#just without the talking to the screen thing

[bueckii]

͏✶ FIRE AND DESIRE (PART 2) | PAIGE BUECKERS.

synopsis. things get awkward after that kiss. you try to move on; go on that date, pretend it didn’t mean something, thinking that’s what she would’ve wanted—but, in reality, you’re all paige can think about.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader content warnings. # 12k words. MDNI. college au. friends to lovers. slight angst. smut. slow burn (ish). uconn!paige. best friend!paige. jealous!paige. student!reader. mentions of alcohol. top!paige. bottom!reader. soft sex. oral sex (r! recieving). hickeys/marking. slight overstimulation. paige cums untouched. tw: a man a/n. finally posting this lol. this is a continuation of the one shot i made a while ago, so i recommend reading that one first. part one here! (this is not proofread lol)

taglist. @iluvbuckets @iknowwhatyoutellyourfriends @cowboybueckers @evanpeterstoe @swiftie4evr @legendaryrebelpersona @the--carousel @pupbistro @dietpepsicorpsebride @cambells0up @isabellesw0rld @yogurtsm00thie

͏✶ talk about you like you’ll never leave his side… but i don’t really buy it …

paige couldn’t stop thinking about you.

she hasn’t seen you all week. not really. not because she didn’t want to. god, she wanted to. only a couple texts here and there. not a lot. half-hearted. nothing like before. and every time she thought about reaching out, her thumbs would hover over the screen, typing and deleting the same shit over and over again.

she figures you’ll probably get upset about the fact that she doesn’t reach out. she knows it’s her fault, really. 

but, lately, she’s been getting stuck in her head. what if you regret it? what if she messed it all up? what if you don’t even wanna talk to her anymore? 

it’d been days since you kissed her, and her mind hadn’t shut off since. she could still feel you. your hands on her neck, the way your fingers played with her hair. the warmth of your thigh under her palm. the way you whispered against her mouth. god, she couldn’t stop thinking about your lips. the way you tasted. the way they moved against hers. she kept replaying it. over and over and over. the way your bottom lip trembled just slightly before you kissed her back. the way gasped when she kissed you a little deeper. the way you let out that tiny, shaky moan against her mouth. 

she hadn’t been sleeping right. laid up in bed every night, eyes wide open, heart racing, thinking of all the things she probably should’ve said.

she kept checking her phone like a damn addict—hoping for a text. anything.

but you don’t say much.

and deep down, she knew she was supposed to say something first. you’d kissed her, trusted her, asked her to show you something you had little experience in.

but all paige had done since then… was freeze. she didn’t know what to say when she wanted to text you. 

everything afterwards felt off.

her routine didn’t feel like her anymore. her days felt too long. her nights too short. food didn’t hit the same. music didn’t sound right. even the gym—basketball—felt too damn loud. or sometimes, too damn empty. she really couldn’t get you out of her mind. no matter how many times she told herself to lock in, to just shake it all off… you were everywhere. in the back of her thoughts during drills. in the corners of her dreams when she managed to sleep. on the tip of her tongue when she opened her phone, just to stare at your name without sending anything.

her body ached for you, and she hated that it sounded that dramatic—but it was the truth. because it wasn’t just the fact that you kissed her. that you let her kiss you. 

it was you. and your lips. your mouth. how you touched her, like you weren’t totally sure what you were doing but trusted her to guide you through it anyway. how you leaned into her kiss, moaned against her mouth, desperate, like you wanted her to keep going but didn’t know how to ask. that moment played on a loop in her head. every time she tried to move on, her mind constantly dragged her back to it. and now, after tasting you—after finally having just a piece of what she’d wanted for so long—she couldn’t go back to pretending she was okay with being just friends.

and honestly, paige used to handle it fine. she’s been doing it for years. 

in the beginning, she thought it was just a little crush. nothing serious. just something that’ll go away eventually. 

and you were pretty. gorgeous. that was part was easy. she used to sit next to you on purpose, just close enough to smell whatever perfume you wore, and maybe ask you for a pen just so that you’d look at her and roll your eyes before digging through your back even though she already had a pen. 

so yeah, okay. maybe she stared too long sometimes. maybe she looked at your lips more than she should’ve. maybe she started thinking about you when she was supposed to be focused on film or practice or literally anything else.

but it was just a crush. right?

yeah, well… it didn’t go away.

and when you kissed her, everything she’d been trying to hold back all came rushing up. 

now, she needed more.

at practice, she was more distracted than she’d ever been. she thinks about you while she’s in the locker room, thinks about you while she zones out in team huddles, thinks about you while chewing her lip raw while coach ran down the plan during practice. 

but there are only three sentences in her mind that repeats over and over and over… i miss her. i need her. i want her again.

paige wanted to tell you how she felt. god, she wanted to so bad.

it sat in her mind, begging to come out every time she thought about you—which was all the time. but every time she even thought about texting you, calling you, seeing you again—she froze.

what would she even say? everything sounded stupid in her head. too much. she didn’t know if it was just a kiss for you. maybe just an experiment. a thank you, even.

and the thought of that—of it meaning less to you than it did to her—it made her sick.

because it meant everything to her.

͏✶

you didn’t think much of the dress you chose to wear for tonight. it was a simple summer dress, the kind of thing you forgot you even had until you started rifling through your closet in a panic. it’s pretty but you weren’t really trying to impress anyone. you just didn’t want to look like you rolled out of bed. you kept telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal—it’s just a movie—but still, you checked the mirror three times. adjusted the hem. made sure the zipper was up all the way. fixed your hair, then undid it and fixed it again.

you told yourself it wasn’t because you were nervous.

you told yourself it wasn’t because of paige.

matt had been texting you all day—mostly sweet stuff. he was nice. respectful. he asked about your favorite movie snacks, said he’d pick you up a little early because he didn’t want to miss the trailers, and even texted you about hitting some off-campus college after to spend more time together. 

you stared at that last message for a second longer than you meant to. you didn’t reply right away. you didn’t know why your stomach twisted when you imagined going.

but you forced a small smile at your reflection, smoothed the fabric over your hips, and told yourself again—it’s just a movie. you repeated it in your head while slipping on your heels.

you’d go, sit beside matt, eat some popcorn, maybe laugh at the cheesy previews, maybe chat during the slow parts. just hang out. just… watch a movie. maybe kiss him.

your chest tightened at the thought. and suddenly it wasn’t matt’s face you saw in the dark theater, leaning in beside you.

it was paige. 

you closed your eyes for a second, but it didn’t help. you could still feel her. you weren’t even touching her anymore, but your body remembered all of it. every detail.

then, you opened your eyes slowly, blinking hard at your reflection. 

just a movie, you whispered to yourself again.

your phone buzzed just as you grabbed your bag. you weren’t expecting anything—maybe matt, saying he was outside, maybe riley checking in. but when you glanced down at the screen, it felt like your heart stopped for a second.

paige: if matt says some dumb shit or makes you uncomfortable or whatever just call me or sumn.

you stared at it, fingers hovering over your screen, unsure what to even say back.

paige was thinking about you.

you lips curl into a soft smile, before replying back. 

you: i’ll call if i need you 

you put your phone away after you sent that message.

the air was cool as matt pulled up outside your dorm, his car parked just in front of the building as he waited. you grabbed your bag, smoothing your dress one last time before sliding into the passenger seat. he greeted you with a warm smile, eyes bright and a little nervous like he wanted everything to be perfect tonight.

throughout the ride, matt was respectful—more than you expected. he kept the conversation light, complimenting you.

“you look really pretty tonight,” he said once. or “that dress really suits you.”

you nodded, forcing a small smile, trying to match his charm, but inside you felt a bit awkward—like you were pretending to be someone who could just go on a date without a million thoughts swirling around your head. the care radio played softly in the back as you both talked about the movie and what you liked, what you were hoping to see, the snacks you planned to grab. matt was a good listener, genuinely interested, but you couldn’t help but feel… unsure. 

when you arrived at the theater, you both found your seats, getting comfortable in the dark. your hands folded neatly in your lap, legs crossed at the ankles, pretending to be at ease.

matt really was nice. thoughtful. his arm rested politely on the shared armrest, close but not touching. every now and then, he’d lean over to whisper something light and you’d smile, nod, let out a soft laugh. he was sweet. polite. exactly the kind of guy people said you should give a chance. he told you that you looked beautiful when he saw you, and he meant it. 

but still… was this really what you wanted?

you sat there beside him, staring ahead, and couldn’t shake the feeling blooming in your chest. like something was missing.

and about halfway through the movie, you felt it—a soft nudge against your hand. you blinked, glancing down. matt’s fingers brushed yours again, hesitant at first, then bolder, letting them settle lightly against the back of your hand like he was testing the waters.

you froze. not out of fear. not because you felt unsafe. but because something about it felt wrong. off.

you tried to stare ahead at the screen. and then, slowly, like it had been planned all night, matt leaned in. you felt his eyes on you. your profile, your mouth. your stomach flipped. not in the same way she made you feel. he was staring at your lips like he’d been waiting for the right moment, and this was it. he tilted his head slightly, and you turned toward him totally out of instinct—eyes wide, not knowing what to say, how to stop it, or if you even should—

and then his lips were on yours.

they were soft, warm, slightly chapped. not rough. not bad…

just… not right.

you kissed him back—barely. more like a twitch of habit than an actual effort. your mind blanked. your hands stayed frozen in your lap. your chest stayed still. 

no spark. no rush.

nothing.

it was awkward. 

and he was trying, being gentle, respectful, careful… but suddenly, your mind was somewhere else.

suddenly, you were back in paige’s dorm, with her fingers resting on the soft skin of your thigh, her mouth coaxing yours open like she’d dreamed about it a thousand times before.

you pulled back first, blinking fast, trying to smile as you reached for the popcorn again like nothing happened.

and matt gave a quiet laugh, sheepish. “sorry, was that okay?”

you nodded automatically.

nothing else happened after that. he didn’t try to kiss you again. he didn’t reach for your hand. he just sank back into his seat. you sat there in silence, eyes on the screen but mind anywhere else as your heart beat too loud in your chest. 

when the movie ended, matt stood up and stretched, put on half of a smile and you followed him out of the theater. 

he asked if you still wanted to head to the party. and you said yes, even though you weren’t sure why. the word left your mouth before you really thought it through, honestly. and he smiled, nodded, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets like it was exactly what he hoped you’d say.

you told yourself maybe it’d be better—less awkward—with other people around. maybe being surrounded by music, chatter, and movement ease the tension. 

you trailed beside him through the lot, your heels clicking against the pavement, the cool air nipping at your arms. you were already dreading the moment it’d be just the two of you again, standing by his car or in the front of your dorm at the end of the night—bracing for the part where you’d have to let him down easy. tell him he’s a great guy. that you’re just not feeling it. that it wasn’t about him.

and no matter how nice matt was, no matter how well he treated you—he wasn’t the one you wanted to feel that way about.

͏✶

paige hadn’t even planned on going to the party.

she’d already half-decided on staying in, crawling into bed, watching grey’s anatomy for the millionth time, and maybe passing out before midnight if her mind would let her. it wasn’t like she didn’t want to be around people… it was just that everything felt kind of dull lately. muted. like no matter how loud the music or how packed the house would be, her brain would still be playing that same memory over and over.

you. your lips.

and she was trying. god, she was trying to get over it.

but now the whole team was going—just another athlete from uconn’s birthday party in one of those big houses just off campus. music, drinks, people from all over the university, the kind of party where no one ever really remembered who invited who.

at first, paige waved it off. said she was going to stay in when when azzi asked if she was going, and again when kk tried to bribe her with her tru fru in the fridge. 

but by the time she was alone in her room, the silence got too loud. and already just a minute alone, she was already thinking about you.

was it going well? were you still out with matt? did he kiss you? did you let him?

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath and sat up, rubbing her hands down her face. 

maybe a party wasn’t such a bad idea after all. at least there’d be noise. people. drinks. a distraction. anything to pull her out of her head for a couple hours. 

so she got dressed. nothing too much—some baggy pants, a clean black hoodie, her chain around her neck. she tied her hair up messily, threw on her sneakers, and left before she could change her mind.

the party was already alive when paige got there. music boomed from speakers too big for the living room, bodies packed wall to wall, red solo cups in every hand.

she stepped inside and felt it all hit her at once.

but she didn’t hesitate.

she spotted azzi and kk first—leaned up by the kitchen counter with aubrey and ice, already halfway into their second drinks, talking with some guys from the track team. azzi waved her over instantly, eyes lighting up as she yelled paige’s name through the noise.

“hey! you finally made it.”

paige grinned, playing it off like she wasn’t two seconds away from bailing earlier. 

“you thought i was gon’ let y’all have fun without me?” she said, slipping into the circle, dapping up ice and throwing her arm around kk’s shoulder.

“look at you tryna act like you weren’t just in your bed watchin’ greys,” ice teased, already laughing.

paige rolled her eyes, smirking. “first of all, grey’s anatomy is peak. put some respect on meredith’s name.”

they cracked up, and just like that, paige settled into room. she kept the energy up, laughing, talking shit, hyping up her girls, taking playful shots at aubrey’s outfit, nodding her head and doing the little shoulder bounce when a song she liked came on.

but no matter how much time she spent here, paige couldn’t stop checking her phone. she kept it in her pocket, fingers brushing against it every few minutes like muscle memory to pull it out and glance at the screen—just to see nothing. she shoves it back. tries to focus. laughs at something dumb kk said. nodding along to azzi’s story about some freshman trying to flirt with her after class.

but her hand always drifted back. she didn’t even realize how often she was doing it until aubrey gave her a look and nudged her playfully.

“you waiting on a text or something?”

paige forced a half-smile, eyes back on her screen. still nothing from you. just a couple random notifications—snapchat from someone she didn’t care about, an instagram tag, but nothing that made her excited the way your name would.

“nah,” she lied. “just checkin’ the time.”

but it was late now. later than she thought it’d get without hearing from you.

she just… wondered if you were okay.

if you were having fun. if he was being good to you. if he said something stupid, or tried to touch you, or kissed you when you didn’t want him to.

she hated how easily her brain jumped to those things. hated how it made her chest feel tight and itchy, like she had to dosomething even though she couldn’t.

you weren’t hers.

but thirty minutes later, just as paige was halfway through sipping a cup of shirley temple that azzi shoved into her hand, she saw you. 

you walked in through the front door with matt beside you, his hand sliding smooth around your waist and paige—she froze.

the cup hovered midair for a second before she blinked, slowly lowering it. her friends kept talking around her, but their voices blurred and faded away instantly the linger she looked at you. 

you hadn’t seen her yet. but she saw everything.

she saw the way you hesitated the moment you stepped further into the house, eyes darting around like you weren’t sure where to stand, or who to greet first. she saw the way matt leaned in to say something close to your ear, the way you tilted your head politely and nodded, but didn’t smile the way you normally did when something made you laugh.

but god—you looked so good.

paige couldn’t stop staring. she told herself to look away. just once. just for a second. but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

that sundress on you—fuck.

it was soft, a color that made your skin glow under the dim party lights, and it moved when you walked, swaying around your thighs. it hugged you in the right places, loose in others. your hair was done, your lip gloss shimmered under those tacky party lights, and your arms were crossed loosely in front of you. 

she had to drop her eyes for a second, tongue swiping over her bottom lip, jaw tight. she gripped the cup in her hand as if she could stop herself from imagining how your waist would feel in her hands.

because matt’s hand was there now. on you.

and it made her sick.

paige felt heat crawl up the back of her neck. jealousy wasn’t even the right word. it was something worse. something bitter. because matt wasn’t even doing anything wrong. not really. he was just… holding you like you were a trophy. like you were some prize he’d earned just by asking. like he knew every guy in the room would be looking and that was the whole point.

and you looked beautiful and uncomfortable all at the same time. paige saw it in the slight downturn of your mouth. the way you shifted in his hold, fingers fiddling with the strap of your bag.

she knew that face. she read you.

you weren’t having fun. you were pretending.

and then—you found her.

your eyes met hers and paige went still, all the bitterness on her face melted. completely gone. she straightened up slightly, tilting her head, raising her eyebrows to say hi silently.

then, she mouthed, “you okay?”

your mouth curled into the softest smile. not a big one, but paige saw it.

you nodded.

she returned it with a smaller smile.

then, paige watched matt lean in toward you as he said something near your ear. she saw the way your body tilted away slightly, your shoulder pulling back, your smile going a little stiff.

matt left you after that, saying something with a crooked smile before disappearing through the crowd, headed toward the kitchen. 

and unfortunately, that was where paige had already parked herself—leaned up against the counter with some of her teammates, her friends, trying her best to stay out the way, out the conversation, out of everything before she did something dumb.

she minded her business. she really did. sipped her drink, stared down at her phone, played it cool. 

until one of matt’s friends walked up next to him.

they dapped each other up and started talking sports, class, exams, who was pulling who this weekend—nothing she cared about.

she didn’t mean to hear the next part, but she did.

“yo,” one of his friends said, patting his back, “that girl you came with… she’s hot as fuck, man. you hit it yet?”

and matt—he fucking laughed. laughed like it was funny. like it was just a matter of time. 

he leaned his elbow onto the counter, lifted his drink to his lips, and said, “not yet… working on it, though. i think she likes all that romantic shit.”

like you were a job to finish. like you were just some easy bet.

paige didn’t even realize how fast her face dropped.

she stared at matt for a second, silent, clenching her jaw hard, her fingers curling tighter around her cup. she blinked once. then twice.

then she set her drink down on the counter and walked away.

her eyes scanned the room until she found you again. she found standing by group next to your friend riley, fiddling with the hem of your dress. 

you didn’t see her coming.

but paige was already pushing through the bodies, not even hearing her name when kk—was it kk? or azzi? or aubrey? she doesn’t know—called for her across the room. her hands were still shaking a little as she walked. she didn’t know what she was going to say. didn’t even care. she just needed to get to you. all she knew was that you didn’t deserve to be talked about like that. not by him. not by anybody.

you didn’t even seen her coming. 

one second, you were standing there half-listening to a conversation you weren’t really part of—and the next, paige was there, standing close.

you blinked, a little startled, heart skipping. then, paige leaned in, just enough that only you could hear her.

“can i talk to you for a sec?” she asked. 

her brows were slightly pulled together you felt your heartbeat tick up, and slowly, you nodded.

“… yeah,” you said, looking at her a little confused. 

paige didn’t smile. she just nodded once and gently reached for your wrist as she tilted her head toward the hallway.

and you followed without question.

paige led you down some hallway, away from the crowd. the hallway lights were dim, flickering slightly from a shitty bulb overhead, but she still looked nervous under it.

you leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, heart still fluttering as you looked at her. and paige just stood there for a second, hands stuffed into the front pocket of her hoodie, jaw clenched, staring at the floor before she finally spoke.

“i—” she started, but her voice cracked. she cleared her throat, looked up at you. “i saw matt in the kitchen. he was… he said—“

she stopped and looked at you. would this hurt your feelings if she told you?

your furrowed your brows together as you waited. but paige just swallowed the lump in your throat, shook her head a little like she was trying to talk herself down.

you blinked. “he what?”

“i don’t wanna piss you off,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “i just—i just wanted to check on you.”

you stared at her. “you pulled me aside for that?”

paige flinched a little at your tone. she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“you haven’t talked to me all week. this is the second time, paige,” you snapped at her, trying not to raise your voice. “i haven’t seen you, i barely even hear from you, and now you wanna show up and act like you care?”

“i do care.” paige winced and shook her head. “i wasn’t tryin to be like that, ma, i just—”

“then, why’d you disappear?”

paige couldn’t answer. she had it in her head, but saying it aloud was… different. she didn’t know how to say i’ve been losing my mind over you. or i want you so bad, it’s messing with my head.

she looked cornered. guilty. her lips parted, but the words didn’t come fast enough.

you shook your head, heart beating fast as you turned away. “forget it, paige.”

“wait—”

but you were already walking towards the door to the bathroom in the hallway and before paige could follow—the door shut right in her face.

she stood there, blinking. stunned.

then, she reached for the handle and tried to twist it open. locked. fuck.

“(y/n), open the door.”

she tried the handle again.

“c’mon… please.”

but you didn’t answer.

paige let out a long sigh and leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against the door. after a moment, she stepped backwards, dragging a hand down her face, then leaned her back against the wall across from the door… and waited.

she didn’t care who walked past, who saw her, who might start whispering about how bueckers looked all spaced out and weird in the hallway.

she was gonna wait.

her friends were probably wondering where she was by now. azzi had texted her a little while ago, but paige hadn’t checked her phone. she hadn’t even moved from the spot since you slammed the door. not one step.

ten minutes passed. at least, she thought it was ten. it felt longer. way longer.

her long legs stretched out in front of her and her fingers tugged at the strings of her hoodie over and over, just to keep herself busy. to keep from knocking again. she didn’t want to push. but god, she hated how long it was taking. not because she was impatient—but because she was scared that she’d really blown it.

but then, the door clicked softly, opening just a crack.

paige’s eyes snapped toward it. for a second, she didn’t move, unsure if she imagined it. but then the door eased open another inch, and she could finally see you. she stood up straighter instantly, her back pulling off the wall, her feet taking a few steps closer. 

you blinked at her, cheeks tinted pink as you murmured, “i… i need help with my zipper… it got stuck.”

paige stared for half a second longer, her brows raised in surprise, lips parting just slightly.

then she nodded, almost too quickly.

“y-yeah, yeah—i got you.”

she followed as you opened the door just enough for her to slip inside, stepping into the bathroom with you and quietly closing the door behind her. the bathroom was small. 

you stood in front of the mirror, not looking at her, just reaching up to gather your hair and move it to one side, exposing the line of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your spine.

the zipper sat halfway down your back, caught just where the fabric curved around your waist. your dress gaped slightly on your back, exposing the lace trim of your black bra underneath—

paige froze for half a second. she swallowed hard, eyes dragging up the length of your back, then back down again.

her fingers twitched at her sides.

“paige,” you said, bringing her back to reality. 

you watch her through the mirror. her eyes met yours through the reflection and you notice the way she clenches her jaw before stepping forward slowly. 

“sorry.”

her hand hovered for a second before she finally let her fingers graze the cool of the zipper. she let out a breath and brought her other hand up to steady the fabric, eyes focusing on your back, lips parted slightly as she tried to tug it gently. 

but her hands were shaking. just a little. 

paige tugged the zipper up slowly, and when it reached the top, she didn’t step away. she just stood there, eyes fixed on the back of your neck.

your hair was still swept to the side, skin exposed. her gaze lingered there for a moment, and then she looked up at the back of your head, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and then back down. to your dress. to the way it hugged your body.

her hand moved before she could stop herself, her fingers trailing down softly along the center of your back, following the shape of the zipper. she felt the curve of your spine beneath her fingertips.

and when her hand reached the small of your back, paige let it rest there for a second—her palm flat, sliding to hold your waist gently. 

“i like this,” she murmured.

you still didn’t turn around.

she could see your eyes in the mirror, a little wider now, a little softer. you blinked slowly, your lips parting like you were going to say something, but nothing came out.

paige was losing her goddamn mind.

she blinked, her thumb gently rubbing a circle into the dress, fully letting her large hands rest on your waist. she shouldn’t be touching you like this, not when she still didn’t know what you wanted, but she couldn’t help it. 

she couldn’t stop looking at you. 

then, she leaned in. just a little. and her voice dropped again, barely above a whisper.

“you look really good tonight.”

your breath hitched—paige almost didn’t notice. 

and then finally, you turned around slowly. and paige’s hand dropped to her side like it didn’t know what to do now. you looked up at her and she swallowed hard, trying to so hard to fight the urge to just… close the gap.

“…i’m sorry,” she said quietly, looking into your eyes. “for earlier. for this whole week.”

and for a second, you forgot where you were—forgot about the party still going on just outside the door, about matt, and everything else outside this room.

all you could focus on was her.

paige stood in front of you, taller by just enough that you had to tilt your head back a little to meet her eyes. and you always liked that. you always liked how tall she was. more than you probably should’ve.

“i missed you,” you tell her. 

paige licks her lips again, “me too.”

you stared at her, your eyes searching hers, trying to figure out what she was thinking. 

and then, you asked, “what did matt say?”

her breath caught in her throat, her shoulders tensed, and for a second, she looked like she might lie again. like she might protect you from it. but then she inhaled sharply, her eyes dropping to the floor, and she let out a breath through her nose, clearly frustrated.

she shook her head gently.

“he’s a douche bag,” she muttered finally, glancing away from you. 

the way her jaw clenched again said enough.

the way she didn’t want to look at you when she said it.

she wanted to say what he actually said. she wanted to say how she nearly lost it right there in the kitchen. she wanted to say she hated seeing you with him, hated the thought of his hands anywhere near you.

she furrows her eyebrows before looking directly into your eyes again.

“he doesn’t talk about you like he should,” she added. “like you’re some fuckin’ checkbox on a list.”

her stomach still twisted just saying that much. because it didn’t matter how polite matt was to your face. paige knew the second she heard him speak behind your back—he wasn’t worth one second of your time.

“i wasn’t gonna tell you. not like that. i didn’t… wanna make you feel like shit.”

another pause.

“but i also didn’t wanna let you stand there thinking he was some nice guy. you deserve better than that. way better.”

she was standing so close now, you didn’t even notice when she took a step closer.

“you deserve somebody who looks at you like…”

she stopped herself.

you could feel your heart thudding under your ribs, louder now. paige stared at you, throat moving as she swallowed.

“like i look at you,” she finally said, eyes darting down to your lips.

you stared at her.

then, to her surprise, your fingers found her hand, slipping between hers, intertwining your fingers. paige looked down and a slow smile tugs at the corners of her lips. 

“you’re an idiot, you know,” you say, shaking your head with a small smile, your eyes soft as you watch paige’s face.

she doesn’t miss a beat—she nods her head immediately, obediently and a little sheepish, her grin spreading wide enough to light up the whole room.

“i know,” she mumbles, eyes locked on your soft lips.

her fingers tighten around yours just a little as she takes one more final step closer to you, trapping you between her and the bathroom counter. 

paige’s eyes flickered back up to yours, before whispering, “did you kiss him tonight?”

you looked away for a moment, swallowing hard.

“yeah,” you admitted softly. “i did.”

you can clearly see paige clench her jaw when you said it, but she didn’t say anything else—just waited for you to keep going.

“but… it didn’t feel like—” the heat spread all over your cheeks, blushing hard as she stared at you. “it didn’t feel like when you kissed me.”

paige’s lips curved up even more. it was the kind of smirk that started in one corner of her mouth and made its way up like she couldn’t hold it back even if she tried. she was getting cocky. you could tell. the kind of cocky that came from hearing exactly what she wanted to hear.

“yeah?” she said, a little smug, eyes dropping again to your lips, then back up. “that right?”

you rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at your mouth. her free hand brushes gently against your hip. 

“could’ve told you that. ain’t no way he kiss you better than me.”

you smiled at how smug she was being. 

then, you noticed it before paige did—the way her face kept inching closer to yours, just a little bit at a time, with each passing second. and you could feel it. her soft breath on your lips. it sends a shiver down your spine. you could see it clear as day in her eyes—the way they darkened with want, the slight part of her lips. 

she wanted to kiss you. 

your eyes flicked up to hers, catching that glimpse of need swirling behind her gaze. the way her pupils dilated ever so slightly, the way she licked her her lips. the way her hand slides a little lower on your hip to pull you closer, pressing your front against hers.

paige was so close now. closer than she had any business being. 

you could tell she was trying to talk herself out of it—trying to be smart, respectful, hold back like she always did around you.

you feel her breath against your lips as she asks, “can i?”

her eyes didn’t leave yours. she didn’t lean in all the way. she waited. paige didn’t move. not even a twitch. she was frozen in that quiet anticipation, standing still like she was afraid the smallest shift might scare you off.

you saw it in the way she looked at you. how much she wanted you. how much she was trying not to take anything from you.

she wasn’t trying to rush into it, even though she wants to. as if kissing you again was a privilege. 

your throat felt tight, and you nodded before you even realized you were doing it.

“please…” you breathed.

paige’s lips parted slightly, her eyes searching your face like she needed to make absolutely sure. 

she smiled. and then, slowly, she leaned in.

her forehead brushed yours first like she still couldn’t believe this was real. for a second, she just stayed there, nose nudging yours, her hand sliding up to the small of your back, holding you in place, your body pressing against hers. you could feel her breath fan across your lips, and when she finally tilted her head just enough for her mouth to meet yours—

she kissed you. 

and you melted into it.

paige kissed you slow. so slow it almost didn’t feel real at first. her lips barely brushed yours as if she was giving you the chance to change your mind. her mouth pressed into yours again, deeper this time. soft. deliberate. her other hand found your jaw, cradling your face gently, her thumb brushing your cheek.

and her lips… god. her lips were everything.

pillowy and warm and just the tiniest bit chapped like she’d been chewing on them nervously all night. they moved slowly with yours. her nose bumped yours a little, and then, she smiled into the kiss, just barely, smiling like she couldn’t believe she had you this close again.

your arms lifted until they wrapped loosely around her neck, fingers brushing the stray hairs at the nape of her neck, right beneath her bun, and her body reacted before her mind even caught up. her breath hitched. her hand gripped your waist tighter. she kissed you deeper then, her lips parting just a little more, her mouth moving against yours like she couldn’t hold back anymore.

you pulled back just a little—barely an inch—to catch your breath, lips parted, chest rising and falling as your fingers still rested gently behind paige’s neck.

and before you could even fully take a breath, paige was already chasing your mouth. 

her lips followed yours instinctively. desperately. her mouth brushed yours again, a little clumsy this time. her hand on your waist tightened just the slightest bit. 

her nose bumped yours as she whispered breathlessly, “mm-mm, don’t pull away, ma.”

your lips were barely apart when she kissed you again, but this time, she moved faster. needier. rougher. deeper. her mouth opened just slightly against yours, and her tongue slipped in, moaning softly as she tasted you. like she was afraid it might be the only chance she’d get. and you kissed her right back. didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. your lips opened for her like it was natural. like you’d been waiting for her to get brave enough to do it.

and when you moaned into her lips—paige feels like she’s losing her mind. 

your hands at the back of her neck gripped just a little tighter, pulling her in, and paige let out a breathy noise against your mouth. a sound she didn’t even mean to make.

she kissed you like she couldn’t stop. like she didn’t want to stop.

your lips were so damn warm, soft, and addictive in a way that made her head spin. every tilt of your head, every breathy sound you made, every slow drag of your lips over hers just pulled her in deeper.

then, you pulled away again, breathing hard, lips tingling and slick from the kiss. your eyes fluttered open, barely able to think, let alone speak—and before you could say anything, paige was already moving, leaning in slow, her breath grazing your cheek, and then you felt the soft press of her mouth against the line of your jaw.

one kiss. then another. then another, lower, just under your ear. 

her hand flattened at your waist as her body pressed closer until you could feel every inch of her against you, still trapping you between her body and the cool edge of the bathroom counter.

it made your knees feel weak.

outside the door, you could still hear the muffled music pounding through the walls, but it all felt far away. like none of it mattered. because paige’s lips were moving down your neck now, brushing that sensitive spot just beneath your jaw, her mouth open just enough to let her tongue flick gently against your skin.

you gasped, your hands clutching the fabric of her shirt, and she smiled against your throat, smug breath fanning across the wet spot she left behind.

“mm,” she hummed, “you smell so fuckin’ good.”

paige kept kissing your neck, her lips moving over the curve of your throat like she needed to taste every inch of you. your jaw dropped open as you breathed out, eyes fluttering shut, your head tilting just slightly to give her more space.

and paige felt it. the way your breath hitched.

the way your fingers dug into her shoulders, holding on to her. the way your chest rose against hers like you couldn’t get enough air. she groaned low against your neck just thinking about it. 

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath. 

and then, you felt her hand sliding down your side, past your waist, then back behind you, her fingers gripping fabric of your dress. you gasped when you felt her hand bunch it up, inch by inch, pulling the hem higher and higher. her palm smoothed over the back of your thigh, fingers spread wide, grazing the top curve of your ass and—

“paige,” you breathed out, voice soft but firm, your heart racing, “paige… wait—”

you pulled back just a little, your hands pressing gently to paige’s chest, and the second you did, she froze.

her lips hovered by your jaw, parted and flushed pink as her breath came out shaky. she looked at you, eyes half lidded, blinking slow like she was trying to process what was happening, her pupils blown, lips slick and swollen. she looked drunk on you. high on your skin. your taste. your breath. your lips.

paige let out the softest sound, a little whine, as her brows knit together, a little frustrated. her lips parted again like she wanted to argue, to beg you for just one more minute, one more kiss, one more second of being that close.

but she didn’t.

instead, she exhaled hard through her nose and dropped her forehead gently against your shoulder, her hands now resting at your waist, loosening her grip. 

“i like kissing you,” she murmured, her lips brushing your collarbone. 

the party was still loud outside. muffled bass thumped through the floor beneath your feet, and someone laughed down the hall. but all of that felt so far away.

she turned her head just slightly, nose brushing your neck again, “been thinkin’ about it since that night.”

she pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands still on your hips, thumbs brushing slow over the fabric before her eyes found yours. 

“can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” she said.

you reached up slowly, your hands trembling just a little as they cupped paige’s face, fingers settling along the sharp line of her jaw beneath your palms. your thumbs brushed over her cheeks, soft against the slight roughness of her skin. paige’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch as you held her face. 

“i’ve been thinking about you too.”

paige’s eyes slowly opened, dazed as she looked st you—like she couldn’t quite believe you were really there, really saying those words. god, she feels like she’s dreaming. fuck, she’s been dreaming about this for years. 

then, she let out a soft breath and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. her tongue darted out quickly to wet her bottom lip, that nervous little habit you’d come to recognize whenever she was trying to hold herself together. 

without breaking eye contact, her hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. then, her fingers slid lower, sliding over the curve of your hips before cupping your ass with her hands. you felt the breath hitch as paige’s hands gripped you tighter. her lips hovered near yours, her eyes drinking you in, wanting more, needing more. 

“my roommate’s… out of town this weekend,” you said. 

her eyes darted down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, her fingers flexing slightly against you, not sure if she’d heard you right. 

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks and tried to glance down, away from her eyes, but her hand on your lower back pulled you gently forward again.

“yeah?” she asked.

you nodded. 

and paige smiled.

then, her forehead dropped to yours, breath brushing your lips.

“you tryna tell me somethin’, ma?” she murmured.

you nodded.

her thumb brushed along your waist and she leaned in to kiss you again—just once. and when she pulled back, barely, her voice dipped into a whisper again, lips brushing against yours. 

“you wanna get outta here?”

͏✶

the walk back to your dorm was a blur.

you don’t really remember most of it—just the way paige held your hand the entire time, her thumb brushing soft circles against your knuckles.

paige didn’t say anything when you fumbled for your keys, just stepped in close behind you as you reached for the door.

her breath was warm against your neck.

and then, her hands. they slid around your waist, pulling you back gently, and her mouth found your jaw before you even registered it, soft lips pressing open kisses along your skin, trailing toward your ear, your neck, to your jaw again and again and… 

you gasped, your keys trembling in your hand.

“p-paige—”

“shhh,” she mumbled into your skin, already kissing lower. “just keep goin’. i got you.”

you barely got the key in the door. your fingers shook from how close she was, how her body pressed firm and slow against your back, her hands smoothing over your hips like she needed to feel every inch of you.

you tried to unlock it. you really tried—

but paige kissed your neck again, a little harder this time, nipping your skin with her teeth, and you moaned before you could stop yourself.

“fuck,” she whispered, “i could listen to that all night.”

finally, the lock clicked. 

you pushed the door open and she followed you in, still kissing you, turning you around with her big hands to lean down and kiss your lips. you stumbled inside and she kicked the door closed with her foot. her mouth never left yours.

and soon, her hands were already at the hem of her hoodie, yanking it up over her head in one swift motion.

you broke the kiss for just a second, lips parted and dazed as you watched her—her chest rising fast beneath the tight black tank top clinging to her, her hair messily loosened from the bun it had been in, some strands sticking to her forehead.

she looked wrecked already.

and god, she hadn’t even started.

she dropped the hoodie to the floor and before you could say a word, she was on you again—her hands finding your waist, then your back, then your thighs, like she didn’t know where to touch first, just that she had to. you kissed her back just as hungrily, the momentum sending you backward until the backs of your knees hit your bed.

she pulled back just enough to breathe, her lips swollen and her eyes dragging over your face like she couldn’t believe that you were real. that she was hovering over you. kissing you. in your bed. 

“take this off for me, baby.”

paige’s hands were already moving, sliding around your waist, fingers dragging down your spine until they found the zipper for the second time tonight. you stood still in front of her, chest rising fast, lips parted from where she’d just kissed. and then you felt her pull the zipper down. inch by inch.

her fingertips grazed your bare skin as the fabric loosened around your body, and the way she touched you sent heat rushing up your neck.

her eyes never left you as she lowered it. the air feels cool across your skin as the dress gave way, sliding down your shoulders, slipping over your hips, and pooling silently at your feet.

paige froze when she looked at you. completely still.

her eyes dragged over every inch of you like it was the first time she’d ever really seen you.

she didn’t say anything for a second. just let her eyes trail down the curve of your neck, your chest, the lace of your bra, the lines of your waist, your thighs.

you loved how she looked at you. 

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” she stepped in close again, her palms finding your hips. 

your voice barely made it out. soft, breathy, your heart thudding so loud you swore she could hear it.

“paige, i… i don’t really know how to—”

paige leaned in, her hand coming up gently to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin so softly it made your stomach twist.

“i know, ma,” she murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth before you could say another word. then again, lower—your jaw. your neck.

she looked up at you as her thumb stroked your cheek.

“i’ll take care of you,” she says, smiling. “you don’t gotta worry about a thing.”

then she stepped even closer, her nose brushing yours, lips ghosting over your mouth.

“imma take my time. imma treat you real good. you trust me, right?”

you nod and she pecks your lips.

“tell me, mama.”

you reach up and wrap your arms loosely over her shoulders as she leans down, her hands still on your hips.

“i trust you.”

paige smiled again. 

her lips still trail over yours, then down your jaw. when she kissed the side of your neck this time, it was slower. less hungry. more… intentional.

“tell me if you wanna to stop,” she told you. “say the word, and i’ll stop. for real.”

you shake your head, “i want you, paige.”

you didn’t want her to stop.

so you leaned up just enough, your hand sliding into her hair, messy and a little loose, almost falling out of her bun. 

you kissed her first this time.

and paige melted into it.

for moment, she pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching your face like she needed to  make sure you were sure again. and when she saw the way you were looking at her—her breath caught in her throat. 

she leaned down, kissed you slow once more, then gently guided you back, laying you down across your bed. she was gentle. like she was lucky just to touch you.

you sank into the mattress, heart pounding as paige hovered above you. her hand brushes lightly over your side, watching your eyes, then she sat up. 

without a word, she reached for the hem of her black tank top and pulled it over her head, revealing her sports bra, the muscles in her arms flexing as she did. she tossed the shirt aside, then brought her hands to the button of her jeans. 

you watched, barely breathing, as she popped it open. slid the zipper down. slowly. 

and eased the denim down her hips.

she watched your eyes as she undressed, making sure you were watching her. you see her smirk, a soft chuckle leaving her lips when she sees you roll your eyes at how smug she’s being right now. 

soon enough, she stepped out of them, now left in just her boxers and her bra.

god—she was beautiful. tall. lean. strong.

“still okay?” she asked. 

“yeah,” you nodded. barely a whisper. “i want you.”

and paige smiled softly, a little crooked, “aight then.”

she couldn’t help but stare for a moment. 

paige hovered above you, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips, her hands planted on either side of your head like she was caging you in. 

she looked down at you—laid out beneath her in nothing but that fucking black lace, the same one she’d gotten a glimpse of in the bathroom, the one she hadn’t stopped thinking about since—fuck.

it was like the air had been knocked clean out of her chest.

her eyes dragged over every inch of you. the rise of your chest. the curve of your stomach. the way your thighs pressed together nervously, your fingers twitching against the sheets.

her mouth parted, lips still swollen and glistening.

“goddamn,” she whispered, voice barely there.

she ran a hand over her face and licked her lips, like she was trying to wake herself up.

her eyes dropped again, slowly tracing every detail—how the lace hugged your curves, the way your skin looked in the dim light of your room. 

how absolutely perfect you looked beneath her.

she shook her head like she couldn’t believe it.

“so gorgeous, baby,” she murmured, leaning down again, her lips dragging over your neck. “so fuckin’ fine.“

paige kissed lower—her mouth pressed soft, lingering kisses across your chest, your shoulders, the valley of your breasts, a hand coming up to cup them and squeezing softly before sliding down to your waist once more. her fingers traced along the side of your hips, thumb slipping just under the lace of your panties, and she groaned against your skin, her breath hot.

“this what you wore under that dress?” she asked. 

she kissed you again—even lower this time, just above your stomach. and you nodded, cheeks pink, and she grinned against your skin, her teeth catching your hipbone gently.

“you wore this for him?”

you opened your mouth to explain, to say no, but paige looked up at you then, eyes locked with yours. desperate. possessive.

she leaned up again, her hand sliding up your side, over the curve of your ribs until she reached your bra strap. she toyed with it a second, then whispered—

“nah. you wore this for me.”

you couldn’t even argue.

“right, baby?” she murmured, her thumbs playing with the waistband of your panties. “tell me who you wore it for.”

you could barely breathe, let alone speak.

your chest rose and fell under her, every inch of your skin burning where she touched, where she looked. her body was so close, heat radiating off of her like fire, and god, her voice was doing something to you you didn’t have words for. her hand stayed right there on your hip, fingers slipping under the lace edge again, teasing you. her eyes stayed locked on yours, waiting, mouth parted. 

“you.” you swallowed, lips barely moving when you whispered, “i wore this for you, paige.”

paige smiles, her cheeks burning more than ever as she moves to bury her face into your neck, hiding the blush fanning over her skin. 

when she lifts her head up, her lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time. her hand slid up your thigh, her body lowering to press more firmly against yours. 

you whimpered into her mouth, wrapping your legs loosely around her waist without thinking, pulling her in closer, needing more. she gasped at that, hips rolling slow against yours once, once, and her whole body stiffened like she couldn’t take it.

she kissed down your neck again, right against your skin. her hands a quick to pull that bra off of you, desperate to feel your tits in her hands. she squeezes them lightly, dragging her lips over the soft flesh, smiling at the feeling of your hard nipples under the pads of her thumbs. you whimper quietly as she gently wraps her lips around one of your nipples and sucks, licking them softly as her hand toys with the other. she switches when she felt like it, giving each nipple equal attention, kissing and marking your skin.

she kisses you down the valley of breasts again, giving each of your boobs a gentle squeeze, before making her way down to your stomach, where she meets the waistband of your lace panties again. paige does well to tease you, skipping the fabric and traveling lower. she kissed the inside of your thigh, slowly, savoring the way your body responded—how you tensed and softened at the same time. how your hand reached blindly for her shoulder. 

she kissed higher. then higher.

her breath hot. her lips soft and maddeningly slow.

her fingers spread along your thighs, thumbs brushing upward toward your hips. 

she wanted you to feel safe. wanted you to feel everything.

soon enough, paige finally pulled your panties down your legs, throwing them somewhere behind her. her eyes never moved away from your body, watching as you squeezed your thighs together, shyly looking at her, you eyes half-lidded. you laid there, bare, hair fanned out on the mattress, over the sheets of your bed, waiting for her…

paige’s knees nearly gives out. her cheeks burning as she stares, her hands absentmindedly reaching to put her hands on your thighs, gently nudging them open.

“spread your legs, mama,” she says, mouth parted, almost as if she was drooling. “lemme see you.”

“paige…” you whimper softly.

“swear, imma make feel you so good.”

there’s a soft shuffling of the sheets as paige urges your thighs apart with her big hands, settling herself onto the bed. with her head between your legs. mouth practically watering. big blue eyes locked onto that perfect pussy of yours. she smirks when she sees how wet you are. fuck, you drive her crazy. she slicks a finger between your folds and hums, leaning closer, nudging her nose against your clit. 

when her mouth finally met where you needed her most, your back arched. your and paige—god, she moaned when she tasted you. her tongue moved slow at first. learning you. she was taking her time. wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere. like she just wanted to worship you. you whimpered, your hand flying to her blonde hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as her mouth moved against you, licking deeper, firmer, then softer again, teasing.

“p-paige, hah--!”

paige groaned into you, your moans only feeding her ambitions, gripping your thighs tighter, and when you gasped and your hips bucked gently, she held you down with one strong arm, never letting up. and you could barely think. she was relentless. so tender. so focused. like she’d been dreaming about this exact moment. she has been, actually. she’s dreamt about having you in her bed. legs spread open. body writhing. screaming her name. leaking all over her sheets. 

“you taste so fuckin’ good,” she whispered against you, her mouth still working between your legs. 

your eyes fluttered shut, head falling back against the pillow, thighs shaking. and when paige covers your entire clit with her mouth and just sucks hard—you can’t help but moan her name out all over again. 

she fucks you slow, her mouth and tongue watering as she eats you out, absolutely obsessed with the way you roll your eyes back in pure ecstasy, your soft thighs closing in around your head, trapping her there. 

paige thinks she’s in heaven. fuck, she could die happy right now. her face buried and tongue buried deep into your pussy. sucking. slicking. slurping. you taste so fucking good. 

and you were already close--god, how long has it been? you could barely breathe. every sound slipping from your lips was soft. desperate. with your hips moving against her mouth without even realizing it. and paige groaned again. she loved that. every time you moaned, every twitch, every whimper—she needed more of it. she fucked you deeper, licked faster, her mouth dragging over your most sensitive spot in a way that made you cry out.

she wanted you to fall apart.

“you close, ma?” 

you only moaned in response. 

paige smiles. her eyes fluttered open for a second, catching your face twisted in pleasure, and she swore under her breath before closing them again, diving back in.

“oh, fuck, that’s it, baby,” she mumbled against your cunt. “just like that. lemme hear you.”

your legs tightened around her shoulders, your hands still tangled in her hair, and she didn’t stop—god, she didn’t even slow down. she licked you through every sound you gave her.

you were close. she could feel it. you could feel it.

and fuck—she was close, too. paige has never felt anything like this before. but, it’s so hot watching you come undone. her whines against your pussy turn into fervent moans and groans, absentmindedly grinding her hips into your bed as she continues to fuck you faster with her mouth. paige feels so fucking good. you taste so. fucking. good.

“f-fuck yes--(y/n)—“

and then you’re cumming right on her tongue.

but paige keeps her head buried between your thighs, her mouth relentless as she fucks you more through your orgasm. your hands flew to paige’s head without thinking—fingers tangling tight in her blonde hair, not sure if you wanted to push her away or pull her closer. you gasped, back arching off the bed as you let out a choked sound. your fingers tightened, tugging gently, but paige didn’t budge. she just groaned, moaning into your slick cunt, eyes half-lidded as she continued to eat you out. 

god, paige was practically drunk on you. as if this was more pleasure for her than it was for you.

“paige—fuck, paige—wait—” you gasped, trying to speak through the stimulation.

you moan her name again, already nearing your second orgasm. you can feel her strong, big hands clinging onto your thighs, keeping you open, pushing you down onto the bed in case you even think about trying to push her away. but she just slurps. and slurps. everything is just so sloppy. so lewd. she laps at your cunt, her hips needily grinding into the mattress at the mere thought of you cumming again. 

she held you through it, her mouth never leaving you, her arms never loosening, like she needed to feel every single second of you breaking apart in her hands.

she didn’t lift her head.

she didn’t even pretend to stop.

before you know it, you practically gush onto her face, crying her name out once again. 

and while you came on her tongue, her hips jolted forward on instinct, her boxers sticking damp against her skin, and then—

a low groan tore from her throat, muffled into your skin, her mouth still on you as she cums in her boxers, untouched. paige clung to your thighs, her fingers digging in slightly, her body rocking forward once, then twice.  she shakes slightly, resting her forehead against your lower stomach as she catches her breath. she could feel how wet and how hard she came. 

her face stayed pressed against your skin, breath shaky, heart pounding, teeth sinking into her lip as she tried to collect herself.

you were breathless. completely spent. your chest rising and falling fast. she didn’t say anything at first. with your body still buzzing, you blinked up at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling slowly as you tried to breathe. 

“hah--fuck, i…” paige pants quietly. 

“paige,” you breathed, “d-did you just…”

her whole body stiffened.

you watched as her back rose with a deep breath and then stuttered when she exhaled. she turned her face slowly, pressing it into your stomach to hide, her arms tightening around you in embarrassment.

her voice came out muffled, “y-yeah.”

you blinked, your mouth parting slightly in awe. 

and then—god, she groaned into your skin, clearly mortified, clearly red as hell even if you couldn’t even see her full face.

“fuck, don’t make it a thing,” she mumbled shyly into your belly. “i didn’t mean to… i wasn’t—”

she stopped for a second.

“you just… sounded so fuckin’ good. i couldn’t help it.”

your heart fluttered. 

then you smiled and reached down, your fingers gently threading through her hair, feeling the damp warmth of her cheek against your stomach.

“paige…” you whispered.

her cheeks were so red. flushed all the way up to her ears, lips parted, her breathing still shallow like her body hadn’t come down yet. strands of her hair clung to her forehead, lips swollen, and her lashes fluttered as she finally met your eyes.

“come here.”

paige obeys immediately. 

she kisses you along the way, dragging her lips across your skin. she just kissed the inside of your thigh, soft and slow. then again. then she pressed her lips higher, just above your hipbone, her hand brushing gently up your side.  her mouth trailed along your stomach in a line of soft kisses,

she took her time.

soon, her lips found your ribs, the underside of your breast, your nipple, the dip beneath your collarbone. and when she finally reached your mouth again, she hovered for a second, her nose brushing yours. 

your eyes opened slowly, just enough to see her looking down at you like you. 

not a word left your lips as she watched you smile softly. 

you just leaned up and kissed her, slow, and she melted into it immediately, sighing into your mouth like she’d been waiting all her life for it.

and immediately, your breath hitched.

because you could taste it. yourself. on her. 

the heat in your cheeks spread quickly. you felt it the second your tongue slipped against hers. 

paige groaned quietly into the kiss when she felt your body react, her hand slipping to the side of your neck, holding you there gently. like she couldn’t stand the space between you. she kissed you deeper. slower. and you kissed her back. you wrapped your arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer, your fingers sliding over the tight muscles in her back, feeling her breath stutter against your lips as you parted your mouth for her again.

her lips were so soft. warm. still a little swollen. and the taste of you on her tongue was intoxicating. you whimpered softly without meaning to, and she pulled back just an inch, barely enough to speak, her forehead resting against yours.

then, without warning, she just… blurted it out. 

“can i take you out?” 

you blinked up at her. once. twice. before your brows lifted in surprise, heart skipping hard in your chest.

“what?” you whispered, almost laughing, partly stunned, like maybe you’d misheard.

like maybe she didn’t really just say that with her body still pressed to yours, both of you naked in your bed.

but she nodded. serious. face still flushed. 

“like… on a real date,” she said. “like dinner. or… whatever you want.”

she swallowed the lump in her throat, eyes scanning all over your face for any sign of doubt.

“you’re seriously asking me that… right now?”

“well… i’ve been wantin’ to ask. i just…” she smiled a little, sheepish. “kinda figured maybe i should do it after i made you cum first.”

your jaw dropped. 

and all you could manage, through the haze of disbelief and the tiredness through your body, was--

“you… are so annoying.”

paige blinked.

then grinned. wide. mischievous.

“c’mon,” she laughed, burying her face into your neck, her body shaking as she clung to you and laughed. “don’t play me like that—i was tryna be romantic.”

“that was romantic?” you deadpanned, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“pretty sure,” she muttered, voice muffled against your skin. “i made you cum so hard you forgot how to say yes. that’s gotta count for something.”

you rolled your eyes, cheeks burning as you smacked her shoulder lightly.

“paige!”

“what?” she grinned, finally lifting her head, eyes shining, face flushed and soft with affection.

you rolled your eyes again, but your hand moved and stayed in her hair, your thumb idly brushing the edge of her ear. dazed at the feeling of your touch, paige leaned in again, pressing the gentlest kiss to your collarbone, then your shoulder, then the corner of your mouth.

“i meant it, though,” she said quietly. “about the date.”

“yeah, i know,” you say, smiling softly, noticing how nervous she’s gotten all of sudden. 

paige looked at you. really looked this time. it was dark in your room, but she could see your face clearly. her smile lingered, but it faltered slightly around the edges. and then her eyes dropped to your lips, then your collarbone, then back to your eyes again like she couldn’t settle.

“i really like you.”

she swallowed hard. like the words tasted too big in her mouth. like they’d been sitting there for years and this was the only way they’d come out. 

“i have for a long time,” she admitted. her voiced cracked the tiniest bit. she smiled again, but it was nervous. “i didn’t know how to say it before. or if i should. or if you’d wanna hear it. but… i do. i really… really like you.”

her thumb brushed your hip gently, her body still pressing against yours, scared you’d pull away.

you didn’t say anything at first.

you couldn’t. you just looked at the pink dusted across her cheeks, the way her lashes fluttere, the way her mouth twitched at the corners like she was trying to smile through the panic.

paige bueckers, who was usually so calm. so goofy. poised… looked terrified with you.

“paige,” you whispered, barely getting her name out.

her eyes moved up to meet yours, and for a second she looked like she regretted everything she just said. like she wanted to pull the words right out of the air and take them back.

you shook your head slowly, blinking back the sudden heat behind your eyes.

“why didn’t you ever tell me?”

she gave a weak, breathless laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.

“shit, i don’t know,” she said, shaking her head softly, eyes dropping again. “i honestly didn’t think you’d even consider me. and i didn’t wanna mess up what we had, too, so...”

she paused before speaking again. 

“but when i kissed you that night, i… fuck, i couldn’t stop thinkin about you.”

immediately, you reached for her slowly, cradling her face in your hands, thumbs brushing over her hot cheeks.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you either,” you admitted. 

paige’s lips curved up into a crooked smile. she let out a small huff through her nose, her forehead resting against yours. 

she couldn’t believe this was real.

then she pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, a hand moving to your waist, her thumb brushing gently over your skin. she couldn’t stop touching you even if she tried.

“so…” she mumbled, lips twitching up into another grin. “you’ll go on that date with me?”

you roll your eyes first, but you could see it on her face that she was trying to play it cool, trying not to seem too eager, too in her feelings. but she was. she wanted this. wanted you. and not just like this.

she wanted more.

“yeah,” you nodded. “i’ll go on that date with you.”

paige beamed, practically glowing, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“bet.”

you barely had time to breathe before she kissed you again. gentle. smiling against your mouth like she couldn’t help it. in truth, she really felt like her heart was overflowing and kissing you was the only way to keep it from spilling out everywhere. you kissed her back, laughing a little through your nose when she nosed at your cheek afterward, all soft and affectionate, like her whole body had relaxed for the first time in weeks.

you though about the party. how you left matt without even saying goodbye to him. paige pulled you out of the door before you could even look at him. she didn’t want you to look. but she spotted him back in the kitchen as she walked you out. gave him a glare as she pulled you through the party, a hand low on your waist, pulling you close to her body, making sure he saw.

and god, did it make her feel good. 

“you really are annoying,” you mumbled again, your fingers sliding through her hair at the nape of her neck.

“mhm,” she murmured, mouth moving against your jaw. “you already said that.”

her lips traced a lazy path down your jaw, then dipped to your neck, pressing gentle kisses and licks that made your skin shiver. her mouth found your collarbone next, sucking softly, stealing your focus a little more as she marked up your neck with light bruises. 

“i meant it,” you said, suddenly shaky. 

“i know, baby.”

finally, breath hitching in your throat, you whispered, “paige…”

but she only hummed in response, her lips continuing to explore your delicate skin. her lips pressed against your skin again.

you tried again, little more desperate now, “p-paige…”

but she just smiled against your skin, humming like she was saying i hear you, even if she had no plans to stop.

her hands slid up your sides, warm palms trailing, fingers dragging lightly along your ribs, and your whole body shivered. you felt her nose brush your neck, and her mouth found the spot just below your ear.

another kiss. slower. then another. and another.

you tried to speak again. tried to say something, anything—but your breath stuttered again the moment her mouth opened just a little against your neck, her tongue tasting the edge of your pulse, where your skin was sensitive.

“paige,” you exhaled, almost scolding, but it came out as a whisper.

“mm?” she hummed. 

her lips never leave your skin. your fingers curled gripping her shoulders. you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say anymore. your head tilted back without even thinking, inviting her in, chasing the feeling of her mouth. she kept kissing you. lazily. hungrily. like she had all the time in the world and none at all. you felt her tongue graze your neck, felt her hand slide up the back of your thigh again. 

you felt dazed. as if she were kissing the thoughts right out of you. as if she’d made up her mind that she was going to kiss every single inch of you until you couldn’t think straight.

and fuck, it was working.

“i wanna fuck you again,” she confessed quietly against your neck. 

“please,” you whispered, almost too quiet for her to hear. “don’t stop.”

you feel her smile against your skin. 

and just like that—she was yours. and you were hers.

for real this time. no more pretending.

just… you. and her.

finally.

masterlist | © bueckii.

[latteodyssey]

‘cause my baby's sweet as can be | being damian wayne’s love interest headcannons˚｡⋆ ୨୧

masterlist

craving your company. — he didn’t like admitting it to himself at first, that as much as he would make snarky comments about how annoying it was that you wouldn’t leave him alone, he started missing you deeply when you weren’t around. his head was gradually consumed by thoughts about how much you would have to talk about the topic of conversation that someone just mentioned, or how you would have made a comment about the scene from the movie he was currently watching.

deny, deny, deny. — he’s a stubborn man, it took days of spiraling and coming up with theories as to why he felt that way, before he finally came to terms with the fact that he’s into you. It had nothing to do with who you are as a person, but it had everything to do with him refusing to accept being vulnerable, accepting that he had no control over how he felt. And god knows how much he hated when things were out of his control.

the way you had such a deep effect on him without even knowing made him terrified to say the least.

doesn’t know how to act— he didn’t approach you right away after realizing the nature of his feelings for you, instead, you would often catch him staring at you, eyebrows furrowed. he would worry so much about his next move, his next line, that he wouldn’t even notice the face of extreme concentration he was making – which you would often mistake for annoyance.

“are you mad at me?” you asked, a mixture of concern and confusion filling your voice as you try to make sense out of the situation “you’re looking at me like you are”.

“i assure you I’m not” he answered in a matter of fact way, which did nothing to calm your nerves. little did you know, he was trying to control his own “you can continue on with your story”.

he’s terrible at giving compliments — instead, he makes observations, about the little things he notices about you, about the moments where he missed your presence – but he tells you in a way that you can’t tell if he’s being nice or sending a corporate email. "y/n. you’ve changed your hair.", “you weren’t at patrol/school today”.

makes excuses to hang out with you — damian always looks forward to spending time by your side, even if it’s just accompanying you while you do mundane things. suddenly it’s “I have nothing better to do” or “i don’t trust you to successfully achieve this alone, so I’ll come with you”.

practicing it in his head — he can’t just say how he feels, it needs to be done in the most perfect and efficient way possible. he spent days planning the way he would confess how he feels about you, where he would do it, exactly how he would say it, and how he would react to any possible outcome. he ends up doing it in the middle of an argument, unplanned.

“you’re so annoying, i don’t even know why I’m in love with you!”

a creature of habit — damian eventually got used, and attached to, the routine aspects of your relationship, it gave him a sense of stability deeply cherishes . the way you always kissed his cheek when you would part ways, the way you reach for his hand when walking, the fact that you call him just to say goodnight. and he misses these little things in case you end up forgetting.

you'll be drifting off to sleep when you hear your phone ringing, the blue light illuminating your face as damian's contact pops up on the screen. you pick up the call, there's a quick moment of silence before you hear his voice, heavy with sleepiness. "you didn't wish me goodnight."

“you called me just for that?”

“You don’t desire for me to have a good night?”

old fashioned terms of endearment — beloved, darling, and dear are his go-to nicknames for you. When talking to other people, he might refer to you as “my y/n” often.

using you as a human pillow — similarly to a cat, he approaches you silently, almost like he's expecting you to read his mind, resting his head against your shoulder, or laying it your lap. he's especially happy when you gently run your fingers through his hair. he feels almost addicted to your touch, the warmth of your hand against his skin.

[sinsxo]

good morning. —blue lock

based on this request.

note. this req was soo cute

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro.

synopsis. you wake up groggy, wearing their clothes, and walk out into the living room — only to find their teammates mid-conversation.

cw. drabble, fluff.

wc. 0.6k words, not proofread.

isagi yoichi ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

with the both of you coming back home after a date yesterday, feeling drained and exhausted, he forgot to tell you that his teammates were coming over for a bit — just to review a match before training starts up again.

you woke up to the noise — yelling, laughter, someone getting way too hyped over a play on the screen. groggy and half-asleep, you stumbled toward the door and opened it.

you stood there blinking at three familiar-ish guys on the couch, all frozen mid-celebration — fists in the air, mouths still open, just… paused.

“sorry,” isagi said, standing up with a sheepish smile. “did we wake you up? i told them to keep it down, but they wouldn’t listen.”

he walked over, turned you gently by the shoulders and started guiding you back to the bedroom. “might wanna put on some pants, babe,” he added, handing you your sweats with a soft kiss to the top of your head.

itoshi rin ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

he wasn’t expecting guests this early — and he definitely didn’t think you’d be up yet. so when you walked out of the bedroom rubbing your eyes, wearing just one of his shirts, rin may or may not have fallen in love with you all over again.

“rinnie?” you called out, voice thick with sleep, surprised at the sight of people in the living room.

he stood up, walking over, tugging the hem of his shirt down over your thighs. “you’re awake?”

you nodded. “mhm. ‘s there food?”

“yeah,” he murmured, brushing a hand through your hair. “made toast. it’s in the kitchen. want me to get it for you?”

you shook your head and shuffled off as if nothing was out of the ordinary. rin turned back to his friends like nothing had happened — except the faintest, quietest smile displayed on his lips.

itoshi sae ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

you walk out into the living room, still half-asleep, wearing one of sae’s older jerseys — soft from years of wear, practically swallowing you whole. your steps are quiet, but he notices immediately.

he glances up from where he’s seated at the dining table with a few teammates, talking about formations and strategies like it’s a usual thing to do in the morning.

“you’re up. want some water?” he asks, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you nod, mumbling a soft “mhm.”

he gets up, walks into the kitchen, and grabs a glass without being asked. you take it from him wordlessly, fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary.

he leans in, brushing his hand over your head before you retreat to the bedroom again. not a single person says a thing — not because they don’t know what to say, but because sae’s presence makes it clear: this is normal and nothing else needs to be said.

nagi seishiro ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

he’s sprawled on the floor, playing co-op video games with reo, eyes half-lidded, posture slumped. reo’s mid-sentence, talking shit about some dumb strategy, when the bedroom door creaks open.

you walk out in one of nagi’s shirts, still heavy with sleep.

the second nagi sees you, he pauses the game and tosses the controller to the side.

“c’mere,” he murmurs, opening his arms for you. you don’t even hesitate — just walk straight into his chest as he wraps himself around you, pressing his face into your neck.

“bro,” reo mutters, half-laughing. “we were in the middle of a match.”

“don’t care,” nagi mumbles. “she’s more important.”

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 9 - off the bench]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

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

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

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

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

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

Warning: Jake is here

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

Word count: 6,412

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. June 2025. 

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

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

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

“I’ll have Ines coordinate with compliance.” 

A buzz sounded from the corner of the desk. 

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

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

Nika raised her head. 

“Someone’s persistent,” she said lightly. 

Azzi didn’t move. “It’s nothing.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Azzi stayed quiet, her face unreadable. 

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

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

“Player oversight my ass.” 

“Language, Muhl.” 

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

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

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

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

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

“Admitting things complicates them.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paige’s name flashed on the top banner.  

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

wtf y’all. okay i’m crying. 

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

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

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

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. June 2025.  

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

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

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

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

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

“They were right. You earned it.” 

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

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

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

“You should. I’m proud of you.” 

That quieted things.  

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

Paige wasn’t talking anymore. Just watching. 

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

“What?” 

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

“You look really pretty.” 

Azzi exhaled, soft and exasperated. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

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

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

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

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

“Do you ever stop?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wash your face first, Rookie.” 

- 

And then, just barely, her smile returned. 

Conrad Indianapolis, Indianapolis. July 2025. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you had press,” Azzi said. 

“I did.” 

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

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

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

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

“You’re delusional,” Azzi murmured. 

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

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

“You’re anxious.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to kiss you so bad.” 

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

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

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

Azzi nodded once. “I know.” 

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

Azzi took a breath. 

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

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

- 

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

Astrea Rooftop Bar, Indianapolis. July 2025. 

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

Paige was impossible to miss. 

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

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

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

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

Azzi’s grip on her glass shifted slightly. 

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

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

“I am.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have nothing to say.” 

“Right.” 

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

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

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

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

“I was being good.” 

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

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

“Jealousy looks good on you.” 

“It doesn’t suit me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then do it.” 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. July 2025. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azzi gave the smallest nod. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That landed heavier than either of them expected. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 

Steak 48, Los Angeles. July 2025. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded, the motion small and polite. 

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

That made her look at him properly. 

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

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

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

Azzi was motionless, watching him. 

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

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

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

Pressure.  

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

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

And he deserved more than that. 

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

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

Paige. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t go with you, Jake.” 

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

“On that trip. Or forward.” 

He blinked once. “Azzi…” 

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

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

“Is there someone else?” 

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

The word landed without embellishment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. July 2025. 

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

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

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

Unfairly distracting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ended things,” she says quietly. 

Paige’s hand stills. She blinks, surprised. 

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

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

“Last week when I was in LA.” 

“When we played against the Sparks?” 

Azzi nodded.  

Azzi had said it so quietly. I ended things. 

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

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

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

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

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

She paused, her throat working through the words. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she climbed into her lap. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she kissed her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, baby.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

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

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

Then she paused. Smiled. Slower this time. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gothamsfavorite]

Jason Todd x Reader

You’re rummaging through the freezer, trying to find an ice pack, a bag of peas or anything that will ease the swelling on your jaw.

You’re trying to do this before Jason comes home. 

You love him and tell him everything but this, this you can’t tell him. 

No telling what he would do to the guy if he found out.

You hear the knob twist, once you find ice.

Your jaw is killing you. 

Your name slips off his tongue as he walks through the door. 

He has food in his hand helmet in the other. 

“I brought you something from the new seafood place that just opened up.” He utters, kicking off his boots. 

He knows you hate it when he tracks the dirt, mud, and sins of Gotham into your house. 

You throw the ice pack you found into the freezer and turn to kiss his cheek.

He crouches, allowing you to do so. 

He stops and his eyes fall onto your jaw. 

“What happened to you?” He asks, nearly screams. 

“I hurt myself by accident, ran into something without looking.” 

He puts his hands on your shoulders turning you this way and that. 

“You’re lying, no point in lying to me.”

You sigh, Jason will find out one way or another.

“This guy,” your voice trembles, “asked me out.”

His face doesn’t move, he doesn’t react so this means you need to continue.

“He, he asked me out and I said no I have a boyfriend.” 

“Get to the point, princess.” He urges.

“He threw the bottle in his hand at my jaw.” 

Jason freezes, you watch his collarbone and up turn red. 

“Baby,” he says holding the good side of your jaw. “How bad does it hurt? You need to see someone.” 

“Jay, you know I don’t have the money for that.” 

“Not the time to talk about the insurance thing, but I got it.” 

 “I’ll pay.” He looks you dead in the eye. 

You’re looking for another excuse, your eyes flutter around the room. 

“That, or the med bay.” He looks, you love his family so hopefully this will convince you. 

Sooner or later you’re on the back of his motorcycle, on the way to Wayne manor. 

Jason knocks at the door, your hand in his. 

“Little bro!” Dick says opening the door. 

“Never call me that again. Tell B to prepare the med bay.” 

Dick opens his mouth to question than looks at your jaw and nods.

Jason brings you down there, but you’re stopped by Damian. “That looks painful.” He says, a book in hand. “What’d you do Todd?” He questions and Jason rolls his eyes, “Shut it.” 

You see Tim and wave, as he’s setting up the screens in the med bay. 

You were close with the bat family, you found yourself spilling all Gotham’s tea to Dick and talking about documentaries with Tim. Alfred has been teaching you to bake which you greatly appreciated. As for Bruce, you two have in depth conversations about Wayne enterprises. You have strong suggestions for the company, and he offered you a position. You did deny this position, though, the press would love if you worked there. They would think you landed the position because you’re dating his son. The whole press is very opinionated especially that girl Vicki who carries a journal wherever she goes. 

“She’s fine.” Tim says, “Nothing broken, surprisingly.” Jason throws you into his arms.

Mark 8:34 And calling the crowd to him with his disciples, he said to them, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.

Thank you for reading lovely!

[motzglorp]

You think Soap has ADHD energy? Meet the missus!

Everyone knows that Soap gets distracted easily when he doesn't have anything to focus. Outside of missions he gets restless and if he is bored he shouldn't be left without supervision.

They made it to the safehouse, got a good night's sleep and had another day to spend until transport was ready and would be on mandatory leave for the next two weeks. So of course they were talking about their plans.

Price had promised Kyle to show him his cabin by the lake and nobody commented on the faint blush under his beard or how Kyle's touch lingered a bit longer than usual. To be honest Soap and Ghost were betting on who would catch the kissing first.

Ghost didn't have plans so he was actually contemplating taking Soaps offer to stay at his house for a while.

"Honestly, ye should see what ma bonnie made of that place. Real cozy now." Soap was talking away, not noticing the other three staring at him.

"Come again? Your whatnow?" Asked Kyle.

"My Bonnie? The missus? Ma wife? You forgot about my wife?" Johnny seemed to be undecided whether to be angry or confused.

"Soap... You never told any of us. You mentioned a bird now and then. You mean to tell us it was the same one the whole time? You been stable? Since when?"

Now that made Soap think. "Ah mean.. known her forever. Stable for some years now, as stable as we can be. Proposed last summer we just didn't get around actually speaking the vows." He looked a bit sheepish. "Ah never told you? Sure 'bout that?"

Price didn't know how to react, other than: "You better marry her as soon as you are in the same country. If she hasn't left you by now she will never and you need to make sure the paperwork is all set up, just in case."

"And you should probably introduce us, so she won't be scared if one of us appeared on your doorstep." Kyle added.

"Actually, we can do that right now, we have a satellite connection."

Johnny was still trying to remember if he really had forgotten to mention the most important person in his life to the other most important people in his life, so he just acted on autopilot when Kyle shoved a tablet in his hands, starting a video call.

They all gathered around the screen, watching as the lights flickered and a disheveled face came into view, round face, sleepy eyes, hair sticking in every direction.

"Tha' you babe? You alive?" Johnny immediately had a smile plastered on his face. "Alive and kicking, didn't even get shot. Listen, sorry I woke you, wasn't my idea. But remember we planned our wedding to be with all friends and family and my captain could stand in for you dad since he is not invited and all and. Maybe I forgot to tell them.. about you.. like.. ya ken?" He sounded not as nervous as someone should sound who forgot his fiancé as soon as he was away.

You just blinked. "Johnny... Are you serious?" It was hard to tell if you were angry or not. "Okay, I just want to know: Did you forget because you already did it in your head or because you forgot to remember?"

"Bit of both? Bit like you forgot to tell your sister." Johnny admitted, grinning.

You giggled "Oh that was fun. Well, when she talked to me again. Oh, I should call her." You got up, apparently already forgetting you were on a call, looking for something. They could see your bedroom, organised chaos, plants, some pictures of Johnny, all in all a cozy home.

"Have you seen my laptop?" You wondered, confused when you heard a snort from Ghost. "What.. ooh... Hi there. You must be Ghost, yeah? Good thing you wear that mask, I am terrible with faces. And you are Gaz, right? You're pretty. Johnny he is so pretty, why am I marrying you again?"

"Because you love me and nobody else can tolerate either of us so we are stuck with each other?" came the answer like a well used banter.

"True. I do love you. But I also haven't slept for two days because I was building something. A surprise. When are you home? Don't tell me, just text. Please. Bring the boys. Oh, Captain Price, could you marry us? Or is that just a Ship Captain thing? Might be, I never cared, but that would be very practical. Give me a week to get everyone together and we could have the ceremony in the backyard, I can wait with the new greenhouse, so we would have the space." You were making notes on something that looked like a pizza box, lost in thoughts already.

You seemed to have forgotten you were still on the call, writing down things. Until you heard Price laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

"Oh, I drifted. Sorry, didn't take my meds, I promise I'm better at this when I sleep. So.. are you coming to the wedding or not? And bring my future husband with you, in case he forgets again."

You were not angry at all. One of the reasons they worked was that you never got angry with each other about stuff like that. You knew each other for too long to try and change or 'fix' the other. If there was a problem or hurt feelings you would address it and work on a solution.

Ghost just looked at Soap. "You really found that one girl with even less ability to focus, did ya?"

Johnny just nodded happily, "She is absolutely perfect."

[widowsweet]

His favorite girls

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Summary: Bucky's head is full of all that congressman thing, he just wants to get to his apartment and see his two favorite girls.

Warnings: Fluff, domestic Bucky, soft!reader, work-stress mention, established relationship.

WC:1,6K

Read while listening to Video Games by Lana del Rey.🤍

Bucky was exhausted.

Exhausted from the endless paperwork that piled up on his desk every hour, from the press that didn’t know when to stop — talking shit about him like they knew anything. All he wanted was to disappear into his wife’s arms, the two of them curled up in their spacious bed — the one place in the world that felt like safety to him.

A few minutes before he left the office, a notification lit up his phone screen. It was you.

angel🤍:

I made our favorite dinner. Come home soon, baby. Al and I miss you. 🤍

The smile that pulled at his lips was immediate — maybe a little dumb, but honest, like everything about you.

His heart almost exploded with the kind of softness you’d brought into his life over the last five years. It still amazed him — that quiet kind of love you gave him. Not loud or dramatic, not overflowing with impossible promises. But steady. Gentle. The kind that fits perfectly into the silence and stays.

You were a sweet and soft-spoken civilian, working at a flower shop just a few blocks from the apartment. That scent of flowers and coffee always seemed to cling to you — and to him, since the first time you touched.

You never judged him for his past.

You didn’t look at him and see a former assassin or the congressman forced to smile in front of cameras.

You saw his soul.

And slowly, you made space in your world for him — all of him, not just the easy parts.

Every conversation, every quiet morning shared with lukewarm coffee made him feel warmer. Like he finally had somewhere to stay.

Bucky remembered exactly when he started falling for you — or maybe just the first time he felt it.

Maybe it was the way your hands flew around when you were excited, nearly knocking over a mug.

Or the time you stuffed a crumpled napkin with his doodle into your coat pocket, saying it was “too pretty to throw away.”

He remembered the way your eyes lit up when you found vintage teacups at flea markets… or how you bit your lip — that goddamn lip — whenever you were nervous or shy.

Little details he collected in silence.

Details of you that, secretly, he called home.

With a tired sigh, Bucky stacked the last of the papers on his desk. The pile felt endless — reports, appointments, speeches he didn’t even want to give. He shoved everything into his dark leather briefcase, zipping it closed with more force than necessary, like he could lock the entire day away inside.

He left the building without a word, ignoring stares, rushed greetings, and flashes behind tinted windows.

Once in the car, he tossed the briefcase onto the passenger seat and started the engine, mind focused on one thing: you.

Time blurred until he was standing in front of the apartment door. The whole world always felt quieter here.

He turned the key in the lock with a familiar twist, and the click that followed sounded like home.

The moment he stepped inside, he was wrapped in warmth. The scent of fresh food — probably that favorite dish you always made when the days got hard — mingled with the smell of candles you loved: vanilla and lavender.

It felt like a hug, even before he saw you.

“Babe?” he called out, shutting the door gently behind him and locking it, sealing the rest of the world out.

He started removing his expensive jacket slowly, shoulders finally beginning to relax — when he heard:

“Bucky?”

Your voice was soft and familiar, like a warm blanket on a cold morning. He turned.

And there you were, standing in the middle of the room, Alpine curled in your arms, purring like nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

You were wearing one of his henley shirts — the dark blue one, old and well-worn — hanging loose on your frame, covering half your thighs. Your bare feet touched the floor lightly, and your hair was still a little messy, like you’d just woken up from a good dream.

He froze for a second, just to look at you. Even after five years, you could still knock the breath out of his chest without even trying.

“Hi, baby,” you said, walking over to him with that soft smile that always made his chest ache in the best way — like you’d been waiting for him forever.

You stopped right in front of him, Alpine still nestled in your arms.

Carefully, you adjusted the loose fabric on your shoulder and set the cat down. She circled your feet lazily before trotting off to the couch, like she knew this moment was just for the two of you.

Your eyes met his again as you opened your arms wordlessly.

Bucky didn’t hesitate — he dropped his briefcase to the floor, the jacket with it, and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close like he needed you to breathe.

The hug was warm, grounding, full of that unspoken kind of love. You fit against his chest like that’s exactly where you belonged.

“Tough day?” you whispered near his ear, calm and quiet.

He sighed against your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

“You have no idea,” he muttered, voice low and rough.

You pulled back just enough to hold his face in both hands, brushing your thumbs over the soft shadows beneath his eyes.

Then you kissed him. Not rushed or hungry — but steady, tender. Like a promise.

Bucky’s hands tightened around your waist, needing the touch more than he could say.

You pulled apart slowly, still close, his hands resting at your sides, yours gently holding his face like you weren’t quite ready to let go.

“It’s okay now,” you said softly, meeting his eyes. “You’re home.”

You leaned in again, kissed him quickly — this one a little playful — and smiled, brushing your nose against his before whispering:

“Go take a shower… and then come eat with me, baby.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your forehead before stepping away, dragging his tired body toward the bathroom.

You stood there for a moment, looking at the briefcase and jacket still on the floor, and let out a quiet laugh.

While he showered, you set the table with care — placed the dishes, lit a small candle in the center, and served the food while soft instrumental music played in the background.

He came back with damp hair, barefoot, wearing a simple gray tee and sweatpants. His steps were quieter now, and his expression softer. When he sat down across from you, he let out a deep breath — like just being there, with you, was enough to undo the knots in his chest.

You ate in silence for a while. Just the sound of cutlery, the music, the warmth between you. Then you started talking — your voice gentle, light, easy.

You told him about your day, about a customer at the flower shop who wanted sunflowers for her late husband’s anniversary — how she just wanted to place them by the window because he still passed by sometimes, she said.

Bucky didn’t say a word. He just listened, elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand, completely focused on you.

Your voice had that effect on him. Like breathing after being underwater too long.

After dinner, the two of you cleaned up together — you washed, he dried. Your shoulders bumped now and then, making each other smile without needing to speak.

When everything was put away and the lights around the apartment were dimmed one by one, you both headed to the bedroom.

The bed was already made, soft and inviting. You slipped beneath the covers at the same time, your bodies relaxing into the mattress like they had been waiting for this all day.

A few minutes later, Alpine jumped onto the bed and made herself comfortable right in the middle, like she owned the place.

Bucky chuckled quietly, voice still a little rough from the day.

“My two favorite girls,” he murmured, scratching behind Alpine’s ears before turning his gaze to you.

You looked back at him, catching that look — the one where his eyes softened, like the whole world had narrowed down to just you.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he said simply, no hesitation.

Your smile reached your eyes.

“I love you too.”

He leaned in, resting his forehead gently against yours and letting his eyes fall shut.

And in that moment — nothing else mattered.

And maybe that was enough.

Requests are open💋

[intuitive-revelations]

I've been waiting to post this for ages, so here it is (even if it's technically no longer Pride Month as intended, shut up, I'm not waiting another year)!

An unexhaustive list of moments across every incarnation in which the Doctor is very straight, very cis, very allo, and very gender-conforming. /s

Or in other words:

[ID: The astronaut "always has been" meme - One astronaut looks at caps of the Fourteenth Doctor talking about finding Newton hot and Fifteen kissing Rogue, saying "Wait...the Doctor's queer now?". A second astronaut behind points a pistol at the first, replying "Always has been."]

In all seriousness, I tried my best to capture as much as I could. It was a more a matter of running up against the limits of what I can squeeze into a Tumblr post than anything else. Even as it is, a lot of the clips are more compressed than I'd like, and Tumblr's downscaled GIF versions are messing up some of my transparent borders.

A lot of stuff is more subtextual and gradual (particularly in stuff like the EDAs), but I tried my best to represent these with particular moments where possible, without clogging the entire thing up with subtle writing and acting choices. There's also a lot more I could have added in regard to cross-gender regenerations, of course, but I avoided too many of these since they don't necessarily imply genderqueerness on an individual incarnation / actor basis. It would also mean giffing every second Thirteen, Fugitive etc. are on-screen.

Obviously, some of these are much more stretches than others (jokes, friendly kisses etc.), before anyone feels like they need to dispute them, but fall nicely into the pattern with everything else, so were included too.

Finally, if you've got something obvious I missed, feel free to add below!

A very long GIF ID and list of sources under the read more:

[ID: A series of gifs showing moments in which the Doctor potentially comes off as queer, trans, asexual, or gender non-conforming, or at least is part of a subtext that can be read as such, distributed in an extended rainbow pattern roughly based on the Progress pride flag. In order, row by row:

1. New Who - The Vanquishers - Thirteen remarks to Dan and Yaz about her duplicate: "I've got such a crush on her."

2. BF - The Sword of the Chevalier transcript:

ROSE: But is he-... she- DOCTOR: She is what ever she says she is. Who cares about gender anyway? It's an archaic concept. Right now, she's a woman.

3. New Who - The Vanquishers - A trapped Thirteen says to her duplicate, "Hi! Wow... you're cute!" The other Thirteen replies, "Thanks. So are you!"

4. BF - Seasons of Fear transcript:

CHARLEY: Another wonderful opportunity to wear a nice dress. DOCTOR: Wouldn't that be a bit conspicuous? CHARLEY: An opportunity for me.

5. BF - Seasons of Fear transcript:

DOCTOR: Are you confusing me with someone else? I'm not the one who says ‘you must obey me’. I don't meddle. And I'm not a glamorous woman at the moment.

6. New Who - The Sound of Drums - Ten on the phone with the Master begs, "Don't you see, all we've got is each other." The Master snarks back, "Are you asking me on a date?!"

7. EDA - The Scarlet Empress:

'You've got the Doctor all wrong. He's not a sexist pig like Gila.' 'He can't help what he is. His gender is alien, but intransigent. The cosmos is guided by male and female impulses - quite separate…' "That's crap!' Sam shouted."The Doctor isn't your average man, at all. I don't think he even has a gender. How can you - whoever you are - pontificate on what he's like? He's private. He's untouchable.'

8. New Who - The Fires of Pompeii - Ten sneaks into the Temple of Sybil. Seer Spurrina says, "No man is allowed to enter the Temple of Sibyl." Ten shrugs and says, "Well, that's all right. Just us girls."

9. EDA - To the Slaughter:

'Yes, me!' The Doctor took Fitz's hand, kissed it delicately, then shoved him aside. 'Now, out of my way!'

10. New Who - Wishworld - Rogue on a TV screen, speaking from a hellish dimension, says "I miss you. Well... more than that. I love y-" before being interrupted by the signal breaking.

11. NSA - Engines of War:

Urgh,’ said Cinder, letting go of the Doctor’s hand and getting to her feet. ‘My leggings are soaked through.’ She helped the Doctor up. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m sure there’ll be something similar in one of the TARDIS’s wardrobes.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Fond of women’s clothes, are we?’ ‘Yes,’ he said, indicating his muddy trousers. ‘Clearly, I have a penchant.’

12. New Who - Meanwhile in the TARDIS 2 - Amy, fresh off trying to seduce him, points at Eleven and says "You are a bloke." He replies, "I'm the Doctor."

13. New Who - Wishworld - John Smith sits and talks about Rogue to Belinda. "There was a man on the TV... and I really liked him."

14. EDA - The Turing Test:

He glanced up. ‘I don’t recommend it, by the way.’ ‘You’ve tried?’ I asked dryly. ‘We – I –’ He shrugged. ‘It’s not something that interests me.’ ‘Sex?’ ‘Yes. It’s a missing piece in my life.’

15. New Who - The Power of Three - Rory kisses the Doctor thank you on the cheek as Amy looks on. Eleven reacts bashfully.

16. EDA - The Year of Intelligent Tigers:

‘Is this it?’ The Doctor let go of Karl. His gaze swept around the cool river, the sweet meadow, the silent trees. In the east the ringed moon was rising, silvering the deep blue of the sky. His eyes came back to the composer. ‘Is this home?’ Karl hoped so. But he didn’t say anything

17. New Who - The Church on Ruby Road - Fifteen and Ruby are tied up on the Goblin ship. He says, "Oh, but it's Lulubelle's birthday." He then says as an aside, "That's such a brilliant name! I wish I was called Lulubelle."

18. New Who - Time Crash - Five replies to Ten, "Oh no, really? Does he [the Master] still have that rubbish beard?" Ten: "No, no beard this time. Well... a wife."

19. EDA - Legacy of the Daleks:

‘I know better than to trust the word of any man ever again,’ ‘Don’t, trust the word of a Time Lord.’

20. New Who - The Church on Ruby Road - Fifteen gets his hands free. Ruby asks "Wait, how did you do that?". He replies, "I spent a long hot summer with Harry Houdini." to her pleasant surprise.

21. New Who - Spyfall Part Two - Thirteen announces herself to a crowd as "The Marvellous Apparating Man", before correcting herself, "(Lady) Apparating Lady! (Every time...)".

22. New Who - Rogue - Rogue asks Fifteen, "I think you and I should go outside." then walks off. Fifteen mutters "Fast mover..."

23. New Who - The Impossible Astronaut - Eleven calls out "Jefferson isn't a girl's name, it's not her name either." He turns to River, "Jefferson, Adams, Hamilton - River?" She replies, "Surnames of three of America's founding fathers." He then says, "Lovely fellas. Two of them fancied me."

24. EDA - The Turing Test:

I learned that Turing was in love with the Doctor, an excited, hopeless, sexual yet nonsexual, adoring, stupid, profound love that had turned his whole life upside down. ‘Do you think he feels anything for me?’ asked Turing.

25. New Who - The Shakespeare Code - Ten tells Martha and Shakespeare, "Come on, we can all have a good flirt later!" The latter replies, "Is that a promise, Doctor?"

26. New Who - The Interstellar Song Contest - Fifteen mentions, with regards to Graham Norton, "I met him at Brighton Pride. What a weekend!"

27. New Who - Human Nature - As Tim Latimer listens to the Doctor's fobwatch, he hears voices of different genders in the Doctor's essense.

28. New Who - Rogue - Rogue proposes to the Doctor, holding up a ring which Fifteen gently takes.

29. New Who - The Reality War - Kate, still under the wish's control, remarks "Mr Smith, what on Earth do you think you're wearing." He walks up to her in his skirt/kilt, responding, "The future!"

30. New Who - Utopia - Yana sat down, bends over Ten crouched in front of him and says, "Still, no rest for the wicked." As he stands, Ten smirks.

31. New Who - Wishworld - Under the wish, Ibrahim says to Fifteen, as John Smith, "She's way out of my league.", referring to Kate. Fifteen brushes his concerns off, saying, "Oh, she's not, you're a beautiful man!"

32. New Who - Wishworld - Continuing from 31, Ibrahim corners Fifteen, "You're a man. How can you find another man beautiful?"

33. BF - Afterlife:

DOCTOR: Tell this to your gods. When they punish you. When they stretch you on the neutron rack. I’m still here. LILY: But you…? You’re one.. little… man. DOCTOR:I am not a man. Not a human being. I am a complex space-time event. I am Lord President of Gallifrey. The Traveller from Beyond Time. I am the Sandman. The Oncoming Storm. I am the Ka Faraq Gatri. Destroyer of Worlds. And sometimes. Only sometimes, I am your worst nightmare. I am the Doctor. And I take care of my friends.

34. New Who - The Magician's Apprentice - Missy tells Clara that she's cared for the Doctor, "Since the Cloister Wars. Since the night he stole the moon and the president's wife. Since he was a little girl. One of those was a lie, can you guess which one?"

35. Classic Who - Kinda - Panna says infront of Five, "No male can open the Box of Jhana without being driven out of his mind. It is well known. Unless. Is he an idiot?"

36. Titan - A Little Help from My Friends - Ryan says with regards to meeting Ten, "Still hard to believe that was you." Thirteen replies, "Biological sex is flexible among my people, and gender is merely a social construct." She smirks, "Quite simple, really."

37. Classic Who - Terror of the Autons - The Brigadier asks Three, with regards to the Master, "Think he'll turn up again, Doctor?" Three replies, "Hm, bound to." Jo notices, "You don't seem very worried about it." only for him to respond, smiling and raising his eyebrows, "I'm not. As a matter of fact, I'm rather looking forward to it."

38. Novelisation - Rose:

She’d listened to Clive’s stories. She’d read his files. She knew that every age had some sort of Doctor, whether young or old, male or female, in-between or neither, black or white or anything.

39. New Who - Let's Kill Hitler - Eleven tells Amy, Rory, and Mels, "I danced with everyone at the wedding. The women were all brilliant. The men were a bit shy."

40. Classic Who - The Time Monster - Jo listens to a telepathic message being broadcast by Three, under which can be heard whispers from voices of different genders, coming from the Doctor's subconscious.

41. New Who - The Eaters of Light - Twelve tells Bill, "I've lived in Roman Britain: governed, farmed, juggled. Speaking as a former vestal virgin, second-class, I can assure you-"

42. Torchwood - Fragments - Alice Guppy, interrogating Jack, quotes words overheard from him: "You wait until I see the Doctor. First I'm going to kiss him. Then I'm going to kill him."

43. New Who - Dot and Bubble - Ruby and Fifteen respectively reply to Lindy regarding running into Ricky September, "Oh, nice one!" and "He's hot." Then then snap at each other simultaneously, "Hands off!".

44. New Who - The Hungry Earth (deleted scene) - Eleven chats to Amy about Rory, "I like him." He then chuckles bashfully and adds, "A lot."

45. Classic Who - The Daemons - Three, tied up and about to be burnt alive is told, "If he's such a great magician, let's see him untie himself." Three responds, "You choose to mock the great Qui Quae Quod." Each of these words used in his 'wizard' name, is latin for "who", first masculine, then feminine, then gender-neutral.

46. New Who - Dot and Bubble - Continuing from 43, Fifteen compliments Ricky, "Clever as well..." Ricky shrugs, "Eh..." Ruby looks at Fifteen and says, "Okay, Heartstopper."

47. PDA - The Murder Game:

What are you playing at, dressed like that?' Ben wanted to know, to the Doctor's visible dismay. 'Don't you like it? I'm just helping out Mr Hornby with a slight gender imbalance. I got the wig from the TARDIS, but I think it works rather well with the outfit, don't you?' He brushed a stray hair from his face and grinned disarmingly. 'I had to improvise with the bustle though, using coat hangers.' He patted his wire-frame chest and looked comically startled as it dropped to his stomach. Polly laughed and assured him that he made a most convincing woman, as he struggled to adjust himself.

48. BF - The Wormery:

DOCTOR: Love. Huh. Wrote a treatise on the chromosomal origins of love once when | was a small boy. Proved categorically which gene began it, which enzymes carried it, which electrochemical receptors translated it. Took all the fun out of it. Got a rubbish grade too. My tutor told me I’d missed the point. It’s held no mystique for me since, so don’t talk to me about love.

49. Classic Who - The Daemons - Winstanley asks Three, "Are you one of these television chaps then?" Three replies "I am no sort of chap, sir." "Forgive me, but I thought. Well, the costume and the wig, you know?" Three, outraged, responds, "Wig?!"

50. New Who - Rogue - Fifteen flirtilly dances to "Can't Get You Out of My Head", mouthing the words at Rogue.

51. EDA - Interference: Book One:

‘Can I ask you something personal?’ he said. I.M. Foreman nodded. ‘I warn you, though. If it’s anything to do with how I got this body, the details are going to be messy. You’ve never been a woman, have you?’ ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever even been a man. That’s not what I was going to ask.

52. New Who - Rogue - Fifteen and Rogue kiss passionately.

53. BF - Archipelago:

DOCTOR: There was a lovely woman in Yorkshire, gave me chipsticks. And you should have seen the way that Lady MacBeth made eyes at me. But this me doesn't. Couldn't.

54. EDA - Dominion:

The Doctor stood up, a look of amazement on his face, and then to Fitz’s considerable surprise he bounded over, grabbed his head and planted a kiss squarely on his lips. ‘Oh, Fitz! Fitz, Fitz, Fitz! I’m so glad you’re alive!

55. New Who - The Eleventh Hour - Eleven asks Amy, "Your friend, what was his name? Not him [Rory], the good looking one?" Rory mutters, "Thanks", as Amy replies "Jeff." Rory responds "Oh... thanks!"

56, 57, 60, 61. New Who - Legend of the Sea Devils - Thrteen opens up to Yaz. "Dates are not something I really do, y'know. I mean I used to, have done, and if I was going to, believe me, it'd be with you. I think you're one of the greatest people I've ever known. Including my wife!" Yaz, surprised, responds, "Your what?" Thirteen continues, "Ah, wasn't going to mention that. I was a long time ago - I was a different man back then. But the point is, if it was going to be anyone... it'd be you."

58. EDA - Timeless:

‘They’re not Old Bill, Tommo,’ Jack said, sneering at her. ‘A potty-mouthed yank and a poof in a waistcoat.’ ‘Do you want to be on a charge of discrimination too?’ said the Doctor calmly, producing a notebook and pencil.

59. New Who - The Robot Revolution - Fifteen holds an x-ray blanket infront of himself, which registers his sex as "Unknown".

62. New Who - The Time of the Doctor - Clara tells Eleven on the phone, "I may have... accidentally invented a boyfriend." He replies, "Yeah, I did that once and there's no easy way to get rid of an android."

63. New Who - Dinosaurs on a Spaceship - Eleven runs up to Rory, shouting, "Good thinking, Rory!" before planting a big kiss on his lips.

64. New Who - Day of the Moon - As Amy and Rory wake up in their body bags, Eleven runs over to Rory and kisses him on the head, checking if he's ok.

65. New Who - The Star Beast - Fourteen holds up his psychic paper to Shaun, citing a title as "Grandmaster of the Knowledge". Shaun points out, "That says 'Grandmistress'..." Fourteen looks at it, then groans at it, "Oh, catch up!"

66. New Who - Legend of the Sea Devils - Yaz and Thirteen stand in the TARDIS doorway at the bottom of the sea. Thirteen says "Not a bad date, am I?" When she realises she struck a nerve, she turns away. Yaz turns to her and says, "No."

67. EDA - Beltempest:

Because I'm a man and you're a woman?' 'Yes, actually.' The Doctor raised his eyebrows. 'But I'm not a man.' Sam opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. He continued, 'I'm not even human. Not even close. Not unless you count the ears.' He wiggled them to make his point.

68. New Who - The Reality War - Thirteen, upon hearing Fifteen tell her "I love you" says "I should say that to Yaz!" Fifteen replies, "You never do. But she knows."

69. New Who - Lucky Day - Conrad asks Ruby about the Doctor, "Was he your boyfriend?" She chuckles, "No. God, no! If he was here, he'd be flirting with you."

70. New Who - Daleks in Manhatten - Martha tells Ten, "I'm so glad to see you." He replies, "Yeah, well, you can kiss me later." He then adds to Frank behind him, "You too, Frank, if you want."

71. New Who - The Power of the Doctor - Yaz and Thirteen, shortly before her regeneration, lick their ice creams as they watch the Earth from orbit ontop of the TARDIS.

72. Short Trip - The Feast of Seven… Eight (and Nine):

The Eighth had brought some mistletoe, And aimed for Seven, to Seven's woe: Ah! No! Rrurevolting! Ace! D'you mind? Try Six, he's more that way inclined.' ... I knew Puccini once,' sighed Eight, `He had the softest lips.' That's great, But stay away from me, you sissy,' Four looked cautious, Eight looked kissy. Three o'clock, the Queen appeared, The Third, all patriotic, cheered, But Eight, lips puckered, mistletoe handy, Went for the clown and got the dandy.

73. The Curse of Fatal Death - The newly regenerated COFD!Thirteen says to Emma, "Your mother's going to get a bit of a surprise at the wedding isn't she? Do you think we'll both wear white?"

74, 75. New Who - Closing Time - Distracting Craig, Eleven pulls him close and says, "...because I love you." "You love me?" Craig replies. "Yes, Craig. It's you. It's always been you." "Me?"

Eleven then puts his arms around him, leading Craig to ask, "Doctor, are you going to kiss me?" He replies, "Yes, Craig. Yes I am. Would you like that? Bit out of practice, but I've had some wonderful feedback."

76. New Who - The Parting of the Ways - Jack plants a goodbye kiss on Nine's lips.

77, 78. New Who - Eve of the Daleks - Dan confronts Thirteen about Yaz. "No, I mean, she 'likes' you." "I don't understand what you're saying, Dan." He then responds, "I think you do. But for some reason, you pretend to me and to her that you don't."

79. New Who - The Unquiet Dead (deleted scene):

SNEED: "I thought you'd be a woman" DOCTOR: "No, not yet"

80. New Who - Time Heist - As Psi goes to leave the TARDIS, Twelve makes a 'call me' sign at him.

81. BF - Swipe Right:

RIVER: Doctor, for someone so smart, you can be so stupid. 'Someone with no romantic feelings?' It's you! Much as it pains me to say it. Apparently, it's you. DOCTOR: It's me! Ha! Of course, it's me!

82. EDA - Eater of Wasps:

‘Have you remembered what you were doing in 1933 yet?’ asked Fitz. ‘I mean, the last time you were here?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘But I was a long way from here – I spent some time sailing the South Seas roundabout now.’ Fitz gaped. ‘A sailor? I don’t believe it. Go on, give us a jig!’ The Doctor laughed. ‘Not likely – but I’ll show you my tattoo if you’re lucky.’

83. New Who - Eve of the Daleks - Thirteen gazes lovingly at Yaz, as they watch the warehouse's fireworks explode.

84. VNA - Human Nature:

'We let it be known that he was in a position to give a Time Lord whatever form or mind they wanted. That's a particular dream of Gallifreyans, as I knew from wandering through that young Interventionist's mind.

They regenerate and find themselves to be much the same, and every now and then they dream how wonderful it would be to be able to fly or be of the opposite sex or have a child. That last is a very common dream, for children on Gallifrey are very rare.'

85. EDA - Parallel 59:

[The Doctor] whistled as he walked, Fitz’s plaintive little melody still in his head. Thinking of loved ones, coming home.

86. BF - The Vanity Box:

DOCTOR: Nesta, will you help me? I’ve got to get into that salon, under cover, and get a closer look. MEL: Doctor, | could go in instead of you. DOCTOR: | don’t think anyone would believe you need a make-over, Mel. And besides, | think it’s going to be chillingly dangerous. NESTA: Actually, | can manage a bourbon if | dunk it in me tea. I’ll freshen the pot. Now, tell me how | can help you, Doctor. I’m not happy about this poodle parlour on our doorstep. DOCTOR: | want you to drag me up.

87. Classic Who - The Chase - One tells Ian, "My dear boy, I could kiss you!" Barbara replies, "Don't waste it on him. Kiss me instead!" He responds, "Oh, I'd be delighted."

89. Classic Who - The Highlanders - Two, dressed up as a washerwoman, tells Perkins at gunpoint, "I tell you what we're going to do. We ladies are going to leave first, but you are going to sit here, quietly, comfortably, for another ten minutes."

90. Scream of the Shalka - The TARDIS's answering machine goes off. The Shalka Doctor says, breathlessly and giggling, "You've reached the good ship TARDIS. We're rather busy at the moment. Leave a message after the beep and we'll try and get back to you before your call." He then laughs "Stop that!" before the beep. The Shalka Master then notes, "We really should change that message."

91. EDA - Earthworld:

He helped Anji to take her blazer off – somehow it didn’t matter that the Doctor was seeing her like that, he seemed to count in her head as another girl – and gave her his velvet coat to replace it

92. Classic Who - The Highlanders - Two tells Grey, with regards to Jamie, "Did you mark the young Highlander who was with me? The piper?" "Piper?" "With the soft hands and face?"

93. Classic Who - The Enemy of the World - Two comments on Salamander, "He seems to be a public benefactor. Quite a speaker too, and remarkably handsome, didn't you think so Jamie?" He turns to Jamie, who nudges him smiling in response.

94. BF - The Eye of the Storm:

DOCTOR: I never kiss strange people. No matter how beautiful, how fascinating, how intriguing they might be. And you might very well be any of those things.

95. New Who - The End of Time: Part Two - Ten, tied up, gazes at the Master and says, "I wonder what I'd be... without you." The Master tears up listening to this.

96. Classic Who - The City of Death - Four tells Countess Scarlioni, "Oh, well... you're a beautiful woman, probably..."

97. EDA - The Turing Test:

I will say now, however, that I do not think Greene was right: the Doctor is not an angel, though he may not be a man, exactly, either. I desired him as a man, loved him as one, but my love did not blind me, nor make me religious!

98, 99. New Who - World Enough and Time - Twelve tells Bill of Missy, "She was my man crush!" "Wh- I'm sorry?" "Yeah... I think she was a man back then. I'm fairly sure I was too, it was a long time ago though."

When Bill asks about Time Lord gender, Twelve replies: "We're the most civilised civilisation in the universe! We're billions of years beyond your petty human obsession with gender and its associated stereotypes."

100. New Who - First Night - River sees the dress hanging in the TARDIS for her, "The Dress is a little daring!" Eleven, in a white tuxedo, replies, "Yep, so I went for this instead."

101. New Who - Arachnids in the UK - Yaz's mum Najia asks Thirteen and Yaz, "Are you two seeing each other?" Yaz gives a confused look as Thirteen responds, "I don't think so... are we?"

102. New Who - Once Upon Time - Sonya tells Yaz she wants to get good at games so "[her crush's] gonna look me and think 'who's the sexy girl with the nimble fingers?'" Yaz retorts, "No human being is ever gonna look at you and think those words." As if on cue, Thirteen suddenly glitches into the scene in Sonya's place.

103. New Who - Rogue - Fifteen and Rogue dance together in the ballroom, in front of all the guests.

104. New Who - The Story and the Engine - Fifteen tells the Barber, "Anansi purposefully lost a bet to make me marry one of his daughters. I know the gods. You are not them." Meanwhile, Abena looks on.

105. New Who - The Story and the Engine - Jo Martin's Doctor tells Abena, "I was a fugitve back then. Anansi was wrong to offer that bet. And frankly, darling, I was busy in a different story."

106. Classic Who - The Green Death - Yates appraches Three, who is disguised as a cleaning woman and says, "...I like your handbag." Three, still in character, replies, "Do you? Well watch out I don't slosh you wish it." He pushes his bucket at Yates jokingly, then drops his voice, "Now where can we talk?"

107. NSA - Revenge of the Judoon:

"Lords, ladies and Doctors this way, please."

108. EDA - The Book of the Still:

'You go if you want. I must help him.' 'Fitz!' 'I've been engineered to love you, Carmodi. With the Doctor - it's the real thing.'

109. EDA - The Blue Angel:

Fitz swallowed hard. He was the one who was raving mad. He was in the midst of the most ridiculous danger, horse-riding down a mountainside, probably about to die and, in the final few minutes of his life, what was passing through his mind? Not the greatest, most fulfilling moments in this life - but a consideration of his chances of getting laid by Iris . . . and even of getting laid by the Doctor. What was it about Time Lords?

110. BF - 1963: The Assassination Games:

GILMORE: Uh, “man” is something of a misnomer. I think he’s best described as… an outsider.

111. New Who - The Star Beast - Donna and Fourteen, conclude, "Because the Doctor's male and female." Elsewhere, but connected through the metacrisis, Rose Noble finishes, "and neither, and more!"

112. New Who - Dinosaurs on a Spaceship - Eleven tells Solomon about the Schubert music he's playing, "Say hello to hands three and four! Schubert kept tickling me to try and put me off." He then smiles, "'Franz the Hands'. Oh, that takes me back."

113. New Who - Death in Heaven - Clara tells Twelve, "Go be a king or something." "Yeah... might do that." She then adds, "Or queen, y'know, whatever..." "Yeah, queen, that would be good too."

114. New Who - Rogue - Fifteen quietly puts on the ring Rogue proposed to him with.

115. IDW - Bodysnatched! - Eleven, swapped into Amy's body tells Rory while applying a bow tie, "I suppose it is more difficult for you - Time Lords don't really worry that much about what sex they are. Romana was a Time Lady and she was easily equal to me. Sometimes anyway, when she didn't use the dog. I'm a woman now. Women are cool."

116. New Who - Closing Time - Elven chats with a saleswoman, Val, who says, "I think you look ever so sweet: you and your partner [Craig] and the baby." He responds, "'Partner', yes I like it. Is it better than 'companion'?" She answers, "'Companion'... sounds old fashioned. There's no need to be coy these days."

117. New Who - Rogue - Seeing the TARDIS, Rogue opens his arms wide and says "I'm in love!" Fifteen reacts surprised, before Rogue adds, "With this machine." Fifteen then smirks.

118. IDW - Bodysnatched! - Rory, thinking Amy is still in Eleven's body, kisses him. Eleven steps back and says, "As passionate as that was, Rory, don't you think you should be kissing your wife, not me?" Amy says, "Oh no. Do it again. But do it... slower."

119. Classic Who - The Mutants - Sondergaard tells Three, "If you spend any time in there without [a radiation suit], Doctor, you will die. Any man would." Three retorts, "Any 'man', perhaps."

120. BF - An Eye for Murder:

DOCTOR: Oh don't think of me as a man. Just the Doctor.

121. BF - Deleted Scenes:

CELINE: [The Doctor] loves you [Jamie], dearly. As do I.

122. FASA Doctor Who RPG - A Sourcebook for Field Agents:

The Master

This entry contains information on one of Gallifrey's most dangerous enemies, the renegade Time Lord known as The Master. The Master has, in some fashion yet unknown, erased his Biodata entry from the APC Net. As a result, the only information about him that we now possess has been drawn from the memories of the Doctor. It is, therefore, highly subjective, and Time Lords consulting this section should be aware that The Doctor's perceptions do not always correspond with Reality.

Appearance: Height: Average Build: Average Looks: Sinfully attractive Apparent Age: Middle-aged Actual Age: 800+ Number Of Regenerations Used: 12 (now using stolen body) Recognition Handle: Satanic beard; piercing blue eyes; black dress; black gloves.

123. New Who - Smile - As Bill goes to eat her algae-based meal, Twelve wistfully tells her, "I met an emperor made of algae one. He fancied me..."

124. New Who - Wild Blue Yonder - Donna and Fourteen chat about bumping into Isaac Newton. She says, "Was it me... or was Isaac Newton hot?" He replies, "He was, wasn't he? He was SO hot." Fourteen then catches himself, "Oh? Is that who I am now?" Donna then replies, "Well it was never that far from the surface, mate. I always thought..."

125. BF - 1963: The Assassination Games:

DOCTOR: A man after my own heart. GILMORE: Except you’re not a man. DOCTOR: And I have two hearts.

126. TVC - Undercover - Three again disguises himself as a woman to obtain captured information for UNIT.

127. New Who - The Star Beast - Prompted by Rose, Fourteen asks Beep the Meep, "Are you he, or she, or they...?" The Meep responds, "My chosen pronoun is the definite article. I am always, 'the Meep'. He then replies, "Oh, I do that."

128. Titan - Ophiuchus - Nyssa says to Five, "I didn't know that Time Lords could change gender, Doctor." He returns, "Gender is a very fluid concept, Nyssa, for some people more than others. A Time Lord even more so."

129. New Who - The Doctor Dances - Rose tells Nine, "I thought Jack might like this dance." Nine dancing, replies, "I'm sure he would Rose. I'm absolutely certain. But who with?"

130. EDA - The Slow Empire:

Once, there was a man called the Doctor, although he was not precisely a man and that was not his real name.

131. Novelisation - The Day of the Doctor:

‘I’ve been around a bit, Clara, I’m probably married to lots of people, it happens,’ he said, and made a dismissive hand gesture, to suggest that the occasional marriage was really no more than a parking ticket, and a moment later heard a vase smash behind him. He really had to get his peripheral movements under control. ‘But to her, though?’ ‘Oh, to her, to him, to who-knows. Sometimes the conversation just gets out of control. I think I’m even married to Jack Harkness, but there were a lot of people in the room at the time, it was hard to keep track.

132. New Who - The Doctor Dances - Rose remarks about Jack, "And he's vanished into thin air. Why's it always the great-looking ones who do that?" Nine looks up, "I'm making an effort not to be insulted." She then specifies, "I mean... 'men'." He grins and nods, "Okay, thanks, that really helped."

133. NSA - The Good Doctor:

'Scan me again. I’m not loba or human. I’m not man or woman in the way you understand it.'

134. New Who - Boom Town: Jack and Nine flirt with eachother watching Mickey and Rose. Jack starts, "Aw, sweet, look at these two. How come I never get any of that?" Nine, fixing up the TARDIS replies, "Buy me a drink first." "Such hard work..." "But worth it."

[mullermilkshake]

New arrivals

Part 29 <- Part 30 -> Part 31

The babies are here, you and Jinwoo try to have some family time.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem!reader Tags - New mom! reader, Dilf!Jinwoo, Fluff, Depictions of blood and violence, Knives, Death?

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

“Thank you, Jinwoo.”

You wouldn’t have been able to do all this without his help. 

Two babies, fresh smelling and wrapped in their little blankets in acrylic boxes. They were so tiny, so little in the world right from you before their first breath.

You did that. You gave birth to those beautiful little things and had no idea on what names to give them.

“Me? For what? Baby, you did all the hard work.” Jinwoo studied the twins just as you did, his little finger linking with yours in a way to connect with you.

“Thank you for advocating for me when I needed you. When we needed you.” 

Baby number one, you named him until the right name came to you. Baby number two you named her until you could decide another name that suited her.

“I’ll always advocate for you.” He said, finally wrapping his arm around you to hold you up.

You were still weak, though strong enough to stand on your own two feet for a little while and see the amusement in a serious time. “I don’t know what you said to the doctor, but she kept looking at you like she was about to cry.”

The thought made you giggle quietly, noting her tired and almost prettified look whenever she noticed Jinwoo in the room. He never told you, which made it all the most mysterious.

He rubbed his finger on each incubator in the eased quiet. “Sometimes people just need a voice.”

“Speaking of.” You said, watching him closely for an idea he might have. “I don’t know what to call them. I think your input is important in this.”

He shook his head thoughtfully and held you firmly. “Baby, you made them, you birthed them, you did all the hard work. I think it’s only right you name them too, any name you give them I know I’ll love.” 

“I’m not sure… we never got around to discuss it.”

Jinwoo didn’t expressly say it, but you knew that saddened look on anyone. “I’m sorry. I never should have gone to that raid. We could have talked about it-“

“You didn’t know. It’s alright. You’re back now.” 

He couldn’t blame himself, not like that.

“I’m glad to be back… Now that my memories returned, what about your mana? Anything changed?”

“No, nothing. I have a feeling I’m not getting it back… but it’s okay. I think I’m coming to terms with it.”

Jinwoo wanted to speak but was caught short by his phone ringing again. You saw the screen, an unknown number.

He cursed under his breath and pocketed his phone frustratedly. “That’s another unknown number that’s called in the last twenty four hours.”

“Why not answer it?”

“Because I’m spending time with my family. A phone call doesn’t come between that.”

Your heart melted into a blob right inside your chest. Jinwoo couldn’t have been more indirectly sweet and meaningful if he tried.

Pulling your glance away from your babies for a minute, you kissed him, lingering your lips on his, bodies close and content.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” Jinwoo slipped your hand into his. “Just so you know, that when I couldn’t remember you, my body did. And my mind, it fell in love with you all over again so quickly.”

Was he intentionally being romantic at a time of your vulnerability? Or were you just that gaga over him and you never realised?

“I missed you more than you know.” 

“I knew I missed you. It was on the tip of my tongue, the information was there but I couldn’t access it. I wanted to reach out to you, to touch you and breathe you in, but my brain didn’t allow it. It didn’t connect like it was meant to.”

You hung on his every word, studying the features of his face to ingrained them in your brain so you could identify him in the darkness, or from a crude sketch.

“Speaking of which.” Jinwoo rifled through his pocket. “I knew once I got my memories back that I'd remember, I just couldn’t place it. I took these from the dungeon boss's treasure it has stocked up in there.”

Two bangles, two miniature bangles to fit a child. 

“You got these?”

“After I lost those memories of you and the twins, I knew they were special, but I didn’t know why.” He placed them in your hand and closed your fingers over them.

They were cool to the touch, ice cold almost, like they had their own life force. Beautiful and weighted, like they were hand crafted with care and all the love of a joyful parent, combined into a little ring of gold.

“It’s the twins ‘welcome to the world’ present from their dad.” 

He lifted the bangle from your hand with the duller shine first, the other which shined perfectly in the grim artificial hospital lights, it practically became its own light source. “This is called Hero’s pride. And this one is a good luck charm. One for each of them to keep as they grow up.”

“Jinwoo… they’re beautiful.”

“You decide who they go to, I’m sure you’ll be able to decide their names after.”

Good luck charm… Hero’s pride. 

“Alright-“

A shrill scream split through the hospital hallway. Jinwoo left your touch and stood between the twins incubators and the doors.

“What is it, Jinwoo? It sounds like Hae-in, is it her- is it Hae-in?” You instinctively joined Jinwoo’s side, tugging at his shirt for his response.

“I think-“

“No! They’re taking my baby, stop it! Leave him alone!”  

“Oh my god… we need to help her, Jinwoo. Did she say what I thought she-“

"Jong-in's there, he can handle it."

You stuttered with an unbelievable shock, “J-Jinwoo, we have to help her. We can't just stand here.”

"I'll be putting you and the twins at risk if I do."

"We'll be fine- just please, go and see what's going on."

“Lock the door. Don’t let anyone in.” Even with his direct orders, Jinwoo was hesitant, he was conflicted, his eyes moving from the door and the twins, to you. 

He cursed something under his breath. “I won’t be long. Beru will keep you safe, you might not see him, but he’s there.”

He kissed you quick, pulled away and brought you to him again, lingering his lips on yours for a kiss you wanted to last forever.

“Don’t move. Don’t leave the twins. Stay exactly where you are, okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I promise.”

Jinwoo took you into a desperate embrace and kissed you one last time. “I’m coming right back.”

“I know.”

He left into the hallways following Hae-in’s screams of agony, a heartbroken noise that caused your eyes to well up as you locked the hospital room door. It seemed like hours of you standing there until it all fell silent, though in reality, a few minutes passed.

I need something to take my mind off of this, anything. Jinwoo will sort this mess out.

It wasn’t that you were ignorant. You were exhausted and unable to process Hae-in’s predicament when your own children with so tiny and vulnerable, something you couldn’t bear to think about. 

Something to ease your mind before you could start pacing and listening out for any sound in the hall creeping near your door.

The twins names.

The bangle was Hero’s pride. Baby number one came first. You gave that one to him, slipping it into his incubator and around his tiny wrist.

“For Min-ho, our little hero to protect his sister…”

The other bangle was a good luck charm. Baby number two could lean on Min-ho and allow him to do the same with his sister. The bangle hung over her tiny little wrist as she slept.

“For Jun-hee, our little good luck charm to protect her brother…”

You wrote the corresponding names of your children on their incubator cards while acutely aware of the utter deafening silence out in the hall.

“Oh good, you’re okay.” 

You jumped, covering your mouth to quieten yourself. “H-How did you get in, Doctor?”

Beru should have stopped her.

“I have a master key. I came to see you were alright, Hunter Cha is having an episode and I wanted to check in with you and the babies because the sounds are quite unsettling.”

You stepped between her and the twins. “I’m fine, so you can leave now.”

She held up her hands defensively. “It’s alright, I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“We don't, so you can leave now.” You channelled Jinwoo’s energy to appear as threatening as possible. 

“I will- oh, you named them?” She smiled like Jinwoo’s mother would, slowly edging towards you to see the incubators behind you. “Can I see?”

“No. Later, when Jinwoo’s back.”

“It won’t take a minute-“

“I said no.” You growled at her like a rabid dog.

“Ugh.” She sighed, her whole demeanour shifting like lightening. “You two have really been pissing me off.”

You didn’t register at first, only that Min-ho and Jun-hee started crying. You looked at them for just a second, a cold tug you never saw coming.

A thin steel knife into your stomach.

“What? How did I get past that idiot bug Jinwoo has marching about the place?” She grinned something manic you couldn’t even comprehend. “You really think that the association would let a civilian care for S-Rank hunters? How do you think I’ve been getting past everyone? I’m just that hidden.” 

You screamed when she plunged the knife into your stomach again, her nails digging at your shoulder. Struggling against her fist was a fight you didn’t have, but you kept going because you had to.

“W-why-“

“I’m taking your babies. I already have a seller lined up in Japan. Then my debt is cleared. But it’s riskier now that the idiot has regained his memories. There’s no way I could kill him to make sure he won’t come after me, but if I distract him long enough, that’s a different story. And Jinwoo Sung is worth too much to Korea to get rid of anyway. You on the other hand are expendable-“

“Stay away from my babies!” You rammed her, managing to get her on the back burner with the sudden energy you had while pushing yourself further onto the knife. Though you were just too weak to begin with.

The doctor spun you around and shoved the knife back into your stomach, your legs gave out, hitting the floor like a brick wall of pain and blood in the corner of the room.

“You made some beautiful kids, I’ll give you that. Strong too-even louder than I care for. Yet they are worth so much more than you realise.”

“T-the Chairman.” You began choking on your own blood, holding your stomach like it could do something, watching nothing but your children in the incubators. They were more like prisons which you couldn't reach. “My babies…” 

“Chairman Go knows nothing, he’s a desperate old fool who just wanted the association as his family. Like he would actually go through with taking these kids, let alone selling them. Don't be so naive.”

The doctor looked down at you like you were nothing through your blurry eyed lasting vision before death came. Leaving your babies all alone without you. Without their mother. You hadn’t even held them yet.

My babies… 

“The only cover up the Chairman was part of was ensuring Mr Sung’s involvement in the incident was removed from the press.” She grimaced like you were nothing better than dirt on her shoe. “He knew during the investigation that Jinwoo was a murderer and he never said anything because of the babies you both made. Consider yourself lucky you spent as much time with him as you did.”

What? What does that… I don’t know-

“You could have gone on to make so many more great ones too, but try getting him to agree to anything he doesn’t want to. Giving up your babies just to make new ones, yeah right.” 

When things started doing dark and creeping up in the corner of your eyes, she knelt down to patronise you. “Don’t worry about the kids, they’ll live a good life in Japan doing who-knows-what, but that’s not my problem. After they leave my care, all I want is the money.”

You managed to stay awake long enough to her wheel your crying babies away and flip you her sweet smile as you sat there, bleeding out with no reason than to die.

In a split second, the vile doctor made you less than nothing.

Your babies were missing.

Part 29 <- Part 30 -> Part 31

Okay, let me tell you something, let me tell you something before you the pitchforks are sharpened and the horses ride at dawn!! It's part of the plot, this had to happen. 🫣🫣 Trust the process! I'm sorry! 🤗🥰

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

Thank you for reading and all of the support on this fic! ❤️ Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated and I appreciate you all! See you next time 🤗

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@yessirr7 @qmabailor @yihona-san06 @mashiromochi @daiyanomochi

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DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work, thank you!

[raekensluver]

still my home

masterlist | main masterlist

description: after a painful fight, you leave with nowhere to go - only to be quietly reminded that harry’s always known how to find you.

pairing: childhood best friend!harry lewis x fem!reader

contains: angst/comfort, childhood best friends to.....?

song rec: my tears ricochet by taylor swift- "and i can go anywhere i want. anywhere i want, just not home."

w.c: 750

the slam of the door was too loud, too final.

it echoed through harry's flat like the closing scene of a bad play, the kind where everyone ends up a little bit broken. you didn’t mean to slam it. not really. but your hands had been shaking and your voice had cracked and all you could think was: i need to get out.

harry had been your best friend since the two of you were kids in guernsey. scraped knees and bike rides, whispered secrets under blankets at sleepovers, your name always the first one out of his mouth when he needed to rant, and vice versa. somewhere along the way, it had shifted. the touches got longer, the looks heavier. and then, like it had been inevitable, you were his.

his girl. his best friend. his heart.

and now you were out in the street, hoodie pulled tight around your face, the night air biting at your cheeks, your phone heavy in your pocket with no idea where to go.

because home was harry’s place.

and right now, you couldn’t go home.

"you didn’t even think to invite me," you had said, your voice shaking with that awful mixture of hurt and disbelief. harry had blinked like you were speaking another language. "what? to the pub? it wasn’t a big deal – just last minute drinks." "yeah. in london. the city we both live in. where we’re both friends with everyone there. you didn’t even ask." "it wasn’t anything serious– " "harry, it hurt. not because you went out. because you didn’t want me there. because it didn’t even cross your mind." he’d looked away, jaw tense. "you’re overreacting," he muttered. and that had said more than anything else. "overreacting? are you serious? you’ve been doing this for weeks. disappearing. brushing things off. acting like i’m just… background noise." he’d rubbed the back of his neck, defensive. "you know i’ve just been busy. work’s a lot right now. you always take this stuff so personally." "because it is personal!" you snapped. "we used to talk every day. and now you forget to text me back for two. you make plans without even thinking about me. i feel like i’m losing you and you don’t even notice." he hadn’t said anything. and that silence? it was the worst part. "you didn’t think. and that’s the part that really fucking stings."

you wandered the pavement with no destination, everything muffled except for the wind and the chaos in your chest. your hands trembled as you finally pulled out your phone. the contacts list blurred through your tears.

you scrolled. stopped. scrolled again.

there wasn’t anyone.

because harry had always been the one you called. when things went wrong, when your heart ached, when the world didn’t make sense. but now the hurt was because of him.

you locked the screen. dropped the phone into your pocket. wrapped your arms around yourself and kept walking, streets blurring into one another, the city a smear of noise and light.

after a while, you found a bench on a quiet side street and sank onto it. it wasn’t familiar. not really. but you’d come here a few times when you needed to breathe. because the view - of the skyline, the subtle stretch of buildings glowing under streetlights - always calmed something in your chest.

you sighed, curling your knees to your chest. "it’s dumb," you muttered to no one. "but i love the view."

you didn’t hear the car at first.

didn’t look up until footsteps slowed in front of you.

harry stood there, breathless, hair messy, eyes wide.

you blinked, confused. "how did you-"

"i figured," he said, voice soft. "you’ve always said you like this bench. because of the view."

he sat beside you without touching you, without assuming.

"i don’t expect you to forgive me right now," he said softly. "i just didn’t want you sitting out here alone."

you looked at him. he looked like shit.

you swallowed hard. "i didn’t know where else to go."

he turned to you, eyes soft. "i didn’t know what to do when you weren’t here."

silence.

then, "why didn’t you think of me?"

he sighed. "i don’t know. and i hate that i don’t. maybe i took for granted that you’d always be there. and that’s not fair. i don’t want to be the kind of person who forgets his person."

your voice was barely there. "you made me feel invisible."

"then i’ll do whatever it takes to remind you how seen you are. how much i love you. i’ve loved you since you punched a boy in year 7 for calling me names. i’m an idiot, but i’m your idiot. if you still want me."

you didn’t speak.

you leaned into him.

his arms came around you instantly, like muscle memory. he pressed a kiss to your temple, shaky and slow.

"you’re my home," you whispered.

his breath caught.

"then let me keep you safe this time. properly. no more fucking up."

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t need to.

his hand in yours was enough. for now.

and later, when he led you back to the flat and unlocked the door, it didn’t feel like walking into broken pieces. it felt like rebuilding. it felt like home.

because it was him.

[hislittlesparklejumpropequeen]

Watching you-Part 2

Hwang In-ho x female!reader

Part 1

Summary: In-ho saw you once, now he cannot look away. Word count: 3.6k Warnings: dead dove do not eat, dub-con elements, dacryhilia, biting, blood and gore, murder, mentions of character death, unhealthy dynamics, vulnerable characters, mentally unstable characters, brutally, toxic!creepy!In-ho, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, creampie A/n: thank you everyone for reading and liking. Can we also talk about the scene In-ho watches Gi-hun not killing other players after he gave him the knife. That was my FAV scene in the whole series. Also I left an edit at the end inspired by this fanfic<3

When you opened your eyes, your vision was greeted by darkness. The lack of oxygen in the room made your breathing heavy. You were laying on a bed, your clothes changed into clean ones. You wondered if you were dead for a moment. The silence and the darkness of your environment made your heart beats slow down. You felt all your senses get dull.

You sat up in the bed, your eyes slowly getting used to the darkness. You could see the door that wasn’t so far away from the bed and a large screen that was on the wall opposite your bed. It was like a prison cell. You got up slowly, still trying shake the confusion off of yourself. When you reached for the handle, the door wiggled yet didn’t set you free. After few punches and screams to the door, you sat back down onto your bed with failure. And with those haunting memories of the earlier came rushing back.

You remembered Young-il kissing your forehead as they left the common room with guns and will to end this hell. You remembered Dae-ho and Hyun-ju come back to the common room one after another, looking for magazines. You remembered Gi-hun being brought back to the common room in a coffin, his screams and pleas. And you remembered how Young-il apologised to Gi-hun for failing him before…before he was dead.

The last thing you remembered was laying on your bed, shaking with cold and fear as you cried for Young-il, wondering how you were going to survive in tomorrow’s game without him. And the next thing you knew was two triangle soldiers dragging you out of the thin covers.

The memories made your eyes burn. Tears fell down your cheeks. Your body was hurting inside and out. Your heart ached when you remembered his words, his promises and his touch. He had said that he was going to come back to you. You knew, he was never going to keep his promise.

The sound of unlocking the door pulled you back to the reality. The brightness of the outside world blinded you for a moment and you couldn’t see who came in. When you were able to see again, you saw him. The man with the black mask stood right in front of you, his head tilted to the side, watching you.

“Are you feeling better?” The robotic voice sent shivers down your spine. You stood up and looked up to him, trying to see traces of the human underneath the mask.

“Who are you? Where am I?” You asked as you looked around the room quickly before looking back at him. Not being able to seeing his eyes as you spoke made you feel like you were talking to a ghost.

“You are safe now. Your dinner will be delivered to you.” He said before he turned around to leave. You held his arm before he moved away from you. With your touch, it felt like his body froze.

“Why did you let me live?” You asked just like Gi-hun, your voice cracking as you spoke. What was the point of staying alive when everyone was dead? Could you really live with yourself and get out of this place with the money that caused the death of hundreds? Could you really forget Young-il? “Why not just take my life and be done with all this bother?”

“Is that what you really want?” The man asked, his arm still in your grip. “You have a chance to survive. Young-il fought bravely to save your life.”

The words felt like punches to your gut, blades to your back and poison down your throat. Tears blurred your vision once again. The lump in your throat was making it difficult to breathe. All the muscles in your body was tense as your brain was processing his words.

“I wish he hadn’t.” You said as you let go his arm and sat back on the bed. “I wish he was here instead of-“

You couldn’t finish your sentence as sobs came out of your mouth. Your hands covered your lips to control your cries. You heard him whisper your name in the silence of the small, suffocating room, making you look up to him. You watched him put his hood down and slowly lower his mask.

Your breathing stopped. Only thing you could hear was the ringing in your ears and your fast heart beats. The cold sweat drops flowed down your spine, making you shiver and whimper. Your body was going numb, could not move at all. You just looked at his face, standing in front of you, very much alive and well. His cheeks were full of life and his lips parted, sucking in breaths. His eyes were not looking at you, head down as if he could not make eye contact with your questioning, disappointed eyes.

He took a step closer to you, making you jump and move away. You were so sure that you were going insane. And the worst part was, it felt natural in this place. You felt your heart sink when he said your name again. The tone of his voice, the way his lips curled and stretched, and the look in his eyes were all *same*.

“What?” You said, half laughing, half crying, head shaking nonstop, trying to understand the situation that you were in. Your head was pounding, the moments you had with him going trough your vision like a movie. His gentle voice echoing in your head, whispering sweet nothings to you as you tried to sleep and his hands covered in blood tracing over your skin again and again. There was no possibility that he could be standing in front of you in this moment. You recalled hearing his apology and single gun shot trough Dae-ho’s walkie talkie.

When you were trapped in the corner of the wall, he had his one knee on the bed, his body leaning towards yours. His hair was still messy, his eyes still as unreadable as before but he looked oddly unfamiliar without the green tracksuit and with the gunshot you heard ours ago. You cried out when his hand found your ankle and his fingers wrapped around the bone. He wasn’t holding tight yet his touch burned your flesh. He was real and he was right here.

“I promised to keep you safe. And now you are.” He said as his body leaned closer, his face inches away from yours. He didn’t look away from your terrified eyes when he leaned in to kiss your cheek. The softness and the warmth of his lips made your body shake underneath him. His kiss was familiar more than himself. You realised how much you missed his lips on you. And how much you craved for more.

Your brain was foggy, unable to think and process as his hands made their way down your body, as if they knew their way around already. The familiarity of his touch made you want to cry. You wanted to open your mouth and speak yet no thought was forming in your brain. You felt empty and Young-il was filling you up with his very existence. You heard him hush you when your cries got louder.

“I’m here now.” He whispered, his voice low and calm compared to your painful cries and sobs. You knew the questions you wanted to ask him would only give you more pain and heartbreak. His fingertips traced over your wet cheeks, wiping your tears away as your cries turned into silent whimpers. He licked his fingertips, tasting your tears and agony.

“You are so beautiful when you cry for me.” He said and more tears flowed down your cheeks. He shifted in his position and made himself comfortable between your legs, still standing on his knees and his hands covered with leather gloves on your thighs.

In-ho looked at your trembling body and teary eyes. God, even in this state you were successful with making his cock twitch in his trousers. You were finally here, beside him where you belonged. He watched you for a moment, seeing your body shake with every single breath you took in. The hand on your thigh moved to your inner leg slowly, carefully. Your legs tried to close up when his thumb traced over the corner of your underwear. Yet he didnt let you and kept your legs apart as his hand made its way to the band of your tracksuit. He removed the piece of clothing off of you with a sudden, harsh pull. You shrieked when the coldness of the room hit your exposed skin.

In-ho looked up and down at you. His dark eyes scanned your perfect body, his mouth watering and his tongue going numb with every single detail he’s seeing. When his gaze found the little wet patch on your underwear, he almost smiled. Your body was reacting to him as if he had slipped himself into your blood, made you addicted to him. The thought of breaking into you successfully made his cock harder.

“I see you had missed me.” He said, the mockery in his tone making your stomach turn upside down. You tried to push him off yet his strong form wasn't even moving an inch. Your hands went weak on his arms when his thumb traced over your folds over the underwear. You felt yourself drip down to the dump cloth, making it stick to your skin and making you shiver. His fingers slowly got under the underwear, pushing it aside and revealing you to his eyes.

His thumb pushed onto your clitoris gently, making you jump on the bed, your moan echoing the room and filling his ears. He could smell your arousal and fear, making his thighs clench and his cock twitch repeatedly in his trousers. He could feel his precum dripping into his underwear, making him hiss in need. He could feel himself hungry for your body, for you soul. He wanted to make you his over and over again, until you knew nothing but him. Everything outside of this room was too far away as his fingers were on you entrance. The closest thing to him was you, your broken soul and weak heart.

He kissed you again and swallowed down your loud moans as his one finger entered you. His lips moved against yours, his tongue licking into your mouth, spit covering the corners of your lips and flowing down to your cheek in a thin line. Only thing you could taste was him as his finger moved inside and out. You opened your mouth as if you were starving for him. His finger got faster and his thumb found your clitoris again when you kissed him back. Your tears were flowing down your cheeks, wetting your hair and the pillow underneath your head. You could feel your body drenching in sweat, hairs sticking onto your forehead.

When his fingers slowly found the spot that made you cry out, parting your lips and trying to cover your mouth, he smiled, his eyes dark with arousal and sense of power he’s being drowned in. Your legs shook and you had to hold onto his arms. He still had his clothes on and not being able to feel him fully killed you. As your eyes rolled back into your head, your back arched yet the final moment didn’t come. You opened your eyes in frustration when he removed his finger out of you.

In-ho took his gloves off, tossing them somewhere in the room. His hands removed the buttons of his uniform, revealing the black sleeveless tank top he had underneath. He pulled his pants down, his hard cock getting freed. He was sweating and trembling in need just like you were. When he grabbed his member and gave it a few pumps, he leaned closer onto you. When he pressed his forehead againts yours, his tip was right on your clenching entrance. You whimpered, tears flowing down and breaths fast with the overwhelming feeling of need.

He pushed in, making both of you moan. You held onto his shoulders, opening your legs wider to make a room for him. He looked down as he kept pushing another inch. You could feel yourself stretch deliciously around him, your clit throbbing and your nipples hard against the texture of your tshirt. When he was fully seated in you, you could feel him so deep that it felt like he discovered places you didn’t even know existed. You arched your back, already overwhelmed with his large member in you. His lips were kissing every inch of your neck and chin. Two of you froze for a moment and just listened to each other’s breathing.

You felt yourself get dizzy when he started to move. His thrusts were slow and soft, as if he was giving you moment you adjust to his size. He could feel your tight walls sucking him in, holding him trapped within your warm, wet embrace. In-ho wondered if he should tell you his real name in this moment. Would you like to learn that everything you knew about him, including his name were lie? Or should he let you know him as Young-il, and at least have the memories of that man you once trusted with your life?

His hips crashed against yours, making your bones shake and your blood boil in your veins. Everything in your body was burning with his touch. His strong hands grabbed your hips, fingers digging into your skin. You weren’t sure if it was his skin slapping against yours, or his fingers leaving bruises or his cock that stretching you out was the most painful. And the worst thing was, you were getting wetter and wetter, your juices dripping down to his balls and the sounds of your clenching pussy filling the room alongside your moans. He leaned in, burying his face into your neck, sucking and biting onto your skin. Your natural scent of blood, sweat and tears made him dizzy, taking his breath away as he tried to hold himself up on his elbows. You shoved your fingers trough his soft locks, legs wrapped around his waist tight and strong.

In-ho could feel you getting closer as your breathing got faster, your walls clenching insanely around him and body trembling. He was close too, his cock covered in your juices with a ring of cream at the base twitching in you and his balls pulsing like heart beats against your hips. One of his hands went down to his trousers. You were so lost in your pleasure that you didn’t even see him reaching for the small controller in his pocket and switch off the screen in the room.

The bright light and the sounds of screams filled the room and you snapped back out of the moment. Your gaze immediately found the screen where players were running around in the blood covered corridors. They were wearing blue and red shirts, clearly separated into different teams for the new game. Your burning body went ice cold as you watched them kill one another brutally. Your caught a glimpse of Gi-hun, holding a knife and running after someone. No, it wasn’t just someone, it was Dae-ho. He was trying to escape him, terrified and bleeding from his leg. Your body shook when his thumb found your clitoris and started to rub.

Your legs trembled, shaking around his waist and kicking the air when he pressed himself deeper into you. You saw Dae-ho open the wrong door and Gi-hun finally spotting him. They were fighting, pushing, punching one another. They were trying to kill one another. The warmth in your belly spread trough your loins and legs when Gi-gun laid Dae-ho down, fingers wrapping around his neck. Young-il’s two fingers found your lips, forcing his digits down your tongue and making you gag.

You cried out, holding onto Young-il’s shoulders, your eyes never looking away from the scene unfolding in front of you. Your breathing stopped alonside Dae-ho’s when you vision went white. Your body froze underneath him as he thrusted in one last time, his pelvic bone sticking onto your throbbing clitoris, his hips meeting with yours as pounded into you with all of his strenght. You could barely see Dae-ho’s body going limp under Gi-hun’s hands as you felt Young-il spending himself into you. You felt his thick, ropes of his cum nearly hitting your cervix and painting your inner walls. You tasted blood as your teeth sinked into the flesh of his fingers on your tongue. You coughed as you tried to breathe, nails digging into his arms and drawing blood.

Your stomach sinked when you were seeing again. Young-il was breathing fast on top of you, his body still trembling againts yours. You saw Gi-hun sink down next to Dae-ho’s lifeless body. A sob escaped your lips when you saw him just sit down there, next to the person you had called a friend, an ally since the first day. Your eyes burned and felt like there was a knife within you, twisting and cutting you over and over again. You felt Young-il shift and look at you but you didn’t turn to look at him. He pushed himself up and sat down by your feet, leaning against the wall. He looked at Gi-hun who had just killed his friend, blaming him for his own fault and took a young man’s life as if it was nothing.

He looked at you before he looked back at Gi-hun. The two most interesting people in this game were finally playing *his games*. He got up, putting his clothes back on as he didn’t look away from Gi-hun on the screen. When he looked back at you, your eyes were already on him. He stopped his movements when you spoke.

“I trusted you. We trusted you.” You said, a tear flowing down your cheek. In-ho looked at you, his fingers clenching around the hard material of his mask. He turned around as the cries of a baby filled your ears. You looked at the screen to see Jun-hee holding her baby.

---

You sat in silence for minutes, for hours, maybe for days after he left and the screen was stwiched off. The darkness was so suffocating that you could not even think. You had no idea what time it was or what day. You were still in the same position, his cum dried on your inner legs, the places he kissed burning and marked by his spit still. You weren’t sure if anything was real in the passing time. Your head was too heavy on your shoulders, making your body sink into the bed.

All you could see was Young-il’s face, his eyes locked with yours, his skin pressed against you, the sweat drops flowing down to your skin from his temples, his hair falling into his eyes. You could smell him still. Did it not matter that Young-il killed someone in front of you? Did it not matter that he was responsible of the death of all your friends?

You wanted to get swallowed up by him over and over again, until nothing had left of you.

You were sitting in silence, the food on tray that was beside the locked door getting cold when the sudden light from the screen made you jump in your spot. For the first time in hours, you turned your gaze to the screen. You could see the common rooms. The smaller amount of beds made your heart ache. You saw the baby crib in the darkness yet Jun-hee was no where to be seen. Your eyes swelled up with tears.

Gi-hun was walking towards to group of beds at the opposite side of the room, holding a knife. Why were you watching this? Why were they all wearing suits? You watched him aproach one of them with fast steps. He stood by the player 100’s side and held his knife out. Your breath hitched when the tip of the knife was nearly in the man’s neck. Was he really going to kill him, kill them to survive? You wondered if Young-il was also seeing this at the same time as you?

Gi-hun was holding the knife tight, his knuckles going white around the sharp blade. You sat up on the bed when he pushed himself to put the knife trough his neck. Yet he could not do it. His arms dropped when he took a deep breath, his shoulders dropping as if he was carrying the weight of the whole world. A small smile appeared on your lips when you understood why you were watching this. Young-il was trying to show you that he wasn’t the only bad guy here, even Gi-hun could be capable of harming others to survive.

A laugh escaped your lips when you imagined him watching Gi-hun walk away from other players, his suit and hands still clean. You wondered if he heard your laugh too.

In-ho’s gaze drifted to the camera that was recording your room, his eyes that were filled with tears found you smiling and laughing as you sat on your bed. You were laughing at Gi-hun not giving him the satisfaction of feeling better in his skin after everything he had done. His jaw clenched with anger as he kept watching you, never looking away, eyes glued on your beautiful, innocent face.

What a strange thing it was that he felt like his heart was bleeding.

Edit.

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A Hand in the Dark (#7)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Hurt/Comfort. Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Fluff.

Summary: In a brief moment of lucidity, Soldat makes a choice. And some choices echo across time, shaping the future in ways no one could predict.

Word Count: 5.5k.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

She woke up to an empty bed, the other side was faintly creased and already cool. It didn’t surprise her. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and padded to the bathroom, then to the kitchen. Everything was quiet.

He wasn’t there.

She pulled on a cardigan and opened the curtains, enough to let the morning light spill across the floor. The kettle went on. Bread into the toaster. She moved through the morning ritual without much thought.

Then the lock clicked.

She turned her head from the table as he stepped in, with the collar of his jacket pulled high and the cap low over his face. Paper bags dangling from one hand.

“Hey,” she greeted gently.

“Hey,” he echoed, murmuring, not quite meeting her eyes.

“You want coffee?”

A beat passed before he nodded. Once.

He pulled off his jacket and hat in silence and hung them carefully on the rack. Then he disappeared down the hall.

She stood up and went to the counter, pouring him a mug. Set a bunch of cookies on a plate and set it beside the beverage across her spot on the table.

When he returned, he was empty-handed and sat stiffly, with his shoulders slightly hunched.

“It would be too nosy of me to ask what you bought?” she asked, referring to the bags now hidden in his room.

His eyes flicked to her, then back down to the mug.

“Just… stuff I needed,” he said.

She hummed a little. “Aha.”. Then picked up her phone.

He stared at her fingers moving over the screen, and something inside him felt wrong. He owed her the answer, more than this, probably. She’d dragged him, soaked and broken, from the alley. Sat outside the tub and scrubbed him while he sat there like an alienated person at a fucking mental asylum. Held him as he sobbed like a child and offered him her bed as if it were no big deal. He was pretty sure that normal "roomies" didn't have to do that kind of thing for someone who shared their roof with them.

So, he straightened in the chair a little. Cleared his throat.

“I’ve been remembering things,” he said, fixing his eyes on a scratch in the wooden table. “Some clearer than others. Some I’m not sure I want to recall.”

Her phone went still in her hand. Her full attention shifted to him, tilting her body slightly forward.

“Things from… before. And things I did.” His mouth twisted around the last word. “Stuff I can’t always tell apart yet.”

He forced himself to meet her eyes for a second. “It’s all mixed up. Comes and goes. So I bought some notebooks. To write it down. Try to make sense of it.”

She nodded slowly, not interrupting.

“I need to see it written… separate the things I did because of them, and the things that were just me. To figure… things out.”

She reached across the table and touched his wrist gently. “That’s a really good way to start.”

His arm went still under her hand, then relaxed.

Then she sat back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and gave a small, nervous smile.

“Well… since we’re being honest,” she said, glancing toward the hallway, “we need to talk about your accommodations.”

He went still.

“You’re sleeping in my hauling room,” she went on, watching him carefully, “and I think it’s time we tidy it up a bit. Make it more yours.”

He blinked. “It’s fine. I don’t need-”

“You deserve a real bed, not something that folds like a deathtrap,” she interrupted gently.

He stared at her like she’d suggested pulling out the floorboards.

“I- I prefer that cot,” he said stiffly. Too quickly. The words left his mouth before he could decide if they were true or just reflex.

She didn’t argue. Just nodded. “Still, I’m going to get rid of the clothes I’m not using and a few other things too, so you have room. If you’re writing now, you’ll need at least a little table.”

His fingers twitched on the side of his mug.

“I know it’s been kind of your bunker until now,” she added gently, “but you have to admit it’s a little… cluttered.”

Cluttered. That was one word for it. The room was layered in tension, items stacked with purpose, defense options mapped, and shadows at bay. It hadn’t been organized so much as fortified. Like a shell around his frayed mind.

“I put things the way I need them,” he said, but it came out quieter than he meant. Almost uncertain.

“I’m not gonna move your stuff… much. But if you want a table, if you want shelves, I can help you make space.”

His chest rose and fell, too shallowly.

“I just… It’s the only part that’s mine,” he admitted, barely audible.

“And it stays yours,” she said immediately, calmly. “I’m not trying to take it away. Just making sure you can breathe in it. And besides, there are things there I have been meaning to sell for a while now, to make extra cash. I doubt you have a use for women's clothes and footwear," she quirked a brow. “Let me get rid of my old clothing, and the rest of the things stay there, unless you want to put something in the room."

His jaw flexed. He didn’t look at her. Just stared at the mug between his hands.

She had a point.

It was her stuff. Her clothes. Her shoes. Her boxes. He’d been sleeping on a cot in her storage room, surrounded by things that didn’t belong to him. He just had nested there like a traumatized stray.

He could still hear her voice, calm, without pressure:

“Let me get rid of my old clothing, and the rest of the things stay there, unless you want to put something in it.”

Did he really have the right to argue? He’d been using her home. Her food. Her quiet. Her patience. And now he was using her time and her money, too. No matter how much he tried to contribute, no matter how many groceries he bought with Hydra cash, he knew it wasn’t evening out. The extra meat. The extra heat at night. The laundry items.

All of it, bleeding slowly from her wallet into his care.

So if she wanted to sell a few clothes she didn’t wear anymore to make up the difference...

How could he tell her no?

He hated it. Hated that every instinct said guard the den, don’t let anyone touch it, don’t lose the only safe place you’ve had in years. But this wasn’t a bunker. It was her guest room. And she was offering to make space, not erase him.

His fingers drummed once against the mug. Then stilled.

“Take away the clothes and…” he muttered, “maybe I could put a shelf.”

Her eyes lifted immediately, and for a breath, she didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just looked at him, like she saw all of that war playing out beneath his eyes.

Then her gaze softened.

“Deal.”

He nodded once, tightly and mechanically. Told himself to breathe. Told himself this was fair. She wasn’t taking the space. She was clearing it for him.

“If you need help lifting anything,” he added, forcing the words through his lips, “I’ll do it.”

This time she did smile. “Thanks, Bucky.”

He ducked his head again.

“Probably I'll start sorting the clothing when I come home from work, so I can go to a second-hand shop the day after tomorrow." She commented, stretching her arms.

He stilled.

She was moving fast. Like she’d made a decision and wasn’t going to leave it floating in the air, vulnerable to his retreat. No room for him to squirm out of it, to backpedal.

He didn’t look at her. Just chewed. The cookie felt like chalk in his mouth.

It was happening. The sorting, the clearing. He’d said yes. He meant yes.

But still, that lurch of old panic curled low in his stomach. That urge to protect the corner he’d turned into a shelter, even if it was built with someone else’s things.

His nod was tight. One flick of his chin, like a box being checked.

"Okay," he said, hoarse. Still not looking at her.

She didn’t tease him. Didn’t say “don’t get too excited” because of his demeanor, or “look at you, being useful.” Just sipped her coffee and added, casually-

“There’s a shop near the building, so I’m taking you up on your offer. Maybe you could come with me, help with some boxes.”

The phrasing was wiser than she would ever know.

It wasn’t a “I need you to.” It wasn’t a “You have to.”

It was “maybe you could.”

He could. He would.

“Sure,” he said quietly, brushing crumbs from his fingers.

And this time, he managed to look at her. Not long, but just long enough to see her nod.

She trusted him with this.

He’d carry the boxes. Damn, he’d carry them all.

----

When she came home, she just dropped her bag by the door, took off her coat, and rolled up her sleeves. Walked purposefully towards the spare room and greeted him, opening the closet and beginning to tug hangers free in swift motions. Skirts, blouses, a couple of old jackets she hadn’t worn in years, some pairs of jeans she knew won’t fit her again, the hope has been in vain. She moved like she knew exactly what had to go. Then went to the boxes, some of them empty, some of them not.

Bucky sat silently on the cot. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. His eyes followed the motion of fabric piling on the bed, but he didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really.

It wasn’t his place to touch any of it. It wasn’t his to decide what stayed and what didn’t. He felt like a guest at his own eviction, even if that wasn’t what this was.

Could’ve left the room. Gone to take a shower. Waited in the kitchen. But something in him… didn’t want to. Couldn’t, maybe. Not when things were already shifting. Not when his nest, the space where he’d collapsed those first nights, door locked, body curled tight in the smallest corner, was being breathed open by someone else's hands.

He watched her, fidgeting. Picked at a thread on the seam of his pants. His prosthetic fingers tapped quietly against his thigh in a slow, erratic rhythm.

“You okay?” she asked once, glancing back at him with an armful of sweaters.

He nodded too quickly. “Yeah.”

She then just kept going, folding, sorting into stacks. Keep. Sell. Somewhere near the bottom of one of the boxes, buried under a winter scarf and a tangled phone charger, she pulled out a wrinkled plastic bag and furrowed her brows.

“God, what even is this…”

She didn’t think much of it. Just tipped the contents onto the cot beside him.

Something crimson and lacy spilled out across the rumpled blanket.

She groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked sideways before he could stop himself. He hadn’t caught the full detail, just movement -color- and then it was there: red lace bra, crinkled suggestively on the cot’s edge. Delicate, impractical, and obviously meant for anything but support.

He blinked. She snatched it up immediately with two fingers and a scoff, like it burned.

“Can you believe this crap?” she said, holding it up. “My ex gave it to me for my birthday. Two sizes too small.” She shook her head, frowning. “Should’ve been a warning sign, huh? Probably he was already cheating me by then.” With a quick flick of her wrist, she chucked it into the garbage bag. “Don’t know why I still had it.”

Bucky looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. His back stiffened slightly. He tried to act unaffected, but his ears were red. So was the back of his neck. His hand crept up to scratch just beneath his jaw, an old, nervous tell.

Right. This was the twenty-first century.

He cleared his throat. “Is… is that a common thing now?” he asked stiffly, gesturing vaguely toward the trash bag with an awkward flutter of his fingers. “For… uh. Sweethearts to give each other those kinds of…” He trailed off, eyebrows knotted like he’d stepped into unfamiliar terrain with no map.

She paused, half-smiling as she turned to face him properly.

“Well,” she said, considering, “depends on the couple, I guess. Some people love that kind of thing. Some don’t.” She sat back on her heels. “But that was the first birthday we spent together. I mean, come on. A slutty red bra that doesn’t even cover your nipples? Not exactly the most thoughtful gift.”

She wrinkled her nose and reached for the next pile like that conversation hadn’t just torched the edges of his comfort zone.

She huffed, pushing the offending bra deeper into the trash bag like it might crawl back out. “And! I couldn’t even return it,” she added, offended all over again. “He’d bought it on clearance. No receipt. Probably got it for her, whoever she was, and when my birthday rolled around, went, oh right!”

She trailed off with a bitter little scoff, shaking her head.

Bucky blinked. Then again. His mouth opened slightly, then closed.

This was- this was too much information. On several planes.

First, the idea that it was normal now for a fella to buy his girl some racy lace contraption as a birthday gift. Not a brooch. Not a novel. Not perfume. Underwear. Bright, indecent underwear. On clearance.

Second, the mention of her ex. An abstract concept until now, but suddenly real, a guy with hands and a voice. A man who had touched her and laughed in her kitchen. Somehow, it irked him.

And third… the lace itself. That wasn’t the lace he remembered. Back then, lace was demure. Something a girl might wear under her Sunday dress, not on purpose for display.

He was spiraling in soft silence when her voice broke through.

“What would you have gifted to a girlfriend, you know… before?” she asked.

He shifted on the cot, and one hand came up to rub the back of his neck, his fingers digging into tense muscle as he considered. Not a comb. He wasn’t some wide-eyed schoolboy chasing girls with pigtailed dreams.

“Depends on the girl,” he said finally. “But I- I remember once I dated this… nurse. Annie. Real smart. She loved going to the movies.”

His mouth quirked. Not quite a smile.

“I bought her a pair of gloves,” he said. “White leather. Real soft. She worked nights at the hospital, her hands were always cold. Got ‘em monogrammed with her initials, too. Classy stuff.”

He cleared his throat and looked away.

She blinked at him, then smiled.

“That’s… really thoughtful, I bet she loved them,” she said.

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. It was ages ago, and it felt like… no, it didn’t feel like. It was another man. With a whole other life. One with warmth and windows and streets he knew by name. If he could even call himself a man now. Most days, he still wasn’t sure.

She cleared her throat, breaking the silence.

“Well,” she said, dusting off her palms and eyeing the three remaining boxes. “I guess I did most of the work today, so tomorrow I’ll sort the rest and we can go to the second-hand shop.”

Then, a careful pause.

“Are you sure you want to come?”

He didn’t look at her right away. His metal thumb rubbed absently against his fingers, tracing lines that weren’t there anymore. The memory of white leather still remained in his brain, the ghost of a smile from a nurse who smelled like antiseptic and powder.

“I said I would,” he mumbled finally.

His voice wasn’t sharp, just tethered to something he didn’t quite want to examine. He shifted on the cot and glanced toward the small stack of notebooks he had put near the wall.

He should write about it. About the gloves. About Annie. About how the man who gave her that gift used to mumble Peggy Lee under his breath and knew how to make a girl laugh without trying. Maybe if he wrote it down, he could figure out whether any of that man was still in him.

“I was thinking we could order pizza tonight,” she commented as she dragged some of the boxes to one side.

His ears perked at that, subtly, but unmistakably. The way his head tilted slightly, the faint flicker of attention lighting his eyes.

Pizza.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a slice. Couldn’t say he even remembered the taste clearly, but the idea of it… warm, cheesy, greasy comfort, it sounded enticing. Familiar, somehow. Safe.

“You up to it?” she asked, picking up on his silence.

“Yeah,” he said, after a second’s pause. His voice was low but sure.

She turned to him, half-smiling. “Anything you fancy? Just… nothing with some sort of charcuterie on top. I draw the line at mystery meats.”

He gave a small shrug. “Um… cheese?”

She laughed softly. “Of course it would have cheese, Bucky.”

Another shrug, a bit more pronounced this time. “Then… cheese.”

“Margherita, it is,” she declared, walking over to grab her phone. “Simple, classic. Can’t go wrong with that.”

He watched her as she scrolled through the delivery app, with one knee propped on the edge of the cot like this -this choosing of pizza- was something they’d always done.

“Well, I’ll take a shower while it arrives,” she said, stretching her arms over her head with a small sigh. Then, turning back at the doorframe, “Where do you want to eat it?”

He glanced up from where he sat, quirking one brow in mild confusion.

“It’s pizza,” she added with a little grin. “We can be creative.”

He seemed to genuinely consider it. His eyes dropped, and his brows knitted faintly like she’d presented him with a puzzle. Then, carefully, measured, “I… enjoy the table. As any other food.”

She almost teased. Almost told him he sounded like a man giving a military report on acceptable dining zones. But then she thought better of it. Of course, he’d choose the table. He would cling to something solid, familiar, structured. He needed that. A surface. A chair. A clear place and purpose.

“Table it is,” she said, gently. “Can you set it while I shower?”

“Yeah,” he said, already standing up from the cot, glad -maybe even relieved- to have something to do. His eyes flicked to hers for just a second, then away again as he moved toward the door.

----

The ring of the doorbell traveled through the apartment.

Bucky stiffened where he stood at the kitchen counter, a dish towel still in his hands. His eyes darted toward the hallway, toward the faint sound of water still running in the bathroom. She was still in the shower.

He froze for a beat -just a second- and then drew a slow, deep breath. It’s probably the pizza. He didn’t like the sound of the buzzer, didn’t like unknown voices through static, or anyone unexpected near the door. But this had a name. A reason. A purpose.

He walked over to the intercom and pressed the button. “Yeah?”

“Pizza delivery!” came the muffled reply.

He hesitated -still felt the pressure of old instincts, the demand to verify a hundred unseen variables- but finally said, “Be right down.”

The stairwell smelled faintly of old cleaner and warm cardboard. Bucky descended quickly, hoodie up. The guy waiting at the bottom looked young, early twenties maybe, bored and holding the insulated bag like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Apartment two?” the guy asked, already pulling the box out.

Bucky nodded and reached out.

The kid hesitated, then handed the pizza over, eyeing him up and down like something didn’t quite click. Bucky nodded his thanks and turned to go.

“Hey,” the delivery guy said. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Bucky paused, looked back. Blank. “No.”

“Seriously, dude? No tip?”

“She- it was paid online.” He answered stiffly.

“Yeah, but-” the guy scoffed, already irritated. “Everyone tips, it’s decency, man.”

Bucky’s brows drew in, unsure. He hadn’t known. No one had said anything about an extra payment. Where he came from -when he came from- food just didn’t appear at your door like this.

The silence stretched awkwardly, then the guy huffed and turned away, muttering loud enough to be heard.

“Fucker.”

Bucky blinked. His grip pressed harder on the pizza box. But he didn’t say anything. He just turned, shoulders squared a little more rigidly now, and walked back up the stairs.

----

The smell was rich, warm, and damn near intoxicating. Cheese, tomato, oregano, familiar, yet distant. Bucky set the box on the counter but didn’t lift the lid. Not yet. His fingers twitched with the urge to peek, but he just stood there, with his arms crossed, waiting.

She came out a few minutes later, her damp hair pulled into a messy knot. Soft cotton sweatpants, an old tee. Comfortable. Her gaze landed on the pizza box instantly.

“Oh,” she said, a bit surprised, “they must not have had many clients tonight.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just shifted on his feet.

“You… did alright with it?” she asked, eyeing the box.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Didn’t know I was supposed to give the guy some money. You paid on your phone, so I thought… that was it.”

She grimaced. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t think to tell you because I figured I’d be the one getting it. Was it very uncomfortable?”

He gave her a look, blank but pointed.

“Right,” she winced. “Okay, fair. I’ll take that as a yes.”

He reached up to rub the back of his neck, a little sheepish but mostly frustrated. “The guy looked at me like I’d pissed on his boots.”

“Well… now that we’re at it,” she said, moving to fetch a cutter, “every time you order food, it’s expected to… tip the delivery guy.”

He frowned at that. “Isn’t he an employee of the shop?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Technically. But they make shit money, so tips are kind of how they survive. Think of it like… standard courtesy.”

“Hm,” he muttered, clearly not sold. “That wasn’t a thing back then.”

“Nope. And neither was pineapple on pizza, but we all have to make peace with modern horrors.”

He snorted quietly, surprising even himself. She grinned and handed him a plate with a slice.

“Come on, sit. Here is your margherita.”

He took the plate and followed her to the table, still chewing on the whole tip situation like it was stranger than the idea of a pizza arriving hot at your door.

----

The next day, just like they’d agreed, they headed to the secondhand shop not long after she got back from work. She dropped her bag, changed into something more comfortable, and they began the careful balancing act of getting all the sorted boxes to the door without tripping over themselves.

The way her schedule rotated still threw him off. Some mornings she was gone quickly after breakfast, and other days she didn’t come in until the moon was up. When he’d asked, she’d explained it was something her boss had set up so employees could actually have real lives: plan appointments, errands, family things. Mornings off, afternoons off. Rotating freedom. It sounded nice. Too nice. Structured and unpredictable all at once. Made sense in theory, but it still left him uneasy.

He’d insisted on carrying most of the boxes, stacked awkwardly in his arms. She only took one, guiding him carefully with a hand around the sleeve of his jacket so he didn’t walk blindly into street poles or mailboxes.

She knew there was a lot, hell, there were even clothes from her granny in there, some other untouched since her last move, and she doubted she’d get much for it. A few bucks, maybe. The real goal was to clear the room out, but she didn’t tell Bucky that. He already walked around like any effort she made on his behalf was tipping the scale too far. He didn’t need to know it was more about making space than making money.

The secondhand shop was warm and smelled faintly of old denim, wooden hangers, and lavender sachets, trying to do their best. The clerk behind the counter looked up at the bell above the door, gave them both a once-over, and quirked a brow at the armfuls they were hauling in.

“Spring cleaning?” she asked, dry and unimpressed.

“Something like that,” she replied, shooting Bucky a look and a half-smile.

He stood stiff, scanning the place like there might be a Hydra agent crouching behind the dress rack. But he said nothing, and didn’t shift the boxes even once. Just waited for her to lead.

----

As she haggled gently with the clerk. Bucky let himself drift from the counter. Just a slow, careful wander meant to stay out of the way.

The store stretched deeper than he expected. A side-room opened off the main space, cluttered with more than just racks of clothing, there were tables covered in brass trinkets, crates stacked with mismatched kitchenware, and shelves crowded with lamps that hadn’t lit a room in decades.

They didn’t just deal in clothes, then.

He stepped over the threshold, letting his fingers skim the edge of a chipped enamel basin.

Some of the things he couldn’t place at all, odd plastic gadgets with tangled cords, neon-colored toys that looked radioactive, piles of things that he couldn’t imagine a use for. They seemed old and well-used, but clearly, they weren’t as old as him.

But then, he saw the corner.

A dusty table with a few shaving kits stacked in a wire basket, old double-edged razors, the kind he used to have in the barracks. A hand mirror with silver leaf peeling from the edges. A transistor radio with the RCA Victor logo faded but still visible.

His breath hitched, his brain assaulted with a memory.

One of the shelves held what looked like the skeleton of a mixer, bulky, steel-bodied, the kind his ma used to keep in the pantry, only hauled out for Christmas or when someone died and the neighbors brought over casseroles. It still had the same round dial, the chipped paint around the base.

And next to that, a battered box marked Vinyls - 10 each.

He crouched and let his hand travel over the stack. Things that once played on jukeboxes and radios before he was-

Well. Before.

He must’ve been crouched by that crate longer than he thought, because she showed up at his side eventually.

“Anything that caught your eye?” she asked, resting her hands on the edge of the table.

He gave a small shake of his head, his eyes still on the covers. “Not really.”

Most of the names meant nothing. Maybe they once had. A couple looked vaguely familiar, but it was more like spotting a stranger who reminded you of someone you used to know. And the few he did recognize… Well. He didn’t have a record player. Didn’t know if he even wanted one.

“Jus’ lookin’,” he muttered, clearing his throat. His knuckles brushed over a worn cardboard edge before letting go. “Are you done?”

“Yup,” she replied, stepping beside him. She picked up something from a cluttered tray, a silvery, chrome-toned brooch shaped like a curling vine. The lines were smooth, elegant, the way things used to be made when details mattered. Nestled between the swirling leaves were three tiny blue glass stones, imitation sapphires maybe, catching the light like dew.

One of those little coquetry items women used to pin on their blouses. Not flashy. Not cheap either. Just... feminine. She turned it in her hand, smiling faintly, brushing her thumb on the back where the pin mechanism still held.

He glanced at it, then at her.

And thought -unbidden- that it suited her.

Like it had been waiting there this whole time just for her to pass by.

He looked away before she caught him staring, and swallowed.

“Want me to carry the boxes back?” he asked.

“Oh no, the boxes stay here, we have no use for them,” she declared, setting the brooch back on the tray with a soft clink of metal against metal.

Bucky’s jaw twitched, his eyes remaining on the cardboard stacks near the counter. He didn’t like the idea of leaving them behind. Had stacked them against the walls like a shield when he first got to the apartment. They made the space feel contained. Like a perimeter he controlled. Maybe he had thought unconsciously that he could put them back. Reinforce the nest. Hole up again.

But they were staying. She was right. There was no point. They were just clutter now.

“Want to linger a little more or…?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

He dragged his eyes off the boxes, idly rubbing his thumb at the seam of his sleeve, and gave a small shake of the head. “No. I- I’d like to go home.”

Her eyebrows lifted, a smile pulling at her mouth, soft and surprised. “Home, huh?”

He ducked his head slightly, ears pink.

“Alright, big guy,” she said, patting his metal arm as she passed. “Let’s go home, then.”

He followed her out, keeping close as always.

----

“Oh!” She stopped just outside the second-hand shop, hand catching his sleeve lightly. “Wanna check if they have a shelf? Since you mentioned putting one up.”

He shifted his weight. “Not right now,” he muttered, glancing past her. “I- I’d really like to go back.”

She looked at his face for a moment, then gave a silent nod. “Alright then.”

She didn’t press.

He followed her down the street, this time consciously keeping his pace beside her instead of falling into step behind like a silent guard. But the shift didn’t come easily. Every few strides, his eyes flicked to the buildings, the parked cars, the strangers walking ahead. Always scanning. Always searching for a threat.

His mind drifted as they walked. To the room. Emptier now. He couldn’t think past that, not really. Not yet.

Even if the apartment felt safe now -even if he’d called it home- he still needed the perimeter. The foxhole. Some corner that felt like a fallback position. Somewhere to retreat if things tilted sideways again.

God, he thought. It’s so fucked up.

He exhaled through his nose, scanning the sidewalk again. A man with a too-long stare. A car slowing too close to the curb.

Whatever was broken in him, fine. He could live with it.

But if something touched her?

No. Not on his watch.

----

The hallway light flicked on as they stepped inside the apartment. She shrugged off her coat and tossed the keys in the bowl by the door, glancing at the clock.

“Think I’ll put on some MasterChef UK,” she said casually, already walking toward the couch. “The British one’s better. Less screaming. More actual food. I think you might like it.”

He offered a small nod but didn’t follow. His eyes followed the space ahead -warm and lived-in- before passing straight to the back instead.

“I’ll just…” he gestured vaguely toward the hall. “Gonna be in my room for a bit.”

“Sure,” she said, not pushing. “If you want snacks or something, I’ll be out here.”

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he closed his eyes.

His room felt bigger now. Not better. Just emptier. Exposed. The absence of the boxes made the walls feel farther apart, the corners darker somehow. Bucky stood in the middle for a moment, with his arms loose at his sides, and then moved.

He dragged the cot to a new wall. It didn’t scrape much; he’d lifted it slightly, mindful of the floor. Then the laundry basket, tucked beneath the window, now. The old lamp, once half-hidden, stood upright in the far corner. The chair, the mirror, both repositioned like he was setting pieces on a board, trying to define the space again.

It had to do. It wasn’t the bunker anymore, not really. But it had to be something. Something his.

He exhaled through his nose, sat on the edge of the cot, and reached for the notepad. The one he’d already started to write in. The cover was creased from where he’d gripped it too hard earlier that day.

He opened it and began scribbling. A list, a few half-sentences, and then fuller ones. Observations about the second-hand shop. The record sleeves. The appliance that reminded him of his ma. The radio knob, exactly like the one in his neighbor’s kitchen back in Brooklyn.

None of it hurt to remember. Not yet.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan @escapefromrealitylol @bodhisattva11 @kittieboo @iyskgd @stell404@lil-riddle-kiddle@maryevm @yindoesstuff @shaheea @maladaptive0romantic @cricket-reader @nynxtea @justalittlebitbored @icefox8155 @gloriousvariant @hiraethmae @ixopod @moth-mortuary @belladonnadarksshade @infinitepersuasion @frog-fans-unite @littlesuniee @sebastians-love @icantblink @stillnotsatisfied-blog

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[playg0d]

about you | a carmen berzatto x reader songfic

summary: you’re the one carmen can never let go of, no matter how hard he tries. based on the 1975 song.

wc: 8k

warnings and tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, swearing, claire mentions, some spoilers for s4

a/n: hello everyone! this is my first work in a long long time so i took it as a pen exercise, trying to write for the longest tv crush i've had in a while to one of my favorite songs. i got so carried away with it beware 💀 i had to get my feelings out after watching s4 y'all!!

i know a place. it's somewhere i go when i need to remember your face.

he opens his eyes in the middle of his dark room. just like that. no reason, no sound. just awake.

it’s been happening a lot lately. so often that he doesn’t even get annoyed anymore. waking up before the alarm, his body already heavy with the weight of the day ahead. tired in a way that no sleep seems to fix. his muscles ache from another late night at the restaurant, a few hours of rest never enough to undo the strain. and he hasn’t even moved yet.

carmen blinks hard, trying to shake the sleep from his eyes, gaze settling on the window. it’s still dark out. only the orange streetlights casting vague shapes across his room, giving the shadows some kind of meaning.

his brain starts doing that thing again. jumping ahead, building the day's list before he can stop it. the stress creeps in before he even leaves the bed. he’s already forgotten something, he knows it. already late for something, even if the clock says otherwise. he can hear sugar’s voice in his head like it never left: did you check the budget i sent last week? how are we supposed to keep paying all these people if you won’t even sit down and read it? did you know jimmy’s supposed to come this week to talk about—

his alarm cuts in.

too loud. too sharp. especially in all this quiet.

he grabs the phone from the nightstand, silences it before it can ring more than a few seconds.

once the room goes still again, a bit of clarity returns. not peace, exactly, but something close. he exhales slowly through his nose, thumb still resting on the phone, and unlocks it. his fingers move without thinking. open messages, scroll down. the screen lights up, casting a cold glow across his face. it’s your thread.

this. this is another thing he’s been doing too much lately. and he doesn’t really know how to stop. at this point, he’s pretty sure it’s veering into something unhinged. obsessive. like he’s clinging to something that’s not there anymore and pretending it is.

you: the future looks bright chef!

that was the last message. weeks ago.

he frowns, but scrolls anyway. because this small, digital space, this ghost of a connection, is all he has right now. and somehow, it brings him a weird kind of comfort. not the real thing. not even close. it’ll never be the same as seeing you walk into the restaurant every day, laughing at something richie said, your perfume hanging in the air like a memory he doesn’t know how to let go of. but it’s something. and he’ll take something.

he stops on a selfie you sent from that birthday party. friend-of-a-friend. he remembers you whining about it the day before, pouting in that way that always made something in his chest loosen. you’d told him you didn’t want to go, that your friend had begged you to come so she wouldn’t be alone.

trying to hang on to any kind of connection outside of work, he’d boldly and very stupidly, asked you to send a selfie. for proof, he’d texted. he cringes now just thinking about it. what the hell was he doing? trying to be smooth? that wasn’t him. it never would be. he’d freaked out for a full half hour, especially when the word seen sat quietly under his message, taunting him.

until your reply came in. a photo of your face. cheeks flushed, a mischievous smile aimed straight at him, eyes shining.

you looked so pretty. all dolled up for your night out with your friends. and he wanted to say just that. god, he almost did.

but he didn’t.

too much of a coward. too afraid of saying the wrong thing, of being rejected. of crossing a line. because at the end of the day, you were still one of his employees.

so instead, he reacted with a thumbs-up emoji and went to bed, heart racing, already half dreaming of you.

he keeps beating himself up in the shower, replaying everything he could’ve done differently. wishing he’d kept the conversation going. asked you what the hell you meant, talking about the future like you weren’t planning to be in it. it follows him through the morning. into the chill of the city streets, the L train, the walk to work. chicago isn’t fully awake yet and neither is he. just noise in his head and cold in his lungs.

he tries not to think too hard about the fact that you’re still on his mind.

but you are.

we get married in our heads. something to do while we try to recall how he met.

if richie knew, he probably would’ve laughed and called you a dumbass. after having a heart attack.

you knew richie loved carmen. despite all the shit he talked, all the complaints about his insane work ethic and the new way he ran the restaurant. you knew it. but you also remembered the way he used to go off about how carmen needed to get a fucking grip if he ever wanted to let someone close. because no way in hell that was gonna end well. not with how he was. that person would probably end up running for the hills. 

so yeah, you did start to feel a little worried when you noticed how your palms got sweaty anytime carmen leaned in to talk to you about something completely mundane at work. how the tiny hairs on your neck would stand up when he passed behind you, muttering “behind,” and placed a light hand on your back. 

you’d always felt so far removed from all the mushy romantic shit, so it was kind of shocking how your body kept reacting to this guy. it made you feel ridiculous, like some schoolgirl with a silly crush.

until time passed. and you started noticing how carmen watched you just as much as you watched him. how his voice would soften when he talked to you, how he’d leave his bad attitude at the door whenever he had to face you. how that hand on your back? it started lingering a little longer each time.

it didn't take long before you started to realize just how much carmy was your type. you hadn’t even known you had a type. but there he was. hard-working. completely focused on his craft. someone who actually cared about people. you saw it in the way he kept pushing syd, little by little, to be her best. in the way marcus lit up just listening to his stories about the insane dishes he’d worked on in those spectacular restaurants before he came here. how he was trying to turn that run-down sandwich shop into something meaningful for the sake of everyone who showed up every day to keep it alive.

and, yeah, it didn’t hurt that he was hot as all hell: wild curls, strong arms, that whole constantly-stressed-out genius thing. and those eyes.

falling in love with carmy had been so easy. you hadn’t meant to. richie’s voice echoed in your head from time to time, but honestly, you didn’t really care to listen. not once the two of you started to talk. really talk. 

he opened up about his brother. someone you only knew in pieces, through the fragments richie had shared. his own memories.

but one night, carm gave you his memories. he told you how much he looked up to mikey. how much he missed him.

to this day, you’re still not sure why he told you what he did, but he said it anyway. that he did go to mikey’s funeral. something richie never lets go. he’s always throwing it in carmen's face: you weren’t there, you fucking baby, you didn’t show up when it counted.

but carmen had shown up.

and you never told anyone.

he was intense, sure, but he could be so sweet. charming in that unintentional way that made it even worse. like how he thought you didn’t notice when he started changing up his schedule. taking breaks when you did. hanging around just long enough to keep the conversation going from the day before.

or maybe just to be there. to have those rare, quiet moments where it was only the two of you. no yelling, no tickets, no chaos. just silence and the way it wrapped around you both like it knew something neither of you had said out loud.

he made you feel too much.

and what made it even harder was how he kept responding to you. bar for bar. matching every glance, every shift, every subtle move. like he was just as caught up in it as you were.

you didn’t realize it until you were in too deep.

a night you still carry with you, when it was just you and carmy, the restaurant quiet after everyone had gone home. you were so drained from the long day, you couldn’t help flopping down on the bench in front of the lockers. carmy came out of the office and found you there, eyes closed, still sitting.

you thought he would grab his things and call it a night. but he didn’t move. maybe he didn’t want to disturb your peace.

when you opened your eyes, he froze.

you felt him watching you. of course you did. but you didn’t want him to stop. you wanted his eyes on you. always. you wanted him.

so when it was just the two of you, sitting in that quiet, feeling the tension like it was something alive between you, you reached out and took his hands.

his hands. god, how often had you thought about them? in passing, in silence, in the lonely hush of nights you didn’t want to spend alone. you ran your thumbs gently across his tattoos, the ink marking him with stories you hadn’t heard yet. you wanted to ask. you wanted to know all of it. but not now. not if it meant breaking the spell of this moment.

carmen looked down, confused at first. then he shifted, taking your hands this time, his fingers curling around yours.

but he didn’t say anything. just looked at you. his eyes held something you couldn’t read, like he was trying to tell you what he didn’t know how to express with words.

your heart was pounding so loud you swore he could hear it. 

and when he reached up, touched your face with the hand inked with the chef’s knife through the palm, you forgot how to breathe.

you didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

you shouldn’t have let it get this far. shouldn’t have let it consume you like this.

you should’ve listened to richie.

you and i (don’t let go) we’re alive (don’t let go). with nothing to do, i could lay and just look in your eyes.

it started as a little comment here and there. a name you’d never heard before slipping out of fak’s mouth.

then came a conversation you overheard while working alongside richie, with fak buzzing around the place like always. they were talking about an old family friend. a girl. how she turned out amazing (“a doctor, can you believe it, man?”). how fak saw her again recently. how he wished things could go back to the way they were. back when all of them had the best times. the bestest times. with claire.

claire.

you had no idea who she was. you’d never seen her around the restaurant, and sugar had never mentioned her. neither had carmy.

if you hadn’t been so intrigued, you probably would’ve felt annoyed. all this talk, putting her on a pedestal. it couldn’t be that deep, right? still, you couldn’t deny the jealousy creeping in as you listened to richie go on about claire as well. how she’d helped him through… something. honestly, you’d tuned out halfway through. something from back before he and tiff split.

you didn’t want to care. you really didn’t. but eventually, curiosity got the better of you. you even asked sydney if she knew who this claire person was.

she didn’t. she was just as lost as you.

meanwhile carmy was in peak stress, trying to change his family restaurant to a high dining establishment. you could see how much it was weighing on him, so you did what you could to be there, even in that weird, undefined place where you both were. trying to see through the fuzzy lines of your relationship. you didn’t know what it was and how to call it. but you remained supportive, in the form of listening to him rant or go to the nearest home depot when the paint ran out.

he still gave you butterflies, even with everything he had on his plate. the pressure, the stress, the weight of trying to rebuild something from the ground up. it never kept him from making you feel seen. important. like you mattered.

you could still feel his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking and that alone was enough to set your heart racing.

and your conversations, they didn’t just continue, they evolved. they became deeper, more intimate. he wanted to know you, really know you. not just the surface-level stuff, but your dreams, your fears, the things you’d kept tucked away for years, unsure if anyone would ever really want to hear them.

so you let him in. slowly. carefully. but you did. and with every shared secret, every charged late-night exchange, you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something real growing between you. something worth holding on to.

it happened on a random day. nothing special about it. syd walked in with that look on her face, the one you’d come to recognize: frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, begging for a place to land. she didn’t even say hi before diving in, words spilling fast like they’d been waiting to escape her all morning.

“i finally figured out who claire is,” she said, tossing her tote bag onto a stool. “turns out she’s carmy’s sort-of childhood friend slash first love, which, by the way, i don’t even know what the hell's going on with them and they're already getting on my nerves. because now he’s distracted and i need him focused on this right here.” she waved her arms around the empty space to drive her point home.

you blinked, trying to process her words, but it felt like they hit you all at once.

you just stood there, frozen in the middle of the gutted kitchen, stripped bare for renovations.

your heart dropped.

you hadn’t seen that one coming.

wait (don’t let go) and pretend (don’t let go). hold on and hope that we’ll find our way back in the end.

he curses himself for telling fak he ran into claire at the grocery store. like fak was ever going to keep that to himself. now everyone knows. and everyone’s being weird. asking him a million questions about her, like he’s supposed to have some kind of plan. but he doesn’t. he hasn’t seen her in years. people expect him to pick up where they left off, but he doesn’t even know what that was, let alone what it’s supposed to be now.

carmy was painfully shy back then. when claire was around, always orbiting, always close but just out of reach. he never acted on how he felt. he just… pined, like a stupid kid. kept it all to himself. mikey used to tease him when he found those sketches in his notebooks. half-finished portraits of claire he never meant anyone to see. sugar would roll her eyes and tell him to man up, tell claire how he felt.

but he never did. and now, all these years later, people are acting like nothing’s changed. like he's supposed to feel the same. be the same. like some nice story about rekindled young love, which sounds great in theory, but in his case? those memories are laced with chaos. with the noise and mess of his old life. his life, period. it doesn't feel like something worth revisiting. he's not sure.

seeing claire again was nice. she was happy to see him, she remembered things he hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten. that part felt good. he won’t deny it. but this whole thing? it’s just one more thing added to the pile.

the renovations are behind schedule. jimmy’s breathing down his neck about the money. he can’t seem to get on the same page with syd. sugar’s riding his ass about everything from schedules to invoices.

and then there’s you. drifting further away from him every single day.

and that is what really stings. more than any of the rest of it.

he feels it all the time. in the little things. the small gaps where you used to be. the way your breaks never seem to line up with his anymore. how he used to find you already outside when he stepped into the alley, and now he just runs into you at the door, your break already over. he tries to catch your eyes in those moments, but you look down and walk past him like it’s nothing. like he’s nothing.

he watches you throughout the day, desperate for a sliver of connection. trying to catch you in conversation, even if it’s just something small. but you’re always busy. always somewhere else. always anywhere but with him.

and it’s killing him. he wonders if you’ve already figured it out, how fucked up he is. if you’ve seen too much and decided to back off before it’s too late. or maybe he overwhelmed you with the way he felt. crowded you, hovered over every little moment the two of you had. like he was one of those gross dudes who only came in to try and chat you up, get a peek at your ass and pretend it was about the food.

yeah. if you ever saw what was inside his head, you’d probably run.

because he craves you. constantly. and he’s done lying to himself about it. he likes you. likes being around you, likes how your mind works, the way you talk about things that matter. he loves that you don’t take yourself too seriously, but always seem to have the right words when someone’s in need. how you show up for your people without hesitation, no questions asked.

he loves your voice. your laugh. the way you look at him when you’re teasing, or when you’re serious. your silky hair, your pretty eyes, those pouty lips, and yeah, your body. your incredible body.

fuck. he’s lost count of how many times he’s imagined you underneath him, imagined how you’d sound, how you’d move, what it would feel like to make you feel everything he’s been feeling.

he wants to give you that. all of it.

carmen hasn’t felt this way, this deep, this insane about anyone since… claire, maybe.

and he knows you felt it too. the something between you. it wasn’t just him. even if it was unspoken (because he was a coward), it was there.

if he’s this wrapped up in you, then why did he catch tina and his sister talking like it’s obvious? like it’s real? 

“have you seen him? he follows her around like a lost puppy,” he remembers sugar laughing, sounding embarrassed.

“she’s not far behind,” tina has said, not missing a beat.

so why were you pulling away?

the answer became even harder to grasp the afternoon you walked into the office, clearly expecting to find just natalie. you startled slightly when you saw him sitting there too, then quickly masked it with a polite smile and a too-casual tone. said you had something to tell them both.

you were quitting.

a new opportunity had come up. sudden, unexpected, but too good to pass on. you said it aligned better with your professional goals, that it made more sense for where you were heading. your voice was soft, almost apologetic, sweet in that way that made it sting more. like you were trying to spare them, spare him, but still walking out the door.

his mind stopped registering your words after that. his body went still. mind blank. he kept his eyes down, too afraid to look up and see whatever expression was on your face. he just stared at the floor while you and sugar kept talking like everything wasn’t shifting underneath him. everything in him had gone still, cold.

he wanted to speak. to ask why. to understand. but the words sat heavy in his throat, unmoving. and as your voice trailed off and you turned to leave, his face flushed hot, his hands began to tremble. those early signs of panic tightening around his chest.

he should’ve followed you. should’ve asked what changed, what went wrong. why it suddenly wasn’t enough.

but he didn’t.

instead, he ended up in the back of the restaurant, alone, heart racing and breath caught in his lungs, trying to keep it together. hoping, praying, you’d show up like you always did. like you always had.

but this time, you didn’t.

and there was something about you that now i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.

you couldn’t forget the restaurant even if you tried.

richie had been on your case for days after you quit. texting, calling, refusing to believe it. it blindsided everyone, but it hit him harder than most. because it was you. you had each other’s backs in there. if something had been off, why hadn’t you said anything?

you did your best to ease his worry. said there was nothing wrong, nothing dramatic. gave him the same explanation you’d given sugar. and carmy, though you weren’t sure how much of it he’d heard.

you were moving on.

the restaurant had been good to you. more than good, sometimes. you met people who felt like family, and for a while, it really felt like you belonged. but you had to think about yourself too. your goals, your growth. and the new job? it was a step forward. a better fit for the direction you wanted to go. you kept reminding yourself of that.

still, you couldn’t ignore the way things had shifted in those final days. how often claire’s name came up. how often you saw carmy tense at the mention of it, even if he tried to hide it.

fak, richie, even people you’d never seen in the kitchen before were suddenly showing up, nudging him toward her. pushing him to give it another shot. telling him she was good for him, that he’d be crazy to let her go, that this was his chance.

and every time you heard it, something in you sank.

because no matter what you and carmen had shared in the quiet, in the glances, in the almosts... you didn’t have a history like that with him. not old memories tied up in childhood and old neighborhoods. maybe that’s what it came down to.

syd and marcus were still your friends, even outside of the restaurant, and you thanked the heavens for that. you’d found something real with them: true friendship. if the restaurant left you with anything, it was that.

they kept you updated, told you everything with bright eyes and proud smiles. how the new place was coming together. how different it all felt from where you started. not just the food, but the energy. the ambition. the chaos.

you loved hearing their stories. the quirky guests, the impossible nights, the small wins that made it all worth it. you could tell how much they loved it, even when it was hard. and you were happy for them.

they told you about richie too. how much he’d changed. you told them you’d seen it too, because you still saw richie. he was too special a person to let go of.

then they’d mention carmy. how his meltdowns were getting more frequent. how things had shifted. you didn’t know much about him after you left. you hadn’t asked. they told you how he was seeing claire more seriously now. how marcus had casually dropped the word girlfriend when talking about her.

it stung. more than you let on. but you didn’t flinch. you nodded and smiled. you told yourself you’d moved on. you’d removed yourself from that world.

still, every time they talked about the bear, its struggles, its wins, the people inside it, it felt like hearing about a life you no longer lived.

and it was particularly hard because the bear wasn’t just a restaurant.

it was carmy, and after all this time everything still felt like him.

you might’ve felt completely defeated by that thought if it weren’t for syd.

over coffee one afternoon, she said it like it was nothing.

“he asked about you,” she uttered, her words cutting deep. “wanted to know if you were okay, if you’d ever come by.”

and i’ll miss you on a train. i’ll miss you in the mornin’. i never know what to think about.

carmen still wakes up before the alarm, long before the world stirs. the sky outside is dark, the streets quiet. that part hasn’t changed.

but he’s not alone in his bed anymore.

claire has started staying over sometimes, says it’s easier after her shifts, more convenient. he tells himself he doesn’t mind.

he slips out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her as he begins the ritual of getting ready. his movements automatic.

lately, the days have felt heavier. long, restless weeks stacking on top of each other. he’s been going through the motions, but the certainty that once drove him, the feeling that he was building something meaningful, has started to fade.

he used to believe that cooking was his purpose. that the kitchen was where he belonged. but now he isn’t so sure. maybe it was never really about the food. maybe it was just his way of holding onto mikey, of staying close to the memory of someone who once made him feel like there was something worth chasing.

and now that he’s here, with everything he thought he wanted, it still feels like something’s missing.

he’d had a really tough conversation with syd about it. one of those that left him feeling raw, exposed. richie had walked in halfway through and joined in, adding his own thoughts, his own frustration. by the end of it, carmy felt like he was letting everyone down, yet again. stepping back from the restaurant felt like the right call, perhaps the only way the bear could truly thrive free from his constant micromanaging and inevitable screw-ups. maybe, just maybe, he could rediscover the spark he'd lost, the part of him that used to love this.

he takes the train like he does every morning. the platform’s nearly empty, and when the car doors slide open, he steps into a quiet space with only a few scattered passengers. it's a small relief. no eyes on him, no one who knows his name or expects anything from him. just a few minutes of anonymity. a little room to breathe. maybe even think. maybe relax, though that's a stretch.

he had hoped that being with claire would help. that now, finally with her by his side, he’d start to feel more like himself again. like the younger version of him. that the shy, quiet kid who once thought having her would fix everything—was finally getting what he’d dreamed about for so long. but it doesn’t feel like that. not really.

and carm hates himself for it. because claire is wonderful. kind and patient. she jokes about the heavy things, tries to lighten the weight he carries, even if just for a second. she’s trying to help him heal, to pull him out of the worst parts of himself. and he knows that. but still, something feels off.

and that’s when he wonders… does that last message in the thread need a reply from him? should he beg richie for his phone again, like some desperate teenager, just to sneak another look at your instagram profile? should he face sydney, after everything he’s put her through, and ask once more if she’s heard from you? i think about you.

sometimes he lets himself imagine it. running into you. what he’d do. if he could get past the initial punch of seeing you again. really seeing you, after all this time. would he shrink back like he always used to, hide behind silence so he can keep pretending your absence hasn’t hollowed him out? or would he finally say something? ask for the truth. demand it, maybe. not to make you feel bad, but just to know. to confirm that it wasn’t all in his head. that everything you shared, everything he felt, wasn’t just one-sided. that thinking about you this much still means something.

as if that could ever actually happen. still…

he’s been secretly holding out hope all this time. clinging to the stupid fantasy of a chance encounter with you. on the L. on the street. some accidental moment that would change everything. he’s even taken the long way home more than once, just because he knew it passed near where you used to live. just for the slim chance of seeing you. but it never happened.

and as much as he tries to keep moving, your absence still lingers in the spaces he exists in.

tina still sighs about not having her dance partner during breaks and how no one laughs at her neighborhood gossip like you did. natalie wishes you were around so she could finally introduce you to sophie, her voice going soft every time she says your name. and richie? richie never shuts up about you, still clinging to the version of life where you and he had each other’s backs in the thick of it. he holds onto that chapter fiercely, and part of him is just waiting for you to walk back in and see how far he’s come and be proud.

but for carmy it’s different.

he didn’t just miss you.

he fell in love with you.

(don't let go)

he never said it, but it’s the truth.

it’s in how he still checks the door without realizing, expecting you to walk in. in how your voice still echoes in his head during the quietest parts of the day. in how nothing has felt right since you’ve been gone.

you didn’t just leave the restaurant. you took something with you when you walked out. and no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to get that part of him back.

do you think i have forgotten about you?

carmen’s no stranger to guilt. it’s been living inside him for years, settled deep in his bones. he remembers the feeling in new york, thinking of sugar and mikey, how he left them to deal with their mom and all her turmoil and unpredictability. remembers the guilt curling in his gut when he got that phone call, sugar barely able to get the words out between sobs: mikey's dead. guilt again, heavy and paralyzing, when he couldn’t get out of the car at his own brother's funeral.

and now it’s back. except it’s different. not the same restaurant stress that eats at his stomach on the regular. it’s outside of that. beyond it.

it’s every time he looks at claire.

it shows up in moments that are supposed to be soft. like when claire’s curled into him, warm and willing, tracing her fingers over his chest. saying something sweet, being provocative. trying to love him. telling him how good he is, and all he can think about is how much of a lie that is. how he doesn’t deserve this version of her. 

because his mind drifts, like it always does.

to you.

he’s not proud of it. he hates himself for it.

she’s here, she’s trying. she’s giving him something real. and you’re still in his head. still there when he closes his eyes, still the one he wishes he could see when he opens them.

he’s tried to snap out of it. thrown himself into his new role in the kitchen, started mending his relationship with his mom, tried being the kind of boyfriend claire deserves: one who listens, who shows up, who holds her when she falls asleep.

but none of it’s working.

and it’s not fair to claire. she doesn’t deserve to be the one holding the weight of something that was never hers to carry. so he did something he’s never really done before. not like this.

trying, really trying, to follow through on this whole doing things differently thing, carmen sat richie down and told him the truth. about how things with claire had started to fall apart. how it wasn’t her fault. how he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

richie, being the closest person he had left, felt like the right one to tell, to get it out. and carmen took responsibility, fully. said it straight: he was the one messing things up. he’s the reason it’s falling apart.

but richie wouldn’t hear it.

“what the fuck are you talkin’ about?” richie’s already pacing, eyes wide, hands flailing. “you’re done with claire? now? jesus christ, cousin.”

“i didn’t say i was done, i just–i don’t know. it’s not working,” carmen shifts, trying to stay calm. 

“not working?” richie snaps. “what the fuck does that even mean? you finally got her and now you’re just what–bored?”

“it’s not about that,” carmy mutters, jaw tight.

“bullshit,” richie throws back. “you know how many guys would kill to be where you are right now?”

“i-i’m tellin’ you, it’s me. it’s not her,” carmen tries again, voice low.

richie scoffs, shaking his head. 

“you already pulled this shit once, carmen. you already broke her heart. and now you’re doin’ it again?!”

carmen looks away, but richie doesn’t let up.

“you serious right now? after everything she’s done for you? you’re the problem? oh wow, man, what a revelation.”

“i am the problem, richie. that’s what i’m saying!” carmen’s voice rises a little, frustrated. 

“then fix it!” richie shouts. “don’t throw her away just ‘cause you’re all fucked up inside.”

richie was pissed, and not in the loud, joking way he usually was. no, this was different. this was a disappointment he felt deeply. he looked at carmy like he couldn’t believe he was watching him do this all over again, backing out the moment something good got too real.

he started pacing again, running his mouth about claire, about how she didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. “she’s claire bear, man,” he muttered under his breath, like that should mean something holy. and it kinda did, to richie. she’d been around since carmy was a little kid. familiar, kind, safe.

but carmen just sat there, bent over at the edge of the table, elbows digging into his thighs, hands locked at the back of his neck. guilt was burning through his stomach like acid. and not just for claire. for richie, too. for not being able to live up to the version of himself everyone kept hoping he’d finally become after getting with claire.

he didn’t fight richie on it, didn’t throw words back, because he knew richie was only half wrong.

the older man, never one to back down when carmy got quiet, leaned in with a little bite in his voice.

“you know i even told her once, right? about this?” he said, almost casual, throwing your name in there. “funny thing is claire wasn’t even in the picture yet and i already knew you were gonna pull this kind of shit.”

carmen froze. his lips thinned into a hard line and something dark settled behind his eyes.

he looked at richie, really looked at him, like he was trying to figure out if he was serious or just pushing buttons like he always did. but richie held firm.

a bitter wave of heat rose in his chest.

“did you–” carmy’s voice cracked, low and strained. “did you fucking say something to her?”

his words came sharp, like they’d been caught in his throat too long. 

“richie, what the fuck did you say to her?”

richie visibly flinched. his mouth opened and closed again. then he let out a laugh, humorless, almost stunned.

“you gotta be kidding.”

something in carmy’s face had changed, the shift in his voice when your name came up stopped him cold. he stared at him for a long second, piecing it together.

and it hit him like a ton of bricks.

“you motherfucker,” richie’s voice grew louder, half disbelief, half something else. anger, probably. or disappointment.

“you were into her and you didn’t say shit?” he pointed at carmy like he was trying to trace the outline of this massive mistake. “you let her walk outta here when you–”

he stopped himself. dragged a hand down his face, pacing, fuming.

“you know what? don’t even answer that,” he snapped, his anger visibly flaring again. “wanna know what i told her, jagoff? i didn’t tell her anything that she couldn’t tell by sharing space with you, you little fuckin' narcissist bitch.”

carmy finally looked up at him, teeth gritted, throat working like he was swallowing glass. richie’s eyes were hard now. protective and furious.

“she’s not just some second act of claire, cousin. she didn’t come around to fix you, that's not what she’s about!”

it came after a beat of silence, after richie had already seen through every layer of bullshit and nailed him to the wall.

“i know–i know that,” carmy finally said, voice low, almost strangled.

it sounded awful, even to his own ears. pathetic, but it was the truth.

and even though richie looked at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, like carmen had just handed him the messiest, most out-of-pocket confession, he felt something shift in his chest. relief, even if just a little.

finally someone else knew. someone understood the depth of what he was carrying. how much it wrecked him. how deep it went.

no more burying it behind routine or the bear or claire.

and now richie knew.

god, now richie knew.

so much for doing things differently.

he hadn’t really talked to richie much after that. things still felt off and he didn’t have the energy to untangle it just yet. instead, he tried focusing on getting back on the right foot with syd.

she’d asked for help with a new dish she was developing for the menu: something deeply personal, something that reflected the people she held closest to her heart. her family and her friends.

she told him she was stuck, unsure about the final flavor profile, and though he didn’t want to meddle too much (this was her creation, not his), she kept nudging him for input. said she trusted his instincts.

so he thought about you of peaches.

he said it lightly, almost offhand, but it stuck.

he didn’t know if syd would connect the dots, maybe she wouldn’t even ask. but if she did, if she ever wanted to know why, he’d say something about the brightness of the flavor, the way it lingered, felt right.

peaches were your favorite. 

he can’t help being taken back to that night again, when it was just you two alone, the restaurant emptied out, you sitting on that bench looking up at him with those beautiful eyes that haunt him still.

he’d been completely transfixed by you, by everything you were. by all the things you made him feel without even trying. your beauty, somehow untouched by the long day behind you, still shining through in the artificial light.

and when you reached for him, your fingers brushing his with a touch so gentle it felt deliberate, he swore he died right there. your touch… delicate, intentional, reverent, hit him harder than anything else had in years.

your hands were so soft, so careful, like you were learning him by touch alone, tracing every part of him without rushing. he remembers how it made his skin come alive, how each stroke of your digits lit him up. how much he wanted more. 

he wanted to pull you in, let you keep exploring all the parts of him no one else ever got to touch. he wanted to kiss you, slow and deep, to finally know if your lips tasted like peaches, just like he imagined.

carmen wanted to give himself to you completely in that moment. mind, body and whatever was left of his soul. and he’s never really stopped wanting that since.

that’s why he did it, why he reached out and cupped your face, unable to stop himself. it wasn’t instinct or ease. it was pure need. there were too many feelings rushing through him, building up after everything you had shared, everything left unsaid.

he wanted you. not just in that moment, but for longer than he could admit to anyone, maybe even to himself. and still, even now, after all the time that’s passed and after everything that’s changed, he hasn’t stopped wanting you.

he hasn’t stopped thinking about that night or stopped regretting the way he pulled back, how he let the moment slip through his fingers because he was too afraid of ruining it, of being too much and scare you off.

but now, looking back, all he can think about is how real it was. too real to pretend otherwise. undeniable. and how foolish he was to walk away from something so honest, so rare.

he wonders if you recall that night as often as he still does.

it’s a thought that’s lingered for what feels like forever now, something quiet and constant at the back of his mind. 

but tonight, it’s louder than ever. 

especially after hearing the buzz of surprise and excitement ripple through the kitchen when richie, halfway through reading the night’s guest list, said your name. 

carm tried to play it cool, to keep scrubbing down his station like his lungs weren’t suddenly constricting.

tonight was a new friends and family night. syd’s idea. "a soft reset," she called it. a chance to breathe a little, reconnect with the people who mattered and quietly debut a few changes to the menu.

he could feel richie’s eyes on him all day: watchful, heavy, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. richie wasn’t subtle when it came to the people he cared about and carmy knew that look: apprehension. concern. maybe even a little warning.

and carmy got it. richie had watched him fall short more times than he could count, he’d seen carmy spiral, shut down, push people away, so of course he’d be on edge. especially tonight. especially with you.

pepto bismol had become his closest companion through the day, sipped like water in between prep and the minutes before doors, just to keep himself upright.

as the the guests began to arrive, he stationed himself near the window overlooking the dining area. just waiting.

eyes scanning every new arrival.

heart pounding harder with each one.

waiting for the moment you’d walk through the door.

he’d spent the whole day bracing for this, imagining it over and over, but when you finally appeared, all that careful anticipation crumbled in an instant.

because nothing, nothing, could’ve prepared him for the reality of you.

a familiar, dizzying lurch hit him in the gut.

how could you still look like that? like everything he’d been missing without even fully realizing it. like a punch straight to the ribs and a lifeline all at once. like something too good to be real.

you looked beautiful. god, you looked so beautiful.

and it wasn’t just the way you were so exquisitely dressed for the occasion or how your hair caught the light. it was the way you looked happy to be there, genuinely. like no time had passed. it knocked the breath right out of him.

the smile on your face when you greeted sugar and pete made his own mouth twitch up, he caught himself mirroring it, dumbly, before he could stop it. then came richie, arms out, wrapping you into a hug, whispering something in your ear. he guided you toward your seat, and carmy quietly sent a thank you into the universe when he realized your seat was directly in his line of sight.

you sat facing the kitchen.

richie turned around just before disappearing back to the floor, and their eyes met. that usual don’t fuck this up look was still there but now something else flickered underneath. something softer. protective. understanding. a silent: i see you.

and carmy, even in his nerves and with his stomach a knot of regret and adrenaline, gave him a small nod. a quiet thanks.

you being here, sitting where you’re seating tonight, was richie’s move.

he told himself to stay focused on service, especially tonight. he owed that to sydney. she had put her trust in him, asked him to show up and get it right. and he was trying, really trying, to keep his head down and stay sharp. but the longer the night went on, the harder it got.

you still hadn’t looked at him. not once. and it was slowly unraveling him.

you knew he’d be here, right? 

you knew this place. you knew the setup, knew exactly where he’d be standing. was it on purpose? he couldn’t tell, but watching you laugh so easily, catching up with syd’s dad and chester, it made him feel disoriented, like he was watching a version of you he didn’t have access to anymore.

every second that passed without your eyes meeting his made his chest feel tighter, heavier. he was falling apart in real time, trying to keep it together behind the pass.

and then came the dish.

fak had announced it a little too loudly, of course, but it landed. 

“new to the menu,” he said, “from chef sydney and chef carmy.”

carmen stood there, watching you the whole time, heart hammering, barely breathing.

you leaned in, tilted your head, examined the plate like it was something that really mattered, eyes soft and focused. you took in the smell first, then a bite.

and then, like gravity itself shifted in the room, you looked up.

right at him.

peaches.

and he knew, in that split second, you remembered too.

do you think i have forgotten about you?

the tension of all the conversations that veered too close to something real. the breaks you shared, shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the quiet between the chaos. you remembered the glances, the ones that lasted a second too long, the ones that said more than either of you ever dared to say aloud. you remembered that night when it was just the two of you.

you remembered what it felt like.

he could see it on your face. the recognition, the weight of it all. the way you held his gaze, steady and certain, made something in him shift. and he took it as a sign.

no more hiding behind glances, no more waiting for the right moment that never came. carmen was done being the guy who only looked when you weren’t looking, the one who kept everything to himself out of fear.

because the truth was, he felt so much for you. still. all of it. untouched by time.

still in love.

and now he was ready to say it, to show you, to fight for you.

he finally understood everything had always been about you.

and as service wound down and the restaurant quieted, all he could think about was finding you before the night ended–

to tell you that.

 ₊˚⊹♡

thank you for reading. please reblog and comment. or both ☻

[blissfulflw]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑘

Pairing- Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem reader

Genre- Smut

Word count- 7332

Warnings- 18+ interaction only, G!P Jimin, dom Jimin, light marking, power dynamics, pet names, clothing kink, NSFW

A/N:Tysm for 400 followers!! Mb for disappearing for a bit

You first see her in the reflection of the elevator doors.

Steel. Polished. Immaculate — like her.

Yu Jimin stands beside you, tall and elegant in a dark tailored suit, the kind that hugs the right places and flows at the right angles. A single silver pin glints from her lapel — the crest of the company you just started working for. Her hands are behind her back, posture effortless but commanding, her expression unreadable in that hauntingly beautiful way only the impossibly wealthy and devastatingly composed seem to pull off.

You glance down quickly. No eye contact. You’ve heard things.

Yu Jimin doesn’t smile at interns.

But when the elevator doors open, she doesn’t step out right away. Instead, she turns slightly — just enough to look at you. Her eyes are a dark, unspoken storm of thoughts, and her voice is smooth like silk caught on a blade.

“After you.”

You freeze for a split second too long. Then nod, heart skipping in that stupid way it does when someone too attractive is also strangely… polite.

“Thank you,” you mumble, stepping out.

You can feel her following — not close, but present. A quiet force trailing behind like gravity, like something you’ll never quite outrun.

_____

Your internship isn’t glamorous. Mostly coffee runs and editing reports that someone higher-up will delete anyway. But every so often, you get assigned to her floor — her meetings. And those are different.

Jimin speaks rarely. Watches constantly. She listens with the kind of focus that makes men stutter and women straighten their backs. Her fingers rest lightly on a fountain pen, though she rarely writes. She doesn’t need to. Her presence alone takes notes.

But what keeps throwing you off — what makes your stomach twist in new, unsettling ways — is that she watches you too.

Not inappropriately. Not obviously.

But always.

Once, when the rain poured suddenly and you forgot your umbrella, she appeared beside you without a word. Extended hers. Walked with you all the way to the train station in silence. Said only one thing before turning to leave.

“You should carry one. Weather changes quickly.”

You clutched the umbrella like a lifeline the whole ride home.

You tell yourself she’s just being polite. That you’re imagining the way her eyes soften when she sees you. That her silence doesn’t mean she’s trying not to say something she shouldn’t.

Because if it does mean something…

Then why does she always seem like she’s holding herself back?

_____

It starts again during Thursday’s late strategy meeting.

You’re seated near the end of the table, half-hidden behind a laptop screen and a growing list of revisions. The executives toss words like “synergy” and “forward-facing brand pivots” around like they’re trying to win a game no one wants to play.

Yu Jimin sits at the head.

Calm. Composed. The kind of poised that makes everyone else speak in measured tones, trying not to look directly at her for too long. She’s in another one of those sculpted suits, the charcoal grey offset by a burgundy tie — loose at the collar today, like even perfection needs to breathe.

You try not to stare.

Fail.

She meets your eyes once across the table. Just once. And in that single moment, the noise around you dulls — like your world collapses inward toward her.

Then someone slides into the seat beside you. Jake from marketing.

He’s all loud cologne and faux charisma, the kind of guy who talks with his elbow pressed just a little too close, who says your name too slowly when he leans in.

“You know,” Jake murmurs, voice low, “you should stop hiding at the end of the table. People might notice you more.”

You offer a tight smile. “I’m not here to be noticed.”

Jake chuckles. “Maybe not, but trust me — you’re hard to miss.”

You flinch inwardly. Look down. Will yourself to disappear.

And then —

“Mr. Sim.”

Yu Jimin’s voice cuts clean through the room. Not raised. Just sharp.

Jake turns, blinking like he forgot she was there. “Yes, Director Yu?”

Her eyes haven’t left him. “Your commentary can wait until we’re finished. Please focus.”

There’s no room for argument. Jake leans back, flush creeping up his neck, and suddenly remembers how to keep quiet.

You glance up at her, heart caught in your throat. She doesn’t look at you. But her hand flexes subtly on the pen she’s holding — as if she’s still reining something in.

Later, after the meeting, you catch her by the elevator again.

She’s alone this time, jacket slung casually over one shoulder, looking so effortlessly untouchable you almost turn away.

But she speaks first.

“Did he make you uncomfortable?”

You blink. “What?”

Jimin’s eyes are on yours now. Calm. Steady. Intense in the way only she can be. “Jake. Earlier.”

You hesitate. “…It wasn’t anything serious.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Silence stretches between you — taut, electric.

You finally shake your head. “I’m used to it. It’s fine.”

A pause.

Her voice drops a note lower. “It shouldn’t have to be something you’re used to.”

You look at her, really look — and you realize that her calm isn’t perfect. There’s a storm behind her eyes. Something aching. Something that pulses just beneath her skin, like heat behind glass.

“You’re not just kind,” you say quietly. “You’re protective.”

She tilts her head. Barely. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”

“I don’t think it is.” You pause, then add, “I just don’t understand why it’s always me.”

A breath. Barely there.

And then — softly, like a truth escaping her lips before she can cage it —

“Neither do I.”

The elevator doors open.

But she doesn’t walk in.

Neither do you.

_____

You don’t see her again for four days.

And it shouldn’t matter. You’re an intern. She’s an executive. There are floors, worlds, and pay grades between you. Her absence should be irrelevant.

But it isn’t.

You keep glancing toward the top floor elevator, half-expecting her to appear like smoke — silent, sharp, and unshakably composed. You tell yourself it’s curiosity. Maybe admiration. Definitely not that slow-burning pull that curls in your chest every time she speaks your name.

When she finally shows up again, it’s late. Most of the office has gone home. You’re still at your desk, buried in revision notes and running on caffeine and stubborn pride.

She passes by.

You almost miss her. Just the flicker of her silhouette reflected on the glass wall. Then she stops. Comes back.

“You’re still here,” Jimin says, stepping just inside your space.

You glance up. She’s lost the jacket — crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar undone. Her hair’s pulled back with a few strands loose, like even perfection has edges when the night drags long enough.

“I could say the same,” you offer, unsure if you should sit up straighter or hide under the desk.

She doesn’t smile, but there’s a flicker of something softer in her gaze. “You shouldn’t be overworking yourself. Not for scraps.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “You mean the valuable intern experience?”

Her lips twitch. It’s not quite a smile — but it’s closer than you’ve ever seen. “Something like that.”

A pause stretches.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” she says quietly, stepping a little closer. “You already have.”

Your heart skips. “How would you know?”

“Because I see you.” She holds your gaze. “More than you realize.”

The silence that follows feels loaded. Fragile. Like you’ve both walked to the edge of something without meaning to.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” you whisper before you can talk yourself out of it.

Jimin’s face stills. Not guarded — guilty.

“I was.”

“Why?”

She doesn’t answer. Not at first. She looks at you like she’s searching for a lie soft enough to pass as truth, and when she doesn’t find one, she gives you something raw instead.

“I’m not good at… closeness,” she says, her voice low. “Not when it matters.”

You tilt your head. “But you’re good at caring from a distance?”

She exhales, and the sound is barely controlled. “Distance is easier. It doesn’t ask anything back.”

And then, just for a moment, you see it.

Beneath all that control — the suits, the smooth words, the poised silences — there’s a fracture. A tension in her shoulders. A truth she keeps bound tight: she wants something she doesn’t think she’s allowed to have.

You.

You stand slowly. “Maybe I’m not asking for anything.”

Her jaw flexes. She looks like she wants to step away — but doesn’t.

“You should,” she says, voice tighter now. “You should ask everything of me. Because if you don’t, I’ll keep giving you nothing. And I don’t want to do that anymore.”

The air crackles. Not quite confession, not quite restraint. Something in between.

You take one step closer. She doesn’t move.

Her breath catches.

So does yours.

“I don’t know what this is,” you say, barely above a whisper. “But I feel it.”

Jimin’s voice is quieter than it’s ever been.

“So do I.”

But still, she doesn’t touch you.

Because she can’t. Not yet.

Because if she does—she won’t stop.

_____

Friday morning feels off.

Maybe it’s the fact you didn’t sleep. Maybe it’s the conversation with Jimin echoing in your mind on loop. Maybe it’s just the way her voice sounded when she said, “You should ask everything of me.”

You’re still trying to decide if that was a warning or a promise.

You slip into the break room to make yourself coffee — a tiny moment of quiet before the day chews you up again. You’re halfway through pouring water into the machine when someone steps in behind you.

It’s Sungho, another junior analyst. Charming when it suits him, smug when it doesn’t.

He doesn’t even say good morning before flashing you a half-smile.

“Hey. Since you’re already playing barista,” he says, settling against the counter with his phone in hand, “mind making one for me too? Two sugars.”

You blink, fingers still wrapped around your mug.

“I’m not—”

“She’s not your servant.”

The voice is firm. Cold. Familiar.

Your head snaps toward the doorway — and there she is.

Yu Jimin.

Leaning against the frame in a black turtleneck and matching slacks, sleeves pushed slightly up her forearms. No blazer today, no badge of status needed — just her, commanding the air with a look.

Sungho lets out a soft, nervous laugh. “I mean—no offense, Director Yu. It’s just coffee—”

She steps forward.

Not rushed. Not loud.

But the room still feels like it shrinks around her.

“If you need coffee,” she says, gaze never leaving him, “I suggest you use your hands. Or ask your own intern. She’s not yours.”

Then she walks past him — and takes the mug from your hand.

You open your mouth to protest, but her eyes flick to you. The look she gives you is different now. Less restrained. Less distant. It’s quiet fire — like she’s finally allowing herself to feel something she’s tried too hard to silence.

“I’ll make yours,” she says softly, like you’re the only person in the room.

You don’t say anything. Neither does Sungho. The air is too thick, too sharp, filled with things no one dares name out loud.

Jimin takes her time.

Her hands move precisely. Steady. She adds your favorite creamer without asking, stirs with deliberate care. When she offers the mug back to you, her fingers graze yours — and linger, just for a second too long.

You take it, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

She holds your gaze. “You don’t owe anyone here your obedience.”

A pause.

“But if you want something from me,” she adds, quieter now, “I’ll give it.”

Your pulse stutters.

And in that moment — standing in a sterile break room with a warm mug in your hands — you realize she doesn’t just care.

She wants.

In a way that’s careful and dangerous and far too tender for someone so used to control.

And she’s no longer pretending otherwise.

_____

The next time it happens, it’s late again.

You’re not working — not really. You’re staring at your computer screen long after the words stopped making sense, pretending productivity will distract you from how your skin still burns where her fingers brushed yours.

Jimin made you coffee.

Jimin defended you.

Not as a boss. Not even as a friend.

She did it like someone who wanted a reason to step between you and the world. Like someone who was done hiding the way she feels.

The elevator dings quietly, and when the doors open, you know who it is before you even look.

Yu Jimin. Of course.

She doesn’t speak right away. Just walks over, silent as breath, and stands beside your desk.

“You’re working late again,” she says, voice soft but edged in something unreadable.

You close the laptop. “Not really.”

A beat.

She watches you for a long moment. “Come with me.”

You blink. “Where?”

“I need air,” she says. “And if you keep staring at that screen, you’ll go blind.”

You hesitate — but only for a second.

Then you follow.

She takes you to the rooftop.

It’s quiet up there, wind brushing gently past your face. The city glows below like a restless sea of gold and steel, too alive for this hour.

Jimin stands near the edge, hands in her coat pockets, head tilted to the stars like she’s waiting for something to make sense.

You step beside her. Close, but not touching.

“I hate offices,” she says after a moment. “They’re all glass and noise. No softness.”

You glance at her. “You never seem uncomfortable in them.”

“That’s the point.” She exhales. “I’ve trained myself not to feel anything inside those walls. It’s easier.”

“Easier than what?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Then: “Easier than being honest.”

You don’t speak. You just let the silence stretch, let her take her time. And maybe that’s what makes her turn toward you.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

And when she looks at you this time, it’s different.

Not hidden. Not careful.

Her expression is raw. Wanting. Tired of the walls she built to keep you at a distance.

“I don’t know how to be gentle with this,” she admits quietly. “With you.”

You take a step closer, heart thudding. “You already are.”

She stares at you like the words hurt. “If you knew what I wanted to do—how close I am to crossing that line—”

Your hand lifts without thinking, fingers brushing her wrist. “Then cross it.”

That’s all it takes.

She moves before either of you can question it — one step forward, a hand cradling the side of your face, her thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone like you’re something precious. Her breath mixes with yours, lips so close they’re nearly touching.

And still, she doesn’t kiss you.

Her forehead rests against yours instead.

Her voice is barely there. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

You whisper, “Then show me.”

She inhales sharply — like the restraint costs her something.

But she steps back.

Barely.

Not because she doesn’t want you — but because she does. Too much.

“If I start,” she says, voice rough, “I won’t stop.”

And you believe her.

You also know she’s already falling.

Even if she hasn’t admitted it yet.

You linger on the rooftop longer than you should.

The night’s turned colder, wind threading through your blouse, biting at your skin in slow, creeping chills. You try not to show it — wrapping your arms around yourself casually, like you’re just adjusting your stance.

But of course, she notices.

Jimin doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask if you’re cold. She just shrugs off her coat with practiced ease — smooth, quiet, like it’s muscle memory.

“Here,” she says, gently holding it open.

You blink. “I’m okay—”

“I didn’t ask,” she says, not unkindly. “Let me.”

You hesitate — but only because it feels like something more than kindness. Something deliberate. Like every thread in that jacket still carries her warmth, her scent, the subtle pressure of her presence.

You let her place it around your shoulders.

The fabric is heavy, expensive, far too luxurious for someone like you — but it smells like her. A hint of cedar and something darker, something quietly magnetic. It wraps around you like a promise she hasn’t said aloud yet.

She adjusts the collar for you with slow fingers. Her touch lingers.

Then — she takes your hand.

Not casually.

Not fleeting.

Like it means something.

She brings it to her lips, gaze never leaving yours. Her mouth brushes your knuckles with the kind of reverence that feels ancient, like this gesture is older than both of you. Like it was born for moments just like this.

A kiss.

Barely there.

But it leaves a mark you’ll never forget.

When she lowers your hand, her voice is soft. “If I could, I’d keep you warm always.”

You swallow. Hard. “You already do.”

The look she gives you then — it’s so full of feeling you can’t breathe for a second.

No more walls.

No more silence.

Just this: her, standing in the dark, finally letting herself love you a little out loud.

The rooftop is quiet again.

Too quiet.

Jimin still hasn’t let go of your hand.

She’s standing just close enough that you can feel the warmth of her body beneath the shirt she has left on — crisp lines and soft breath, her coat draped over your shoulders like a claim she’s too careful to voice aloud.

She hasn’t moved since she kissed your hand.

Hasn’t said anything.

But the air between you is thick with the unspoken.

And you know it.

You speak first.

“Why are you still holding back?”

Her eyes flicker. “Because I want too much.”

You step closer, gently, letting your voice drop. “And what if I do too?”

Something breaks behind her gaze.

Not badly — not violently.

But like a dam easing under pressure it can’t contain anymore. The kind that doesn’t shatter — it just gives way. Slowly. Inevitably.

She brings her hand up to your face. Cradles your cheek like you’re something fragile, something wanted, something she hasn’t let herself touch until now.

Her thumb strokes gently along your cheekbone. You lean into it without hesitation.

And then, finally—finally—her voice drops to a whisper.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

You say: “Don’t you dare.”

That’s all she needs.

Jimin leans in, slow and deliberate, like she’s memorizing the space between your mouths — and then she closes it.

The kiss is nothing like her usual self.

It’s not careful. Not restrained.

It’s honest.

It’s years of self-discipline dissolving at the seams. It’s the way her hand slides to the back of your neck, the way she holds you like she’s wanted this since the first time you said her name. It’s quiet hunger and quiet devotion tangled together in a single, shattering press of lips.

You kiss her back just as fiercely.

When you pull apart, just barely, her forehead stays against yours. Both of you are breathless. Changed.

“I warned you,” she murmurs, voice low and rough.

You smile against her lips. “You’re late.”

She huffs a quiet laugh — the softest you’ve ever heard her — and kisses you again.

This time slower.

Surer.

As if she’s promising there’s more to come — now that she’s finally, finally let herself begin.

The kiss lingers long after it’s ended.

You can still taste her on your lips — heat and restraint all tangled up in the memory of how tightly she held herself together even as she kissed you like she meant it. And you think maybe that’s the most intoxicating part — not the kiss, but how hard she worked not to lose herself completely in it.

And now?

Now she won’t even look away.

You’re still on the rooftop, the city murmuring below, and she’s watching you with that focused, quiet hunger that used to only flicker beneath the surface.

Now it’s full. Present. Undeniable.

And when she speaks again, her voice is low.

“Come with me.”

This time you don’t ask where.

She leads you back through the quiet building, her hand hovering just behind your back — not touching, but guarding. Protective. Possessive, even if she hasn’t said the words.

By the time she opens the door to her office, your pulse is a drumbeat behind your ribs.

She doesn’t turn on the lights.

Just closes the door softly behind you and locks it.

Click.

Then silence.

Her office is the same as always — cold, clean, modern — but now it feels different. Warmer, somehow. Or maybe it’s just you, standing in the space she’s always ruled with silence, realizing you’re the only one she’s ever let past the threshold like this.

You turn to speak — but she’s already moving.

Jimin crowds you gently back until your spine brushes the edge of her desk. She’s not rough, not rushed — just deliberate. Measured. Every inch closer is a question. And your body answers each one with its own quiet plea: yes. yes. please—yes.

She stops only when your knees bump the desk and she’s standing right in front of you — all coiled elegance and restrained hunger.

Her voice is quiet. “Tell me to stop.”

Again.

But her eyes are already begging you not to.

You shake your head, breath catching. “I want you to lose control.”

That’s all it takes.

Her hands slide up your arms — slow, reverent — and then she kisses you again, but this time, it’s deeper. Hungrier. Her mouth parts yours like it’s instinct, like she’s spent hours imagining this and is only now giving herself permission to feel it.

Your fingers tangle in the soft fabric of her shirt. She leans into your touch like she’s starving.

You barely manage to whisper, “You always act like I’m delicate.”

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes — and something burns there, low and quiet and real.

“That’s not why I’m careful,” she murmurs, lips brushing yours. “It’s because I’ve never wanted anything like this. Like you.”

Then she lifts your hand again.

This time, she kisses the inside of your wrist.

Tender.

Almost devotional.

You don’t know if you’re about to cry or kiss her harder.

And just when you think she’s about to take it further — let her control break completely —

She breathes in deep.

Steps back.

Her voice is rough.

“If I take you here,” she says, barely audible, “I won’t be able to pretend after.”

Your throat tightens. “Then don’t pretend.”

A silence. Heavy.

Then her eyes meet yours — and all at once, the decision is made.

“I’ll close the blinds,” she says.

_____

She doesn’t speak as she pulls the blinds shut.

Just moves with silent, deliberate grace — the kind that says she’s done holding back. The kind that says, you’re mine now, and she’s going to make sure you know it.

You’re still at the edge of her desk, her coat draped over your shoulders like a shield you no longer need. You watch her in the low lamplight, your breath unsteady as she locks the door again, then turns to face you fully.

And when she steps toward you this time, you don’t flinch.

You wait.

Her fingers slide over your waist — not urgent, not rough. She’s savoring it. Mapping you. Getting drunk on the feel of you before she even tastes your skin.

She leans in close, her breath warm against your neck. You shiver — just once — and she feels it.

“You’re cold again,” she murmurs.

You don’t answer.

And then — softly — her lips brush your throat.

It starts as a whisper of a kiss. A barely-there drag of her mouth beneath your jaw, over the line of your neck. Her breath fans across your skin as she lowers her head and kisses you again — this time deeper. Slower.

She sucks, gently at first.

Then with purpose.

Her hand curls around your waist, the other coming up to tilt your chin slightly, exposing more of your neck to her mouth.

You let her.

You give it to her.

Her lips wrap around your pulse, and when she bites — just the slightest graze of teeth — your knees nearly give out. You clutch her shirt for balance, and she groans softly against your skin like she’s been waiting to mark you for weeks.

A dark purple blooms there. Then another. Then another — up your neck, along your collarbone.

She doesn’t stop until she knows anyone who sees you will know exactly who you belong to.

When she finally pulls back to look at you, her voice is deeper. Roughened. Possessive.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you like this,” she says.

“They won’t,” you breathe. “Only you.”

That’s it.

That’s what does it.

She pulls you into her completely then — kisses you hard, desperate, one hand in your hair and the other sliding down your back, pressing you to her body. You can feel the heat of her even through your clothes — the tension, the want, how badly she’s been keeping herself in check until now.

And now, she’s done waiting.

Jimin lifts you onto her desk like you weigh nothing, like you belong there — on display for her. Her hands start unbuttoning your blouse with precision, but it’s the reverence in her touch that makes your heart stutter. She isn’t just stripping you. She’s unwrapping you — like something treasured.

When she sees your bra, she exhales slowly.

“You’re perfect.”

And then she leans down — not to kiss your lips, but to mouth along your chest, tugging the fabric down with practiced hands and taking your nipple into her mouth. She sucks, slow and rhythmic, while her other hand slips between your legs.

You gasp. She groans in response, like the sound fuels her.

When she finally slips her hand beneath your waistband and feels how soaked you are for her, she lifts her head just enough to smirk — dangerous, full of heat.

“So wet for me already,” she whispers. “I haven’t even started.”

Her fingers press against your core through your underwear first — teasing, taunting — before slipping them aside.

Then she finally touches you.

And when she does — it’s with intent. Expertise.

Two fingers slide in slow, and her thumb circles your clit with firm, measured strokes. She watches every reaction — the way your head tilts back, the way your legs part wider for her, the way your breath catches when she curls her fingers just right.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, voice velvet. “Let me take care of you.”

You whimper something that might be her name, and she leans in again — her lips brushing your ear.

“I want you to come for me,” she says. “Right here. In my office. With my fingers inside you.”

And you do.

With a choked cry and trembling thighs, you fall apart for her — clutching her wrist, her shirt, whatever you can reach as the pleasure rolls through you like a storm.

She kisses you through it. Holds you until you calm.

And then — just when you think she’s finished —

She drops to her knees.

And looks up at you like a promise.

Like she’s just getting started.

Jimin stays on her knees, eyes dark and focused as she slowly, deliberately slides your jacket open wider, letting the soft fabric fall away from your skin just enough to expose you without ever fully shedding the protection it offers. The weight of her coat against your bare arms is strangely comforting, like a promise that she’s both your shield and your storm.

Her hands are skilled and tender, worshipping every inch of you with reverence — lips tracing along your collarbone, fingertips dancing in places that make your breath hitch. The juxtaposition of the crisp jacket against her warm, eager touch drives a delicious tension through you.

She hums softly, a low, satisfied sound that vibrates through her chest and into yours as she presses gentle kisses down your stomach, her fingers never ceasing their expert ministrations.

“No one else will touch you like this,” she murmurs, her voice a breathy vow. “Only me.”

And she means it.

You’re utterly hers.

Her hands roam, her mouth follows — each motion slow, deliberate, making you melt beneath the weight of her attention. She stays patient, savoring the power she holds, the way you respond to her every touch and kiss.

The jacket remains draped over you, open and loose — an elegant frame to this intimate moment, her silent claim on you that’s as much about control as it is about care.

She leans up, her eyes locking with yours, fierce and tender all at once.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, voice low and coaxing.

You don’t hesitate.

“More,” you whisper.

Her smile is a secret promise.

And with that, she begins again — every inch of you alive under her hands, lips, and the soft weight of her jacket, as if wrapping you in silk and fire all at once.

Jimin’s hands glide up your sides, fingers tracing slow, teasing paths beneath the open folds of her jacket. The contrast between the cool fabric and the warmth of her touch sends shivers rippling through you, making every nerve ache with anticipation.

Her mouth leaves a trail of feather-light kisses from your collarbone, down your chest, while one hand stays firmly pressed to your hip, grounding you — reminding you she’s there, fully present.

She slides her fingers beneath your waistband again, her touch sure and unhurried, eliciting soft gasps and shivers. Her eyes never leave yours, searching, reading every flicker of feeling as she explores you like a cherished secret.

With the jacket open and draping around you both, it’s as if she’s creating a private world — elegant, intimate, protected — where only the two of you exist.

Her lips meet your skin again, gentle yet claiming, and the way she murmurs your name, low and reverent, pulls you deeper into the moment. Every motion, every kiss, every touch says the same thing: You belong to me. I will take care of you.

You cling to her, overwhelmed by the intensity and tenderness entwined in her devotion. Even as desire curls tight within you, there’s a softness — a safety — in the way she holds you, in the way she refuses to let go.

She leans back just enough to brush her fingers through your hair, and her voice is a whisper, rough with feeling.

“This is only the beginning.”

And with that, she continues — slow, sure, endlessly attentive — making you feel treasured in ways you never thought possible.

Jimin’s hands slowly begin to trail lower, her touch never hurried but charged with intent. As her fingers trace the curves of your hips, you become painfully aware of the solid, hard presence pressing firmly beneath the fabric of her tailored pants.

The heat radiating from her body is unmistakable, and the way her breath catches when you subtly shift closer leaves no doubt—she’s as consumed by this moment as you are.

Your eyes meet hers, dark and glimmering with a fierce hunger, and she smirks softly, that signature confident tilt to her lips.

Without breaking eye contact, she murmurs, “You feel that? You’re making me lose control.”

Your pulse quickens at the admission, the raw honesty wrapped in her calm, commanding tone.

You can’t help but inch closer, the promise of what’s to come crackling between you like electricity.

Jimin’s fingers pause just at the edge of your waistband, teasing, barely touching, while her other hand rests firmly on your hip, holding you steady.

Her breath fans against your cheek, warm and steady, but underneath it all, you can feel the hard weight pressing through the thin fabric of her pants — a silent demand.

She leans in close enough for her lips to brush your ear, her voice a low, velvety whisper. “I’m right here. You don’t have to say a word.”

You tremble under her touch, every nerve alight with want and trust. The way she keeps the jacket draped over you — an elegant shield and invitation all at once — makes the moment feel both intense and tender.

Slowly, she slides her hand beneath the jacket, trailing it along your bare skin, her touch deliberate and possessive. Your breath hitches as she presses herself closer, the heat between you undeniable now.

Her eyes lock on yours, dark with promise. “Tell me what you want. Let me show you.”

You barely need to speak — your body answers for you, arching into her, craving the full weight of her presence.

She smiles, deep and sure, then finally lets the restraint slip, guiding you toward the desk, where the two of you will write the next chapter of this beautiful, fierce connection.

Jimin’s eyes darken as she guides you gently but firmly until your back presses against the edge of her desk. The cool surface contrasts with the heat pooling between your bodies, heightening every sensation.

Her hands slide beneath the open folds of her jacket, fingers tracing the delicate curve of your ribs before settling firmly at your waist. The weight of her coat still draped over your shoulders makes you feel simultaneously shielded and utterly exposed—her quiet dominance wrapping around you like silk and fire.

Her other hand moves to the waistband of her pants, undoing the button with a deliberate, slow motion that makes your breath catch. The fabric parts just enough to reveal the undeniable hardness pressing against you—a tangible proof of her desire, unapologetic and commanding.

Without breaking eye contact, Jimin leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as her breath warms your skin. “You’re driving me insane,” she murmurs. “I want to claim you, every inch.”

Her mouth trails down your neck, soft kisses turning into gentle nips that leave a path of warmth. You arch into her, craving more, feeling the ache of want deepen with every touch.

Her hands are everywhere—exploring, teasing, making you shiver under the contrast of the smooth jacket and the heat of her skin beneath.

Then, with a careful ease that speaks of practiced control, she presses her body fully against yours. The hard length beneath her pants aligns with you, a silent promise that she’s ready to take this further—slowly, carefully, completely.

Her fingers tighten at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, and her lips find yours again—this time demanding, fierce, and utterly possessive.

You melt into her kiss, knowing this is only the beginning.

Jimin’s body presses firmly against yours, the heat of her skin and the undeniable hardness beneath her pants a constant, thrilling pressure. Slowly, she begins to push forward—measured, gentle, every movement deliberate.

Her lips hover near your ear, her voice low and tender. “Are you alright?”

You nod, breath shaky but steady.

She doesn’t rush. Instead, her hands stay firmly at your waist, steadying and supporting you as she moves. Her eyes never leave yours, filled with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart swell.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” she whispers, brushing a stray hair from your face.

You reach up, fingers tracing her jawline, grounding yourself in the warmth of her touch. “It feels perfect,” you breathe.

Jimin’s lips curl into a soft smile before she kisses your forehead. “I’m going to keep asking, until you tell me to stop,” she says quietly.

Her movements stay slow, almost reverent, each shift designed to keep you comfortable, to keep you safe.

When she senses you tightening even slightly, she pauses, holding you close. “How are you? Really.”

You close your eyes, letting the wave of sensation and emotion wash over you. “With you? I’ve never felt more alive.”

Her hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your skin gently. “Good. Because I’m not letting go.”

She resumes moving with care, every motion a promise—of trust, of devotion, of a love that’s equal parts strength and tenderness.

Jimin’s breath is warm against your neck, each exhale a gentle caress that sends shivers spiraling down your spine. Her lips brush just beneath your ear, soft and feather-light, as if she’s imprinting herself on your skin with every breath.

The subtle sound of her inhale mingles with your own ragged breaths, creating a rhythm that binds you together in this charged silence.

Her hand stays steady at your waist, fingers pressing lightly, grounding you as her body moves slowly—never hurried, never harsh. Every inch of contact feels like a promise, a sacred exchange of trust and desire.

You can hear the faint rustle of fabric as her jacket shifts, the quiet brush of her hair against your skin, the nearly imperceptible hum of her breath catching whenever you respond with a soft moan or shiver.

Her lips leave a trail of delicate kisses down your neck—sometimes barely-there, sometimes grazing your skin with a teasing nip that leaves a delicious sting in its wake.

The warmth of her mouth, the gentle wetness of her breath, the slight vibration when she hums softly against you—all of it stokes the fire building within you.

You press back against her, matching the pace she sets, letting your hands explore the solid strength beneath her jacket, the taut muscles that ripple with every careful movement.

A soft sigh escapes her lips as she murmurs your name, low and breathless, sending a thrill straight through your core.

Between the steady push of her body and the tender, intimate sounds she makes—the whispered promises, the gentle gasps, the brush of skin against skin—you feel yourself unraveling completely.

Every nerve ending is alive, every sense heightened, as she continues to move slowly, deliberately—ensuring that every moment is as exquisite as the last.

Jimin’s breath hitches against your skin, warm and steady, as she presses soft, lingering kisses along your jawline. The contrast of her cool jacket against the heat radiating from her body heightens every touch, every sensation pulsing between you like electricity.

Her fingers dig in gently at your hips, steady and sure, while the subtle sound of her quiet, almost reverent sighs fills the space between you. Your own breaths come in shallow gasps, mingling with the faint rustle of fabric and the soft thump of your heart pounding in your chest.

She leans in closer, her lips brushing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, sending a delicious shiver rippling through you. The heat of her breath, the gentle vibration as she hums your name, feels like a tether—anchoring you to this moment, to her.

Her eyes meet yours—dark, intense, and full of a fierce tenderness that makes your heart ache. “You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmurs, voice husky with need.

You reach up, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer as she continues to move with slow, measured intent. Each motion is careful, deliberate, coaxing a symphony of sensations from you—soft moans, shaky gasps, the quickening of your pulse.

Her jacket drapes around your shoulders, an elegant frame for the way she holds you—both protector and lover—her every touch a promise that you are cherished, desired, and safe.

The room fills with the quiet sounds of your shared breath, the soft rustle of clothing, and the whispered exchange of names and desires.

Jimin’s lips trail lower again, kissing and nibbling the sensitive skin along your collarbone, while her hands explore you with reverent patience. The weight of her presence, the heat of her body, the softness of her touch—all combine to make you feel utterly consumed and utterly treasured.

She presses herself closer, the hardness beneath her pants a constant, thrilling reminder of her need for you. And as she moves with careful, steady rhythm, you realize this is more than desire—it’s devotion. An elegant, fierce claim.

Her voice breaks through the haze, low and commanding, “Come for me. Show me how much you want this.”

And you do.

Jimin’s hands tighten at your waist, steady and sure, as she continues to move with slow, deliberate rhythm. Her breath is hot against your neck, sending delicious sparks through your skin.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” she murmurs, voice thick with need. “Such a good girl for me.”

Her words wrap around you like a warm, intoxicating spell, pulling you deeper into the moment.

Your body trembles under her touch, every nerve alive, every sensation magnified by the way she watches you—so focused, so reverent.

Her lips find yours again, fierce and claiming, as she whispers, “That’s it, my love. Let go for me.”

With a shuddering gasp, you answer her, waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your muscles tighten, your breath hitches, and you fall apart in her arms.

Jimin holds you close, murmuring soft praises—“Beautiful, my darling… you’re mine”—as your body trembles and your heart races.

She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she steadies you, her hands gentle and firm, her lips pressing tender kisses along your skin, as your breath slowly evens out.

Wrapped in her embrace, with the weight of her jacket still draped over you, you feel utterly cherished, utterly hers.

_____

The moment still hums between you, the echoes of your shared intimacy settling into a warm, quiet glow. Jimin gently eases you down onto the plush leather chair beside her desk, keeping her jacket draped over your shoulders like a protective shawl.

She brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, her fingers soft and sure. “You did so well, darling,” she whispers, her voice a soothing balm.

Without hesitation, she reaches for the softest blanket she keeps nearby, wrapping it carefully around you. Her touch is gentle, patient, like she’s afraid to disturb the fragile peace you both need right now.

Her eyes search yours, silently asking how you feel, if there’s anything you need. When you nod faintly, she smiles—a quiet, proud smile just for you.

She fetches a glass of water, holding it to your lips and encouraging you to drink, her thumb stroking your cheek as you sip.

Then she pulls you into a slow, tender embrace, her arms warm and steady around you.

“No matter what, I’m here,” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

She stays like that, holding you, comforting you, her every movement and word dedicated to making you feel safe, loved, and utterly cared for.

In this moment, nothing exists but you — and the gentlewoman who has claimed your heart with both strength and kindness.

The soft glow of the desk lamp casts a warm, golden light over the room as Jimin settles into her chair, pulling you gently into her lap. You curl against her chest, the steady beat of her heart a soothing rhythm beneath your ear.

Her jacket is still draped over your shoulders, the fabric soft and familiar, like a protective embrace that hasn’t quite let go.

Jimin’s arms wrap around you securely, fingers tracing lazy circles along your back as you rest your head against her collarbone. The warmth of her body seeps into yours, chasing away any lingering tension.

She hums softly—a quiet, contented sound—while you close your eyes, feeling utterly safe and cherished in her hold.

“Sleep well, my darling,” she whispers, lips brushing your hair.

You breathe her in—the subtle scent of her cologne, the softness of her voice—and feel a deep peace settle within you.

Here, in this quiet moment, wrapped in warmth and love, nothing else matters.

Just you.

And Jimin.

Together.

[vineofwar]

Spotlights and Silences (Part 2-ish of Dresses and Disguises)- paigebueckers x fem!reader

summary: after weeks of silence following the moment you shared in the dressing room, you show up to Paige’s WNBA draft after party... wearing that dress.

warnings: angst, slow-burn, mutual pining, kinda lore accurate, (somehow) not proofread

word count: ~2.2k

a/n: sorry it took me so long but here she is!

You did an impeccable job of avoiding Paige after that day. 

Forgetting about it– her, was something else entirely.

The end of the semester was coming up sooner than you expected, with exams, projects, and prepping for your goodbyes. Meanwhile, March Madness was ramping up for Paige. She was everywhere. 

There wasn’t an app you could open, a TV you could watch, even a person you could talk to without being reminded of her. Interviews. Highlight reels. Stats. Predictions. WNBA draft projections. You tried to scroll past, turn off, and disengage, but it was no use. You were overdosing on her. 

But there was simply no way of avoiding her as the championship game rolled around. Besides, your best friends were playing, and you wanted to support them. Or at least that’s what you told yourself… Sitting on the living room floor, 30 minutes before tip-off, wearing a worn-out #5 jersey. Burning with anticipation.

Paige, on the other hand, could not get enough of you. It was like you completely disappeared from her life, overnight. And no amount of flashing lights, confetti, or stadiums full of fans could shake that gnawing feeling. She needed a fix– of you. 

But that didn’t stop her from winning the national title.

Paige played like something was burning beneath her skin– a fiery determination. When the buzzer sounded and the confetti rained down, Paige let it in. The noise, the celebration, the joy. She let herself feel it– the emotions, good or bad. Something that she wasn’t used to. She let herself be present in something she didn’t have to question. Something that didn’t ache. 

There was nothing else you could feel in that moment besides pride. A breathtaking sort of pride bloomed in your chest when you saw her lift the trophy high above her head, eyes glistening under the stadium lights.

You facetimed Azzi and some of the team shortly after.

“National champions! I have never been happier for you guys!” You beamed as they showed off their piece of the cut net, screenshotting a moment and sending it off to your Instagram story. 

“Where’s the trophy? Let me see it!” 

“Uh- It’s with Paige and coach, actually,” Azzi said, trying to sound too casual as she flipped the camera back around to herself. “You know. Press stuff.” 

“Ah, right. Well, send me a photo.” You changed the subject before anyone else could say a thing. “Go out and enjoy the rest of this win okay? Tell… everyone, I say congratulations.”

Azzi just nodded her head before you said goodbye.

The championship high hadn’t begun to fade before Paige was thrown into the spotlight again. She was hours away from her life changing all over again. Not even a second of turnaround, a second for her to catch her breath, before she was on another flight, sitting in another hotel, doing another round of interviews with questions she’d already answered a hundred times. The draft.

She’d foolishly thought that tonight would bring you out. More than the championship game did. She heard your congrats through Azzi. She saw the blurry photo you posted on your Instagram story, captioned: 'proud of my girls <3.’ It was the most that she's gotten from you in weeks. She thought of liking the story– her finger hovering over the heart at the bottom of the screen– but she thought better of it and kept tapping through instead. 

Another moment. Missed.

The lights were hot and brighter than she expected, but Paige never faltered. She was good at this part– the public part. The polished part. Calm, cool, confident. She stepped onto the red carpet and the crowd erupted. A wave of noise and flashing lights crashed over her. Cameras snapped in rapid fire, as if the world might blink and miss her. Her name echoed relentlessly from every direction with a particular urgency, like everyone already knew they were staring at the number one overall draft pick.

Paige was buzzing beneath the surface, beneath the perfectly packaged smile, eyeliner, and black sequin suit. Buzzing with something hard to name– something lonely. Far from nerves or excitement.

She never used to imagine being with you, because you were always there—or you used to be. But now she caught herself lost in thought, picturing you on her arm as you walked down the row of flashing cameras and back-to-back interviews, showing you off, sporting that sweet, shy smile you saved for her. Your eyes meeting like there wasn’t anything to question, like none of it intimidated you. You whispering something in her ear, like “I hope you’ve practiced your autograph” in the quiet moments, cutting through any sort of nerves that started to rise. Your hand finding hers under the table, fingers laced—anchoring her.

She imagined her name being called and the thing she’d be most excited for, something she was dying to do– to kiss you. There. In front of everyone. Like she wasn’t scared of it all.

The buzzing was so loud now that she barely heard her actual name being called.

“In the 2025 WNBA draft,” The voice sounded far away. “The Dallas Wings select,” And fully trailed off, swallowed by the roar of the crowd and the rush in her ears.

It wasn’t till Azzi nudged her arm that she registered the words.

“Paige Buekers.”

Now, standing on stage, the crowd, white jersey in hand, her future ahead of her, she wasn't thinking about the win, her team, or her new contract– she was thinking about you.

This was the part she hadn’t prepared for– that success would taste just a little sour when you weren’t there to share it with her. All her hard work and dedication finally paying off, and… it didn’t feel right. 

She knew what the fame and adoration felt like. The quick fire photos, the headlines, the glory. It all felt shallow. She craved your quiet devotion. 

In any capacity. You both needed to be with each other again.

And that’s precisely why you were in New York, in Kk’s hotel room, applying a red glossy lipstick in the bathroom mirror. 

Initially, you weren't planning on coming– even with the growing, insatiable need to see Paige in person again. You were used to that by now. The wanting. And for the last few weeks, you had become better at managing it. But it wasn’t until Kk, Sarah, Azzi- practically half of the damn UConn women’s basketball team, nearly on their hands and knees, begging you to come celebrate with them, that you even entertained the thought of being at the draft after party.

You realized somewhere along the line that you were being a bad friend. Especially to Paige.

Regardless of the complications– of your feelings, Paige was someone you cared for. Deeply. You acknowledged in your complete avoidance, that you claimed was self-preservation, was really a cover. Cowardice. And in that, you were abandoning the only thing you knew you were to each other. Friends. Even if it was hard to admit because you wanted more, you were always, at the very least, going to want to be friends with Paige. 

And friends support each other. Especially when they are the number one overall WNBA draft pick.

You waited to get dressed till Kk told you the ceremony was over, sending you the location for the after party. 

You eyed the familiar black sparkling dress, laying on the contrasting white bed sheet. It felt like the knife was being twisted as you stepped in and slipped the fabric up your body. It clung to your frame like a second skin, like memory.

And suddenly, your willpower was starting to chip away. Each step you took towards the venue was another piece flaking off, and by the time you crossed the threshold of the party, you were one gust of wind from falling apart.

You, thankfully, immediately spot Nika and some of your friends before you could change your mind and turn around and walk out the door.

“I have no idea where Azzi  went, last time I saw Kk and Sarah they were with Paige somewhere.” She pauses. “I don’t think anyone told her you were coming,” Your heart sank. The last thing you wanted to do was ambush her. 

“Shes barely had time to talk to us, I’d catch her as fast as you can to say hey.” She tried to sound as relaxed as one could, tipsy and shouting over music. “Then we can take shots!” She adds, clearly picking up on the uneasy look on your face. “Matter of fact, I’ll go get some right now!” She was gone, disappeared through a crowd before you could even object.

But she was right, you wanted to get it over with and then just enjoy yourself. You wanted closure.

There wasn’t a moment for Paige to stop- to slow down. She smiled until her jaw ached, shifting from handshakes to hugs, and from congratulations to thank-you’s. Her name echoed off the walls. She was being pulled in every direction without a moment to take it all in. 

Until she saw a familiar shimmer from the corner of her eye. She jerked her head and froze. Her gaze fell on you, clinging to a quiet corner of the room, wearing that dress. 

She blinked, hard, thinking that maybe the champagne was getting to her, like she'd open her eyes and you would be gone. Vanish, again, into thin air, and she’d be without you. 

She drifted through the room, not knowing her next move, just felt her chest pull towards you like a magnet she had been resisting for too long. 

And when your eyes finally met, neither of you looked away.

You froze when you saw her in that black, sparkling suit. You hadn’t realized it was the perfect, almost matching counterpart to your dress. 

You watched the gold lights perfectly bounce off her blond waves, the way her black eyeliner brought out her blue eyes. You were scared that if you even flinched, your heart would take over and you’d hug and tackle her to the ground.

Now there she was. Two feet away from you. After weeks, that felt like months, of no contact. And now there you were, entirely undone in front of her once again. 

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

And just like that, Paige lost the upper hand. Her cards were showing. But she finally didn’t care. She wanted you to know she was thinking about you. How she already accepted that you weren’t going to be here. How she was not coping with it well. How relieved, and scared, she was that you were within arm's length of her.

How just 5 words could mean so much without having to admit what she was really feeling. A game of how truthful she can be without just saying it.

“I almost didn’t.” You admitted back. 

She wanted to ask why you changed your mind, but the lump in her throat was making it hard to speak at all.

Then that all too familiar silence stretched between you like it always did. Taunting you. 

She glanced at your dress again. Your stomach was doing flips.

“You wore it.” Paige says, gesturing to you. What she meant to say was, ‘I remember the last time you wore that dress.’

“Yeah,” It came out breathy and uneasy. “Well, it fits better to wear at a party. Definitely not a graduation.” Your lips slightly turn up at the edges in a cautious smile. 

A smirk appeared on her face as she shook her head. 

“Honestly, I still kind of hate it.”

“I don’t.”

Paige saw the moment your breath hitched in your lungs. It set her skin on fire.

The way you looked at her was dangerous. You had to remind yourself why you were there. To support your friend.

“Well. Congratulations, Paige.”

Hearing her name from your mouth again felt like a jolt of lightning. A shiver went down her spine.

“You deserve all this. I’m proud of you.”

That is when it all sunk in. The whirlwind of the past few days finally caught up to her and hit her right in the gut. But she didn’t care about that right now.

Paige’s lips parted as her eyes drifted to yours. 

The space between you began to shrink. You didn’t even realize it till you felt the warmth of her body and the sweet, musky scent of her perfume. 

You held your breath as her hands slid their way onto your hips, pulling you closer. 

“I missed you.” Page said, more like an admission. You watch something shift behind her eyes, like relief.

“I missed you too.” You replied with ease.

The first thing you’ve said to her in months that didn’t feel like a roundabout truth.

You leaned in slowly- still somewhat scared that this was one of your daydreams- hesitating, giving her a chance to back away. But she didn’t. She closed what little space there was left and kissed you. Tentative at first, but then more sure as you melted into each other. 

Paige slid her hand up your lower back to your shoulder, then to your neck and stopped at your jaw, cupping it. Like she needed to make sure you were real. Like this was finally happening. 

And just like that, the noise of the party faded, the lights dulled, and all that existed was the way her mouth moved against yours— easy, effortless, and too soft for something that had burned for so long.

Like an exhale.

a/n: wow. let me know if you liked it! i kind of hate it!

[sevarchive]

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT (PLEASE READ)

hi everyone. i would like to inform you all that i will be permanently turning off anonymous questions on this blog.

this decision was not made lightly. i am aware that many of you have used the anon feature to connect respectfully, share kind words, and create fun, interactive dynamics. i want to sincerely thank those people genuinely :)

however, recent events have made it impossible for me to leave this feature open.

over the past few weeks, i have received a series of anonymous messages that have been deeply inappropriate, cruel, and blatantly disrespectful. some of these messages have included targeted insults and language that could only be described as emotionally abusive. what’s worse is that some of these inappropriate messages were sent despite the fact that i’ve made it clear on this blog that i am a minor. that boundary has been stated openly, and the fact that it was ignored makes it all the more disturbing and unacceptable.

to the people who’s been sending me a stream of hurtful, disrespectful, and inappropriate asks—yes, i'm talking to you.

and let me be clear: you all have crossed a line.

i know some of you might still be lurking and watching. waiting to send something else. maybe thinking no one knows who you are because you’re hiding behind a grey face. but please remember you are not anonymous to accountability. your words were not harmless. they were hurtful. and they have consequences. you do not get to speak to someone however you like just because you’re behind a screen. you are not entitled to my inbox, my attention, or my emotional space. this behavior is not welcome here. not from you, not from anyone.

you’ve used the safety of anonymity to speak in ways you likely never would face-to-face. you’ve said things that were intentionally unkind, emotionally jarring, and, at times, deeply inappropriate comments i never asked for btw, never encouraged, and do not deserve.

i don’t know what made you feel entitled to speak to someone that way, but your behavior is not edgy. it’s not clever.

it’s cruel, immature and it ends here. this blog is a space I created to share what I love. I am allowed to exist here without being made to feel small or uncomfortable.

you are not entitled to access me.

and you are definitely not entitled to speak to me however you like. and you are absolutely not welcome to continue lurking here if your only intention is to harm.

let this be your final warning.

so from now on, anonymous messaging will remain permanently disabled here in my blog.

if anything similar continues through off-anon asks, i will block and report without hesitation. to those reading this who might think, “it was just a joke,” or “it wasn’t that deep”, please understand: words have weight.

all people behind blogs are human beings. we feel things. and some of us, like me, are still minors, simply trying to enjoy our time and share what we love online. please be more mindful of what you say. think before you type. and if you can't offer basic respect, then stay away.

to those who continue to support me with kindness, gentleness, and patience—thank you so much. your support throughout genuinely means the world to me, and i’m so grateful to have you here my saplings!! i hope this change won’t affect how we interact or what we’ve built together on this blog. i’m still here, and i still want to share, laugh, and connect with all of you, just in a safer, more comfortable space.

now to the ones who sent those messages:

this blog will move forward without you.

and if you try again, you will be dealt with. swiftly, quietly, and without hesitation.

you’ve already said more than enough. and you will not say another word.