremony—you’re his. And he’s yours.

#jack abbot #jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #the pitt drabble #the pitt imagine #dr. abbot #dr. abbot x reader #dr. abbott #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #p attempts to start writing #ex!reader and babydaddy!jack

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endofthelinegang · 2 months ago

Text

the patriot

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ john walker x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ #90 from the prompt list "If I ask you to kiss me in front of all these people, will you do it?"

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ bad words

use this magical link here to find a number and give me a request for ANY marvel character :)

The op was supposed to be clean.

Get in, get the files, don’t get blown up. Real simple. Barely an inconvenience. Except for the part where every camera system in the building was running on spaghetti code and Cold War duct tape. Except for the part where John Walker—your Thunderbolt teammate, reluctant handler, and possibly a human caffeine tablet in a tactical vest—was stuck in the same room with you, trying to keep you from pushing every glowing button just to see what they did. And especially the part where Valentina Allegra de Fontaine called you two specifically instead of anyone else on the team to do the most absurd thing imaginable mid-mission.

“Don’t touch that,” John barked, not looking up from his datapad. He’d said it four times now. He was practically hitting you in the head with his elbow from how close he was standing to make sure you hadn’t gotten bored and decided to just mess around with something.

You hovered your finger over the blinking red control switch labeled COOLANT OVERRIDE. “You don’t even know what this does.”

“I don’t need to,” he muttered, thumbing through corrupted files. “I know you, and if you touch it, it’s gonna end with us knee-deep in radioactive soup or setting off an old Soviet alarm that wakes up a bear.”

You dropped your hand. “One time, Walker. I trigger one bear one time and suddenly I can’t have a little fun anymore?” In all fairness to which you did not bring up was that it had not just been you who had done it. It was actually you and Yelena discussing what the little symbols meant, she thought bear and you thought maybe a small house dog. You were wrong, and no one died.

He gave you a look. “You shouldn’t name the bear, either.” You smiled at him and just remembered the look on his face when he walked in to see a bear three times the usual size staring him down. He was trying to kill it, and you were considering maybe keeping it as a pet,

“Dmitri had a soul.”

He sighed like he’d been aged by this job, by you, by everything. You tapped the tops of your boots on the floor taking your hands away from the buttons you looked up at John. He was reading really intently, his thumb tapping off the back of the device creating the tiniest little noise when the hard piece of his tactical glove hit. Before he could notice you were studying him the comms crackled.

“Hey, so, uh…” It was Val. The two of you immediately made eye contact and listened in. The two of you could tell from her little “uh” that she had been on the phone all day thus far. Which was never good. “We’ve got a situation.”

You and John exchanged a look. Neither of you wanted to talk first so you pointed a finger at him before he shook his head and nudged you with his boot. “What kind of situation?” you asked slowly.

“The kind where CNN’s en route, the press already knows you’re in-country, and Walker’s last mission made him trend for destroying national land with a motorcycle instead of the enemy. We need positive coverage. Like, immediately.”

You blinked. He was throwing his hands around ready to respond to her and have a repeat conversation about how he did not know it was national land and that he was just doing what had to be done. But not wanting to hear that conversation you broke the brief silence, “How is that our problem?”

There was a pause on the line but you could still very faintly hear her making little sighs and the fact that she had stopped walking wherever she was headed because the little clacking of her heels stopped. You knew right then she was going to tell you something you did not wanna hear.

“You’re both hot, you’re both in one piece, and the system’s still down so I can’t even see where the rest of your idiot team is. We’re going with plan D.” Val finally breathed it all out so fast that you barely understood her but you did catch the “you’re both hot” part which you could not fathom was going to go anywhere good.

John narrowed his eyes looking at you before setting down what actually needed to be worked on because he too could sense this was going to be some shit, “What’s plan D?”

“You kiss.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

Eye contact seized.

Even the building, full of ancient rust and creaking pipes, seemed to go quiet. The machines that had been making fuzzy noises were silent. John said nothing for a second. Then: “The hell we do.”

“I’m serious,” Val snapped, now she knew the two of you had heard her and were considering her little plan. That is all a woman like herself needed. “Sell a romance arc. I don’t care if it’s real, fake, or hate-fueled. Make the press eat it up. We need a distraction.” You grabbed onto John's arm and pulled yourself up off the ground because this was way more serious than whatever she originally had you working on.

You rubbed your forehead and started pacing back and forth, with a slightly raised voice you spat at her, “Val, I swear to God—”

She cut out.

“Val?” you said again. “Val—”

Nothing. Comms dead.

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the team was losing it.

“We’ve almost got it,” Bucky said through clenched teeth, typing furiously at an old Soviet terminal hooked up to an external power supply Ghost had hotwired together from literal scrap metal. The keys were sticking on and off thanks to the metal of his fingers slamming them so deeply into the board.

“Are you sure that’s the right port?” Ghost asked, upside down, practically inside the wall. She was hoping anything would work so that there was a possibility of leaving this dingy and smelly place as soon as possible.

“It’s glowing red,” Alexei said, pointing helpfully. “That seems promising.” He was nodding and absolutely no one in the room was even looking at him.

Yelena threw her hands in the air. “Everything in this place is glowing red! The coffee machine glows red!”

“I told you not to drink from that!” Bucky barked, usually John was the one giving helpful advice or rules such as that but he was too busy running around with you. Which was honestly beneficial, Walker would have already shattered that keyboard into the wall and everyone would have been standing around bored as a team.

Yelena shrugged. “Too late. I have regrets.” She gagged and fanned at her mouth taking in deep breaths.

“Focus!” Ghost said. “We need visual back before Val loses her entire mind.” Ava nudged into Bucky watching what he was doing to make sure nothing else went wrong.

Alexei leaned over, his piece was the only one that had been working this entire time, which he did not mention, but now he had something fun to say so it would be worth telling on himself, “Pretty sure she already did. She told them to kiss.”

The others paused in synchronized horror, Buckys hands stopped typing, Ava did not even look backwards at the man who was now belly laughing, and Yelena slowly put her tongue back into her mouth and her hands fell to her sides,

“…Oh no,” Yelena whispered. “They wouldn’t.”

Bucky’s fingers flew faster, he snapped out of his trance just long enough to get into a rhythm of typing and then slamming the keyboard onto the desk to prevent his earlier issue from happening. “What happened now? What could warrant that?”

“Visual coming online,” Ghost announced, shaking the hell out of the box connected to the computer that was so hot from being overworked that no one else was even willing to touch it.

Bucky smacked the monitor and jiggled it a bit watching as the static would stop and start. Then the static cleared—

And then—

“OH MY GOD,” Alexei shouted, running over to the computer and putting both hands on Bucky’s back. “I—THEY’RE—”

“ARE THEY KISSING?!” Yelena shrieked practically jumping on top of Ava who was frozen in total shock not even caring that Yelena now reeked of what smelled almost like coffee but worse.

Ghost slammed a button. “Recording started.”

“We do not need a recording of this.” Bucky groaned and sat back in the chair that was now sitting straight up and down thanks to Alexei’s weight pushing on the back of it.

Back in the camera's line of sight, you and John were still standing close together, you had stopped pacing once you realized there was really no getting her back online and that just not doing it was not going to be an option.

He muttered, for once he was trying to not be rude and just handle the situation for what it was, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But you? You broke into a grin, an evil and sinister little grin as you now stood toe to toe with him, arms around his neck and hands resting right on the back. He didn’t move a muscle he just stared you down.

“Well, Walker,” you said leaning into him just enough to feel his chest rise and fall against yours. “Ready to be a patriot?”

He touched the side of his head to yours placing two hands on your hips. “You enjoy this way too much.”

“If I ask you to kiss me in front of all these people, will you do it?” Before John could again be the one to make the final blow, you pulled your face back from his ear and pulled your arms back so that your hands could grab onto his face. The kiss hit like a switch flipping. His hands moved against your waist instinctively, firm and grounding. You felt the tension in his shoulders melt and re-coil in new, unfamiliar places. His lips were warmer than expected, mouth soft but insistent, the kind of kiss that said we’re doing this, and we’re doing it right. Then of course John took things into his own hands like you knew he eventually would, guiding you back against the cool panel wall. Your hands were going everywhere now. First you curled then into his vest, then up into his hair without thinking, because of course it was soft, and of course he groaned low in his throat when you did it. The angle shifted, deepened—

“OH MY GOD THEY’RE STILL GOING,” Yelena howled, Ava had sensed moved on once she realized that this may only be the beginning of whatever was going on so Lena had a front row seat to the action now.

“That’s the most American thing I’ve ever seen,” said Alexei, sounding weirdly proud smacking both of Bucky’s shoulders, still choosing to be right behind him instead of his right side which was completely empty.

“I’m turning this feed off,” Bucky muttered. “I’d call HR if they weren’t the ones insisting they do this.” He scowled, watching in clear view of Walker moving one hand from your waist up your body and into your hair.

“I’M RECORDING,” Yelena declared, moving the keyboard away from him.

Val shrieked something about “fireable offenses” and “weddings get 30% off in DC if you use my name.” To the entire group seeing as to how everything for the actual mission was now at a complete standstill.

And you? You pulled back just an inch, breath warm against John’s jaw, grinning like an idiot.

“That’ll sell it,” you whispered, not moving to push him back or anything to get away from him just staying put.

He looked at you, expression unreadable.

“…Yeah,” he said after a second. “It will.”

Back at the safehouse, nobody let you live it down. Yelena and Ava brought popcorn to the debrief. Red Guardian reenacted the whole thing with sock puppets for your good friend Bob who could not go on the mission. Bucky tried to avoid any and all conversation or reenactments of the whole thing. Val sent a legal contract titled Thunderbolt Relationship Clause 4B: I Told You So.

And John?

He sat next to you on the old couch, legs spread wide, one arm behind your shoulders—casual, like nothing had changed. Except everything had. You can feel his warmth all of a sudden, you can’t stop thinking about how you could just curl up next to him and cuddle.. Or how you could get in his lap and start kissing him all over again the way he was sitting. Instead you decided to move closer to him now you were touching side by side. Not saying a word he dropped one arm from behind the couch and sat it around your shoulders.

“You know,” you murmured, voice low, almost shy, “we might need a... sequel. For the press.”

He turned, slow and deliberate, one brow ticking up. “You talking damage control?”

You shrugged, playing with your own hands, spinning the rings around your fingers as you spoke. “Public morale. National interest. You know. All that patriotic stuff.”

His mouth twitched, but not into a smirk—something softer, more thoughtful, like he was weighing the truth in your joke. Or the lie in it. He was staring at you, watching how just started curling into his side. The way your hands were so unsure of what to do or where to go.

“We make a good headline,” he said finally, voice rough around the edges as he let out a little cough using the arm that was around your shoulders to dip down and wrap around your waist to pull you up closer to his face.

You met his gaze, “Then maybe we should give ’em something to write about.”

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t for show. No click of cameras. No orders in your ear. Just the press of his hand against your cheek, warm and certain. Your breath catching as he leaned in—slow, like he wanted you to stop him but knew you wouldn’t. Just the quiet hush of lips meeting, the kind of kiss that didn’t care who watched because no one was.

It was steadier than before. Realer. And when he pulled away, barely an inch, his forehead resting against yours, the world felt... quieter somehow.

Like the mission was done.

Like something else was just beginning.

(Kind of.)

#john walker x fem! reader #john walker imagine #john walker x reader #john walker #us agent x reader #john walker fanfic #us agent #thunderbolts x you #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #marvel #the new avengers

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pinkboaclub · 3 months ago

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Playboy Brother

Summery: A peaceful spring break at your best friends vacation house was supposed to be a quiet escape, just swimming, sunbathing, and relaxation. But when her older brother, Harry, unexpectedly shows up, the trip takes an unexpected turn when Sofia’s out for the night.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: smut, sleeping with friends brother, dom!Harry, zero protection, mention of alcohol, fem!reader

"You know what, Y/N?" Sofia turned towards you as you hung out in her dorm. "Let's ditch the party scene and do something actually fun for spring break."

You raised an eyebrow, though you weren't stoked about it, you both had agreed to go to Florida with your friend group for spring break. "What do you mean?"

Sofia's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I'm talking about my family's vacation house. We can swim, read books, maybe even go hiking. And it will just be us...very peaceful and relaxing"

You thought for a moment, the thought of crowded beaches and noisy parties fading away. The vacation house sounded like a breath of fresh air. "Alright, let's do it," you said, a smile spreading across your face.

As it was not near your University, Sofia's parents' vacation house felt like it was out of a dream, completely different from your concrete dorms. As you pulled into the driveway, the serene beauty of the surroundings captured you. The house itself was a cozy mansion that sat among tall, beautiful trees, with a beautiful pool. The moment you stepped out of the car, the sweet scent of the warm spring air hit you.

Inside, the house was exactly how you imagined a vacation house should be, with wooden floors, large windows looking out at the pool. The kitchen was stocked with all sorts of goodies, courtesy of Sofia's mom.

With the sun peeking through the windows, the temperature outside was perfect for a swim. You followed Sofia's lead and headed to the guest room where your bags where you placed your bag on your bed. You threw open her suitcase and pulled out a bikini.

You both immediately jumped in the pool after running down the stairs, letting the water cool you down.

"This is heaven, I haven't been in a pool in so long." you sighed as you floated on your back, your eyes closed.

A sudden ding from Sofia’s phone broke the moment. She climbed out, swiping at the screen. “Oh, my brother’s stopping by.”

You cracked an eye open. “Your brother?”

“Yeah, Harry. He’s just going to drop something off to store in the garage.” She tossed her phone onto a pool chair. You nodded, but a small part of you suddenly wished you’d packed a swimsuit with a little more coverage. Not that it mattered.

You and Sofia continued to lounge by the pool, letting the sun dry your skin, the warmth making you lazy. The sound of the backyard sliding door caught your attention, and instinctively, you lifted your sunglasses, eyes locking onto the man who stepped through.

He was tall, his broad shoulders were tanned from the sun, a sleeve of tattoos trailed down his muscular arm. Brown hair that was just messy enough to look effortless, and when his green eyes flicked to you, a jolt of something sharp and sudden shot through your chest.

“Sof,” he called, his voice deep and easy. “I’m just moving some stuff into the garage.”

"Okay, that's fine." She nonchalantly replied. Harry's eyes continued to glance at you. You caught his eyes wandering up and down your body multiple times. "Oh, Harry, this is Y/N."

Harry smiled and walked from the door over to where you were lounging. "Pleasure to meet you." He said, charisma shining through his words and smirk. He stuck out his hand and gave you a firm handshake. "I'm Harry."

You felt your cheeks warm up a little. "Nice to meet you too," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"So you two are gonna be here all week?" Harry asked, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sofia nodded. "Yep, just us and the great outdoors. You're not staying, are you?" she said, hopefulness in her tone.

"Nah, I've got my own plans," Harry replied with a wink. "But I might drop by again if you don't mind."

As Harry disappeared into the garage, you couldn't help but steal glances as he left. His shorts were short enough to see the couple tattoos he had on his legs, his t-shirt was snug enough to reveal the outline of his abs. You quickly turned your gaze away, not wanting to be caught staring at him or Sofia.

“Sorry about that…he’s such a play boy. He flirts with anyone and everyone.”

You chuckled, suddenly feeling less special. “No worries.”

The next few days at the house were full of relaxation. You and Sofia swam in the pool, watched movies, and would only leave to go shopping. Harry did drop by a couple more times, mostly to grab or drop off stuff, but each time his visits grew longer. You found yourself looking forward to his visits, and he always made a point to sit and chat with you whenever he could.

Though, as Sofia made sure to remind you, you knew he was being as friendly and flirting as he would with any girl Sofia could have brought with her.

One evening, as the sun began to set, Sofia suggested a night out in the nearby town. "We should hit up the local bar," she said with excitement. "A couple of my friends from here want to meet up."

"I'm not sure, I'm pretty tired," you admitted, your voice a bit weak. "Don't let me stop you though."

"Are you sure? It's just going to be a casual hang out."

You nodded. "Yeah, I think I'll just chill here and catch up on some reading." You picked up the novel you had brought along. "You go have fun, I'll be fine."

"Alright, if you're sure," she said, squeezing your shoulder. "Text me if you need anything."

As the door closed behind her, you settled back into the plush sofa with your book. The lake house was so peaceful, and the thought of the noisy bar was less than appealing.

You had been reading for a few hours when your phone buzzed with a text from Sofia.

Hey, sorry to bother you but Harry's on his way again. He's got some more stuff to grab. I can come back if you want.

‘No worries! I don't mind.’ You replied, your mind wandering to Harry, and him being here with you...alone. You shook your head, trying to get rid of any inappropriate thoughts, that's your best friend's brother.

A few minutes later, you heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Harry's footsteps echoed through the house, and soon he was standing in the doorway of the living room. "Hey," he said, his eyes lit up immediately after finding you. "I didn't know you'd still be up."

"Couldn't resist the peace and quiet," you said, setting your book aside. "How's your night going?"

"It's been good," Harry replied, stepping into the room. He was dressed casually in a band tee and jeans that fit just right. "But I figured I'd come by and grab a couple more things before the weekend gets hectic."

You nodded, trying to ignore the way his voice made your heart flutter.

"How has your spring break been?" Harry asked, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It's been pretty good, just relaxing mostly."

"That's the way to do it," Harry said, his eyes scanning the room before returning to you. "You know, it's funny, I'm surprised we haven't met before."

You felt your cheeks heat up. "I've met your parents...Sofia and I only met this year though." You shifted in your seat, your stomach turning in a knot. "I guess it was bound to happen eventually."

Harry chuckled, his eyes lingering on you. "I guess it was." He leaned closer, his gaze intense. "So, you're all alone here?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. "Sofia went out with some friends from around here."

"Ah, so it's just us then," Harry said, his voice dropping a notch. The air between you felt thick with something unspoken, and the room seemed to shrink with each passing second.

You nodded, feeling your pulse quicken. "Looks like it," you managed to murmur, your eyes flicking over to him.

The silence between you grew heavier, until Harry broke it with a smirk. "You know," he began, his eyes not leaving yours, "I've heard a lot about you."

Your heart raced as he moved closer, his arm brushing against yours. "Oh? Good things I hope." you asked, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. You couldn’t tell if he was flirting with you, or if that was his natural tone.

"Very good things," Harry said, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt your heart flutter again, and a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Well, I hope I can live up to the hype."

Harry leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I'm sure you can." His hand reached over and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You know, I've been wanting to get to know you better for a while now."

Your cheeks grew hotter and you swallowed, trying to find the right words. The chemistry between you was palpable, and it was getting harder to ignore. "Yeah? Did you have something in mind?" You replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a mischievous grin, Harry leaned in closer. His eyes dropped to your lips.

"I have a few ideas," he murmured, his hand resting gently on the sofa beside you. His thumb brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, Harry leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss. His lips were firm and insistent, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he pulled you closer. You smelled his strong cologne, which caused you to melt into him. You felt your body react instinctively, leaning into him as his other arm wrapped around your waist.

The kiss grew deeper, his tongue slipping between your lips to explore yours. He stood, pulling you to your feet, and you wrapped your arms around his neck as the kiss grew more intense.

"Come with me," Harry murmured against your mouth, his hand sliding down to grip yours. He led you through the house and up the stairs to a room you hadn't been in before. "This is my old room," he said, pushing it open.

The room was like a time capsule of Harry's youth, with posters of old rock bands on the walls and a queen bed covered in a plaid comforter. When you turned back to him, you picked up right where you left off.

Without breaking the kiss, his other hand slid down to the small of your back, pressing you closer to his body. His dominance was surprising but thrilling, making your legs feel like jelly. You stumbled backward slightly, and he took it as an invitation, walking you backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed. He leaned over you, his weight pressing you into the soft mattress.

You felt the heat of him, his chest against yours, his thighs between your own. His hand trailed up your side, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin under your arm, sending goosebumps across your body. Harry's kiss grew more demanding, his tongue exploring yours with a passion that made you gasp for air. He took advantage of the moment, deepening the kiss even further.

With a gentle yet firm touch, Harry's hand began to travel upwards under your shirt, his fingers tracing the line of your ribs. You felt a thrill as he reached the clasp of your bra, flicking it open with surprising ease. His hand cupped your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. His kiss grew more insistent, his tongue dancing with yours as he explored your body.

You felt his body shift and before you knew it, your shirt was being pulled over your head. Harry's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your bare chest. He leaned down and kissed your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, and you gasped, arching your back to give him better access.

His hands slid over your body, sure and confident, as if he had done this a hundred times before. You couldn't deny that his experience was a turn on, and your body responded eagerly to his touch.

With a wicked smile, Harry kissed down your body, his mouth tracing a path from your neck to your navel, making you squirm with anticipation. You felt his hands slip down to the waistband of your shorts, his thumbs hooking into the fabric. He paused, his eyes searching yours for permission. You nodded immediately.

He kissed the skin just above the band of your shorts, his breath warm and teasing. His hands began to tug at the fabric, sliding it down over your hips, revealing your underwear. His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you. "God, you're gorgeous," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Without wasting a moment, Harry pushed your legs up to your chest, his strong arms holding you in place as he leaned in. His mouth found the damp fabric between your legs, and he bit down lightly, making you gasp. You felt his tongue slip beneath the material, tasting you for the first time. The sensation was intense, and you squirmed, trying to get closer to him. His grip tightened, keeping you in place as his mouth moved in a rough, insistent rhythm. You felt a buildup of pleasure, your muscles tensing as he worked his magic.

He hooked his thumbs into the sides of your panties and tugged them aside, revealing your wetness to the cool air. Harry groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin, making your hips lift off the bed. He didn't hold back, his tongue plunging into you, stroking and teasing until you were writhing beneath him. You could feel his strong hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open to him as he feasted on you. You were lost in the feeling, your moans filling the room, your nails digging into the bed sheets.

Your body arched off the bed, but Harry's grip on your legs was firm, keeping you in place as he ate you out. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, making you squirm and gasp. He seemed to take delight in your reactions, his tongue becoming more demanding as he lapped at your clit, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs to keep you still. Your hand fell to his hair, tugging on it as he tongue continued to masterfully work over you. He groaned out at the harsh pull.

"Do you like that?" he murmured against you, his breath hot and his tongue continuing to dance against your sensitive flesh.

You could only nod, unable to form coherent words as his mouth worked its magic. His grip on your legs tightened, his thumbs digging into your inner thighs as he pushed them further apart. Harry's tongue grew rougher, his teeth grazing your skin as he devoured you with an animalistic hunger. You felt your body responding, your hips rocking up to meet his mouth.

He took two fingers, slowly sliding them into you before immediately pushing into your g-spot at a lightening fast pace.

Your moans grew louder, and you felt your body tightening around his digits. Harry's eyes watched you with a mix of pleasure and hunger, his strokes becoming more aggressive. He was in complete control, and the feeling was intoxicating. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

But just as you were about to climax, Harry pulled away, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. You whimpered in protest, your body begging for release.

"Patience," he said, his fingers tracing patterns on your thighs as he sat up and pulled off his shirt. His abs were defined, a sprinkling of hair leading down to his shorts, which were now tented with his arousal. You bit your lip, trying to control the desperate need pulsing through you

Harry noticed your gaze and smirked, unbuckling his belt.

"You wanna suck my cock, slutty girl?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You blinked, the vulgarity of his words a stark contrast to the sweetness of the moment. But the heat in his eyes and the hardness pressing against his shorts told you that he was dead serious. Your heart raced as you nodded, his dominance a surprising turn on. Harry smirked, his hand reaching down to unbuckle his belt and pull his shorts down.

As he revealed himself, you took a deep breath, your eyes widening at the sight of his large, thick cock. You slid off the bed, dropping to your knees and leaning in.. You wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling his pulse against your palm.

"That's it," Harry said, his voice a low growl of approval. "Suck it like you mean it."

You leaned in, taking him in your mouth, feeling the weight of his cock on your tongue. Harry's hand found your hair, his grip tightening as he guided your movements. He was not gentle, pushing deeper into your mouth with every thrust. You felt a mix of fear and excitement, his dominance making you wetter than you had ever been. You took a deep breath, focusing on pleasing him, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat with every bob of your head.

"That's right," Harry groaned, his hand tightening in your hair. "Take it all." You could feel his muscles tensing, his thighs trembling with the effort to hold back. His eyes stared into yours, his gaze never leaving you as he watched you suck him off. You moaned around his cock, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through his body. He began to move his hips in a steady rhythm, fucking your mouth with increasing force.

You felt your jaw ache, but the desperate need to please him overrode any discomfort. Harry's grip grew tighter, his hips moving faster as he approached climax. "I'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained. You nodded, eager to taste him, to feel him come in your mouth. With a final thrust, Harry's body stiffened and he released into your mouth. You swallowed, feeling the warmth of his cum slide down your throat.

Pulling away, you sat back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Harry leaned back, a smug smile on his face. "I want to see you on your hands and knees, on the bed, facing away from me," he said, his voice still rough with passion. He stood and stripped off the rest of his clothes, revealing his still fully erect cock.

You scurried to the bed, doing as he said. The mattress dipped as Harry climbed onto it behind you. Running a couple fingers up your slit, causing your whole body to shudder. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You liked sucking my cock, didn't you?"

"Uh, huh," you breathed, the only thing you were able to choke out, barely audible.

"Good," Harry said, his voice thick with desire. He positioned his cock at your entrance.

With a firm grip on your hips, Harry pushed into you, his size making you gasp. He didn't hold back, thrusting deep and hard, his cock filling you completely. Each stroke sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the bed. His dominance was like a drug, and you found yourself craving more.

"Is this what you wanted?" Harry asked, his voice a low growl as he fucked you. "You want my cock deep inside, don't you?" You could only nod, your eyes screwed shut as you tried to process the intense feeling of fullness. He was so deep, his cock hitting places that no one else had ever reached.

"I could tell from the moment I first saw you the other day...your pretty eyes staring at me."

You felt his hand on the back of your neck, he kept fucking into you, relentlessly. The power play was something new, something that sent a thrill through you that you hadn't felt before.

"Show me how much you've been waiting for this," he murmured as he pulled out of you and lay against the headboard.

With trembling hands, you climbed onto him and reached between your legs, gripping his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You felt the tip brush against you, and he groaned.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, his thick length filling you up, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. You threw your head back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as you took all of him.

But as soon as you were fully seated, Harry's hands were on your hips, his grip tightening. He didn't let you set the pace, instead pulling you back down onto him before pushing you back up again. His strokes were powerful, his cock sliding up into you with a force that had you seeing stars. You tried to keep your eyes on his, but the pleasure was too intense, and they slammed shut as you threw your head back. He didn't even last one minute not being the one in control.

"Fuck, you're tight," he grunted, his eyes locked onto the place where your bodies connected. You could feel the tension in his muscles as he held onto your hips, his thrusts becoming more erratic. You grabbed his arms to keep yourself steady, feeling his hard biceps.

Without warning, Harry's grip tightened, his hands moving to your waist. He lifted you slightly before slamming you back down onto him. His eyes never left yours, watching as your mouth formed a silent 'o' of pleasure with every impact. You could feel him swell even more inside you, his cock pulsing with every thrust.

"You're so fucking perfect," Harry murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Riding me like a good little slut." He leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "You like it when I use you like this, huh?"

You nodded, unable to form words as he continued to fill you completely with every stroke. The dirty talk was something you never knew you liked, but with Harry, it just felt right. You felt your cheeks flush with both pleasure and embarrassment, but you couldn't help but crave more.

But just as Harry's pace grew even more aggressive, he abruptly stopped, his hand coming up to cup your face, gently tilting it to look at him. His eyes searched yours, concern flashing across his features. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Is this too much?"

You took a moment to catch your breath, the intensity of the moment making your heart race. "No, no" you panted, nodding. "It's just...I've never...it's great." Harry chuckled with a smirk on his lips.

"I’m corrupting you ," Harry groaned, his eyes never leaving yours. "I can't help it," he murmured, his voice strained.

"I need to see your face when I fuck your slutty pussy." He pushed you down onto the bed on your back, his hands moving to grip your thighs and roughly pull you to the end of your bed. The change in angle was intense, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust.

You couldn't help but whimper, your body reacting to his words and actions. You felt so exposed, so used, but in the best way possible. His strokes grew deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made your toes curl. Harry's eyes searched yours, watching your reactions with a hunger that only grew with every moan that left your lips.

Your inner muscles started to pulse, your stomach started to churn, your orgasm was very close, and Harry's quick pace wasn't going to delay it.

"H–Harry." You stuttered quietly in an attempt to warn him of your nearing climax.

"Mm, I know," he murmured, his eyes dark with need. "I can feel you getting tighter around me." His thumb found your clit, circling it with the perfect amount of pressure to push you over the edge. "'Gonna scream my name? Let the neighbors know whose fucking you good?"

You screamed out his name over and over again, begging him not to stop. A smirk was painted on his face, his name continuously leaving your mouth inflating his ego.

You bit your lip to stifle the cry that wanted to escape as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking with the intensity of it. Harry's eyes never left yours, watching you fall apart beneath him with a mix of satisfaction and hunger.

As the final waves of pleasure subsided, Harry leaned down, his body pressing you into the bed. His cock was still hard, still deep inside you, and he began to move again, slower now, savoring the feel of you around him. His kisses grew more gentle, his hands caressing your body as he whispered into your ear.

"Where can I cum, baby? Your tits? Your pretty face?"

"Inside me." Without thinking the words left your mouth, you froze in shock...you had just met this man days ago. For whatever reason his dominance made you think before speaking. "If-if you want to...I'm on birth control...you don't have to..."

He looked at you for a moment before a smug smirk grew on his face. "Here I was thinking you were a little innocent girl."

Without giving you time to process his words, Harry started to pick up his pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with renewed vigor. You felt your body respond, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. The feeling of his bare cock inside of you was something new and thrilling, and you found yourself getting lost in the moment.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "You want it all, don't you? You want to feel me fill you up."

Your body responded with a desperate nod, your legs tightening around his waist. Harry chuckled darkly, his grip on your ankles never wavering. "Good girl," he murmured, his thumbs pressing into your hips. He began to move faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. The pleasure was almost unbearable, the friction of his bare cock against your sensitive walls making you scream his name.

With each stroke, Harry's eyes grew darker, his breaths more ragged. You could feel his muscles tensing, his body preparing for his release. The anticipation was exhilarating, and you found yourself giving him the sweet submissive look he was looking for, urging him to his release.

"Fuck," Harry groaned, his hips moving faster, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. "You're gonna make me cum, baby."

You felt your walls tighten around him, the sensation of him getting closer to climax making you even wetter. You nodded eagerly, your voice breathy and needy. "Fuck, Harry," you encouraged, the words coming out in a rush. "Cum inside me."

Harry thrust one last time, his cock swelling and pulsing as he emptied himself into you. You felt the warmth of his release fill you up, the sensation of his hot cum sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your body. He collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he rode out the last of his orgasm.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breaths mingling in the quiet room. The air was thick with the scent of sex, your bodies damp with sweat. Harry's heart pounded against your chest, and you could feel his breath against your neck as he kissed you softly.

He pulled out of you, his eyes searching yours, and you could see the gentle concern in them. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice tender. But even as he asked, there was a hint of the playboy in his tone...you could tell that was something he had asked plenty of girls before, a reminder of who he was and what this was.

"Yeah," there was an awkward silence between you. "We should get cleaned up...before Sofia gets home."

You felt Harry's weight shift as he stood up, leaving you feeling empty and cold without his warmth. He offered you a hand, helping you to your feet. His gentleness was surprising after the raw passion you had just shared, and it left you feeling a little off-balance. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts.

He grabbed a towel from the floor, handing it to you before grabbing one for himself. Harry's gaze was still intense, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush hair from your face. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you again, but instead, he leaned in and whispered, "You're something else."

The words hung in the air, leaving you feeling both flattered and a little unsure. He was still Harry, the playboy, but for a brief moment, you had seen a glimpse of something more vulnerable beneath the surface. He stepped back, the mask of nonchalance slipping back into place.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs jolted you back to reality. "Shit," you hissed, your eyes widening. "Sofia's home."

"Fuck," you whispered, your eyes darting around the room. You grabbed you clothes off the floor and began to quickly get dressed. "I better get back to my room." Before Harry could say anything, you left, peeking behind the door, before racing to your room when you saw the coast was clear.

You barely had time to sit down on the bed, your heart racing when you heard Harry's footsteps descending the stairs. His voice grew clearer as he approached the living room where you knew Sofia was waiting. "Hey," he called out, the sound of his voice so casual it was almost jarring after what had just happened. "Just dropping off some stuff in my old room."

Sofia's voice followed, a mix of curiosity and annoyance. "Okay, where's Y/N?"

You could hear Harry's footsteps stop, the beat of his heart echoing in the silence. He took a moment before responding, "Oh, she went to bed like an hour ago."

You had just had sex with your best friend's brother, in the house where you both would be staying for the weekend. The gravity of the situation settled heavily in the pit of your stomach, making you feel sick.

The sound of their conversation grew muffled as you lay back on the bed, trying to catch your breath. You had to play it cool, act like nothing had happened. You couldn't let this ruin your friendship with Sofia, or Harry's relationship with his sister.

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wbbfannnnnn13 · 9 days ago

Text

Close Coverage // Chapter 2

Theme: WNBA pazzi au... rivals-to-lovers

a/n: new series getting me out of my writing slump... setting up plot here, but next chapter gonna be fun

wc: 4k

warnings: none

**** Chapter 2: Spotlight Fatigue ****

Paige

“Alright, Paige—this time, give me fierce.”

Paige tilted her head, adjusting the collar of her Sparks zip-up like it was part of the bit. “Fierce like… ‘put it on a T-shirt’ fierce or ‘they’re still looking for their ankles’ fierce?”

The photographer laughed. “Whichever comes more naturally.” She smirked, flipped her ponytail over her shoulder, and let the corner of her lip curl just enough. Flash. Click.

Next set. New shirt. New sneakers. Same energy.

She didn’t mind this part, not really.

The lights were hot, the poses got repetitive, and the playlist cycling in the background was trying way too hard—but Paige could work a room. Always had.

She’d figured it out early: the exact tilt of her chin that made the camera love her, the offhand jokes that put the crew at ease, the kind of smile that read as both I belong here and don’t take me too seriously.

Golden hour might’ve been artificial in here—just angles and clever lighting—but Paige had a way of stepping into it like it followed her around.

Because it always seemed to.

She liked being easy to work with. The “she’s great on set” kind of person. It made her feel like a pro, like she wasn’t just here to play ball but to make everyone else's day run smoother.

Let the stylist do her thing. Hit the mark. Crack a joke at the right time. Smile on cue, but make it feel spontaneous. It wasn’t fake—it was just… practiced. Thoughtful. A kind of performance that felt good, actually. Like something she could control.

This was the easy part. The bright part. The part that looked good in clips and reels and end-of-year montages. The part that reminded her why she loved it. Even when it cost her.

And yeah, her cheeks would ache later, and she’d probably crash the second she got home—but in this moment? Paige was golden.

Just like they expected. Just like she wanted to be.

A production assistant offered her a water bottle and a protein bar, eyes a little wide, like they weren’t sure if they were interrupting. “You doing okay?”

Paige took both with a grateful smile. “Better now. You’re saving lives out here.” She glanced at the wrapper. “These have peanut butter in them, right?”

“Almond,” the assistant winced. “Sorry.”

Her smile dipped just a little—not in annoyance, just exaggerated heartbreak. “Tragic. But I’ll survive.”

Then, gentler: “Seriously, thanks for thinking of me.” She gave a quick nod toward the chaos behind them. “Bet no one’s asked if you’re doing okay.”

The assistant blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—I mean, yeah. I’m good.”

“Good,” Paige said, already halfway unwrapping the bar. “But hydrate anyway. No one’s allowed to pass out before the third outfit change.”

The assistant smiled—real this time—and ducked back behind the lights, a little straighter than before. Paige took a bite like it offended her, and leaned back in the chair while someone fixed her hair.

“Last one, I promise!” the director called. “You’ve been saying that for the last three setups,” Paige shot back, but there was no bite to it.

She turned to the camera with a soft smize, threw in a peace sign, and they called it. Applause rippled around the room. Paige dipped into a half-bow like she’d just closed a Broadway show.

“Y’all are too kind.”

She took a deep breath once they let her go. Her cheeks hurt from smiling and her legs were low-key fried from yesterday’s hill work, but still—there was something about showing up and making people laugh that grounded her.

Even when she was running on fumes.

***** Back in the car, Paige shut the door and let the silence settle—soft and stretchy, like the moment right before a tip-off. The kind that hummed with anticipation, even if you didn’t know what was coming yet. She exhaled, finally alone, the manufactured brightness of the set fading into the dim hush of her car’s interior. Her head tipped back against the seat, lashes brushing her cheekbones, the cool leather grounding her for the first time all day. Then—habit—she reached for her phone, tugging it from the side pocket of her gym bag, the screen already lighting up like it missed her. Her half-drunk protein smoothie wobbled on the dashboard, where she’d wedged it earlier like a placeholder for self-care. It had already tipped over once this week—yesterday, actually. Right onto a clean hoodie. She’d pretended it was fine. Today? She caught it just in time.

Missed call – Nina (Agent) Text – Call me. Just signed off. It’s her. Another ping – Nike Campaign Confirmed RISE ABOVE — You + Azzi.

Paige stared at it.

Then blinked. Then said, “Okay… plot twist,” to no one in particular.

She didn’t know what she was expecting—definitely not that. But there it was.

She leaned her head against the seat and held the phone like it might start explaining itself.

Azzi. Interesting choice.

Not that Paige had a problem with her. Azzi was… good. Really good. Smooth in a way that didn’t ask for attention, just earned it. The kind of player who didn’t miss the small stuff. Who played like she saw the whole court and three plays ahead. Quiet. Polished. Serious without being stiff. Confident without ever performing it. The kind of player who let her game speak in full sentences. No flash, no footnotes—just facts.

They weren’t close. Had never really had a thing—not drama, not friendship, just… orbit. Always in the same conversations. The same lists. The same breathless comparisons.

And now? Apparently, the same campaign.

She stared at the screen a second longer. The pairing made sense. On paper. Fire and ice, chaos and control, or whatever tagline the Nike execs had probably scribbled on a whiteboard.

She took another sip of her smoothie, wrinkled her nose, and mumbled, “Guess I’m the chaos.”

She exhaled slowly through her nose.

It’s fine. You’ll make it work. Be charming, be cool, get through the shoot, maybe even have fun with it. Maybe this is the thing that shifts it—whatever “it” is.

She paused.

Even if Azzi’s never exactly… tried. Not cold. Not rude. Just... closed. Like Paige was someone she tolerated across press lines but didn’t have much time for beyond that.

Which was fine. Probably. Something she’d sort through once Nina picked up.

It sat weird in her chest. Not anger. Not nerves. Just… that unsettled buzz.

She tapped the screen and hit Call.

Nina picked up on the second ring. “Didn’t think you’d actually call.”

Paige smirked, tilting her head back against the seat. The ceiling of her car stared down at her, paint-chipped and oddly comforting. “You texted me like it was breaking news. I figured I owed you a dramatic reaction.”

“Was it dramatic?” “More like... confused with a splash of internal chaos.” She reached for her smoothie, then thought better of it. Warm protein wasn’t the vibe.

Nina laughed. “Sounds about right.”

Paige traced a fingertip along the stitching of her steering wheel. Her shoulders were relaxed, but her knee was bouncing like it had something to say.

“So,” she said. “Azzi.”

“Yup.” “That’s who we’re going with?” “She already signed off. Contracts are done. You’re the face of RISE ABOVE. Together.”

Paige let that settle. She watched a cyclist glide past in the rearview mirror and briefly envied how simple their destination probably was.

“Cool,” she said finally. “Love that for us.”

“You okay?” “Totally,” Paige replied, like that settled it. “Just caught off guard. We’re not exactly besties, you know?”

“She’s not exactly besties with anyone.” “Right,” Paige muttered. “Classic lone wolf...”

Not unfriendly. Just... unreachable. Like trying to find the door to a house with no front steps.

Nina sighed. “You don’t need to overthink it. They’re leaning into the contrast. Your spark, her stillness. Fire and ice. Big narrative stuff.”

Paige stared out the windshield, watching her breath fog lightly against the air conditioning.

“Let me guess—I’m the fire.” “You’re the one people can’t take their eyes off.” “And she’s the one who never gives them anything to work with.”

It came out sharper than she intended. A reflex, maybe.

She softened. “Not in a bad way. Just... she’s hard to read.”

“She’ll warm up.” Paige gave a quiet laugh. “You say that like she hasn’t had a decade to decide if she wants to talk to me.”

Nina didn’t answer right away. Just drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re not the only duo,” she said finally. “A’ja and Stewie are doing part of the campaign too. Maybe even Kahleah and Kelsey. But you two…” She glanced over. “You’re the story.”

Paige pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

Nina didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

“She’s never been mean or anything,” Paige added, voice lower now. “Just… never made much of an effort. I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t either.”

Which was true. She’d been content to float around it—whatever “it” was—so long as the press didn’t make a thing out of it. The comparisons were easier to manage when there were no stakes.

“You don’t have to be best friends,” Nina said gently. “Just be you. That’s the version they hired.” “Good,” Paige said, letting the smile tug at her lips again. “That version comes with good lighting and excellent posture.”

Nina laughed. “You’re gonna be fine.” “I know,” Paige said, the way you do when you're mostly convincing yourself.

There was a beat of quiet on the line. The good kind. Soft-edged. Familiar.

“I don’t even know what I’d say to her,” Paige added. Then, with a shrug she could feel even over the phone: “Actually… no, I do. But I’d probably make it weird.”

Nina hummed. “That’s your brand.” “Exactly.” “Own it.” “I always do.”

Paige smiled and ended the call, but didn’t move. Her phone stayed in her hand, screen glowing faintly against her palm.

She imagined it—just for a second.

Azzi across from her under the lights. Calm. Professional. Barely looking her way.

Not cold, not rude. Just… indifferent.

The way she always had been.

Paige tapped her nail against the back of her phone.

It shouldn’t bother her. Not really.

But something about being easy to ignore felt like the wrong kind of spotlight.

Fine. Totally fine. She wasn’t expecting anything.

She leaned back again and closed her eyes for half a second.

Just a campaign, she told herself. How weird could it get?

****

She didn’t go to the gym—though that had been the plan, once. But the day dragged, shoots ran long, and by the time she got home, even the idea of lacing up felt ambitious. No film, no PT, not even a scroll through her texts.

Instead, she drove home with the windows cracked, let the city buzz past her like background noise, and let her thoughts drift to anything but early call times and staged rivalries.

By the time she stepped into her apartment, the smell hit her first.

Pepperoni. Extra cheese. And the unmistakable scent of someone else’s socks.

Paige dropped her keys and rounded the corner into the living room.

“KK.”

Kamorea “KK” Arnold was sprawled across her couch like she owned the place, a half-eaten slice of pizza dangling from one hand and a sports doc playing at full volume. One of Paige’s hoodies was slouched off her shoulder, and her socks were mismatched, as usual.

“Hey. I started Full Swing over. You’re welcome.”

Paige blinked. “Did you let yourself in again?”

“You gave me the spare key.”

“For emergencies.”

KK shrugged, eyes on the screen. “I was hungry. But your fridge had, like, a sad orange and expired oat milk. I took initiative.”

Paige sighed, kicked off her sneakers, and grabbed a slice. “Remind me to change the locks.”

KK grinned. “You say that every time.”

Paige dropped onto the arm of the couch, took a bite, and stared at the muted golf swings like they might offer divine wisdom. The pizza was fine. Everything was fine.

KK glanced over, casually, like she wasn’t trying to read the energy in the room. “Long shoot?”

“Something like that.”

“Did they make you wear the sleeveless hoodie again? Because that thing’s a hate crime.”

Paige smiled. “No hoodie. Just, you know. Lights. Poses. Questions about leadership.”

KK nodded, lips pursed. “Ah. The classic: ‘What’s it like being the face of a franchise and also breathing oxygen like the rest of us?’”

Paige laughed, soft. “Basically.”

She leaned her head back for a second and closed her eyes, letting the silence stretch.

KK gave her a quick side glance. “You’re quieter than usual. I haven’t seen you this off since the reporter decided you were leaving the W for a TikTok career.”

Paige didn’t miss a beat. “That man should’ve lost his reporting credentials the second he typed that sentence.”

KK grinned. “You hit him with one trending dance and he spiraled.”

Paige smirked. “I blinked on beat and he thought I was changing careers.”

KK grabbed another slice. “To be fair, it was a pretty elite.”

Paige grinned. “Honestly? Whenever I retire, I’m doing it mid-dance tutorial. Straight face. Zero context.”

KK raised her pizza. “We deserve that content.”

They let the silence sit for a beat—easy, full, the kind that only happened with people who didn’t need to fill every space.

Then KK glanced over again, this time with more aim. “So… are we gonna talk about what’s actually bothering you? Or are we just gonna pretend pizza solved it?”

Paige let out a slow breath. “It’s nothing.”

KK didn’t flinch. Just waited.

Paige peeled the crust off her slice. “Okay, it’s kind of something.”

“Figured.”

She paused, then said it: “I’m paired with Azzi for a Nike campaign.”

KK blinked. “Fudd?”

Paige nodded.

KK raised both eyebrows. “Wow. So they really said let’s bottle all that underlying tension and market it.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Okay but like... smart of them.”

Paige laughed, but her shoulders stayed a little tight. “I don’t know. We’ve never really been friends. Not in high school, not in college, definitely not since the league. And now I’m supposed to be all camera-casual with someone who barely looks at me during warmups.”

“She went to Notre Dame,” KK said, like it was the root of all things.

“Exactly. We were born to dislike each other.”

KK nudged her knee. “Yeah, but you’re annoyingly likable. She’s not immune to that.”

“She might be,” Paige said, quieter now. “She’s… different. She plays it cool. Keeps things close. Like I’m in a completely different movie half the time.”

“Maybe she is,” KK said. “But guess what? You’re the scene-stealer.”

Paige cracked a smile. “That was dramatic. I respect it.”

KK leaned back. “Look, I don’t know her. And maybe she’s not friendly. But I do know you. And you could charm a brick wall if you had to.”

Paige tilted her head. “But should I have to?”

KK shrugged. “Probably not. But if anyone can pull a smile out of Notre Dame’s coldest export, it’s you.”

Paige huffed. “I hate how confident you sound.”

“That’s because I’m right.”

Paige looked down at her plate—crusts abandoned, cheese congealing—then back at KK. “You think this is gonna be weird?”

KK smiled. “It’s already weird. But maybe weird’s where something good starts.”

They sat with that for a second. The muted golf swings on the TV kept looping, neither of them really watching.

Paige reached for her phone, thumb hovering out of habit. Earlier that afternoon, between interviews and an energy drink she didn’t need, Nina had texted her:

“It’s confirmed. First shoot’s Friday. MJ said you can reach out if you want—here’s Azzi’s number.”

She’d asked Nina to get it. Just to reach out. Break the ice a little. But she hadn’t touched it all day. Told herself it didn’t matter. Told herself they’d handle it like pros.

But now—now she was thinking too much about how it would feel to show up and not say anything. To act like it was normal. Like she and Azzi hadn’t spent the last few years orbiting each other with the kind of tension that didn’t have a category.

She opened the text thread. Blank. The cursor blinked at her like it was waiting to see if she actually meant it.

You don’t have to make it anything, she thought. Just a text. Just common courtesy. Just being who you always are.

Still, her fingers hesitated.

“Don’t overthink it,” KK said, eyes on the screen.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

She was.

Paige exhaled through her nose and typed— long time coming.

No emoji. No punctuation. Just that.

She hit send before she could talk herself out of it and locked the screen like it might bite her.

It wasn’t that deep. Probably. Maybe.

The silence afterward wasn’t long. But it felt long. Like something had been released—and nothing had caught it yet.

KK glanced over. “You say something bold?”

Paige leaned back against the couch. “Bold-ish.”

KK grinned. “That’s progress.”

Paige didn’t answer. Just sat there, phone face-down, heart beating a little too loud for something that didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter.

Totally didn’t matter.

****

After KK left—pizza box empty, hoodie reclaimed, parting words something like “don’t overthink it, just moisturize and smirk”—Paige stood in the middle of her apartment and told herself to get a grip.

One campaign. One shoot. One carefully branded moment of fire and ice. She’d show up. Smile. Deliver her lines. Go home.

It wasn’t like they were asking her to get matching tattoos.

The plan had been to hit the gym earlier. That was always the plan. But media ran long, and by the time she made it home, it was already edging into too-late-to-bother territory.

Still.

Her body didn’t care what time it was. Neither did her brain, apparently. Everything in her felt tight and restless and just under boiling.

So she changed into her workout gear—tied her laces like she meant it.

She hadn’t been named league MVP by luck. Or lighting. Or post-game charm, no matter what Twitter decided. She’d earned it. Blew past doubters, played through injuries, tuned out every analyst who tried to reduce her to a highlight package.

She knew what they thought. She just didn’t care. Not when there was still work to do.

Last season’s championship finals loss? Still lived in her chest. Real estate it hadn’t given up.

She could hear it in the silence now.

She grabbed her water bottle, her playlist titled No Feelings Just Buckets, and her keys.

Didn’t check her phone. (Except once. At the elevator. Just to see if Azzi had posted. She hadn’t. Obviously.)

The gym lights were already on when she walked in—somewhere past 10 p.m. Her trainer didn’t even blink. Just nodded like, figured you’d crack eventually.

The weight in her chest lightened.

Here, everything made sense. Reps. Rhythm. Results.

No cameras. No old clips in her head. No unread texts from girls who were good at pretending nothing mattered.

Just the game.

And if she worked out like she was chasing something invisible— Well. That was between her and the rim.

****

Later that week, the apartment was still. City sounds dulled against the windows, her TV blinking through muted reruns of last season’s playoff run. Paige was on the living room floor, half-heartedly rolling out her calves with a neon orange foam roller she only used when guilt-tripping herself into recovery.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. She didn’t move.

She already knew it wasn’t Azzi.

She’d sent that text days ago—long time coming—just breezy enough to pass as casual. Not so breezy that it didn’t mean something.

Azzi never responded.

Which was fine. They weren’t close. Not really. Not then. Not now.

Still, her brain didn’t know how to let things sit.

And maybe that was why the memory crept in.

AAU Nationals. Summer. They’d both just lost. Different courts. Same bracket. Same hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Paige had been wandering the hallway with a blue Gatorade she didn’t even want when she spotted Azzi sitting near the vending machine. Hoodie up. Knees drawn in. One shoe off like she’d given up halfway through untaping.

She didn’t look sad. Just still.

Paige hesitated, then sat down beside her.

“You good?” she asked.

Azzi nodded without looking over. “Yeah.” A pause. “You?”

“Sure.”

They didn’t move. Paige leaned her head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling tiles like they might spell out what to do next.

“I thought your eurostep was clean,” she said eventually.

Azzi gave a soft, breathy laugh. “The ref didn’t.”

They talked for maybe five minutes. Nothing deep. Just enough to not feel like strangers. They split a bag of pretzels Azzi pulled from her backpack, crumbs catching on the tape still clinging to her ankle. Paige offered one AirPod and queued up a late-night R&B playlist—her favorite kind of background noise when things felt too loud. Bryson Tiller or H.E.R., something with a low thrum and lyrics that curled at the edges. Azzi didn’t object. They sat like that, shoulder to shoulder on the hallway tile, letting the music fill in the spaces their words didn’t. Paige couldn’t remember the exact song now, but she remembered how still everything had felt. Like the whole world had dropped into half-speed for a minute.

That was it.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing heavy.

Just a flicker of something she hadn’t looked at too closely at the time.

And now? It just felt... blurry. Like remembering the feeling of a dream but not the plot.

She hadn’t thought about that day in years. Maybe because nothing came of it. Or maybe because it was the only time Azzi had ever looked at her like she wasn’t just a stat line. Paige glanced toward her phone. The message thread was still empty. She didn’t know what she’d expected. Probably nothing.

Still—

Paige sat up, tossed the roller aside, and stretched her arms behind her. Her muscles ached in that good, used way.

Tomorrow was the shoot.

She’d be fine. She always was.

If Azzi showed up cold, distant—whatever—Paige could meet her there. She could be warm enough for both of them. Or not. Whatever the moment asked for.

She wasn’t worried.

Just… paying attention.

*****

The next morning, Studio 10 was already humming with soft lights and controlled chaos—techs unpacking gear, stylists laying out racks of color-coded apparel, someone calling for steam on wardrobe set three.

Paige had shown up ten minutes early.

Not because she was eager. Just… intentional.

She wore a black zip-up, hair half-tied, no makeup yet. Her nails were done though. White with a silver stripe. Clean. Sharp. Easy to flex in a promo still.

She chatted with a stylist about shoe sizes, cracked a joke with the lighting guy she’d worked with once in New York, and even offered her protein bar to one of the interns who looked like they hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

It was fine. She was fine.

She hadn’t checked her phone again. Azzi hadn’t texted back. Whatever.

Paige adjusted the collar of her Nike fleece, took a sip of her green juice, and scanned the room with the casual ease of someone used to being the center of attention—but pretending she didn’t notice.

Then she felt it.

The subtle shift in air pressure. The way people looked toward the entrance without meaning to. The way the energy dipped, then straightened.

She turned, slow.

The room shifted. Not louder, just tighter—like a collective inhale. The intern paused mid-step. One of the stylists adjusted their collar for no reason at all. Paige didn’t move. She could feel it already—eyes on both of them. The crew. The brand team. Whoever was writing the next headline. Waiting to see if the pairing would spark or fall flat.

Azzi Fudd had just walked in—black joggers, white tank, zip-up hanging off one shoulder, calm and polished like the moment belonged to her.

For a second, no one said anything.

Paige didn’t wait.

She took a step forward and smiled. Easy. Breezy. Just enough teeth.

“Hey stranger.”

Paige’s fingers curled slightly around her juice bottle.

Like her body clocked it before her brain did.

Azzi paused.

Eyes sharp. Posture squared. Like she wasn’t sure if this was a setup or a script.

But Paige kept her voice light. “You made it. I was starting to think you’d ghost the whole campaign and make me carry the brand alone.”

Azzi’s mouth twitched—maybe almost a smile.

“Wouldn’t want to steal your spotlight.”

Neither of them moved. Not right away.

Paige’s hand twitched at her side, like her body wanted to step in, but her brain hadn’t decided yet.

Paige shrugged. “Please. You were born with your own.”

Their eyes held for a second longer than necessary.

That flicker?

It was back.

Sharper now. Warmer. Maybe even real.

Paige blinked first.

She’d never thought of it as a rivalry.

Not really.

But maybe Azzi had.

Maybe that’s why it always felt like she was chasing something she didn’t know she was playing for.

Azzi didn’t say anything.

And Paige didn’t ask her to.

She just turned.

“Come on,” she said, gesturing toward wardrobe. “Let’s make the internet combust.”

#wbbfannnnnn13 replies #pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi

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xxepherr · 7 months ago

Text

.ೃ࿐ELECTION DAY

summary — in which austin accidentally lets it slip that hasan’s faceless (yet public) girlfriend is the woman they’re currently watching analyse the maps on CNN.

pairings — hasan piker x politicalcorrespondent!girlfriend!reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1893

note — i personally would have “6’4 jacked boyfriend” as his contact name so that whenever weird men try to hit on me they see that but thats just me (and this reader insert ofc) (also this is nothing special just me rambling tbh — what’s to say this political!reader doesn’t become a mini series)

THE DAY WAS HERE. election day. not only was it the day your boyfriend had spent hours upon hours preparing for for weeks, but you, too. you were a political journalist and correspondent currently working the map for CNN during the weeks in the lead up to the election.

it was a big day for you. four years ago you were streaming your own map coverage to fifteen thousand people on twitch, accessing your sources across multiple states to provide statements on what was going on nationwide. being asked a couple months ago to run the maps in front of millions was certainly a step up, but it gave you control to speak objectively without bias unlike most of the other news anchors and correspondents that were pushing right-wing sentiment over any other coverage.

you hadn’t seen hasan in a few weeks now unless you counted facetimes and tuning into his streams. you’d get texts while he was streaming and the occasional kaya video ( because apparently she’d been whining with your leave ). it wasn’t the same, but you were both incredibly career-driven people, so being hours apart by plane wasn’t as daunting as it probably should’ve been.

“you’re gonna be late to stream,” you laughed softly, fiddling with the cap of the bottle of water someone had gotten you. endless tabs were open on your laptop in front of you, following aspects of every state because there was still hours to go before the polls closed, so you were only needed in short segments for now to go over 2020 and 2016 county votes in particular states at a time.

“you’re right,” hasan’s voice was slightly staticky through the phone. “i might have to focus on kornacki or fox news so that i don’t spend too long staring at you.”

“aw,” you let go of your phone, holding it between your ear and shoulder to screw the cap back on the bottle. one of the directors caught your attention across the room, holding up his hand to say that she had five minutes before they were back on air again. “i’m back on in a few . . . i’ll have your stream open on my laptop, though!”

“good luck today,” hasan said softly as he started his stream, leaving it on his opening scene while his mic was muted. people were already flooding in by the thousands. “i’ll talk to you in, what, twelve hours? i love you.”

“twelve hours,” you hummed in agreement, “i love you more,” you sighed softly, noticing that the twitch tab was reloading to take her to his ‘starting soon’ overlay. “good luck.” you ended the phone call first, quickly putting it back on do not disturb and placing it over on the table that was full of analytical notes. the board that now had the map of the united states of america was lit up again, an empty canvas waiting for you to load up the old votes to load up projected blue and red areas.

TOO MANY HOURS TO count and three hundred thousand viewers into the election, hasan was still going strong. despite the pull to watching CNN more than he probably should, he managed to force himself to switch between fox news to laugh at republican propaganda and msnbc. though, he would one hundred percent lying if he said he didn’t have CNN up on his second monitor.

things were steadily climbing, and josh ( ettingermentum ) was back after mike from PA left the call. josh, who had been raging on ( no seriously, no one had really heard him be that loud all day ) about how the democrats fucked up was finally broken up when austin joined the call, the atmosphere shifting.

christmas sign in full view and a cold slab of a slice of pizza being shoved into his mouth, austin’s discussion on if he was being sent to prison if the republicans dominated was dwindled until josh left the call to analyse the polls for twitter.

“ugh, can we watch something else?” austin asked, barely swallowing his mouthful of pizza first. “all i’ve done is watch fox today.”

“yeah,” hasan chucked humourlessly, clicking around mindlessly between tabs as he tried to find msnbc’s coverage. because the tabs were so small thanks to the fifty million twitter tabs he had open, he almost groaned in frustration when he accidentally clicked on the CNN tab.

the tab where you were conveniently fiddling with the data of state of pennsylvania. it was already a dangerous game having you on screen when the chat knew what the silhouettes of you looked like — photos from behind of you walking with hasan, photos of your eyes after he tried to do your makeup, mirror fit checks with your face covered by the phone . . . chat only needed to be railroaded enough to work it out.

just as he was about to switch tabs again, austin opened his mouth. “oh, man, i miss her,” there was a shift in his tone, more than just him speaking without thinking. familiarity shone through. from the way he casually uttered your nickname to the sigh, it was probably worse than railroading. it was the train forgetting to slam the brakes on worthy.

hasan wisely kept his mouth shut as he switched to fox news — anything was better than CNN currently — and his eyes slowly zeroed in on the chat. question marks upon question marks until it eventually morphed into ‘holy shit she looks familiar’ and ‘girlfriend reveal????’ to ‘omg face reveal’ and his breathing faltered.

someone switched the chat to emote only mode in the few moments he was silent for, austin thankfully following suit. glancing at his second monitor, you were still doing your thing, this time discussing the iowa flip from blue to red, completely oblivious.

“austin,” hasan finally said, tone flat. there was no use making a big fuss out of denying it — that would just make it more obvious.

austin chuckled nervously, awkwardly. “uh . . . sorry, hasan. i didn’t think about it . . . awkward.”

“clearly,” he grumbled, digging his fingers into his hair for a moment as he thought. the election was put on hold in his mind for a moment as he switched the screen to the full facecam. he wasn’t going to directly deny or confirm anything, so instead he said, “take what you will from what austin said. in saying that, don’t go harass her, clearly she was faceless for a reason. anyway,” hasan cleared his throat, “moving on, back to the election . . .” and he swiftly moved on like nothing ever happened ( while the mods were timing out anyone who asked about it for an entire week ).

“PENNSYLVANIA AND NEVADA ARE expected to be the closest as of currently,” you gestured to the map that demonstrated the slight wave from the blue shift. “we’re looking at about half a percent, but election night is full of surprises so . . . we’ll continue to keep an eye on that for now.” the directors in the back signalled that the camera was no longer live, and you nodded and took a deep breath. the polls weren’t looking as good as everyone had expected it would look for the democrats.

finally off the air for a much needed break, you wandered back over to your little table off to the side. notes were piling up, but upon noticing the spam of notifications flashing across your phone. weird, you thought, your notifications usually not showing up unless it came from verified accounts across all social media platforms . . . until you noticed that it was coming from your private instagram and twitter account. super weird.

and then the text from hasan.

6’4 SUPER JACKED BOYFRIEND: uhhh so austin accidentally told 300k people we’re dating

6’4 SUPER JACKED BOYFRIEND: call me when ur done? so sorry

oh. on one hand the first part was exciting. three hundred thousand? it was a new viewership record for him. on the other? that means a shit ton of people knew the secret you guys had spent almost two years safeguarding. you’d wanted to keep your face out of everything because you had your own career and didn’t want his to intertwine with it. a healthy work-life balance was keeping that shit separate, but it was only really time until people found out anyway. it wasn’t the best kept secret, anyway.

still, you weren’t mad. you sent off a quick text saying ‘it’s alr’ with a smiley face emoji and shut your phone off completely, shoving it off to the side and turning your laptop back on. you’d be back in california tomorrow, anyway, it could be dealt with then.

THE AIRPORT WASN’T AS secretive anymore. tired after only getting a couple hours of sleep because you got back to your hotel at some god awful hour this morning, it was an instant relief to see hasan waiting for you, dresses comfortably to not draw too much attention to himself — which was difficult because he was fucking huge.

either way, you had no energy to do anything but collapse into his waiting arms, letting him engulf you until you were suffocating. “this is nice,” you mumbled. “sorry i didn’t call, was so tired.”

“you’re fine,” he promised, pulling you back slightly to look at him. “i missed you,” he slipped his hand into yours, and he took your suitcase with his other hand. it was nice to be able to publicly be in his presence without worrying, so much so that you leant into his arm, tiredness dragging your feet.

“missed you more,” you said honestly, but there was more on your mind than just small talk. “where’s austin? motherfucker’s been blowing up my phone.”

hasan chuckled, “if i hear him apologise one more time i’m gonna commit a hate crime.” he then shook his head, “he wanted to stay at the house but i told him to come ‘round tomorrow . . . want you to myself first.”

you knew what that was code for, so you shook your head with a silent laugh. “let me sleep first, god.”

and sleep you did. the house was silent thankfully so you were content tucked up in hasan’s arms, stealing him from clocking in with his twitch chat for ten hours in a fit of selfishness that you were entitled too.

“austin might’ve saved our relationship,” you teased, trailing your fingers up his arm that was tightly wrapped around you, both on the verge of falling into dreamland. “now we can go out on proper dates again.”

“you can tell him yourself,” hasan’s arms tightened around her a little bit more, so full of warmth that the blanket was starting to render useless. “when he knocks our door down tomorrow morning.”

“aw, come on,” you tapped his arm a little harder, fighting the urge to gnaw on his forearm. “you love him.”

“i love you, he’s just my side piece,” he kissed the side of your neck tenderly, “night, baby.”

“g’night,” you mumbled back with a soft smile, the world drifting away for just that little bit longer until tomorrow rolled around. you could deal with your very public relationship then.

#hasanabi x reader #hasan piker x reader #hasanabi fic #xeph writes about hasan

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lacedwithpoetry · 5 days ago

Text

────★ THINKING ABOUT… DICK GRAYSON, who doesn’t realize how much he truly loves tan lines.

୭˚. ᵎᵎ contains… Dick Grayson x tanned reader

୭˚. ᵎᵎ warnings… contains mentions to sex at the end.

The pool is quiet at night. Just the occasional ripple from your legs, a soft splash when you push off the wall. The stars overhead are sharp and clear, but he isn’t looking at the sky. He hasn’t looked anywhere but you for the last twenty minutes.

You climb out of the water first, squeezing the ends of your hair and stepping lightly across the stone tiles.

“Gonna stay in all night?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder at him.

He’s still in the shallow end, forearms braced on the edge, chin tilted up. His grin is slow.

“Thinking about it.”

But really, he’s just not ready to get up yet. Because the pool light is behind you — and the way it’s catching on the droplets on your thighs, the barely-there coverage of your black bikini bottoms, and the little glint of moonlight against your lower back is—

God.

His stomach clenches.

He follows after you eventually, grabbing a towel and running it through his hair with both hands. When he looks up, you’ve turned slightly to face him, drying off your legs, hip cocked out, talking about something light — maybe your favorite pool snack as a kid, or how chlorine reminds you of summer camp.

He doesn’t hear a word of it.

Because the moonlight hits just right — and that’s when he sees it.

The shape.

The sharp cut of sun against skin. A perfect line, clean and curved, hugging the dip of your waist. A color difference so distinct it looks intentional.

His eyes trace it.

You pause mid-sentence.

“…Dick?”

He blinks up. “Yeah?”

“You good?”

He nods slowly. But his gaze drops again — this time lingering openly at the tan line where your bikini had clearly shielded your skin earlier that week. The outline is so precise.

That line.

That little strip of untouched skin against golden bronze—

It’s killing him.

“You got sunburned?” he asks softly, voice a little rough.

You glance down at yourself, then shrug. “Nah, just tanned weird. That was from the beach with Babs the other day.”

He steps closer. Drops the towel.

“What?” you laugh.

He doesn’t answer.

He just places both hands on your hips, thumbs resting right at the edge of the line. He strokes the contrast slowly, then leans in to press a kiss right to the border — where soft, pale skin meets deep gold.

“Dick?”

“You don’t know what this is doing to me,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your hip.

You shiver.

“I didn’t even know I liked this,” he admits, another kiss lower, slower. “But fuck—this is driving me insane.”

“Because of my tan line?” you say breathlessly, half-laughing, half-melting as his hands start to smooth down your thighs.

“Because you look like you’ve been branded by the sun, and I wasn’t there to do it,” he growls. “You look like something sacred.”

“Dick—”

He hooks his thumbs in your bikini bottoms and looks up at you with blown pupils and flushed cheeks.

“Gonna let me leave my marks now?” he asks, voice low and thick. “Even it out a little?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

Because you’re already nodding, already reaching for him, already backing up toward the lounge chair with your hands tangled in his wet curls.

And when he finally presses you down and pulls that bikini off — he doesn’t fuck you fast.

He worships every last sun-kissed inch of you.

Including the parts only he gets to see.

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cherrybr4t · 10 months ago

Note

coups and panty stuffing?

A/N: a continuation from cheol + panty sniffing! 😆 THANK YOUU ANON for requesting <3 let’s dive into hard hours. 🍒💋 (WC: 1.9k)

+18, MDNI!!

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex, f reader, fingering, panty stuffing (mouth n c*nt), spanking, lots of the nickname baby (from cheol), praising + degradation combi, filth. yep.

roommate!cheol who continues to sneak into your room to steal your pretty panties even after getting caught getting off to it once

roommate!cheol who is now your boyfriend — one thing led to another, confessions were in place and he is still as obsessed with you months after dating

roommate!cheol knows that you’ve been purchasing more panties — raunchy, with little to no coverage, decorative laces ranging from bright red to black, just because you know how much he loves to steal them (or collect them)

roommate/boyfriend!cheol mentions to you how he wants to try panty stuffing, and you agreed—rather excitingly. you trust him, and trust that he’s always able to bring you to new heights of pleasure every time.

“fuck baby, look at you, showing off your pretty collection of panties every night just for me,” he runs his finger along the edges of your new black satin string panty, with decorative lace at the sides. he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on, and you feel it.

“so fucking sexy laid out for me, spoiling me with new pretty panties on your perfect cunt — it’s like opening a present every damn time,” he groans, gripping onto your hips tightly as he lowers himself, face to face with your dripping cunt.

the smell of your arousal makes him so dizzy, nothing could ever beat coming home to you, all wet and ready for him.

“it’s like you want me obsessed with you,” he licks and sucks around your inner thighs as you whine, anticipation causing you to writhe in his grasp.

he holds your hips tighter, not like you had a chance against his strong grasp, “i already am, was — from the very beginning, but god, baby. i just wanna live with your pussy in my face forever,” he moans out, removing the black satin material from you slowly. his fingers play with the sticky substance pulling apart, scooping your essence with his fingers and licking it dry, groaning at how good you taste.

your legs clamp at the sight, rubbing your thighs together subconsciously as you feel yourself drip even more. “cheol…” you prop yourself up on your elbows, admiring your boyfriend as he gets lost in your taste.

“open up for me baby, say ah,” he climbs over you, with your panty scrunched up. you obey, eyes hooded with lust and jaw wide open. he chuckles at the sight, pushing your rolled-up panty into your mouth.

“that’s my good girl, gotta prep you before i stuff those pretty panties up your pretty cunt,” he grabs a hold of your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek, “so fucking gorgeous,”

he pumps two fingers inside you, and your moan gets choked up your throat. “can you taste yourself princess? y’look so pretty with your own panty stuffed in that mouth of yours,” it’s embarrassing how easy his fingers slip in and out of you, and he adds a third, then a fourth finger.

“that pretty cunt just can’t get enough of me huh,” the squelching sounds get faster as he moves his wrist at inhumane speed. the rough movements causing the base of his palm to hit your sensitive nub continuously, and you feel like you’re at your breaking point, letting out cries after cries.

your panty is soaked from your choked out saliva, and you feel tears pricking, it feels too fucking good — “wanna cum baby? not yet you can’t,” he coos, but there’s a sadistic tone to his voice, and you know better than to cum without his consent.

words of plea gets muffled behind your panty, your desperation to cum makes cheol so fucking hard, he’s enjoying it way too much and wants to see how far he can push you.

he removes the soaked fabric from your mouth, making sure you’re able to yell out your safeword in case it gets too much. “think this is ready to go in—” he takes the soaked fabric, before stuffing it in your stretched cunt. “here—fuck baby, your cunt’s so desperate for anything, it sucked it righht in,” he chuckles darkly.

you moan at how full your pussy feels, how the material applies pressure to that spot that makes you weak. cheol starts stroking his own length, on his knees, the pretty sight in front of him makes him sigh in pleasure. his head falls back for a minute, “baby—you’re gonna make me cum—just by laying there looking like the most beautiful piece of artwork,”

hearing his words, you reach up to play with your own tits, wanting to stimulate yourself even more. “that’s right baby, play with yourself for me—looking like my pretty desperate slut,” he bites his bottom lip, letting out an animalistic groan, hands eager to chase his own release.

“to-touch me please, need to feel you. please cheol,” you cry out, eager to do anything for him to just fuck you already. cheol moans, sweat dripping down his chest, before shooting his release all over your tummy to your stuffed pussy. “fuuuuck..so fucking beautiful baby, covered with my cum,” a surge of possessiveness overcomes him as he takes swipes of his cum with his fingers, forcing them down your throat.

you suck and swallow eagerly, ever so enthusiastic in showing him what a good slut you are to him. his one and only, only his.

cheol takes the black satin out of your cunt, and looks at your creamy essence that the thin fabric has been doused in. you feel your whole body flush, suddenly feeling so small under him. “nothing to be embarrassed about baby, you’re perfect,” he gives you a kiss—a wet and sloppy one, before flipping you over, grabbing your legs and propping you up on your knees.

”now it’s time for me to reward my pretty baby—for being so good, looking so fucking pretty with her panties filling her up,” he pushes his already hard again length inside you, hands gripping onto your ass so tight to get a hold of himself.

”aarrgh, cheol, so good—so so good,” you feel cold numbing relief wash all over you, heart rate picking up—finally feeling him inside you. gripping your sheets, you arch back, pushing yourself back—greedy to feel more of him.

his strong hands grip onto your hips so tight you can already foresee the bruises in the mirror later, and that does nothing but make you moan even louder. “yeah?” he gives a hard smack across your cheeks, the jiggle making him pound even harder inside you. “look so good bent over on your knees for me, made for me weren’t you,”

“y-yes cheol, fuck—“ he feels that familiar pulse around his cock. knowing that he didn’t let you cum earlier, he knows you deserve nothing but to cum right now. and he also knows that you’re his good girl that will only cum on his command.

”cum. cum for me now baby, remind me what a good slut you are for me, hmm?” he brings a hand to your clit, rubbing tight circles in an insane speed, knowing just what you need to reach your high.

and you snap. seeing stars in front of you, you scream out, and the pleasure bleeds into the pain of cumming so hard—before all you can feel is the gratification of blissful release.

cheol slows down, before pumping himself and releasing himself for the second time all over your ass marked red with his handprints.

you both still for a moment, before collapsing on your backs.

he leans in to give you a peck, “you did so well for me baby, bath time?” you nod slowly, exhausted, reaching your arms up for him to carry you.

roommate turned boyfriend!cheol is always the sweetest; and the nastiest(affectionately) in bed and catching him getting off to you may’ve been the best accident ever!

A/N: my endings are aws…subpar..horrible..ANWS. I HOPE U LIKE IT @ anon,, and i hope i did panty stuffing justice. if u liked it, feel free to like/rb/comment how u felt abt it <3 ALRIGHT I LOVE U GUYS BYE 💋🍒

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everythingne · 1 month ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ Double Dealing — BAD GIRLS (LN4)

Lando gets tangled up with you. He wouldn't have it any other way, even when Carlos maybe threatens to break his spine for it.

notes: make-out scene and sexual innuendos, thats rlly it. car races ig?

Lando should've known better. This was the one fucking thing everyone told him not to do years ago. Years. There was a rule in the circuits, not the Formula circuits but rather the street ones. Never ever under any circumstances flirt with Carlos’ baby sister who helped Fernando run the tracks.

But he thinks, personally, it’s better him than Charles who you’ve sought out tonight.

The cops call from Yuki had been a shock, there hadn’t been a call in months. When the guy had stood, shouting it to the world, you'd been in the middle of collecting a bet from him and he hadn't though twice before shoving you in his car and telling you to buckle up while he roared the beast to life.

Now you both are flying down some Florida back road, the warm wind whipping through the car as you try again to call your brother and then break into a bunch of angry Spanish curses as the call fails yet again.

"Relax," Lando reaches his hand across the console of his Honda S2000 to squeeze your knee briefly for comfort, "You told him I've got you, right?"

"Yes, but how do I know he made it out?!" You groan, slinking down in your seat and Lando for once doesn't have an answer for that. His car squeals as he breaks it onto the main street, it bounces a little, a spark here or there from something hitting a curb but Lando doesn't stop. He doesn't plan on it anytime soon.

He sees Alex's car ahead, swerving into another exit, and into a neighborhood. He doesn't think twice before following, knowing if anyone had the route to the rendezvous memorized it would be Logan, who Alex is clearly tailing with Oscar, George, and he thinks Max.

As they pass through the neighborhood, Alex's passenger waves a signal out of the window--scatter, and everyone listens. Turning down winding roads, Lando sticks behind Oscar for two turns before he turns down another side street to exit back out onto the highway. Placing some distance between him and the rest of the group momentarily.

But you end up at a dead end cul-de-sac, a basketball hoop in the court next to thick tree coverage. Lando kills the car and parks it there, the headlights dying slowly in the night.

"What are you doing?" You look at him, same dark eyes and thick hair as your brother and Lando's almost certain he's going to lose him composure in a moment.

"Laying low," he replies and you nod, trying to call Carlos again, but the line rings out until it dies. You're obviously noy happy about it, but theres not much you can do for now, so Lando just sits on his phone quietly for a moment.

"Carlos is smart," Lando starts, "and we have the favor of the Miami police, so I think he'll be fine."

You look over and sigh, "I know, but getting a call like that even with a favor is dangerous. What if they don't listen."

"Well," Lando leans back in his seat, mischeviously smiling at you, "We have plenty of money between us for bribes and bail outs."

You can't help the smirk that pokes at your lips before you let out a laugh, slinking down in the seat and groaning, "Él es un idiota, Carlos is. But he'll be fine."

Hearing the bit of Spanish off your lips makes Lando's heart pound in his chest. Somehow it's different from every other time he's heard spanish. He assumes its because its you... but god he wants to hear it again so badly.

Which he does, when you curse at the sound of police sirens closing in.

"Fuck," Lando sits up, and sure enough there's a cop coming this way. He freezes, mind going completely blank. Which, he tinks to himself, is so stupid. He can drive his car at hundreds of miles an hour, but not think of a quick way out of this situation that wouldn't lead to a police chase?

But then, you move, grabbing his arm for leverage and rolling yourself to sit partially on his lap.

"Woah!" Lando yelps, hands flying down to your waist to steady you and your hands find his jaw.

"Kiss me!"

"What?!"

"Just--Lando good fucking god, kiss me so the cop thinks we pulled over to fuck instead of being street racers!" You grab his cheeks and yank his flushed face up to you. Lando blinks. This has to be some sort of dream, right? He had to of crashed and this was some sort of comatose dream. But he leans in anyways, despite it maybe being a dream, and connects your lips.

There's a brief hesitance, before you push back, and Lando's hands find their grip on your hips tight. You shift a little, one arm snaking around Lando's shoulder, the other holding the base of his throat at you both just sort of lose yourselves for a moment. Breaths hot and heavy as the siren quiets, the lights dimming down, but you don't notice that because your mind focuses on the way one of Lando's hands slides to grip at your thigh.

The kiss is hot and heavy, hands roaming far farther than they should for some quick way out of a night in jail--until something taps the drivers window.

You jump, nearly biting Lando's lip, and he jerks his head to the side to see a cop shining a flashlight into the window. Slowly, you sldie back over to your seat while Lando fumbles for the door controls and rolls down the window.

"Good evening." The officer looks between you two, "Just... enjoying the night out here? The solitude?"

"Yes sir," Lando says, "Do you need to see my license and all that?"

The cop looks more amused than anything. He's a younger guy, and he peeks inside the car to see nothing more than what he assumes to be two other young adults trying to have a little quickie.

"Nah," He waves a hand, "Though I'd suggest maybe not tearing down a neighborhood road to a dead end next time you need a bit of relief."

Lando's face flushes and he nods, "Right. Noted."

The cop laughs, tapping the door twice with a smirk as he walks away, "Be safe out there tonight. Maybe get some new rubbers if you know what I mean."

You cover your mouth to keep from laughing as Lando rolls up his window, and as he looks at you in embarrassment you can't help but burst into giggles as the window 'thunks' as it closes.

"I cannot believe that worked." You whisper, and then you both burst into laughter as the cop pulls away. There's a quiet moment when the laughter dies down, and you look over at Lando and really look at him. Scanning him up and down... before you notice a bit of a situation he's got. Smirking, your hand finds his thigh as you shift to lean in, lips brushing his cheek.

"Need a little help?" You blink at him and Lando's gone. Screw all the things everyone's ever said, and screw if Carlos wants to kill him later.

But... "Maybe lets find a new spot first."

Lando tries not to think about how your laugh only makes him more hot and bothered.

general tag list

@d3kstar @justalittlejess @tvdtw4ever @llando4norris @daemyratwst @piastri-fvx @sltwins @armystay89 @leclercdream

double dealing tag list

@colmathgames2 @sialexia

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #f1 fanfiction #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you

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pazzi5351 · 11 days ago

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PART 6

Just Friends

Football P x Cheerleader A

Highschool AU

WC: 2.3k

AN: IM BACK BITCHES😋😋 if you missed me I’m so sorry but I think that this chapter will make up for it. I worked on making it more detailed so lmk if there’s errors and I tried making it longer than my usual so also lmk if my transitions make sense! Love ya 🥰

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The morning of the playoff game was crisp and electric, the kind of day where every breath seemed to crackle with anticipation, like the air was holding its own secret, waiting to explode. The sun was just beginning to stretch golden shadows over University of Virginia’s campus, casting long shadows across the football field, where the freshly painted yard lines gleamed with promise.

Fans began trickling in slowly at first, then in clusters, decked out in school colors—deep maroon and bright white—faces painted with stripes and symbols, school logos pinned proudly to hats and scarves. Excited chatter swirled around the parking lot, the unmistakable hum of pre-game energy buzzing beneath it all. Friends gathered, voices rising and falling, laughter interrupted by the sharp blast of whistles and the distant thud of a football being tossed back and forth.

Inside the team’s locker room, the atmosphere was thick with a mix of tension and determination. It was the kind of quiet storm that always rolled in before a big game—the collective heartbeat of the team, rapid and steady, reminding everyone that this was the moment they’d been working for all season long. Cleats scraped against the polished floor, coaches barked last-minute instructions with the same passion they had all year, and players shifted nervously, adjusting pads and helmets, some pacing, others sitting silently, focused and calm on the surface but freaking out on the inside.

Paige sat on the bench, methodically pulling on her gloves, her fingers steady even though her heart was pounding against her chest like a drum. She had the practiced ease of someone who had run these routines a hundred times before, but the stakes were different now. This was no ordinary game—it was the playoffs, the moment that could define everything. Her cleats dug slightly into the turf as she stretched and warmed up along the sideline, eyes sharp and scanning.

The Arlington offensive line had spent the past few weeks watching endless hours of film after school and in between practices, studying their opponent’s defense—a team known for their relentless, physical playing style. Their defensive line was infamous for crushing running lanes, slamming into quarterbacks with the force of a freight train, and never letting up. Every yard on the field was going to be a challenge. Paige knew the defensive ends were fast and brutal, the linebackers hit like trucks, and the secondary played tight coverage that left no room for error.

Nearby, on the cheerleading sideline, Azzi was busy coaching one of the freshman girls through some new motions that were part of their halftime routine. Her voice was low but steady, carrying just enough encouragement to push without pressure. “Okay, hit that low-v faster — like this. Remember, low-v is 1, break is 2, and punch is 3.” She demonstrated with sharp, precise movements, muscles taut and controlled. The younger girl nodded, trying to mirror the exact motions, lips pressed in concentration.

Paige jogged over, a wide grin breaking through her usual game face—a grin that was equal parts excitement and nerves. She tapped Azzi’s shoulder lightly, and Azzi turned mid-instruction, muttering a ��one sec.” to the freshman. She looked at Paige and their eyes met, locking for a split second in a quiet moment away from the chaos that was right infront of them. Paige’s smile was shy but full of warmth, the kind of smile that made Azzi’s chest flutter; the same one Caroline called her “Azzi smile”. Without a word, they slipped into their secret handshake, fluid, and practiced with quick highfives, double hand taps, fingers briefly intertwining before they parted. Paige’s eyes twinkled with adrenaline as she nodded once, then jogged back toward the huddle, heart racing.

On the sidelines, Caroline and Ryan exchanged wide-eyed looks, mouths hanging open just a little. “What the fuck?” Ryan muttered, voice low.

Caroline smirked knowingly, nudging him. “I clocked that shit the second Paige tapped Azzi’s shoulder grinning. But, chill before you blow our cover.” She threw a pointed glance at Azzi, who was already slipping back into her spot on the cheer line, cheeks flushed but composed, with a slight smile on her face.

The referee’s whistle blew sharply, slicing through the murmurs of the crowd and signaling the start of the game. From the very first snap, the opposing defense came out swinging hard.The linebackers swarmed Paige the instant she caught the ball, jostling and tackling her with brutal intensity, every inch on the field was met with a battle. Arlington’s offensive line stood firm, but the pressure from Lehigh was relentless, pushing their quarterback to scramble just to keep plays alive. Sweat dripped, breaths came fast, and every move was met with resistance.

By the third quarter, cracks began to show in Arlington’s protection schemes. A few key plays stalled, drives ended in punts or field goal attempts when touchdowns had seemed possible. Frustration curled in Paige’s stomach when she was flagged for a borderline pass interference call, teeth clenched tight. She pushed it down, reminding herself that this game was far from over.

The crowd was electric as the clock wound into the fourth quarter, the score tight and tension thick. Both teams were locked in a fierce,fight—hits landing hard, catches made on the edge of control, and cheers roaring with every daring play. With just under five minutes left, the whole stadium seemed to hold its breath.

During a timeout, the Arlington team huddled close, sweat glistening on faces, chests heaving, eyes filled with determination. Their head coach stepped forward, whiteboard in hand, sketching out a new play — a quick sideline run designed to exploit a weakness they’d spotted in the rival’s formation. It was perfect for Paige’s speed and agility, a chance to outrun the defense along the edge and break free.

“Alright, Paige,” the coach said, voice low and serious, locking eyes with her. “You’re the key. Get the ball, stay low, and push down that sideline and don't stop until you reach the endzone. We need this touchdown.”

Paige nodded, adrenaline surging through her veins. She felt the weight of the moment settle over her shoulders but didn’t flinch.

Back on the field, the snap was clean. Paige exploded off the line, eyes sharp and scanning the defense. The defensive backs closed in fast, but she was faster. With a quick juke, a powerful push, she slipped past the nearest defender and sprinted along the sideline. The crowd erupted as she barreled toward the end zone, the defense chasing desperately behind. One final dive, arms stretched out in front of her, and she crossed the goal line.

The stadium exploded with cheers and jumping fans.

Her teammates swarmed her immediately in the endzone—helmet taps, chest bumps, playful butt slaps echoing the close victory. They hadn’t just won; they’d earned every inch, fought every step. The taste of the win was almost dizzying.

But even in the rush of celebration, the nerves of the state championship game the next day hung heavy. The team’s curfew was strict:room checks by 10:45, lights out at 10:50 sharp. Azzi and the cheer squad followed the same rules, which were enforced by their coaches, knowing the stakes were higher than ever.

Later that night, after the mandatory bedroom check, Azzi lingered near the door in her room, a mischievous glint lingering in her eyes. “I’ll be back,” she whispered low, just loud enough for Caroline and Ryan to hear.

Caroline shook her head, exasperated. “You really should stay. You don’t want the whole team getting in trouble.”

Azzi waved her off. “Relax. The football guys already had their checks earlier. And Paige’s the only girl on the team, which means, she gets her own room. Nothing to worry about. And if anyone sees me and asks, Paige left her hoodie in here the other night.”

Caroline rolled her eyes and Ryan protested further from the bathroom, but Azzi was already halfway out the door. She hopped in the elevator and rode down to the floor where the football team was.

As she walked down the hall toward Paige’s door, she paused near the other guys’ rooms, as she heard her name from behind the door.

“I think you could totally pull Azzi, man. The other night, you just came off way too strong talking about her.”

“Yeah, and plus, Paige was there. You know her ass goes crazy for Fudd. Wants to keep her all to herself, even though Azzi’s not even gay.”

The last voice was unmistakable—the same boy who’d made a rude comment about Azzi at the pool on the first night. “Maybe. I’m gonna see if I can get her without her bodyguard.”

Azzi’s blood ran cold. Without hesitation, she knocked hard against their door. Then again. And again.

Footsteps approached and the door swung open.

“Listen,” Azzi said, voice low but fierce. “Fuck off. If you ever disrespect Paige again, I swear on everything I’ll make sure you never see a football or field again. And I’m not threatening you — that’s a fucking promising.”

The boys exchanged uneasy glances, muttering apologies.

“For the record,” Azzi added, stepping closer, eyes sharp, “even if I were straight—and that’s a big fucking if—I wouldn’t think twice about rejecting your ugly asses.”

She turned sharply and walked away, the hallway suddenly quiet.

When Azzi reached Paige’s door, it opened before she could knock.

Paige stood there, slightly disheveled like she’d just woken up, messy hair framing her face, looking impossibly pretty.

“What was all that banging?” Paige asked, eyebrows raised.

Azzi smiled but said nothing, leaning in to kiss her softly. When Paige smiled against her lips, she grabbed Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Laughter bubbled from Azzi when she pulled away, earning a playful protest from Paige.

“You played so well today baby,” Azzi whispered.

Paige’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “Then you should come in and show me how well I played, mama. Please?”

Azzi chuckled, mumbling, “You act like a horny 13-year-old boy sometimes.” She kissed Paige again, then shook her head. “Goodnight P.”

The next morning, Paige’s team was already on the field well before 8:30. Paige groaned, mumbling something about how it was way too early to start drills and practice plays for tonight. She ran routes with the second-team quarterback, focusing on her footwork and cuts.

As she rounded the corner, the same three boys Azzi had confronted the night before approached her, looking sheepish.

“Yo, Paige. Look man, we’re so sorry for disrespecting you and Azzi,” Malik said quietly.

“We didn’t know your relationship was that serious. We didn’t mean anything by it.” Trey added nodding, barely even looking at her.

Paige blinked, confused but appreciative. “Thanks… I guess.”

They nodded quickly and backed off.

Coach called a break. “Alright, get off my field. Get some rest before tonight. Be downstairs by 5.”

Paige nodded and hurried inside. Instead of heading to her own room, Paige took the elevator two floors higher, heading to Azzi’s. She knocked twice, and Caroline’s voice called out, “Az, your girlfriend is at the door!”

Paige blinked, caught off guard. “Girlfriend?”

Caroline smirked. “Yeah, seriously. The pregame handshake sold it for me. But don’t forget, she’s my best friend—I know everything.”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi appeared in the doorway, mock annoyed. “Carol, you’re so annoying. I tell you shit in confidence.”

Azzi glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby, then leaned forward to kiss Paige deeply.

“Hi,” she whispered, pulling back.

Azzi’s eyes roamed over Paige’s post-practice look—messy bun, compression tee, practice pants, pads in hand—and she murmured, “You look so fucking good right now… kinda making me wish I had a room all to myself.”

Paige laughed softly and kissed her again, getting a small whimper from Azzi as she pulled back.

“Tonight, after we’re champs,” Paige said lowly, “my room is all ours, alright ma?”

Azzi’s breath caught, eyes half-lidded as she buried her face in Paige’s chest. “Fuck, I wish you weren’t so you sometimes.”

Paige grinned. “Why’s that, baby?”

Azzi groaned softly. “Because you’re just so hot and perfect, and I can’t even do anything about it. One, I still have to cheer later; two, you still have a game; and three, my annoying ass friends are in here.”

Paige laughed as Azzi pouted into her chest.

Suddenly remembering, Paige pulled back slightly. “Baby… Why did Malik and Trey come up to me during practice, apologizing like crazy for ‘disrespecting’ me?”

Azzi’s expression stiffened. “Nothinggg, I swear… I just– might have overheard some dumb shit they were sayin’ last night and I maybeee threatened them… only a little though! Maybe saying if they talk about us again, they’ll never see a football field again.”

Paige laughed, pushing Azzi playfully. Azzi pouted at her again. “Paige, it’s not funny. They were saying crazy shit. You can’t even blame me. Don’t think I forgot how you were about to beat Trey’s ass at the pool cause he was sayin’ dumb shit.”

Paige kissed her again. “I know, I know. But, I also know them, so I believe you. That’s why it’s funny. I’m glad you said something, but you should’ve seen how scared they were coming up to me.”

Azzi chuckled. “Good. They needed it.”

Paige glanced at her watch and sighed. “I should head downstairs to get ready.”

Azzi hugged her tightly. “Okay. But whatever happens tonight, I’m proud of you—and I’m definitely taking you up on that empty room offer.”

Paige laughed, kissed her one last time, and headed for the elevator with one thought burning bright in her mind: Win.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fic #paige x azzi #paige and azzi #pazzi fics

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