#i think maybe two or three more chapters and it’ll be done??

[satoruxx]

I AM FINALLY ALMOST DONE WITH WOLF TOJI I THINK I’LL POST IT TOMORROW

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Four

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, ableism, strong language.

Notes — They're ridiculous. The entire grid thinks the same. I love them your honour.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2019

The door to the motorhome clicked shut behind him, and Lando barely had time to grab a bottle of water from his mini fridge before he heard his name.

“Lando.” His dad’s voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that meant he was either about to get bad news, or he was in a shit ton of trouble. 

Lando turned, water bottle halfway to his lips. “Yeah?”

Adam was sitting at the small table in the lounge, one arm draped over the back of the seat. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked more like the man Lando had watched negotiate million-pound deals than the easygoing dad who sent him memes and wore mismatched socks with his dress shoes.

“I spoke to Zak today,” Adam said. “About the two of you.”

Lando blinked, lowered the bottle. “The two of who?”

Adam gave him a look. “Don’t play dumb, kid. People are talking. Zak is… God, I thought he was going to collapse. He’s pissed off, Lando. Thought he could trust you with her.”

Lando felt his entire body go stiff. “We’re just friends.” He forced out. 

“Are you?” His dad asked, and then sighed. “We both know how this world works, Lando. I’ve watched you work yourself to the bone for this since you were eight years old. Everything you’ve done, everything we’ve sacrificed — it’s all led you here. And right now, you’re risking all of it meaning nothing.” 

Lando shook his head. “No. It’s not like that.”

“Maybe not yet. But it will be. The media will twist it. Her father is your boss. It isn’t just your reputation on the line — if this goes sideways, it could cost you your seat.”

Lando’s jaw clenched. “Zak isn’t like that.”

“No,” Adam agreed, wearily. “But other people are. Sponsors. Management. People who don’t know you. You think they’ll believe this isn’t going to cause favouritism? That you won’t start getting special treatment?”

Lando felt like he was being burned alive. “I would never—.”

“But that’s what it’ll look like.” Adam’s voice stayed even. “It doesn’t matter if it’s true.”

Lando looked away, glared at the wall. His hands clenched into tight fists. 

“She’s not just… some girl,” Lando muttered. “She’s smart. And she’s… funny, in her own way. She always knows what she’s talking about. Knows how to make me feel better when I’m in a shit mood.”

Adam just looked at him, steady and quiet. “You like her,” he said. He sounded defeated.

Lando didn’t say anything. Because yeah. Maybe he did. Maybe he liked her a lot. Enough that it scared him a little. Enough that his stomach flipped weirdly every time he saw that rare smile of hers. Enough that he didn’t even know when it had started — just that it had snuck up on him and now it was everywhere.

Adam sighed, reaching a hand up to rub between his eyes. “I’m not saying you have to stop being her friend, mate. I’m just saying that you need to think long and hard about what you want; don’t think like a nineteen year old boy. Think like a world champion.”

Lando’s fingers tightened around the water bottle. The plastic crinkled.

“She’s Zak’s daughter,” Adam stared at him, like he was trying to drill the crux of the issue into him. “You really think that doesn’t come with consequences?”

“I didn’t… mean for it to be like this,” Lando said quietly. 

“Sometimes it just sneaks up on you,” he said. “Doesn’t mean it’s always a good thing.” He stood up, gave Lando’s shoulder a light squeeze — the way dads do when they mean I’m not angry, I’m just worried — and then walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Lando stayed frozen in place, staring at the floor, pulse still loud in his ears. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling; just that it was too much, all at once.

He looked at the bottle in his hand. Still full.

Not thirsty anymore.

— 

“She said it wasn’t a date,” Tracy said, leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of tea. “They just got burgers.”

“After qualifying,” Zak pointed out. “He drove her to get burgers. Alone.”

Amelia sat at the kitchen table, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, utterly baffled. “I don’t understand how eating burgers together means that we’re dating. We didn’t even share our fries.”

Tracy snorted softly into her tea. Zak did not laugh.

“This isn’t about fries,” he muttered, pacing. “This is about perception. Do you know how many people saw the two of you together? In public? My phone blew up. There are photos all over instagram. And don’t get me started on how often you’re photographed together in the paddock. I— I was blind. Totally blind.” Great. He’d reached the spiralling stage. 

“Well, I texted you where I was!” Amelia said, affronted. “That’s the rule, and I followed it!”

“Yes,” Zak stressed, eyes wide. “An hour after you left the paddock, Amelia! I would’ve stopped you, had I known that he was going to… to steal you like that.”

Tracy giggled. Zak, notably, did not.

Amelia just stared at him, her expression caught somewhere between confused and concerned.

She had never, in all of her nineteen years of life, seen her father act so out of sorts out over something so insignificant. 

“Okay, look,” he took a deep breath, rubbing at his forehead like it pained him. “Amelia. Honey. You’re my daughter. And Lando? He’s my driver. If people think that something is going on between you two, it could become a very, very big problem for me. And for Lando. Do you understand that?”

Amelia blinked. She wasn’t stupid. She’d read plenty of romance books on her Kindle since getting it for her fifteenth birthday — and if she and Lando were in a book, she was pretty sure their trope would be “forbidden romance,” maybe even “opposites attract,” though she wasn’t entirely convinced she was Lando’s opposite. More like… Lando adjacent.

It was fun to think about.

But if her dad really believed this could negatively affect Lando’s career… maybe he had a point.

“Okay,” she said seriously. “So how do I stop wanting to kiss him?”

Zak made a sound. Like a dying animal.

Tracy full-on howled into her tea.

“I—oh my god,” Zak muttered, dropping his head into his hands. “No. Nope. I can’t do this.”

Amelia frowned at him, and then looked at her mom. “That wasn’t rhetorical. I would appreciate an answer.”

Zak didn’t respond.

Tracy, tears in her eyes from laughter, leaned over and gave Amelia a tight shoulder squeeze. “You don’t,” she said sweetly. “You just get very good at pretending that you don’t want to.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Zak grumbled into the table. “Great parenting. A masterclass.”

Amelia nodded, serious. “Okay. I can pretend.”

A beat passed.

Then, with total sincerity, she added, “But if he kisses me first, it’s not technically my fault, right?”

Tracy almost spit her tea. 

Zak’s forehead hit the table with a thump. 

— 

Amelia wasn’t eavesdropping. Not on purpose.

She was just looking for her water bottle. She remembered leaving it near the PR area while charging her phone. The door was mostly shut, but not all the way, and when she reached for the handle, hearing her name made her pause.

“Amelia is becoming a bigger problem than I think anyone wants to admit.”

It was Lisa, one of the senior PR officers. She recognised her voice; had sat and eaten lunch with her a few times at the MTC. They only travelled to races with a small PR team, and Lisa was one of them. 

Amelia squinted at the gap in the door. She should leave, but it felt like her feet had been glued to the floor. 

“She’s sweet,” someone else said. A man she didn’t recognise. “I mean, she’s obviously harmless. It’s not like she’s pulling a Piquet.”

“No, she’s not doing anything wrong,” Lisa agreed, “but she's constantly in the garage, on camera, lingering around Lando like a girlfriend would, or an engineer, but she’s not officially anything. She's Zak’s daughter, yes, but that shouldn’t give her free rein. Should it?”

There was a pause. Someone clicked a pen.

“I know we’re not supposed to say it out loud,” Lisa continued, “but she’s… neurodivergent. There’s only so much control we have over how she’s perceived. She’s different, and I think people can tell.”

Suddenly, it felt a little harder to breathe. 

“She, ah, fixates. And she paces. She’s terrible on camera, can’t speak to reporters at all. I saw a thread yesterday, talking about hor she has weird vibes, speculating if Lando’s only spending time with her because she’s Zak’s kid and he’s trying to be a teachers pet.”

“That’s awful,” someone said, though they didn’t sound shocked.

“I know. But if this turns into a tabloid story, it’s not going to be cute anymore. It’s going to look irresponsible. And nepotistic.” 

There was a shuffle of paper. A sigh.

“Either we bring her into the fold properly, media train her, give her a title, have Zak back their friendship publicly, or we need to start distancing her. She can’t just float.”

Amelia stepped back, her breath caught somewhere sharp in her ribs. She didn’t realise she was shaking until she saw her own hands.

They hadn’t said anything untrue.

Not really.

But they’d said it like she was a problem to manage instead of a human being with feelings.

She backed away quietly.

She no longer wanted her water bottle.

In fact, she didn’t want to be here at all.

— 

She found Lewis leaning against a wall near the back of the Mercedes hospitality unit, Roscoe sprawled on a cooling mat like a little lion in the sun.

He looked up and smiled when he saw her. “Hey, trouble. Wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

Amelia tried to smile back. It didn’t really work.

Lewis’s face changed. “What’s wrong?”

She sat down heavily next to Roscoe, crossing her legs, arms tight around her ribs. The dog lifted his head, gave her a sniff, then licked her knee. She didn’t react.

Lewis crouched. “Amelia?”

“I’m just,” She sucked in a deep breath. “I think I’m making a mess of everything.” She stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to. I just thought—I thought that I was just being helpful and quiet and normal enough. But I’m not doing any of it right. I talk too much, or I hover, or I forget to look people in the eye, and apparently people think I’m weird.” 

Lewis’s face darkened. She wasn’t looking at him, though, she was staring at her shoes now. At the last race, Lando had used an orange marker pen and written his number ‘4’ on the side of them. 

“They were talking about me,” she continued, voice flatter now. “The McLaren public relations people. They said I might ruin things for him. For Lando. Because I’m too much and not enough at the same time.”

“They said that to you?” Lewis asked, his voice sharp.

She looked at him. He sounded angry. Her stomach twisted tighter.

“No one said it to me. But I heard them. I wasn’t meant to. I don’t think they knew I was there.” Her hands tugged harder at the cuffs of her sleeves, wrapping the fabric around her fingers until they turned pale. “And they’re right, really. It’s not personal. It’s strategic. I’m a… a flaw in the system.”

Lewis exhaled slowly, deliberately, like he was keeping something inside. “Amelia, you don’t get to say that about yourself, alright? That’s a rule now.”

She blinked at him. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not true,” he said, quieter. “I’ve raced with actual liabilities. People who don’t care. Who don’t try. You? You’re none of those things. You’re thoughtful, you work hard, and you pay attention in a way most people don’t. That already puts you ahead of half the paddock.”

She didn’t say anything. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, like she could physically push the confusing feelings away, then leaned a little closer to Roscoe. The dog didn’t move, just let her run her fingers through the warm fur along his side like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away.

Lewis stayed close but gave her space. After a moment, he glanced down at his phone and the telltale *swoop* sound informed her that he'd sent somebody a message.

A few minutes later, footsteps approached from behind. Light. Quick. Familiar.

She didn’t even need to turn around.

“Hey,” Lando said, voice low and careful.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

“I’m okay,” she said automatically. 

Lewis stood, brushing off his hands. “Take her for some air, yeah?” He suggested to Lando. “She needs a break. And someone who won’t let her be mean to herself.”

“I got her,” Lando said quietly, eyes on her the whole time.

Lewis gave him a look — subtle, but full of something unspoken. Then he reached down to ruffle Amelia’s hair, a brief and awkward brotherly gesture.

She winced.

Her shoulders curled up, recoiling slightly before she could stop herself. It wasn’t Lewis’ fault — she liked him, respected him, even — but he wasn’t Fernando. He didn’t know how to touch her gently. How not to startle her.

Lewis paused and immediately pulled his hand back. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Force of habit.”

She nodded once. She appreciated the apology more than the touch.

Lando sat down beside her, close but not touching.

“Tell me who I need to fight,” he said.

She huffed a breath. Almost a laugh. Almost.

He didn’t rush her. Just waited.

After a long moment, she looked at him. Her voice barely a whisper. “I think I might mess everything up for you.”

He shook his head immediately. “Nah. I’ll be the one who ends up doing that.” 

She looked at him then, really looked at him. He looked serious, but she could never be sure. 

He smiled at her, then. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s take a walk around, yeah? The sun’ll start setting soon.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he started walking, and after a second of hesitation, Amelia stood up and followed. She walked beside him, glancing at him occasionally. He led her around the paddock, moving past engineers and mechanics who were too busy to pay attention to either of them. 

“My dad talked to me. About, uh, this. Us.” He glanced at her. She frowned at him. “Because we went for burgers.” He explained. 

Amelia sighed. “Everyone is so obsessed with that. I don’t understand.” 

Lando smirked. “Because you went with me, Amelia.” 

She made a face at him that she hoped portrayed her frustration. “That doesn’t explain anything.” 

“I like you,” he said slowly, his voice steady. Honest. She blinked at him. “I think a lot of people worked that out before I did — and definitely before you did.” He said. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he making fun of her? It didn’t feel like it. It… it felt a lot like he was teasing with her. Flirting with her, like the men in her books.

Her heart did that thing again. The one that felt like it skipped a beat, but not in the way she wanted it to. He was, wasn’t he? He was flirting with her. Because he liked her.

Before Amelia could say anything, Lando stopped suddenly, and she almost bumped into him. Looking up, she saw a camera swing toward them, one of the Sky cameras following the action around the paddock, with Ted Kravitz just a few meters away.

Her stomach dropped. A rush of panic hit her chest.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, instinctively trying to step out of the camera’s line of sight.

Lando’s hand landed gently on her back, guiding her in the opposite direction, but it was too late. The camera was already focused on them. Amelia could feel her face flush as heat spread up her neck. This was exactly what she didn’t want — being seen alone with Lando was only going to make everything worse.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry,” Lando said, his voice low and steady, reassuring her without a hint of panic.

But just as the camera zoomed in closer, Amelia heard a familiar voice.

“What do we have here?” It was Max Verstappen.

She blinked. Carlos Sainz appeared beside him, and Daniel Ricciardo wasn’t far behind. The three of them swarmed around her and Lando like it was something they did every day. Max slung an arm around Lando’s shoulders, and Carlos and Daniel positioned themselves between Amelia and the camera, effectively blocking the view. 

“We were just on our way to get ice cream,” Daniel said with a mischievous grin, his accent thick and playful. “Warm evening, isn’t it?”

Amelia blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in energy. Max gave her a wink, his smile wide and completely unbothered by the camera’s presence. Carlos just chuckled. 

Lando shook his head, clearly amused, but his eyes didn’t leave her. There was something there, something that made her stomach flutter, and for a second, she forgot about the camera entirely.

“You guys are ridiculous,” Lando said with a smile, his tone light but grateful. It was clear he wasn’t at all mad at the distraction. In fact, he seemed oddly relieved by it.

“Only when it’s necessary,” Max quipped, and with that, the trio slowly started backing away, blocking the camera’s view like pros.

As they made their way toward the back of the paddock, Lando’s hand remained at the small of Amelia’s back, a silent reassurance that she was, for now, out of the spotlight.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice just for her.

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking about how many points you guys have combined.”

“In Formula One?” Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement.

She shook her head. “No, I mean, like, total points. From when you all started karting.” Her voice was mumbled, her thoughts swirling with a million numbers. “Give me a minute, and I’ll be able to tell you.”

Max raised an eyebrow at Lando. “Mate…”

Lando laughed, his eyes full of pride. “I know. Trust me, I know.”

— 

iMessage — 5:09pm

Dad You okay honey?

Amelia Yes. I do not like Lisa anymore.

Dad Lisa who?

Amelia She works in public relations.

Dad What did she do? Did she say something to you?

Amelia I eavesdropped.

Dad: Amelia

Amelia She said that people say that I have weird vibes. Do I?

Dad No, you don’t. Your vibes are just fine. I’ll have a chat with Lisa about where her focus should and shouldn’t be. Are you okay, though? Did you feel upset?

Amelia It’s fine. Lando made me feel better :)

Dad: Amelia Brown. Where are you right now?

Amelia I am in Lando’s rental car.

Dad I can’t believe this. Tell him that I am going to murder him.

Amelia No. He hasn’t kissed me yet. He probably won’t do it tonight because we are with his friends.

Dad … Which friends?

Amelia Max Verstappen. Carlos Sainz. Daniel Ricciardo. 

Dad I see. Have fun, sweetheart. 

— 

iMessage — 5:18pm

Zak Brown You told me you had a chat with him.

Adam Norris I did. What’s he done now?

Zak Brown Check Sky Sports. Your son’s created an Amelia army. A very expensive one. Looks like Max Verstappen’s leading it.

Adam Norris Just saw it. Never seen him like this with any girl before.

Zak Brown Look, he’s a great kid, but I’m trying to figure out how to handle this. It’s turning into a media circus.

Adam Norris I can talk to him again.

Zak Brown Maybe we just tell them they can’t see each other. Lay down the law. I’ll tell Amelia to stay out of the paddock for a bit, create some distance.

Adam Norris That’ll only make it worse, Zak. Lando’s young. He’s a bit of a party animal. Amelia seems like a good kid, but she’s not his usual type. Maybe this will blow over.

Zak Brown Let’s hope so.

— 

Carlos paced slowly down the pit-lane, the cool morning air brushing against his skin. The soft hum of the paddock was building as teams made their final preparations. He adjusted his cap, squinting against the light creeping over the horizon, the sun just peeking out from behind the clouds, casting long shadows on the tarmac.

His gaze flicked to the pit-wall, where strategists were already setting up, even at this hour. His own crew were deep in race plan discussions, while other teams were doing the same. The calm before the storm. The last moments of peace before the full intensity of the race weekend took over.

Silverstone always had a unique energy. The fans here were different—almost like they had a special connection to the track. It was Lando’s home race, and McLaren’s too.

Carlos glanced over at Lando’s garage without thinking. He was already there, leaning against the back wall in a pair of matching grey sweats, smiling widely. Carlos followed his gaze. Ah. Of course. Amelia Brown, perched on the counter in front of the telemetry screens, animatedly talking, her hands moving as much as her words.

Carlos found himself wondering if the way her feet kept bouncing against the cabinet was a... stim, the English term. He had done his research when he learned about Amelia’s autism. It had helped to understand why she was so blunt when giving advice and never made eye contact. It also explained why his father's words had clearly hurt her more deeply than he would ever be able to understand.

The sound of Amelia’s laugh echoed across the pit-lane, rare and light, catching Carlos off guard. A few people turned to look, but he smiled to himself and resisted the urge to do the same.

All he could do was hope that his younger teammate knew what was at stake, and took great care in the meantime. 

— 

Amelia lingered at the edge of the McLaren hospitality, watching the crowds begin to surge toward the podium. The noise was already swelling; chants, cheers, announcers shouting over each other, and she could feel the pressure building in her chest, like the edge of a storm. 

She didn’t usually go. Podiums were too loud, too crowded, too much. But this was Lewis, and he’d won his home race, and something just… tugged at her.

She turned, scanning the garage until she found Lando, who was mid-conversation with one of the engineers, still in his race suit, half-zipped down and tied around his waist. His face was flushed with post-race adrenaline, curls stuck damp to his forehead. But when he saw her staring, he excused himself and jogged over.

“You okay?” he asked, slightly breathless.

“I think…” She hesitated, glancing at the rising noise and the streamers already flying in the air. “I want to go to the podium. For Lewis. Just for a bit.”

Lando blinked, but then he grinned, and she stared. He was… he was all sunlight and softness. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He said. 

She nodded once, but didn’t move.

Lando seemed to understand immediately. “Do you have your defenders?”

She nodded and pulled them out of her cross-body. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “Put them on. It’ll be chaos.”

“I will try not to freak out.” She promised him. 

“I won’t let that happen,” Lando said, already turning to lead the way.

He didn’t reach for her, didn’t crowd her. Just walked a few steps ahead, carving space through the sea of people with casual ease, occasionally glancing back to make sure she was still following. She appreciated that. That he didn’t hover. That he didn’t try to fix, fix, fix. Just… made it easier.

By the time they reached the base of the podium, the champagne was already spraying. Lewis stood centre stage, beaming, arms raised in triumph. The crowd roared, and Amelia’s McLaren branded ear defenders did their job, muting the sharp edges of it until it was just a distant hum. She watched Lewis through the fog of smoke and sound, her eyes soft with pride. He deserved this. He always did.

Lando leaned slightly toward her, not close enough to touch, just enough that she could hear him clearly. “You glad you came?”

She nodded, eyes still on the podium. “Yes. It’s good.”

The following day, a picture of them would go viral on F1 social media. Lando, still in his fireproofs, race suit dragging slightly against the ground, standing just behind Amelia — who wore her noise-cancelling headphones like armour, her eyes fixed on the podium. She was smiling, wide and unguarded, the kind of smile people didn’t often get to see from her. Lando was looking at her; fond and sweet.

The photo would circle the internet within hours. People would say a lot of things.

But the overwhelming consensus?

Soulmates.

Whether they knew it yet or not.

NEXT CHAPTER

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER NINETEEN ━━ Girls Talk

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 8.9K

❀ ━ warnings: tiny makeout nothing else i dont think

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: only a few more chapters left thank god. also i promise celeste actually is going to serve a purpose lol

JO FEELS THE WEIGHT of everything ahead more in her chest than anywhere else.

It’s not nerves. Not exactly. She’s not nervous heading into the Big East Tournament, not in the way people probably expect her to be. UConn’s handled conference play like a machine, and even when games have been scrappy—when shots haven’t fallen or players have gone down, when the rotation’s been thin and legs have been heavy—there’s never been real doubt. Not about their record, not about their identity. They’ve come out of it undefeated. And even if it’s just the Big East, they’ve done it by work, by belief, by toughness.

Still, Jo doesn’t let herself take anything for granted. It’s not really in her nature to. And it’s definitely not in Geno’s.

He drills it into them constantly—treat every game like it’s the national championship. Doesn’t matter if it’s Xavier on a Wednesday or South Carolina in the tournament. Doesn’t matter if they’re up thirty or down two. They play like it’s for a title. They prepare like it’s for a title. They think like champions. And Jo’s bought into it completely. Maybe even more than she realizes sometimes. But, here’s the thing: she’s doing all this to become a champion. She wants it more than anything.

So today—last practice at Werth before they leave for the tournament—it’s not just another walkthrough. Not to Jo. The gym smells like sweat and floor polish and memory, and everything feels a little more important. She’s locked in from the moment it starts. Not because she’s worried about their chances. Not because this is where it all begins. The push, the run, the stakes.

She loves practice. Loves the rhythm of it, the detail, the way film sessions bleed into reps and everything is purposeful. She loves Geno’s voice barking at them, loves when CD yells to calm down, loves the exhaustion that builds behind her knees after three hours of movement. She loves feeling the shape of her own improvement.

She loves this team.

It’s not just a line, not just some press conference thing to say. It’s real and rooted. She loves these people. The way Nika talks shit and throws no-look passes. The way Aaliyah’s always catches Jo’s dimes, her post work smooth as butter. The way Lou and Dorka have formed this weird, wordless connection like they’ve been playing together their whole lives. The way Aubrey quite literally defies gravity and nobody can box her out no matter how many times opponents try.

And Paige. Of course Paige. Always Paige.

She hasn’t played a second this year and somehow she still feels like the center of everything. That voice. That presence. The way she pulls Jo aside mid or post practice and says something small that can change her perspective on everything. Paige could be the best coach in the country if she wanted to be (well, maybe after Geno), and she’s only twenty-one. Of course, Jo misses the on-court Paige, the one she watched drain dagger threes in clutch time and argue with the refs like no one’s business. But there’s something even scarier—something even more Paige—about the way she’s taken this season and owned it anyway. No self-pity. Just effort. Energy. Leadership.

Her rehab’s going well, too. Jo knows it; she’s with her for a lot of it, actually. Paige moves different now. The bounce is back. The ease. And even if Paige downplays it, Jo watches. She’s always watching. Because she knows next season, Paige is gonna be back out there. And them with that Paige? It’ll be a whole different monster.

But for now, the Big East Tournament is up next, and they’re getting healthy just in time.

Caroline’s back. Everyone’s relieved about it. What she’s been through—the concussion stuff, the weird limbo of recovery, the way she’s had to just sit and wait and not know—it’s brutal. Jo saw it wear on her. The silence in the locker room, the way her laugh dulled, how she’d have to hole herself up in a dark and quiet room because of the pain. But she’s smiling again. Shooting again. And her release looks like it always has—clean and confident.

Azzi’s close, too. Her knee’s held her out for a while now, but the team’s been careful. Not rushing. Playing the long game. Jo’s missed playing with her, missed the gravity she brings, the way defenses panic when Azzi even glances at the arc. Having her back is huge.

And the timing couldn’t be better.

Because after this weekend, the NCAA Tournament is right there. And at UConn, under Geno Auriemma, it’s not about getting there. It’s not even about Final Fours. It’s not about anything less than winning the whole damn thing. Natty or bust. Always. Jo grew up watching that standard. She’s living it now.

They announced the Big East awards this morning. Jo’s still sort of processing it. Not because she doesn’t think she’s earned them. She knows what she’s done. She knows what she’s poured into this season. But to win both Big East Player and Freshman of the Year is rare. Paige was the last to do it.

And she beat out Maddy Siegrist for conference Player of the Year, too, which is slightly insane when she really thinks about it. Siegrist’s been crazy all year. If Jo’s not mistaken she’s actually led the nation in scoring this season. Jo guesses the committee must’ve seen something else in her—something broader. Leadership, maybe. Defense. Playmaking. The little things. The winning. Because UConn’s record is better. The numbers back it up.

First-team All-Big East. That’s her, Aaliyah, and Lou. Dorka and Nika made Second-team, and Nika got Defensive Player of the Year. Aaliyah is Most Improved.

Even with the team being so injured, it’s a sweep. And Jo’s proud of all of it. She really is. But she’s not floating. Not celebrating. Not letting it really settle in her head at all.

Because the job’s not done.

None of the awards matter if they lose in the Big East championship (they won’t). None of it means anything if they flame out in the Sweet Sixteen. No one remembers the accolades of you don’t back them up when it counts. Jo knows that.

Which is why she went so hard in practice today. And then, afterwards, when she stayed with Paige in the gym for extra work like they’ve done for months now. Shooting, handles, that kinda thing.

Which is why Jo is now dying.

Like—not metaphorically, not in the dramatic, attention-seeking way she sometimes jokingly pulls after sprints when Nika’s yelling at her to stop flopping around. No, this feels different. This is the kind of dying where her legs are jelly, her lungs are still catching up from the extra shooting drills, and there’s an honest, sincere moment where she thinks, Okay, maybe I should’ve stopped twenty minutes ago before Paige made me do that third round of one-dribble pull-ups.

But it’s not like she could’ve said no. She never says no. Not when it’s Paige asking. Not when it’s just the two of them, the gum quiet except for sneakers squeaking, rebounding for each other the way they’ve done all season. It doesn’t even feel like extra work anymore. It feels like something else. Just something they do.

But now Jo is laid flat across the locker room bench like a corpse, one arm flopped dramatically over her stomach, the other curled at her side. She’s still sweating through her practice tee, her face damp, chest rising and falling with shallow, almost theatrical breaths. Paige sits next to her, with Jo’s head is pillowed in her lap. Her fingers are dragging gently through Jo’s hair, smoothing it back behind her ears. The locker room is empty but for the two of them.

Jo doesn’t open her eyes, but she knows Paige is staring down at her. She feels it. The weighted, blue gaze that makes the air buzz against her cheekbones. Her whole body feels heavy and sort of floaty at the same time, like her bones are dissolving right into Paige’s lap.

“You did good today,” Paige murmurs, voice quiet and warm and a little scratchy. “Real proud.”

Jo groans immediately, a low, pained sound that comes straight from her gut. “No. It killed me. I’m dying.”

She doesn’t even try to sound tough. What’s the point? Paige saw her gasping for air after the last few shooting sets. Saw her grimacing through the last of the sprints, hands on her knees, dripping sweat. Jo’s not entirely above playing it up a little with Paige, either—just for sympathy, a little attention. It earns her more of Paige’s hand in her hair, fingers dragging down to scratch lightly at her scalp. It feels good.

Paige laughs softly. It’s more of a huff through her nose, but it’s affectionate and Jo hears the smile in it.

“Well,” Paige replies, clearly amused, “at least you look good dying.”

That gets Jo to crack one eye open. Just barely. The locker room is blurry at first, but Paige’s face is sharp and glowing in the center of it. That stupid little grin on her lips. The teasing glint in her eyes. And she’s looking at Jo like she always does—like Jo is hers and Paige is still not sure how it happened but she’s not complaining about it.

Jo swallows and reaches up without thinking, hand curling around the back of Paige’s neck. Her palm is clammy, but Paige doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away.

“C’mere,” Jo mutters, voice hoarse and low, tugging gently.

She means it. She’s trying to pull Paige down for a kiss, make some kind of reward out of this moment, because she’s certainly earned it after all the buckets and the defense and the sprinting and the dying.

Paige leans forward with it but doesn’t get close enough at all. She laughs again. “Baby,” she says, “my back doesn’t bend that way.”

Baby.

It’s such a small word. Barely there. Tossed out like nothing. But it explodes in Jo’s chest like a firework. She doesn’t show it, but she feels it.

Paige doesn’t call her that often. Usually it’s Joey in that fond voice, or the God-awful JoJo nickname in a teasing way. But when she does call her that—when she says it in that low, almost lazy voice, like Jo is some kind of secret she’s been keeping close—it makes Jo feel warm. Claimed. Like they’re more than something without a name.

They haven’t talked about it. Not officially. Not really. They act like a couple. They kiss and fuck like one, too. But they don’t say what it all means. Jo’s been too scared to ask. Paige has never been in an actual relationship and Jo’s last one ended in the worst way they can. So, she’s got no spine about it, and she knows it.

She keeps telling herself she’s fine with it. That it doesn’t matter. That it feels real, and that’s enough.

Instead of thinking anymore about it, Jo just groans again and shifts, using what little strength she has left to sit up slightly, just enough to reach Paige properly this time. Her face is close now. Close enough to kiss.

And so she doesn’t show.

No words, just action. Just Jo leaning in and pressing her mouth against Paige’s like it’s the most obvious next step. Because it is. Because Paige called her baby, and Jo’s brain short-circuited, and now she’s just following instinct.

The kiss deepens, and Jo chases it—leans into it like she’s leaning into a cut to the rim, like there’s no stopping, no pivoting away. Paige opens her mouth a little and Jo takes full advantage, tongue slipping in. There’s this noise that Paige makes then—tiny, caught in the back of her throat—that makes Jo’s stomach flip violently.

Jo’s still sort of half on the bench, half off it, one knee digging into the vinyl cushion. But then Paige shifts, her hands sliding down Jo’s ribs. Jo moves with them, body rearranging in the space. She ends up straddling Paige’s lap, her arms around her neck, their chests pressed together. The sweat cooling on her skin makes her shirt cling awkwardly in places, but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t even notice.

All she notices is Paige’s hands splayed on her back, fingers warm and patient, one curling into the hem of Jo’s shirt, brushing soft over bare skin. She notices the way Paige kisses her like she means it, tongue licking into Jo’s mouth.

Jo tilts her head, parting her lips wider, pushing deeper. Paige tastes like minty gum and the Gatorade she had at the end of practice and something that’s just Paige. It’s addicting. She doesn’t even care if her legs are still trembling or if her heart’s beating like it’s trying to hammer through her ribs.

She lets out a breath against Paige’s cheek, nuzzling into the edge of her jaw for just a second. “Jesus,” she whispers.

“Mm?” Paige murmurs, eyes fluttering half open.

“You trying to kill me?” Jo asks, voice teasing, but not entirely joking.

Paige smirks, pulling her even closer. “Thought you were already dying.”

Jo huffs a breath that turns into a laugh and kisses her again, harder now, hand tangling in Paige’s hoodie collar as if she could disappear into her if she just pulled hard enough.

She settles her weight fully in Paige’s lap, thighs bracketing her hips, breath catching a little when Paige’s hands shift lower, palming at her ass through her basketball shorts.

It’s perfect. It’s theirs. Other than right before bed, they hardly ever get this—not really. Not with time and space and no one around to ruin it. It’s rare, this kind of peace and quiet.

Which is, of course, when the door swings open.

They jump apart like they’ve been tasered.

Jo’s whole body jolts, heart plummeting as her eyes fly to the door. Paige curses under her breath, her hands leaving Jo’s ass like it burned her. Jo scrambles to move, to shift off Paige’s lap and find something approaching decency, even though it’s so fucking obvious what was happening.

And standing in the doorway is Celeste Sinclair. Red hair tied into a low ponytail, camera bag slung over one shoulder, UConn hoodie riding up a little on one side like she’s been rushing. She freezes when she sees them. Her eyebrows lift. Her eyes do this weird, flicking double-take that makes Jo want to crawl out of her skin.

It’s only a second. Maybe two.

But Jo can feel it—feel the calculus happening behind Celeste’s eyes. The math of it. Jo sitting in Paige’s lap. Lips probably still pink and swollen. Paige’s hands still halfway in the air.

“Sorry,” Celeste says, voice clipped and a little too sharp. Then, slower, eyes lingering—just for a second too long—on Paige, “Um. Sorry. I’ll just… go.”

She doesn’t look at Jo again. Just turns and walks back out the door, the sound of it clicking shut behind her deafening.

Jo exhales, breath rattling in her chest. She’s still kneeling on the bench, one foot on the floor, legs shaking a little from effort and adrenaline. Her hands are braces on her thighs like she needs to steady herself.

“Shit,” she mumbles.

There goes that secret.

She shifts off Paige’s lap entirely now, settling next to her on the bench. Not touching. Her skin suddenly feels too warm, like her body hasn’t caught up to the fact that they’re not making out anymore. Her heart won’t slow down.

Paige groans beside her, dragging a hand down her face. “God,” she mutters. “Of all people.”

Jo glances sideways. “You think she’ll say anything?”

Paige’s jaw tenses. She shakes her head like she’s not sure. “I should go—talk to her. Make sure she doesn’t.”

Jo just nods. Because, yeah, that needs to happen. No one knows about them. Not Azzi. Not Ice. Not Aubrey. Not Caroline. Not Geno. Not CD. Not anyone. And they’ve liked it that way. It’s been theirs, in the quiet between games and the sweat between practices. It hasn’t gotten messy because it’s been private.

She’s about to say something when Paige leans in, gentle again, a hand lifting to Jo’s cheek. She kisses her once, quick, a quiet reassurance.

“Be right back,” she murmurs, then stands and walks out, hoodie sleeves pushed up, bun slightly messed up because of Jo’s hands.

Jo stays there, alone on the bench.

And all she can think is: Well, shit. Cover’s blown.

PAIGE WALKS FAST.

Not running, but almost. Her sneakers are too loud against the hallway tile, the slap of rubber echoing in the quiet post-practice stillness of the facility. It’s always like this when they’re the last ones in the gym—quiet in a way that feels peaceful. But not now. Now, her stomach is doing somersaults and her chest is tight like she just did suicides.

She doesn’t even fully know what she’s about to say. She just knows she has to catch Celeste before she leaves, has to do something to shut it down before it becomes a thing. Before anyone else finds out. Because as much as she doesn’t want to hide Jo, it’s not like they’ve really had a conversation about any of this. What they are, what they’re doing. It’s just been… them. In pieces. In stolen time. Quiet. Private. Safe.

So, when she sees that familiar red ponytail swaying down the hallway ahead of her, her voice cuts through before she even decides what to say.

“Celeste.”

The girl stops—slowly. Turns around even slower. There’s something in her eyes, sharp and tired at the same time.

“What?” she asks flatly. Like she’s bored. Like Paige has already wasted her time.

Paige blanches. Her body keeps moving, but her brain just stalls out. She wasn’t expecting that tone. That edge. Celeste has always been a little cocky, yeah, a little smug, but never cold. Never even really annoyed.

Paige stops a few feet away, mouth opening and closing once, then again. Her hands twitch awkwardly at her sides. She doesn’t know if she should smile, be casual, be direct, be defensive. All of it feels wrong.

“Um,” she starts. “I—about what you saw…”

Celeste tilts her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “What, you and Jo Jacobson—your puppy-eyed freshman teammate—about to fuck in the locker room?”

Paige’s brows lift like she’s been physically smacked. “Jesus, bro,” she says automatically, startled and stumbling. “We were not about to fuck in there.”

And that part is true. They weren’t. That wasn’t the point of it. They were just—well, okay, they were definitely making out, but it wasn’t like that. But Celeste is staring her down with something curled and bitter in her bright green eyes, like she doesn’t believe a single word coming out of Paige’s mouth.

“Sure looked like it,” Celeste mutters.

Paige sighs hard and runs a hand down her face, dragging it along her jaw. There’s sweat still crusted under her nails from the extra reps with Jo. Despite hardly practicing, just doing the little things she can, her body is tired. Her heart is loud. Her patience is frayed.

“Okay,” she says, “I just—can you please keep whatever you thought you saw to yourself? Please?”

Celeste stares at her for a beat. Then she laughs—but it’s not a real laugh. It’s short and humorless, more of a bark than anything else. Her eyes flick to the floor, then back up, and she nods slowly. Mockingly.

“Oh, you wanna keep her a secret?” she concludes, mouth twitching at the corners. “Like you kept me a secret?”

Paige’s stomach lurches, because—what?

She blinks, feels her throat close up. That doesn’t even make sense. That’s not even close to how it went. But Celeste’s expression doesn’t shift—she’s still got that sharpness to her face, like she’s trying to see how deep she can twist the knife. Like she means to get under Paige’s skin.

“Bro,” Paige says again, brows pulling together. Her voice is still calm, but there’s disbelief under it now. “It wasn’t even like that with us.”

Because it wasn’t. They were never anything even remotely close to real. They hooked up a good amount, yes. There were a couple times when they were so drunk it would result in a sleepover. And, over the summer, sometimes Paige would flirt with her during her media duties. But they never even went on a date. Never saw each other outside of necessity with basketball or in bed. Celeste flirted all the time, yeah, still sort of does, but Paige never encouraged anything beyond physical. She made that line clear.

Celeste scoffs—loud, exaggerated—and looks away like she’s trying not to roll her eyes straight into the back of her skull. “Right.”

Paige takes a breath. It’s one of those sharp, tight ones that hits her ribs in the way down and doesn’t quite go all the way. Like her body won’t let her breathe easy until she figures out how the fuck this whole thing went from “whoops, we got caught kissing” to blackmail threat from a bitter ex situationship. Which is just great. Wonderful. Just what she needed on top of an aching knee, exhausting rehab, and a tournament she’s not even playing in yet beyond anxious for.

Tentatively, she tries, “Are you mad because I told you to stop texting me?”

It’s not accusatory, just curious. It makes sense—this being less about what Celeste saw and more about how she felt when Paige fully pulled the plug on them (which, for the record, they never even were a them). Last month, the texts had started up again—some related to media shit, yeah( but some that were just… kinda obvious. “What’re you up to tonight?” “Want to come over?” “Miss your face.” Stuff that had I’m still thinking about you naked as the entrée but also with a side order of maybe I want to hang out and talk, too.

And Paige had shut it down. Nicely. But firmly. Because even if she and Jo aren’t official, even if they haven’t labeled anything or had the talk—Paige knows exactly where her head’s at. She doesn’t want anyone else. Not even a little bit. Not ever.

Celeste narrows her eyes. “You are so smart, Paige,” she says sarcastically, before sighing. “I thought we were friends outside of the fucking. You made it seem like you liked me. Like you saw more than just one of the team’s Instagram admins.”

That hits Paige in a way she wasn’t exactly prepared for. Because Celeste sounds genuinely hurt now, not just defensive. It’s different. Real. And, yeah, okay—maybe there was a time where she leaned in too much. Maybe her being nice looks a lot like flirting if you don’t know her well enough. Paige has always been told she gives confusing signals. Too much eye contact. Too much laughing. Too much attention.

But it was never intentional. And it definitely wasn’t a promise.

Still, she softens, just a little. “I’m sorry ’bout that,” Paige says, and she means it.

Celeste scoffs again and repeats, “Right.”

And then she adds, tossing it out like a rock through a window, “I wonder what the coaching staff would think about two of their players fucking around this late in the season. Hm.”

Paige’s stomach drops. She hears her own heartbeat in her ears and her mind immediately starts running worse-case scenarios.

What would Geno say? Or CD? Or Jamelle?

Would they be pissed? Would they make them stop? Would it be a whole thing? Would the narrative become that they’re distractions to each other? Would Jo get blamed for it, even though Jo has literally never done a selfish thing in her life? Would there be whispers about the team dynamic being thrown off, even if it’s not true? Would the postseason get tainted by this?

She doesn’t know the answer to any of those questions. And she doesn’t want to.

“Celeste, c’mon,” Paige says, and there’s an edge of urgency to her voice now. She drops the posture, the tension in her jaw. Just puts it out there, raw and real. “Don’t say anything. Please.”

Celeste takes a step forward. “Why should I do anything for you?” she asks, voice cold. “Or, for that matter,” she adds, gesturing toward the locker room with a flick of her fingers, “your little bitch in there? I don’t owe either of you anything.”

There it is. The moment something shifts in Paige, a snap.

Because Jo is not a bitch.

Jo is all soft t-shirts and messy buns and shy smiles. Jo is late-night ice cream runs and twirling her pen in her mouth while she takes film notes. Jo is bright pink lip gloss and knee pads and unrelenting kindness, even when she’s bone-tired. Jo is the person Paige reaches for without even realizing it. The person who laughs at all her jokes and hums when she’s thinking and flushes when Paige calls her baby.

Jo is everything. Jo is hers. Not exactly in a claiming, possessive way. More in a I’ll protect this girl with my entire fucking chest If I have to way.

And Celeste Sinclair doesn’t get to talk about her like that.

Paige steps forward, looks down at the redhead steadily, showers set. “Don’t,” she says, low and controlled.

The word hangs there between them. It’s not loud, not even really forceful. Just steady. It lands like a stone dropped into water—clean, deep, no ripple.

For a second, something in Celeste’s expression flickers. Her mouth parts just slightly, like maybe she’s going to double down, say something cruel again, make this even messier. Paige holds her ground, doesn’t move a muscle. Her jaw is tight and she kisses her teeth.

Celeste shifts a little on her feet. Her shoulders relax just slightly, eyes sliding down Paige’s frame slowly. Almost like she’s assessing. There’s more behind it than just annoyance. Her lips curve—not all the way into a smile, but something close.

“You know,” she says, voice low now. Different tone entirely, like she flipped a switch. She leans closer. “I gotta say… you’re kinda hot when you’re pissed, Paige.”

Paige blinks. She genuinely almost laughs in the girl’s face at how utterly ridiculous it is. Are they not adults now? Sure, Paige can be childish sometimes but this is insane. There’s no way—no way—Celeste is actually doing this right now. Not after threatening to rat her out. Not after calling Jo a bitch. Not when Paige is standing here one wrong move away from a full-blown crash-out.

“Are you serious?” Paige asks in disbelief. “You just went from threatening me to—what? Hitting on me again?” 

Celeste shrugs, all fake nonchalance. “I mean… I can still want you and be mad at you. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Paige makes a face—is this girl bipolar or something? Sure seems like it.

The blonde shakes her head slowly. “You don’t get to flirt your way outta this.”

“I’m not trying to flirt my way out of anything,” Celeste replies, stepping back half a foot, but her tone still has that same slanted heat to it. “Just saying… maybe if you’d handled things differently, we wouldn’t be out here right now.”

That pisses Paige off in a different way. The insinuation that Celeste is the victim here just because Paige didn’t fall into some situationship she never wanted in the first place.

“I handled it the way I had to,” Paige says, firm. “I wasn’t tryna be a dick, ‘kay? I thought I was clear. I didn’t want more with you. That’s not personal. But I’m not gonna apologize for not wantin’ something I didn’t want.”

Celeste watches her for a long second, fiery green eyes flicking across Paige’s face. Then, her arms drop to her sides, some of the tension leaving her. Like the mask has been peeled off, or at least tilted.

“You really like her, huh?” she asks, quieter now.

“Yeah,” Paige says immediately, simply. Because there’s no question to it. “I do.”

Celeste nods once. Looks away, then back. Her mouth is a tight line now.

“I’m not gonna say anything,” she mutters. “Alright?”

Paige exhales. It’s not fully relief, but it’s close. “Thank you,” she says, cautious but real.

“Don’t thank me,” Celeste mutters, already turning. “I’m not doing it for you.”

She walks away without another word.

Paige watches her go, heart still beating a little too fast. She doesn’t move for a moment. Just stands there, staring at the spot where Celeste disappears around the corner. She doesn’t trust her. Not all the way. Not even mostly. There’s a chance this could still blow up later, or get messy, or turn into a headache down the line. But for now, it’s done. It has to be.

She scrubs a hand down her face. Turns on her heel.

And heads back toward the locker room.

THE ROOM SMELLS like garlic bread and takeout containers and the lingering sharpness of victory, all tangled into one heady mix that buzzes around Paige’s ears. The TV’s on low—some men’s game they’re hardly even watching—and everyone’s talking over each other anyway. The hotel room’s packed, the way it always gets when they congregate after a win, girls half-sitting, half-sprawled across mismatched furniture and the carpet, containers of different pastas balanced on paper plates and knees.

It’s warm. Not from the heat, but from the closeness, the full-body kind that comes after a weekend of playing your heart out and winning, again, like they always do. Big East Tournament champs. Shocker.

Still. It’s step toward the real goal, and Paige is proud of her girls.

Paige sits on the bed she’s claimed as hers (her and Aubrey are sharing a room in Uncasville this weekend), her back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of her. Jo’s right beside her, cross-legged, the hem of her shorts brushing Paige’s thigh when she shifts to dig around in her pasta container. Paige can feel the heat of her through the thin cotton of her sweats. She fights the urge to just look over at the brunette and stare.

Their teammates still don’t know. Celeste has been quiet since that day outside the locker room. No threats, no passive-aggressive commentary tossed into conversation. Paige is grateful for it, but the anxiety hasn’t completely dulled. She’s still not convinced the redhead won’t change her mind, especially if something rubs her the wrong way. So for now, Paige is doing her best to act normal. No brushing hands under tables, no lingering glances across shootaround, no reasons for anyone to ask questions.

But then she glances at Jo, and there’s a tiny bit of gold confetti tangled in her hair—caught behind her ear, near the roots. Leftover from the trophy ceremony earlier, when they were throwing confetti all over each other. Paige blinks at it. Doesn’t even think, really. She just reaches.

Her fingers brush against Jo’s hair, slow, tugging the shiny piece free. Jo doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch or ask what she’s doing or turn her head. She just keeps twirling her plastic fork around a bite of pasta, like Paige’s hand in her hair is the most natural thing in the world. She tucks the confetti between her fingers and lets her hand fall back into her lap.

“Try this,” Jo says, out of nowhere, holding her fork up with a twist of unfamiliar pasta on the end “You’re gonna like it.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “That’s what you said about the gnocchi balls last week.”

Jo says, “Those were good.”

“No, they weren’t,” Paige argues, grinning a little.

Jo gives her a look. “C’mon, just take the bite.” She leans over, offers her the fork. Paige’s brain doesn’t even think about—oh, maybe it’s a little incriminating for a teammate to be feeding another teammate food if you’re trying to lay low about said teammate and yours relationship—instead, she just opens her mouth, lets Jo feed her the pasta. Clearly, she’s not very good at acting normal with Jo.

“Oh,” Paige says, chewing. It’s good, like really fucking good. “Yeah, okay.”

Jo grins and goes back to her container, satisfied.

Paige glances at her again—at her cheeks a little flushed from the heat of the crowded room, at the soft curve of her mouth when she bites into her next forkful. Jo’s in her warm-up jacket, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hair in a messy bun that’s mostly falling out. She smells faintly like hotel soap and that strawberry body spray she keeps in her locker.

Paige swallows hard, looking back down at her own food.

And misses the way Nika and Azzi are both watching her.

Or, well, watching them.

Across the room, Nika leans in close to Azzi and whispers something behind her hand. Azzi raises her eyebrows, very slightly, and then presses her lips together in the world’s most obvious attempt at acting normal. Paige doesn’t notice it. She’s too busy stabbing a piece of chicken parm and pretending her mouth isn’t still warm from the fork Jo fed her with.

Her head buzzes a little. From the food, maybe. From the win. From the feeling of Jo’s knee against her thigh again. From how careful she’s trying to be, and how hard it is to not look at Jo the way she wants to, the way that comes natural to her. It’s always easier when it’s just the two of them. But out here, with the whole team packed into the room, she has to be a little more careful—she’s determined to be.

(She’s not very good at it.)

She bites into a cold breadstick. Forces herself to pay attention to Lili’s rant about the lack of sleep she got last night due to Yanna snoring like a man in their room.

Eventually, Paige finishes the last bite of her chicken parmesan, plastic fork scraping softly against the bottom of the takeout container. She lets out a sigh as she leans over and sets the empty box on the hotel nightstand. She glances to her right, where Jo’s listening to Ines yap about God knows what, her accent sharper than usual. Jo’s not eating anymore, her container of pasta sitting untouched in her lap, her fork abandoned to the side, fully focused on Ines, mouth curled up slightly in the corners in that soft way she gets when she’s genuinely amused.

Paige nudges her with her elbow. “You done?” she asks, nodding toward the food.

Jo doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. She just hands the container over wordlessly, knowing Paige well enough by now to read the question for what it really is: Can I finish it?

Paige grins. This pasta is good—creamy and buttery and wildly overpriced, but still.

At the end of the bed, Ice notices the hand-off and snorts. “Fatass.”

Paige doesn’t even look up. She just stretches her leg out, kicking Ice square in the shin, still grinning as she shovels another bite into her mouth. “Shut up,” she says around a mouthful of pasta, completely unbothered.

Paige keeps eating wordlessly, occasionally listening to the several different conversations around her and thinking about the weekend. Three games in three days. Lili was incredible in the post, Nika her normal defensive menace. Jo, per usual, balled out, dropping three twenty-plus point games easy. She was named MVP.

Paige played her role, too—Coach P, hyping the girls up, arguing with the refs for them, the usual agenda for her bench role.

She’s really proud of the whole team. Back in August, when she tore her ACL, so many people doubted them, thought they wouldn’t be able to get by without her. But they’ve done it, and they’ve done it well. It’s all building toward the real thing they all want. And, tonight, they get to feel it a little. The calm before the madness of March truly hits.

She takes another bite of pasta, leaning back into the headboard, letting herself enjoy it. This is one of those rare little pockets of peace. Warm, crowded hotel room. Her people. Good food. And Jo right beside her.

As Ines tells her story, half the room engaged, half the room sprawled and tired, Paige notices Jo moving. She scoots just a bit closer, like gravity’s pulling her in, her head tilting before dropping right into Paige’s shoulder.

Paige tenses a little, even though it could be passed off as an entirely friendly gesture. Best friends do stuff like this.

She glances down, eyes flicking toward Jo’s face. Jo’s not looking back. She’s just resting there, body soft and still, eyes focused on Ines. But the closer Paige looks, the more she sees the little tells—how her eyelids are lower than usual, her whole body loose in that way that only happens when she’s too tired to keep herself upright. Her hand rests lightly on her stomach, and her breathing’s already slowing. She’s exhausted.

Which makes sense. Paige saw the numbers after the game—Jo led the team in minutes, barely came off the floor all weekend. She was everywhere, doing everything. And Paige is proud. She wants to wrap her arms around her and say it straight into her neck. Wants to say, you were the best player in the building all weekend and I’m sort-of in love with you for it. But, obviously, she can’t here and now.

Quickly, though, the room starts to thin out. Everyone’s full, sleepy, the kind of tired that settles into your bones after a weekend of adrenaline and back-to-back games and nonstop noise. Caroline stands first, stretching with a groan.

“Okay, time for bed,” she says, rubbing at her face and grabbing her phone off the edge of Aubrey’s bed.

“Yup,” Aaliyah immediately says from her spot on the couch, already halfway out of the blanket cocoon she made. “I need my eight hours tonight.”

“Bro, you never get eight hours,” Yanna mumbles as she pulls herself off the floor, and Ines nods in solidarity, reaching for her shoes.

“Facts,” Ice adds, unplugging her phone charger from the wall.

It’s a chorus of tired bodies and half-laughs and sleepy groans as everyone starts collecting their things. Paige’s eyes flick over them out of habit, but mostly they stay locked on Jo. Not even on purpose, really. It’s just automatic at this point, how her gaze always finds her. Like her body notices the space Jo takes up in a room before her brain does.

Jo sits up with a quiet sigh, and Paige watches her rub her eyes with the heel of her palm like a little kid. Her voice comes out low, a little croaky with fatigue. “Yeah, I need sleep.”

Paige doesn’t say anything, just watches her move. Watches the way Jo pulls her sweatshirt over her head, stretching just enough to make her shirt lift up a little. The movement is barely anything, completely unremarkable, but Paige still tracks it—eyes dragging slowly, lazily, like she doesn’t even mean to.

Jo turns toward her. She gives her a smile—tiny, barely-there, soft—and pinches her right on the underside of her arm. Not hard, but not gentle either. Just enough to make her flinch.

“Ow,” Paige says, squinting and rubbing the spot.

Jo grins, standing and reaching down to grab her phone and its charger where they’re laying on the floor. “Night,” she says, before leaning into Azzi’s side hug, wrapping an arm briefly around her shoulders.

And then she’s walking out with the rest of the girls, slipping into the hallway with a quiet goodnight.

And Paige is a little bothered about it. She wants to sleep next to Jo tonight. She’s used to it by now, the nights at home default because they live together, and the schemes for away games when they switch with Dorka and Ice.

But they have new hotel roommates for the post season, random room assignments they didn’t even get to rig. And they’re supposed to be acting lowkey right now, so they didn’t try to switch.

They’re doing a terrible job at it apparently.

Because the door clicks shut behind Ice, and now it’s just Paige and Aubrey—since it’s their room—and Azzi and Nika, who haven’t moved. Paige glances over, confused when she catches the way they’re both looking at her: expectant, suspicious. Like they know something.

“What?” she asks, standing up, stretching slightly before she bends to gather her and Jo’s takeout containers into one stack.

She walks over, tosses them into the little trash can. They watch her the whole time. And then Nika snorts. Paige hears it before she sees the grin. That little smirk of hers always gives her away.

“Bro,” the Croatian girl says, “how long have you and Jo been a thing?”

Paige chokes. Literally. On nothing. Just inhales wrong on pure panic and starts coughing like she swallowed her own tongue.

Aubrey bursts out laughing immediately, leaning over from her bed to smack Paige on the back. “You got it,” she says between giggles, like this is the funniest thing she’s ever seen.

Paige pulls away from her, still coughing, face warm now for a completely different reason. “I—what—what’re you even talking about?” she asks, voice rough.

Nika raises both her eyebrows, unimpressed. Azzi leans forward now, too, arms crossed, expression unreadable in that calm way she gets when she’s not buying your shit.

“Jo and I aren’t a thing,” Paige says, more weakly this time, and she hears it in her own voice—how flimsy it sounds. How not believable. She wants to crawl inside herself and disappear.

Azzi doesn’t blink. “Paige, please. We’re not stupid.”

“We’re your best friends,” Nika adds, like it’s the simplest fact in the world. “We know you.”

“Mhm,” Aubrey hums from her bed, not even looking up from the text she’s typing.

Paige stands there, trying to figure out how the hell she’s supposed to lie her way out of this right now. Because the three of them are looking at her like they already know—not like they’re guessing. Like they’re just waiting for her to stop denying.

She opens her mouth again. “We’re not—” she says. And then stops.

Because, with the way they’re staring at her, she already knows this will be a losing battle. So, what’s the point?

She sinks into the bed like her bones have been replaced with sandbags, back hitting the headboard. Her stomach’s full, but her chest feels like it’s slowly caving in. Like someone cracked it open and left the door swinging.

She’s never been good at hiding things from her friends—or anyone, really—but she thought she was doing better than this. Apparently not.

She stares at the wall across the room for a second, then drops her eyes to her lap, the edge of the blanket twisted in her fingers.

“How’d you know?” she asks finally. “Did Celeste tell you?”

Nika makes a face, wrinkling her nose. “Why would Celeste Sinclair tell us?”

There’s a pause, and then Azzi, always fast, always surgical with her intuition, cuts in, “Does Celeste know?”

Paige’s head snaps up. “I—no,” she denies fast, shaking her head before Azzi can press it. “She doesn’t. Just—just tell me. How’d you figure it out?”

Azzi gives her this look, like she’s almost insulted it wasn’t obvious to Paige herself. Then she says, flatly, “Well, for starters, you literally told Aubrey and I that you liked her in October.”

That makes Paige groan, head titling back against the headboard, eyes closed.

“Can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Nika mutters.

“You weren’t there that night for the crash out,” Paige says, waving a hand at her, like that explains everything—which, to her, it definitely does.

That night is seared into her brain like a tattoo. She remembers everything—the quiet guilt, the post-sex clarity, how fast her chest filled with panic. Celeste’s skin still warm under her hands when she realized she didn’t want this, didn’t want her. That she’d been trying to outrun a feeling that had already caught her. Jo. She’d left quickly, rushing to Aubrey’s apartment at two in the fucking morning, still smelling like Celeste and half-hating herself. Azzi had been there, too. She’d confessed like she was throwing up.

It was a mess. She was a mess.

(She’s better now. Mostly. Not spiraling as much. Not fucking people just to forget she wants someone else.)

“You were so miserable after you realized and told us,” Azzi says now, her tone gentler, doe eyes soft. “Especially when her ex was in town. And then, once they broke up, you, like… stopped being your miserable mopey self you’d been.”

“Exactly,” Nika says, nodding. “So, how long’s it been goin’ on?”

Paige hesitates. She glances between the three of them. Azzi’s sitting across from Paige’s bed on one of the chairs, fingers curls around one of her socks like she’s waiting to pull it off but got distracted by drama. Aubrey’s stretched out on her bed, knees bent, brows raised, very much amused. Nika’s on the floor, leant back against the dresser, legs sprawled out like she’s ready to stay as long as it takes.

They’re her people. They always have been. Even if she wanted to lie, she wouldn’t be able to. They already know.

So, Paige caves.

She exhales hard through her nose, mouth twitching, and says, “Okay, uh—we kissed for the first time when I went on that ski trip with her family for Christmas—”

“Bro, that was, like, right after her and that guy broke up!” Nika exclaims, sitting up straighter like she’s caught a scandal.

“Stop,” Paige says quickly, not even looking at her. “Don’t—don’t bring him up.”

Because it stings. Still. Not in the way it used to, not in that sharp, jealous way that kept her up at night—but in a deeper, quieter way now. Because it makes her wonder sometimes if she was just the warm body next to Asher. If Jo kisses her because she was close and safe and already there. But Jo never made her feel like that. Not once. And that was months ago now.

Paige shakes her head a little and keeps going. “Anyways. We kissed there. And then we talked ’bout it. And then it kinda became a ‘best friends who make out and cuddle but aren’t dating’ typa situation.”

Aubrey’s expression says obviously.

Paige scratches the back of her neck. “And then we fucked for the first time after the Tennessee game.”

Azzi blinks. “Wait—after she hurt her ankle?”

Aubrey makes a noise of disbelief, eyebrows shooting up.

“Her ankle was fine!” Paige defends. “She said it was fine, I didn’t—like—I didn’t pressure her or anything. It was a mutual, fully healed-up, consensual ankle situation.”

The other three start laughing. Paige lets them. Because whatever. It was fine. She’s not explaining the post-game hotel room events. No one needs to know Jo had ice on her ankle while they were fucking. Not relevant.

Azzi recovers first, her tone shifting a little, more curious than teasing now. “So… what are you guys now?”

That stops Paige. She looks down at her hands, fingers curling over the blanket again. It’s the question she’s been dodging in her own head.

“Nothing official,” she finally answers. “But we’re not seein’ anyone else. And it—it feels real.”

The word hangs there. Real.

Because it does. It’s not some high school fling or college situationship. It’s not an impulsive rebound or a secret thing they pretend doesn’t matter. It’s brushing teeth next to each other. It’s cooking together (or, well, usually DoorDashing, actually). It’s wearing each other’s clothes. It’s looking at each other like they’re already theirs.

“And we’re always together,” Paige says, softer now. “And I—I’ve never been in an actual relationship, but it… seems to be goin’ in that direction. If we ever actually talk about it.”

She lets that hang in the air, watching how the three of them take it in.

Azzi nods thoughtfully before locking eyes with Paige. “D’you want her to be your girlfriend?” she asks, voice soft like she’s being careful not to spook her.

With this answer, Paige doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The word is out of her mouth before she has a chance to second guess it, and the moment it’s hanging in the room, she kind of wants to pull it back, like she’s said too much, like it cracked something open inside her she wasn’t ready for.

Because of course she wants that. Of course she wants Jo. Wants to walk into practice without pretending that she didn’t fall asleep the night before with Jo’s hand under her shirt and her leg slung across Paige’s thigh. Wants to kiss her in public. Wants to hold her hand when she’s anxious. Wants to introduce her to people as her girlfriend and not have to glance at her first, like is that okay? are we okay?

But even saying it—yes—feels like walking a tightrope. Like admitting too much too soon. Like if she gets too close to the truth of how much she feels, it’ll all unravel.

Azzi tilts her head, studying her. “Are you gonna ask her?”

Paige blows out a breath and scrubs a palm down her face. “I—I’mma figure it out, okay?” she says, voice quieter now. “After the tournament.”

And that’s the truth. That’s the only way she can even frame it in her mind without worrying. There’s a wall around this time of year—March is sacred, locked in—and they all know it. It’s tunnel vision now. There’s no space for messiness or what-ifs or fragile beginnings that might fall apart if they get poked too hard.

This is what they’ve worked all season for. This is what everything’s about. And as much as Jo matters—more than anything—Paige can’t risk letting her head drift too far from the game.

Azzi, Nika, and Aubrey all nod at that, agreeing. It’s better to leave the big emotional swings for later. Win first. Figure it out after. Priorities.

But then Nika turns her head, eyes narrowing a little, not harsh—just quiet. Just a little hurt. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Paige’s stomach twists. That question hits lower than the others. It’s not accusing, exactly, but it lands heavily. Because these are her best friends, and she kept it from them.

She sighs again, her body sagging forward slightly as she leans her forearms on her knees, staring at the comforter. She doesn’t know how to make them understand without sounding like she’s trying to justify hiding it. That was never the point.

“It wasn’t about not telling you,” Paige says finally. “It was about us figurin’ things out first—which, we haven’t. Not really.”

She looks up at them, trying to keep her voice even, steady, like she means it all and wants them to believe her.

“We’re in the most important part of the season,” she says. “And we were scared that if something happened, it might mess with the team. Like, the vibe, the chemistry—all of it. And I don’t even wanna know what Coach or CD or the rest of the staff would say or think. We just wanted everyone to focus on March. Focus on what we’re all here for. And figure everything else out after.”

The last word ends with a kind of finality. After. Like there’s a promised world waiting for them just past the edge of April. Where they can breathe. Where they don’t have to hide.

Azzi nods slowly. Aubrey crosses her arms over her stomach and leans her head back against the wall. Nika drops her gaze to the carpet, thoughtful, chewing at the inside of her cheek.

They get it. They don’t have to say they do—Paige can tell. They’re not pushing her anymore. Because, at the end of the way, they’re ball players before anything else. They know what the stakes are.

Paige shifts a little on the bed and looks at them again, voice softer. “Can you guys not tell Jo that you know?” she asks.

Azzi furrows her brows. “Why? Why more secrets?”

Paige shakes her head, quick, already hearing how it sounds—paranoid, dramatic, unnecessary. But it’s not. Not to her.

“Because I think she’ll freak out if she knows,” she says honestly. “At least, right now. You know how anxious she gets. And it’s not like—she’s not ashamed or anything. It’s just… it’s already been hard enough figuring this out, the two of us. She didn’t even know she liked girls before this. I just wanna figure things out forreal between the two of us before she really has to worry. Y’know?”

She pauses, fingers messing with the blanket again. “I don’t want her overthinking it. Or shutting down. I just… I want to keep this safe. Just for us. Until we’re ready.”

There’s silence for a second. And then Nika, in a voice a whole lot gentler than usual, says, “Okay, P. We won’t tell.”

Relief floods her body faster than she expected. Her shoulders drop. Her hands unclench. She nods once, a quiet thank you, and lets her head fall back again.

She’s not used to sharing stuff like this. Because she’s never really had this to share. But, for Jo, she’s gonna try.

[rosiebbydoll]

The Right Time - Sukuna x Reader - Chp. 5

Chp. 4 - Chp. 5 - Chp. 6

summary: Your life was blissfully chaotic. Being a single mom and raising a daughter with a bigger attitude than yours was a challenge, but you love every second of it. You decided to move to the city to be closer to work. You’ve been at your new apartment for about three weeks now and everything has been great. Until, your annoyingly hot neighbor decided to open his mouth.

cw: female reader, modern au (no curses), 18+, enemies(ish) to friends to lovers, mechanic!sukuna x librarian!reader, slow burn, fluff, smut, crack, angst, toxicity, Sukuna is emotionally constipated, Nobora is readers daughter, Choso and Yuji are Sukuna’s nephews, Toji is a present father in this, LOTS of family fluff, manga spoilers? (more tags will be added)

wc: 10.3 k (a lot happens)

chp warning: fluff, tension, angst, crack, toxic traits, mentions of violence, the kids being cute, LOTS OF TENSION

a/n: buckle up! we have a lot to un pack this chapter! enjoy! <3

It’s been two days since you asked Sukuna to go to dinner with Hiromi and his girlfriend. Two whole days since those ridiculous words slipped out of your mouth. Since you basically invited him on a date, even if it’s so totally not a date. But you asked, and he said yes.

On one hand, you’re relieved. Sukuna’s actually been really nice, surprisingly easy to be around. He’s been making jokes, texting you about random stuff, and generally being a pretty great “friend���—his own words, not yours, though it rings in your ears every time you remember it. You keep telling yourself it’ll be fun to hang out, to get to know him, to have backup at dinner with Hiromi and his perfect, intimidating girlfriend.

On the other hand, you’re freaking out. You’ve been denying this crush for a while now, stuffing it down every time it bubbles up. It’s so obvious, but you’re still pretending it doesn’t exist. Sukuna’s not the kind of guy you fall for. He probably has a girlfriend anyway. At least, you think he does? You haven’t really heard him doing anything through the walls in a while.

To make matters worse, it’s also been two days since Toji has said a single word to you. Not a call, not a text, nothing. Usually, you spend every other Sunday together. Sometimes you guys would just watch TV or make dinner with the kids. This week, nothing. Monday came and went and you figured maybe he’d text you first, but he didn’t. You didn’t even catch a glimpse of him around the complex.

Now, you’re just getting pissed. The anger simmers under everything you do, snapping at your nerves. If he’s actually mad about Sukuna, it’s ridiculous. Dumb as fuck, actually. Toji has no right to be mad at you for talking to your neighbor, for having your own life. You spend a lot of time with Sukuna now, sure, but Toji is a grown man. He could at least act like it and talk to you.

But this is different. This isn’t like your usual fights, the ones that blow over after a few hours or a night of sulking. You can always count on Toji to come around, to grumble an apology or make some half-assed joke that tells you it’s okay. But now it’s been more than 48 hours. This silent treatment is new, and it’s eating at you.

You find yourself replaying every conversation, every look, every tiny moment from the past week, trying to figure out when things shifted. The longer it drags on, the more unsettled you feel—like the ground under your feet is a little less stable than it used to be.

You’ve been working all day, fueled by a simmering anger toward Toji that somehow pushes you to get more done than usual. Every task you check off the list eases the stress a tiny bit. And you made sure to talk to Ino, because if you didn’t, he’d probably have exploded by now.

“So now it’s Toji? What the hell is up with the men in your life?” Ino teases, sliding a fresh cup of coffee across the table to you with a grin.

You snatch it up and take a grateful sip. “I sure know how to pick ’em, huh? But I don’t get why he’s just ignoring me. Look at this.” You hold up your phone, revealing the fifty-plus unread messages sitting there.

Ino leans in, eyebrows raised. “You think he’s got his read receipts turned off?”

You chuckle softly. “Doubt it. The guy took forever just to figure out emojis and reactions. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even heard of read receipts.” You sigh and rest your head on your folded arms, feeling the weight of it all settle in your bones.

Ino’s face softens, and he reaches over to pat your head. “He’s probably just worried. Doesn’t want your new boy toy to hurt you.”

Your head snaps up, eyes blazing. “Not my boy toy,” you growl.

Ino bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Not boy toy. Friend. The friend you talk about nonstop.”

You roll your eyes but stand up, gulping down the last of your coffee. “Get back to work,” you tell him, trying to sound annoyed but not really mad.

He just laughs again, settling back into his chair to sip his coffee like he owns the place.

You shake your head and head back to your desk, the tension still simmering but somehow lighter from the brief distraction. The workday is finally winding down. You’ve spent the afternoon training some new staff, but you make sure Ino takes the lead on showing them how to close properly. He’s a natural at that kind of thing— bossy, confident, and just chaotic enough to keep things interesting.

You gather your tote, planner, and the basket of books you’ve collected for the kids and head toward the door. It’s just shy of three o’clock, and you’ve got to pick up Nobara before the afternoon melts away completely.

“Bye, Ino! See you tomorrow!” you call quietly as you step out.

He gives you a thumbs-up without missing a beat, pretending to know exactly what he’s doing with the new hires who are watching him like a hawk.

You breeze out the door and head straight for your car. It starts on the first try, and you smile a bit too hard, thinking of a certain someone who fixed it. You pull out of the parking lot and merge into the steady flow of traffic. The streets are busy but not overwhelming, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows and bathing everything in a warm, golden glow.

As you drive, your mind drifts to Nobara— imagining her little face lighting up when you pick her up, how she’ll probably chatter nonstop about her day, about Megumi, and the adventures they’ve had. You glance at the basket of books on the passenger seat, knowing it’s probably going to be a challenge to keep her calm through the car ride home.

The school comes into view, a sprawling complex of brick buildings and playgrounds. Cars are lined up along the curb, parents pacing with tired kids, some chatting, others scrolling on their phones.

You ease your way into a parking spot near the entrance, kill the engine, and let the quiet settle over you for a moment. Time to switch gears from work mode to mom mode and face whatever the afternoon has in store. You step into the school hallway, offering warm smiles to parents gathering their kids. The buzz of laughter and chatter fills the air, a blissful soundtrack to the end of the day.

At the far end of the hall, you spot Kento— surrounded by a small crowd of mothers fluttering their lashes and trying their best to flirt. He stands like an unshakable fortress, politely but firmly brushing off their flirtations. His cool, unbothered demeanor only makes him more magnetic.

He’s so freaking loyal and perfect.

You approach slowly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Hey, Kento!” You glance over to see Nobara and Yuji absorbed in the toy kitchen, the clatter of plastic pots and pans filling the space. Megumi is nowhere in sight.

Kento turns toward you, a soft smile brightening his face. “Hey, pretty lady. I’ve got something for you.” He pulls an envelope from his desk and hands it over.

You peel it open to find a wedding invitation inside. Your eyes sparkle with happiness as you give him a quick side hug. “Ahh! I’m so excited for you guys! I can’t wait!”

Kento’s cheeks flush slightly. “She told me to make sure I hand-delivered the invitation to you.”

You tuck the invitation carefully into your tote. “You better be careful, or I’ll snatch her up from you,” you tease.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Let me go get Nobara.”

You raise a hand to stop him before he moves. “Hey, did Toji already pick up Megumi?”

Kento hesitates, knowing technically he's not allowed to say, but it’s you and Toji so he’ll budge this time. He shrugs and exhales. “Yeah, Fushiguro picked him up early today. I didn’t ask any questions.”

Your eyes widen, and you nod softly. “Oh, uh, okay. Thanks, Kento.” You watch him walk toward Nobara, whose eyes light up the moment she spots you standing in the doorway.

Suddenly, a presence looms behind you. “Hey, baby.” Sukuna’s warm breath brushes your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You jump, startled.

“Jesus, Sukuna! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you frown, trying to sound annoyed.

He laughs, low and teasing, as Kento approaches with Nobara and Yuji trailing behind.

“Hi, Mommy! Hi, Uncle Sukuna!” Nobara beams brightly.

You raise a brow at her calling him “uncle.”

“How’s my girl?” you ask, bending to hug her. She immediately launches into showing off the several art projects she’s proudly completed.

“Hi, Yuji!” you say, waving to him.

Yuji toddles up, yawning softly, and gives you a soft wave back, still looking very sleepy.

Kento leans close and mutters to Sukuna, “He didn’t take a full nap today.”

Sukuna sighs, bending down to ruffle Yuji’s hair. “Come on, brat. We’ve gotta go get Choso.” Yuji nods eagerly and gives you a quick hug before following Sukuna.

Nobara and Yuji clasp hands as they walk down the hall, and you wave goodbye to Kento, who stays behind talking with Sukuna.

You give them both a confused look. It’s weird to see those two conversing with one another. Sukuna seems like the kind of guy Kento would hate. But Kento loves Yuji, and so does Sukuna.

Maybe that’s how they get along.

Sukuna catches your expression and grins devilishly. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You frown, and Kento’s eyes widen in surprise. “Did he just call you ‘baby’?”

“Yes, ignore him-” you begin, but Sukuna cuts you off with a smirk.

“Yeah, she’s taking me out on a date this Friday.”

His smirk is lethal, and you fight hard to keep your face neutral.

“That is not what’s happening,” you say sternly.

Kento raises a brow skeptically while Sukuna laughs softly.

“Whatever. Bye, Kento,” you say with an eye roll, picking up your pace toward the kids.

Behind you, Sukuna and Kento’s laughter echoes down the hall, but you hold your head high as you leave the school, heart pounding faster than you’d like to admit.

Sukuna catches up behind you easily, his long strides matching your own as you both head toward the parking lot. You notice his car is parked right next to yours—which was not subtle at all.

The late afternoon light casts long shadows across the pavement, and the air is heavy with a silence that’s anything but comfortable.The kids trail between you two, their chatter replaced by quiet glances at the ground, fingers entwined as they swing their hands back and forth.

Sukuna’s gaze flicks over to you, his usual smirk softened by something more serious. “Hey,” he says quietly, falling into step beside you. “You okay?”

You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek before nodding. “Yeah... just tired, I guess.”

He doesn’t press, but you can tell he’s not fully convinced. The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread, taut and ready to snap. After a moment, you force yourself to shift the focus, hoping to break the tension before it suffocates you both.

“Have you talked to Toji lately?” Your voice sounds smaller than you intend, brittle with the weight of all the things left unsaid.

Sukuna’s eyes darken for a fraction of a second, a shadow flickering across his face. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair as if trying to smooth out the knots inside. “Not since I drove him over to pick up his car Sunday.”

You glance sideways at him, heart tightening. The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air. “Did he… uh, say anything to you?”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing just a bit. “Like what?” His tone is flat, but you catch the edge beneath it. Even if Toji had said something, Sukuna wouldn’t tell you. He knows it would only make you more upset. Toji should be open and honest with you.

You mutter a quick, “I don’t know,” and turn to buckle Nobara into her car seat. Sukuna’s brow furrows, but he moves quickly, strapping Yuji into his own car. When he shuts the door and turns back to you, his gaze lingers, sharp and searching.

He can see the tight line of your mouth, the way you’re holding everything inside like it might spill out and drown you if you let go. He wishes, with a fierce, sudden ache, that he could pull you into a hug and let you unravel all the frustration, the confusion, and the ache you’re stuffing down.

You let out a heavy sigh, fists clenching at your sides as the tension coils tighter in your chest. “I just wish he’d talk to me. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Sukuna’s voice drops, low and almost a murmur, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “Sometimes it’s not about what you did. Sometimes people just shut down.”

You swallow hard, the knot in your chest tightening until it feels like your ribs will cave in. “Yeah... I just hope it’s not permanent.”

He glances at you, something soft and rare flickering in his eyes, his vulnerability laid bare. “Hey, whatever happens, you’re not alone.”

For a moment, the world narrows to that fragile promise, hanging between you like a lifeline in the dark. Your chest tightens so much you feel like you want to cry.

You take a deep breath and force a smile. “Thanks, Sukuna. With all this sucking up, I might just have to take you on an actual date one of these days.” You laugh, and Sukuna chuckles, trying to distract you from his blushing.

You both quickly say your goodbyes, waving to the other kids who are still buzzing with leftover energy. You get in the car and smile at Nobora before you pull off.

As you drive, a strange sense of déjà vu settles over you. Your thoughts drift back to Sukuna—how weird it is that he’s become such a normal part of your everyday life. It feels natural, almost effortless, for him to be there as a friend. A steady presence. Another guiding light in the chaos.

You take friendships (actually, any relationship) very seriously. Time feels too short, too precious, to waste on anything less than wholehearted. So it stings all the more that the best friend you adore and cherish is shutting you out over what feels like the dumbest reasons.

Now, by some twist of fate, you’re forced to lean even more on Sukuna. It’s a lot to process. Too much, honestly.

You turn up the radio, letting the music wash over you. Nobara sings loudly in the back seat, and you smile at her sweet little voice. Another moment you don’t dare take for granted.

Sukuna slides into the driver’s seat after buckling Choso in the back and helping Yuji settle in beside him. The boys start to talk about their day, and Choso shows Yuji his Pokémon cards he traded at school. Sukuna listens to the boys’ chatter and his mind wanders, drifting inevitably to you.

He catches himself thinking about you—the way your eyes light up when you smile, the effortless way you carry yourself even when the world’s weight is dragging you down. Gorgeous and perfect in a way that makes his chest tighten. Not just your looks, but the fierce kindness you hide beneath your tough exterior. It’s maddening how much you’ve become this constant in his thoughts, a presence he can’t shake no matter how hard he tries.

He blinks, shaking off the feeling. Doesn’t mean anything. It’s just…you.

Pulling into the apartment complex parking lot, Sukuna kills the engine and steps out. Choso and Yuji stumble out behind him, rubbing their eyes, clearly ready for bed.

As Sukuna starts up the stairs, he spots Toji coming down from his apartment, hands jammed deep in his pockets, jaw clenched tight. Toji tries to avoid eye contact, but Sukuna’s not about to let him slip by.

He steps in front of Toji, blocking his path. “Hey.”

Toji freezes, then tries to brush past him, already starting to say something like “Hey, I’m kinda busy right now-”

But Sukuna holds up a hand, cutting him off. “She’s worried about you.”

Toji’s eyes flicker with surprise, a flicker of guilt. He stands there for a long moment, silent, the words sinking in deeper than Sukuna expected.

Without another word, Sukuna turns and walks away, leaving Toji standing alone on the stairs, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

It’s now been another two days since Toji last spoke to you. That’s four days with no contact. You even stopped by his office, but he wasn’t there. Whatever’s going on, he’s really making the upmost effort to avoid you, and it’s driving you insane.

By now, you’re beyond pissed. You’re fuming, actually. What the fuck is his deal? Is he jealous? Or just having a meltdown no one can explain but him? Either way, you would’ve been a nice, understanding friend, but now you’re planning the inevitable screaming match you’re going to have with him.

Nobara has been begging nonstop for Megumi to stay after school with her, but you keep making excuses, dodging the inevitable. You even considered just picking Megumi up yourself the other day, but your guilt kicked in hard. You couldn’t shake the feeling you’d be crossing a line.

Now it’s Thursday. Tomorrow’s the night—your “date.” Not a date, really, just a hangout, or whatever you want to call it to calm your nerves. But you still haven’t told Hiromi. You planned on telling him right after you asked Sukuna, but you were still in such a state of shock from your boldness. Now, the week has gone by so fast you have to tell him, or you could just show up with Sukuna?

No, that would be bad. Hiromi would pick on you the entire time.

Plus, you have to ask Hiromi to get his parents to watch Nobara. Toji is nowhere to be found, and you refuse to tell him you’re going out with Sukuna—he’d probably start a war. So, you have to bite the bullet and tell your baby daddy you’re bringing your very hot, annoying neighbor on this double date—that is so not a date.

You pull out your phone, hesitating for a second before dialing Hiromi’s number. The line rings and he picks up quickly.

“Hey, what’s up?” Hiromi’s voice is bright, but you detect a teasing edge.

You clear your throat. “Hey, so excited for tomorrow! I am going to bring someone with me.”

“Found you a little piece to bring so we can have a double date?” He hums in satisfaction.

“No! I’m bringing my neighbor…..Sukuna. I honestly didn’t want to be by myself and I kind of owe him dinner for fixing my car.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Hiromi bursts out laughing. “Wait, you’re actually bringing him?”

Your stomach drops. “Wait, do you not want him to come? I’m sorry, I’ll-”

Hiromi immediately interrupts you, “Of course I do. I’m just a little shocked. You have never listened to me the entire time we have known each other. This guy must be doing something right.”

You groan. “Hiromi, don’t start.”

He chuckles again. “When you two are married, I’ll be the first to say I told you so. And we are both excited to see you. It will be a great night, don’t stress.”

You smile despite yourself. “Alright, and can your parents please watch Nobara tomorrow? Toji’s busy.”

Hiromi’s tone softens. “Yes, I will text my mother right now. They will be more than happy to.”

You breathe out, relieved. “Thanks, Hiromi. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He laughs. “See you tomorrow.”

You hang up the phone and let out a deep breath, the weight of the conversation settling around you. Well, that’s one thing down. You tuck the phone away, a small flicker of relief mingling with the nerves still buzzing through your veins.

Nobara had Art Club until five again, and she somehow convinced Yuji to join. Without even bringing it up, Sukuna had offered to pick them both up, and you’d gratefully accepted.

Sukuna pulls up to the apartment complex with Nobara and Yuji buzzing quietly in the backseat. The sun is slipping low now, casting long shadows across the parking lot, but the warmth of the day still lingers in the air. Nobara’s fingers fidget with the straps of her bag, her latest art projects safely tucked inside, while Yuji watches the passing cars with wide-eyed curiosity.

Sukuna kills the engine and steps out, opening the back door with practiced ease. Nobara practically leaps out, chattering about the art club and how Yuji was surprisingly good at drawing. Yuji follows more cautiously, still clutching his crayon stained notebook as if it’s his most prized possession.

You’re standing just inside your apartment door when you hear the familiar thud of the car door closing. Turning, you see Sukuna approaching with the kids—his relaxed confidence somehow grounding even the chaotic energy of Nobara and Yuji.

“Hey,” he says quietly, nodding at you with that faint smirk you’ve come to recognize.

Nobara rushes forward, practically throwing herself at you. “Mommy! Guess what I made today!” You listen to her yap as you carry her inside the apartment.

Yuji tugs at your sleeve, shy but eager to show off his drawings.

Sukuna stands back, watching the exchange with a softness that’s easy to miss if you’re not paying attention.

“Where’s Choso?” you ask as you set down a plate of snacks on the low coffee table—an assortment of cut up fruit, cheese cubes, and Nobara’s favorite animal shaped crackers, all carefully arranged on a colorful tray.

The kids bolt off, giggling and yapping, disappearing into Nobara’s bedroom like a little storm of energy.

Sukuna stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the chaos with a faint smile. “The old man picked him up right at three, took him to get a haircut and some food.”

You nod, then notice Sukuna lingering, still standing just inside the door. You raise an eyebrow and grin, “Hey, you know you can come inside, right?”

He pauses, then smirks. “Oh? Drunky’s letting me in her house.” His laugh is low and amused, and you roll your eyes at his theatrics.

“Actually, scratch that. No Sukunas allowed. New rule.” You say in a mock-serious tone, and you both burst out laughing.

He raises his hands in playful surrender and steps inside, the moment awkward for a beat before he smoothly settles onto your couch like it’s his usual spot.

“You can have some snacks! Just don’t eat them all,” you holler as you change out of your work clothes and slip into some sweats and a baggy off-the-shoulder graphic tee.

You walk over to Sukuna, who is munching away on some cheese and crackers, and wittily take the plate away from him so you can have some fruit. Sukuna frowns as you take the plate away but almost watches you too intensely as you eat that strawberry.

“So, what should I wear tomorrow?” he asks, picking at the skin around his nails.

You plop down on the floor in front of him, smiling. “Honestly? I don’t even know what I’m wearing yet.”

Your eyes meet, and the tension breaks with a giggle. “Maybe skip the work clothes,” you joke, nodding toward his grease-streaked shirt. “You’re going to get my couch dirty.”

Sukuna throws his head back and laughs, sinking comfortably into the cushions.

“My poor couch.” You frown and toss a pillow at him.

He just smiles, and for a moment, you find yourself locked in his gaze. Just then, Nobara and Yuji burst back into the room. “Mommy! Uncle Sukuna!” they shout, rushing over and jumping onto your lap.

Nobara’s landing is light and quick, but Yuji’s enthusiastic hug nearly knocks the wind out of Sukuna.

Sukuna groans theatrically, clutching his ribs as laughter bubbles from all of you. Before you can catch your breath, he grabs a pillow and throws it right at you.

The pillow hits your side with a soft thud, and you immediately retaliate, grabbing the nearest cushion and smacking Sukuna across the face. His surprised laugh turns into a grin as he lunges forward and pushes you onto the couch.

Nobara squeals with delight, ducking behind the couch, while Yuji shrieks and dives at Sukuna’s legs. The living room erupts into a whirlwind of laughter and pillows being thrown in every direction.

You duck as a pillow sails toward your head, narrowly avoiding the blow, and fire back with a well aimed toss. Sukuna catches it midair, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re going down, Drunky,” he teases, voice low and playful.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” you grin, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

He nods, eyes locked on yours. “Absolutely.”

The kids cheer from their hiding spots, egging you both on. For a moment, everything else falls away—no worries, no unspoken words, just the pure, chaotic joy of the moment.

Pillows fly faster, laughter gets louder, and you find yourself drenched in the warmth of this strange, unexpected family you’re building.

After a few more rounds of pillow tossing and laughter, the fight starts to lose steam. Nobara collapses onto the couch, breathless but grinning ear to ear, while Yuji flops down beside her, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. You sink onto the floor, catching your breath and wiping the sweaty hair stuck to your face.

Sukuna sits back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watches the kids settle down. Then, his expression shifts-sharp and focused. He glances at his watch and suddenly sits upright.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I need to get Yuji back to the apartment before the old man drops Choso off.”

You nod, already standing and gathering the scattered pillows. “Yeah, I need to make dinner and give Nobara a bath.” Nobara and Yuji pout as they realize they have to leave each other.

Sukuna stands, brushing off his pants and moving toward the door. “C’mon, Yuji.”

You smile tiredly and watch Yuji run to the door while Nobara leans up against you.

“Night, you guys! Tell Choso we said hi!” you and Nobara wave.

He looks back at you, eyes softening for a moment, with Yuji holding his hand. “Night.”

The kids wave goodbye as Sukuna leads Yuji out the door, the quiet settling back into the apartment once more. You take a deep breath, already counting down the hours until tomorrow’s “date”—whatever that might really mean.

“Is Uncle Sukuna your girlfriend?” Nobara asks suddenly, and your eyes widen in surprise before your mouth bursts open with a laugh.

“Sukuna is a boy, Nobara. And he’s not your uncle,” you say gently, watching her nibble on her snacks spread across the coffee table.

She raises a brow, considering your words, then nods slowly. “So he’s your boyfriend. ’Cause Daddy has a girlfriend, and they smile at each other just like you guys do.” She hums thoughtfully, shoving another piece of cheese into her mouth.

Your eyes widen again as she climbs up onto the couch beside you. “And Yuji and Choso call him uncle, so why can’t I? I call Toji uncle.” You can’t really argue with that logic-especially coming from a five-year-old.

You roll your eyes and stand up from the couch. “He’s not my boyfriend, baby. He’s just Mommy’s friend. Like Uncle Toji.”

Nobara nods solemnly, then walks over to you with a bright smile. “Can we go see him and Megumi?”

“We can soon, baby. They’re just busy right now.” Your gut twists at the thought of Toji, and you wonder when the silence between you will finally break. You’ve given up calling or texting. It’s just not worth the heartbreak anymore.

Changing the subject quickly, you pull over Nobara’s little kitchen stool and pat it. “Wanna help me make dinner?”

Her eyes light up, gleaming with excitement as she nods vigorously.

“I was thinking ramen sounds good,” you say, heading to the kitchen to gather ingredients and ramen packets.

“Yummy!” Nobara chirps happily, following you eagerly.

Together, you start preparing the meal-boiling water, adding noodles, chopping green onions, and stirring in broth packets. Nobara tries to imitate your every move, her small hands carefully helping where she can, occasionally stealing a noodle to giggle about.

You and Nobara settle at the small kitchen table, steam rising from the bowls of ramen warming your hands. She slurps enthusiastically, noodles hanging comically from her lips as she giggles every time you pretend to scold her.

Between bites, she chatters about her day—how she showed Yuji a new art trick, how Megumi was funny, and how she wants to draw a picture for you. You smile softly, heart swelling at her innocence and energy.

But beneath the surface, your thoughts keep circling back to Toji and Sukuna. The silence with Toji weighs heavy on you, like a knot tightening in your chest. You wonder when—or if—that wall will come down. And then there’s Sukuna, whose presence both comforts and confuses you.

You watch Nobara’s bright eyes, her carefree laughter, and remind yourself to hold onto this moment, this small pocket of peace. Tomorrow’s “date” looms ahead, and with it, a whirlpool of emotions you’re not quite ready to face.

For now, though, there’s just warmth, noodles, and the soft happiness that only comes from being here, now, with her.

After dinner, you gather the bowls and stack them in the sink, the warmth of the meal still lingering in the cozy kitchen. Nobara bounces on her toes, her energy barely contained, but you know it’s time to wind down.

“All right, baby, let’s get you cleaned up,” you say, taking her hand gently.

She giggles, skipping ahead as you lead her to the bathroom. You run the bath, adding a generous splash of sleepy time bubble bath. The scent fills the small space, wrapping around you both like a soft hug.

Nobara climbs in, splashing happily as you help wash away the day’s dirt and crayon marks. She hums a little tune, the bubbles tickling her skin and her eyes growing heavy.

“You’re gonna stay with Nana and Papa tomorrow, okay?” you tell her as you scrub her body.

She nods her head and continues to try and count every single bubble. “’Kay, Mommy.”

You rinse her hair carefully, avoiding the tears and the protests, and wrap her in a fluffy towel, rubbing her dry with slow, soothing strokes.

In her pajamas, Nobara curls up in your arms. You carry her back to her room, tucking her in under soft blankets. She looks up at you with sleepy eyes, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Mommy, I love you,” she murmurs.

You kiss her forehead, heart swelling. “I love you too, baby. Sleep tight.”

As she drifts off, you sit beside her bed for a moment longer, watching her chest rise and fall with steady breaths.

Over on the other side of the walls, Sukuna is struggling to get the boys to bed.

Choso arrived home with Wasuke just as Yuji and the others were stepping through the door. Wasuke, always thoughtful, brought takeout, which everyone devoured in record time-no leftovers in sight.

After their grandpa left, the boys begged for some time on the Wii. They begged to play Just Dance, and the apartment quickly filled with laughter, shouts, and the sound of plastic controllers clacking against each other.

Somehow, instead of winding down, Yuji and Choso found a second wind. Within minutes, they were running wild around the apartment, shrieking with laughter—completely butt ass naked. Clothes lay abandoned in the hallway, a trail of shirts and socks marking their path.

Sukuna scowled as he watched Yuji and Choso chase each other around the living room, their laughter echoing off the walls. The takeout containers were already empty, stacked haphazardly on the coffee table. He’d barely finished cleaning up when the boys—now stripped down and shrieking—dashed past him.

“If you break something, you’re cleaning it up,” he warned, voice low and even. They ignored him, of course. “And put some damn clothes on!”

Sukuna prided himself on his patience with the boys. Sure, he could be a bit of an ass sometimes, but he usually kept his cool. Right now, though? He was one minor disaster away from losing it.

With a deep breath, Sukuna finally rounded them up, grabbing Yuji first and then Choso, who squirmed and giggled like little eels slipping through his fingers. He herded them toward the bathroom, his voice firm but calm. “Bath time, now. No more running.”

The boys protested briefly, but the promise of warm water and their favorite dinosaur bath toys softened their resistance. Sukuna filled the tub with comfortably warm water, just right to soothe and relax them after the chaos. He helped them climb in and let them tire themselves out in the tub.

The bath was short but effective, just enough to wash away the day’s dirt and burn off the last of their energy. When the bath was over, he wrapped them in fluffy towels and guided them to their beds. Yuji’s eyelids drooped, and Choso snuggled close, finally still.

Sukuna exhaled, a tired smile tugging at his lips. The apartment was finally quiet, the chaos of the day fading into silence.

He headed for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the exhaustion from a long day spent juggling work and wrangling the boys. After drying off, he slipped into a clean pair of boxers, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just a little.

He hadn’t checked his phone all day—too busy, too distracted. Now, as he picked it up, the screen lit up with a barrage of notifications. Most were from Yarozu. Her persistence was almost impressive. He’d thought ignoring her would be enough to send the message he was done fucking around, but clearly, she didn’t get the hint.

Rolling his eyes, he left her on read and scrolled until your name appeared. The sight of it made him pause, a small smirk crossing his face. He typed out a quick message: “See ya tomorrow for our date, Drunky.”

Satisfied, he locked his phone and set it aside. The annoyance he once felt over how much you occupied his thoughts had faded; now, thinking of you was oddly calming as he drifted off to sleep.

Your phone buzzed, and you glanced at the screen. “Asshole,” the contact read, making you smile despite yourself. You typed back, “Not a date,” and set your phone down, the warmth of his message lingering as you slowly nodded off too.

Now it’s Friday morning. The day of the date—or whatever the fuck we are calling it—has finally arrived. Hiromi sent you a cheerful good morning message, telling you how excited he is for tonight. You lied and replied that you’re excited too, but in reality, your stomach is doing somersaults as you drive Nobara to school.

As you walk her inside, you spot Toji. He’s never here before you. That son of a bitch. You can’t help but frown as you keep walking. Nobara, however, doesn’t hesitate. She darts over to him immediately.

“Uncle Toji!” she cries, running straight into his arms. Of course, he picks her up and gives her a big hug.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he says warmly. Nobara wriggles out of his arms and rushes toward the classroom to find Megumi, but then she suddenly stops, realizing she forgot something important.

“Bye, Mommy!” she calls, waving as you’re already halfway down the hall. You smile and blow her a kiss.

You pause for a moment, watching her disappear into the room, then glance over at Toji and Kento. You give a quick, polite nod to the blond, but you can’t bring yourself to acknowledge your so-called best friend.

You turn on your heel and march out, your mind racing with all the things you’d planned to say if you saw him again. You were ready to tear into him, but now your heart just sinks. Maybe it’s time he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Kento lets out a low whistle and clicks his tongue. “You’re in trouble,” he murmurs.

Toji groans, “Big time.” He waves goodbye to Megumi and Nobara, then gives Nanami a nod as he heads out.

As Toji walks down the hall, he spots Sukuna with Yuji. Sukuna grins, “Oh, you’re alive? I thought you’d died since you decided to ghost me. Honestly, my heart’s a little broken,” he teases.

Toji scoffs and ignores the jab. “Hey, Yuji.”

Yuji beams. “Hi, Toji! Is Megumi here?” Toji nods, and Yuji gives Sukuna a quick hug before sprinting to the classroom.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow. “Ya finally going to be a big boy and talk to us?” he says, waving at Nanami before heading out with Toji.

“You still up her ass?” Toji retorts, pulling out two cigarettes-one for himself, one for Sukuna.

Sukuna pulls out his lighter and lights both, taking a deep drag. “More than ever, since you haven’t been around,” he chuckles.

A heavy silence settles between them. Toji knows he messed up. It isn’t fair to either of them. He needs to face his problems and grow the fuck up. Well, that’s exactly what his wife would have told him.

Sukuna breaks the tension with a smirk. “You’d better talk to her before she decides to marry me,” he jokes, heading toward his Mustang.

Toji just nods, watching the gravel shift beneath his feet as he slowly trudges to his Camaro, feeling the weight of everything he’s left unsaid.

Sukuna pulls out of the parking lot, dread hanging over him. Toji is his friend—has been for a long time. Not as long as you, but Sukuna still considers their relationship solid. He respects Toji enough not to try anything underhanded here.

He thinks he’s been on his best behavior around you, even if you make his heart ache and his mind go blank. He’s terrified for tonight. He knows you aren’t calling it a date—he doesn’t even think of it as one—but he’s still nervous to be around you. It takes everything in him to keep up that façade.

When he arrives at his shop, his employees are already busy opening up and working on cars. Sukuna lets out a groan and heads into his office. He genuinely enjoys owning the shop, but the one thing he hates about being the owner is the endless paperwork. Most mornings, he’s stuck behind his desk, handling paperwork and answering phone calls, instead of working with his hands.

But when the paperwork is done, he gets to do what he loves: working on cars and talking to customers face-to-face. That’s when he feels most at home. As the day drags on and evening approaches, his nerves return. He can’t stop thinking about tonight.

Meanwhile, at the library, you’ve been dodging Ino all day because he won’t stop teasing you about the so-called date. He keeps asking for every little detail and just won’t let it go.

You finally find some peace at your desk, cataloging the last of the books before you leave. Ino is busy giving a tour, and the new hires are being trained at the front desk. It’s been a smooth day. You even approved an elementary school field trip for next month and sent a few emails.

As you pack up to leave, Ino waves and winks at you. You roll your eyes, wave back, and head out to your car, trying to swallow the nervousness as the evening draws closer.

You get a text from Hiromi’s mom letting you know she’s picked up Nobara, and they’re taking her to see a movie. You quickly reply, then head straight to your apartment.

As you step through the front door, you slip your tote bag off your shoulder and hang it neatly on the hook by the entryway. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Hiromi said you’d meet at 7:00 p.m., and it’s just now 4:00 now. You only have three hours to prepare. You’re determined to look and smell your absolute best for this evening, especially for this mystery woman—definitely not for anyone else

You walk into your bedroom and carefully lay out several outfit options across the bedspread, each one a possibility for the night ahead. Then, you make your way to the bathroom to begin your routine. You wash your hair thoroughly, letting the warm water relax you, then shave and exfoliate your skin until it feels smooth and refreshed. You massage oils into your skin and apply a soothing face mask, letting it work its magic while you brush and floss your teeth with meticulous care. Afterward, you check your reflection for any blemishes, quickly tending to any that you find.

Wrapped in a soft robe, a towel twisted atop your damp hair, you return to your bedroom and study the outfits you’ve arranged. Hiromi only said you were going to dinner, and you don’t want to be too overdressed. After some deliberation, you decide on a pair of light denim jeans, sleek black boots, a crisp black crew neck, and your favorite leather jacket.

For your makeup, you opt for a minimal, natural look: you brush your brows into place, dust on a bit of powder and blush for a healthy glow, and finish with a swipe of your favorite gloss. Then, you blow dry your hair making sure every piece is in place.

For accessories, you choose delicate gold earrings and the gold bracelet Nobara gave you last Mother’s Day—a sentimental touch that always makes you smile. You swap your bulky library tote for a sleek black purse, feeling the smooth leather in your hands.

Before leaving your bedroom, you make sure to slip your wallet into your purse because you promised Sukuna you’d cover dinner tonight. The clock just turned six, giving you plenty of time to get Sukuna and head to the restaurant, and Hiromi just sent you the directions.

You take one last look in the mirror and smile.

Okay, I’m ready.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp knock at the door. The sound jolts you out of your thoughts. Sukuna must be ready. Heart pounding, you grab your fanciest perfume and spritz it over your neck and wrists. You barely give yourself a second glance in the mirror before rushing to the door, not even bothering to check the peephole.

You unlock it in a hurry, swinging it open with a practiced smile, only for your face to instantly fall flat. Toji stands there, leaning against the doorframe, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Well, what’s got you all dressed up, pretty?” he drawls, eyes flicking over your outfit. His gaze lingers a second too long, and you scowl, tension snapping through your body like a live wire.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap, voice low and sharp.

He shrugs, trying to look casual, but there’s something restless in his eyes. “I’m just worried about ya, pretty.”

You scoff, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “Yeah? So you ignore my calls, refuse to let me see Megumi, and then just show up at my door like nothing happened? What the fuck is wrong with you, Toji?”

He shifts his weight, jaw tightening. “I was stuck in my head. I’ve been meaning to talk to ya. I should’ve answered, but I didn’t want to yell at ya ‘cause I was upset.”

Your anger flares hotter. “Why the hell are you even upset? What did I do? Do you even realize the things you’ve done lately? I let it go because I love you, Toji! But you-” You cut yourself off, breath shaking.

Toji sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He’s not right for ya, pretty. At least, I don’t think he is.”

You glare at him, in shock. “You have no right to tell me who’s right for me, Toji. And he’s your friend, too.”

“That’s exactly why I know he ain’t right. I know how him and Yarozu are.”

You arch an eyebrow, shaking your head in disbelief. “He’s a friend, Toji. And honestly? He’s been acting like a better one than you these past few days.” You shoulder past him, your anger simmering.

Toji’s face darkens, frustration etched deep in his features. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” you spit back, voice trembling with hurt. “He’s even coming with me tonight to meet Hiromi’s girlfriend.”

He scoffs, bitterness creeping in. “You’ve barely even been with anyone before, so how the fuck do you know he’s just acting like a friend?”

You freeze, fingers tightening around your purse strap. “What did you just say?”

Toji exhales, voice softer but strained. “You’ve barely been with-”

“No, I heard you,” you cut in, voice icy. “Just making sure I wasn’t imagining it.” You let out a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay calm.

He bites the inside of his cheek, regret flickering in his eyes. Fuck.

You open your mouth, ready to unleash another retort, but Toji interrupts.

“Look what happened with Higuruma. It was just one night and you didn’t even know him.”

Your eyes widen, the old wound reopening. “Are you serious right now?”

Toji sighs, looking away, trying to avoid your deathly glare.

“I was young, Toji. I barely knew what life was. I think I have a better grasp of things now. Sukuna and I are just friends. That’s it.”

He tries to speak, but you cut him off, voice trembling with conviction. “I’m not the same girl I was back then. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’m not a fucking kid you have to keep worrying about.”

He looks at you, pain flickering in his eyes. “I just don’t want something like that to happen again.”

“Something like what?” you demand, stepping closer, your voice cold as stone. “Me getting pregnant?”

He stands there, not knowing what to say. You see the sadness in his eyes, but you’re ignoring it.

You glare at him, every muscle in your body taut with anger. “Get out, Toji. I don’t want to look at you.”

His face goes blank, the smirk wiped away, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“Pretty-” he starts, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get the fuck out,” you repeat, voice shaking but unyielding.

He hesitates, searching your face for something—anything—but you hold his gaze, unflinching, until he finally turns and walks away, leaving you standing in the doorway, heart pounding and hands trembling.

You feel the hot sting of tears welling up, sliding down your cheeks before you can stop them. Panic rises as you rush back to the bathroom, desperately dabbing at your face, trying not to ruin the makeup you spent so long perfecting. The last thing you need is for anyone to see you like this.

Suddenly, you here another knock at the door. Annoyed, you snap, “Toji, I said leave me-”

But when you yank the door open, it’s not Toji standing there. It’s Sukuna. He leans against the frame, looking unfairly good in a worn leather jacket, black jeans, his signature boots, and a crisp white t-shirt. His hair is styled just right, and tonight, his sharp features look even more irresistible than usual.

Your eyes widen as you immediately realize who it is. “Did you just called me Toji?”Sukuna’s lips curl into a smirk, but the moment he notices your tear stained face, his expression softens.

 “What’s wrong, drunky?” he asks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. You close the door behind him, grateful for the excuse to hide your face for a second longer.

You wipe your eyes, glancing in the hallway mirror to check the damage. “Toji stopped by. I made him leave,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

Sukuna doesn’t buy it. He can see right through you, but he doesn’t push. Not yet.

He leans in, voice low. “Should we call your baby daddy-?”

You cut him off with a sigh. “No, I want to go. I need to meet his girlfriend. He’s always there for me, always does whatever I ask. It’s the least I can do.”

Sukuna nods, but you catch the way his eyes linger on you. Then you notice you both are literally dressed the same. “Hey, look! We’re matching,” you say, forcing a smile as you show off your jacket.

He laughs, a deep, warm sound that makes your heart skip. “I make it look better,” he teases, eyes glinting. He tries to hide how much he’s staring at you, how he could get lost in every detail of your face, but you catch the way his gaze lingers a little too long.

You roll your eyes and head for the door, locking it behind you. When you turn around, Sukuna is waiting, holding out two motorcycle helmets.

You groan. “We are not taking your bike.”

He just grins, ignoring your protest as he hands you a helmet. “My hair will get messed up!” you protest, but you can’t help but smile as you follow him down the hall.

Sukuna glances over his shoulder, eyes dark and playful. “You’ll still look good, even if it’s a mess,” he says, holding out a hand to help you onto the bike.

Your stomach flips, heat blooming in your cheeks. You try to play it cool, rolling your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips—or the way your heart races as his fingers brush yours.

You swing your leg over the bike, the leather of your jacket warm and familiar against your skin as Sukuna steadies the machine beneath you. The city lights blur softly in the visor’s tint, casting a golden haze over the streets as the engine rumbles to life—a deep, steady growl that vibrates through your bones. 

When you finally pull up outside the restaurant, the engine’s growl fades. Sukuna helps you off the bike and secures the helmets in the bin. You take a deep, nervous breath and glance at him. “Okay, now I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly.

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Why the hell are you scared?”

You fidget with your jacket zipper, looking down for a moment. “I want to make sure she likes me. Hiromi talks about her like she’s amazing, and if she’s going to be part of my life, I want to make a good impression.”

Sukuna’s expression softens, and he mutters, “I think it’ll be hard for her not to.” You catch the quiet sincerity in his voice and can’t help but smile.

You quickly pull out your phone to check your hair from the stupid helmet you had to wear. “You look fine.” Sukuna tries to sound annoyed and you softly smile, feeling the fire forming on your cheeks.

Together, you step inside the cozy restaurant, the warm glow of amber lights and the murmur of quiet conversations wrapping around you. It’s not fancy, and you’re grateful for that. Your eyes find Hiromi, who stands and waves you over with a bright smile.

 Without thinking, you reach out and grasp Sukuna’s arm, tugging him close as you make your way to the table. Hiromi greets you both with a broad, genuine smile before turning to the woman beside him. She rises with effortless grace, her serene expression and gentle eyes immediately soothing your nerves.

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” she says, her voice soft but sincere. “Nobara and Hiromi have told me so much about you!”

You return her warmth, though your heart is pounding. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. Hiromi’s only ever had the nicest things to say.”

But Sukuna’s presence looms at your side, impossible to ignore. You suddenly realize you need to introduce him—except, as what? The question sends a jolt of panic through you, but before you can act, Hiromi is already extending his hand to Sukuna.

“Good to see you again,” Hiromi says cheerfully, and Sukuna flashes a grin in return and nods. You can’t help but stare—kinda a bizarre moment for you. Hiromi turns to his girlfriend, gesturing toward Sukuna. “This is the neighbor friend I mentioned,” he explains, but you know his big mouth probably told her more than what he’s letting on.

Sukuna then takes Hiromi’s girlfriend’s hand. She blushes faintly as he offers a surprisingly polite, “Nice to meet you.” He literally had that effect on everyone.

As everyone settles in around the table, Sukuna and Hiromi quickly slip into conversation, their voices low but lively, punctuated by the occasional laugh. Meanwhile, Hiromi’s girlfriend turns her attention to you, drawing you into an engaging discussion about her work. She shares intriguing stories about the unique challenges of teaching, her passion evident in every word. Her warmth and genuine curiosity make it easy for you to open up, and soon the conversation flows naturally, leaving you both smiling and eager to learn more about each other.

As the server arrives with menus, everyone takes a moment to decide. Hiromi opts for a classic miso soup, while his girlfriend chooses a delicate seaweed salad and a light grilled salmon dish. You settle on a comforting bowl of udon noodles that looked too good to pass up. Sukuna, scanning the menu with a sharp eye, orders a sizzling plate of teriyaki beef. Which surprised you because you thought he’d get the most expensive item on the menu. With all the orders placed and menus set aside, the table feels even more lively, the anticipation of the meal blending seamlessly with the easy flow of conversation.

Soon, a waiter arrives, expertly balancing trays laden with beautifully presented dishes. Vibrant colors and artful arrangements catch your eye. The air is thick with the mouthwatering aroma of grilled meats, fresh herbs, and subtle hints of ginger and soy that mingle invitingly above the table.

Everyone digs in, the first bites are met with appreciative murmurs. Laughter bubbles up naturally, breaking through any lingering awkwardness. Across the table, Hiromi’s girlfriend launches into a hilarious story from her latest psychology lecture. You can’t help but be drawn in by her and you honestly understand why Hiromi has fallen so hard for her.

You are pulled in by her gestures and infectious laughter. But beneath the table, something else demands your attention. Sukuna’s knee brushes against yours, just lightly at first, as if by accident. You glance at him, but his face is the picture of innocence, focused on the story.

A moment later, as the laughter around the table swells, his leg nudges yours again, firmer this time, lingering just a second longer. Your pulse quickens at the silent exchange, a secret current of energy passing between you. You try to focus on the conversation, but your heart was pumping so fast you were worried it would burst out onto the table.

Calm down. 

The evening continues lin a blur of lighthearted teasing, shared memories, and easy smiles. With each passing moment, the nervous tension that once knotted your stomach dissolves, replaced by a comforting sense of belonging. Between bites and conversation, you catch Sukuna’s gaze lingering on you. He decided on that instead of nudging your leg after you gave him a death glare.

As the hours slip by, the plates are picked clean and you’re all so full, stomachs about to burst. You all have now turned to a very expensive bottle of wine you all decided to share—Hiromi’s girlfriend insisted. The sweet red liquid coats your throat and the buzz is making you feel as bubbly as ever.

“So, how did you two meet?” She asks, swirling her wine and flashing a curious grin.

Hiromi stifles a laugh, and you shoot him a quick glare. “Oh, he’s my neighbor,” you reply, unsure how much to share.

She giggles, her cheeks flushed from the wine. “That’s so cute!” Her words slur just a bit, and you can tell she’s getting tipsy.

You smile politely while Sukuna and Hiromi exchange glances, both struggling to hold back their laughter.

As you all stand to settle the bill, she suddenly pipes up, “Do you guys wanna go play some pool?”

Hiromi raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. You echo his confusion. “Pool? You mean, like, at a bar?”

She nods enthusiastically and links her arm with Hiromi’s, already heading for the door. The rest of you look at each other and shrug, amused by her spontaneous energy.

As you walk out, you start chatting with her about a book you just finished, getting animated as you describe your favorite parts. In the midst of your conversation, you realize Sukuna and Hiromi have already paid the bill. You turn, ready to protest, but Sukuna holds up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” he says flatly.

You huff, crossing your arms. “I said I would owe you,” you mutter, but he just waves you off with a smirk.

You all thank the restaurant staff and step out into the cool night air. Right across the street, neon lights flicker above a narrow doorway—a hole in the wall bar you’ve never knew was there before.

Inside, the bar is dimly lit and smells faintly of old wood and spilled beer. A couple of regulars nurse their drinks at the counter, and in the back, a battered pool table sits beneath a buzzing fluorescent light.

You and Sukuna team up against Hiromi and his girlfriend, the two of you standing side by side at the battered pool table. The bar’s dim light casts a warm glow over the felt as the balls are racked.

Sukuna cracks his knuckles with a confident grin. “Alright, rookie, watch and learn.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “I know what I’m doing.” (Even though you haven’t played pool in years).

He just smirks, chalking his cue. “Whatever you say.” He lines up the break, and with a practiced stroke, sends the cue ball smashing into the rack. The balls scatter across the table, and a striped one drops cleanly into the corner pocket.

“Guess we’re solids.” Higuruma states as he claps his hands together.

Sukuna glances over, nudging you with his elbow. “See? That’s how it’s done.”

You pick up your cue, trying to mirror Sukuna’s stance, but the awareness of his eyes on you makes your hands clumsy. “Alright, coach,” you say, forcing a playful tone, “What’s the secret?”

He steps in behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands slide over yours, gentle but firm, guiding your grip. “Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “You’re holding it like you want to choke the life out of it.”

His breath fans against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. The bar seems to shrink around you. His fingers linger a moment too long, his chest brushing lightly against your back as he leans in to adjust your arms.

You try to sound annoyed, but your voice comes out softer, almost breathless. “What happened to personal space?”

“Can’t help it if I’m a hands-on teacher,” he smirks.

You roll your, eyes ignoring Sukunas cocky remark as you watch the ball sink in. Sukuna gives you a proud smile and you suddenly have a burst of confidence in your pool skills.

Hiromi and his girlfriend take their turn. Hiromi moves with the easy confidence of someone who’s played before, while his girlfriend giggles, clearly a little more than tipsy now but just happy to be included.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is laser focused. You notice the way his jaw tightens every time he lines up a shot, and how his eyes narrow with determination. He hates losing and it’s obvious. It’s oddly attractive, though a little intimidating, watching him calculate each move with almost predatory precision.

The game flows with playful banter. When you suddenly miss an “easy shot”, Sukuna throws his hands up in mock despair. “Seriously? That was your shot?”

You glare at him, feigning outrage. “I’m tipsy, alright? Cut me some slack.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You can’t blame everything on the drinks.”

Hiromi chimes in, grinning. “She does that a lot.” His girlfriend giggles, not quite following, and you shoot Hiromi a look. You would flip him off if you weren’t trying to make a good impression.

When your turn comes around again, Sukuna leans in, voice low. “Aim a little left. Trust me.”

You take a breath, line up your shot, and with guided ease, the ball drops into the pocket. You spin around, grinning. “Hey, look! I did it!”

Sukuna’s eyes light up. “Told you. You’re a natural,” he says, his tone half-teasing, half-proud.

Hiromi’s girlfriend claps from across the table. “You guys are killing it!”

You flash Sukuna a playful smirk. “We make a pretty good team, huh?”

He just shakes his head, pretending to be exasperated. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As the game goes on, Sukuna’s skill and your growing confidence help your team pull ahead. When the final ball drops, Hiromi’s girlfriend claps her hands, her smile bright and a little wobbly. “That was so much fun! You guys are seriously good.”

Hiromi stretches, looking genuinely relaxed. “Thanks for coming out tonight. I needed this.”

You nod, feeling the warmth of the evening settle over you. “Me too. We should do this again.”

His girlfriend laughs, swaying slightly. “Next time, let’s try something I’m actually good at.”

Sukuna grins, cocky as ever. “I’m ready to win again whenever you are.”

She winks back. “We’ll see about that.”

Then she leans in for a quick hug. “Take care, okay?” You give her a hug right back and nod.

As everyone gathers their things, Hiromi pulls his girlfriend close, giving you a grateful smile. “Thanks for tonight. It was great to see you both. I’ll call and check on Nobora when we get home!”

Hiromi waves as you and Sukuna head for the door. “Alright, text me and let me know how she is!”

Outside, the night air feels even cooler after the warmth of the bar. You and Sukuna walk side by side letting the city consume you both.

“Not bad for a rookie,” Sukuna says, bumping your shoulder with a sly grin.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile spreading across your face. “You’re just lucky I was on your team.” He laughs, and for a moment, everything feels exactly right.

As you both continue your walk, a comfortable silence settles between you. The only sounds are your footsteps echoing in sync along the sidewalk. Above, the city lights shimmer and dance, casting a glow on the streets and painting your faces with flecks of gold and silver.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You simply share the quiet, each lost in your own thoughts, yet somehow perfectly attuned to each other’s presence.

After a few moments, Sukuna clears his throat, the sound breaking the spell of silence. He glances over at you, his expression uncertain but earnest, as if searching for the right words before he finally speaks.

“Hey.”

You turn to look at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Yeah?”

He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the pavement for a moment. “I’m… sorry.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head to the side. “Sorry? For what?”

He lets out a breath, almost as if he’s been holding it in for days. “For when I first met you. I shouldn’t have said any of that bullshit. I was out of line.”

You stare at him, surprised by the unexpected apology. “Wait, what? So you do know how to say sorry!” A teasing smile tugs at your lips. “I thought you were just being nice to me because you’re the type who can’t apologize without it hurting your precious pride.” You giggle and give him a light pat on the back.

“It’s fine, Sukuna. Honestly, I got to let off some steam by yelling at you.” You flash him a genuine smile.

He stops in his tracks, momentarily breathless. His heart pounds in his chest, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you.

This is bad. So fucking bad. He’s down bad—worse than he’s ever been in his life. Nearly two months have passed, and still, you haunt his every thought. He’d told himself it was just a passing crush, something he could shake off with a few cheap distractions and a little time. But now, standing here, staring into your eyes, he realizes just how wrong he was. He’s past infatuation—he’s drowning in you, pulled under by a tide he doesn’t want to escape.

You notice he’s no longer beside you and turn, confusion flickering across your face. Before you can even ask what’s wrong, he closes the distance between you with a few quick, purposeful steps.

Suddenly, he’s right in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body. His presence is overwhelming, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The world seems to shrink, focusing only on the intense connection between you.

He closes the remaining space between you, every heartbeat thunderous in your ears. His hand lifts—fingers trembling slightly before they graze your cheek, brushing away a stray strand of hair. The air feels charged, your breath caught as his touch sends a shiver racing down your spine. He leans in, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, lingering there. Your pulse stutters as his lips hover, barely a breath away, the world narrowing to this single, suspended moment. All of a sudden, your phone buzzes sharply in your pocket.

You pull away, startled, fumbling for the screen. The electric connection with Sukuna snaps, leaving you breathless and disoriented. 

It’s Hiromi.

“Hello?” you answer, voice tense.

His voice is tight, urgent. “Nobora’s at the ER.”

summary: ahhhh! please don’t hate me for leaving it on a cliff hanger lmao. I promise everything will be answered and hopefully Toji can start acting right soon enough🙂‍↕️

I think I have a pretty good updating schedule planned for this. i’ll usually post by the end of the week. if not, i’ll try to update you before hand. your girl has the summer off and you bet your ass I’m going to try to write as much as I possibly can before I start work again. I will also be uploading this on A03! once I get it uploaded I will update my links.

as always, please let me know how you felt about this chapter. I really hope you enjoyed it. I love you all so much and I’ll see you next week for chapter six! I hope you all have the best week <3

taglist is open: please comment and let me know if you want to be on it!! (:

@sukubusss @poopooindamouf @emochosoluvr @777pluto @bookfreakk

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@saltypuffin1040 @zeppelid @miakxn @iseeyouuu @storiesbyparadise @flowerpot113 @mullermilkshake

@bestwomanalive @nessca153 @puran-poli

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter two, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, rest of the night narration, rafe and reader slowly getting along.

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

cassaline dabs her lips with a napkin the color of crushed rose petals, sitting with a straight back and the posture of someone who’s never known discomfort.

“i know it’s all overwhelming, darlings,” she coos, pouring herself a bit more wine. “but if the tribute parade was any sign, you’ve both taken to the capitol beautifully. i mean, truly, the presence . . . you’ve got people talking. my inbox is glowing.”

you glance at her from across the table, chewing slowly. “good,” you say, voice even.

rafe doesn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth ticks up. not a smile. not really. just something close.

enobaria sets her fork down with careful precision, then lifts her glass. “she’s not exaggerating,” she says, her voice lower. “we heard from two different sponsors tonight. both asking when your training sessions start. they want to come watch.”

that catches your attention. you raise a brow. “already?”

“mhm.” she sips once, then adds, “and one of them’s on the gamemaker board. just so you know.”

rafe glances at you briefly, then shifts in his chair, letting one arm rest lazily across the table. “so we’ve got fans,” he mutters.

“you’ve got interest,” brutus says gruffly, standing up from his seat. he leaves half a steak on his plate and barely touched the glass of whatever cassaline poured for him. his arms are crossed, “but you need allies.”

you sit straighter at that. rafe’s already watching him, brow twitching.

“you’ll meet with district one tomorrow during training,” brutus continues. “maybe four, too. we’re working on the timing. you’ll make the call if you want the alliance.”

cassaline gives a soft nod, her earrings sparkling with the motion. “nothing is final, of course. but we’ve spoken to both teams. they’re open. interested.”

“they always are,” enobaria says smoothly. “no one wants to start a bloodbath between the careers on day one.”

you know what brutus means, though. alliances are useful, if they’re balanced. but three districts joining together? that’s six tributes, a quarter of the arena’s bloodthirstiest kids, all in one pack. and if it goes that way this year, it’ll be hard to break.

rafe seems to be thinking the same thing. “big group,” he mutters. “harder to manage. harder to trust.”

“harder to kill,” brutus adds, one eyebrow raised. “unless you’re ready to start with a war.”

you breathe in once through your nose and look at enobaria, who meets your eyes like she’s sizing you up all over again. “what would you do?”

she shrugs one shoulder, “i’d meet them, feel them out. see which ones have tempers, which ones like to follow. then i’d keep the ones who do what they’re told, and gut the ones who don’t.”

cassaline gasps, almost delighted. “enobaria! manners!”

enobaria smirks. “i used my fork.”

you don’t laugh, but you do look down at your empty plate and think about how different tomorrow will be. training. watching. reading every step, every hand, every flinch from the other tributes. you and rafe may have caught attention tonight, but now comes the real work: deciding who to trust before you're forced to kill them.

brutus gets up and steps away without another word, already done with his part—the advice and the meal. you hear the heavy thud of the door closing behind him, leaving only the soft clink of cutlery and cassaline’s gentle humming as she sets down her goblet.

“sleep well tonight,” she tells you both, smiling brightly. “you’ve made a lovely impression. tomorrow’s about making it last.”

you push your chair back slowly, rising from the table. you catch rafe doing the same across from you, both of you moving like something’s already shifted.

you glance at enobaria. she just nods once. you nod back. and then, looking at cassaline, you speak, “wake me up if someone dies.”

you walk out before anyone can reply.

the bedroom was way too big for one person. that’s your first thought when you finally get to be alone in it. there’s no cassaline talking your ear off, no brutus brooding in a corner, no rafe’s unreadable expressions across the table. just this room and you.

you’re not sure if his looks the same. rafe’s, that is. it’s across the hall, same size probably, but you didn’t peek when you had the chance. didn’t want to look too interested. you’re curious, though. you always are.

the floor in your room is marble, smooth and cold beneath your bare feet, a color you can’t quite name. there’s a vanity near the far wall, lined with bottles and brushes and jars of products you don’t recognize, probably don’t need, but the capitol put them there anyway. just in case.

the bed sits like a throne in the middle of the room, covered in too many pillows, too many layers. it’s clean, quiet, still.

the bathroom is attached, tucked away behind a set of sliding frosted glass doors that seal silently. it’s just as ridiculous as the bedroom. the kind of space you’ve only ever seen on capitol tv.

the showers have more buttons than a control panel. there are shelves full of body creams, hair masks, oils, facial rollers, scented salts. toothbrushes that buzz when you hold them, rows of toothpaste in different flavors. moisturizers labeled by time of day, skin type, weather conditions. you barely touch any of it.

you just rinse off the sweat from the day, scrub your face, change into the soft nightwear folded neatly on your bed. it’s nothing like home, but it’ll do.

when you’re done, you dive straight into the mattress like you’ve been waiting for it all day. it swallows you instantly.

you lie there for a while, staring at the wall of a window across from you. the capitol glows beyond it with impossibly tall buildings. it’s dizzying, a little nauseating. you’ve seen it on a screen before, back home. but this is different. real. loud. blinding. it doesn’t look like it ever sleeps.

you won’t, either, not with that glow crawling across the floor of your room.

you push off the bed with a groan, walking over to see if there’s a curtain or anything you can tug shut. but there’s nothing. it’s just smooth wall, smooth glass. no handles. no switches. you pause, then glance behind you, remembering the remote you saw earlier on your nightstand.

you pick it up and look at the buttons. a few have symbols, like mountain peaks, a sun, maybe a wave, but most of them are blank. figures. you try one, and for a moment, nothing happens.

and then the wall shifts.

it’s not like a regular projection. it’s too immersive. no glare, no distortion. just a seamless image stretching across the full height and width of the glass, and suddenly, your room is filled with the soft orange and dusty gold light of a wide, open canyon.

the wind doesn’t blow through the walls, but you swear you can feel it. it looks like somewhere people lived before cities were even a thought.

you lower the remote and sit back on the bed again, cross-legged this time. the colors soak into the walls. into your skin. it’s not quite comforting, but it’s distracting enough. that’s all you need.

your hand finds the small bowl of iced cookies on the nightstand. they look sugary, almost fake, like they were made of pastel chalk. you take one anyway, bite into it. it crunches, then melts, like snow under sunlight.

you heard that apparently, capitol treats don’t go bad. they can sit out for weeks and still taste fresh.

great for you. great for the ghosts who’ll live in this room after you.

you lean back slightly on your palms, chewing quietly, watching the canyon stretch on forever. just breathing. just listening to the silence, for now.

but now it’s been hours since you first laid down.

you’ve changed the wall at least four times. from canyon to forest to snow-covered field to soft ocean waves, each one more soothing than the last, but none of them work. you can’t sleep.

you’re curled under the covers now, still wide awake, staring at the window wall. it should be peaceful. quiet. you picked it because it reminded you of something still. something far. but your eyes won’t close for long. every time they do, something pulls them open again.

it’s too hot. too cold. too bright. too dark. the blanket doesn’t sit right on your shoulders. the air shifts strangely in the room. even your skin feels off, and you’re too aware of the sound of your own breathing. and every time you try to fix it, you reach for the remote to adjust the lights, toggle the air temp, you wake yourself up all over again.

you’re frustrated. angry in the quietest, smallest way.

tomorrow is training. the start of it. you don’t even know what time they’ll wake you, just that someone will. cassaline had told you and rafe you wouldn’t need an alarm. “an avox will be there at some point,” she’d said lightly, “if not one of us.”

and wasn’t that funny? not funny-ha-ha, but funny like a punchline delivered too early. the capitol cuts their tongues out, calls it justice, and then expects them to silently rouse tributes from their beds.

you’d seen them earlier. avoxes. a few stood near the corners of the main living space, close enough to act quickly, far enough to not draw attention, watching, waiting for the mentors or stylists or prep team to be done so they could sweep through and clean what’s left.

it wasn’t creepy exactly, but you hadn’t approached them. hadn’t really looked them in the eye. you weren’t supposed to talk to them anyway. weren’t supposed to acknowledge too much of anything.

your head falls into your hands, fingers dragging through your hair. you sigh.

“you have training tomorrow, go to sleep.” it echoes in your mind, soft and strict and familiar. probably your mom’s voice. or your dad’s. either one.

you almost laugh, because for a second, you really do wish one of them were here. just to scold you. just to be loud enough to snap you out of this feeling. maybe then you’d sleep.

but they’re not. they’ll never be in this building.

and so, after a moment, you rip the blanket off your body and swing your legs off the bed, planting your feet on the freezing floor. your teeth almost clack together at the cold. you groan under your breath, stepping to the dresser and tugging open a drawer, pulling on the first pair of socks you find. then, quietly, carefully, you push open the bedroom door and slip into the hallway.

it’s dim out here. not pitch-black, but close. the kind of darkness that has no intention of being inviting. your arms wrap around yourself on instinct. it’s colder than your room. empty, too. no footsteps. no soft laughter. just silence and carpet.

you walk slowly, tiptoeing across the hall, and into the living area.

everyone’s gone. probably asleep.

you glance at the dining room as you pass it. it’s spotless, like the chaos from earlier never happened. no wine stains, no crumbs, no twisted napkins left behind. you remember cassaline spilling onto herself, brushing it off with a soft laugh, enobaria amused. it’s as if it never happened. the table gleams like it’s brand new.

you move on, walking deeper into the living room, where the massive couch takes up more space than any normal family could need. a fireplace sleeps beneath a blank screen, both waiting for someone to wake them.

maybe, if you were normal, if this were a regular night in a regular place, you’d sit here and watch something. let yourself fall asleep to the soft flicker of warmth and white noise.

but then you notice it.

the balcony doors are slightly open. just enough for a thin, pale glow to slip through the curtains.

your brows furrow. it’s late. too late for anyone to be out there. close the door, that’s why it’s so cold out here.

you step closer, slow and quiet, fingers brushing the curtain aside, and through the narrow crack in the door, you see him.

rafe.

you stand there, staring at him through the crack in the door, and it’s just—why the fuck is he out here?

he’s just standing there, leaning against the railing, elbows propped on the edge, hands laced together. he doesn’t move. doesn’t notice you. he just stares out over the capitol. the city looks different at this time at night. not quieter. just lonelier. maybe you were wrong before.

you hover behind the door for a second, the cold draft brushing your face. he’s out there, just like you’re in here, sleepless, restless, waiting for something that won’t come.

you eventually push the balcony door open and step outside, the wind enveloping you immediately. as soon as you go to close it behind you, the thing lets out the loudest, most god-awful creaking sound you’ve ever heard.

it seals with a heavy clunk and you freeze, wide-eyed like you just got caught sneaking out.

rafe’s already spun around, shoulders tense, like he’s ready to lunge at whoever decided to sneak up behind him. but when he sees it’s you, his posture shifts. he’s less defensive, more irritated. he looks at you like you’re ridiculous for that. like really?

“that’s why i didn’t close it,” he says, turning his back on you again. his forearms settle on the railing, crossed casually like this is his personal hideout. this is night one, buddy.

you shoot him a flat look as you walk over, glancing behind you once at the door like it betrayed you. “how was i supposed to know that?”

he doesn’t even look at you. just shrugs. “and how did i know the door would sound like that?”

you blink. “yeah, actually.”

rafe exhales through his nose, amused in that dry way only he knows how to pull off. “my dad’s a high-ranking peacekeeper back home,” he says finally. “brought me here one time when i was a kid. to the capitol.”

you look at him, a little confused. “here here?”

“yeah.” he shifts slightly, letting his forearms relax. “i met some of the tributes that year. he showed me around the tribute center like it was a museum. made a whole point to bring me to the floor for district two.” his jaw flexes. “like he knew i’d end up here someday. or hoped.”

you watch him for a second, your hands coming up to rest against the top of the railing beside him.

“that, and the couches in the living room fold out into beds,” he adds, offhand. “just in case someone can’t sleep in their actual room.”

your eyebrows twitch up just a little, impressed despite yourself.

“huh,” you murmur, gaze slipping away from him and onto the city below.

but you stand there, quiet, next to rafe.

you eventually steal a glance at him again. he hasn’t said anything in a bit. his face is cut from stone, but his eyes look distant. like he’s not even here. at least not on the balcony, not in the capitol. maybe not even in his own body. you wonder where his head goes when he goes quiet like that. probably somewhere ugly.

you shift a little, toe nudging the cool floor. “so . . . was that your dad’s thing? training you early?”

he doesn’t move. not even a twitch. for a second you think he won’t answer at all, but then his thumb brushes absently along the railing. “his thing was control.”

you nod, slowly. your eyes flick back to the city.

“and your parents?” he asks, softer now, almost cautious.

you let out a breath. it fogs slightly in front of you, the night colder than you realized. “they’re not like that. they’re just . . .” you think about it, really think. “they’re quiet. good people. never wanted this for me.”

rafe finally turns his head just enough to look at you. “but you volunteered.”

you nod once. “i did.”

he waits. doesn’t push, but waits.

you chew on your lip for a second, then say, “there was this kid in our district. younger. maybe thirteen? untrained, like it was obvious her parents took care of everything for her and never needed her to train at the academy like we did. but she would’ve been dead by the first hour.” you pause. “figured if anyone was gonna die, might as well be me. someone who at least knows what they’re walking into.”

the silence that follows is thicker than before. it settles into your skin, makes your shoulders feel heavier.

“you?” you ask, voice lower now. “you’ve probably been raised for this since birth, right?”

rafe lets out a short breath. maybe it’s a laugh. maybe it’s not, “pretty much.” your brows knit, your grip on the railing tightening slightly. “i used to think getting reaped would be the worst thing that could happen to me,” he says, voice steadier now. “but being trained for something your whole life . . . only to be scared of it anyway?” he turns his head a little toward you. “that’s worse.”

you watch him. not saying anything. not really sure what to say.

there’s a pause before you mumble, “well i haven’t slept either.”

he shifts, slightly. “figured.”

you glance at him. “yeah?”

“i heard you pacing earlier. you walk loud.”

a huff of a laugh leaves you before you can stop it. then you lean a little more into the railing, your hair falling into your face. “think they’ll wake us with some kind of trumpet in the morning? or like, cannons to get us ready for the real thing?”

“nah,” he says. “probably just an avox, like cassaline said. just starin’ at you until you open your eyes.”

you laugh again, quieter now. “creepy, but possible.”

you fall into silence after that. the wind pulls through the balcony and you shiver slightly, shifting your arms closer to your body. you notice rafe glance at you, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

your voice drops to a whisper. “i hate this place.”

he’s quiet again. and for a second, you wonder if you said too much. but then—“me too.”

you look at him, and he’s looking right back. his eyes aren’t cold like they were earlier in the day. they’re tired. like yours.

you both look away at the same time, gazes falling back to the skyline. it’s a strange thing, sharing this moment. a quiet sort of closeness, made from exhaustion and fear and the knowledge that in a few days, one or both of you might be dead.

“so . . . you cold?” he asks, not looking at you.

“a little.”

he shrugs off the light jacket he’s wearing and holds it out. doesn’t say anything. just waits for you to take it.

you hesitate for a second, then reach for it slowly. “thanks.”

“don’t make it a thing,” he says, but his voice is softer than before.

you smile. barely. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

you slip the jacket on, sleeves a little long on you, and return to your place beside him.

you don’t say anything else for a while. you just stand there together, watching the city, letting the quiet stretch between you again. but it’s different now. less heavy. less lonely.

maybe, just maybe, the night will pass a little easier now.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae

[f1goat]

roommates ; lando norris + part three

In which you have to live with your brothers best friend who you really don't like, Lando Norris, and his many 'girlfriends' for a while, but there's always a thin line between love and hate.

masterlist - playlist

lando norris x fem!verstappen reader tw: nothing much yet expect that Lando is a player + i don't proofread + smut will come next chapters!

You haven’t done anything useful today. After last night, you really don’t know what to do. Should you talk about this with Lando or let it be? You have no idea. At this moment he isn’t home, you heard him leave pretty early this morning. Maybe he’s ignoring you? It feels like he is. There’s this part of you that understands him ignoring you. What would you do if you moaned out Lando his name and he heard? This has to be pretty awkward for him. 

You still can’t decide if you want to talk about it with Lando or not. It annoys you that you can’t think about anything else then Lando. And the worst part? Every time you think about him moaning out your name, you feel yourself getting flustered. That can’t be good. You can’t feel like this while thinking about Lando. It’ll make things only more confusing. 

Since you have met Lando, you think he’s a very confusing person. It’s mainly because he always seems to be in a different mood when he’s around you. Whenever you see Lando, you don’t know in which mood he will be. Sometimes he’s acting nicely, but other times he’s making you crazy with his teasing and rude remarks, and then you still have the moments when he’s flirting with you. It’s confusing. Lando is confusing. 

Thinking like this makes you remember earlier meetings between Lando and you. With nothing better to do, you let yourself think back about things that happened between the two of you. 

——-

“Lando, meet my sister y/n!” Max introduces you to a nice looking boy who’s standing closely to your brother, “and y/n, meet Lando Norris. He drives for McLaren and is one of my friends.” You take your time to look at Lando. It’s almost unfair how beautiful he is. You try to shake off those thoughts, thinking about your boyfriend instead of the good looking boy in front of you. 

Lando is taking his time with looking at you as well. It isn’t the first time he sees you. Or at least, it’s the first time he sees you in real life and will talk to you. He never told his friend, Max, about the way he stalks your Instagram almost every day and how he thinks you’re one of the most beautiful girls he has ever seen. 

He gives you a hand to introduce himself as well, you show him a small smile. The two of you make a bit of small talk. You slowly start to like Lando, he’s nice. You can understand why Max is friends with him, you hope you can become friends with him. It’s your phone which interrupts your conversation with Max and Lando. When you look at the screen, you notice it’s your boyfriend who’s calling. 

“I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’s my boyfriend,” you apologize before picking up the phone and walking away from Lando and Max. 

“Boyfriend?” Lando asks disappointed when he looks at you walking away. That wasn’t on your Instagram. It’s at that moment that Max starts to suspect that Lando already knew who you were and that he’s interested in getting to know you more.

+++

The following time Lando and you talk to each other, things are less nice. He’s spending time with your brother, playing some game on the playstation. You came home a bit ago, it was a harsh afternoon for you. After doubting for multiple weeks, you decided to break things off with your boyfriend. It wasn’t a nice breakup. Things got messy when your now ex-boyfriend started screaming at you. 

You greet Lando and Max, but you’re quickly interrupted by your phone once again. It’s your ex. He has already send you a couple messages and is now calling you. You’re quick to deny the call. 

“Boyfriend again?” Lando asks you jokingly.

You know that he couldn’t know what happened earlier today, but you can’t help yourself and sneer at him. “Ex,” you sneer. Max wants to ask you a thousand questions, but Lando is the first one who speaks up again. 

“Good.”

That didn’t make your mood better.

+++

Lando and you don’t click. Every time you’re in the same room with him, he seems to act all awkward or weird. Sometimes he teases you, other times he seems to shy to say anything. When you walk inside the living room, you notice him and Max looking at you. 

He can’t look away from you. Fuck, Lando thinks he’s going to lose it. You’re dressed in a tight fitting nude dress. It looks stunning on you. He wants to know where you’re going dressed like this, and even better he would want you to stay right here so no-one else will see you like this. Since you’re single, he’s trying to find a way to ask you on a date but he hasn’t succeeded yet. Sometimes he doesn’t know what to say and acts all shy, while other times he can joke around with you for a bit but can’t come to his point. It’s the worst. 

“Where are you going?” Max asks you before Lando finds his tongue back. 

“I’m going on a date,” you tell Max. 

Lando doesn’t even realize that he’s speaking up what he’s thinking. “Already?” He asks confused, “It’s not even a month since you broke up with your boyfriend.” Fuck, when he realizes that he actually said those words he’s quick to feel ashamed of himself. Before he can apologize to you, you’re already replying. 

“Are you implying something Norris?” You ask him angrily.  Lando tries to deny it, but you’re quick to walk away from your brother and him. When they hear the door slam, Max sends his friend an confused look. 

That day Lando can’t stop thinking about you being on a date with someone. He wants to forget about it, but the alcohol doesn’t do anything. Standing in a club with some friends, his mind is still hang up on you. How would you date go? He was so glad about you being single, but it seems that it will be over soon. 

Later that night, with even more alcohol in his system, Lando dances with a nice looking girl. He drinks until he can’t walk straight anymore and takes the girl home with him. Is it bad that he can’t even remember her name? He can think about one thing only. Even when he’s balls deep into the girl, he can only think about you. Or more specifically, you in the tight nude dress. He’s fucked. 

+++

When he tells Max about the girl and the way he send her home after the sex, he didn’t knew you were listening as well. Before Max can respond, you’re picking an argument with Lando about the way he treated the girl. 

The following hours Lando realizes that he has fucked up things too many times around you. He should forget about you. It’s not like he has any chances left. Since that day Lando fell in some weird pattern of getting drunk whenever he could and fucking some random girls as a distraction from his feelings for you. Not that it helps. Whenever he sees you, he always feels ashamed about himself and his actions. Not that you know everything about it, but still. He doesn’t know how to behave around you. Sometimes he tries flirting with you, other times he tries to keep his distance. The worst times are when he argues with you. 

It’s not like you know about his feelings and why he’s acting like this. For you everything is just confusing and weird. 

——-

Mindlessly you’re swiping on Tinder. Since you’re still not doing much, you decided to swipe a bit on the app. You could use a date, it’s been a while since your last one. Not that you will be successful on Tinder, since everyone is accusing you of being a catfish or is sending dick picks within seconds after the match. You really should find another way to find dates. When you hear a soft knock on your door, you feel confused. Could it be that you didn’t notice Lando coming back home? 

You stand up and open the door. Apparently you really did miss Lando getting back. He’s standing in front of you. It takes you back to the dilemma you’re still having. Confront Lando or not about what happened? 

“Do you want to have dinner together?” Lando asks you. He almost seems nervous, but you guess that you’re imagining that. 

“That’s fine,” you tell Lando, now you think about it - you could eat something. You’re getting kinda hungry. “Should I cook?” You continue to ask. 

“No,” Lando quickly replies, “I’m going to cook.”

“Can you?” You ask surprised. You can lie about it, but your socials are often filled with content about Lando. Lately it has even been worse. TikTok has shown you multiple ‘thirst’ edits about him, which made you feel things you don’t even want to think about. And if it isn’t content like that, there’s also the videos of his streams, interviews and video’s. And those are exactly why you don’t think it’s smart for Lando to cook. 

“I don’t know,” Lando confesses with a soft laugh, “but how hard can it be to make a pasta?”

“I can help you if you want?” You offer. 

“That sounds like a safe thing to do,” Lando jokes.

Together you walk to the kitchen with Lando. He proudly shows you everything he has bought from the grocery story. Confused you look at all the stuff. You can’t even guess which pasta you’re about to make. There are so much groceries. He even has multiple sorts of pasta laying on the counter. 

“How many people are eating here?” You ask Lando confused. 

“Just us,” Lando informs you. 

“So, you bough four different pasta shapes, every vegetable that there is and three kinds of grated cheese for just the two of us?” You continue to ask.

“I didn’t know which one you liked,” Lando confesses.

“You could have called?” You laugh. 

Lando doesn’t respond anymore. He makes you chose which pasta you want to make with him. After choosing you ask Lando to chop up some onions. Something he clearly struggles with. you’re trying to hold back your laugh, but when Lando almost cuts in his own finger, you let out a loud laugh. Lando is quick to join you. Together you continue cooking. This time you don’t ask Lando to do anything else. Meaning he’s just looking at you while you’re cooking. Lando can’t stop staring at you. He can’t hold back his feelings when he looks at you finding your own way in his apartment. How nice would it be if you were always here? If this would be your home as well? 

When the two of you are eating together a bit later, Lando is showering you in compliments about the pasta. Eventually he even lets out a soft moan while taking a bite of the food. It reminds you of last night. Only thinking about the way Lando moaned your name, makes you feel all kind of things. Fuck. That can’t be good. Lando also thinks about last night, he still feels ashamed about what happened. He wants to apologize for what happened, but he can’t find the right words.

“So, are you already getting used to the apartment?” Lando asks you eventually. It’s not the subject he wanted to speak up about, but maybe he can talk about this first with you? It would be nice to have a normal conversation with you. 

“Kinda,” you answer honestly, “It doesn’t feel like home, but it’s not bad.” Lando nods understandingly in the mean time. “A good night sleep will probably be nice as well,” you add jokingly. 

“Yeah, about that,” Lando starts unsure, “I’m sorry about the last two nights.”

“It’s still your home Lando,” you tell him, “It’s already nice of you that I can stay here, you don’t have to change everything for me.”

“Still,” Lando sighs, “I’ll try to better it, okay?”

“That sounds nice,” you softly say. 

Lando shows you a small smile. “And I want you to feel more at home here,” he continues to tell you, “Does it already feels a bit like home for you?” 

“Not yet,” you confess, “I miss the way my own room looks and the decor stuff and things.”

“You know you can decorate it here as well, right? I really don’t mind if you change some things around the place,” Lando tells you.

“You wouldn’t mind?” You ask surprised.

“No babygirl,” Lando is quick to reply, “I wouldn’t even care if you painted the whole living room pink if that would make you feel more at home.”

At that moment you didn’t really think about what Lando said, but later his words would repeat themselves in your head. Does he really care that much about you feeling at home here?

+++

“Lando?” 

He doesn’t hear you. There isn’t any response coming from the other side of the door. You don’t know what is happening in Lando his room. You only know that he’s alone and that you heard him scream. What’s going on? You knock loudly on his door, but there’s still no response. When you call out his name again, it doesn’t change. You do however hear him yell again. It’s loud and almost feels painful. 

You decide to open the door and to get inside. What if Lando is hurt? When you open the door, Lando is laying in his bed. He doesn’t move up. It seems like he’s asleep. His breathing is loud and fast, maybe even too fast? You wonder if he’s having a nightmare, that would explain the screaming from before. 

Slowly you move yourself closer to Lando his bed. Should you awake him? When you hear him softly whimpering, you decide to awake Lando. You walk until you’re next to his bed, softly you grab his shoulders and start to shake him.

“Lando,” you say a couple times.

Then he’s finally awake. 

“Y/N?”

Lando gives you a confused look. He has no idea what’s going on. Why are you standing in front of him? How did you even get her? Minutes before you were yelling to him, right? The realization hits him that none of that really happened. He just had a bad dream. Maybe you heard him and came to check? 

“Hey,” you softly say, “are you okay?”

“I guess,” Lando mutters, “Did I keep you awake again?” 

“It’s no problem,” you quickly reply, “it sounded like you had a bad dream.”

“Kinda,” Lando confesses. He thinks back about his dream. Even his bad dreams are about you. That’s pathetic. You were screaming and yelling at him, he tries to remember why. Then he remembers the context of his dream. What started like a nice dream in which he was dating you, ended with him disappointing you and having a fight with you. 

“Want to talk about it?” You ask Lando.

“It’s not like you care,” Lando replies without thinking about his words. When he looks at you and notices the hurt expression on your face, he can slap himself out of frustration. Why does he always do this? “Fuck. I didn’t mean it like that,” he quickly apologizes, “Sorry babygirl.”

You try to ignore his earlier words. “Maybe we can watch something together? Take your mind of the nightmare,” you suggest. 

Lando feels himself getting excited. “That sounds great,” he tells you happily, “Do you want to go to the living room or?”

“Or?”

“I have a tv here as well,” Lando tells you while pointing at the television on the wall behind you. “So we can also watch here in my bed,” he explains. 

“What do you want?” You ask Lando. The idea of getting in the same bed with him scares you, but also seems nice. Lando is rather quickly with his answer. He moves himself more to the side of his bed and makes room for you. Without any words you get yourself on his bed. 

Together you search a video on YouTube to watch. You try to get comfortable in Lando his bed, but you can’t seem to find your comfort. Lando watches you. He tries to figure out a way to get you in his arms, but he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he’s still distracted by the thought that you came here to figure out if he was okay. That must mean something right? Not something big, but at least you don’t hate him? 

“Come here princess,” Lando eventually says with a soft voice. He lifts his arm up. Hopefully you understand what he means. You doubt for a few seconds, but the need for a comfortable spot is high and Lando looks pretty comfortable. So you move yourself closer towards Lando and search for a position in his arms. When your head is laying on his chest, Lando drapes his arm around your body. Softly he plays with your hair.

“Thank you for coming here to check on me,” Lando tells you. You show him a small smile, “Of course Lan.”

“Lan?” He asks you confused. Since when do you have a nickname for him? 

“Is it bad?”

“No,” Lando quickly says, “please keep calling me that.”

The two of you focus on the YouTube video again. When it’s over Lando wants to ask you what you want to see next, but when he looks at you he discovers that you’re already sleeping. There’s a smile growing on his face. Fuck, you look cute like this. And even better, you’re in his arms. Lando puts the television off. Then he’s quick to join you and falls asleep. He wonders what tomorrow will bring, but after today he finally has the idea that he grow a bit closer towards you. Now he needs to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up again. 

part four

a/n ; bit of a background story, next chapters will have more tension :)

taglist: @booksandflowrs @hiireadstuff @likedbygaslyy @dreamsarebig @f1fantasys

@samantha-chicago @sweatrevenge5436-blog @queenofmanydreams @fionamiller123

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@curbthatmf @m41-k1tt3n

[fxrmuladaydreams]

summary: you sleep with the driver you’ve had a crush on for forever, should you have done it though?

notes: so this was originally a one shot request, but i think i may have gotten carried away with it. this is going to be a series, i don’t know how long it’ll be, probably not as long as the pornstar series, but more than a few chapters.

wc: 2919

warnings: !! INCLUDES SMUT, MINORS DNI !! oral (both f and m receiving), p in v sex, getting sick, pregnancy

This is wrong.

You watch as he talks animatedly with Alex and Lando. The three of them giggle as they talk amongst themselves. You softly smile as George glances your way and gives you a small wave.

You clear your throat, brush off your nerves, and approach the group.

“Alex, James wants to see you and Logan in his office.” You tell the Williams driver when you’ve gathered his attention.

“See you guys later.” Alex says, throwing an arm over your shoulder, walking back towards the Williams area of the paddock.

“You know you can just talk to him, right?” Alex asks you.

You hum as you look up at him questioningly.

“George. You don’t just have to stare at him from afar, you can talk to him.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

As the person hired to be James Vowels’ assistant, you had a close relationship with both Williams drivers. You could often be found spending time with the two of them while not working. And of course hanging around Alex meant hanging around his best friend, George Russell.

It was hard to explain George. He was british, of course, so very british. He was sweet. He had a tendency to make punny jokes. He was handsome. He often found himself being used as memes in the F1 world.

He was perfect, and he was completely 100% out of your league. Even if Alex tried to constantly push you to get closer to him.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

The club was loud, dimly lit, but at the same time flashing with bright strobe lights. You swirl your drink in your glass. You didn’t want to be here, you’d rather be back in your hotel room, sleeping, or packing for the flight home tomorrow.

Alex stumbles over to you, Lily on his arm, clearly trying to keep him standing up.

“Why are you alone? Go talk to someone!” He shouts far too loud.

“I think I’m good right here, thanks.” You tell him.

“Boring.” He sticks his tongue out.

“I think it’s time to get you home. Or at least get some water and food in your system.” Lily says. “See you tomorrow?” She asks you.

You nod, then watch her walk off with Alex stumbling after her. You shake your head and take a sip of your drink.

“He’s going to be a mess tomorrow.” A voice says next to you. You recognize it immediately.

You turn to see George standing next to you, leaning against the bar, a drink of his own in his hand. His hair flops down in his face a little. His eyes seem to sparkle in the club lights.

“Poor Lily.” You say, tearing your gaze away from him.

“Poor Lily? I’m gonna be the one he complains about it to.” George laughs.

“Maybe you should just get drunk too.”

“You want to get me drunk?” George smirks looking down at you.

“No, I didn’t mean-” you stutter.

George bumps his arm against yours. “I’m kidding.”

You give an awkward laugh looking back down at your drink. “You did really well this weekend.” You tell him before drinking some more, hoping to get some liquid courage in your system.

“Thanks.” He smiles. “You guys were great too.”

“Oh, I have nothing to do with anything that happens on track.” You shake your head.

“Really? Toto runs his assistant like a madman.”

You laugh and shake your head. “No, James gives me tasks that help the team, sure, but never anything big enough to impact the races.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” George says, taking a drink of his beer.

The two of you chat for the rest of the evening about the season, about Alex, about his career so far and yours. He brushes off anyone who tries to get his attention while he’s with you, opting to stay practically glued to your side.

Don’t let this keep going.

You share a taxi back to your hotel. You’re pressed up against his side as he tells you a story about something to do with Alex. You can’t really remember what it’s about specifically, you’re too enamored with the way the lights of the city flash over his eyes.

You laugh when he gets out of the car, his long legs making it a challenge after being cramped in the backseat. You’re still giggling when he holds a hand out for you to take to help you step out of the car. You think you can see a faint blush on his cheeks.

He walks you up to your room, keeping a hand on the small of your back the whole way there. You dig in your pocket for your key, looking up at him when you find it.

Don’t do it.

The hallway feels smaller than it did this morning, like there’s no room between you and George. You can smell his cologne and a little bit of the alcohol he was drinking in the club.

His eyes glance down at your lips, then back up to your eyes, as if he’s having his own internal battle in his head.

From there on it’s foggy. You don’t know who made the first move, maybe it was you, maybe it was him, or maybe you were both just too desperate for one another you couldn’t hold yourselves back.

You need to stop this.

His hands grip onto your hips as yours hold onto his face. Your body is pressed between his and the door. You fumble with your room key, pressing it into the lock, then blindly searching for the door handle with your hand.

George takes over, swiftly opening the door, pushing you inside, then closing it behind him.

A trail of clothing is left between the door and your bed. Your kisses become sloppier and hungrier. Your hands bury themselves in his golden hair, tugging at the soft strands.

This is a bad idea.

His touch becomes softer when he’s got you on your bed. His touches turn gentle as he caresses you, and kisses your exposed skin. His eyes look up to yours often, silently asking if you're okay, if he’s doing what you want him to do.

He spends a while between your legs, making you fall apart on his mouth. His eyes look up at you, hazy, as if he’s letting himself drown in you. He groans when you squeeze your legs around his head and tug on his hair.

You pull him back up to you so you can kiss him again. You can taste yourself on his lips.

You flip him over and crawl down to do the same with him. He reaches out, and stops you with a hand to your chin, making you look up at him.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” You nod.

George swears he’s died and gone to heaven when he feels your lips on him. He throws his head back and lets out a soft moan. His hands twitch at his sides, searching for something to hold onto.

You take his hands and guide them to your hair, giving him control. He looks down at you, and nearly finishes at the sight alone. His cock is in your mouth as you look up at him, your eyes somehow innocently staring into his.

You take him down your throat, using your hands to pump what you can’t fit in your mouth.

He pulls you up off his cock when he feels himself getting close, desperate to cum inside you rather than in your mouth. He rolls you back over, his body on top of yours while he kisses you again.

“Condom?” He pants against you.

You reach over to the drawer by your bed and pull out a condom, holding it out to him.

He tears it open and rolls it on, then looks back down at you, still laying under him.

“Are you sure you want-”

This won’t end well.

“I need you George.” You cut him off.

He tries to be careful with you, pushing into you slowly and gently, taking his time to stretch you out around him. His control slips away from him quickly though, when you wrap your legs around his waist, pushing him deeper inside you. He lets out a deep groan when he feels you clench around him, his head dropping down to your shoulder.

“I’m not gonna last.” He practically whimpers in your ear.

“Fuck me George.” You roll your hips up against his.

He does, lifting himself up off of you enough to pull out nearly all the way, then slam his hips back against yours. His hair falls in his face as a look of determination spreads over his face.

It’s impossibly warm, laying under him. You feel like you’re drowning in him, but you’re desperate to keep him close to you.

He reaches down to play with your clit when his pace begins to falter, a clear sign that he’s almost there. He needs you to cum first, so he holds his own orgasm back. He lets go when you cry out his name, pushing your hips up against his. His thrusts die down, becoming slower as you both ride out your orgasms.

He pulls out of you, out of breath. He pulls the condom off, tying it, then walks to the bathroom to throw it away. He silently comes back to the bed and lays next to you.

You don’t know where to go from here. Should you talk about what just happened? George makes the decision for you, pulling you into his arms. You lay against him quietly, listening to his heartbeat. His breathing evens out and soon you can hear him softly snoring.

You let yourself fall asleep in his arms, deciding to figure things out in the morning.

You shouldn’t have done this.

You wake up in an empty bed. The sheets are cold even with the sun streaming in through the window. You sit up and see some clothes on the floor, all of them yours, George’s gone.

You grab your phone and unlock it, hoping to see something, but there’s nothing from him. You only have one text from Lily, telling you that she and Alex made it back to the hotel alright.

You ignore the uncomfortable feeling that’s settled in your stomach and get up to shower and get dressed. You wear comfortable clothes, something that won’t bother you on the plane ride back home.

You check your phone throughout the day, waiting to see a text from George. Your phone remains in your hand at the hotel, on the plane ride home, even back at Williams HQ.

You cave that evening, sending George a brief text after you’ve gotten home. He responds within a few minutes, and it makes you feel even worse.

It was a mistake.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you see the teardrops that land on your phone’s screen. You quickly type out an answer before tossing your phone away to the other end of your couch.

You’re sure you weren’t drunk, and you’re almost certain he wasn’t either. You’d only seen him with one drink, but maybe he’d already had more earlier? But he seemed so casual and put together the entire time you were with each other.

You leave your phone in your living room that night. You can’t bear the thought of picking it back up to see any messages from him. You figure you should feel better after a good night’s sleep, you should have a clearer head.

The next day doesn’t bring any clarity however, instead you spend the day in what seems like a fog. Your body is working on autopilot as you accompany James to the factory.

You notice your apparent discomfort when he asks if you’re alright. You plaster a smile on your face and give him a brief nod, blaming your mood on jetlag.

You bury yourself in your work for the next week, putting all of your focus on helping James in whatever ways you can. You try to ignore social media while back at home, not wanting to have to think about George and be reminded of what happened.

You know seeing him again is inevitable when it’s time for the next race weekend. You fly out with James, opting to catch up on some sleep while on the plane.

You thought being back in the paddock would be difficult, having to avoid the Mercedes garage at all costs. However, you find yourself spending all of your time in the Williams garage. You remain at James’ side as much as you can, save for the couple of times you’ve had to go to the restroom.

You figured the bad feelings in your stomach were simply nerves, but after a trip to the bathroom hunched over the toilet you assumed it was the food you had eaten on the plane.

You watch the race with Lily, sitting side by side with headphones over your ears. Usually you enjoy this part of race weekends, where you get to sit back and watch all the work the team has done come together. It’s quite hard to enjoy the race though when you’re excusing yourself to go to the restroom for a third time within an hour and a half.

“Are you alright?” Lily asks, her concern clear on her face.

You nod and shrug. “I think I have a stomach bug. I probably ate some bad food or something.”

She gives you an unconvinced nod then focuses her attention back on the race.

Logan and Alex finish in the midfield, which was expected. Lily leaves you to see her boyfriend while you join James again to go over the debriefing schedule.

Alex and Lily invite you to fly with them to the next circuit for the upcoming race. You accept, thanking them, grateful that you’ll have a little bit of time to rest during the double header.

The flight is filled with more trips to the bathroom, each of which has the couple’s concern growing.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Alex asks, offering you some water.

You nod, taking small sips from the bottle. “It’s just a stomach bug.”

“You’ve been sick for almost a week now, stomach bugs only last a couple of days Y/n…” Lily says. “Are you sure it’s not something else?”

“What would it be?”

Lily glances at Alex and takes a deep breath before she asks. “You’ve been sick for a while now, and it seems like you’re constantly tired… Is it possible you’re pregnant?”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “No, no, I can’t be pregnant.”

“Y/n-”

“No, I can’t. It’s not possible.” You shake your head. You feel like you’re going to be sick yet again.

“Have you been with anyone recently?” Alex asks you.

There’s only been the one person as of late. You can feel the tears begin to well up in your eyes. Your hand raises to cover your mouth, trying to hold in the sobs you know are coming.

Lily moves to sit next to you, gently placing a hand on your back. “It’s alright, we don’t know anything for sure. We’ll get you a test to take when we’re landed.”

You nod, trying to calm down the rapid beating of your heart.

You keep quiet for the rest of the plane ride, letting yourself drown in your thoughts all while Alex and Lily attempt to keep you distracted.

You stop at a small store before going to the hotel, you and Lily walk in alone, afraid Alex will draw too much unwanted attention.

“I don’t think you two have anything to worry about.” The cashier gives the two of you a weird look when you ask for the test that’s sitting behind the counter.

You roll your eyes and pay for the box, shoving it in your bag and walking back to the car with Lily trailing behind you.

The three of you gather together in your room, all staring at the box in your hands.

“It’ll be okay.” Lily gives you a small smile.

“We’re here for you, no matter the result.” Alex nods.

The two of them sit on your bed while you go to the bathroom to use the test. You set a timer on your phone, leaving the test on the counter.

You sigh as you leave the bathroom. Your tears have finally dried, you wouldn’t be surprised if you had no more left in your system.

You wait silently for the test to finish. Your phone beeps after what seems like an eternity. You look at the couple sitting on your bed and close your eyes.

“It was George.” You say, your voice a little rough from your crying on the plane.

“George?” Alex asks.

“Russell.” You tell him. “It was George Russell. We slept together a few weeks ago. It was only a one night stand, but we used a condom, I didn’t think this would happen.” Your voice cracks as you finish speaking.

“Do you want me to look for you?” Lily asks.

“No, I can do it.” You wipe the tears that have started to fall again and take a deep breath.

You walk back into the bathroom and look down at the test. You turn to see Alex and Lily both standing in the doorway.

“I’m pregnant.”

[ladykailitha]

Hellfire Part 8

This story is almost done and will have 13 chapters. Which I thought was very fitting, honestly. It has been one hell of a ride and thank you for sticking it out with me.

In this we have a new villain or two, the attacks against Steve simmer down, but up frequency, and Wayne is pissed.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

~

Steve had to be more careful and stayed clear of the edge of the stage. But little things kept happening. His make up would go missing, his hair spray would suddenly be empty, just little things.

Wayne was furious. The fact that whoever was doing this was doing it under his nose. He couldn’t believe that any of the people he hired would stoop so low as to terrorize another dancer into quitting.

He resolved to get to the bottom of this, come hell or high water.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eddie murmured. “You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

Wayne glared at him. “I came down here to make things easier on you in running this place. So I’mma focus on this and you focus on shaking your ass up there.”

Eddie ducked his head and nodded. “I just don’t understand why they wouldn’t just say something to me.”

“Maybe you did and you rightfully told them to go to hell,” Wayne reasoned. “Some folks just don’t like change. Will do everything in their power to buck against it. Nothing you can do about that.”

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie said with a heavy sigh. “Just keep it on the down low. I don’t want them spooking and doing real harm to Steve.”

“You’ve got it.”

~

It would be a couple of days later before Wayne got anywhere with his little investigation. He called Jeff and Eddie into the office.

“Have a seat boys,” Wayne said with a chuckle. “You aren’t in trouble, there was just something I noticed while digging into the schedules to see if I could find a pattern in the attacks against Steve.”

Jeff and Eddie shared a glance.

“What did you dig up, you old fossil?” Jeff teased.

Wayne turned around a piece of paper and laid it on the desk. It was their weekly schedule.

Eddie read it and then scooted it back to Wayne. “Okay, I’ve seen this, I’m the one that makes it. What about it?”

“Did you know that you and Jeff don’t have any nights off?” Wayne said, lacing his fingers together and leaning on his elbows. “Eddie I get, he’s a workaholic and wants to be there every night to make sure everything goes well and doesn’t have any issues that crop up. But you, Jeffrey? I expected better work/life balance out of you.”

Jeff blushed. “I originally asked for more days because I went through a messy break up and just never changed it back.” He rubbed his hair sheepishly.

“You’re both experiencing burnout,” Wayne groused. “And I’m not gonna let that happen on my watch. So here’s what is gonna happen. On Monday nights, Jeff will have it off. Not Sunday, though I considered it. Don’t want folks thinking you’ve got a problem with Steve, considering he has your night off.”

Jeff nodded. “Works for me.”

Eddie just shrugged. It didn’t matter when Jeff had off. All the days were covered for the dancers, it was just the waiters he had trouble with juggling to give Robin and Steve the same days off.

“And you will have Tuesdays off,” Wayne growled. “And on that day, Jeff will be manager. Lean on him a little and I’ll bet you both will be feeling like new men in a matter of weeks.”

Eddie and Jeff shared another glance.

“Yeah, okay,” Jeff said. “It’ll my nice to have an evening to myself for a change.”

Eddie on the other narrowed his eyes at his uncle. “Giving me the same day off at Steve, and you’ll want me to believe that’s coincidental.”

Wayne smiled back. “Oh it absolutely isn’t. It is a very deliberate attempt to get you laid.”

Jeff laughed as Eddie slumped in his seat, arms crossed over his chest in a pout. “Fuck you, too, old man,” Eddie huffed.

Wayne’s expression turned serious and immediately Eddie sat up straight and Jeff gripped the arms of the chair. “I think I have it narrowed down to about three people it could be and it could be all of them, one of them, or any combination of two.”

“Let me guess, Stella, Danny, and Levi?” Eddie said darkly.

Wayne blinked at him for a moment and then tilted his head. “How did you get two out of the three right? I knew Stella still had problems with Steve, but I thought Danny and Levi had gotten over all their doubts about him.”

“He made them look stupid,” Jeff said shaking his head. “Hell, I’m pretty sure I’d hold a grudge against anyone who did that to me.”

“So who are the three?” Eddie asked, leaning forward on his elbows and cupping his hands under his chin.

“Levi, Danny, and Scott,” Wayne said, sitting back in the chair.

“It’s not Scott,” Eddie and Jeff said together.

Wayne eyebrows shot up. “You two sound very sure of that. Why?”

“They’ve become friends,” Jeff said, “they even go out for lunch and coffee and stuff. Scott would never.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, “Scott was the one that jumped in and helped Steve when he was having trouble with a move Steve’s first day at practice. Dude would literally have to be possessed before he hurt Steve.”

Wayne blinked at them for a moment. “Not Scott then.” He made a note and quietly rearranged things. “All right, it’s really looking like there is a third person but I can’t figure out who it is.”

“I don’t want to say Stella,” Jeff huffed, “but it’s totally Stella.”

Wayne opened his mouth to refute that when Scott came barreling into the room.

“Eddie you’ve got to come quick!” he huffed. “There is something happening out front and we need you!”

All three men were on their feet in an instant and followed Scott out to the front of the club. Eddie wasn’t sure what he was going to see but whatever it was, it wasn’t this.

Steve stood in front of Chrissy with his arms crossed in front of him, glaring at two newcomers. Well, one was a newcomer. The woman was new to Eddie, but the man most certainly was not. Jason Carver, asshole extraordinaire stood next to short woman with dark curly hair and piercingly cold eyes. She also had her arms crossed over her chest, her full weight on her back foot.

“I don’t care what you think of me, Nancy Wheeler,” Steve spat, “you or the sanctimonious ass over here, but you leave Chrissy alone.”

Instantly Eddie’s already raised hackles went into overdrive. “Hey, what’s going on here?” he asked moving between the intruders and his dancers.

The woman, Nancy raised an unimpressed eyebrow as she looked him up and down. “And you are?”

“I’m the owner, Eddie Munson,” he replied coldly. “And you already fucking knew that. Or at least you should if you’re any kind of reporter. But then again most journalists don’t care about the truth anymore just about getting that good ‘ol revenue dollar.” He rubbed his fingers and thumb to indicate money.

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She didn’t think that she would be recognized. “So you’ve heard of little me?” She ducked her head and batted eyelashes coquettishly.

“I’ve course I’ve heard of Nancy Wheeler,” Eddie growled. “You’re the reporter that got that lab in Hawkins shut down for dumping chemicals into the local lakes. I thought you were about taking out the trash, not swimming with it.”

Jason raised his fists to go after Eddie, but Nancy stalled him by putting her hand on his chest. “You and I have very different definitions of trash if you think I’m not taking it out, by writing an an exposé on this place to get it closed down. Hopefully for good.”

Eddie laughed. He just doubled over, clutching his sides. When he finally stood up, he wiped a tear from his eye. “Honey, if you’re talking about the Mayor’s daughter, I was barely involved and fired the one that was heavily so. All my licenses are current and my building was inspected two months ago and was told it was better than in code.”

Nancy narrowed her eyes and turned to face him completely. “And what about men and women getting dressed together in one big room? There is no privacy.”

“Honey,” Eddie said disdainfully, “I don’t know if you’ve been to many of these types of clubs, but like with modeling shows you have to do costume changes really fast and sometimes you see a bit of a dick or the flash of a nipple. Besides, they literally take their clothes off for a living, I really don’t think they’re seeing anything they haven’t a million times before.”

“It’s about the decency!” Jason roared. “Men and women shouldn’t be getting changed together! And they certainly shouldn’t be taking their clothes off together! It goes against the sanctity of marriage!”

“Jason,” Chrissy said, sliding off the stage on to the restaurant floor, “if this is about us breaking up, it’s been five years, get over it. I broke up with you because you are controlling and an ass.” She cocked her head to the side. “But especially because I’m a lesbian!”

Jason pulled out an actual fucking cross and thrust it in her face. She rolled her eyes and walked around it, straight up to Nancy. She looked her up and down. “I know your type. You’re as much as hypocritical, sanctimonious ass as he is. Only virtuous when it suits. You’re the type that would picketing outside of a Planned Parenthood, slip in for a little flush on the weekend and then pop! Back out on the picket line by Monday. You don’t get to judge me, princess. I’m the Queen of Hell.”

Steve let out a whistle. “She’s got you pegged, Nance. You’re just pissed no one else would put up with your diva behavior once I was forced to drop out of the ballet company. Well, it’s not my fault your understudy didn’t know the correct way to jump. But then again, she shouldn’t have had to know it, but you refused to come out your dressing room because the flowers in the bouquet were red and not white.”

“The flowers are supposed to symbolize the purity of the love between Odette and Siegfried and red means passion,” Nancy huffed stomping her foot. “But look at you, Steve. You’re stripping for strangers, using your God given talents for titillation and seduction.”

Steve laughed. “You say that like it’s not as much work and effort to strip as it is to do ballet. And let me tell you, having done both? Stripping is way more fun. I get to smile for a start.”

Nancy decided to change tacks. “Steve, I know when you got hurt, you felt like you had no where to go and I know you were fired from your last job, but is this really the life you want to live? I could put in a good word for you, anywhere you want to go. It would give you your dignity back.”

Steve put his hands on his hips and licked his lower lip. “Oh yeah? You going to put in a good word for everyone? What about Eddie? Huh, Nancy? You’re willing to take away his livelihood just because his morals don’t align with yours?”

Eddie felt a surge of fondness for his new dancer. Steve hadn’t been with the troupe long and had people actively try and hurt him. And yet, here he was standing up for all of them, but especially him.

“He doesn’t have morals!” Jason spat. “Him and his uncle has bred this den of iniquity for years corrupting the good people of this fair city to the depths of hell! The number of souls lost to this pit of destruction are countless and grotesque!”

“Dude,” Scott huffed. “Chill out. Being a stripper didn’t make Billy Hargrove an ass, being Billy Hargrove made him an ass. And Heather Holloway never set foot inside this club, not ever. So how did the club corrupt her? Billy? Pass me on that bullshit!” He licked his lips and cocked his head back and forth sassily. “Besides my mother is Catholic and she loves what I do. Just as much as she loves my younger brother doing drag on the weekends. So what’s your excuse?”

“You blaspheme!” Jason cried. “You’re all going to Hell! You will all burn in the fiery pits of damnation if you do not turn from your current path! Repent! Repent all ye sinners!”

“Fuck off,” Stella said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “We don’t need your puny god. He has no power here. Shoo!”

Eddie turned to them. “You heard the lady, get out before I call the cops on you two trespassing in my club.”

Nancy turned to Jason, “Come on, let’s get out of here. I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Jason clenched his fist like he was still looking for a fight. He looked around gauging the people around him. With a sneer and a snarl, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the club. Nancy followed him, but she stopped at the door.

“This is your last chance, Steve,” she murmured. “You can still come with us. Leave this behind. I’m sure I could you place teaching ballet. You’d have to leave this place off your resumé of course. But just think, you could be raising the next group of dancers.”

Steve scoffed. “There are fifteen dancers, six bartenders, ten wait staff, and two large cleaning crews that depend on this club for their livelihood. Not to mention the two men who put their heart and soul into the running of this club, and if you think I’m going just walk away like that, then you never knew me at all.”

Nancy just shook her head and walked out the door. It was silent in the hall for a beat, maybe two before the whole club erupted into a dull roar. Everyone talking and gesturing wildly all at the same time.

Wayne let out a loud whistle. “Shut up!” Once everyone had sputtered to a stop and turned to stare at him, he said, “Nothing is going to happen to the club. There have been a total six of these so called exposés in its history and it has never come close to shutting down.”

“That said,” Eddie told them, “we keep everything on the up and up for next little bit. I’m not sure how long. But we’ve got this. We follow all the laws, we keep our mouths shut and our heads down.”

He looked at everyone and they all nodded back. He clapped. “Now let’s have a round of drinks on me. I think we all deserved one. Maybe three.”

~

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: CLOSED

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2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @sadisticaltarts @too-much-tma-stuff @dolphincliffs @chameleonhair

10- @themoonagainstmers @gloomysoup @novelnovella @micheledawn1975 @garden-of-gay

[hungermakesmonsters]

Love, Sick Love

Chapter Thirteen

Plot summary : Working at one of the shadier bars in Brooklyn, you have one rule; don’t mess around with the patrons. Most of them are criminals, dangerous. None more so than Billy Russo, but Billy believes that rules are made to be broken. Especially your rule. One lapse in judgement is all it takes for Billy to decide that you’re his, and he’s never been the sort of man to take rejection well.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smut with a capital S. All chapters will deal with dark and smutty themes, including but not limited to stalking. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.8k

A/N : If you don't like cliffhangers, all I can say is I'm sorry...

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE

Master List

Chapter Thirteen

Then it’ll just be me and you.

Those words played over and over as you fell asleep that night. Some part of you knew you were setting yourself up for heartbreak if you dared to believe him, but a much louder part didn’t care. It had been so long since you’d had anyone in your life, so long since you’d trusted anyone. 

You’d never told anyone about your past before him, never told anyone what you’d done or what was done to you. No one else knew you like he did, and you were starting to think that you were the only one who really knew him. 

At least, no one else seemed to know this version of him.

This version of Billy was, for all intents and purposes, yours.

He was yours.

It was a terrifying thought and you still weren’t entirely sure how it had come to that. You hadn’t looked for it, hadn’t wanted it but, there you were, wrapped up in Billy’s arms, not wanting him to ever let go.

He fell asleep first which, given his injuries, wasn’t surprising. It was strange but, once you started thinking about it, you weren’t sure if Billy had actually slept in your bed since that first night he’d stayed. Usually you fell asleep first and always found him already awake when you woke.

Now, sleeping in your arms, he looked almost peaceful, the most at rest you’d ever really seen him. And it was nice (at least, when you willfully ignored the fact that he had stitches in his side, that you’d put there not thirty minutes before). Seeing him that way made things finally feel real between you, like a line had been irrevocably crossed, like you were in too deep to even think about backing out again.

You held him tight, wondering what the future might hold as you slowly drifted off.

It wasn’t until light was starting to peek through the window that you felt him stir and heard a broken mutter tear from his lips.

Your eyes opened and you lifted your head, looking at him and seeing that same pained expression on his face you’d seen the first time you caught him in the clutches of a nightmare. But this time you knew you couldn’t slip away and pretend you hadn’t seen anything - if only because you didn’t want to risk him thrashing about and tearing open his stitches.

“No -” he gasped, his whole body twitching. “No!”

“Billy,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder and softly shaking him. “Hey, Billy, it’s just a dream. It’s okay.”

His eyes opened and he drew a sharp breath. For a moment he seemed lost, like he didn’t know where he was or maybe he thought he was still trapped in the dream, but then he saw you and his expression softened.

“Kitten?” His voice was scratchy, dry, and for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, hearing his morning voice made you feel warm inside.

“You were having a nightmare.”

Billy looked up at you, a flicker of defensiveness crossing his features, but he decided against denying what you’d seen.

“Did I wake you?” He asked, and you shrugged. “I’m sorry, kitten.”

You wanted to say something, to tell him it was okay or, at least, tell him you were glad you woke up before he could hurt himself, but Billy’s hand found your cheek and before you could even think, he was closing the distance to kiss you. And you sank into his lips, losing yourself in a sleepy but tender kiss, taking care not to agitate the already scabbed split lip.

When he finally pulled back, your fingers slipped through his hair, brushing it back away from his face.

“Thank you. For looking after me last night,” he said as his head dropped back onto the pillow.

“You don’t have to thank me, just promise me it’ll never happen again.”

“I promise. I - I’m gonna take care of things,” Billy said.

“What you said last night; that you were going to fix things and then it’d just be me and you...”

There was a question in there somewhere, you just weren’t sure how to ask it. Or, maybe you were too scared to ask it, too scared to think about a future that neither of you had really planned for.

“I think I might have to leave New York - at least for a little while - but I want you to come with me,” Billy answered.

Of course, you knew the rational response was to tell him no, to tell him he was being insane. You couldn’t just pack up your life and leave town with a guy you hardly knew, a criminal, a wanted murderer. But the words wouldn’t come and, instead, you fell into an uneasy silence.

“Is that a no?” He asked after a few awkward seconds.

“It’s... I don’t know...”

You braced yourself, expecting - you weren’t even sure what. Anger? Disappointment? But when had Billy ever really shown you anything like that? When had he ever tried to force you to do anything? Never. Even through his stalking of you and all his talk of changing your mind, it was his actions, not his words that helped you change your mind about him.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to decide right away,” he answered.

The next half an hour was spent in his arms dozing and trading more lazy kisses until, finally, your empty stomach started to grumble and you decided that you really should make sure Billy ate something.

Setting foot in the kitchen reminded you of the events of the night before and the mess you hadn’t cleaned up; the first aid kit and bloody towels still on the floor. 

Without a word, Billy started to tidy up as you headed for the coffee. It struck you that you hadn’t asked how he was, if his injuries were hurting. And, even after having that realisation, you didn’t ask. It wasn’t that you didn’t care or didn’t want to know, you just... didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to remember having to sew up what you were pretty certain was a knife wound.

You filled the coffee pot and set about making pancakes. While you were no Martha Stewart, you knew your way around a frying pan well enough to make enough pancakes for you and Billy to share.

“This is nice,” he said, smiling softly across the table as you ate.

“Yeah,” you agreed. Because it was, even if it was also a strange thing to be experiencing with him for the first time.

“Only thing that would make it better is a view,” he said, continuing when you shot him a questioning look, “mountains or maybe a lake. Or a place on the coast. A little cabin in the middle of nowhere, with a porch where we could sit and have breakfast.”

You couldn't stop the smirk that spread across your lips.

“What?” He asked, fighting off a smirk of his own.

“I don’t know, it just seems very... domestic for both of us.”

Billy let out a laugh and you barely stifled yours by lifting your coffee mug to your lips. You didn’t want to admit it but it sounded nice, like something you could want.

“I think...” he started before, uncharacteristically trailing off, almost seeming uncertain of himself for a second, “... I think I’d like something domestic. I mean... if it was with you...”

Again, you found your lips covered by your mug, not sure if the smile on your lips was genuine or nervous. His words had butterflies taking flight in your stomach. With anyone else, you’d assume it was just a line, but Billy seemed so uncertain that he was even capable of that and you knew he wasn’t just saying it.

After breakfast, you found him an old sweatshirt, a big thing you’d bought for yourself from the menswear department to wear during last winter. The dark red suited him, and you had half a mind to tell him to keep it.

Then, your sweet and domestic morning was over. Billy was heading towards the door, still looking somewhat worse for where but, instead of walking out the door, he stopped and turned to you.

“Thank you,” he said, “for everything. I know you never asked for any of this...”

You took a step forward, confused by the sudden change in him.

“Being with you, being able to be like... like this, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before,” he continued. “I don’t remember ever feeling like I belonged before you, not even with Frank and his family. So, thank you.”

For a few seconds you stood in a stunned sort of silence, and Billy seemed to take that silence to mean that you had nothing to say. Panic rattled in your chest as he started to turn towards the door.

“Wait,” you said, already starting to clear the distance between you as Billy stopped and turned back towards you. “Why does this feel like goodbye?”

Before you could think to stop yourself or bring yourself to care, your fingers were around his wrist, holding him, stopping him from just walking out and leaving things like that.

“Careful, kitten. I might start thinking you’re falling for me,” he responded with a gentle smile, completely dodging the question.

The panic continued to grow as he gave a little tug against your grip, like he was trying to slip away from you, and you just couldn’t fight the feeling that it might be the last time that you ever saw him. Your mind raced over everything he’d said, about how you could be together... after he fixed things. After he took care of things.

You’d been so stuck on the you and me part of things that you hadn’t even considered what needed to be fixed and how he was going to go about it, but now there was no stopping the sinking sensation in your gut.

Unconsciously, your fingers tightened around his wrist.

“Don’t go,” you pleaded. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to -”

He cut you off with a kiss, his body desperately crashing into yours. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of the red sweater and, before you knew what you were doing, you had started pulling him back into the apartment and towards your bedroom.

“I’ve been waiting months for you to ask me to stay. For you to want me to stay,” he muttered against your lips, not giving you a chance to respond to his confession before pulling you into another devouring kiss.

His hands pulled at your clothes, as yours did his, both finally giving in to the need that had been building since the first night you’d shared together. Your fingers ran down his bare chest, over the bandages, to his jeans, tugging open the fastenings, eliciting an eager sound from Billy, while he was busy trying to pull your slip over your head.

An awkward shuffle ensued as he kicked out of his boots, and he let out a low groan against your lips as your hand gripped his cock, starting to stroke and letting out an eager sound of your own as you felt him grow hard.

All you knew in that moment was that you wanted him. You craved him, hungered for him, feeling as you felt yesterday morning. You wanted to hold him tight, claw at his skin and make a place for yourself beneath his ribs.

It felt like the floodgates had opened, that all the thoughts and feelings you’d spent years denying yourself, years telling yourself that you could have, were all rushing to the surface.

You pushed Billy backwards onto the bed and followed him down, swallowing down any complaints he might have with another kiss. Suddenly you were put in mind of that moment weeks ago, when you'd accused him fucking you like you only existed for his pleasure. In retrospect you hated that you'd said it, that you'd dare to even think it because, even now, as he kissed you and held you, you knew that he had your pleasure in mind just as much as his own.

Right then, you were the one who wanted to fuck Billy and have him that way, you need for him overwhelming any other more rational thought.

Your lips pulled from his, trailing a searing path from his lips, along his jaw and down his neck. He groaned as you sank lower, as you dragged lips and tongue over his chest and stomach, doing your best to avoid his bandages, moving to settle yourself between his legs.

“Did I die last night?” He muttered. “Because I think I've gone to heaven.”

You might have laughed if you weren't at eye level with his cock. Your hand slipped around him again and gave a squeeze, pulling another groan from him. Billy bit his lip as he looked at you and you could tell he was craving the exact same thing as you. 

Slowly, you started to move your hand, stroking his shaft, feeling him grow harder still. Your eyes dropped, taking in the sight of him and the way his cock was already leaking for you.

Leaning you ran your tongue up him from root to tip. The sound that spilled from him had your thighs clenching. Never in your life had a man made such a desperate sound for you, and you found yourself wanting more. You wanted everything. Every desperate look, every weak and eager moan. The way his breath caught and the way he said your name like you were all he was capable of thinking about.

It made you feel powerful and in control, it made you feel strong in a way you’d never experience before. And if you could turn a man like Billy to putty with just a swipe of your tongue, well, you quickly came to wonder just what else you could do.

Parting your lips, you kept your eyes on him as you took him into your mouth. Billy inhaled sharply, swearing as your lips slowly slipped down the length of his cock to where your hand still rested.

You’d always enjoyed doing this, always enjoyed knowing that you could control a man’s pleasure and decide just how much you wanted to please him and how; hard and fast to blow his mind, or slow and sensual to make sure he came back for more. But, with Billy, you found that you wanted both. You wanted everything.

You wanted to drive him crazy, for him to have an experience like no other, but you also wanted him to come back. No. Not come back. You wanted him to stay.

A soft moan was muffled by his cock as you started to move, not too fast but fast enough to really get him going, fast enough to make him think you were pushing him towards sweet oblivion.

Your hand gripped his thigh and you were almost surprised when one of his own hands covered yours, like he just needed to touch you. Turning your hand, you took hold of his hand, and let slip another moan when you felt his other hand lightly gripping your hair.

He wasn’t used to this, you decided. Billy obviously wasn’t used to giving up control, and that he was giving it up to you had to mean something. For a second you faltered, remembering that he was just like you, that he had been hurt too, and you wondered if the loss of power in the situation was making him uncomfortable. But one look at Billy told you that he was anything but uncomfortable.

After a few minutes your mouth pulled away from him, though your hand continued to stroke his spit-slicked cock.

“Are you enjoying this?” You asked in the most sultry voice you could manage, smirking up at him.

Billy seemed to struggle for an answer for a moment, left so scattered and unfocused by your actions.

“Yeah, kitten. I’m really fucking enjoying it,” he said breathlessly.

“Good.”

You let him slip between your lips again, this time using your tongue, tracing the vein on the underside of his cock as you sank lower and lower. Your hand moved out of the way and you tried to relax your throat, taking him as deep as you could, blinking back tears when he nudged the back of your throat.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

His hips moved seemingly of their own accord, bucking upwards,forcing more of his length into your mouth, pushing his tip down the back of your throat. You whined at the sensation but didn’t pull back.

“Fuck... I’m close,” he groaned.

Those words from any other man would have marked the end, you’d have pulled away and made sure to finish him with your hand, but this was Billy. Whatever there was between you, you didn’t want to pull away, didn’t want to leave things feeling only half finished. So, you doubled down, starting to bob your head faster while you continued to tease him with your tongue.

Billy gave a grunt and one final warning, that you chose to ignore, before you felt him pulse and spill in your mouth. You stayed where you were, watching him as his eyes closed and his chest shuddered. It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

You didn’t pull back until he was done, swallowing down every last drop before letting his cock fall from your lips.

The look on his face quickly became one of sheer astonishment.

“You are so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his hand giving yours a squeeze.

“I know.” A smirk spread across your lips.

You waited a moment before slowly crawling back up the bed, over his body, keeping his hand in your as you did. Lingering over him, you lips inches from his you found yourself getting lost in his dark eyes wondering what a future with him would hold and if every single morning could be like this one.

“You’re thinking too much,” Billy said, lifting his head, closing the distance so he could kiss you.

“How do you know?” You muttered into the kiss.

“I can hear the cogs turning,” he answered, his lips pulling into a smile against yours.

A laugh escaped you, and you felt a warmth spread through your whole body, a feeling of happiness, of belonging that you weren’t sure you’d ever really felt before.

“Maybe you should do something about it,” you told him before gently nipping his bottom lip, still trying to be mindful of his freshly scabbed-over split lip.

You expected a joke, or some sort of response, instead Billy flipped you onto your back, kissing you deeply, roughly, giving you a glimpse of the dominance you knew was lurking beneath the surface just waiting to be released.

He pressed himself between your thighs as he kissed you, his cock still hard. A whine spilled from you and your back arched, betraying your desperation as Billy’s lips began to move down your neck. He mirrored your previous actions, though he took far more time descending your body, letting his lips and tongue explore your breasts, teasing each nipple into an aching, hardened peak before continuing downwards.

Billy shot you a playful look before running his tongue around your navel, giving you a hint of what was to come.

Yes, you thought to yourself, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips and tongue against your core again. You were already wet for him, already feeling needy and so ready for anything that would follow.

His teeth nipped at your hips before he started to suck a love bite into your skin.

“Mine,” he said.

And you didn’t dare correct him.

By the time he was between your lips, close enough that you could feel his hot breath on your sensitive flesh, you were already trembling.

You held your breath and stared down at him, and an eager plea managed to escape you; “please, Billy.”

Billy obliged.

You moaned as fingers parted your folds and he lowered his head.

There was no slow and gentle teasing, there was no gradual build up - it would have been pointless anyway, you already felt halfway to orgasm before he’d even touched you

He started with long strokes along your slit and up to your clit, letting out hungry, filthy groans at the taste of your arousal.

The rhythm of his tongue was relentless, pulling breathy moans from you with every swipe. He ate  pussy like a starving man, a man possessed of a hunger he just couldn’t sate. The thought might have made you laugh at any other time, but the only sounds you were capable of making were those mewling moans that made you sound just as hungry as him.

Fingers dipped inside you, eagerly curling, already knowing exactly how to touch you. In the few times that you’d allowed him to do this, Billy had already learned you inside and out, and there was no doubt in your mind that, this time, this was just foreplay.

Billy was going to fuck you again.

“Billy,” you gasped and writhed under his attention, your fingers tangling in his hair as you ground your hips against his face. “Fuck, that feels so good...”

You couldn’t see it but you were sure you felt his lips pull into a smirk against you.

Whether he’d intended to or not, there was no doubt in your mind that Billy had ruined you for anyone but him. Your toes curled and your grip on his hair tightened. You barely even realised it but you were letting out desperate whines and moans, crying his name and begging him not to stop.

Soon enough pressure was coiling inside you, and you were pushed closer and closer to the edge by his fingers and tongue. The moment he nipped at your throbbing clitwith his teeth, you were a goner, panting and gasping between your cries as you came undone. Your whole body shook from it, violent tremors sparking from your core and racing you and down your spine. 

You continued to shudder and shiver beneath him as he moved back up the bed, his fingers gripping your chin lightly, forcing you to look at him. His lips and chin were wet, covered in your arousal, and there was no sexier sight in your mind.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asked.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation. 

But Billy didn’t move, instead he seemed to be caught in some thought that he couldn’t quite escape from.

“I don’t want it to be just about my pleasure,” he told you.

Something inside you ached, hurt that he remembered those words you’d spoken to him in anger. You shook your head.

“It’s not - it won’t be,” you said. “I want this, Billy. I want you. The real you.”

You wanted the dominant Billy, the one that made you question your boundaries, the one that made you feel alive and possessed, the Billy who made you feel like no one else ever could.

He still didn’t move, so you reached between your bodies and took his cock in your hands, teasing the tip between your folds.

“Please, Billy - fuck, I need you...”

It sounded desperate, pathetic even, but there was no lie in the words. You did need him. You needed this - whatever the fuck this even was.

His free hand gripping your hip and, before you could even think, his hips were moving. You cried out as his cock filled you in one hard thrust, your back arching up to meet him.

“Fuck,” you moaned, pressing your head back against the pillow, as far as his grip on your chin would allow.

“I knew you liked it rough,” he said, smirking down at you.

It took you a couple of seconds to get over the fact that he was buried to the hilt inside you, and to get used to the feeling, but not as long as you might have thought.

“Are you gonna tease me or fuck me?” You answered back, your playful challenge letting him know that you wanted him to fuck you. You wanted him to do what he wanted.

The fingers on your hip tightened, holding you in place as he moved a little, giving a couple of slow, shallow thrusts, before almost pulling out of you completely. You breath caught in your chest but was quickly expelled as he slammed into you again.

Your arms wrapped around him and held on for dear life as Billy started to fuck you, the hard and fast motion of his cock inside you, more than enough to have you letting out whines and moans of pleasure, your eyes quickly threatening to roll back in your head.

Months of frustration came to the fore and, despite how overwhelmed you felt, your hips started to move, bucking up to meet his every thrust. You felt indestructible in that moment, completely unbreakable.

He kissed you, dominating your mouth while he fucked you senseless. And you let him. No, you encouraged him. You wanted it, needed it, craved it. There was no going back, not after this.

“Oh fuck - fuck!”

It crept up on you from nowhere, driven to another orgasm by him and everything he was doing to you. Your thighs trembled violently against his and your back bowed off the bed, but Billy didn’t slow even for a moment. He fucked you through the heights of your pleasure before his hands started to pull at your legs, pulling them upwards, bending you beneath him so your ass and lower back were no longer on the bed.

As he continued to move inside you, you felt him sinking deeper, an awkward mixture of pleasure and almost-discomfort filling you as the tip of his cock nudged your cervix. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, “your mine, kitten.”

You didn’t have the chance to answer. Any thought you might have had was cut short the moment you felt his cock hit that special, sensitive spot inside you. His name spilled from your lips as a plea and a prayer, begging him for more of the same. And Billy didn’t disappoint.

He easily forced you to come again, leaving you sopping wet around him, enough that every movement filled the room with a slick sound that might have embarrassed you with any other man. But, with the look on Billy’s face, you were anything but embarrassed. In fact, you were almost proud of the effect you were having on him.

His thrusts became rougher and more stilted and you could tell her was chasing his end as your walls continued to flutter and pulse around him. But that wasn’t enough for Billy.

“Billy!” You cried out as you felt his thumb against your clit, rubbing the swollen bundle of nerves as he continued to fuck you.

“One more, kitten,” he groaned through gritted teeth. “Need you to come one more time.”

Not that you had much say in the matter. If you’d been able to speak, you would have sworn until you were blue in the face that you couldn’t come again, but less than a minute later, you felt that coiling tension again.

Your whole body tensed, every muscle seeming ready to snap as you came for him again, your pussy clenching around his cock so tight that Billy swore. And, a moment later, he was following you over the edge and into oblivion.

It wasn’t until he came that you realised he wasn’t wearing a condom but by then it was too late and you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. You were too fucked-out to even thinking about it beyond knowing you’d need to get the morning after pill. He continued to move, hips jerking roughly against yours, forcing himself into the deepest part of you as he emptied himself. You barely realised that you were moaning his name, over and over, clinging to him and holding him tight, losing yourself in the feelings that you’d spent months denying.

“You’re mine,” he grunted as he finally stilled inside you, his cock buried deep.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t deny it.

In some ways you knew it was true.

He lowered your legs and practically collapsed on top of you, trailing lazy and wet kisses over every inch of skin his mouth came across, while you wrapped your arms tightly around him. You closed your eyes, basking in the afterglow, enjoying the sudden stillness, and the feeling of your bodies still intimately joined.

“You okay?” He asked softly, nuzzling his face against your neck, not seeming to care that you felt like a sweaty and gross mess after all of that.

You gave a gentle hum in response, which clearly wasn’t enough for Billy. His head lifted and he looked at you before he repeated the question.

“Yeah, Billy, I’m good,” you told him.

“It wasn’t... too much?”

Again, something ached inside you. You hated that you were the cause of his doubts and insecurities.

“Billy, I - “ you shook your head, “- no, it wasn’t too much. It was just enough. It was... amazing.”

He smiled as you reached for him, cupping his cheek and tenderly running your thumb over his scarred skin. You leaned up to press a chaste and tender kiss to his lips, smiling softly as the gentle sound that escaped him.

“Good. I only ever want to make you happy.”

“Then stay with me,” you said, remembering exactly what had brought you to this moment in the first place.

“I - I will, but there’s something I have to do first.”

You couldn’t believe that that was the conversation you were having, especially while he was still buried inside you.

“Can - can you just hold me for a little while?” You asked.

There was obviously no point in trying to stop him from leaving, but you knew that you could slow his departure, even if it was just for a little while. Billy didn’t give an answer, instead he slowly pulled out of you, leaving you to feel that slow trickle of his cum between your legs while he settled beside you and gathered you up in his arms.

Somehow, despite everything, you managed to drift off for a little while, held safely in his arms.

But the perfect moment couldn’t last forever.

Billy roused you after forty or so minutes, telling you that he needed to go. You both moved slowly as you got out of bed, dressing as if it was the last thing you wanted to do. Then, you found yourself at the door again, this time in Billy’s arms, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’ll be back. Then we can decide what comes next,” he said.

You nodded but found yourself lost for words until the door was open and he was stepping though. “Be careful, Billy. Please.”

For a second, he paused, no doubt because of the tremor in your voice, but instead of stepping back into the apartment and restarting the whole process all over again, Billy nodded.

Then he was gone.

Fighting, inexplicable tears, you closed the door and headed to the bathroom to shower before ending up back in bed, laying and staring up at the ceiling for a couple of hours until your phone started to vibrate.

“Jenna, what’s -” you started, but Jenna didn’t give you a chance to speak.

“Don’t come into work tonight.”

“What? Why?” Your heart started to pound nervously beneath your ribs.

“The Homeland Agent has been back, asking about Billy... and asking about you,” Jenna said, a seldom heard worry in her voice.

“What about me?”

“I don’t know, Sam said someone - some agent - was asking questions, wanting to know your full name, where you lived, stuff like that.”

Fuck. You felt your chest tighten, your lungs already feeling like they were on fire.

“What did he tell her?” You dared to ask, though you dreaded the answer.

“That he didn’t know - ‘cause he doesn’t, right? He only knows what you’ve told him.”

Thank fuck for that. One of the many reasons you’d taken the job at Sam’s was that he didn’t ask questions; he didn’t care who you were or where you were from as long as you could pull a pint and wouldn’t dip your fingers into the register.

“Fuck, Jenna, what am I gonna do?” You asked, voice trembling, betraying your fear.

“I don’t know, just - just hang tight for a few days, I’ll tell Sam you had a family emergency out of state or something,” Jenna  offered.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just - just be safe, okay?”

“I will.”

The call ended, leaving you filled with dread and panic. Immediately, you tried to call Billy, but there was no response.

You thought about grabbing your bag from the wardrobe and leaving everything behind but, for the first time in your life, you felt like you had real reasons to stay; Billy and Jenna. 

There was no resting, no sitting still as the afternoon gave way to evening. Jenna texted you to let you know that Sam thought you were in Oregon with family, helping arrange a funeral but, other than that, you heard nothing. You tried Billy a few more times but got no answer.

Every noise outside had you on your feet, expecting a knock at the door - or for someone to knock down the door - but it never came.

By the time your phone did ring, you were so fraught that you almost jumped out of your skin.

Billy. It was Billy.

“Billy, I tried to call, Agent Madani is -”

Something stopped you, some horrible noise; a sharp but struggled intake of breath.

“Billy?”

“Kitten, I -” he started, his voice sounding weak, like he was in pain, “- I... I’m sorry.”

Already there were tears in the corners of your eyes and your mind started to race over every worst case scenario you could think of.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on, Billy?”

“It’s all fucked up, I - I thought I could reason with him...”

“Frank? You went to see Frank?”

There was no point trying to hide the panic you were feeling. Every time you’d seen Billy after run-ins with Frank, he’d been left a mess.

“I wanted an end to it but -” he let out a hiss of pain.

“Billy, what’s wrong?” you asked again, desperate for an answer that would assuage all your fears.

“Kitten, I - I think I’m dying...”

End Note : Okay, so, this chapter got longer than intended (lbr it's because of all the smut) so next week will be the last full chapter, but there is also an epilogue planned. I'd say I'm sorry about the cliffhanger ending, but we all know by now that I enjoy leaving you hanging for a week.

As always your comments/likes/reblogs/asks/general screaming is always cherished and appreciated. I hope you all have an amazing weekend!

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[lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe]

Chapter 6 [IKYLHT]

~2.5k Words | Series Masterlist | Prev | Next Chapter [Coming Soon]

-

Brushing the last of the water droplets off your arm, you fling the remnants of your shower towards the sleeping giants you call your partners.

“Johnny, Simon.”

The men peak their eyes open, letting out a hum of acknowledgement.

“I’m done showering. Up up, let’s go.”

You move to slip on your boots, lacing up as Soap complains.

“C’mon, Bun. We’ve got plenty of time. Lay down for a bit.”

He reaches his arms out, making grabby hands and scooting towards the far edge of the bed.

Ghost pats the space in the middle, shifting over as best he can on the mattress. Their bodies dwarf the bed in comparison.

“We’re not gonna fit, Johnny.” You laugh out, hands measuring the gap between the men against the width of your hips. 

“C’mon now, we’re gonna be late. If we miss the flight, Price is sticking us on a commercial flight. You know he won’t pay for upgrades.”

He looks towards the small space, resting his arms over his stomach and giving a small shrug with his signature smile.

“It’ll be fine, I promise.”

“No John! I’m not letting you win this one. We really can’t be late, let’s go.”

Shrugging once more, he sighs out with a semi-smug tone.

“Can’t force ya’ to rest. We’ll take ten more minutes, then.” He rolls over, nuzzling into Simon. 

His statement takes you by surprise, but you don’t think much of it. He’s acting like a cocky little shit, as he tends to do (a blessing and a curse, really) so you give him the benefit of the doubt that he’d been trying to persuade you into napping with them via the ‘calling chicken’ method.

For two soldiers, it was surprisingly effective. Not entirely sure how we still have all ten fingers.

Now normally you’d play along, let him win since it benefits the both of you anyways. But something was just off this morning. Maybe it was the lackluster sleep last night, maybe it was those feelings that carried over being a little more intense than you initially realized. Whatever it was, you didn’t feel like you could just let him win this one. For whatever reason your subconscious had rationalized, this was the hill you’d die on.

“Uhh, Johnny. It's breakfast. We always have breakfast together. Come on, don’t be lazy.” You force out a small laugh. 

He nuzzles a little further into Simon.

“It’s just breakfast, Bun.”

You try to hold the bitterness back as you quietly scoff.

It is just breakfast. 

“Okay. Yeah. Whatever. I’ll just go by myself.”

He hums.

Eyes landing on Simon, you watch his blank stare, both of you completely unmoving. 

You wait for his response- verbal, physical, anything- and huff when you’re met with nothing. 

Fine then.

Practically slamming the door as you stomp out of the room, you turn to walk towards the mess hall but stop no more than three feet into the hallway. 

Looking over your shoulder, you wait.

A few seconds go by.

A few more go by.

Then fifteen.

Then you check the time on your phone, owlishly blink as the number changes.

With a small nod, your eyes shut as you feel the irritation puddle into something akin to grief. 

It’s so much easier being angry, you realize, as you quietly make your way to the mess hall.

Maybe that’s what this is. This new way of being that had suddenly taken hold. 

You’d been angry before- at your parents and their cruelty, at your teachers and their negligence, at the military recruiters, at Barrow, at Graves, at Shepherd, at yourself. 

But this wasn’t anger anymore. This was something else entirely- something that smelled like Santiago’s cologne, something that tasted like his chapstick, something that looked like his empty casket.

It’s dramatic, and you realize that, but you can’t help but feel it.

Something was happening. Maybe it was Johnny’s close-call with Hassan, maybe it was your separation in Las Almas- whatever it was, you couldn’t help but feel cursed.

You’d sworn off having a partner, not to mention one in the military or even worse, on your team.

You’d already felt that pain once. Discovered what it was like to witness your spouse taken from you right before your eyes, all under your command. To watch your comrades, your friends carry his body for miles and miles as you tried to muffle your breakdown, only to leave all six of them in the desert.

I couldn’t carry them all.

Now you’re in the same situation, you’re losing him all over again and he’s not even dead. 

He’s a hall’s length away, napping with a man you so eagerly roped in, a man that was so quick to embrace the two of you in a way you so desperately needed.

He could give the two of you the lives you’d always wanted, he could give you all he has to give.

He could give Johnny everything, something you simultaneously love and absolutely despise him for.

He understands Johnny. Understands him in every way you do and every way you never will. 

You push around the food on your tray until it’s practically inedible, picturing the two men peacefully sleeping in your room as you force away the last realization your mind conjures up.

For the first time since Santiago’s death, you were sitting in the mess hall, alone.

-

Staring at the blinking cursor, you rack your brain on what to reply. The small group chat was mostly empty, save for a few grocery requests, as the three of you almost always communicated in-person or over comms. 

Suds: where’d you go bunny? weren’t in the mess

05:16

Fantasma: 0700 flight. See you on the tarmac.

05:58

Sighing out, you switch from the chat you’d left unanswered for quite some time now, opening the group made specifically for 141-UK. 

Captain Price: CRAF, 0735. Tarmac by 0700. See you soon.

06:00

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick: See ya soon Cap

06:07

Suds: rog :p

06:12

Simon was with Price, evidenced by the flight information being sent at nearly the same time. That meant he wasn’t with Johnny, which meant you wouldn’t have a way to bail yourself out of a conversation with Soap if you ran into him. 

You just weren’t ready- and if there’s one thing good ol’ military therapy ever taught you, it was that you didn’t always have to do things on other people’s timelines.

You type back a quick ‘Affirm’ and slide your phone back into your pocket, watching as the sun begins to splay its golden rays over the outdoor training grounds. 

It’s almost refreshing. Brings you back to simpler times. 

If Johnny was here you’d already be telling him some story from way back in basic, all the shit you’d endured throughout training alongside the small group of friends you’d made early on into Pendleton.

But he’s not here. 

Truthfully, you don’t know where he is. You hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out. You could’ve gone back. Could’ve said something, had him fix all your problems the way he always managed to do. Could’ve let him know how you felt.

But as always, just like Santiago would always tell you, you were self sabotaging. Pushing him away so he couldn’t do it first. Making it your choice. 

It’s not like you don’t know what’s happening. You’re aware of it, probably more now than ever before. 

You know, you just can’t stop. 

Pushing off the wall, you begin to make your way from your position near the far edge of base to the barracks, flinging the last of the orange peels in your hand to the birds. You hadn’t skipped breakfast entirely. You’re still a Marine, after all.

Flying CRAF was always shit- being sardined into cramped seats with a hundred other soldiers awaiting their next orders.

It provided one major upside today, though. 

A chance to work through your thoughts in peace. 

Well… relative peace. He still has to know he fucked up.

Walking back to your room, head held a little higher than before, you knock and unlock the door once more.

This time when you’re greeted with silence, it’s due to their lack of presence. Johnny’s duffle sits on the bed next to yours.

He’s either showering in his accomodation or grabbing a quick breakfast, so you take the opportunity you’ve been given.

Slinging both duffles over each shoulder, you make your way to the tarmac where Price and Gaz stand watching the other soldiers board.

“Captain, Gaz. Good morning.”

Lifting a shoulder and gesturing towards Johnny’s bag, you never cease walking as you continue your small talk, effectively forcing the two into following you onto the aircraft.

Gaz a tad more eager to jump into conversation than Price, he happily chats on with ease as you make your way down the aisle.

The seats are in 2-4-2 formation, and you make a point to set Johnny’s bag- fit with Union Jack and Saltire patches- in the window spot of the two seater in your desired row. 

Gesturing to the four seats on the other side of the aisle, you turn back to Gaz.

“Is here good?”

“Wherever’s fine by me. Cap?” He turns, asking the older man.

“Go ahead.” Price gestures towards the seats with a small shrug.

Gaz puts a foot forward but you slide in front of him before he gets the chance, moving down to the third seat and allowing Gaz, Price, the aisle, then Ghost to fill the space between you and Johnny.

That’ll do.

The seat to your right is empty, and you quietly pray to some higher power it remains that way.

Sliding your duffle under the seat, you turn to Gaz with a smile.

“That’s perfect. I prefer the middle section.”

It’s a half truth, one you don’t feel bad about telling.

You don’t let him get a word in, tapping the book in his hand with your newly regulation-approved painted nails. 

“Whatchya reading, Sarge?”

He flips over the book with a small shrug, scanning his eyes over the synopsis before handing it over with that boyish grin he so often sports. 

“Haven’t looked, to be honest. Mom mentioned she meant to pick up a copy. Figured I’d drop by home before heading back to base.”

“You visit her a lot?”

“Whenever I’ve got the chance, really.” 

You hear him before you see him, Johnny coming down the aisle clear as day in your peripherals. 

You smile back at Gaz, tilt your head a little closer to his.

“The missus isn’t too happy at that, then?”

A light blush dusting over his cheeks, he’s glancing at Johnny, then down at his lap- shaking his head with a bright smile and a small laugh- before letting his charm override his shyness.

“No misses to upset, ma’am.”

“Still just Rabbit, Gaz.”

Catching Johnny’s eye, you smile and give a single nod before angling your body slightly away from him and opening the book Gaz had handed you. 

Your eyes scan the words but they don’t process in your mind, too busy focusing on your peripherals again. 

You see Johnny turn his head, gaze falling on his duffle sitting on the far window chair. You see the way he looks back at you in confusion. Whether he connects the dots or not- it seemed as though he was more confused at what was happening than why- he begins putting his duffle in the overhead, turning to Ghost and gesturing for his. 

Braving a look at Simon, you rake your eyes over his form.

Damn, he looks good. 

He’s wearing a black medical face mask, probably showing you more of his face at one time than you’d ever seen before.

Johnny may have looked him dead in the eye in Las Almas, but you’d chosen to grant the man some semblance of privacy and look away. 

Mentally you piece together the top and bottom portions of his face- try your best to commit it to memory while reminding yourself you’re still mad at him.

Well, sorta. 

Johnny scoots into the window seat, almost clipping his head on the luggage compartment he’d just closed, if not for Simon’s hand padding the collision. 

He turns to you and smiles, you see it by the small squint of his eyes and the way his cheeks rise.

You let a smile grace your lips, a real one, spurred on by the simple fact that he’s so good at this. So good with Johnny, so good with you. 

He motions to the seat in front of him, offering it up, but you give a barely noticeable shake of your head and smile once more. 

I know I’m being unfair. You’re doing everything right. It’s not you I’m mad at, I promise. 

I’m sorry, Si. 

You watch the way his eyes travel between Gaz and Price, then back to you, before he nods his head and lowers into the seat.

That’ll be a serious talk later, you can tell by the blank look he quickly adopted, but at least you have eight hours to avoid that conversation.

A small sigh passing your lips, you shut the book and settle your eyes onto your knees. 

“Boy troubles?” He teases with a small smile, raising a brow knowingly. 

You lean forward to glance at Price- who sits legs spread, arms crossed with his boonie hat tilted and covering his face- and reply to Gaz quietly.

“No. No, we’re all good.”

His smile dips, turning a little more into a grimace.

“Yeah, I’m sure he thinks that. Doesn’t seem like you do, Rabbit.”

Your eyes snap back up to his, eyes squinting slightly. You can’t help but feel defensive for both yourself and Johnny, even if he is right.

He puts his hands up in surrender.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, I just mean-”

“No. No, it’s fine.” You glance up at his side profile and barely murmur out, “It’s just… Is it that obvious?”

His eyes shift from semi-playful to empathetic.

“I mean, listen. I hardly know you. But what I do know is you two are attached at the hip. I do know that I’ve never seen Johnny so smitten over anyone. Whatever’s happening now? Water under the bridge once we’re home. Yeah?”

“Yeah” You murmur, the cogs in the machine that is your brain pulling at top speed. “Can’t get anything past you, now, can I?”

He lets out a quiet laugh, that charming smile back once more. 

“Or Price. He just won’t mention it like I will.”

Your own smile returning, you bump your shoulder with his before scooting yourself down your seat and copying Price’s stature.

Gaz does the same, pulling his cap over his eyes and leaning his head back.

Glancing past him, you look towards your boys once more.

Ghost catches your eyes and tilts his head in question. Johnny’s already half passed out, leaning against his shoulder and slowly nodding off.

You smile at Simon, a real, genuine smile, before turning straight once more and closing your eyes.

Shifting your right leg, you quietly inch your boot closer to your duffle under the seat in front of you. 

Shoulders relaxing, you let out a deep breath, tapping your boot against the blue and white Saltire patch twice.

-

<3

Taglist:

@voodoo-writer @wonderswritings @loving-milkskake-coffee @mothcelestial @hindi-si-ikay @poohkie90 @berrysealsblog @anniblindfischi @autrizzm @megansheila @aldis-nuts @gentlegiant @johnwickthethird @dante-mightdie @forever-hero-trash @330bpm-whiplash @addison-james @l0velyy-xmll @secretsthathauntus @angstismydrug @mo-i-ra @wh0rethoughtz @trulytiredboi @pengwen14 @craxy-person @mrmountainman @galacticgrump @kiritokunuwu @luvvnightingalee @cosychick @jollyjumpsfrog @sn0w72897 @urfavsunkissedleo @erothickthefemboy @perpetual-fandom-brainrot @bossva @missmidnight-writes @supernaturalstilinski @certainkittenpeach @alcinas-darling-side @jinxxangel13 @jewelbby @rhaenryawhore @murdersheghostwrote @leothescorpio @michilpyay @cassiecasluciluce @browtfyoudoing @savagemickey03 @xxqueensneverdie @lovelyeau @kimbeans90 @notcrazynotoldbutcatlady @nessaasstuff @sadg3 @thriving-n-jiving @ghost-with-a-teacup @bbyfimmie

[space-writes]

writing patterns tag

tagged by @aalinaaaaaa, thank you!

Premise: List the first lines of your last 20 or so stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

I’m going to cheat a little, and do the first lines for all 18 chapters of The Perils of Wanting, since now that it’s done (!!) I figure it’ll be neat to look at those and see what comes up.

[ID - a purple and black decorative divider]

Chapter One

“I see you’re still planning to abandon us.”

Chapter Two

Crystal Hot Springs, the town was called.

Chapter Three

The air smelt different.

Chapter Four

Ashenivir woke to the clatter of hooves on stone, the rattle of wheels, and a relentless babble of Common.

Chapter Five

“Twist sharper on the final syllable,” Rizeth said. “It needs the rotational force as a catalyst.”

Chapter Six

“So we’re staying in the South Ward?”

Chapter Seven

Apparently, serial novels were a popular pastime in Waterdeep.

Chapter Eight

Snow crunched beneath Ashenivir’s boots.

Chapter Nine

Winter had Waterdeep well in its grasp, and today, as most days, snow blanketed the city in white that had remained pristine for all of five minutes before the bustling citizens churned it to grey.

Chapter Ten

It had been suspiciously easy to provoke his Master into sex this morning.

Chapter Eleven

“Master, did you know there’s a letter from Lord Stillgleam here?”

Chapter Twelve

Carriages of every shape and size lined the street outside Stillgleam Villa, disgorging from their plush interiors what seemed like half the nobility of Waterdeep.

Chapter Thirteen

Ashenivir slowly turned a page, the words doing little more than occupy his eyes.

Chapter Fourteen

For days, Ashenivir had been quiet and withdrawn.

Chapter Fifteen

“It was nothing you did,” Ashenivir said.

Chapter Sixteen

Ms Thorne shook her head with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Verin left about an hour ago.”

Chapter Seventeen

Deep in the Trades Ward, the crush of the crowd and the early Flamerule heat had Ashenivir unpleasantly damp with sweat in a matter of minutes.

Chapter Eighteen

Emmyr didn’t have a shop as such.

[ID - a purple and black decorative divider]

As for patterns, I seem to enjoy a good, short Opening Statement that the Opening Paragraph then expands upon. That and opening with dialogue, which I am unsurprised by, because I know I like doing it.

I think Chapter Twelve’s opening is maybe my favourite, just because I love the visual and I remember working quite a lot to get the phrasing on that line and that paragaph juuust right.

also i love how only one out of eighteen chapters opens with anything that even remotely gives away that this is a D/s erotic romance.

the original premise for this said to tag 10 people but that is Quite A Lot, so i will be tagging less than that: @talesfromaurea @oh-no-another-idea @little-peril-stories and @vacantgodling, take a stab at this one if you like!

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Update

I’ve been thinking of my game plan going forward and I wanted to get thoughts and opinions.

So for right now I’m going to be focusing on my fics. No more au concepts or long form answers to asks until I get a few chapters done. I feel really bad letting your asks wait but at the same time my fic fans have been waiting very patiently and I also feel bad putting off my main stories for so long.

As many of you know I write my fics in a rotation. Next one up is Visited on the Son. I’ve got it all outlined and should only have three chapters left until the story is complete. Maybe a forth if I feel the chapter I’m currently working on gets too long and split it. Because the end is getting close I want to just focus on this fic and finish it. So that’s what I’m going to do.

After that is where I’m bouncing around plans. The Sully P.O.V chapter is next up for Cabin. Most likely that’s what I’ll work on after Visited. Once I finish that though Cabin will be on a long hiatus while I finish the choose your own adventure style endings.

Mama’s boy is also in its third act so I’ve also thought about just finishing it off. I know where I’m going with it but I don’t have it formally outlined like Visited so I’m not sure how many more chapters of it there’ll be. Probably somewhere between 5-10.

On the other hand I’ve been sitting on another fic idea for a long time that I’d really like to start writing. It’ll be called Trailer Trash. The premises is that Quaritch survives the war but still loses. He uses Spider as his excuse to stay on Pandora because, “how cruel do you have to be to separate an innocent child from his father.” The catch is that the old shack gets converted into basically a trailer home for father and son to live in exile, with either Jake or Norm bringing them supplies once a week. This’ll be a long fic. Maybe even a two parter. I don’t know.

So I guess I could either put Trailer Trash into the rotation in place of Visited and just keep switching between fics like I have or finish off both Visited and Mama’s boy and then make the rotation something like: New chapter of Trailer Trash, work on endings for Cabin for x amount of time, long form answers to asks/ au concepts for x amount of time, repeat. I’m think that x could be like a month or six weeks. And I’d make that a hard stop/start date so that I’m staying on track with everything.

Again I’d love to hear thoughts and opinions to sort this out so thank you in advance to anyone who reaches out 💙

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Atychiphobia

Masterlist

Chapter Three:

Stan tries to talk to Ford the next day about all of it, but Ford manages to brush it off— or, maybe not brush it off, but he gets Stan to drop it at least.  He can’t think about Fiddleford without feeling guilty for almost a week after, especially when Fiddleford tells them both that his father grounded him after he broke the boat.

But at least the fact that they won’t see him for two weeks means that Fiddleford will have plenty of time to stop being mad.

Ford really hopes he won’t still be mad.

He spends much of the two weeks working on the perpetual motion machine, at night after Stan’s gone to bed.  He’s started bringing stuff inside as he’s worked on it, since some of it has parts that really shouldn’t get wet.  He’s taken to hiding it in the hall closet outside their room, which has worked well enough so far.  If he can make some progress on it before Fiddleford is done being grounded, he can have something cool to show him, and something to steer the conversation away from monster hunting.

This is what he’s trying to do when Bill shows up.

He’s trying to get a particularly resistant screw attached to hold a panel together when he first hears Bill’s laughter.  He ducks over the perpetual motion machine on instinct, holding it back to his chest and looking around.  He tries to put more anger in his expression than fear, but he doubts he really succeeds.

After a couple seconds of cackling that he can’t quite locate the source of, it stops, and everything goes grayscale.  Ford looks around, trying to find where Bill is, but he doesn’t see anything.

“Boo.”

Ford shrieks and whirls around, finding Bill hovering just behind him.  As soon as Ford sees him, he starts cackling again, pressing his hands to his bowtie as if his fear too hilarious to resist.

“Hey there, kiddo!  Not making too much progress on that, I see.”  He nods at the perpetual motion machine.

“What, no, I’m making great progress!” Ford snaps.  “And it’s not like you could do any better!”

Bill laughs again, then makes a “come here,” motion, and before Ford can say anything, the perpetual motion machine is yanked from his grasp and into Bill’s hands.

“Hey!”

“Hmm, let’s see, insufficient paneling, the wiring is a mess, the main mechanism is much too large to balance out… yeesh, kid.  You want this to work, right?”

“Give it back!” Ford yells, jumping up and grabbing the machine from Bill’s hands.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Bill laughs.  “Whatever you say, kid, though I think I just proved that wrong.  Look, you’re trying to make something good enough to show Specs when he gets out of grounding, right?”

“Specs?”

“Yeah, Specs.  Fiddleford.”

“What— how do you know that?  Have you been spying on me?”

“Ha!  ‘Bout time you finally caught on, Sixer!  I’ve been watching your little attempts to prove yourself!  Gotta say, I haven’t seen anything this funny in a long time!  You should try standup!”

Ford glares away, clenching his hands into fists.  “You—”

“Look, kid, as much as human failure is hilarious, it’s also getting kinda sad.  Plus you’ll be way less fun to watch if you stop hanging out with Specs, so I figured I’d throw you a bone!”

“You— huh?” Ford asks, looking back in confusion.

“Help you out, kid, sheesh.  Are you always this slow on the uptake?  Look, I’ve seen more than a few functional perpetual motion machines made by yourself.  I know how they work by now!  I could give you a hint, if you’re willing to do me a little favor in return?”

“Why would I do that?” Ford asks, holding the perpetual motion machine closer to his chest.  “I don’t need your help!  I don’t need anyone’s help!”

Bill cackles.  “Nice try, kid, but I think we both know that’s not true!”

Ford glares away before Bill can see the nerves on his face.

“Look, it’ll be our little secret, don’t worry,” Bill says.  “I just need a quick favor, a little bodyman to do some grunt work, and then I’ll help you out!”

“I don’t want to work with you,” Ford says weakly.

“Well kid, you’re gonna learn sooner or later, that’s not how things work in the real world!  You gotta work with people you don’t like all the time!  What’s important is getting the answers, making sure your name’s the one on top of the heap and you get all the credit!  And you’ve lucked out in this case, ‘cause I’m offering it to you!  You’re not gonna get a better deal than that, Sixer.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Oh, no problem, what do you want me to call you instead?  Future Failure?”

“Leave me alone,” Ford snaps, though it comes out far less strongly than he wants it to.

“Aw, come on kid, we don’t have to be enemies!  This can be a mutually beneficial relationship!  You want to impress Specs, right?”

Ford clutches the perpetual motion machine tighter and doesn’t say anything.

“Look kid, I don’t want to rush you, but this is kind of a limited time offer.  Just like your chance to impress Fiddleford is!  I mean, how much do you think he’s gonna want you around if the only thing he has to remember you by is almost dying?  Twice?”

Ford squeezes his eyes shut and groans.  “Okay, fine,” he snaps, glaring back at Bill.  “But just this once!  I still don’t need you!”

“Sure kid, whatever you say,” Bill says, holding out his hand, which starts to glow with blue flames.  “It’s a deal, then?”

Ford looks nervously at the hand, then back down at the perpetual motion machine.  Finally, he takes a deep breath, sets the machine down, and shakes Bill’s hand.  “Okay.  Deal,” he says.  “So what’s the hint?”

But Bill just starts cackling, in a very not-good way.

“Uh…” Ford says hesitantly.

“Sorry, Sixer, but I told you, I need a bodyman first!  And I think you’ll do just fine!”

“What?” Ford asks, but before he can pull his hand away, he feels something else pulling him towards Bill.  He screams, and then something rips, and then—

Bill’s still laughing, but when Ford turns around, he sees himself, laying on the floor, and when he opens his eyes, they’re bright yellow.

“What?  What did you do to me?” Ford asks, trying to leap towards his body, but instead he sails right through.

“Nothin’ I haven’t done to you before, Sixer!” Bill says.  It looks weird coming out of his own mouth.  “Well, not you, but same difference!”  He picks up the perpetual motion machine, carries it back over to the closet, and drops it inside with a crash that Ford really doesn’t like.

“Hey!” he snaps, but Bill just slams the closet door shut.

Before either of them can say anything else, the door to the bedroom behind them opens, and Stanley appears in the entryway.

“Sixer, that you?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.  “Can you keep it down?  I’m trying to get some sleep.”

“Stanley!  Stanley, that’s not me!” Ford yells, but Stan doesn’t react at all.

“Sure thing, bro!” Bill says, giving Stan a too-wide smile.  “I was just heading to bed anyway!”

Stan raises an eyebrow.  “Uh, okay… you doing alright?  You’re actin’ kinda weird.”

“I think I had too much Mabel juice!” Bill says, walking Ford’s body inside the bedroom very inaptly.

“You haven’t learned to steer clear of that stuff yet?” Stan asks, following him inside.  “It has plastic dinosaurs in it, Sixer.”

“Yeah, I guess I really should know better, huh!” Bill says, as Stan starts to shut the door.

“Wait!” Ford yells, diving for it, but even though it shuts in his face, he still sails right through.

“Look, just… try and get some sleep, okay?” Stan says as he walks back over to his bed.  “I’m kinda worried, you know.  I think you’re really letting this Fiddleford thing get to you too much.  You know he’s not gonna be mad, right?”

“Yeah, I know!  That coward wouldn’t have it in him to get mad if I stabbed him in the eye!”

“Uh,” Stan says.  “What?”

“Sorry, Mabel juice!  Man, that stuff makes you hyper!  Well, goodnight!”  Bill climbs under Ford’s blankets and turns to the side, then lets out obviously fake snores that don’t sound right at all.  Ford’s never heard himself snoring, but he’s pretty sure his real snores don’t sound that much like a chainsaw.

Stan looks at Bill for another second, clearly weirded out, but ultimately climbs under his blankets and turns to face the wall, muttering something about talking to Grauntie Mabel about her juice recipe.

Ford watches Bill for another second, and after he doesn’t move, he darts down to hover just over Stanley.

“Stanley,” he whispers, but Stan gives no reaction.  “Stanley!”

After a second, Stan starts snoring, sounding decidedly more normal than Bill’s pretend snoring.

Ford looks desperately back over at his body in the other bed, and finds Bill grinning up at him in the dark.  And despite the fact that it won’t actually do anything, he ducks down behind Stanley’s sleeping form.

Bill seems to find that funny, but he doesn’t laugh this time.

After a bit, he stands and walks over towards them both, and it seems like he thinks Stan is firmly asleep, because he heads back out of the room.  Ford really doesn’t want to leave, but he follows him anyway.

“What are you doing?” he asks, finding himself really hoping the answer isn’t ‘going to Fiddleford’s house and stabbing him in the eye.’

“Nothing you need to worry your stupid little head about,” Bill says, giving him a wide grin.  He walks down the stairs, as quietly as he seems to be able to, which includes him falling down the last couple steps on purpose.  He lays there at the bottom for a second, clearly listening to see if anyone woke up, and after it seems no one did, he laughs.  “Man, pain is hilarious!” he calls up at Ford.

Ford glances towards Grauntie Mabel’s room and doesn’t say anything.  Hopefully he keeps talking loudly and wakes her up.

“Nice try, kid, but I know what you’re thinking!” Bill says.  “I have a little more experience talking to things in the mindscape than you!  They’re not gonna hear a peep!”

“The mindscape?” Ford asks weakly.

“Welcome!” Bill says, spreading his hands.  “You like the place?  Enjoy feeling like a ghost!  I know I don’t!”  He stands up and walks down the hall, and Ford follows, though he probably can’t do much to stop him.  But what is he going to do in the hallway, anyway?  There’s nothing here except the game closet.

That seems to be exactly where Bill’s heading, however.  He pulls it open, and bends down to look at something.  Ford dives through the wall to try to see what he’s looking at, but it’s dark in the hallway and darker in the closet and Bill is blocking all of the light that is managing to make it through.

“What are you doing?” Ford asks.  Instead of answering, Bill picks something up and smashes it back down onto the floor.  Ford jumps— or, floats?— backwards in midair.  That crash sounded bad, like something metal just shattered.

They’re both interrupted by an oink coming from behind them, and Ford turns around to see Waddles at the bottom of the steps.

Bill grins.  “Boo.”

Waddles gives a terrified oink, and then turns and runs back up the steps.  Bill cackles in delight, then turns, reels Ford’s foot back, and kicks the whatever-it-is in the closet multiple times, then picks it up and drops it one more time.  He steps back and wipes his hands together, seemingly satisfied.

“What was that?” Ford asks.  “What did you do?”

“You’ll find out!” Bill calls happily.  “Well anyway, no sleeping for either of us tonight, it seems!  You wanna go explore the woods and see what kind of creatures I can get to bite this body?  Maybe I can take care of those extra fingers for you!”

With that, he turns and starts for the front door.  Feeling helpless but still desperate, Ford follows him.

…

Thankfully, Bill doesn’t actually find any creatures who bite Ford’s fingers off, but he’s definitely gotten some bruises that he’s cackling about by the time they walk back to the house.  The sun is almost risen at this point, but neither Stan or Grauntie Mabel are there when they make it inside.

Bill starts to head back upstairs, but before he makes it up the first set, footsteps come from above him, and Stan appears at the top of the steps.

His eyes immediately widen.  “Sixer?  What the heck, are you okay?  You look like you spent the night in the woods!”

Bill laughs.  “I did!”

“What?” Stan asks, sounding baffled.  “Why on earth would you do that?”

“Thought I saw something out the window!  I had to make sure!”

“Dude, you usually wake me up for things like that,” Stan says, starting down the stairs.  “And what happened, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good,” Bill says.  “I used that robot thing you were building to beat it up!”

“What?” Ford asks, giving Bill a weird look.

That seems to mean something more to Stanley, however, because he yells “You did what?” and races down the stairs.  Ford turns and follows, and sees him heading right for… oh no.

Stan yanks the game closet open, where in the light of the day, Ford can see a pile of metal that looks like it once resembled something, but that’s definitely broken now.

“Ford!” Stan yells, turning back to glare at Bill.  “That was supposed to be a surprise!  Fiddleford and I were making that for you!”

“What?” Ford says, looking back at Bill again, who just laughs.

“Well, I thought you would have known by now that I want things a little better than that piece of junk,” Bill says with a shrug.  “Try a little harder next time, sheesh.”

“Hey!” Ford snaps.  His heart drops into his stomach when he sees obvious hurt flash across Stanley’s face.

“What the heck is wrong with you?” Stan snaps.  “That was like, such a jerky thing to do!  We worked hard on that!”

Bill laughs again.  “You’d think you’d be able to tell then, huh?”

“Ugh!  You know what, you can come find me when you decide to stop being such a huge jerkface!” Stan snaps.  He pushes past Ford and storms for the stairs.

“Stanley, wait!” Ford yells, and he starts to fly up after him, but Stan still doesn’t hear him, and he just looks angrier as he stomps up the stairs.  Eventually, Ford gives up and flies back down to the game closet, where Bill’s shoving the pile of metal back inside.  He slams the door shut and turns around to Ford with a grin.

“Well, that was fun!” he says.  “Is it sinking in yet?”

“Why would you do that?” Ford demands, clenching his hands into fists at his side.  He glares down at Bill.

“Just proving a point, Sixer,” Bill says with a bright grin.  “Human relationships are so easy to break!  Maybe I’ll try with Shooting Star next!”

Ford’s breath starts to come quickly, even though he technically doesn’t need it right now.  He turns and dives up through the ceiling, sailing into the attic, where Stan is now pacing angrily back and forth.

“Stanley,” Ford begs, reaching out for him, but his hand just goes right through again.  How is he supposed to talk to him if he can’t see him or hear him?  The only time he seems to really see Bill is in his dreams.

Wait.  If he’s in the mindscape right now, like Bill is usually…

Ford takes a deep breath.  Well, it’s something of a plan.  But it’s going to be a long day of waiting for it.

…

Ford follows Stan for the day, because even though the idea of leaving Bill alone with his body makes him want to puke, he already feels bad enough about what happened to what Stan was apparently making for him.  He needs to stay with him, even if he can’t do anything but watch if Bill decides to make it worse.

Instead, things get worse because Stan goes to Fiddleford’s house and sneaks in through the window, then explains that “Ford” broke what they’d been working on since the monster hunt.  From the way they talk, it’s clear they were both making it to try and cheer him up, which just makes Ford feel even worse.  He hovers low to the floor as they talk and tries not to feel like the worst brother and friend ever.

But eventually, the evening comes, and Stan spends all of dinner resolutely ignoring Ford and talking to Grauntie Mabel, who seems confused by it.

“Did you two have a fight?” she asks Stan after dinner, when she pulls him aside into the living room.

“Yeah.  Ford broke the robot Fidds and I were making him,” Stan snaps.

“What?  That doesn’t sound like Ford.  Why on earth would he do that?”

“I don’t know!  But he was really mean about it!  He called it a piece of junk and said we should ‘try harder next time’!”

Ford slinks further down in his spot next to the armchair, waiting for Grauntie Mabel to get angry too.

Instead, she gives a ‘hmm’ of thought.

“What?” Stan asks.

“Do you think, maybe, he was a little freaked out when he saw it?” Grauntie Mabel asks.

Both Stan and Ford, though neither of them can see him, look up at her in confusion.

“What do you mean?” Stan asks.

“Well, you designed it like the monster from that hunt that went bad, right?” Grauntie Mabel asks, and Ford’s eyes widen slightly.  He hadn’t been able to tell that part by the time Bill was done with it.

“Yeah, so?” Stan asks.  “That was the point.  That we could all move on and stop thinking about that stupid monster hunt.”

“Well, I think it was a nice gesture,” Grauntie Mabel says.  “But he also might not have gotten that from it if he stumbled across it without you there to explain that part.  Maybe he got a little freaked out by it, because he still thinks of that hunt as scary.”

Stan pauses, then looks down at his hands.  “Oh.  I… I didn’t think of it like that.”

“Now, that doesn’t mean he should have broken it,” Grauntie Mabel says.  “And I’m definitely gonna talk to him about that.  But he might not have meant it as a mean thing.”

Stan frowns.  “Sure sounded like it,” he says.  “He was pretty rude.”  He pauses again, clearly thinking.  “But… if he was freaking out, maybe he didn’t mean to be.”

After a second, Stan sighs.  “Can I talk to him about it tomorrow?” he asks, looking up at Grauntie Mabel.

“Of course, I wasn’t saying you have to go talk to each other right now.  It’s okay to be mad.  It does sound like he messed up.”

“He did,” Stan says, crossing his arms.  Ford ducks down further behind the chair, guilt and nerves coiling in his gut.

“I’m gonna go talk to him about it, okay?” Grauntie Mabel says.  “You can head up to the attic.  I think I saw Ford over in the store.”

Stan nods, and gives Grauntie Mabel a quick hug, before heading towards the stairs and up towards the attic.  Grauntie Mabel turns and heads towards the gift shop, and because he doesn’t want to live Bill alone much longer, Ford follows her.

“Stanford?” Grauntie Mabel calls as she pulls aside the curtain.  “Are you in—”

The store is in shambles.  Bill is currently sitting on top of one of the shelves, unwinding a ball of yarn.  Ford is definitely going to puke.  Can you puke in the mindscape?

“Stanford Filbrick Pines!” Grauntie Mabel exclaims.  “What has gotten into you?”

Bill cackles, then turns and rolls off the shelf, landing on his back on the floor.  Ford winces.

“Ford!  For pete’s sake, what—”

“That was fun!” Ford yells, running past Grauntie Mabel, who looks too stunned to really stop him.  “Who knew craft supplies were so breakable!”

“Stop it!” Ford snaps, flying after Bill as Grauntie Mabel yells his name behind them.  “Leave my family alone!”

Bill just continues to laugh, and runs through the living room, into the bathroom, and locks the door.  Ford follows him in.

“Ford!” Grauntie Mabel snaps, knocking on the door.  “You open this door right now!”

“Sorry, no can do Grauntie Mabel!” Bill yells, grinning over towards the door.  “It’s too fun hearing you mad!  In fact, I think I’ll sleep in here tonight!”

There’s a pause, and then Grauntie Mabel says, her voice much less angry, “Okay, Ford, you’re clearly going through something, and you clearly need to talk about it.  Stanley told me you broke the robot he and Fiddleford were making for you too.  Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope!” Bill yells.  “See you tomorrow!”

“Stanford, I’m not leaving,” Grauntie Mabel says.

“Well, then I guess we’re both hanging out right here all night!” Bill says, and he sits down right against the bathroom door.  “Hey, have I ever told you my least favorite things about you?”

Ford can’t stay and watch anymore.  He flies quickly for the ceiling, aiming right for the top of house and towards the attic.  Stan’s laying in his bed when he gets there, not asleep yet, but clearly pretty close.  Ford hovers there anxiously as he waits.  He would love to do this without Bill in the room.

It seems to take forever, but finally, Stanley falls asleep, though he doesn’t look very happy as he does so.  Ford gives one last look around, and when he doesn’t see Bill or hear him coming up the stairs, he turns back to face Stanley.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he says to himself, and he dives right for Stanley’s head.

…

When he opens his eyes he’s not in the attic anymore, which feels like a good start.  But for a long moment, he doesn’t see anything else either, just a long black expanse.  Then, finally, something bright appears in the distance, and with no other options, Ford flies right for it.  As he gets closer, he hears the sounds of waves and seagulls, and when he sails into the light, he finds himself hovering just above a finished Stan-O-War, back at Glass Shard Beach.

“Alright!” comes a familiar voice, and Ford spins around to see Stan approaching the boat with another version of himself.  “You ready to get this thing in the water, Sixer?”

“STANLEY!” Ford yells, and flies right towards him, throwing his arms around him before he can think about it.  Stanley gives a little “oof” of surprise, and pushes Ford back.  Ford’s going to pretend that doesn’t make his chest hurt.

“What the— Ford?  But you—  how are you—” Stan turns to look at the other version of himself, who’s suddenly frozen in place.

“Stanley,” Ford says desperately, reaching for his hands.  “Stanley, you’re dreaming.”

“Oh, okay.  I guess that makes sense,” Stan says, looking back towards him.  “So I’m having a lucid dream, huh?  That’s cool!  Hey, you want to make the Stan-O-War fly?”

“Stan, please,” Ford begs.  “I need your help, I messed up really bad.”

“Woah, hey, what do you mean?” Stan asks, giving him a concerned look.  “What’s going on?”

Ford rushes to explain, his words all but tripping over each other.  “So, so last night I was up late, and then I must have fallen asleep, and then Bill showed up in my dreams, and he said he could help me with my— with something, and that he needed a bodyman, and then he took over my body, and—”

“He what?” Stan exclaimed.  “Wait, is that why you’ve been acting so weird all day?  He’s in your body?  Wait, did he break the robot Fidds and I were making?”

Ford looks away and nods.  “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“What— dude, if Bill did it then it’s not your fault!  What a jerk, I’m gonna— okay, how do we get him out of your body?”

“I don’t know!” Ford says desperately.  “I don’t know what to do, and he’s been really mean to you and Grauntie Mabel all day and I can’t do anything to stop him, and—”

“Woah, hey, hey, it’s alright,” Stan says.  He reaches out and pulls Ford into a hug, and Ford can’t help but squeeze him tightly back.  “It’s gonna be okay, Sixer.  We’re gonna figure it out, alright?  Can you tell me what’s happened so far?”

“Well uh, Bill broke your— your robot thing, that would have been really cool to see and I’m really sorry he broke it.”

“It’s okay,” Stan says, giving him a tight squeeze.  “Fidds and I can make a new one.”

Ford buries his head in Stan’s shoulder rather than let go of him, even as he keeps talking.  “Then he ran around in the woods all night irritating a whole bunch of forest creatures,” he says.  “Which didn’t look like it would have felt good if he didn’t think pain was funny.  And right now I think he’s downstairs in the bathroom being really mean to Grauntie Mabel.”

“He stayed awake all night,” Stan says.

“Huh?”

“When he was running through the woods, he stayed awake?  He didn’t go to sleep, at all?”

“I don’t think so.  Why?”

“Well, he’s a dream demon, right?” Stan says.  He pushes Ford back to arm’s length, a bright smile on his face.  “Maybe that’s tied into how he possesses people too.  Maybe if he falls unconscious, he’s kicked out of the body, and you can get back in!”

“Maybe you’re right,” Ford says, starting to smile a little himself as he feels a spark of hope.  “You should punch him in the face and knock him out!”

“Uh, or,” Stan says, raising an eyebrow.  “We can take into account the fact that you haven’t slept in almost forty-eight hours now, and it probably wouldn’t take quite that much?  Also, I don’t want to hurt you any more than he already has.”

“What do you mean, I’m fine.”

Stan shakes him back and forth a little bit.  “He’s in your body, Poindexter.  You’re still going to have to use it when we get him out of it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ford realizes, wincing at the thought.

Stan snorts.

Suddenly, the scene around them starts to go fuzzy.

“You’re waking up,” Ford realizes.  “You won’t be able to see me in the mindscape, are you sure you can do this?”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry,” Stan says, giving him a confident grin.  “He messed with my brother.  He can’t just get away with that.”  Stan cracks his knuckles, and his grin turns a little scary.  “I got this.”

With that, the scene around them fades, and Ford is launched out of Stan’s head.

…

As soon as he looks around in the attic, he sees why Stan’s been woken up, because Grauntie Mabel is shaking his shoulder.

“Stan,” she says.  “Are you awake?”

Stan shoots up in bed.  “We gotta save Ford!” he bursts out.

Grauntie Mabel scoots back a little.  “What?  Okay, I was thinking something must have happened too, because he’s really not acting normal.  I was hoping we could look through his journal for potential curses.  Do you know where he keeps it?”

“It’s not a curse, Grauntie Mabel,” Stan says, looking wide-eyed up at her.  “Ford just showed up in my dream.  He said there’s a demon in his body!”

“There’s a what?  Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Stan says with a nod.  “We’ve met him before.  But we think we have a plan!  We just need to make him fall asleep!”

“The demon?”

“Yeah!  I’ve got an idea.  Can you grab all your stuffed animals and a fuzzy blanket and meet me— wait, where’s Ford?  Or, you know, his body?”

“As far as I know he’s still locked in the bathroom,” Grauntie Mabel says, standing.  “I’ll meet you there.”

She heads out, and Stan looks around the attic, his gaze jumping over Ford a couple times.

“I don’t know where exactly you are, but it’s gonna be okay, Sixer!” Stan calls into what must look like empty air.  “Just hang tight.”

Ford wraps his see-through arms around himself and takes a deep breath.  “Okay,” he whispers, even though Stan can’t hear him.

He follows him out through the door and down the stairs, then towards the bathroom, where it sounds like Bill’s still inside.  Waddles seems to think so, since he’s in front of the door, oinking and pushing his head up against it.

 Ford pokes his head through the door and finds Bill has thoroughly broken the mirror, cut a slice across his hand with the glass, and is now writing with blood on the bathroom wall.

“What the heck?” Ford shrieks, drawing Bill’s gaze and more cackling laughter.

“You like it, Sixer?  I’m having fun with this one!  Your blood is inspiring!”

There’s a click from behind, and Ford turns around to see the lock turning on the doorknob.  A second later it swings open, and Grauntie Mabel is standing in the doorway, a key in her hand.  As soon as she sees Bill, her hand flies to her mouth.  A second later, her eyes narrow.

“Okay, that’s enough, get over here,” she says.  She walks forward and pulls Bill out of the bathtub, then holds his arms tightly enough that he can’t run.  “Stan, let’s do this.”

“Okay,” comes Stan’s voice, and Ford turns to see him in the doorway too, looking a little shaken but still determined.  Waddles is hiding behind him, looking more than a little scared.

Graunite Mabel manages to hold Bill there long enough for Stan to walk forward with a large fluffy blanket that he wraps tightly around Bill.

Bill just laughs.  “You think this’ll be enough to hold me for long?”

“Not long, but that’s okay,” Stan says.  “It’s bedtime for dream demons!”

“Huh?” Bill asks, eyes narrowing as he seems to realize they’ve figured something out.  “Wait, you little—”

“Fun fact, do you know when you haven’t slept for almost two days your body stops working very well?” Stan says with a bright grin.  “And it doesn’t take much to make you fall asleep?”

“What?”

Stan runs out of the bathroom, and brings back inside the stereo, which he sets it on the counter, and one of Grauntie Mabel’s stuffed gnomes, which he tucks under Bill’s chin.  He turns and hits play on the stereo, and a tape of lullabies starts playing.  Stan turns back to Bill.  “Rest well!” he calls.

“What are you—” Bill yawns.  “Talking about?  Wait, what was that?”

“You’ve got some sleep to catch up on there, bud,” Grauntie Mabel says with a triumphant smile of her own.  “See you on the other side!”

“That’s—” Bill yawns again.  “Ridiculous!”

“Night night!” Stan says, waving at Bill.  And with that, Bill’s eyes slip closed, and Ford hears a yell as Bill gets launched out of his head.  Ford dives for his body as quickly as he can manage—

And wakes up with a gasp.

“Sixer!” Stan says, immediately leaning towards him.  “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” Ford says weakly.  “Oh, ow.”

“Man, you scared us, kid,” Grauntie Mabel says.  She runs her hands through his hair, giving him a concerned frown.  “What happened?”

“Bill tricked me,” Ford mumbles, as Grauntie Mabel starts to unwind the blanket from around him.  He pushes himself off of her to stand up, but then winces and grabs his cut hand.

“Hey, let’s wrap that,” Grauntie Mabel says.  She turns and pulls open the cabinet under the bathroom sink, then pulls out some bandages.  “What else hurts?”

“What else doesn’t hurt?” Ford groans.  He lets Grauntie Mabel clean and wrap his hand, and looks around for Bill.  Thankfully, he seems to be gone, at least for now.

“Is he still here?” Stan asks, coming to stand at his other side.

“I don’t think so,” Ford says.

Stan lets out a relieved sigh and wraps his arm around Ford, though he pulls back after a second so Grauntie Mabel can finish wrapping his hand.  As soon as she does, Ford walks over and sits on top of the toilet, unable to hold himself up anymore.

Waddles runs over from the doorway and pushes his head against Ford’s leg, and Ford scratches the top of his head with a fond smile.

“Good—” he yawns.  “Good pig.”

“Okay,” Grauntie Mabel says, turning to him with a concerned expression.  “You need to catch up on some sleep.  And then tomorrow when you wake up we can look over what’s hurt.”  She turns and picks up the fuzzy blanket, which now has a fair amount of blood on it.  “I’m gonna go put this in the wash.”

“Sorry,” Ford whispers.

“Buddy, it’s not your fault,” Grauntie Mabel says, giving him a concerned look.

“Yeah, no feeling bad about what Bill did while he stole your body,” Stan says, crossing his arms.  “Not allowed.”

Ford smiles, just a little.  “Okay,” he says weakly.

“Come on,” Stan says, holding out his hand to Ford.  “We’re goin’ upstairs.  You need sleep.”

Ford reaches out and takes Stan’s hand, managing to pull himself up.  Every part of him aches.

Grauntie Mabel gives him a quick kiss on the forehead before heading off to wash the blanket, and then Ford and Stan both make their way for the steps, Waddles running along behind them.  Stan has to support most of Ford’s weight as they make their way back upstairs, but they do manage.

As soon as they make it back to their room, Stan helps Ford over to his bed, and Waddles jumps up to lay on the end of it.  Then as soon as they’re both settled, Stan crawls right under the covers next to Ford, like it’s not even up for debate.  Ford leans his head against Stan’s chest.  He’s certainly not going to argue.

“I gotcha, Sixer,” Stan says, pulling him closer.  “Get some sleep.”

“Thanks,” Ford whispers, already feeling his eyes slip closed.

…

Stan explains to Fiddleford what happened the next day, but even if Fiddleford immediately asks Ford if he’s okay, and doesn’t seem even a little mad, it doesn’t make Ford feel much better.

Sure, it wasn’t his fault this time, but what if he really does mess up this bad in the future, and it’s entirely his fault?  Of course they would get mad, they’d have every right to.  Why would they want to stick around someone who keeps messing up and breaking the things they work hard to make?

Even if it was Bill’s fault this time, it’s proof enough that Ford needs to be more careful than he has been.  But that’s fine.

He can do that.

[canirove]

My neighbour Rúben | Chapter 13

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

“This is quite nice, isn’t it? I think I could get used to it” grandad said when we arrived at the VIP area at the Emirates.

“It is surprisingly nice, yes.” I may have to give City’s a chance and see if it is as good.

“Oh, there you are!” a man said behind us. “Not bad, eh?” he said before hugging grandad.

“Not bad at all. That’s what I was telling my granddaughter.”

“This is her?” the man asked. 

“The very same. This is Mr. Ramsdale, love” grandad said.

“Very nice to meet you, miss” he replied, kissing my hand.

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Ramsdale.”

“Would you like a drink while we wait? I usually don’t have anything, I get too nervous. But maybe you are in the mood for it.”

“I think I’ll pass” grandad said. “You?” he asked me.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“That was a hell of a game, wasn’t it?” Mr. Ramsdale said after the final whistle.

“It definitely was. I don’t know how you manage to do this every weekend, Aaron is nuts” I said.

“He is, isn’t he?” Mr. Ramsdale chuckled. “But it usually works out. Usually.”

“I could do with that drink now that the game is over” grandad said. “What do you think?”

“I like how that sounds. And Aaron said he’ll be joining us here once he’s done.”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“So you are my future wife, uh?” someone said behind me.

“I beg your pardon?” I said, turning around.

“Sorry, sorry. That sounded like a really bad pick-up line” a blonde boy with a big smile replied. No, not just a boy. Aaron Ramsdale himself.

“It actually did, yes” I said. 

“I know we literally just met and that I may have not made the best first impressio, but would you like to come to a party with me? Ben is throwing a late Christmas one at his house, everyone is attending and I don't want to miss it, so maybe you’ll like to join us?”

“Parties aren’t my thing, to be honest.”

“Oh, c´mon. It’ll be fun! And think about my dad and your grandad’s reaction when we tell them that we are leaving together. They’ll start getting things ready for the wedding!” 

“It’s very likely, yes” I chuckled.

“So? What do you say? Are you coming?”

“Ok, fine” I sighed. I couldn’t say no to that smile. It was impossible.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

When Aaron and I arrived at Ben’s house after a car ride that flew by thanks to all his jokes and anecdotes, it was already packed with people. 

“There you are!” someone I didn’t know but that looked very familiar said. He definitely was one of his teammates. “And you brought company.”

“My future wife” Aaron said with that big smile of his.

“Oh, Manchester girl?”

“Manchester girl?” I said.

“That’s what we call you on the changing room” Aaron’s friend said. “Because you live in Manchester.” 

“You’ve told them about me?” I asked Aaron.

“I’ve told them about this girl my dad wants me to date, marry and have five children with, yes.”

“Five are way too many.”

“Three?”

“Two.”

“Fine by me” Aaron said, shaking my hand. “Should we get a drink?”

“Sure.”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Do they have anything without alcohol on it?”

“I’m afraid not” Aaron said. “But here, try this. It is what I usually have, it is very light.”

“I’m not used to drinking, tho. Even the lightest thing can make me drunk.”

“This won’t, I promise” Aaron said with his big smile. And again, it was impossible to say no to him.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the best smile in the world?”

“I’ve been told that I have a great smile, but not in the world” Aaron said.

“Well, you do. You are like sunshine.”

“I do wear yellow when a play for a reason.”

“Because you are the Teletubbies sun!” I giggled. The drink Aaron gave me turned out to taste really nice, and we ended up having more than one. And two. And maybe three.

“No one had ever called me that.”

“Then you’re welcome” I giggled again.

“You are really cute when you laugh, you know” he said, leaning forward.

“Woah, woah, woah. Stop there” I said, putting my hand on his face.

“What?”

“You can’t kiss me.”

“Why not? Aren’t we going to get married? We should start with the basics” he said, leaning forward again.

“I have a boyfriend” I blurted out. “Well, not really. We like each other and have kissed a few times.”

“Then you can still kiss me if you aren’t official.”

“I’m not going to kiss you, Aaron. I want to be faithful.” The moment those words left my mouth, we both started laughing like crazy.

“Ok, fine, no kissing” he said once we manage to stop. “But tell me about him. What’s his name?”

“Rúben.”

“Wait, Rúben? Like Rúben Dias, the City player?”

“Not like him. He is the Rúben Dias.”

“Nah, you are making fun of me.”

“I’m not! Look!” I said, taking out my phone. “Let’s call him and see what he is up to.”

“Hello, neighbour” Rúben said over facetime. “Where are you?”

“I’m at a party at Ben White’s house. And look!” I said, turning my phone so he could see Aaron. “It’s Ramsdale!”

“It is him! The Rúben Dias!”

“Told you I wasn’t lying” I giggled.

“Hello, mate” Aaron said, waving at the screen. “You have a very nice girl, she’s been behaving. I wanted to kiss her and she said no, said she wanted to be faithful.” And again, Aaron and I bursted out laughing.

“Are you drunk?” Rúben asked.

“Just a bit tipsy” I said. “Aaron’s drink tastes so good… You should try it. What did you say it was?”

“Can’t remember right now. Something pink.”

“I like pink” I said. “I need to buy a pink dress. Do you like pink dresses, Rúben?”

“What I like is seeing you sober.”

“I am sober. Or almost sober.”

“You should go home.”

“Oh, don’t be a party pooper, Rúben. Rúben. Such a nice name… Rúben. We should call our first kid like that!”

“Love the idea!” Aaron said. 

“What do you think, Rúben?” I asked him.

“I think that tomorrow you are gonna regret this.”

“I think not, Rúben” I said, giggling again. “Oh, that song! I love it! Let’s go dance, Aaron! Bye, Rúben.”

“Bye” Aaron said, waving at my phone before I hung up.

[kkami-writes]

Black Blood  – Chapter Two. cw. mentions of hell, maybe slight self-harm tendencies if you squint wc. 2.5k

The last time you had been summoned it had been a night just like this, cold, dark and stormy. But that had felt like years ago. Not that you had been counting. Days, months, and years have been blurred together in your mind, it was just the constant flow of time and you had wondered when it would end, if it would ever end. And It’s been like that since. . . 

You shake your head, choosing not to dwell on memories of (not so) long ago, instead focusing on your job now that you’ve been called here. You move to lay your body across the poorly drawn pentagram and now abandoned ouija board. However you felt slightly off. This didn’t feel like just a normal summoning, this felt like something much more but before you can speak up or dwell more on the feeling, one of the boys beats you to it. 

“Can we be done now? I think my heart is about to give up,”

“Aw, don’t you wanna have some more fun?” You call out to them, basically announcing your presence to them to let them know they had been successful in calling down a demon. However when they scream and all but throw themselves away from you and to the wall, it’s then you realize that they had not in fact intended to summon you. You can’t help the laugh that falls from your lips, finding their reaction kinda cute.

“Jeez you guys are loud. Calm down. Here, let me get the lights,” with a subtle flick of your wrists the candles all flicker back to life. It’s not doing an amazing job at supplying the room with light but it’ll have to do for now. The boys are wide eyed as they stare at you in pure disbelief and you take the chance to study them while they’re openly gaping at you.

The one on the far left has short black hair and some adorable round cheeks that make you wanna squish them, wondering if they were as soft as they looked. He reminds you of a squirrel, especially with the way he’s clinging onto the other boy. This one has faded teal blue hair, natural roots already growing out and his eyes are pretty and angular, very much like a fox as he stares at you like you’ve got three heads. 

The other two boys are blonde, both of them wrapped up in each other's arms. One is sporting a rather stylish mullet (something you thought you’d ever say) and he’s got freckles painted across his cheeks. He’s rather ethereal looking and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen a boy this pretty. The other one is taller and has much longer hair that’s half up and half down, suiting him quite nicely. Of course you’re quick to notice how full his lips are, and you certainly wouldn’t mind finding out how they would feel against yours. Or perhaps other parts of your body. 

Overall these boys are incredibly good looking and it’s almost suspicious. To be honest, most of the time when you got summoned it was creepy guys or those weird gloomy occult people, so you were definitely not expecting four hot guys when you answered this call. 

In the midst of your staring competition, the door to the room suddenly slams open, startling you only briefly before turning over to look to see yet another four attractive guys piling in. The one with rather striking red hair hasn’t even noticed you yet, instead focusing on the four that haven’t even left the safety of their corner yet, asking them if everything was ok.

The first one to spot you has a curious look on his face and when he tilts his head in questioning he reminds you of a cute inquisitive puppy. Slowly one by one the others have their eyes on you and you simply smile in return, waving your hand almost lazily. 

“Well hello there,” You greet the newcomers who are now blatantly staring at you and honestly, you were kind of eating up this interaction. They’re all so shell shocked you’d think they’d never seen a woman before. It most certainly didn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’re half naked, or you know- a demon. 

Red hair turns back to the four in the corner, who look like they haven’t breathed in almost five minutes. 

“Someone better explain what the hell is going on right now,” His voice has an edge of authority to it and it makes the guilty ones shrink further into the wall as if trying to get it to swallow them whole. 

“H-hyung! We don’t know! She just - appeared!” The fox-like boy tries to explain, none of them daring to move a single inch. 

“I mean, I think it’s safe to say those four didn’t invite a woman into the dorm. Do you guys even know any women?” 

“I could get a girl if I wanted to!” 

“Yeah, ok,” 

You, on the other hand, are thoroughly amused by the conversation, a cheeky smile curling at your lips and your tongue runs over your sharp canines.. As you go to stand up, their eyes snap back to you, watching as you move over to sit on the edge of the bed that’s in the other corner of the room. You keep your distance from them - not wanting to spook them any further than you already have. 

“Are you a sasaeng?? Why are you dressed like that?” One of the boys at the door asks you, his eyebrows raising in question while his cat-like eyes roam up and down your body as you lounge on the bed. 

“You’re joking right?” You ask but when no one says anything you figure that they are not in fact joking. You sigh, pointing to the red horns upon your head while your tail swirls back around you. “Demon,” The tone of your voice is matter-of-fact, as if it was obvious. 

“Right. . . Are you trick or treating or something then?” The puppy-like boy questions next and it causes you to furrow your eyebrows together in confusion before it hits you on what he’s referencing, realizing what the day is. 

“Oh! Is it halloween? I suppose that makes a lot more sense. A lot of accidents like this tend to happen today. I should probably get a calendar,” You mumble that last part mostly to yourself but all of them  continue to stare at you like you’re crazy.

“You - You don’t have a calendar?”

“Why would I need one? I don’t really keep track of time anymore,” You shrug “Kinda pointless when you’re dead,” 

“YOU’RE DEAD?”

“Dead, Undead, Demon, Succubus. Whatever, I’m not that into labels,” The conversation is starting to bore you as you stare at your perfectly manicured nails. They’re sharp at the tips and painted black, your signature color. 

“Right…Can you prove that?” 

You sigh, rolling your eyes as if it’s such an inconvenience when honestly, it’s the easiest thing you can do. “You,” You point to the dog like one who raises his eyebrow at you skeptically. “Bark,” 

It’s a simple command and the boy opens his mouth to deny your request but his eyes gloss over for a second before he’s barking. It only lasts a few seconds before he’s placing his hand over his mouth as if he couldn’t believe he had just done that.

“Oh come on, don’t play along with her Seungmin! That doesn’t prove anything!” 

“Do you want me to make you do something worse?” You question, eyes glowing red as you challenge him because you certainly can think of plenty of things to make them do. The red haired boy shakes his head, pushing the other boy slightly behind him as if protecting him. You can’t help but scoff softly at the intentions behind the action. 

“No, no. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. So- how did you get here? WHY are you here?” He questions you and you vaguely wonder just how many questions they’re gonna ask you. 

“They summoned me,” You point to the boys in the corner, who have still yet to move out from the corner. Immediately the four from the door are glaring at the others who shrink under their scornful gazes. “B-but! How! I thought we were trying to talk to like, a ghost or something!” The fox speaks up for himself, pointing at the discarded ouija board. At his words the fairy-like boy squirms slightly in the taller male's grasp, causing all eyes to land on him instead. It’s very clear to everyone that the boy is hiding something.

“Felix,” Is all the redhead has to say before the boy cracks. 

“I’M SORRY!” He whines, and your eyes almost bulge out at the low tenor of his voice “I just thought! I don’t know! Talking to a demon would be cooler than a ghost! I didn’t think one would actually show up!” the boy confessed, wailing as the tall boy released him, the latter falling to the ground in a bow to plead for forgiveness. Red is rubbing his fingers against his temple. 

“So, can you just like? Unsummon yourself?” 

“Is that what you want? ‘Cause you know, usually people summon me for a reason,”

“What kind of reasons?” You turn to the buff boy who had asked the question and quirked up an eyebrow at him, giving him an incredulous look as you gesture your hand at your scantily clad body. 

“I don’t know, you tell me. What else would someone wanna summon a succubus for?” A snort leaves your lips because you can’t believe these boys, were they being for real?

“Wait- I thought you said you were a demon,” Squirrel boy pipes up from the corner as you watch the fox lean further into him and you can hear him asking ‘what a succubus is’. The latter simply shakes his head, indicating he was not about to explain. 

Again, you're rolling your eyes. You should start a counter for how many times you are gonna do that tonight. “Demon. Succubus. Undead. Who cares, does it matter? I’m from hell if that’s what you really wanna know,”

��I mean, aren’t demons and succubus’ different?” 

“Honestly? Not really, but if you absolutely have to have some kind of answer - I'm a demon with succubus powers. So a hybrid if you will,”

“Well….either way. It’s fine- you can…just leave, we will not be requiring your um…services,” You laugh lightly at how embarrassed the red head looks. Are you disappointed? Maybe a little, after all it’s rare for you to actually be interested in your ‘clients’, let alone be attracted to them. 

“Alright then,” You move to stand up, stretching out your arms before getting ready to poof back to your eternal damnation. “See ya I guess. Hopefully this teaches you a lesson not to mess with things you don’t understand,” You give the four in the corner a teasing smile and they seem to finally deflate with relief at the fact that you’re leaving. 

There’s something off though, the same feeling you got when you were first being summoned comes back. It’s making your chest ache and for some reason you feel reluctant to leave. Still, you weren’t needed or wanted here so you’ll just have to deal with it later. 

Yet when you try to leave to go back to hell, the pull in your chest gets a thousand times more intense and it’s physically pulling you. It tugs you forward until you’re in front of the four who had summoned you, it pushes you down to your knees. When you look up and make eye contact with the freckled one, it finally dawns on you on what has happened.

The boys are paralyzed once again, especially now with your close proximity - wondering what the hell just happened as they watched you practically fly across the room. The ones by the door have wide eyes as they stare at the scene, confused and questions practically rolling in their heads. 

Moving to stand up, you cross your arms while your fingers tap at your bottom lip, nose scrunched in slight frustration. “Well, this is quite the pickle we’ve gotten ourselves into isn’t it?” You’re directly talking to the pretty boy who gulps visibly at your stare, blinking at you with those wide eyes.

“What happened? Weren’t you, um, gonna leave?” You can tell that the redhead is trying to be as polite as he can, so you don’t really mind his wording even if it sounds rude. 

“Yeah, so about that… You’re kinda stuck with me now. Or is it the other way around?” Even in a situation like this you try to make things light, the confused atmosphere starting to weigh heavy in the air and it’s slightly suffocating.

“What do you. . . mean by that?” 

“What I mean is, this guy,” you gesture to the tiny blonde  “didn’t just summon me. He bound me to him,” 

“W-What?!” The boy in question sputters out and you simply shrug at his confusion.

“Whatever you guys did, it was a pretty powerful spell. You have basically signed a contract with a devil. I can’t leave, what you saw just now was me trying to leave but being dragged back to my ‘master’,” when you say the last word the poor boy turns even more pale.

“Ok…Can we just? Break the contract then?” 

“I mean, I’m sure you can. But I wouldn’t know how or where to start. I’ve only ever heard of these things happening but it has never happened to me, or anyone else I know. Sorry,” You felt slightly bad, being no help at all - but in the end, it didn’t really matter to you. Whether you were stuck here, or stuck in hell, you could never escape. 

At your words though there’s a deafening silence between all eight of the boys and honestly, it makes you uncomfortable and you digg your sharp nails into the skin of your upper arm. 

The redhead runs a hand through his hair.

“Ok. Ok,” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself that everything was ok. “It’s…It’s late. Let’s just- call it a night for now. We have to be up early and we just - we shouldn’t deal with this at 2am,” The other boys are still silent as he continues. “Um, we have an extra room that you can sleep in?” He turns to say it to you, but it sounds more like a question. You can tell he’s still so unsure about everything.

“I don’t actually need to sleep so you don’t have to bother,” You simply wave it off, not wanting to further inconvenience them with your existence. 

“I mean- if you’re gonna…be here awhile, you should have your own um, space,”

You couldn’t help but think that he was seriously too nice for his own good.

“Ok, ok. I’ll take the damn room.” You mumble out, not used to anyone’s kindness, especially when you were what you were. You only agree because you want the conversation to be over with already. “Thanks, I guess,” 

And thus was how, you ended up in the hands of eight, weird, good looking strangers.

[changingplumbob]

Nishidake: Chapter 6, Part 2

Guess who's coming to dinner?

The doorbell was Luna!

Charlie: Luna! Hey, what are you doing here?

Luna: We agreed that we would move flat fam catch ups to your Monday so your work shift  didn’t get in the way

Charlie: We did?

Luna: Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re not a phone person. Kaori responded that it was fine

Charlie: Well come in, I guess I better find something to cook

Luna: Where’s Kaori?

Charlie: Did she not put in the… what do you call it

Luna: Group chat

Charlie: Right, that, she’s at work. She’s an astronaut now

Luna and Charlie head inside and Charlie shows Luna their new set up. Sensing it may be a while until food is ready Clover goes and has a nap on the dog bed. Rahul and Cassandra get here only slightly late. Lavina is still refusing to babysit Mercedes, Savannah and Viola at the same time since the three don’t get along so they had to drop Viola with Uncle Alexander. Devin of course was here fashionably early and is super happy about… something. I’m going to guess she’s super happy about her look because I still am.

Charlie: But why get your nails painted if they’re just going to be skin colour?

Luna: It’s about the experience Charlie, some of us prefer pampering to peddling

Charlie: I actually can’t ride a bike

Devin: *sing song voice* I’m here! Please, please, hold your applause

Clover: *barks* Shinny

Devin: Thank you Clover, you’re too kind. Hey Char, love what the watcher has done with the place

Charlie: It was rebate day so I guess Kaori ordered some stuff

Luna: Don’t mind her, she’s on a “let’s all believe in the watcher” crusade

Devin: I just think it’ll be easier for the bambinos if we’re on the same page

Charlie: Wait, did I add that spice already?

Devin: Please tell me this is going to be good, all they had on set today was chocolate cake so I starved

Luna: Schatz! Why didn’t you eat the cake

Devin: *sighs dramatically* If you eat the cake then you get frosting on your face and have to go back to make up and Rudolphus gets mad and gives you a lecture and then you have to recentre to get back into confident “I can totally kick bugs butt” mode. The whole thing is exhausting, far easier to get your sugar from leftover toddler dessert

Luna: I knew it wasn’t Joey who raided the cupboard

Devin: I was just trying some method acting for my pirate role in case this one gets good reviews. Clover gets it, sometime you just have to steal some good food right?

Clover: *barks* Right!

Kaori: How is the pregnancy going

Cassandra: It’s going slowly. I am getting more nauseous than normal though

Kaori: Do you think that could mean a boy? Or maybe triplets?

Rahul: *sighs* Triplets would be great

Cassandra: And how would I feed three babies with two breasts

Rahul: You always get engorged easy, you’d have plenty of milk

Kaori: Engorgement sounds painful

Cassandra: It is for a bit but so long as I don’t stop pumping cold turkey I seem to survive the pain

Devin: So this is… what

Luna: Tajine. Coming from North Africa the word itself comes from Arabic and further back Ancient Greece. Although some scholars believe the word itself is of Persian origin. It’s normally cooked in special pottery with a hat type piece that keeps the moisture in

Devin: *blinks* So this is… what? Cheat tajine?

Charlie: I resent that accusation

Devin: But Char you’ve got no hat piece

Charlie: Our matching hats are enough, trust the process. It’s a simple dish, I promise, it’ll be excellent. Totally befitting your hoity toity taste buds

Devin: *fake coughs* Refined *fake cough*

Charlie: That was the worst acting I have ever seen

Devin: Grazie

Charlie: Done! Now out of my kitchen

Charlie shepherds Devin and Luna to the table where everyone grabs a plate of food and sits down to catch up. They all saw each other recently at the Villareals but there are some topics you can talk about with children around, and others that you can’t talk about.

Rahul: I mean we already have some name ideas from the last pregnancies but we’re waiting for the ultrasound to tell us how many to expect

Devin: Luna and I have news actually. We’re going to look into getting a science baby

Charlie: Yeah? I think my sister is thinking of that to, but she’s not sure how safe it is yet

Devin: Well we can’t exactly use a plain old surrogate, the papers would lampoon me. And news would be bound to get out about Luna’s postpartum being the reason she wasn’t carrying

Cassandra: It wouldn’t get out from us

Devin: Emisia would probably leak it

Luna: You say that but you know if it got out she and Max would likely commit murder

Charlie: I forgot evil runs in both your families, you two are such a match. So Devin, how’d I do

Devin: With the cheat tajine?

Kaori: Cheat tajine?

Rahul: How do you cheat tajine?

Devin: You deny it its hat. But Char I will concede, this does taste excellent

When the meal is finished Kaori clears the plates.

Cassandra: I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t finish

Charlie: Don’t worry about it, I made far too much

Kaori: You’re pregnant so you’re allowed to be weird about food

The group laughs and begins to get up and sort out heading to their own homes. Cassandra is a bit wobbly though so Rahul makes sure to check on her.

Rahul: Are you okay my darling?

Cassandra: I think it was a bit spicy for me at the moment

Rahul: If you want on the way back to Henford we could swing by the donut place with Viola

Cassandra: If we go without them the twins will sulk for days

Rahul: I’m willing to suffer their pouting to keep you well, remember, you’re meant to be eating for at least two

Rahul goes to take another look at the indoor garden and Luna checks in with Cassandra.

Luna: Will you find out the sex of this one

Cassandra: We don’t usually, we like the surprise. Whoever is in here should find no pushback from Viola for sharing a room either

Luna: I mean… were your girls really that bothered by a third kid?

Cassandra: Yes. They hated the idea of her and disliked her when she arrived. Truth be told I'm still not sure if they like her. But that doesn’t mean your twins will be mad! Please don’t change your mind on my account, I couldn’t stand the scolding from Devin

Luna: *laughs* Don’t worry, I think Alfred and Rilian would like a baby sibling, they seem more independent than your girls were

Cassandra: I think I still have bruises on my leg from Mercedes holding on so tight

The women laugh and Charlie and Kaori see everyone out. All in all, a good catch up.

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