#so i hope he got the help he needed and that hes also trying to live rather than survive

[lnracer]

Ooh ok ok so for an Oscar fic I’ve been so obsessed with the idea of Oscar as reader’s best friend’s brother. As in, she’s besties with his sister and spends a ton of time over at the Piastri household. He gives such older brother vibes, like I could totally see him coming home from training all strong and sweaty and cool and reader gets all stuttery and blushy and has to hide her crush from her best friend. Maybe he’s on summer break in Australia, so it’s all slow burn and tension and jealousy and sneaking around trying to “accidentally” run into each other, ending up in 4am kisses in pyjamas in the kitchen or in the garden or in his car.

I genuinely adore your writing style omg it’s so addictive 🥺😫🥺😫

➵ Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Hattie's Best Friend! Reader.

➵ Warnings: None.

➵ Word Count: 3.879k.

➵ a/n: Ahh, I loved your request! I hope I was able to meet your expectations! And also, tysm for the compliment on my writing, I'm really happy to hear that, you're very kind! ☺️🧡

Every summer, like clockwork, she found herself spending more time at the Piastri household than her own. It wasn’t unusual — she and Hattie had been inseparable since primary school, practically attached at the hip. Pool days, movie marathons and last-minute sleepovers, it all seemed to orbit around their easy, unshakable bond. And Nicole? Nicole treated her like one of her own. She never left the house without a warm hug, a plate of something sweet, and an offer to stay for dinner — no matter the hour. It was easy, natural, and comforting.

Except when Oscar was home.

She never really knew how to act when he was around. He had always been Hattie’s older brother, the quiet genius with quick wit and easy charm — but he’d become Oscar Piastri, the F1 driver, the national treasure, the boy with eyes like he’d already seen every corner of the world. And yet, every time he came home for summer break, he was still just...Oscar.

Still the boy who teased Hattie for stealing his chargers. Still the guy who remembered her favorite flavor of icy poles. Still the one who gently nudged her knee under the dinner table if she got nervous talking in front of everyone.

He was soft-spoken and observant — maybe that’s why he noticed how she always tucked her hair behind her ear when she was flustered. Maybe that’s why he never made a big deal out of how she blushed when he offered to drive her and Hattie to the beach. He treated her with a quiet kind of care, like he knew she didn’t like being in the spotlight, but deserved attention anyway.

Around him, she was quieter than usual. A little more careful with her words. A little too aware of the way her heart tripped when he smiled at her across the kitchen island. But she was still her sweet, bookish self — offering to help Nicole with the dishes, asking Oscar if he needed a break from training, listening intently when he spoke about his races like it was a dream he still couldn’t believe he was living.

He never treated her just like Hattie's best friend. He treated her like herself.

And maybe that was the thing that made her feel so dizzy in the middle of summer.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Late Morning, Piastri Household.

The kitchen was quiet, warm with late morning sunlight pouring through the windows and pooling across the tiled floor. She liked it like this — just her, barefoot in one of Hattie’s oversized t-shirts, pouring orange juice into a glass while Nicole was out running errands and Hattie was still upstairs half-asleep.

She hummed under her breath, focused on not spilling anything, when the back door swung open with a soft click.

Then he walked in.

Oscar, fresh from the gym, towel slung over one shoulder, hair damp with sweat and pushed back in that lazy way that made him look more like a magazine cover than someone who’d just done deadlifts. His black training shirt clung to his chest and arms like second skin, and when he looked up and met her eyes—

The orange juice nearly slipped out of her hands.

“Oh— uh! Hi— hi, Oscar!” she stammered, clutching the glass like it was a lifeline as she willed herself to look anywhere but at his arms. Or his jaw. Or the way he was looking at her with that soft, knowing smile.

“Hey,” he said, voice still gravelly from exertion. He opened the fridge behind her, brushing a little too close as he reached in for a bottle of water. “Didn’t know anyone else was up yet.”

“I— I just came down,” she murmured, cheeks warming at the sound of his voice so close. “Thought I’d get some juice. I mean, obviously. You saw. Um. Yeah.”

Oscar chuckled, low and gentle. He wasn’t making fun of her — he never did. He just had this calmness about him that made everything feel both worse and better.

“You okay there?” he asked, glancing at the tight grip she had on the glass.

She nodded too fast. “Yup. Perfect. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She took a sip, nearly choked on it, and turned away to hide the color rushing to her face. God, she was so obvious. If Hattie came downstairs now, she’d take one look and know.

Oscar leaned against the counter, still watching her with that unreadable expression. Not teasing. Just... patient.

“I know it’s weird,” he said softly, like he could read her thoughts. “Me being your best friend’s brother and all. I get it.”

Her fingers fidgeted around the glass, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He smiled, small and sweet. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

Her heart skipped. He didn’t push. He didn’t laugh. He just turned back to the fridge with that easy grace of his and added, “By the way... cute shirt.”

She looked down and realized — oh no, she’d grabbed Hattie’s tee with Piastri printed across the back in big block letters.

As he walked out, water bottle in hand, she heard his voice drift back over his shoulder:

“Looks better on you.”

She nearly dropped the juice again.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

He was halfway out of the kitchen when the words left her mouth — reckless, impulsive and entirely not thought through.

“Do you— do you want a glass too?”

Oscar paused mid-step, turning just enough to glance back at her. One brow lifted, amused. “Of orange juice?”

She blinked. “Yeah. I mean— yeah. If you want. You don’t have to, I just thought, like, maybe. I’m already pouring things. So.”

He smiled again, slower this time. And it was dangerous. Not in a sharp or smug kind of way, but in that quiet, melting way he had — like he could see right through her and was choosing, very gently, not to say anything about it.

“Sure,” he said. “That’d be nice.”

And just like that, he turned back and walked toward her again.

It was a vision. There was really no other word for it.

She busied herself with grabbing another glass, trying to keep her hands steady, but her brain was nothing but static. He was back in the sunlight now, arms crossed casually, watching her like she was doing something far more interesting than pouring juice. She didn’t dare look up — but of course she did. She always did.

And when their eyes met, she knew she was done for.

She looked at him like he was the first man she’d ever seen. Not consciously — but it was in the softness of her gaze, the awe in it. In the way her breath caught just a little at the line of his jaw, the easy way he leaned against the counter like he didn’t know the effect he had on her.

But he did.

He clocked it. All of it. Silently. Subtly.

But he didn’t say a word. Didn’t tease, didn’t smirk. Instead, he looked at her with the same gentle warmth she’d come to crave in the quiet. Like he was flattered. Honored, even. And he took the glass from her hand with a soft, “Thanks.” fingers brushing hers for just a second longer than they needed to.

Her heart was an orchestra.

And when he took a sip and gave her a quiet, “Perfect.” she didn’t know if he was talking about the juice or her.

Probably both.

Without thinking, her fingers gently twirled a strand of her hair, a small, unconscious gesture that she did when she was nervous. Her heart was beating faster now, her palms a little clammy. She tried not to let her gaze wander to him too often, but he was right there, so close now, and she couldn’t help the way her body leaned just slightly toward the balcony, as if she could escape to the fresh air if it got too much.

But in Oscar’s mind?

It was like she was leaning toward him instead, and God, if she wasn’t so shy, he was pretty sure she'd jump on him right here and now. That thought nearly made him chuckle.

Instead, he took another casual sip of the juice she’d given him, savoring the coolness as he observed her from where he stood. His eyes flicked over her in a way that he wasn’t hiding — this time, he allowed himself to take in the little things: the way she bit her bottom lip, how she shifted uncomfortably when he caught her staring for just a second too long. He could see how she wanted to close the space between them, could feel the unspoken tension hanging in the air, and it made his pulse quicken in a way he wasn’t expecting.

She was absolutely gorgeous in the softest way, the type of girl who wore shyness like armor. Oscar could tell she wasn’t fully aware of how much she gave away with every little movement.

And it was... adorable.

“Hmm,” he began, his voice lighter now, teasing. “You sure you’re okay?”

Her eyes snapped up at his words, startled, her cheeks going from pale to crimson as she hurriedly cleared her throat. “Yeah! I mean— yeah! I’m fine. Just, uh—” She cut herself off, taking a step back as if the distance between them could somehow cool the flush on her face.

Her hands were fidgeting now, her fingers brushing over the edge of the countertop like she didn’t know what to do with them. Her body was still leaning toward the balcony as if she wanted an escape, but in Oscar’s mind, it was clear she wanted to do something much, much different.

And then, in the midst of the almost unbearable silence between them, he couldn’t help himself. He leaned in slightly, just enough to close the gap between them, and his voice dropped to a soft murmur.

“You know, if you’re nervous or something, you could just…” He paused, just for effect, letting his words sink in. “...say so.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes flicked to his lips and then darted away, as if looking at him for even a moment longer would make it impossible for her to keep her composure.

Oscar watched her, his gaze steady, not moving an inch, letting the moment linger.

It felt like an almost kiss was hovering in the air. He could see it in her eyes — the way her lips parted just slightly, like she was about to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

Just as their faces inched closer, the sound of Hattie’s voice pierced the quiet.

“Y/N!” she called from upstairs, her voice echoing down the hall. “Come up here for a second!”

Y/N froze, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. She took a step back, hastily wiping her hands on her shirt, as if it would erase the warmth creeping up her neck.

Oscar, ever the gentleman, only smiled. He let the moment go, but his eyes — his eyes were alive with that same soft, teasing look. The one that was both affectionate and knowing, like he knew exactly what had just happened and was perfectly okay with it.

With a soft shake of his head, a small, smug smile tugging at his lips, he raised his glass in a mock salute before taking another sip of his juice.

“Go on,” he said gently, watching her practically scramble toward the kitchen door. “I’m sure Hattie needs you.”

She fled, her heart still racing as she scrambled up the stairs with her cheeks burning brighter than ever.

And as her figure gradually disappeared up the stairs, Oscar allowed himself to chuckle softly to himself, shaking his head. Damn.

He took another sip of his juice, savoring the taste of it just a little longer as he waited for his mind to stop buzzing.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Late Afternoon, Oscar’s car.

Oscar was driving, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other adjusting the air. Hattie sat in the passenger seat, babbling about their plans for the evening, while Y/N was tucked quietly in the backseat, lip-glossed and flushed in that way that made Oscar check the rearview mirror more than once.

He wasn’t sure why he felt...tight-chested about it.

Maybe it was the fact that she looked unreal tonight in her denim mini skirt and that floaty top that tied on her shoulders — hair up in one of those claw clips, perfume faint but sweet — and she wasn’t even going out out. Just going over to a friend’s house. A friend with a brother. A brother who Hattie had casually mentioned couldn’t stop texting Y/N lately.

Oscar hadn’t said anything then. But now, as he pulled into the long driveway of that exact house, he felt something cold and slow press into his stomach.

Because there he was — tall, confident, grinning already as he came down the porch steps to greet them. The other brother.

“Thanks for the lift, O.” Hattie said, already hopping out.

Y/N lingered for a second longer. “Thanks, Oscar.” she said softly, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror.

He offered a tight smile, nodding. “Have fun.”

But as she opened the car door, her hand still on the handle, he added, just a touch too casually. “Let me know when you want to be picked up. Don’t wait for him to offer.”

She blinked. “Oh— uh— okay, sure.”

“Seriously.” His tone was light, but his jaw was a little clenched. “I don’t mind.”

She gave a small nod, cheeks pink again — not just because of the heat, maybe — and then she was gone, skipping up the steps to where Hattie and the boy were waiting.

Oscar didn’t drive away right away.

He sat there a second too long, watching the boy lean a little too close when he said hello to her. Watched her tuck her hair behind her ear in that way she always did when she was nervous. Or shy. Or — God help him — flirting.

He told himself to look away. Told himself this was fine. Normal. He had no right to feel whatever this was.

But the thing was: he’d never seen her do that for anyone else other than himself.

And it made his grip on the wheel a little tighter.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Late Night, Piastri Household.

The house was still. It was the kind of quiet that only came with the late hours of the night, everything slowed down, shadows stretching long over the walls. Everyone was asleep — or at least that’s what they wanted to believe.

But somewhere in the quiet corners of the house, two people were wide awake.

Oscar had just finished an exhausting training day, his muscles sore and his mind still buzzing. He wasn’t tired enough to sleep just yet, but he didn’t want to risk waking his mom or Hattie, who were both deep into their dreams. So, he quietly made his way to the kitchen, slipping out of his room in his loose sweatpants, hair tousled and messy from running his hands through it too many times.

He wasn’t looking for anything but water, a simple way to wind down. But when he entered the kitchen, there was something unexpected in the air.

There she was. Y/N.

She was standing there, her back to him, and the soft glow from the fridge illuminated her like she was the only thing that mattered in the entire house. Her cute VS pajama set, with the lace trim and tiny satin ribbons on the shorts, made her look so effortless, so beautiful, that he nearly forgot how to breathe.

As he reached for the water, he heard her softly shuffle, the faintest of footfalls as she took a step toward the fridge, her movements more fluid than she probably realized. He could sense it before she even turned around. She wasn’t going to just let this moment go. Not this time.

It wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t fate — no, they both knew what they were doing. Trying to sneak around in the dead of night, hoping to “accidentally” run into each other.

He watched as she turned, her gaze meeting his. Her cheeks immediately flushed, but there was something in her eyes. A little spark. That same tension they’d shared earlier in the day, that warm, unspoken thing, was still there, and it had only grown.

"Hey," she whispered, awkwardly adjusting the strap of her top as if that would make everything less obvious. But Oscar could see right through her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice a little husky from the quiet.

She nodded, biting her lip nervously. “Yeah…thought I’d get a glass of water.”

The words hung in the air, both of them trying to seem casual as if this wasn’t completely intentional.

But then the silence between them thickened. There was no pretending now. She was staring at him, and he was staring at her, and he realized, with a slight chuckle, that the situation was a bit ridiculous.

“Water,” he repeated slowly, smiling, eyes lingering on her lips.

She couldn't help it. She took a deep breath, her voice coming out more quietly this time. "I...I don't think I need water anymore." Her words hung in the air, and the undercurrent between them was undeniable.

Oscar’s gaze dropped, and that’s when he realized she wasn’t just staring at him because she was shy.

It was because she wanted him. And he wanted her, too.

Without another word, he crossed the space between them.

Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t pull away as he reached for her, his hands gentle but firm as they landed on her waist. His chest brushed against hers, and for a moment, he simply held her there, letting her feel the steady beat of his heart, the heat of his skin under the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

Then, slowly — carefully — his lips met hers.

It was a soft kiss at first. But God, the moment his lips touched hers, everything else fell away. She melted into him, her hands slowly rising to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing her body flush against his. And that was it.

It wasn’t just a kiss anymore.

It was everything. It was relief. It was desire. It was them finally giving in.

And as their kiss deepened, things started to get heated — the way his lips moved against hers, the way she tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying to get closer, needing him. But then, just as he slipped his hands down to her hips, she pulled away.

She took a step back, laughing breathlessly, though her heart was still racing in her chest.

“Wait, wait,” she giggled, her eyes wide in realization. “We’re about to...get frisky in your kitchen...with your mom and sister upstairs?”

Oscar blinked, his chest still heaving, trying to catch his breath. “I mean, if you’re into that,” he teased, his voice rough, but the smirk on his face was pure mischief.

Y/N shook her head, laughing as she tried to collect herself. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Oscar, still grinning, wiped his lips with his thumb as he reached for his water again. He glanced at her, eyes soft but playful. “I think we’re past the point of pretending this is a mistake.”

But even with the chaos of their emotions, they both knew one thing: this wasn’t just a moment. It wasn’t just a stolen kiss in the dead of night. This was something real, something worth taking their time on.

And as they pulled apart, their shared smiles spoke volumes more than words ever could.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

After that night, something shifted.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic. There wasn’t a grand confession or some big change in how they acted in front of others. But behind closed doors — when the house was quiet, when the stars were out, when the world felt like it was just them — they stopped pretending.

There were 4 a.m. kisses in the kitchen, her sitting on the counter while Oscar stood between her legs, arms around her waist, stealing sleepy kisses between sips of water.

There were soft, secret makeout sessions in the garden under the fairy lights Nicole had hung up years ago, her fingers playing with the hem of his hoodie while they kissed like time wasn’t ticking down on his summer break.

Sometimes, when they really couldn’t sleep, they’d sneak out — barefoot and quiet as shadows — to sit in his car parked just around the corner. The windows fogged up more from their kisses than the cool night air, her legs folded up on the seat, his hand resting possessively on her thigh, neither of them willing to speak about how soon he’d be leaving again.

They weren’t exactly reckless, but they also weren’t as careful as they thought.

One afternoon, after yet another failed attempt at keeping their distance around the house, Oscar kissed her goodbye in the hallway — just a quick one. A forehead touch. A soft smile. She giggled and swatted his chest, whispering, “Stop— someone’s going to see.”

Turns out, someone already had.

Later that day, when Hattie dragged her upstairs for something completely unrelated, she turned around with a raised brow and a smirk that said she’d been waiting.

“So…you and Oscar?”

Y/N froze, her heart dropping to her stomach.

“I— I don’t— what?” she tried to laugh it off, eyes wide, hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

But Hattie just burst out laughing.

“Oh my God, relax.” she said between cackles. “Babe, I clocked it ages ago. You’ve been in love with him since, like, forever. Honestly, it was only a matter of time before he started looking at you the same way.”

Y/N stared, stunned. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Hattie snorted. “Please. Do you know how annoying it was watching you two tiptoe around each other every summer? If anything, I’m just mad it took this long.”

And just like that, the fear melted away. All the worry, the guilt, the dread — it was gone.

Later that night, when Y/N snuck into the kitchen and found Oscar already there waiting for her, she kissed him with a new kind of ease. One that said this doesn’t have to be a secret anymore.

Still, part of them kept their little moments quiet. Not because they had to. But because there was something beautiful in the way it all began — soft, stolen, and undeniably theirs.

[docrobinavitch]

i can’t recall if i already put in a suggestion, but my idea is a dr robby girlfriend/wife reader

reader deathly afraid of needles but takes injections every week for migraines. michael takes his “lunch break” to calm reader down and help her through the injection.

hiii bestie thank you so much for the request! i took some liberties with this so i hope that's ok. this should've been a relatively short prompt, but i am apparently incapable of writing anything without establishing backstory!

_______

time after time

dr. robby x wife!reader content: 18+ mdni, swearing, needles (obvie), some canon medical stuff, but barely words: 4.8k

It had been Robby’s idea for you to see a neurologist for your migraines. He had been begging you to for as long as he’d known you.

The first time he came home from a shift to find you laying down in the shower with the lights off, it scared the shit out of him.

“What the fuck?” He flipped the light switch on and dropped to the side of the tub.

But you seemed annoyed and groggy as you squinted against the sudden brightness, “Lights off, please.”

He looked at you incredulously, but since you didn’t seem to be dying, he obeyed, “I thought you fell.” He said, sitting down next to the tub and rubbing at his face.

“The sound of the shower and the feel of it against my head is soothing the pain,” You murmured, “Also,” You gestured to the toilet, “Proximity if I need to puke.”

He shook his head, “You could’ve warned me.”

You hummed, “Lost track of time. I don’t know how long I’ve been here.”

“That’s… mildly concerning.” You didn’t say anything else, but he continued to sit there, unwilling to leave you alone in this state, “Would you see a neurologist if I got you a referral?”

“No.” You said immediately.

“Why not?” He asked, though they had already had this conversation. He wondered, though, if asking while you were in the middle of an episode would change your tune.

“I’ve been dealing with it just fine by myself.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, “I’m not sure I would call this just fine. Did you take Advil?”

“Yes.”

“Did it work?”

You didn’t answer, which was an answer on its own.

“I hate seeing you like this.” He said quietly.

“Then go in another room.”

He smirked, you were stubborn. To a fault sometimes. But so was he. He would wear you down. Not that day perhaps, but eventually.

“Can’t leave you here unsupervised when you’re like this. You could slip and fall when you try to get out.”

You sighed, “Well then, I guess we’re at an impasse.”

And it went like that for years, Michael repeatedly asking you to see a neurologist, you refusing.

It wasn’t until a year into your marriage that you finally agreed. Lately the attacks had become more frequent and lasting for longer periods.

Michael had been checking on you when he was home, but for the most part you would shrug him off and go back to sleep. It had been days, now since it started. But you wouldn’t listen when he said maybe you should go to the ER for fluids and meds. So he would leave you, putting a security camera in your bedroom so he could check on you while he was at work.

You had rolled your eyes when you watched him angle the camera towards the bed, “You know, baby, we could be doing much more exciting things with a camera in the bedroom than watch me sleep.”

“Yes,” He nodded solemnly, “And it’s a shame that we can’t do any of those fun things because you refuse treatment—“

You groaned and tugged a blanket over your head, “Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch, that’ll be all.”

He had smirked and pulled the blanket back down, kissing your forehead, “You know how to find me if you need me. I love you.”

When he checked a few hours later and you were off camera, he assumed maybe you were feeling better, maybe had gone to eat something. Or, you had gone to lay in the shower in the dark. He sent off a quick text to check in and then jumped back into another case.

But a half hour later, Dana was coming to find him, “I need you in North 11.”

“Just a second.” Robby was gloved up, watching Collins and Santos drain some blood that had collected around a patient’s lungs.

“I really don’t think you want to wait for this one.” He turned and looked at Dana. Her face was hard to read, but she wasn’t one to insist if it wasn’t important.

“Collins, you got this?”

“Sats are rising,” She glanced up at Robby, “We’ll call if we need you.”

“What is it?” Robby said as he degloved and threw away his robe.

Dana sighed, “Your wife is here. She’s fine.” She added at the look on his face, “Well, not fine. But she’ll live. Status migrainosis.” He nodded, but showed no other reaction, “You don’t seem surprised that she’s here.”

“She’s had a migraine for three days now, mostly bed ridden.”

“And you left her at home?”

He huffed a laugh, “When have you ever known my wife to do something just because I suggested it? Do you think I should have tossed her over my shoulder and brought her here against her wishes?”

“Point taken.”

Robby started walking, Dana trailed a step behind, “She brought herself here?”

“I think she Ubered, but she was pretty upset when she got here, it was hard to understand her. She didn’t want you to know she was here.”

Robby slowed and turned back to Dana, “Why wouldn’t she want me to know she was here?”

Dana gave him a knowing look, “Come on, Robby. You’ve been begging her to see a doctor for years now. The two of you are competitive and stubborn as hell. Her being here means you won.”

He gave a short laugh and began walking again, “Well she can’t be that bad if she’s thinking about winning.”

“As if you weren’t thinking about it, too.”

“How dare you. My beautiful wife is in so much pain she’s in my ER and you think I’m thinking about winning?”

“I don’t think,” Dana smirked, “I know.”

Robby pushed back the curtain to see you sniffling, curled on the bed and around a basin you appeared to have been vomiting in. You wore one of his hoodies which was tugged over your head, the strings pulled tight enough that it partially covered your eyes.

He sighed and pulled a stool close to the bed, “Hey, sweetheart.” He said softly stroking a hand on your bare ankle, “I hear you’re in a lot of pain.”

You glared up at Dana, “Traitor.”

“Sorry, kid.” Dana smiled and backed out, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

With just the two of you now, he could see you struggling not to cry, “The pain’s only gotten worse and worse and I couldn’t stop puking and I got scared.”

“It’s okay, you’re probably dehydrated. It’s likely that this was just your normal migraine, but since the pain’s worse than you’re used to, we’re going to run some tests to be sure.” He started to glove up as he spoke, “We’ll give you fluids and some meds intravenously for the pain while we wait for a spot to open up for CT.”

“Intravenously?” You squirmed away from his touch, “Can’t I just take them orally and chug a bunch of water?”

He eyed you strangely, “They won’t work fast enough that way, you’d probably keep puking them up.”

You rubbed a hand at your face, frustrated as tears began flowing again, “I can’t,” You cried.

“What do you mean you can’t?” He asked gently.

“Needles.” You mumbled.

He raised his eyebrows, “You’re afraid of needles?”

You nodded, still sniffling.

He almost laughed, “How did I not know this? In all the time we’ve been together haven’t you gotten vaccines or bloodwork done?”

You sighed and closed your eyes, tilting your head back against the bed, “If I absolutely have to, I wear noise canceling headphones and a blindfold so I don’t know when it’s coming.”

“Doesn’t that make it worse?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, but it’s stopped me from punching healthcare workers involuntarily. They don’t like it when you do that.”

Robby nods solemnly, “Yeah, I can imagine. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know.” You sighed helplessly, “I thought maybe you’d think it was silly.”

“It’s not silly,” He said softly, “It’s a very common phobia.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me like I’m a patient you’re trying to soothe.”

He sighed, “Well, right now you are my patient and we have to get those fluids and meds in your body sooner rather than later, so I’m sorry to say, but we’ll have to put an IV in and we’ll have to take some blood too once you’re hydrated—“ You looked at him with horror and he said quickly, “But you probably won’t even feel the second one once you’re hydrated, alright. It’ll be super quick, I promise. And I’ll be here the whole time. I’m gonna go get Dana, okay?”

Robby sighed and walked out of the room.

“How is she?” Dana was immediately next to him.

Robby sighed, “She’s deathly afraid of needles.”

“You’re kidding,” Dana playfully shoved his arm, “You’ve been with her how long and you didn’t know? Some husband you are.”

He nodded and looked at the floor, “I feel awful I didn’t know. It explains why she’s always been so resistant to come here or go to the neurologist.”

“It’s okay, Robby. Happens to the best of us,” She clapped him over the shoulder, “Do you want help with the IV?”

“Yeah, I thought maybe you could do it. I don’t do them often and I don’t want to miss her vein.”

 Dana laughed, “Ah, so if I miss the vein, she can hate me instead.”

“Exactly.” Robby said as they pulled the curtain back around your bed.

You were puking again when they walked in and Robby immediately put a hand to your back to soothe you. It looked like you were vomiting straight bile now, which he imagined was very painful and only further exacerbating your migraine pain.

“Could we… Turn these lights off?” You asked calmly, but tears were streaming down your face and you were shaking.

They couldn’t turn the lights off because you weren’t in a room. “Do we have any private rooms?” He asked Dana quietly.

“Oh, no,” You said immediately, “I don’t want to take that from a patient who actually needs it—“

“You are a patient and you need it.” Robby said, and then turned back to Dana.

“We don’t, but we could put her in the family room. One of them has a little couch she could lay on.”

Robby nodded, “Could you grab a wheelchair?”

Robby fussed over you, carrying you into the wheelchair when you said you could walk. Rubbing your back when you inevitably vomited again. And although Dana would do the IV insertion, Robby disinfected your skin and tied the tourniquet.

Despite your best efforts, you whimpered when the tourniquet tightened. Robby looked up at you, “Did I hurt you?” He asked softly.

You shook your head, but didn’t say anything, worried you’d start sobbing if you tried to speak. You felt silly about how afraid of the needles you were. Anyone else would barely flinch at the thought of it. But it made you feel sick.

Robby came around to your other side, taking the hand that wasn’t about to be poked, “Look at me.” He smiled when you obliged, his eyes warm and loving, “Do you want to know what’s happening or would you prefer not to know?”

You took in a shuddering breath, “Could you distract me, please?”

He held your hand to his mouth, bending his forehead towards yours, “This was supposed to be a surprise, but I booked us an Airbnb in the mountains for Memorial day weekend.”

Your lips turned up just marginally and Robby watched as Dana prepped the IV behind you, “Will there be a hot tub?”

Robby laughed, “Yes, there will be a hot tub and it has an excellent view.”

“That’s good,” You seemed to be relaxing a bit more now, eyes barely opened, muscles deflating, “Because I bought a new bikini last week. I must’ve known subconsciously I would need it.”

He hummed, Dana was getting very close to inserting the needle, “What color is it?”

“It’s blue,” You licked your lips, “I know how you like me in blue.”

He smirked, “I like you in every color.” He said, and at the same time Dana inserted the needle. You jumped just a little, but you weren’t crying anymore.

“All done, sweetheart.” Dana said softly and took off the tourniquet, “You did great.”

Dana left the room, giving them some privacy, and Robby sat in the dark with you for a few minutes.

“You should get back to your patients,” You said, eyes closed.

He watched you carefully, “I’m going to refer you to a neurologist in the hospital. I’ll make sure an appointment gets scheduled where I can go with you. Okay?”

You swallowed and kept your eyes closed, “Okay.”

He leaned over and kissed you lightly, “I love you, I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”

“Okay, love you.”

And so, you had gone to that appointment and had been prescribed Aimovig, a medication that needed to be injected once a month. You had tried to argue your way out of it, but the neurologist insisted it would be your best bet at reducing the number of episodes.

“Baby,” Michael whispered to you, “I can do it for you every time, I promise—“

“You don’t know what I’m like when—“ You sighed, cutting yourself off, “I was in so much pain the last time in the ER, I couldn’t put up much of a fight. What if I hurt you or something?”

He laughed, “You think I’ve never had a combative patient before?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I’m your wife.”

He leaned in closely, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear, “Can we just try it, honey? It might work so well you find it worth it.”

You swallowed tightly and then clapped your hands together. “Fine.”

Robby had given you the first shot there in the neurologist’s office. The neurologist had left the room.

You were already beginning to shake, watching as Robby put on a pair of gloves.

“I’m going to inject it in the back of your arm, so you’re not going to see me do it.”

You felt a wet cotton pad on the back of your arm, “Now, I want you to try something for me.” He said, and you heard the cap of the injection pop off, “Could you sing our first dance song for me?”

You gave a short laugh of surprise, “You’re serious?”

“Humor me.”

Against your will, you were smiling already. Your wedding had been dreamy and romantic, everything you had wanted. You were married, just the two of you, a photographer, and an ordained minister at the top of a mountain. You had both read your vows through tears. Later, you had dinner and dancing in a garden at the base of the mountain with your friends and family. Your first dance had been to Time After Time, but a more acoustic version of it sung by Lennon Stella. The original version with Cyndi Lauper had played in a bar on one of your first few dates and you had had to coax Michael to the dance floor with you. It had been your first dance then and at your wedding. You had thought yourself very clever for that, but you had kept that secret between you and Michael.

“Fine, but only if you sing it with me.”

He chuckled, “Deal.”

You say go slow I fall behind The second hand unwinds If you’re lost you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall I will catch you I’ll be waiting Time after time

You winced at the sting of the needle and your heart rate picked up, “Keep singing.” Michael urged.

If you’re lost you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall I will catch you I’ll be waiting Time after time

As you both finished singing the second chorus, you felt Michael place a bandaid to your arm, “There you go,” He said and gently turned you to face him, “That wasn’t so bad, hm?”

Thirty days had passed since and Michael kept forgetting to help you with the second injection.

“Honey, I am so sorry.” He said that morning, rushing through the house to get ready for shift, “Why don’t you stop by the ER this afternoon and I’ll do it on my lunch break?”

You laughed, not looking up from the novel perched in your hand. It was a Saturday and you were sat at the kitchen table, eating a bagel and sipping your coffee slowly, dressed in only one of Robby’s old T-shirts.

“You forget I have been to the ER,” You swallowed the bagel in your mouth, “I know you don’t get a lunch break, baby.”

He leaned down to kiss you and as he pulled away, booped your nose, “Don’t be a smart ass. Bring the Aimovig and call Dana when you get there, she’ll come find me.”

“Yes, sir.” You mock saluted him and he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t forget it needs to be taken out of the fridge at least 30 minutes before injection.”

“I know.” You said, not looking up from your book.

He paused at the doorway of your home, looking down the entryway, he could see you perched at the kitchen table, your legs pulled tight to your chest. He never understood how you could sit comfortably like that, “You’ll come, right?” He asked, one AirPod in his hand, the other already in his ear, “You won’t pretend that you forgot?”

You looked up from your book to meet his gaze, the beginnings of a smirk on your face. Slowly, you looked to the clock on the wall, “You’re gonna be late.”

He sighed and lightly knocked the heel of his hand against the doorway, “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

“I love you, have a good day!” You shouted after him.

“Love you too,” He replied, closing the door behind him.

***

“Dana,” Robby leaned over the desk at the hub, “My wife may be stopping by at some point today, could you come find me when she gets here?”

“Yeah, sure, everything okay?”

He nodded, “She was prescribed Aimovig for her migraines, I told her to come here so I could inject it for her.”

“Why don’t you just do it at home?”

He sighed heavily, “Because I keep forgetting and I think she keeps allowing me to forget to keep delaying it.”

Dana smirked as they began doing rounds, “If she’s delaying it, what makes you think she’d come here of her own free will?”

“She told me she would,” He shrugged, “I can’t keep treating her like a patient or a rebellious child, I can tell it’s getting on her nerves. She said she would come so I’m taking her at her word.”

“Fair enough.” Dana said, “I’ll let you know when she gets here.”

“Thank you.”

***

When you walked into the ER waiting room, you immediately felt your anxiety tick up. Walking to the window, you knocked sharply to get Lupe’s attention. You gave her a wave and a smile and she waved you through, unlocking the double doors that led to the ER.

Taking a deep breath, you exhaled shakily as you walked over to the hub where you saw Dana.

“How’s my sister wife doing today?” You asked playfully. You knew about the running joke that Dana was Robby’s work wife. When you found out about it, Robby had worried it would make you jealous, but you had only laughed and joked that you always wanted a sister wife.

Dana looked up and smiled, “Mrs. Robinavitch, we weren’t sure you’d show.”

“Ah,” You leaned against the hub, “You mean my husband didn’t believe me when I said I would come.”

“Oh, can you blame him, kid?”

You clasped your hands tightly in front of you to try and stop the shaking, “Did you know he told me to come in during his ‘lunch break’?”

Dana laughed loudly, “Lunch break? He’s lucky if he has time to stop and take a piss.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Alright, let me go find him, you wait here.”

You nodded, letting the smile fall from your face as Dana left. You were very good at covering up your anxiety when you needed to be, but your breathing trembled and your hands still shook.

“Hey,” A warm hand settled on your shoulder, squeezing lightly, “I’m glad you came.”

You turned to see your husband, “Well, don’t sound so surprised. You asked me to come, I said I would, so I’m here.”

He smiled, “Alright, follow me.”

You trailed behind him through the chaos of the ER.

“Dr. Robby!” You turned at the sound of your husband’s nickname to see what looked like a resident running after him.

“Not now,” He said quickly.

“But, I need—“

“Go ask literally anyone else, I will be with you shortly, Dr. Santos.”

You followed behind him into what you recognized to be the family room. He sighed deeply as he closed the door behind you, muffling the din of the ER.

“I can wait here for you,” You said softly, “If you need to go deal with that.”

“No,” He said and turned to you, smiling, “You have my undivided attention.”

You smiled tightly, “Great.”

“Oh, come on,” He cradled your face gently in his hands and you closed your eyes at his touch, “It’ll be over before you know it. I’ll be very gentle.”

Your eyes watered, but you nodded.

“Did you bring the Aimovig?”

You nodded again, reaching into your bag for it, but your hands were still shaky and as you pulled it out, it fell from your hands. Robby caught it in his hand, eyes focused on you the way they always did when he was worried about you.

“Why don’t you sit down over here?” He guided you gently to a chair, “I brought you some treats.” He pulled out a Polar seltzer can and a small package of Nutter Butters.

You managed a small smile as you took the Seltzer can from him and popped it open, “Thank you.”

He pulled on a pair of gloves while you focused on your breathing, barely taking a sip from your seltzer.

“No Nutter Butters?” He asked mildly, “I thought they were your favorite.”

You take in a shaky breath, “They are, but I am pretty nauseous at the moment. Wouldn’t want to start puking in your ER.”

“I can have Dana grab you some anti nausea meds.”

“No,” You said, “I’ll be fine once it’s done.”

He sat on a stool and rolled over to you, sliding between your knees, “Take a deep breath for me?”

“Michael, I don’t need a diagnosis, I think it’s pretty clear what’s going on with me.”

“Come on, I’ll do it with you,” He slid a hand to your inner knee, “Deep breath.”

You rolled your eyes, but did as you were told. Michael breathed with you, and though you hated to admit it, it was soothing to hear the sound of his breathing in sync with yours. The weight of his hand on your knee and the light circles his thumb made against you grounding.

“Better?”

You nodded, “A little.”

“Good, turn around for me?”

You straddled the back of the chair, taking a deep breath as you felt the wet cotton pad against your skin, “How’s your day so far?” You asked.

He chuckled, “You want to know about my day right now?”

“You act like I never ask you,” You sighed, “I’m asking for you to distract me so I don’t have a full blown panic attack. Who was that resident earlier? I haven’t seen her before.”

“Dr. Santos? New intern.” He pinched the muscle in the back of your arm between two of his fingers and you heard the cap on the injection clatter to the floor. “She’s good. Smart. Observant. Sometimes too ambitious for her own good. More empathetic than people give her credit for.”

You groaned quietly feeling the prick of the needle in your skin, exhaling shakily.

“Just another second, you’re doing so good, baby... And, done.” You felt the bandaid on your skin and heard the snap of Michael’s gloves as he tossed them in the trash.

Then his hands were on you, turning you to look at him, “Hey, you did it. You okay?”

You nodded, your anxiety leaving you in a rush. You felt Robby’s hands on your face again and you leaned into him, “You said I did good?”

He laughed, “Very good,” He grabbed the Nutter Butters and opened the packaging, “Eat.”

Just then the family room door opened and you recognized Dr. Mohan at the door, “Oh, um, Mrs. Robinavitch, I—I didn’t know you were here, sorry to interrupt, I—“

“What do you need, Mohan?” Michael asked and you tried to hide your laugh. It was always like this with the residents. Something about seeing you with Robby really flustered them. You listened as they spoke about a patient and then Mohan was gone.

“What do you do to your residents that they look so goddamn scared whenever they see you with me?”

He rolled his eyes, “Eat your cookie, please, I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”

“You’re insufferable when you baby me.” You said, but took a bite of the cookie anyway.

He kissed the top of your head on his way out, “Complain all you want, I know you like it.”

You smirked as you watched him head back into the ER, Dr. Mohan following him closely.

With Michael gone and your anxiety leaving you, you fully took in the Nutter Butters and seltzer. Your favorite cookies and favorite drink.

You had always been annoyed by his insistence to get you treatment for your migraines. It wasn’t like he had been the first partner of yours to suggest you see a doctor, but he was the first to not give up, despite your stubbornness.

He had pushed, but he had never made you do anything you didn’t agree to. And now, in the face of your silly phobia, he had cared for you with no judgment, and thought to bring your favorite snacks in even in the chaos of his work day.

Obviously, he loved you very much. It had never been up for question, you knew the reason he was so stubborn was because he cared about you and hated seeing you in pain. But still, sometimes, it was nice to be reminded.

After a few minutes, true to his word, Michael returned.

“Feeling better?”

“Much.” You said, and reached for his hand, pulling him down to sit next to you, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” He smiled at you, “You’re not lightheaded or dizzy?”

“No,” You said and held up the cookie wrapper, “The cookies really helped.”

His grin widened, “Good. You’re cleared to go home, then.” He kissed your forehead and then stood to go, but you pulled him back down.

“If I’m not gonna see you for another six to seven hours, I’m gonna need a better kiss than that.” You smirked.

He chuckled, but seemed happy to humor you, taking your face in his hands he kissed you, long and slow. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, keeping you anchored to him with a hand at the back of your neck. Your toes curled in your shoes when he sucked your lower lip into his mouth and bit down gently.

As he pulled away, just slightly, you were still leaning into him for more, “Was that better?” He asked, cocky grin on his face.

You cleared your throat, sure you were blushing, “Yeah, that was fine.”

“Well I gotta get back to it now. I’ll see you at home?”

“Um, I have dinner plans with some friends in town so I might be back later than you, but yes.”

He nodded, “Okay,” He kissed your forehead again, “Be careful. I love you.”

“Always. I love you. Make sure you eat something, please.”

He nodded to acknowledge he’d heard you, and then he was gone, back in the thick of it.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Start A New

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader

Summary: In a tragic car accident, Jack loses his wife, who was your best friend, and you lose your husband, the father of your child. Now both of you navigate life together and co-parenting your daughter, Evelyn, while also trying to figure out your feelings for each other.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who loved the first part! Now here's that happy ending you all wanted...

Undeserving (aka Part 1) | The Pitt Masterlist

Jack tried to get some rest. He really tried, but he kept going over his argument with you. Did you really not see how much he loves you and Evie? Do you really not know how heartbroken he'd be if you left?

He sighs and checks the time on his bedside. It's almost noon and Evie usually takes a nap around this time. It might be a good time for him to talk to you again so Evie doesn't see if things get heated.

He kicks off his blankets and drags himself out of bed. He exits his room and heads to the kitchen. You're there again, looking at your laptop. He hopes you're not looking at apartments again, but it's likely.

"Can we talk?"

"You should be sleeping."

"I can't. My mind is going all over the place," he takes up the empty chair beside you. He glances at your screen and, sure enough, you were looking at apartments.

He rests his arms on the dining table, "Please, don't leave," he says in a broken, pleading tone.

You fully face him, "Jack, I love you. I really do, but...I feel bad. You were my Anna's husband. She was my best friend. The one she was supposed to grow old with. I feel guilty that she's not here, that you and her never got to have kids and grow old together. I feel bad for practically replacing her."

"You're not-"

You hold your hand out, "Let me get everything out...please."

He nods, "Okay."

You take a deep breath, "I feel guilty for being here when she couldn't be. I also feel guilty for loving you when it should be Andrew here helping me raise Evie. I feel guilty for taking up your space, your time. I-I feel like I don't deserve you. You're such a good, loving, caring man and I shouldn't be taking over your life the way that I've been these past few years.

"That's why I want to move out. But also, my therapist think it'd be good for us to live separately. We've become too dependent on each other because we lost our partners in the same accident. We need space in order for us to have a healthy relationship. And I really hope you understand that."

He gulps and nods, "I get it...but fuck, sweetheart. You and Evie are the first and last thing I think about when I wake up and go to sleep. I'm gonna be honest, it's gonna fucking suck not having you two around all the time."

You reach out and place your hand on top of his, "Again, this isn't happening any time soon. I still have to find a place."

"Have you looked at places nearby?"

You nod, "Yeah. I don't wanna be too far from you."

That brings a small smile to Jack's face, "That's something at least," he murmurs. He leans in and presses his lips to your head, "I love you so much, sweetheart." He turns his hand up and laces his fingers with you.

"I love you too," you whisper. You lean back to look at him, "We'll get through it." you cup his face with your free hand, your thumb grazing over his five o'clock shadow, "We've gotten through worse."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "Yeah...we have."

_____________________________

In the upcoming months, you continued to apartment hunt. Jack would accompany you to provide input. You looked at various apartment complexes within two to five miles away from Jack's home.

You eventually found a place just three blocks away from him and much closer to the park the three of you frequented.

Leaving Jack was hard, but you knew it would be good for you two. Evie took it hard, obviously. She didn't want to leave her Uncle Jack Jack and her cries brought tears to your own eyes.

Jack held Evelyn close as he explained everything, "You'll still see me, honey. I'm not going anywhere. We'll still go to the park together and have family time. I'm not leaving you, baby. I promise," he holds her tighter and you see tears welling up in his eyes as Evelyn sobs, "I promise, Evie. I'll always be here for you and mommy."

When move in day came, Jack helped you as much as he could. When he was at work, some of the day shift nurses and doctors came to help you.

Robby grunted as he set a box down, "So...I heard you two confessed your love."

You rolled your eyes, "Yes. We did."

"You know, usually when people love each other like you do, they move in together. Not move out."

"We need the space and more independence. We did everything backwards, Robby." You explained as you begin to unbox the box he brought in.

"I know. But don't tell Abbot I told you this, but he's been really anxious about this. He doesn't know what he's going to do without you girls."

"We'll figure it out eventually. We've spent a majority of these past few years always at each other's sides and we weren't even officially together. It's going to be a big change, but we can get through it. After everything we've gone through, especially Jack, I think we'll make it out okay."

The doctor nodded, "I hope so 'cause now his bitchin' is even more sad and depressing."

You giggled and shoved his shoulder, "Get back to work, doc."

He salutes you, "Yes, ma'am!"

_________________________

Three months living in the apartment with just you and Evelyn was a rough start. Evie was constantly asking for her Uncle Jack Jack and you had to explain that you couldn't go to his house every single day.

Eventually, she got used to it being just you and her. Some nights did feel lonelier than ever. You had to fight yourself on not inviting Jack all the time. But so far, he'd been coming over once a week and you've been going to his the same as well.

It was an adjustment for sure, but you three of you eventually used to it.

Any downtime he had during his shifts, Jack would call you, wanting to hear your voice or see Evie via video chat. You thought things would be tense for a long time between you and he. But, thankfully, it was only tense for the first month and you two fell back into how things were before. You'd joke around, share about your days, but now it's coupled with some flirtatious banter.

It was weird in the beginning, hearing him flirt with you and you flirt back. But now it's second nature with you two. Your flirtatious banter would be silly or cute or downright sinful, but only when Evie wasn't around.

Jack: what're you wearing?

You snort when you read his text. You text him back:

You: aren't you supposed to be working?

Jack: was thinking about you and I'm on my lunch....so what're you wearing?

You take a selfie of you wearing one of his old Army shirts and reply to him with that.

Your phone suddenly starts ringing and you laugh, answering it, "There's no way I'm having phone sex with you while you're at work."

"Well can I come over after my shift and we can have real sex?"

You clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh. You look beside you to see Evie still passed out after you two started watching a movie.

"Won't you be exhausted?"

"I'm wound up today and sex is a great relaxer." You can hear the smirk in his tone.

"Yeah? Says who?"

"Me, I'm a doctor, remember?"

"Last time I checked, you're a doctor in medicine. Not sexology."

He hums, "Fine. You caught me...I just miss you."

You soften your voice, "I miss you too. I miss you a lot but...this time apart has been good for me."

"I know, but don't get too comfortable. Once your lease is up, you're moving back here. Got that?"

You chuckle, "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. I want us to be whole again. It's so fucking quiet in the house now. Fuck, the other day, I had Bluey playing in the background just so it feels like you two are around still."

That tugs on your heartstrings, "Jack-"

"Shit. I gotta go. They need extra help and we're already down a doctor. I gotta go sweetheart and I'll talk to you later, okay? I love you."

"I love you too, Jack. Bye." He ends the call and you lay back in bed. You bury your face into his shirt, wishing it smelled like him again.

_____________________________

It felt like deja vu. You're at the park, sitting on the picnic blanket with Dana like you had all those months ago. Jack and Evie are playing on the playground like they always are.

Dana, feeling the same sense as you goes, "Funny to be here with you guys again but now you and Jack are together. Separate, but also together."

You nod, "I know. Weird, right?"

"That was a rough patch you guys went through, but look at you now. You two have gone through a lot and keep overcoming it. Shows how strong the two of you are," Dana lifts her bottle of water as if giving you a cheers and sips from it.

You smile at the older woman, "Thanks. None of what the both of us have gone through was easy, but we did it together. Loving him is easy. I still feel sad and guilty sometimes. For Anna. For Andrew."

"They would've wanted you two to be happy," Dana says with confidence.

"I know, still doesn't mean I don't feel bad about it sometimes." You sigh, "Therapy has helped a lot though."

"That's good, honey. Really good."

"Sweetheart!" you look up and see Jack looking your way, "You want ice cream?"

"Rainbow pop please!" You glance at Dana, "You wany anything?"

"I'm good."

"Just one for me, baby!"

"Got it!" he gives you a thumbs up and guides Evie to the ice cream truck.

Dana wistfully sighs, "You guys are so fucking cute. I really am happy you two are together."

"Thanks, Dana. I am too."

______________________________

Three Years Later

Evie was at a sleepover at her friend's apartment in the same complex. So that meant you and Jack had the place to yourselves since Jack was off that day.

After a few rounds of sex, you two were just cuddling in your bed. Your head is resting on his chest, his arm wrapped around you and tracing lines along your back.

You two were laying in a blissful silence when Jack slid out of bed, "Where you going?"

"I wanna grab something from my pants," he grabs his jeans from the floor and found what he was looking for in his pocket.

He sits back in bed and presents you with a tiny box. You immediately sit up and look at him with wide eyes, "Jack..."

"Sweetheart, you already know how much I love you. There aren't really words that I can say that you haven't heard before. I love you and Evie so much. We've gone through hell and back. Our lives have been intertwined since that night. I didn't expect to fall in love with you, but I did. I didn't expect to love Evie as much as I do.

"I love the life we've built together, even though the start of it was unconventional and, frankly, extremely traumatizing-"

You snort, "What a way to propose, baby."

"Well I didn't necessarily say the words yet, did I?"

He opens the box to reveal a gorgeous ring. The cut was perfect and it was a ring you definitely see yourself wearing forever, "Y/N, will you marry me?"

"Of fucking course I will," you press your lips to his and you feel him smiling into the kiss, "I love you," you mumble against his lips.

He breaks the kiss, grinning, "I love you too," he takes the ring out of the box and slips it onto your finger.

You look at how it sits on your finger. You didn't think you'd be wearing another wedding ring again, yet here you are.

You giggle and Jack looks at you, "What's so funny?"

"I can't believe you proposed with your dick out and made a comment about our shared trauma."

He shrugs, "Well isn't our entire relationship built on unconventional and traumatic events?"

You roll your eyes and climb onto Jack's lap, "Shut up and make love to your fiancee."

He smiles wide, "No need to tell me twice."

_____________________

"DID HE DO IT?! DID HE ASK YOU TO MARRY HIM?!" Evie asks as into the apartment after her sleepover. Jack follows her inside, chuckling.

You hold up your left hand, "He did, baby!"

"YAY!" Evie wraps her arms around you and then gasps. She turns to Jack, "Can I call you dad now?!"

Jack looks at you. You two have talked about it before. You're okay with Evie calling Jack her dad. He practically is.

He softly smiles at the six year old, "Yeah, honey. You can call me dad." Evie launches herself at Jack and he catches her. He hugs her tight.

It's funny. You and Jack thought you were undeserving of each other, but turns out, you were just what the other needed this whole time.

[bucketsorbueckers]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 7

Paige X Azzi

warning: language

A/N: for once, i'm not sorry. have fun :) happy sunday.

word count: 6K

Azzi’s POV

Last Year

It wasn’t anything elaborate. Just dinner.

Azzi had picked the spot. A little place near campus with string lights and soft music and those booths where you could sit side by side instead of across from each other.

She’d texted Paige the time. Even picked out the outfit she knew Paige liked. Jeans and the oversized cream sweater that always made her smile.

And Paige said she’d be there. “7:00. I’m yours.”

Azzi got there at 6:45. Ordered water. Checked her phone. Waited.

When 7:02 rolled around, she wasn’t really nervous. Paige was prompt, typically, but Paige was also busy. The spotlight she’d always existed in had somehow swelled—so large now that the light nearly eclipsed everything.

And Azzi understood that. She really did.

Sometimes, things came up. Things Paige couldn’t plan for. Things that weren’t her fault. So Azzi breathed through it. Smoothed the hem of her sweater. Picked at the condensation on her glass.

Even when the clock hit 7:11. Even when the server came by again, smiling too gently. Even when the door kept opening and never revealed the face she was waiting for.

She told herself to wait five more minutes. Then five more after that.

By 7:25, she wasn’t checking her phone for texts. She was just watching the minutes pile up, quiet and heavy and stupidly hopeful.

The waiter stopped by. Awkward. Kind. Pitying in a way he probably didn’t mean to be.

“Still waiting?” he asked, glancing at the empty seat across from her.

Azzi nodded. Sort of. There wasn’t much conviction left in it. A half-smile. A polite maybe.

By 7:35, though, she felt silly.

Not furious. Not even disappointed, just…stupid. For thinking maybe tonight would be different. For getting ready a little too early. For straightening her hair and putting on makeup she didn’t even really like. For trying.

She pulled her sleeves down over her hands, stared at the flickering candle in the middle of the table. Willed herself not to look at the door again.

It was just a dinner, she reasoned. But it was one she had planned. For them. Because they hadn’t had a them moment in a while, and she thought maybe it would help.

Especially with the tournament starting in two days. She’d figured this would be good, for them, for Paige, for her. A moment to breathe before the pressure sank its teeth in. A reminder that they existed outside of wins and stats and noise.

Finally, her phone rang. She exhaled before picking it up, already bracing for the shape of the apology.

“Az,” Paige’s voice came through, rushed and familiar, like it always was when she realized too late.

Azzi didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“I’m so sorry. The podcast ran over. I tried to get out of it but my manager made it clear it was a big deal and so I just. Azzi, I’m sorry. Are you still at the restaurant? I’m on my way.”

Azzi looked down at the table—half a water glass, a candle nearly burned out. The napkin she’d folded and unfolded three times.

She dropped it gently beside her plate, stood.

“No. I left a while ago.” A beat. “No worries, P. I know you’re busy.”

And it wasn’t even a lie. She did know Paige was busy. Her life spun faster than most people’s. Always somewhere, always someone needing something. It was the cost of being extraordinary. Azzi had never resented that.

“No,” Paige pressed back. “I’m not ever too busy for us. For you.”

Azzi bit down on her bottom lip as she threw a few bills on the table. Just a tip for their time and the awkwardness she knew she had made them feel. And as she headed out, she felt a bit upset. Nothing to cause a scene but enough to let it boil over. 

“It’s fine, P. I know I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t owe me anything.”

There was a beat. Just long enough to hear Paige inhale.

“Azzi,” she said quickly, “you know—”

But the line went dead. Azzi blinked at the screen, frowning. Blank. Dead. She sighed as she put the car in drive and headed back to campus. 

Around an hour late, a knock. Sharp. Too fast. Like whoever’s behind it was pacing.

Azzi blinked at the door. It was well past 9 PM. No one knocked at this hour unless something was wrong.

Azzi opened the door slowly. And there she was. Windblown, flushed, heart in her hands, literally. Paige. 

A bouquet of daisies. Azzi’s favorite. The kind she mentioned once, offhand, after a road game. A bag from that bakery in West Hartford—chocolate croissants with the flaked salt she loved, still warm. And tucked beneath it all, a small card with her name on it. In Paige’s handwriting. Slanted. Rushed.

She looked like she hadn’t taken a full breath since their phone call. 

“I know you said I don’t owe you anything,” Paige blurted, “but I owe you this.”  She stepped forward, arms overflowing, eyes too bright. “You didn’t think I wanted you to be my girlfriend?”

Azzi didn’t say anything. Not right away.

“You never asked,” she said finally.

Paige let out a soft laugh. Half breath, half nerves. “I didn’t ask because I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

She was holding the bouquet like she hadn’t realized she’d been crushing it. Azzi’s favorite, of course. Because Paige always knew. She looked at her, like the next sentence might actually hurt.

“You scare the shit out of me,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d give me the chance.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed, but not unkindly. “Paige. We’ve been doing this for months.”

Her voice was flat, but her ears were burning. 

Paige shrugged. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d let me say it out loud.”

Azzi stared at her for a long second, then shook her head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“An idiot with croissants,” Paige said, holding the bag up slightly.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away.

“You could’ve asked,” she muttered.

Paige grinned, wide and relieved and so painfully her.

“Why do you think I’m here?” she said, already setting the flowers and the croissants down on Azzi’s desk like she’d planned this out, even though they both knew she hadn’t.

Then she turned, suddenly shy in a way Azzi almost never saw.

“Azzi Fudd,” she said, grinning. “My best friend. My favorite person. The only one who tells me when I’m being insufferable and somehow still likes me anyway…” She took a breath.“…will you be my girlfriend?”

Azzi just stared at her for a second. Long enough that Paige started shifting her weight, like she was already preparing to get turned down. But then Azzi smiled. Small. Real. The kind of smile that tugged up slow, like she was trying not to let it show too much.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, okay.”

Paige let out the kind of breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for weeks.

“Cool,” Paige said, cheeks pink. “Cool cool cool.”

Azzi grinned. “Someone once told me Paige Bueckers doesn’t get nervous.”

“Yeah, well,” Paige said, tilting her chin up like she hadn’t just brought a pastry peace offering and confessed her feelings. “That version of Paige Bueckers didn’t have a reason to be.”

Azzi snorted. “Sure. Generational player. Plastered on screens and billboards. Fighting to be one of the best to ever do it. No pressure.”

Paige shrugged, lips tugging into a smirk. “Yeah, but that version had never asked the Azzi Fudd to be her girlfriend.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile was stupid-wide.“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” She said. “But I am your girlfriend.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. 

“Say it, Az.” Paige said. Azzi tilted her head. “Say I’m your girlfriend.”

Azzi couldn’t even try to bite back her smile, “You’re my girlfriend, Paige Bueckers.”

“You’re fucking right I am,” She muttered, popping a bite of croissant into her mouth before closing the space between them. 

The bus came to a harsh stop in front of the hotel. Unexpectedly.

Azzi blinked hard, her head jerking off the window. Around her, the team stirred in slow waves. Hoods pulled back, tangled legs uncurled, groggy voices muttering about food and beds.

She grabbed her bag and followed the shuffle into the lobby, where room keys were being handed out one by one. CD looked exhausted already, trying to get the already exhausted group to focus for five seconds. 

“Fudd,” she called.

Azzi stepped forward, took the sleeve, and glanced at the number: 535. She flipped it over.

Roommate: Bueckers.

Her stomach dipped.

“Wait,” she said, too quietly at first. Then again: “Wait—sorry, I usually room with Caroline or Jana.”

CD didn't even look up. “Jana requested Caroline. Said they’re in some group project together for a psych class and needed to finish a big chunk of it this weekend.”

Azzi blinked. “They don’t even have a class together.”

Across the lobby, Jana was gesturing wildly with a manila folder, holding it up like it contained nuclear codes, while Caroline sat slumped in a chair, mouthing I hate you with the full force of someone who absolutely did not sign up for this.

Azzi tried to catch either of their attention, but they never looked her way.

“And Nika?” Azzi asked.

The assistant coach was already moving on to the next name. “Azzi, take the key and go get some rest.”

Azzi stared at the card. Room 535. Bueckers.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t roomed together before. They had. For years. But not since…everything.

She took a breath. Stuffed the card into her hoodie pocket and headed toward the elevator.

Paige was nowhere in sight. Not in the lobby, not at the front desk, not trailing behind anyone else like she’d gotten stuck signing something or charming the staff. Azzi figured she’d see her soon enough. She always did. Paige had this uncanny way of showing up exactly when you’d finally stopped waiting.

The elevator creaked open and Azzi stepped inside, one of the freshmen yawning beside her like she hadn’t just slept for two hours on the bus with her forehead pressed against the window.

Fifth floor.

She followed the numbers—529, 531, 533—and paused in front of 535.

The card key beeped on the first try. A small miracle given her experience. 

Inside, the room was dim and quiet. Two beds. Two lamps. One of everything. And her body ached to just fall face-first into one of them. But routines mattered. Especially on the road. Especially this early in the season, when everything still felt fragile and unearned—rhythm, chemistry, trust.

So instead of collapsing onto the mattress like every inch of her skin was begging her to, Azzi did what she always did: she dug through her bag, found her floss, and started there.

Standing in the hotel bathroom with the fan humming overhead and the fluorescent light making her look just a shade more exhausted than she felt, she threaded the floss between her teeth.

Normalcy, maybe. Control.

Her reflection blinked back at her. Dark circles, tight shoulders, a flash of something in her eyes she didn’t feel like naming.

Halfway through the process, she heard it. The door. A soft beep. The thud of it opening.

And then, Paige’s voice. Muffled. Half-laughing. Mid-conversation.

Azzi froze, floss still looped between her fingers. She hadn’t realized how quiet it had been until Paige’s voice filled the space. Or how much she’d been bracing for it.

The door clicked open just as Azzi was rinsing the mouthwash out of her mouth.

She turned, hand still on the faucet, to see Paige standing there. Bag slung over her shoulder, hood half-up, blinking like she'd just walked into a memory she wasn’t ready to remember.

She froze in the doorway. Like Azzi was the last person she expected to see.

“Az?”

Azzi nodded once, trying not to choke on the minty flavor still clinging to the back of her throat. She grabbed a towel, dabbed at her mouth, and leaned her hip against the sink.

“You didn’t know I was your roommate?”

“No,” she said. Honest. Like she couldn’t even pretend otherwise.

Azzi kept her face steady, even as her stomach coiled. “CD didn’t mention?”

Paige finally stepped inside. Set her bag down carefully, like she was trying not to disturb something fragile.

“Guess not,” she said. “I thought I’d be with Nika.”

Azzi nodded, once. Clipped. “Well. Surprise.”

Paige let out this little exhale. Not a laugh, not quite. More like the sound someone made when they weren’t sure what else to offer.

Azzi turned back to the mirror. Unscrewed the cap on her face wash. Let her fingers move the way they always did. She needed that. Needed something to do with her hands.

Behind her, Paige didn’t move. Still standing like the room wasn’t hers yet. Like Azzi’s presence took up too much space.

“Haven’t picked a bed yet,” Azzi said, eyes closed tight as she rubbed the cleanser into her cheeks. “Feel free to grab whatever.”

The words seemed to break whatever spell Paige was under. Kickstart her back into motion. She finally shut the door behind her with a soft click.

Azzi stayed in the bathroom a little longer than necessary. Slow. Methodical. Borderline dramatic with each step. A delay. A stall tactic. But eventually, there was nothing left to do. She stepped back into the room just in time to catch Paige mid-change, half undressed.

“Oh god,” Azzi blurted, immediately covering her eyes. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Az,” Paige sighed. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

And somehow, that made it worse.

When Azzi finally peeked, Paige was already changed. Her usual oversized t-shirt and boxers…so familiar it formed a chasm in Azzi’s chest.’

The shirt was the same one from last year’s tournament. Soft with age. The logo cracked down the middle. Azzi had stolen it once for an entire week and Paige hadn’t even asked for it back. The same boxers she always wore to sleep, the ones she insisted were the only kind that didn’t bunch up because she moved a lot when she slept. The way she stood, arms crossed over her chest, hair falling in that exact way it always did when she was a little sleepy. 

Memories started stacking. Fast. Sloppy. Unmanageable.

The way Paige always tucked her hair behind both ears before bed.

The way she used to stretch her legs across Azzi’s lap without asking.

The way that shirt used to smell like them.

Azzi blinked. Swallowed. Tried not to let any of it show on her face.

“Done with the bathroom?” Paige asked, voice tight, polite.

Azzi nodded, her mouth dry.

Paige didn’t say anything else. Just offered a quick smile and moved past her with careful steps. Like even brushing against her would’ve been too much. And Azzi stood there, stuck somewhere between nostalgia and nausea.

The sound of the toilet flushing knocked her back into the present.

She turned toward the beds and saw that Paige had taken the one near the window.

Of course she had.

Azzi wasn’t surprised. Paige knew she hated mornings. The way the light cut through even the heaviest hotel curtains, always finding the one sliver of skin left exposed. It made her grumpy, disoriented. Paige used to tease her about it. Used to guard the window like it was her job. And now she’d chosen the window bed. Not to provoke. Not to be kind. Just… because she remembered.

It was a terribly damning thing: to be known that well by someone who wasn’t yours anymore. And worse still, to feel the knowing in your bones, and want it anyway.

Eventually, Paige came back.

They didn’t talk about it. Whatever it was. Just moved around the room in that too-careful way—like if they touched the wrong thing, the whole thing might collapse in on itself. They both climbed into bed with a sigh too synchronized to be accidental. The lamp between them stayed on.

Azzi was tired, but the wrong kind. The kind that settled in her bones and buzzed behind her eyes. The kind that made her too aware of everything—the way the sheets felt too stiff, the hum of the air conditioner, the sound of Paige shifting under the covers like she was trying not to make a sound.

Paige sighed. Not dramatically. Just… enough.

“Hey, Az?” she said softly.

“Mm?”

“You wanna watch a movie? Love and Basketball?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Screen lit up with Cam’s name. FaceTime. She had promised she’d call once they were in for the night. And she’d meant to. She really had. She just hadn’t expected this.

She looked at the phone. Watched it vibrate against the wood, inching closer to the edge like it might throw itself off if she didn’t decide soon.

Then she looked at Paige.

Glasses slightly crooked. Hair still damp from the shower, curling at the ends. A little star-shaped pimple patch on her cheek like she forgot it was there. Paige. Not perfect. Not polished. Just…hers. In all the ways that mattered. In all the ways that hurt.

The phone buzzed again. Azzi didn’t flinch. She didn’t sigh. She didn’t explain.

She just reached out and hit Ignore.

“Sure,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

And Paige smiled.

Paige’s POV

Paige fumbled with the cords, trying to get her laptop to mirror onto the TV. Her fingers were clumsy with it. 

Usually, Azzi would just crawl into her bed. No discussion. No hesitation. They’d watch the movie on her laptop until Azzi fell asleep, head tilted toward her shoulder like she didn’t mean to.

But Paige knew better than to ask for that now.So she didn’t. Just went full tech-mode instead, pretending she wasn’t trying to fill the silence with HDMI cables and remote settings. 

Finally, the movie flickered onto the screen and Paige exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening just slightly.

“There we go,” she muttered. She backed away from the TV, retreating to her bed like it might swallow her whole if she let it. She tugged the blanket up to her chin, even though it was too warm for it.

She kept her eyes on the screen. Not on Azzi. Definitely not on Azzi.

The opening notes of Love & Basketball filled the room—soft, familiar, painfully specific. It was their movie. The one they always said they’d never get sick of, even after a hundred rewatchings.

Paige could practically hear it before it even started: Azzi pretending not to mouth the lines, Paige pretending not to watch her do it.

She remembered the first time they’d watched this movie together.

How Azzi had curled into her side without asking. How Paige had gone stiff for maybe five seconds. Long enough to catalog the heat of Azzi’s shoulder, the press of her thigh. Short enough to convince herself Azzi hadn’t noticed.

She didn’t remember most of the movie. Just the way Azzi smelled like vanilla shampoo and chlorine. The way her breath landed soft against Paige’s collarbone, steady and unbothered. Like she’d done this a hundred times. Like Paige wasn’t sitting there trying to remember how to breathe.

She’d kept her eyes on the screen, nodding along like she was following the plot, but her heart had been screaming something else entirely.

Something terrifying. Something gentle.

Something that sounded a lot like: oh.

She already knew she liked girls. That part wasn’t new. But this felt different. It wasn’t the idea of love that scared her.

It was Azzi.

Azzi, who didn’t need to say much to be heard. Who was careful with her words and even more careful with her eyes. Azzi, the prettiest girl Paige had ever seen.

Paige stared straight ahead and pretended to follow the plot, but all she could think was: Is it supposed to feel like this?

Like awe.

Like falling.

Like maybe if she looked down, she'd see her heart sitting there in her lap, cracked open and waiting.

They were eighteen then. Too young to call it love and too far gone to pretend it wasn’t. And lying here now, years later, Azzi a few feet away, Paige could still feel it.

That same oh. That same ache. That same, stupid, impossible kind of love that had never left her, not really.

And still, Paige just stared at the TV. Kept her face neutral, her breathing even. The movie played on.

But eventually she lost the war.

Her eyes dragged away from the screen like they had a mind of their own, landing on Azzi across the room, curled up under her blanket, face lit soft and golden by the TV glow.

She looked the same and entirely different. The same slope of her nose. The same stubborn crease between her brows when she was thinking too hard. But something about the distance, about the space between the beds that used to not exist, made it all feel unfamiliar.

Azzi hadn’t looked over once. Not when the movie started. Not when Paige picked this movie of all of them. Not even when Monica let Quincy into her room like it was the easiest decision in the world.

Paige swallowed, suddenly aware of every inch between them. She turned back to the screen. Let it play. Let the dialogue hit her chest and echo there. But she didn’t laugh at the funny parts. Didn’t smile at the familiar ones.

They were nearly three-quarters through the movie when Azzi’s fidgeting got so persistent it pulled Paige out of the trance she'd been forcing herself into. At first it was small. Blanket shifts, the soft rustle of cotton against skin. But now it was rhythmic. Anxious. Like something in her couldn’t sit still anymore.

Reluctantly, Paige dragged her eyes away from the screen. Azzi was already looking at her. And Paige inhaled—sharp and shallow—like she’d been caught in the middle of a confession.

It wasn’t fair, the way Azzi looked at her. It stripped away all of Paige’s common sense, like it always had. Plucked any reasoning she’d carefully stitched together over the past few weeks and tossed it out the window like it had never mattered.

Because it didn’t. Not really. Not when Azzi looked at her like that. Like they were still in love. Like none of the distance even existed. Like Paige hadn’t cried in her car for forty minutes just last week because she missed her person. 

Paige felt her chest tighten. Her body remembered this look. Her skin did too.

She used to think that if Azzi ever looked at her like this again, she’d say something brave. Something honest. Something like don’t leave again or I never stopped or you ruined me and I let you.

But it wasn’t any of those things.

It was something more broken. More battered. More hers.

“Fuck, Az,” she rasped, voice catching like it hurt to say. “Please come here. Please.”

Azzi’s eyes widened. Just a flicker. Barely there. But Paige caught it like she always did. That soft edge of surprise, the way her breath caught, the way her fingers tightened in the blanket.

For a second, she didn’t move. Like she needed a beat to decide if she’d imagined it. If Paige really meant it. If this wasn’t some cruel trick of memory and low lamplight.

Then—slowly, like the world might shatter if she got it wrong—Azzi shifted. Tossed back the covers. Crossed the space between them like it hurt. And Paige just watched her come closer. Watched her come home.

Paige lifted the comforter without a word, scooting toward the middle of the bed, making room like it was instinct. Like her body remembered even if her mind was still catching up.

Azzi hesitated for just a second, like she didn’t know if she was allowed, before crawling into the space that had always belonged to her. She tucked her knees to her chest, careful not to take up too much room. Like she didn’t want to be a burden. Like she thought this might still be temporary.

And Paige stayed where she was. Kept the space between them. Because she should. Because she was supposed to. Because reaching for her might mean admitting something that she couldn’t take back.

But even with the inches between them, her body softened. Uncoiled. Deflated in the best, most dangerous way. Like finally, finally, she could rest.

Paige watched as Azzi reached out, her hand trembling just slightly as it hovered near the lamp.

“Okay?” Azzi whispered.

Paige couldn’t trust herself to speak. She made a sound. A half grunt, half exhale that must’ve been enough, because a second later, Azzi clicked the switch. And the room was swallowed by darkness. It was the kind of dark that made every breath feel louder. The kind that pressed in around them.

They lay there, inches apart.

Close enough that Paige could feel the heat of Azzi’s body radiating under the blanket. Close enough that she could smell her shampoo. That warm, familiar vanilla one that used to cling to Paige’s pillows long after she’d left.

Paige stared up at the ceiling she couldn’t see. Paige stared up at the ceiling she couldn’t see. Her fingers ached to move. To reach. To close the smallest distance she had ever felt so violently aware of. But she didn’t. She stayed still.

Seconds stretched into minutes. But Paige could tell Azzi was still awake. She didn’t need to look. She knew the difference.

Azzi had a way of breathing when she slept. Soft and steady, like the world couldn’t touch her. Paige used to stay awake just to listen to it. Used to lie there in the dark, barely blinking, afraid that if she closed her eyes she’d wake up and find it was all some cruel dream.

She’d memorize the rhythm. Count the beats between inhales. Trace the shape of contentment in every exhale.

She’d never told Azzi that. Never admitted how long she stayed awake most nights, just watching her sleep. Just trying to believe that she got to have this. That she got to keep her.

And now they were here again. Bodies curled close, breaths shared in the dark.

Paige had almost convinced herself not to hope. Almost convinced herself that Azzi would fall asleep first, that the silence would stretch until morning and they could pretend this never happened. That lying side by side in the dark, hearts beating too loud, didn’t mean anything anymore.

But then, a whisper. So soft Paige almost missed it.

“Paige?”

She stiffened, the sound of her name pulling her from half sleep like a tide. She rolled onto her side, careful not to jostle the space between them, even though it barely existed anymore.

“Hm?”

"Can I ask you something?" Azzi’s voice, barely a breath.

Paige turned her head on the pillow, heart thudding. “Yeah.”

A pause. Long enough that Paige thought maybe she’d changed her mind.

Then: “Do you still think about it?” Azzi asked. “About us?”

Paige blinked into the dark.

“Every day,” she said. No hesitation. No point in pretending.

Azzi was quiet again. And then, even softer,

“Will you hold me?”

Paige’s breath caught. She didn’t speak. She just shifted. Closed the distance they’d both been pretending not to notice. Reached for Azzi under the covers, pulled her close.

Azzi melted into her like she belonged there. Like she always had. Her head tucked beneath Paige’s chin. A hand resting gently at her waist.

They lay like that for a while.

Tangled limbs and silence. The kind of quiet that wasn't empty but full—thick with everything they hadn't said and maybe still couldn't. Paige’s fingers moved in slow, steady circles against the bare skin of Azzi’s back, like she was trying to memorize her all over again.

“Paige?”

Her name, again. Soft. Almost afraid. Paige closed her eyes. She’d heard her name in packed arenas. On highlight reels. Echoing through speakers loud enough to shake the floor. She’d heard it shouted by coaches, screamed by fans, printed in headlines.

But nothing ever touched her like the way Azzi said it. Like it wasn’t just a name. Like it still belonged to her. The girl underneath all of it. Just Paige. As she was. As Azzi had always seen her.

“Yeah?” she whispered.

Another pause. The kind that made her heart crawl up into her throat.

“I’m sorry,” Azzi choked out. The words barely made it past her lips, like they’d been caught in her throat for weeks. Maybe longer.

Paige froze, her hand stilling against Azzi’s back. She didn’t need to ask what for. She already knew. All of it. The leaving. The silence. The terrible, aching gap that had lived between them for months, growing roots in all the places love used to be.

Azzi’s breath stuttered. “I was scared. Of what it meant to keep you. Of what it would do to lose you. Of not being enough for either. So I left before you could realize I wasn’t.”

Paige felt the words like bruises blooming across her chest. She tugged Azzi closer, wrapping an arm around her like she could anchor her there. She didn’t speak because she knew Azzi wasn’t done. Knew she needed the words out of her body, spoken into the dark where they could breathe.

“I missed you so much it made me mean,” Azzi whispered, voice trembling. Paige closed her eyes. Let the ache rise. Let it settle. “I’m never mean.”

That made Paige laugh. Not loud. Not happy. Just...a sound, cracked open from somewhere deep. 

“And I’m sorry,” Azzi said. “I know you deserve more than that but—”

Paige didn’t let her finish.

She leaned in and pressed her lips to Azzi’s before the spiral could pull her under. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was instinct. Tenderness. The only way she knew how to say you’re here now, and I still want you anyway.

Azzi stilled. Then melted like her body had been waiting for permission to exhale. And in that quiet collapse, Paige tasted everything.

The apology. The ache. The impossible kind of wanting that clung to the bones no matter how many times they tried to shake it loose.

That kiss wasn’t a fix. But instead a soft, trembling maybe that they both desperately needed.

When she pulled away, Paige could just make out Azzi’s face in the faint light bleeding through the window. Shadow and softness and everything she’d almost forgotten how to survive without.

“I know,” she whispered, and it came out gentler than she meant. Like forgiveness wrapped in silk. “I know.”

She reached up, brushed a thumb across Azzi’s cheek, caught a tear before it fell. Let her fingers linger.

“But not right now,” she murmured, barely more than breath. “Please.”

Azzi stilled. And Paige closed her eyes.

“I just want to hold you,” she said. “We can ruin each other tomorrow. Tonight, I just want this.”

Azzi didn’t speak. Didn’t argue. Just gave the smallest nod. Barely a movement, but full of meaning. A truce. A surrender. A yes, okay, I’ll let you hold the weight of this, just for tonight.

Then, slowly, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the curve of Paige’s neck. Not in apology. Not in desperation.

But in something quieter. Something closer to reverence. Like she wanted to leave a part of herself there, just in case she couldn’t find the words later.

Paige’s breath caught.

And then Azzi curled into her chest, like she wanted to disappear into the shape of her. Like if she pressed close enough, deep enough, they might become one person. One heart. One body that didn’t know how to stay broken.

Paige held her tighter. Her chin rested on Azzi’s head, her hands at her back, their legs tangled, inseparably so.

And then, Paige closed her eyes.

She waited for the sound of Azzi’s breathing to slow. It didn’t take long, just a few minutes of quiet, curled-up stillness, and then there it was. That rhythm Paige knew by heart. 

She existed in it for a while. Let herself feel every inhale, every exhale, like they were proof. That Azzi was here. That this was happening. That she hadn’t imagined her way into another night of almosts.

But she didn’t let herself believe it was permanent. Not yet.

She just held the girl she loved, like maybe if she stayed still enough, the world wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t ask them to name it. Wouldn’t make them say all the things they were still too scared to speak aloud.

And if this was all they got…

This night, this silence, this impossible closeness, then Paige would take it. She’d memorize it. Stitch it into the lining of her ribs. Carry it like a secret she never wanted to let go of.

That night, Paige Bueckers slept. Really slept. For the first time in weeks, her body unknotted, her mind quiet. Not because it was fixed. Not because they were okay. But because Azzi was in her arms, and that had always been enough.

And when morning came—when sunlight broke through the curtains and laid its golden weight across the bed like a question—Paige didn’t flinch.

She didn’t pull away. She pulled Azzi closer, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered something so soft it barely reached the air.

Stay.

Not just for now. Not just for this.

But for everything.

[wendichester]

𐙚⋆°｡⋆ love potion,

summary. you think dean might be hexed. because the way he's been acting... oh boy, it's nothing if not trouble.

pairing. dean winchester x witch!reader genre. giggling fluff

wordcount. 659

notes / warnings. lots of banter, mutual pining, and eventual confession

Dean is acting weird.

Not monster-under-the-bed weird, but like... are-you-drunk-before-noon weird.

You glance up from your herb jars as he leans against your kitchen counter, arms folded, grin lazy. He’s watching you like you hung the damn moon—and you would know, considering you’ve worked moon magic.

“Need help bottling those?” he asks, all honeyed voice and heavy eye contact.

You narrow your eyes. “No, I’ve got it.”

“Bet you do.” He winks. Winks.

You almost drop the jar of crushed lavender.

This has been happening for days. Dean showing up more than usual, sitting closer than necessary, throwing compliments like he’s trying to charm your apron off. You would’ve blamed it on the full moon, or maybe a succubus, if he hadn’t also brought you your favorite coffee two mornings in a row “just because.”

So either Dean Winchester is hexed... or he’s flirting.

Both are equally terrifying.

You slide the cork into the jar and set it down. “You feel okay?”

He arches a brow. “Yeah? Why?”

“You’re... different lately.”

He takes a step closer, and your pulse stumbles. “Different how?”

“You keep smiling at me.”

Dean snorts. “That’s illegal now?”

“You bought me a candle that smells like marshmallows and said it reminded you of me.”

“It does! Sweet. Warm. Makes me wanna light you up every night—okay that sounded dirtier than I meant.”

Your mouth drops open. “Dean!”

He just laughs, completely unbothered, and takes the seat across from you at the table.

“You’re hexed,” you declare, pointing a sage stick at him. “Or glamoured. Or—or possessed.”

“I’m not hexed.”

“You’re acting like a lovesick golden retriever.”

Dean leans back in the chair, arms spreading wide. “Maybe I am.”

You pause. Blink. Your heart tries to climb into your throat.

He watches your expression carefully. “You ever think... maybe I just like you?”

“That’s not funny.” You cross your arms, suddenly flustered.

“I’m not joking.” His voice goes softer now. “You really didn’t know?”

“No!” you say, maybe a little too loudly. “You flirt with everyone, Dean.”

“Yeah, but I mean it with you.”

You go quiet.

Dean leans forward again, serious now, elbows on the table. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You smell like cinnamon and whatever that protection charm is you always carry. You make potions and don’t even flinch when I walk in bleeding from a werewolf attack. You’re the first person I wanna see after a hunt. Hell, you’re the only one I’d let use a crystal on me without panicking.”

You try to breathe, but it’s stuck somewhere in your chest.

“I didn’t touch a cursed object,” he finishes. “I just finally got tired of pretending I don’t wanna be yours.”

The silence stretches, and your hands are shaking slightly in your lap.

“Dean…”

His smile is soft this time. “I’ll stop if you want. But I hope you don’t.”

You burst into a laugh—nervous and delighted. The kind of giggle that slips out before you can stop it, all fluttery and real.

“I thought you were cursed,” you admit, covering your face with your hands. “I almost put a grounding crystal in your boot.”

Dean laughs with you, easy and warm, then walks around the table and gently pulls your hands away from your face.

“Guess I’ve been cursed in a way,” he says, voice low. “Kinda crazy about a witch who makes my whole world feel less like a battlefield.”

You grin, cheeks hot. “That line’s terrible.”

“Did it work?”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe.”

His hand slips into yours. “Let me take you out. Real date. No demons. No ghosts. Just us.”

You squeeze his fingers. “Okay. But I’m still cleansing your aura just in case.”

Dean leans in, smirking. “As long as I get to kiss you,”

Your whole body feels like it’s buzzing, and when he does kiss you—soft, careful, a little breathless—you know with every fiber of your magically-inclined soul: this is definitely not a hex.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[steddieas-shegoes]

we're crashing into the unknown

for @steddiesongfics open space for an AU inspired by the song first time by lifehouse

rated e | 3153 words | cw: underage sex (both teenagers) | tags: modern au, no upside down au, first time, top eddie munson, bottom steve harrington, laughter during sex, feelings realization, sort-of friends to lovers, open ending but assume they fall deeply in love, anal sex

also on ao3

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

There’s no way Eddie is seriously going to do this with Steve Harrington of all people.

Steve is the typical jock, the popular rich guy who makes all the ladies swoon and all the guys jealous enough that they drool at his feet at the chance to be his friend. He has a huge, empty house, and seemingly very little adult supervision to stop him from having parties that may or may not get shut down by Hopper.

And here Eddie is in that big, empty house waiting on Steve to finish locking up for the night. So they can have sex.

If you had told Eddie at any point in his mere 17 years of life that Steve Harrington was not only still a virgin at 16, but also wanted Eddie to be his first, he would’ve told you that the weed you smoked must be laced with something else. Yet, he’s here, standing awkwardly at the foot of the stairs waiting to get his hands and mouth on Steve.

“All set,” he says as he walks up to Eddie.

Eddie has done some awkward hand stuff in dark closets and bar bathrooms, but he’s never fucked anyone. He’s never been fucked. There’s so much changing tonight, for both of them.

“Great,” Eddie says, waiting for Steve to lead him to the bed. He insisted on it being in his bed, not the couch or the back of Eddie’s van, and that’s fine. It’s good, even. He’s never had the chance to spread someone out the way he hopes he can with Steve. “Lead the way.”

“Can I…kiss you? Before we head up?” Steve is nervous. Anyone would be able to tell, but Eddie’s also just pretty damn good at reading people. Steve’s good at hiding shit, but he’s got a tremble in his hands and a wobbly lip that keeps ending up between his teeth.

“You can kiss me whenever you want tonight.”

Maybe Eddie should be more careful, make sure that the intention is clear: he’s helping Steve out, but after tonight, he goes back to being at the bottom of the totem pole of high school hierarchy and Steve remains King. Kissing isn’t going to stop that from happening, at least not for him, but Steve seems like the romantic type. He already admitted once that he wants to take it slow.

Eddie’s fine with slow as long as they don’t turn it into romantic.

But there’s no harm in some kissing. He’s kissed Jeff before and nothing got weird. He kissed that one guy at the bar who didn’t know he was only 17 and the only thing that got weird was when he asked him to grab them drinks and Eddie had to tell him the bartender already knew he had a fake ID. That didn’t go well. This will be better.

Steve may be a virgin, but he’s a damn good kisser. His lips are soft, wet, quietly demanding more.

Eddie lets him lead because he’s less sure of himself with this. He can act tough, put on the fake bravado and charm, make people believe he’s confident when he isn’t, but not when it comes to this. The soft moments, the things he doesn’t get to have, those are the things he has to walk blindly towards.

Steve’s hands are sure, firm grasp on his hips as he steps even closer. Their chests brush against each other. Eddie’s lips part. Steve’s tongue glides against his bottom lip.

They both groan and Eddie has to pull back. He feels lightheaded, like the room is spinning around him and his head’s up in the clouds. He’s never been kissed like someone craves the taste of him.

“Upstairs?” He asks. He’s trying not to be pushy, wants Steve to have the best first experience he possibly can, but he needs to get the show on the road. It’s Eddie’s first time too, and he may work himself up too much to last.

Steve wordlessly leads him to his room, which is a truly depressing teenage boy’s room. Plaid and car posters cover the walls, an empty can of Coke sits on a desk that looks barely used, and the lamp in the corner of the room is so dim he wonders if the bulb needs replacing. He doesn’t comment. His room is in much worse shape.

If they were together, he’s sure he’d find a reason to kiss down Steve’s neck. He’d pull off Steve’s clothes piece by piece and count the freckles that cover his skin. Maybe they wouldn’t even fuck tonight. Maybe he’d just open him up on two fingers and suck his dick until he came down Eddie’s throat.

But Steve wants everything tonight, and he knows Eddie is a safe bet. It’s not like Eddie’s gonna blab. His reputation’s in the gutter, but this would put him in actual danger. He’s maybe the only one who can do this for Steve.

And Steve doesn’t even know he’s the only one who has ever offered to do this for Eddie.

“Condoms are in the drawer,” Steve points to his bedside table, then starts wringing his hands together. “I got some lube, too. Wasn’t sure if you’d bring any.”

Eddie did. He came prepared. Wayne gave him a nice, long talk two years ago about always having protection. He gave him another long, very awkward talk about making a partner comfortable the next year when Eddie came out to him, and then handed him a bottle of lube. He’s never been more thankful that his uncle cares this much about him than now.

“I did, but it’s nice that you’re prepared, too,” Eddie admits. It’s better than what he expected. “You’re sure you wanna be fucked?”

Steve nods. “I read a lot about it and I think it’s what I’d like.”

Eddie’s not gonna argue. He thinks he’d be fine either way, but there’s something about being able to watch Steve fall apart under him that’s got him excited. He would love to know what Steve’s been reading. Later.

“It might hurt a little,” Eddie reminds him. He’s stuck a couple of his own fingers in his own ass before. It wasn’t bad, but it definitely wasn’t great either. He’s pretty sure it was the angle. Maybe if he doesn’t suck too much, Steve will be willing to fuck Eddie so they can kill two birds with one stone. “But if it’s too much, we can stop.”

“I’ll be fine. You’ll take care of me,” Steve gives him a smile that he knows must work on the all the girls. It’s working on him. “Right?”

“Of course,” Eddie nods, swallows, nearly chokes on his own spit. “I’ll go slow just like we talked about.”

Steve strips off his shirt and his shoes at the same time. Eddie watches. He seems so sure of himself despite his nerves.

“You planning on staying dressed?” Steve asks as he unbuttons his pants. “Might be hard to fuck me with your jeans on.”

Eddie snorts. “Sorry, I just thought if I get the chance to watch you strip, I should pay attention. Soak in the moment. Seize the day.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s hiding a smile. Eddie considers it a win and leans down to unlace his boots. When he looks back up, Steve’s naked and staring at him.

“Sorry, should I have kept them on?” Eddie asks just to be a little shit.

Steve shakes his head. “No. I’m just…what did you say a second ago? Sizing the day?”

Something tells him not to laugh at Steve’s mistake, but he can’t completely hold back a smirk. He takes off his pants and shirt before he can overthink it, and then he’s naked with Steve and they’re looking at each other, figuring each other out.

Steve is big, which Eddie kind of already knew, but now he knows. Eddie’s average, maybe slightly thicker than average, but he’s never cared much about size for himself or anyone else. He figures it’s more important you know how to make someone feel good regardless of the size of your dick and hopefully he can do that for Steve.

“You’re a lot bigger than I expected,” Steve says, breathless. Eddie almost takes offense until he sees the red flush on Steve’s neck.

“Is that a problem?” Eddie isn’t opposed to having Steve inside him if he changes his mind, but at this point, he’ll be pretty devastated if he calls the whole thing off.

“No!” Steve rushes to say. “I just figured you’d be smaller than me by…a lot.”

“I gotta say, this isn’t the charm I expected from you,” Eddie shakes his head as he steps closer, hand raising to grab onto Steve’s hip. “Have the ladies been lying this whole time?”

“Obviously, they have. I’m a virgin, remember?”

“Hard to forget, Stevie,” Eddie laughs as his thumb rubs the skin. And then he realizes something.

Steve thinks he’s had sex before.

He should tell him.

“How do you want me?” Steve asks, looking down at Eddie’s lips with hunger and determination. “I’m okay with whatever.”

Eddie swallows. His throat feels dry. He doesn’t fucking know what he wants. He never thought they’d actually get this far and now Steve’s offering himself up in any way Eddie wants him.

He should tell him to get on his hands and knees, keep his body as relaxed as he can. It’s easier that way, or so he’s heard.

But he wants to watch Steve’s face, wants to make sure he doesn’t try to be brave and mask discomfort or pain, and he wants to know when something feels good. He doesn’t know if Steve’s vocal or quiet, and he doesn’t know why he’s being trusted with this at all.

Maybe Wayne was right and he should wait until he’s found someone he loves.

But Steve’s looking at him with these big eyes, silently waiting for him to be the one to direct him, to tell him what he should do. Eddie can be brave.

“Lay down on the bed.”

“On my stomach?” Steve’s brow furrows in confusion.

Eddie kisses his forehead. Too soft. “On your back.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes out. “Okay.”

His bed is big, probably a king, and he has to scoot awkwardly into the middle while Eddie watches. It’s cute.

Eddie follows, and Steve lets out a nervous giggle when he settles between his legs.

“You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to,” Steve says. Eddie can tell he doesn’t mean that. He’s clearly the type who needs that kind of touch and comfort for this, and that’s fine. Eddie can give him that. “It’ll be faster if you just get started.”

“Maybe I want to kiss you,” Eddie kisses the corner of his lips to emphasize his point. “It’ll help you relax. Easier that way.”

Steve nods and leans in to kiss him. Eddie licks along his bottom lip, and Steve’s so responsive, arching up into him, moaning into his mouth. He worries for a moment Steve’s playing it up a bit, acting the way he thinks he should. He loses that train of thought when Steve’s dick rubs against Eddie’s stomach and it’s dripping precum.

Eddie groans, bites Steve’s bottom lip and wraps a hand around his length.

Steve bucks up into his touch, gasping against his mouth. “Shit, I’m too close. Don’t touch me.”

He moves his hand to Steve’s hip and laughs. “I can’t touch your dick?”

“Not like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to make me come!”

“Isn’t that the point?” Eddie is laughing against his shoulder, squeezing his hip.

“Eventually! Not yet. We barely started. You aren’t inside me.” Steve is laughing now, too. “If I’d known it would feel this good already, I would’ve made a rule or something.”

Eddie kisses his shoulder– too soft –and pulls away. If he can’t touch Steve’s dick until he’s inside him, he’s gonna need to hurry up and get inside him. Steve’s not the only one who’s embarrassingly close.

He tries to be smooth about opening up the lube, pouring it out onto his fingers. Unfortunately, the lube pretty much explodes into his hand, coating his entire palm and dripping onto Steve’s stomach. Steve’s watching him with a deer in headlights look.

“I guess too much is better than not enough?” Eddie jokes. He’s good at making light of a situation, even embarrassing ones.

Steve nods, gulps. He’s watching Eddie’s hand like it’s a snake ready to attack.

He’s second guessing now, kind of wishing they’d talked a bit more about expectations from each other. Eddie feels his gut clench when Steve closes his eyes and seems to settle further into the sheets, like he’s trusting him, giving himself up completely.

It’s enlightening and terrifying all at once.

“Ready?” he asks, even though he’s not even sure if he’s ready.

Steve nods.

Eddie’s fingers are long and calloused, dexterous enough to know exactly how to work Steve open and find all the right spots to make him clench and moan. He’s beautiful like this, writhing and whimpering, sweat beading on his forehead.

He’s ruining anyone else for Eddie, that’s for sure.

When Eddie’s got three fingers inside him, Steve is breathlessly begging for him to find a condom.

He likes the way Steve begs, but he knows better than to say that. This isn’t the time or the place, and he’s pretty sure Steve is about as vanilla as they come. He doesn’t know enough to even broach the topic of making him beg more, and his inexperience would show the moment he tried.

Eddie’s rolling a condom on as quickly as his shaking hands will allow when Steve sits up on his elbows, chest heaving.

“Have you done this before?” Steve’s watching him intently, trying to read through whatever lie Eddie may try to give.

Eddie shakes his head. “Watched a lot of porn, though. I’ve got um, magazines? I know what I’m doing.”

He doesn’t. But damn if he won’t fake it until he convinces himself he does.

Steve’s tight and warm, and he’s falling back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut like it hurts. Eddie pauses, runs a hand across his stomach and chest.

“Breathe,” he says, as if that’s gonna help much. It feels right to say, though. “Need to stop?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, you’re just a lot bigger than three fingers.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. He definitely is a little, but he also thinks it probably feels a lot bigger than it is. Steve breathes in, and out, in and out. He relaxes around Eddie and reaches up to pull him close. He kisses him as Eddie sinks all the way inside, softer than the moment probably calls for. Everything about this feels too gentle, like one wrong move or word will break it into pieces.

“Okay?” Eddie asks, trying not to finish already. He needs to get Steve off quick.

“So full,” Steve says as he groans. “Move.”

Eddie does what he asks, again, because he can and because he wants to. He’s slow, holding his breath as he figures out what he can handle without coming.

“Faster,” Steve demands.

Eddie goes faster, wrapping a hand around Steve’s dick to get him there.

Steve’s whimpering his name, panting as his hands grab Eddie’s shoulders to pull him as close as he can. There’s so much sweat between them, and Eddie doesn’t even remember feeling particularly hot, but it’s just another thing to share. He worried that maybe it would be gross, but he wants more.

Whatever he can get of Steve, he wants.

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” Steve says only a second before he does.

He trembles through his orgasm, clenching around Eddie until he can barely move at all.

It’s been maybe two minutes, tops, and Eddie’s about to come too.

When Steve sighs out his name, opening his eyes to look up at him, he does.

Eddie crashes his lips against Steve’s, whines against his open mouth. It’s not really a kiss, it’s rough and desperate and a little pathetic. Eddie’s trying to hold himself up, keep himself stable.

He rests his forehead against Steve’s, gives a small laugh, closes his eyes.

“Jesus, thank you for letting me do that,” Eddie says.

Steve snorts. “Thank you for doing it,” he says. “Felt real good.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. He’s pretty sure he’ll never catch his breath. “Sorry it wasn’t longer.”

“It was perfect,” Steve kisses his lips quick, just a peck. “Didn’t need a show, just needed to come.”

Eddie feels cold all of a sudden. He’d forgotten for a few minutes what this was. He realizes he’s made a huge fucking mistake.

He starts to pull out, but Steve winces and he freezes.

“What?” Eddie is scared to breathe, scared to move.

“Sensitive. Just go slow.”

Eddie’s gone slow all night. He’s gone soft and gentle and slow and it’s ruined him.

But he’s going to give Steve what he needs until he has to walk out the door. He’ll be the perfect gentleman until he’s rushing back to his van, trying to forget the way Steve Harrington looks when he comes.

He goes slow, and Steve’s clearly still uncomfortable, but there’s only so much he can do. He rushes to the bathroom to take care of the condom and clean up the best he can with a washcloth in the sink. He considers bringing one out to Steve, but that feels a little too soft.

“Eddie?” Steve is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough. He can’t help the way his eyes wander up and down Steve’s body, gaze catching on the flush still across his chest and neck.

“Would it be okay if you stay tonight?”

It’s not what he expects and he’s pretty sure it’s not part of their agreement and it’s definitely too soft.

But Steve’s eyes are wide and Eddie’s just a guy. Steve wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want him to stay.

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” he agrees.

“Good,” Steve beams at him as he steps closer and reaches for the washcloth Eddie used to run it under the sink for himself. “Don’t get dressed. I can go again soon.”

Eddie’s dick twitches at the thought, but he ignores it.

Maybe the second time won’t be as soft, and maybe he’ll be able to pretend the feelings bubbling in his chest are just from the sex. Maybe after the second time, Steve will kick him out and he’ll go back to the trailer and think about this night for the rest of his life.

Maybe he’ll let himself be soft again, and again, and again, even when it’s well past their first time and he doesn’t need to be.

[twovialsofamortentia]

effie’s vineyard 🍇

🎧 tell him- ms. lauryn hill

a/n: so i’ve been a writer for about eight years and this is the first time i’ve ever posted fluff. it probably sucks but the idea literally came to me in a dream and i couldn’t not share it with you all <3

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff written by a smut author, reader and james as disgustingly in love newlyweds, effie and monty have both passed away recently, not proofread

James was told his whole life that he loved too hard. He felt too deeply. He couldn’t help it, it was just habit. He loved, and he loved hard. It was just his way.

And by God, did he love you. You, and your beautiful hair, which contrasted so perfectly against your beautiful skin. You, and the way you walked. The way your eyebrows would raise, then furrow, then raise again just before you were about to tell him off. The way your eyes betrayed the rest of your face when you were looking at him like he was crazy, giving away every time that you loved him, really.

James was sunshine in a bottle. Being near him felt like stepping into direct sunlight on a spring morning and realising that if you just held on a little longer, summer was coming.

James was good at helping you to hold on. Whether he knew it or not. He was a walking reminder that if one person could be so kind, and so loyally loving, then so could the rest of the world, and that gave you hope.

What also helped James’ case was that he was fit. He was so, so fit that sometimes it physically hurt you because you couldn’t put it into words. The amount of times Alice had just watched you screaming into your pillow was testament enough to the fact that she had the patience of a saint.

He had his flaws, of course. He had too big an ego. He was impatient. He was reckless when he needed to be careful. He didn’t always think before he acted. Despite all that, he had a good heart. He cared deeply about the people he loved. He would move mountains for them in a heartbeat, he simply needed to be pointed in the right direction.

And he loved you.

That was why you married him.

You listened to the voice in your head for once. Do it, you silly bitch! it said. Good God, do it. If you let him slip through your fingers, you’re the stupidest woman to walk the earth.

That was how you ended up in his parents’ massive house. Your favourite place to sit and think (or smoke) was the window seat at the end of the first floor hallway, because you could look out across the garden, and the vineyard that hadn’t been a vineyard since James’ mother died- you were planning on getting it back up and running. That was your favourite thing to think about.

You would often catch James looking at it out the window, too, when he thought no one else was around. He had more of a sentimental attachment to the place than he liked to let on, so when you had mentioned the idea of getting it back up and running, in that offhanded sort of way you spoke sometimes, his heart filled to bursting.

You couldn’t count the number of meetings you’d had with wineries, specialists, that sort of thing, who were interested, mostly in the fact that a filthy rich young man and his intelligent young wife were trying to revive something from the dead for seemingly no reason except romance. They were intrigued, and a bit sceptical, but James was too good at persuasion. He had an incredible way of convincing people to just give him things, or do things, by just being himself.

And, of course, it was also partly down to you. Because God, how could anyone say no to you?

James shook himself out of his own thoughts as he watched you watching the world outside. He leaned against the bannister, about ten feet away from where you were sitting, hands in his pockets.

“When I was younger,” he spoke up. “My dad used to tell me that to him, my mum got prettier every day.”

You were snapped out of your daydream at his words, and you turned to see him, which made a smile spread across your face. You hummed in response, leaning your head back against the wall, waiting for James to continue.

“And I just used to say sure, dad, because I thought that they were just old and lovey dovey- which they were, obviously.”

You giggled, nodding along. When James started stories like this, took that certain tone of voice, you could tell he had been thinking about it for a while beforehand. It was if it were his life’s mission to tell you what he wanted to say, and every story was just as important, even if they just ended with Anyway, I love you.

“And then when you happened- it was actually the first day you moved in- I looked at you and I thought no shot, dad. She’s already as beautiful as it gets.”

James pushed off of the bannister, walking the few short steps to where you were sitting on the windowsill. He leaned against the wall next to the window, so that he could gaze out of it from the same angle as you. He freed one of his hands from his pocket, bringing it up to smooth over your hair.

“I was wrong.” James said quietly. Finally. Certainly. “Fuck me, I was so wrong.”

You just smiled. What else could you have done? Your gaze flicked between the white wisps of smoke rising from your cigarette, and the expanse of the vineyard- not in total disarray, but definitely in need of some love.

It was just as well that the vineyard was yours and James’ problem, in that respect, because between the two of you, you had enough love for a thousand vineyards. You hoped that would reflect in the end result.

“Are you thinking about the vineyard?” James asked gently, still running his fingers through your hair as he stood behind you.

You just hummed again, nodding.

James nodded too, slowly, his mind drifting towards his mother. She loved you, with all her heart. He couldn’t help but think about how proud she’d have been of you for running the house in the way that you did.

You crossed your legs underneath you, making space for James to sit down as you stubbed your cigarette out in the ashtray before dragging that out of the way, too.

“I was thinking,” you began, lighting another cigarette. “That if we’re doing up the vineyard for your mum.. Monty should get something too- I don’t know what, but-”

“I think-” James swallowed, taking the cigarette from you when you offered it to him. “I think Dad would be happy just to know that you’re doing something for Mum. That you’re putting the effort into keeping her around- he’d want that more than he’d want something of his own.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah.” James agreed, pausing to take a drag of the cigarette before passing it back to you. “They were joint at the hip- but like, more than that. They were like two halves of the same person, you remember. The way they loved each other.”

“I know,” you sighed, raising the cigarette to your lips as you cast your gaze out of the window.

You were both unaware of the irony in James’ words, as you sat across from one another on the windowsill. There was something strangely intimate about the fact that you were sharing a cigarette and talking about love. You just didn’t realise because you were so smack bang in the middle of it.

There was an indescribable sort of comfort in having moments like this one. The intimacy of just- existing, next to the person you loved the most, and doing nothing of real importance in the grand scheme of things. There was something so simple about sitting on a windowsill, sharing a cigarette, drinking in each other’s presence. That was how love truly worked, you thought. It was these moments that made all of the other hard things worth it. It just made it oodles better that that person was James.

Everyone would always get on at James for being such a loverboy. Even back in Hogwarts, when he was just hopelessly pining for you, everyone would rinse him for being too in love. He’d laugh, because he knew it didn’t matter what anyone thought, he was in love with you regardless.

But it was always James who got the stick for being so in love. You should have been thankful for the fact that he was taking the heat, but it made you wonder if he knew sometimes that it was possible for you to love him as much as he loved you. Because you did.

“You okay?”

“Mhmm.” you hummed slowly, finally tearing your gaze away from the fields out of the window to meet James’ eye. A small smile spread across your face as you did- because it wasn’t just you who looked beautiful in this light. “I’m okay.”

“What are you smiling at?” James challenged, returning the smile as he watched the way your face relaxed as you looked at him. He was sure that no matter what else happened or changed in this world, he would never tire of looking at you. It was impossible to tire of someone like you.

You laughed quietly, eyes drifted to your legs, intertwined. You debated whether or not he’d just rinse you for saying all the sappy things you were thinking, but then you’d be able to come right back and call him a hypocrite, so there.

“Love you.”

“What was that?” James lifted a hand, holding it behind his ear. “I didn’t hear you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a look of mock annoyance falling across your face as you shook your head. With a roll of your eyes, you repeated yourself.

“I said, I love you.” you told James, leaning forward. “I love you.” you leaned further forward, taking his face in your hands. “I love you.” a little further, squishing his cheeks together, and then a final, muffled “I love you.” because you were mimicking the pout you’d put on his face.

As you leaned forward, squishing his cheeks together, James wrapped his arms around you and pulled you towards him, shifting you until you were sitting in his lap. He held you like that for a moment, his face still trapped in your hands as he laughed at the expression you had put on it. As he did so, you could feel the vibrations of the sound moving along your body as your chests were pressed together.

“Thought you ought to know.” you shrugged teasingly, raising your cigarette to your lips and taking a quick drag.

“Why, thank you.”

James shifted his grip on you so that he could pull the cigarette from between your lips. He brought it to his own mouth, his gaze flickering from your face, to the cigarette, and then back to your face. He took a drag then, before gently blowing the smoke into your face.

“Eugh-!” you winced, scrunching your nose up. “Fucker.”

He just laughed at your reaction, taking another drag off of your cigarette before taking the opportunity to kiss the side of your neck- which also involved blowing the smoke across your skin.

You stole the cigarette back, placing it between your own lips for a final drag, ignoring the way the filter burned your finger because you had smoked it down too far, then stubbing it out in the ashtray.

“Do you think-” James began, then paused for a moment, his gaze roaming your face, from your lips up to your eyes. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing? About the vineyard, I mean?”

“Yes.” you said, and as you did, you nodded certainly. “I know it’s a lot right now, but it was your mum’s- I don’t want to just leave it to ruin.”

James smiled faintly at that, sufficiently reassured and reminded of the fact that, if at least, it all went wrong, it would be a valiant effort in the name of his mother anyway. You wouldn’t let it be anything else.

“Anyway,” you said, taking James’ face in your hands again, making him smile when your eyes locked onto his. “I love you.”

“You’ve said.” James beamed, and he looked like an actual ray of sunshine as his gaze bore into yours, looking up at you with no intention to stop any time soon.

You nodded slowly, obviously, pretending to be thinking, then you leaned down to catch James’ lips in a gentle kiss, one that tasted like cigarettes and the realisation that James had been eating your strawberries even though you made him promise not to. You’d get him for that later, though, because right now you were dedicated to showing him that he married you for a reason, and that reason was that you loved him very very much.

“Just making sure you know.”

[ghostgirl-22]

i’ve been thinking of this for days and i cant get it out of my head but tashi and art playing good cop bad cop essentially with patrick in the bedroom, patrick had been pissing them off more then normally and they have had enough, art fucking patrick from behind making patrick lose any sense of speech going on and on about how pathetic patrick is for him, tashi holding patrick’s hand and tugging his hair while he eats her out whispering about how good he is being for them

whoops i went insane. Here’s 3.6k words anon. Help! Idk why this is so long. Also I’m really fucking bad at dominant Art like…i don’t know why it’s not clicking but here he is trying like i am.

CW: MDNI, NSFW, not really proof read, soft!dom art

—-

It’s always hotter when Art gets jealous. So pretty and sweet and compliant for her. He’s got this other side to him. This side of him that Tashi never really saw until Patrick came back into their lives. This side of Art that she’s kind of obsessed with. It comes out when Patrick’s flirting with other people… usually guys.  

Patrick’s always been flirtatious, it’s something of a default. But these days… the way the three of them have been unable to keep their hands off of each other… it’s just been so much… worse. And Tashi—well Tashi’s complicit actually. She often finds herself egging him on—sometimes even starting it. Both of them doing it just for a reaction. 

It’s an otherwise typical summer day, another hotel. Another tournament. Lily’s at home with Tashi’s mom, she’s going to day camp with friends from her expensive private school and she refused to miss any of it. 

So it’s just the three of them this week. On their best behavior.

Well… it’s only night one.

They have a couple hours off before a charity awards banquet and she and Patrick are lounging at the pool. It’s Tashi who notices when the pool boy spares an extra glance at Patrick spread out on the deck chair. Half naked, short swim trunks, still wet and clinging to his muscular thighs. 

“Someone’s got a crush,” she says softly, nudging between his ribcage and looking towards the pool boy. Patrick can’t resist. Suddenly he’s showing off, asking all about pool maintenance (like he fucking cares). Legs spread on either side of the pool chair, the beginnings of a bulge in his shorts just visible. The kid, he can’t be much older than 24, is practically drooling. Can’t keep his eyes off of him. 

It’s timed so perfectly when Art comes out of the hotel to join them on the pool deck.  Tashi can see the peak of color blooming on Art’s cheeks as he takes in the scene. Watches his eyes go dark and the way he grips his phone tighter. The pool boy is practically on Patrick’s lap. 

Art clears his throat and Patrick just waves, still flirting, acting oh so oblivious when he knows. 

Tashi grabs Art’s arm as he approaches, pulling him down onto her pool chair.  Whispers in his ear, “He’s so fucking out of control… I told him to stop flirting but you know how he is.” She pouts. 

They both look over at the manager who seems to be the only one more annoyed than Art. “Oh no, I hope he doesn’t get the kid in trouble,” Tashi says, genuinely.

That’s all the motivation Art needs. “Patrick let him do his job so he doesn’t get in trouble over you,” he says, coolly. Controlled. 

“Shit… I’m sorry. You can tell him it was all my fault,” Patrick says with a grin that makes pool boy blush. He stands up and stumbles a little. Tashi wants to laugh because she gets it… Patrick’s so annoyingly disarmingly charming he has that effect on people.

“Maybe I can tell you more about it later,” the kid says, eyes falling back down to Patrick’s shorts. 

“You can tell me whatever you want when you’re off the clock sweetheart,” Patrick smirks. 

Tashi notices the way Art’s white knuckling the pool chair, his jaw set.   

“Thank you mister… um…” 

“Just call me Patrick.” 

“Thanks Patrick,” the kid grins and then waves, hurrying back to his work. But he keeps glancing over, and Patrick’s always there to show off a little more for him. 

“What the fuck are you doing? You’re old enough to be his dad,” Art snaps. 

“Oh yeah, cause I was having kids at the age of 8,” Patrick laughs. “Don’t be jealous, baby. He doesn’t get to have it. He just gets a show.” 

But Art is jealous…so fucking jealous. “Tashi already told you to stop flirting. Maybe you need a lesson in how to behave,” He says it soft, but it’s definitely a warning. Tashi almost grins but she bites down on her lip instead.  

Patrick glances at her and then smirks, both of them knowing she told him no such thing.    

*

It’s the same thing at the gala that night. Patrick’s all dressed up in a three piece suit. It looks so good on him he might as well be naked. Pearlescent lavender tie, tucked neatly into his fitted waistcoat, perfectly tailored suit jacket to pull it all together. All the trappings of being a former rich kid slipping through. She can’t believe she’d ever worried he wouldn’t fit in. He's fixing his cuff links in the full length mirror and it takes everything inside her not to hike up her gown and straddle him before they leave. She can tell by the way Art’s gaze lingers on him that he feels the same way. Patrick knows it too… which is the problem. 

He’s preening all night. No one knows he belongs to them. They’ve all decided to keep it quiet just for the fact that they don’t really want the general public and all their crazy judgements and opinions in their bedroom. (She’s still seeing think pieces about Will and Jada’s open marriage for christs sake). 

But that just means it’s open season. 

Tashi’s playing both sides. In Patrick’s ear, pointing out all the pretty girls and boys who seem curious about the Donaldsons handsome new friend. And then pretending to be so furious alongside Art when Patrick flirts with them. 

She does sometimes wish that she was normal. That she didn’t find it all so exciting. She’s pretended to be normal for so very long. She’s a wife, a professional tennis coach, a mom. She’s even a token an honorary member of the stuffy all waspy parents board at Lilly’s school. She can’t imagine what any of those mothers would say if they knew what she was really like.  

“It’s pathetic really,” Art complains to her, clinking his whiskey glass on the table. Staring hard at Patrick who’s been cornered up against the bar by some handsome tall guy. Talking too close. Phone in hand for his number. ”How is he this fucking desperate for attention?” 

“Oh I know,” Tashi agrees, like she’s innocent. “I was thinking the same thing.”

She looks him over, he’s so fired up, blue eyes alight with hunger and frustration. It makes her wet. Makes her want to get on her knees for him right underneath their table and take him into her mouth… lick him till he feels better. Instead she reaches up and gently brushes his hair back, his hungry gaze falling onto her. “Mm sorry, it’s just annoying and we’re in public I wish he’d…” he sighs softly and kisses her on the cheek and then the shoulder, she responds by gently rubbing his thigh.  

“What if…tonight we taught him a lesson?” She suggests. 

Oh he likes that idea. For the rest of the night he’s eager, leg bouncing impatiently as they’re seated for dinner (Patrick flirting with the waiter). Nearly forgets himself as they get up to accept the award for their charity work. They’re taking pictures and shaking hands (and Patrick’s in the back chatting up some guy from the press).

Art can’t take much more. It’s how the night ends early. How they race to get Patrick back upstairs to the bedroom. All of them still in their finest dress clothes. Tashi sitting on the edge of the king sized bed watching Art play with Patrick’s tie, a gentle tug to pull him closer. “Why do you need so much fucking attention?” Art asks it like he’s shy.  

Patrick just grins, “What do you mean, Art? You’re the one who got the reward… I mean award.”

Art tugs a little harder on the tie and Patrick’s forced to stumble forwards. ”Come on… you know what I mean. Why do you have to flirt with everyone you fucking meet?” Tashi crosses her legs, leaning back on her palms, she’s so fucking obsessed with this dynamic.

“I can’t help it if everyone wants me,” Patrick says, Cheshire grin only widening. ”I’m not even married to you, sweetheart. You’re getting all this for free so honestly…you should just be grateful.”

That makes Art smile, but there’s nothing sweet about it. “Should I be grateful? Sweetheart?” Art asks, eyes so wide and “innocent” ...tugging full force on the tie so Patrick is made to lean in close, his hands flying up to brace himself on Arts shoulders. 

“Well yeah,” Patrick rubs at his neck, tenderly, still smirking. Their faces inches apart and Patrick’s tongue peaks out between his lips. Oh he loves it as much as she does. She can barely sit still. Barely be quiet. She had no idea this was in Art. He's so sweet with her. So compliant. So yes, no, whatever you want babe. Apparently takes it all out on Patrick. 

“I think if it’s attention you want…” Art shrugs, wrapping the tie around his fingers. “Maybe we should give you attention. What do you think Tashi?” he glances at her and Patrick follows his gaze, though he’s already on a really short leash. Two pretty boys, eager for her, eager for each other. Tashi tries not to reveal how desperately hot she finds all this. 

God she can hear the snobby mother of Lilys best friend now. “Two men. You have two men in your bedroom? I knew you were a freak.”  God forbid she found out they also fuck each other. This is so far from normal. But god she needs it.

She rests  her head on her shoulder, eyes darting back and forth between them. “I agree, I think he needs it.” 

“Bout fucking time,” Patrick says. 

His last bit of sass before Art makes him get on his knees. Patrick Zweig all prettied up in a ridiculously expensive suit, on his hands and knees on the floor of their fancy hotel suite, wiggling his ass suggestively for Art’s benefit. “Like this?”

”Yeah like that,” Art says, his tone light. Soft. He’s always so soft until he isn’t. “Now can you please say sorry to Tashi? Tell her how you’re really sorry that you acted like such a slut tonight.” 

Patrick snorts. “Sorry Tashi even though—“ 

“No Patrick…” Art cuts him off.  “Say it between her legs. Spell it with your tongue.” 

Tashi feels her heart rate pick up. She’s already squirming and now Patrick’s looking at her… eyes so hungry. 

“Mmkay,” Patrick grins as he crawls over, eyes dancing with their little secret. Co-conspirators. Both of them working together to get Art to this point. She uncrosses her legs and he plays with the straps of her heels for just a moment before he starts to move up her body. Slowly guiding the sheer fabric up her calves along her knees to her thighs. Peppering little kisses as he works his way up. She opens a little wider for him as the gathered fabric pools at her waist. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers. 

“Shh,” she smiles and he grins back. He plays his fingertips along her calves, under her knees, and she curls her fingers into his thick black hair as the soft scruff of his beard tickles her inner thighs. 

He mouths at her panties. “Mm, just like that,” she sighs softly as his hot tongue laps at the lacy fabric. He groans. She gazes up at her husband while Patrick’s tasting her, like she wants his approval. (“Am I doing it right baby? Is this how you wanna play it?”). It makes her giddy to be able to follow his lead.

He holds her gaze as he shuffles out of his suit jacket, his waistcoat, undoes his tie. There's a careful practiced control in his movements, years of being in the spotlight, a dominant player on the professional tennis circuit… he's got a good handle on his physicality by now. But everything’s still visible in his eyes. His gaze heated, intense, feral. She glances down, noticing the visible bulge along the inseam of his dress pants. 

God. Tashi bucks up against Patrick eagerly. Feels him slip his tongue just past her panties, directly into the wet heat of her cunt. It makes her gasp and he hums between her legs in response. the vibration of it makes her wiggle her hips, spread her legs wider. 

“Mm so good at that baby,” Tashi breathes. 

“Tastes good, Tashi,” Patrick breathes, hot against her thighs. 

“Why are you talking Patrick? I don’t think I told you to stop,” Art says, singsong, he’d been rustling around in their luggage. Now he’s approaching Patrick, a little bottle of lubricant in hand. Slowly he gets to his knees. Takes his time undoing Patrick’s pants, dragging them off of him. Followed by the deliberate tug of his boxer briefs. “God you’re a whore,” he sighs as he surveys Patricks bare bottom. 

Patrick whines and Tashi shivers in response . “It's okay baby, I've got you,” she says, trying to be gentle, but the tension in her body is rising. She feels so out of control she’ll probably end up shoving his face deeper into her cunt soon.

“Imagine if we weren't here to keep you under control.” Art continues. “I bet you’d let anybody come inside. I bet you’d let them line up for this. Men just taking turns loosening you up.” He slips his lubed up fingers inside, his eyes back on Tashi as he does it.

Tashi feels the ripple effect when Patrick moans.

“Thats what you want isn't it?”  Art murmurs, fingers working faster. “One man after the other after the other. All of them so hard for you. No time in between. Just boy after boy pumping you so full of cum you can’t think straight. Fucking you dumb like the horny brainless slut that you are.”

Patrick moans again. God. He’d love that. Boys standing in line jerking themselves off watching him take it while they wait their turn. He's already pushing back on Art's fingers while he laps at her, so hungry all the time. So greedy.

 “Oh fuck,” she whines, she can’t help pushing Patrick’s head down. She can feel herself thrusting up against his face, mouth and tongue, she drapes one leg over his shoulder. Pulling his hair to hold him there. His desperate lapping at her wet cunt starting to sound obscene. 

She feels it when Art takes hold of her heeled foot and places a gentle kiss to her ankle. “Fuck yes. Is he sorry baby? Does it feel like he’s sorry?” 

“Yes,” Tashi gasps, stunned by the whiny octave of her own voice.

“Mmm, i dont know,” Art’s voice breaking too… just a little bit. “I don’t think he’s sorry enough. I think he can do better.” 

Tashi whines as Patrick, desperate to prove Art wrong, presses his tongue deeper, teasing her clit. So much heated pressure all at once she’s holding her breath, toes curling in her strappy shoes. “Oh fuck Patrick… ohmygodohmygod oh. oh fuck,”  she whines, practically fucking his face as she feels the tension spill over and suddenly she’s clenching, over and over… her body spasming through orgasm, drawing whines from deep within her. 

“Fuck,” she hears Art whisper as she sinks back onto her elbows arching up while Patrick is gasping into her cunt. His big hands under her thighs dragging her closer to the edge of the bed, like even with his head jammed into her pussy, it still isn’t close enough. 

She has to shove his head away a minute later when it gets too sensitive. She catches her breath, pulling her leg off his shoulder. She realizes she’d been pulling hard on his hair so she makes up for it by gently brushing it back. He’s looking between her thighs like he wants to start again. She makes him look at her face, she wants to see the mess she made. His mouth all wet, eyes glimmering in the dim light.

 “Good boy,” she whispers. 

Patrick’s breathless and moaning and thats when she realizes Art’s still fingering him and he’s pushing back, eagerly. Whining as he presses light, eager, wet kisses into her inner thighs.

“Fuck Patrick…I'm barely two fingers in and you’re dripping all over the floor.” Art says, and oh he's breaking. she’s watching him fall apart in real time. He removes his fingers to the sound of Patrick whimpering and Tashi notices Art can barely keep his hand steady as he unzips himself. He’s shivering… the last crumb of control going out the window.

Art presses himself inside of Patrick, falling apart with every inch, desperate. Pretty, pretty boy. He's not gonna last. Patrick is taking it. Giddy for more. Needs it harder. Rougher. Faster. “Oh fuck yes, Art, fuck yes,” Patrick groans so giddy for something more substantial to fill him up. 

“Quiet,” Tashi says. She knows Art like Patrick knows Art. Too much talking will cut whatever time he has left in half.  

She slips two fingers inside herself and Patrick gasps watching her. “You want another taste?” She breathes. 

“God yes,” Patrick groans. She can’t help fingering herself just a little longer before feeding her sticky wet fingers into his mouth. God, shes so turned on watching Art fuck him it’s like she’s ready again. Like she didn’t just finish a minute ago.

She’s gentle with her fingers in his mouth at first. And then her mild tendency towards sadism takes over and she's sitting up…shoving more fingers in, shoving them deeper. Filling his mouth while Art fills his ass. Making him gag for her and then telling him, “it’s okay… shhh, you're okay.”

And Art so messy… so all apart. Skin slapping loudly as he shoves himself inside, talking like he needs it. Talking like its the only thing keeping him sane. “Dont you love it Patrick? All the fucking attention. Dont you fucking love it? ” voice like honey, sticky warm. punctuating his words with deep jerky thrusts. “You little fucking whore.” Fingers dug so tight into Patrick’s hips they’ll be etched there for days. “You think that silly little pool boy could do this? Hm? You think he could fuck you like this?”

Patricks whining with his mouth full. Eyes watering because of all the gagging. He wants to touch himself but Art wont let him. Its not long before he’s just a mess of moaning and whimpering and gasping. All sensation, all exposed. Like a raw nerve. 

That's when Art shatters. Groaning, hips stuttering as he releases, holding himself flush inside Patrick letting himself spill as deep as he can. It makes Tashi shiver. She pulls her fingers dripping from Patrick’s mouth and slides them under the buttery fabric of her dress. Pressing them back inside herself while she watches them.  

Patrick tries to touch himself again and she nudges him away with her foot because she knows it’s not what Art wants.   

“Fuck I need— I need—,” Patrick gasps. His breathing uneven, voice a raspy shell of itself. Christ. Patrick, absolutely wrecked, sounds so sexy.

Art begins to come down as he slips out. He lifts his pants back up over his ass and drops onto the floor, breathlessly looking at Patrick still displayed on hands and knees in front of him. “Look at you,” he hums like hes proud of his handiwork. “All dressed up just to be fucked like a whore.”

“Fuck, please Art can I— can I— just need a little—“

“Oh? You need more attention? After all that we just did for you?” Art says condescendingly. “Hey… why dont you go call that guy who gave you his number?”

Tashi giggles and Patrick groans. “Art, fuck, come on… tashi…” Patrick looks up at her desperately. Shamelessly. Her natural tendency isn’t to be nice but she’s fair… and to be fair they are kind of in this together. After all she did egg him on.

She gazes at him, slips her fingers out from inside where she’s been lightly playing with her clit and paints his pouty lips with her slick, his greedy little tongue following her movements. So gorgeous. “Baby be nice,” she says to Art. 

“Thank you, fuck yes, be nice. Thank you Tashi.” Patrick looks back at Art though…still begging him for permission.  

Art smirks at her and then shrugs as his gaze falls back to Patrick. “You’re so lucky aren’t you? You’ve got two people taking such good care of you…you little fucking show off… give us a show.” 

Patrick doesn’t need to be told twice. He clambers to his shaky feet. Stripping down to nothing for them. A strip tease that’s effectively more amusing than sexy…At least until he takes himself in hand. The full heft of him sliding between his thick calloused fingers, his biceps flexed, abs taut. Art on the floor, Tashi on the bed and he’s looking between them both as he gets closer and closer.

“Like it?” Patrick gasps out. “Just like when we were teenagers, huh? The time you asked me to do it while you watched me, Tashi.  Fuck. All those nights lying next to each other in bed while we did it together, Art.”

Tashi and Art exchange glances before looking back just in time to watch him finishing, blowing it all over his fancy dress clothes… puddled on the floor. Still tugging at it, heavy breathing, moaning as more of it spatters. Shameless.

Tashi feels antsy. She can see the way Art is beginning to tent his briefs. She knows this is only round one. No kids. Nothing to do tomorrow. They’ll be up all night. 

[orellazalonia]

Found some footage of unhinged!reader training rookies:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMS8vnswe/

(Hi! I love your works, you're amazing!!)

I’M DYING LOL AND IT WORKS SOMEHOW. So, that got me thinking how would she train them…. Now we turn it into a Drabble/blurb [Confession: I don’t know the difference between those two yet LOL] Happy reading! Also greetings! Thank you so much, always so nice seeing you around. Thanks for following along!!! :D

Unqualified, Unhinged, and Unforgettable

Summary: A bunch of excited, hopeful rookies have the absolute displeasure honor of being trained under you.

Word Count: 700+

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

The rookies were excited. Nervous, but excited.

After all, they’d been assigned to training with one of the Avengers. A respected, battle-hardened legend. Probably someone like Steve Rogers. Or maybe Natasha Romanoff! God, even Sam Wilson would be incredible.

“Wait,” One of them whispered. “Who’s that?”

You walked onto the training mat holding a stick of string cheese like a cigarette, wearing mismatched socks and aviators. You pointed the cheese at them.

“Morning, nerds.”

The recruits glanced at each other.

“…Are you the trainer?” One asked hesitantly.

You bit the cheese, chewed, and nodded. “Absolutely. Avengers’ top strategic mind. Fun fact, I have never successfully used a revolving door. You’ll respect me soon enough though.”

One recruit hesitantly raised their hand. “Why are you barefoot?”

“I fight better when grounded to the earth’s vibrations,” You replied. “Also I couldn’t find my shoes.”

And so began the most absurd training session in S.H.I.E.L.D. history.

-

Hour 1:

You paired them off. “First, pick a partner. Then pretend they just betrayed you in a high-stakes casino heist.”

They hesitated, looking around at each other as they tried to process the instruction. You shouted, “Feel the betrayal! Feel the drama! Slap them if you need to!”

One poor recruit started sobbing. Another screamed, “I LOVED YOU, TYLER,” and tackled their partner into a fountain.

You applauded. “Amazing. Raw and painful. That’s real combat.”

-

Hour 2:

You rolled a blender onto the mat with duct tape, Christmas lights, and three timers.

“This,” You announced dramatically, “is your bomb.”

“That’s a blender,” Someone whispered slowly.

You leaned in, deadly serious. “That’s what they want you to think.”

The rookies huddled, genuinely trying to figure it out. One made the mistake of cutting the red wire (which was actually a Twizzler). The blender turned on and shot glitter everywhere.

“That was a decoy,” You told them solemnly. “Now you’re covered in regret and sequins.”

-

Hour 3:

You took them on a “field simulation” which turned out to be a surprise shopping trip to IKEA.

“Navigate this labyrinth. Assemble a chair. Use only hex keys and trauma.”

Two recruits got lost in the kitchen model displays. One called you from inside a wardrobe. You refused to help.

“If you can’t escape IKEA,” You said, eating a meatball with your bare hands, “How will you escape Hydra?”

-

Aftermath

When the rookies returned to HQ, some crying, some covered in glitter, and one holding an emotional support fern; they were never the same.

But they were better, somehow. Sharper and unpredictable. Capable of disarming actual bombs and Swedish furniture with nothing but rage and a plastic fork.

Bucky found you later in the common room, sitting on the couch, eating marshmallows with chopsticks and watching a documentary on nuclear fission at max volume. You were also wearing his hoodie, which meant you were either thriving or about to cause an international incident.

He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You turned those rookies into emotionally unstable weaponized gremlins.”

You didn't look away from the TV. “I prefer the term ‘innovative prodigies.’”

“They challenged Sam to a duel using plungers and grief metaphors.”

“They need to learn how to weaponize emotion. That’s day three material.”

“They built a working trebuchet and launched my motorcycle onto the roof.”

You finally turned to look at him. “And did it not work?”

Bucky stared at you. “You trained them for one day.”

You gave him a slow blink, then gently offered him a marshmallow with the chopsticks. “You love me.”

“I love you,” He said flatly, taking the marshmallow. “I also think you might be a war crime in human form.”

You grinned. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He walked over and dropped his head into your lap with a tired sigh, arm slinging around your waist. “Next time you train anyone, I’m sedating you first.”

“Won’t happen but that’s fair,” You said, petting his hair with one chopstick. “But you have to admit… they’re kind of unstoppable now.”

From down the hallway came a loud bang, a screech of victory, and someone yelling, “FOR SCIENCE AND THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP!”

You sipped juice from your “World’s Best Trainer” mug and said softly, “My legacy begins.”

Bucky just groaned. “God help us all.”

[mediumgayitalian]

this post: I NEED A SOLANGELO OFFICE AU FIC WHERE NICO IS THE CEO AND COLD AND EVERYONE HATES HIM AND WILL IS HIS ASSISTANT WHO THINKS HE'S HIT BUT STILL THINKS HE'S MEAN AND STRAIGHT BUT SOMETHING HAPPENS AND THEY GRADUALLY GROW CLOSER AND NICO STARTS WARMING UP TO HIM AND IT'S MUTUAL PINING AND UGH SOMEONE WRITE THIS PLEASE I BEG

(https://www.tumblr.com/icantspelll/782319142725369856/i-need-a-solangelo-office-au-fic-where-nico-is-the?source=share)

👀���

oh ho ho. happy you asked. post here. excuse me as this is a little all over the place and also somehow 3500 fucking words again and also i pretty much wrote the climax scene but WHATEVER its in my head now

modern au obviously.

there is a car accident.

a big one.

lee is brain-dead. on life support, and getting constant visitation, but...yeah there's not a lot of hope there. michael is in somewhat of a halfway house, newly unable to walk, at least for now, and with a host of other symptoms that make living at home hard. he needs assisted car.

will got off relatively scot-free. he had some minor brain damage and now has a migraine disorder and a shitton of burn scars from trying to drag his brothers out of a burning vehicle before they all blew up.

him and his mother also now have a whole lot of debt.

(it does not help that michael refuses to see them...the guilt from being the driver is hard. will is devastated to have lost not one brother, but two, in some ways.)

he starts working for this medical nonprofit partially because theyre hiring (desperate for a PA bc no one will stay under nico's bitch ass long enough) and also bc he's hoping to do a little fraud and get his bills paid maybe

(theyre desperate.)

rachel hires will i think. she is nervous in the interview not in the shy way but in the oh god i cannot tell him whats actually waiting for him way. i dont want him to walk out. fuck.

i think shes the main secretary. yeah.

nico interrupts the interview to bark about needing something.

rachel is so crushed bc now this guy will never accept the position fuck.

except will takes it easy as anything -- he DID go through med school and is very used to being yelled at and treated like shit by superiors. he has also worked in service. he doesnt even blink. its about dry cleaning or some dumb shit like that, just something nico needs picked up and fast because hes already late and irritable

so wills like ive got it sir. gimme an address and ill bring it to your office. can i get you a coffee while you wait?

and his voice is light, then he raises his eyebrows, slightly, and says, same tone, but eyes a little steely, or perhaps a xanax?

and rachel CHOKES.

but nico just scowls and go coffee is fine. GOOD espresso from this specific coffee shop or im not paying for it.

so rachel is like god fuck you want the job then? and will is like yah sounds good. and hauls ass immediately to the coffee shop, which happens to be the one lou or cecil work at, and he gets special best friend privileges to skip to the front of the line and get his espresso going I GOT THE JOB OKAY LOVE YOU BYE and hauls ass to whatever errand. comes back.

and its just.

for weeks nico is increasingly more demanding and absurd, like he usually is, because PAs quit after a week. but will is NOT QUITTING. so nico is kind of taking it like a challenge to be more and more impossible but will takes everything in stride with quick attitude and no issues whatsoever.

nico asks him to do four things at once and will is like "hm impossible as i am not heracles try that one again" and nico, kind of shocked since no one has ever outright refused him before, DOES. he asks for something more reasonable

like will is SO GOOD. he knows all the medical terminology, hes fast, he knows EVERYBODY, and with him as nicos PA meetings go better?? somehow?? people are charmed by will's smile and quick wit and boy is it a break from nico's snapping.

because they like will more theyre less likely to be difficult for nico, and the actual nonprofit stuff they are trying to do gets a lot easier to do

nico would be huffy about it but like. will makes his life easier too

seems to always know when nico has a headache and when he was sick refused to let him come into the office, shoved his ass onto the subway -- where he had never been even once in his life -- and brought him back to his (penthouse.) apartment and cared for him until he passed out

they dont talk about it but its like the most caring nico has recieved in a hot minute and it def changes the vibe between them

nico is gruff but he is less abrasive. he thanks will when will does stuff for him. he actually eats when will brings his meals and cheerfully sits with him instead of scowling out the window. he even lets will coach him on being less of a jackass in meetings and (tries) to take that advice.

the office is gagged. will is EVERYTHING.

but then nico gets this -- inoccuous notification.

about a small case file being approved, money being sent somewhere.

and he frowns because...he didnt approve that.

nico may be a nightmare but he is a nightmare who CARES. he looks at every file on his desk. he remembers details for every case he can.

and he did NOT send money to this particular care facility. as it is usually covered by their rival company and nico knows better than to mess with that

but he looks further into it and realizes there have been a LOT of funds sent without his approval. and he realizes that the person approving them has been will.

and he is FURIOUS.

this boy he has trusted -- he has let into his HOME, he has shared meals with, he has laughed with and even shared secrets with -- is fucking with his company. and sending money to OCTAVIAN'S insurance company no less, their biggest rival.

he calls will over and fires him on the spot basically.

will cant explain himself. everything is falling apart around him. he doesnt even have the words.

hes a little heartbroken, too. because nico -- the man whom hes really starting to fall for -- calls him a fraud, and hes right.

he doesnt even pack his things. he turns around and leaves.

he doesnt cry, on the walk to the subway. even though its dark. he doesnt cry at the station. he doesnt cry on the train.

he cries a hundred yards from the lobby of his shithole apartment building, because he left the keychain his little cousin made for him on his work lanyard, now on nico's desk, and he wont ever get it back.

hes depressed as hell. he wont stay in his room, because that scares his mother, but he drags himself to michael's facility every day even though michael still wont see him and plays with the kids living there, trying not to feel too sorry for himself. and then he drags himself to lee, even though lee is fucking brain dead, and then he drags himself to whatever part time job he can find.

nico, on the other hand, is a NIGHTMARE.

will has been there long enough that everyone has kind of forgotten who he was before, but whatever he was, this version is worse. hes acerbic and sullen and fucking AWFUL. almost cruel. people come back from meetings in frustrated tears and not even rachel can stand to work with him. the atmosphere in the office is shot.

she comes to him, one late night.

i know he stole from us. and i know thats hard. but he was good, nico. he was a good person. i think you should at least find out why.

nico just ignores her. rachel sighs, and walks away. shes ready to find a new job, honestly -- she is proud of the work she is doing at this company and she has worked here so long, but this is unbearable. she cant live like this. shes not even the only one who feels this way.

one day nico sends for coffee. they still have no PA so jason volunteers to get it, and he comes back, way later than he should be, and he is bright eyed and frantic and there is a barista in tow behind him. and jason doesnt even leave the lobby he hollers for nico to get his ass over. nico does, eventually, scowling at his shouting, snapping at him what the fuck is your problem im busy and jason is like NO. no. dont talk to me like that. dont GIVE me that! you dont fucking listen. you dont listen to a single other person, nico, and that is your problem!

and nico locks his jaw and goes fine, then.

and jason falters and hes like no, no. since you know everything. go on.

and there are like.

crowds.

but jason doesnt care and nico is not looking. so jason takes a deep breath and goes firing will was wrong.

and nico goes the man who stole from us? that was wrong?

and jason steels himself and says firmly yes. did you even ask him why?

and nico says im not one to give alibis to thieves, no.

but jason scowls and goes LISTEN, you prick. listen. and he gestures to cecil, who is following the exchange with wide eyes and kind of realizing for the first time how maybe fucked his best friend is.

but if theres one thing about cecil markowitz its that he's LOYAL.

so he straightens up and gets serious and goes: how much do you know about will's car accident.

and nico blinks. and hes like. wills what.

and cecil is like. you know. the car accident that disabled him for life (migraines & brain damage) and killed his brother and got his other brother in assisted living facility. he spent like 15 hours of his day with you. im sure you talked about it.

and nico kind of pales because he is like oh no. oh god no please tell me he did not commit fraud for the most selfless possible reason and i punished him for it.

and cecils eyes kind of harden and he goes yeah. the disabilities that are invisible for him so that insurance companies refuse to help him. and the hospital that is charging him out of life and liberty to keep his brother on life support. surely you know about these things. that he is working so hard to fix. surely you are aware. and nico just quietly goes no. i didnt know.

and cecil goes did you ask?

did you ask about him, ever?

about his life?

his friends and his needs and the reason he sometimes called in because he was curled up on his bed with a pillow over his head in so much pain he can't speak? did you? ask about that?

and nico realizes that this is bigger than the fraud, maybe. this is, as cecil is implying, almost a year of constant CONSTANT effort from will; will sitting with him on long nights and helping him with hard cases and squeezing his hand as he whispers about his sister. effort that has not been funnelled back -- nico realizes he doesn't know will's legal name. he realizes he doesn't know his address. his -- fuck -- his favorite flowers, although will has brought him sunflowers -- his favorite -- on more than one occasion. so nico turns to cecil determined and is like help me fix it.

and cecil is like honestly im not sure i want you around my best friend. like to be real. he loves you and you didnt even give him a chance to defend himself.

and nico nods and hes like i know. i fucked up. i will make it up to him for the rest of my life.

so cecil begrudingly helps him and points out the flowers will likes on the walk. and they get to will's apartment and his mother answers the buzz and she softens, a little, because she can see just from how will speaks of this man that he loves him, even if he's made a mistake. so she tells him that he's with his brother. he is most days.

and cecil says well i am going to leave you to it. i -- can't go back there. lee was my friend too.

so nico swallows his pain and heads up to the local hospital. and the secretaries and nurses know will by NAME -- he may not have completed his residency but he has an MD, still. he was a prodigy, too, graduated early. he knows his shit and he knows his shit well, and while he isnt employed or anything he sure helps them a whole lot.

so nico follows their directions to lee's room and when he gets there will is --

well, will is balanced on lee's bed, tongue sticking out of his mouth, illegaly painting something on the wall. a sun, in the corner, by the looks of it. and dotted stars on the ceiling.

nico is like well i see where half the bills are coming from now. and will SHRIEKS and falls off the bed and nico catches him, barely, and smiles and says youre gonna get charged for vandalism, dumbass.

and will pulls away wide eyed and is like. nico. oh.

and it does not escape nico's notice that he puts himself between nico and his brother.

and boy does that feel like shit.

so nico sits down on the chair a fair distance from him and waits for will to sit too. and they lay there in silence for a significant chunk of time before nico is like, just straight up: im sorry. i made a mistake.

and will doesnt really look at him and is like i uh. i did technically funnel several thousand dollars from your company. you were not exactly in the wrong.

and nico shakes his head and hes like i mean more than that. i did not treat you well.

you dont treat anyone well.

no, you're -- different.

im different?

yes.

nico pauses, staring out the window.

i took advantage of you, i think.

and will doesnt really answer he just stares. and nico looks back at him finally and he has his hand brushing over lee's arm, absentmindedly, by habit pulling up his covers and brushing back his hair. he looks at nico the whole time.

and nico says i think you are a carer. most of all. you care for people. and you came to my company and i was in this dark space, that i have been in most of my life. i was used to it. and then you come in with your brightness and heat and i clung to you, even as i scorned you in the beginning, because you were the light after plato's cave, you know? it stung and i was sullen and hesitant but god for the first tme everything lit up.

and that just wasnt...thats not fair to you, i guess. i never thought about what you need. youre a person, not a bright thing. and im sorry for that.

and will goes well i was like. your hired assistant.

and he squirms and hes like and honestly you kind of helped me too.

and nico isnt quite ready to accept it. he says your friend tells me you were a doctor.

and will nods. almost.

a doctor, will. i didnt even know.

well, i dont talk about it.

will avoids his gaze and there is a beeping from lee's monitor, so he stands and fixes it with practice and ease. nico watches his shaking fingers still as they adjust his saline, like it is nothing.

i dont know -- how. my brother wont talk to me. lee is -- dead, functionally.

he chokes as he says it.

i relied on my brothers every day of my life and then i woke up one day and didnt recognise myself in the mirror and my two favorite people in the world were -- gone. i was adrift.

will shrugs.

i quit my program. i -- couldnt do it anyway, i guess, cant cut someone open with shaking hands. i just cried most days and struggled and the debt kept getting worse and i wanted to -- well. he doesnt say it but nico gets it, suddenly and horrifically -- will fiddles with the bandage always on his wrist and nico realizes what it hides, what will has tried to do.

i convinced myself i didnt have a purpose, nico. i was so sure of it. he looks to nico and his eyes are so dark in the setting sun. nico cant breathe.

but you gave me something, again. i mean, you were a piece of work and i went home and complained about you to anyone -- and i mean anyone -- who would listen --

he grins, and nico huffs a laugh, not doubting it --

-- but fuck, neeks. for the first time in too long i was me again. there was someone i could help. and -- well, not a bad someone either.

he looks down and there is a curl to his shoulders that is almost shy. nico stares at it, at the bob of his throat, and his mouth goes dry.

you're funny, even when youre being a jackass. and you care about people and you get things done and you arent bothered by my attitude.

i like it, nico admits, heart pounding. will looks at him and he flushes but pushes forward, still, forces the words out of his mouth. i like it when you push back at me. it makes me feel like a -- human, again. like someone who can be wrong instead of an untouchable entity.

will snorts. well i can most certainly promise you that you are wrong often.

nico quirks his lips. i know. i know. he breathes out, smile dropping. and i was hugely wrong, will, in casting you away. the foam of the arm rest creaks under his fingers. i -- want you back, if you want to come back.

will exhales, fingers tracing the swirls of lee's bedsheets. nico's heart sinks, and he knows what will is going to say before he says it.

i don't think i can work for you anymore, he confirms. he bites his lip. i -- it was a lot, nico.

nico nods, chest tight. i know. i totally under--

plus, there's something of a conflict of interest.

nico whips his head up. what?

will avoids his eyes, breathing quick and shallow, shoulders up to his ears. i'm. i think its frowned upon, when the PA wants to sleep with the boss. whole trope and everything.

nico feels his heart stutter. he meets will's guarded, careful eyes with his own wide ones, and stares, one minute, two, until the barely-there hope in will's eyes starts to fade, until he nods to himself.

i hope you'll still write me a reference letter, will jokes lightly. i mean, i dont see a lot of PAing in my future but --

im in love with you, nico blurts. marry me.

will freezes. uh.

i mean! i mean, fuck, im sorry, i -- nico is bright red and he feels it, and wills nervous little giggle makes it worse, fuck, what is he doing.

he exhales, long and slow. he balls his fists and lets go of the tension, like jason taught him. he meets will's eyes again, and this time his voice is steady.

not yet, he says firmly. don't marry me -- yet. but. he breathes out again. try, with me. he swallows. if you want to.

i want to, will says, softly.

we can get you back to med school, if you want. something other than surgery. people need doctors, will, you can always --

i want to.

-- any school you want, if you still need school -- do you still need school? -- ill pay for it, i can --

i want to.

-- i promise i am not hurting for money and thats what this whole organization is, isnt it, making the medical field more accessible, and --

nico.

nico freezes, gulping in a huge breath. will sets his brother's hand lovingly down and moves until he is crouching in front of nico's hyperventilating form, both hands gently squeezing his.

deep breaths, nico. follow me.

nico does, inhaling when he breathes in, huge and exaggerated, and exhaling when he breathes out. will keeps breathing with him until the shake in his chest steadies, until the bounce of his legs slows to something more normal.

ill marry you, nico, he says quietly. if you still want to marry me.

nico nods frantically. i do. gods, will, i do.

he places a hand on will's scarred cheek, and will leans into it, tired but soft, hesitant but believing.

i do.

long engagement, will says. he smiles wryly. it'll take you two years at least to make up for all the shit youve thrown at me.

nico laughs, drawing him in close. as long as you need, he promises. we'll do it your way, for this. we tend to, anyways. okay and they kiss etc etc

epilogue is as expected. they get married. will gets his residency in paediatrics and starts his own practice. he sees patients in low income high debt areas specifically and nicos company fights the shitball insurance policies for them. it takes time, but eventually they let lee pass. nico is there for the funeral, squeezing wills hand as he cries through his eulogy. michael lets his brother in, again, coming eventually to their company.

nicos new PA is an old largely-retired man who was once will's favourite prof. his work under nico is easy. his position is revered, and he has large shoes to fill.

the end.

some thoughts from my earliest stage of brainstorming before i hit my roll:

nico would be such a sullen asshole trying to scare will off like the rest of his PAs and wills stubborn ass is like well none of your other PAs were broke enough apparently because you could violate several subsequent labor laws in front of me and im not going anywhere. jackass. ill show you what it looks like to need MONEY

i think it would also b really funny if when will initially hears back from his application cecil and lou ellen are wide eyed going you cannot work for DI ANGELO. mafia man?????? will you are so mouthy you are going to end up dead and will is like bitch we cant eat im going to end up dead ANYWAY

but he is a little afraid of mafia man nico

that is what first breaks the tension. will mouths nico off and nico calls him into his office, sits him across his desk and just stares, silent and deadly. and after several minutes of squirming will snaps if youre going to get your mafia cronies to off me you should know my life insurance payout is fucking insane and that will be a hassle for you to handle

and

there will be no gentle parenting nico into manners here will brings a spray bottle 💀

"get me x and x's number now"

(spray)

"MOTHERFU" (through gritted teeth) "get me their number please"

(spray)

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME."

"treat me like a person"

"...sorry. can you please get me their number."

"yes, thank you for asking."

other employees are watching in awe and fear

jason personally buys him lunch for a week

[slutforwoo]

☆18. I still wanna jump him☆

previous|masterlist|next

☆ written part below!! ☆

were you most likely going to regret this? absolutely. you knew that the minute you responded to his text message. it’d been 2 weeks. 2 weeks since he found out, and you’ve been avoiding him like the plague.

has it been hard as fuck? yes. considering your friend groups mingled a bit. but you managed, you weren’t going to talk to him til he came to you. after all he told you to leave him alone. so you did.

you walk towards the lake, leaves and branches crunching under your footsteps as you get closer. finally you see a tall figure as you get closer to the lake. it’s yunho, with something in his hand? a box?

“yunho”you say as you finally reach where he was waiting, sitting on the bench that was just a couple of steps away.

“y/n.. thank you for um agreeing to talk”he stumbles over his words a bit, clearly nervous about this.

“well i’ve been waiting til you wanted to talk yunho”the sign leaves ur chest. “so. what are we here to talk about?” you ask. acting like you didn’t know exactly why you’re here. you just need to have him admit why you’re here.

“we need to talk about the other day..”he trailed off slightly “I shouldn’t have ran off and lied. I was just caught severely off guard. I didn’t know how to process it. I mean y/n i’ve seen you in a very intimate way. and I didn’t even know it was you. I talked to you.” he rambled. “I just. I was in a shock okay? I didn’t.”

“yunho. I understand but you didn’t even let me explain. you ran out on me, you told me to leave u alone. I wanted to explain. but reality being, I don’t need to yunho. you know exactly why I do this” you said looking up at the man standing in front of you. “I do this to pay my rent, help my parents, pay my tuition. you think I enjoy this?”and you locked eyes with him. “I mean sure I like doing the things I do but it was a last resort” you sigh

he didn’t see it that way. quite frankly when he found out, none of that had crossed his mind. he was just in shock and ignored you instead of talking to you.

“y/n look im sorry. and im sorry because I did tell san”he whispered that last part.

you’re eyes go wide as you fill with slight anger. “you told san?” the question leaves ur mouth as a whisper.

“I’m sorry.. I needed to have someone help and I couldn’t tell mingi or hongjoong because they watch you and well. I didn’t wanna tell jongho”the apology is rambled together. and this time, you turn to look at yunho and you look him in the eyes.

“I really should beat ur ass for telling him you know… but I won’t, because at least you didn’t tell the others.” and your eyes land on the box in his hands. “what’s that?”you ask

yunho takes a deep breath and with shaky hands he hands you it. “I just got you some weed and new rolling try and grinder as an i’m sorry” he says, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

you fight the smile, as you take the box and open it. and sure enough there’s a bag of weed, a black and red gorey rolling tray and matching grinder. he also added pink joint papers. “are u trying to buy my forgiveness?”you question, raising a brow.

“n-no I just”he began to stutter before you cut him off.

“yunho im kidding. I understand why you reacted the way you did. you didn’t know but to be fair it’s not like I knew you were watching my shit”

he lets out a sigh of relief, “I know and after san talked to me I kind of came to that realization. I really hope you can forgive how I acted y/n. I shouldn’t have and i’m sorry” his voice was slightly trembling.

just like that, any anger and frustration you had towards him melted away slightly. you genuinely just wanted him to apologize so you could talk again. especially considering you liked him. and this time you couldn’t deny it anymore.

“I forgive you yuyu. but pull some shit like that again and I will have my friends jump you and i’ll beat your ass myself you got that?”you spoke.

the anxiety washed away from yunho’s body as he let out a small laugh. “I got it don’t worry I don’t plan on doing something like that again” he smiled down at you.

god there it was, the smile that made you feel butterflies every time you were with him.

“just one question though” he said locking eyes with you. “who do you use for ur streams?” he ask with a genuine curiosity.

you freeze looking at him “um well. you can’t say anything okay? because eventually you and ur friend group will find out. but it’s seonghwa and wooyoung” you said trying to read his face as his jaw dropped

“no fucking way? that’s why you all hide your face-”he’s stunned he’s been watching ur friends fuck you this entire time. and he’s been getting off on it???

“didn’t expect that one honestly” he says

“they’ve been very helpful but, i’ve always told them they’re welcome to stop at anytime. like when seonghwa eventually tells hongjoong he likes him. he’ll be cut. and same for whenever wooyoung finds someone” you say taking some of the weed from the bag and putting it in the grinder to roll a joint.

yunho wasn’t shocked honestly, it made sense that they’re help you and thenw when they find someone it’s just immediately over. but how the hell did u never catch feelings?

“how have you not caught feelings for either of them? I mean you guys are like very intimate”

you laugh “you think I can pull seonghwa away from hongjoong? that man has been yearning for years for him. he’s gay yunho. wooyoung on the other hand he. just. yea no. not ever happening. I love him as my friend though” you say shrugging as you started to roll. “plus I like someone so it wasn’t gonna happen” you say.

oh you like someone. yunho felt his heart sink. he was too late there was no way he had a chance with you.

“oh you do?” he said trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. and it made you smile a bit. this man really was oblivious and clueless.

“I like you. yunho” you said, locking eyes with him.

what? there is no way he heard you right. you. like. him??? out of all the people who call at ur feet. you want him?

when you see him freeze you begin to regret what you just told him. and when he notices the words just blurt from his mouth.

“I like you too”

p☆rnst☆r tag list

@roxhanah @sunnysidesins @spenceatiny18 @kookieswithjung @kcharlyy @bloomyroses @jiminssluttyminx @fairy-jojo @oceanside-view97 @domfikeluva @mountquokka @frecklypotato @bambbiisworld

[reavesluv]

Between sessions

“You’ll come back. Stronger than ever.”

Paige torn her ACL during her junior year in Uconn. Rehab and therapy sessions were a must— You’ve been working in sports medicine for years, and you became her only hope.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You always knew what you wanted. You were empathetic, kind, caring. You were made to work with people, to help people. You loved medicine, and also, sports.

You grew up in a household full of athletes, but your family was cursed, or at least that’s what you used to say. Your mom played soccer in her youth, until she dislocated her knee. Your dad played basketball– almost NBA level, until a vertebral fracture. And your big brother also played basketball, until on his freshman year of college, he suffered a severe shoulder dislocation with nerve damage.

When you turned ten, and told everyone you wanted to play a sport, they said “You’ll never play a sport under this roof.”

You knew why, so you never fought them.

But, if you couldn’t play, then what were you gonna do?

And that’s when it found you. An anatomy book that your mom kept hidden for some reason in her little library.

You fell in love with it. And with everything it said.

You learned how the muscles work, how the brain functions. And you understood that’s what you had to do.

You were always the type of girl who lived inside books. Studying until midnight by choice, always getting A+ in every class.

While you studied, you learned how you could have treated your family’s injuries. But you never told them, scared that still affects them.

You applied for pre-med classes before graduating high school. Doctors helped you sneak into the gallery of the OR’s.

You loved healthcare, but you loved sports more— that was your actual dream.

You discovered sports medicine and applied to all the Ivy league programs in America, and also universities close to your home.

When you finished high school, it was time to make college decisions.

Yale, Berkeley, Harvard, Stanford, NYU, UCLA.

You were good. More than good.

You chose Berkeley, you were the best in your classes at just eighteen.

When you turned twenty-two you graduated and started doing rounds in hospitals. Easily found a job in private clinics.

You specialized in knee and shoulder dislocations and vertebral fractures— sounds familiar, right?

You entered the transfer portals, you loved California, but you needed to help players from other places.

You got transferred to Uconn. They needed a sports therapist for their men and women’s basketball team. You chose the women’s team and recommended other people for the male’s.

The women’s team was different. They were good, and they liked you.

You used to give them talks about the importance of taking care of your body. Always trying to have the best equipment to take care of them.

Some of them with chronic injuries, mostly ankles and wrists. Others with really recent dislocations or lactic acid buildups.

But you never really had to take care of a serious injury until—

Paige Bueckers. twenty-one. The star of the team.

You were there the moment her ACL torn. The way she felt to the ground grabbing her knee, tears coming out from her eyes, screams coming out of her mouth.

You ran to her, trying to calm her down while the rest of the team grabbed the emergency stretcher.

“You’re gonna be okay. I promise.” You told her.

She cried harder. Didn’t even look at you.

They took her to the therapy room and put her down.

You tried to grab her knee softly so you could diagnose her.

“Don’t touch me.” She cried out.

“You want me to help you or you want to die in pain? You answered.

She understood you just wanted to help her, and let her guard down.

“It hurts Y/N, it hurts.” She cried, she grabbed your arm that was closest to her.

“I know Paige, i know.”

Everything happened so fast. You gave her a pill to calm her down and inject her a pain killer directly to her knee. A scream of pain came out of her.

When she calmed down, you started to do your diagnosis, hoping it wasn’t as bad as it looked.

Her parents and some of her teammates were already in the room, waiting for your final say.

You took her parents outside. “She torn her ACL.”

Her mom cried.

Drew looked at his dad in confusion. “What’s that?” He asked.

“It means she’s out for the rest of the season.” His dad finished.

“She’s not strong enough to hear it right now. She hopes that is just a minor dislocation.” You told him.

“She knows a minor dislocation doesn’t hurt like that. She knows.” He answered.

You looked down. You were so empathetic sometimes it was embarrassing.

You both entered the room. Paige still laying on the bed, waiting for you.

She looked at you and her eyes shined. She was definitely not the nonchalant final boss she used to say she was.

“Hey Paige, how are you feeling?” You asked.

You helped her sit on the bed so she could speak more comfortably. Then looked at you.

“Really bad.” You could sense how she wanted to cry again, you could sense the pain in her voice. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Paige—” You took a deep breath. “You torn your ACL.”

Her eyes widened and tears came out almost immediately from her eyes.

Her dad hugged her. Drew hugging her other leg softly.

“You’re out for the rest of the season.” You finished.

She cried so hard you never heard someone cry that much before.

She wiped her tears and looked at you. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish.”

She tried to compose herself. And looked at you again.

“Is as much rehab as i think i have to get?” She asked softly.

“I think even more.” You answered the same way. She lowered her head, like she was grieving someone. “I’ll take care of you, Bueckers.”

She looked at you. “You’ll come back stronger, i’ll make sure of that.” You finish.

“Thank you.” She said, before crying again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[vettelsvee]

NOT LETTING YOU GO | Sebastian Vettel

⋆ PAIRING: Primary School Teacher!Sebastian Vettel x Primary School Teacher Girlfriend!Reader ↳ Teacher AU ⋆ Part of CLASSROOM GOSSIPS ⋆ SUMMARY: You had a parent-teacher meeting and you end up overthinking if you're good enough to be a teacher. Lucky you, Seb is there to help you calming down ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2870 ⋆ WARNING: Angst, curse words, descriptions of an anxiety attack, mentions of sex ⋆ TAGLIST: @koalapastries @blushmimi @herdetectivetheorist ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: First ever Teacher!Seb fic being an actual teacher + this is coming from something I've experienced today and I had to write it to, somehow, calm myself down ☺️ Hope you like it and, if so, remember you can comment, reblog and tell me your thoughts! Also... just 26 to go to 2k! ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

You were grateful, finally, for the silence, broken only by the occasional distant footsteps and the soft sounds of other teachers moving through the halls, likely in the same position as you.

You stood, waiting for the arrival of one of your favorite students’ mothers, Eloise’s. You picked up the eight-year-old's folder and flipped through the most recent notes you’d compiled about her over the past week. Not that you needed them: if there was one thing that defined you as a teacher, it was how deeply you knew your students, as if they were truly your own children.

At least, that’s what Seb always said whenever he had the chance, especially when he saw how anxious you got before a parent-teacher meeting, like it was happening now.

You weren’t as nervous as you had been in your first meetings, but the knot in your stomach was still there. Tight, alert, unrelenting.

You jumped slightly when you heard a knock at the door. Instinctively, you sat down at your desk, tidying things up (if that was even possible), inhaling deeply as you tried to brace yourself for whatever was about to unfold.

“Come in!”

The door opened. Eloise’s mother entered. Tall, impeccably dressed, with a sharp gaze that cut straight through the air. Her expression was cold, her mouth barely hinting at a smile. She didn’t return your greeting, simply walked confidently to the chair across from you, sat down, and scanned you from head to toe. Judging… not just because you were her daughter’s teacher, but maybe also because you looked far too young for what she considered a “real” educator.

“Miss,” she said curtly.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Dunham. Thank you for coming,” you replied, doing your best to keep your nerves in check.

You extended your hand, only for her to blatantly ignore it, turning her face away.

You sighed quietly, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’d had a bad day. Instead, you gestured toward the bottles of water to her right and the progress report you’d put together for Eloise, lying beside her.

A sticky note on the front read: Kind. Artistic. Brave. Words that described what made Eloise truly special. Qualities you hoped her mother would recognize long before even looking at her grades (which, by the way, were perfect).

Mrs. Dunham barely glanced at the report before tossing it back onto the desk with clear disdain. She crossed her arms and, at last, looked you directly in the eyes.

“I don’t want the sugar-coated version. I want the truth. What exactly is happening in your classroom that’s making my daughter cry herself to sleep every night? Why is she begging me not to bring her to school?”

You couldn’t see your own face, but you felt it drain of all color.

Words failed you. You stammered, caught off guard by the accusation.

“I… I’m so sorry to hear that Eloise is upset,” you said, choosing your words carefully, still trying to process what she was saying. “Eloise is an exceptional student. She’s a—”

“Invisible. That’s what she is to you.”

You froze.

“That’s what she told me, you know?” the mother continued, voice sharp. “She says she raises her hand and you ignore her. She finishes her work and gets no praise, nothing like what you give the other children. She spends all day watching louder classmates get your attention for misbehaving, while she, who works hard and follows every rule, never feels good enough for you. Is that it?”

“With all due respect, I—”

“No,” she cut in. “I trusted this school to see the potential my daughter has. And I believe it does. But you? You’re just some fresh graduate playing pretend at being a teacher. I’ve heard that Mr. Vettel, your partner if I believe correctly, is one of the best additions this school has ever made. Nothing like you.”

Those words hit you like a slap. Of course you knew Seb, your boyfriend, was an incredible teacher. You were endlessly proud of him. But hearing him praised like that, while your own efforts went unseen, unnoticed… it broke something inside you.

You tried to find something to say… anything honest, kind, something that captured how much you cared about Eloise, how much thought you put into her growth, but your throat was tight, your heartbeat pounding, and whatever calm you’d managed to hold onto had completely vanished.

“I truly do everything I can—”

“If you’re not getting results, maybe this just isn’t the right job for you.”

That was the final blow. Your anxiety, until now held barely in check, surged.

“Do you realize the impact you have on a child that age?” she continued. “Say one wrong thing, ignore her even once… it leaves a mark. I expected professionalism. You’re the teacher, not just another kid on the playground.”

You sat perfectly still. Lips pressed together, holding back the flood rising in your chest.

“Thank you for your honesty,” you said softly. “I’ll reflect on what you’ve shared.”

She didn’t say a word in response. No thank you. No goodbye. Just turned on her heel and left, the click of her heels fading down the hall until the classroom door slammed shut behind her with a jolt that made you flinch again.

And then, silence. Heavier than before.

You didn’t move.

Your thoughts spiraled. You replayed her words over and over, questioning everything. Wondering if maybe… she was right. Maybe teaching wasn’t for you. Maybe all your effort, all your heart… it wasn’t enough.

Tears welled up in your eyes. Your breathing turned shallow. It felt like you were moments from collapsing face-down on the desk, overwhelmed, broken.

“Hey, love. Are you in here?”

You hadn’t even heard the door open again, this time gently.

You straightened up in a rush, scrambling to pull yourself together. You turned your head slowly toward the door.

Sebastian was there. Smiling.

But the smile vanished the instant he saw your face.

"Love?"

You tried to answer, but your voice refused to come out. Instead, only a gasp escaped. Your shoulders tightened, and once again, the air seemed to vanish from your lungs. You were left relying on shallow, rapid breaths just to stay upright. Your hands clutched the edge of the desk, as if holding on could somehow make it all go away.

Seb rushed to your side, crouching down so he could meet your eyes. He wrapped one arm carefully around you, gently brushing your hair out of your face with the other.

The words you wanted to say never came. Tears took their place. You were hyperventilating even more now. Your chest rose and fell far too fast, and it wasn’t just your hands that were trembling —it was your whole body.

“It’s okay, love. Deep breaths. Hold my hand or do whatever you need, but just focus on breathing,” Seb said in that calming voice of his, the one that never wavered. “In through your nose... Come on, sweetheart. You're safe, you’re with me. I’m right here, and you’re okay. I’m not going anywhere… so right now, just breathe with me…”

You met his eyes, those ocean-blue eyes that always grounded you. They were steady, kind, reassuring. Everything you needed, even when your mind tried to convince you otherwise.

“There you go, love. One more breath…”

Your body finally began to unwind. Your breathing slowed, deepened.

You quickly wiped your cheeks and sat up a little straighter, embarrassment washing over you.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… God, I hate that I let that woman’s words get in my head like this…”

“It’s okay that they did. Really,” Seb said gently. “It doesn’t make you weak—it just means you care about your students.”

He pulled you into a hug, the kind of hug you could live in if you had the choice. You buried your face in his chest, soaking in the safety that this German man, who you’d been with for nearly four years, always seemed to bring.

“You’re one of the best teachers I’ve ever known,” Sebastian said, still holding you tightly. “I see the way the kids swarm you during recess, and how you never hesitate to kneel down to their level and talk about whatever wild thing they’re excited about just to keep them smiling. No matter what’s swirling in that head of yours,” he added, tapping it lightly before pressing a soft kiss there, “how you treat your students won’t suddenly vanish just because one parent had a bad day and took it out on you.”

“What if she’s right, though?” you whispered.

Seb sighed, letting out a small laugh.

“Love, Eloise is acting out because her baby brother was born, what, six months ago? Don’t you remember how you visited her mom, the same woman who just tore into you, at the hospital just because Eloise asked you to?” he reminded you, and you silently cursed yourself for forgetting. “It’s classic dethroned child syndrome. You have nothing to worry about.”

You sniffled, and despite yourself, a tiny smile tugged at your lips.

“Still… she called me unprofessional. Said you were a much better teacher and that I was nothing like you…”

“Oh, please, babe. I’m a mess, and you stay up past midnight color-coding lesson plans with glitter pens.”

“Seb, that’s not that unusual…”

“You pack extra snacks every single day” he emphasized each word “just in case one of the kids forgets their lunch. If that’s unprofessional, then I don’t ever want either of us to be professional.”

This time, your laugh burst out freely, echoing around the classroom.

Finally, Seb knew you were okay again, that he’d done what he came to do: stop one opinion from someone who didn’t understand your work, your classroom, or your devotion from tearing you down.

Seb stood up, gently taking your wrist and leading you toward your favorite corner of the classroom: the reading nook. It was filled with shelves of books you’d bought with your own money, some even from your parents’ house, and a few beanbags scattered around.

He sat down on one of them, tugging you down onto his lap.

“I mean it, love. You’re magical,” he said softly. He’d told you things like this before, but somehow they always made your cheeks go warm. “You’re the kind of teacher who makes kids believe in themselves. Sure, you teach German and math and all those boring things—but you also teach kindness, just by being you.”

“We should all be like that, Seb. You are too… you know that, right?” you reminded him. His students adored him, and now that they were about to head off to secondary school, they made that clear every chance they got.

“Well, that mother doesn’t know the full picture, but I do. And I’m telling you the truth: you’re changing lives. I hope you know that.”

You leaned in, pressing a brief but intense kiss to his lips. It caught him off guard, but he responded immediately, pulling you in closer by the waist.

Afterward, you let your eyes wander around the room. It was filled with crafts and chalk-drawn smiles on the walls. And there, despite the spelling mistakes, a massive chalkboard message surrounded by wobbly hearts read: “You’re the best teacher in the world, Miss!”

“Thanks for reminding me who I am,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“I always will, sweetheart.”

You nestled against his shoulder again, as his lips pressed into your hair and his fingers traced gentle, invisible patterns all over your body.

"Hey..."

"Hmmm?"

Seb propped himself up slightly, and you did the same. Now, you were sitting with your legs loosely wrapped around his waist, facing him directly.

"Do you know how I could make you happy right now?"

"Eating me out while fingering me?"

Seb shook his head, chuckling softly.

"God, babe, stop thinking with your hormones!" he said dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Today’s been long and rough, and sure, I’ll help you unwind when we get home. But right now, under Article 4 of the Master Recovery Act… I am legally required to take you somewhere sacred."

"Seb, I’m not in the mood for guessing games. I'm exhausted, I just want to go home and—"

"You don't want to go somewhere overflowing with carbs, cheese, and generous pours of wine?"

Your face lit up instantly. You jumped to your feet, bouncing with excitement like you always did when Seb had a surprise planned or a spontaneous date night.

He couldn’t help but grin at your reaction, standing up and quickly gathering your things. In no time, he was heading for the door, eager to leave.

"Mario’s? Seriously?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer, jogging to catch up and practically dragging him out of the classroom.

"Of course, love. Tonight, you deserve to be pampered. And trust me, the pizza buffet I have in mind, plus the leftovers we’ll take home for you to eat cold for breakfast is just the beginning."

On the walk from the school to your car and then during the drive to the restaurant, you talked about everything except what had happened earlier. Seb told you about a surprise he was planning for his students for the end of term, and you couldn’t resist offering suggestions, along with ideas for how to teach your own little ones their next German lessons, which were proving to be a real struggle.

You also daydreamed about your upcoming vacation plans beyond Heppenheim, and whether you’d finally saved enough to buy that mini van you both wanted for your grand European road trips.

A few minutes later, Seb was parking in front of the restaurant. He quickly got out, rushing to open your door and offer his hand. You didn’t need help getting out, but he knew how much those little gestures meant to you, especially after a day like today.

He took your hand, and as he opened the door and let you in first, the familiar aroma of tomato sauce, melted mozzarella, and fresh oregano washed over you like a warm hug. It felt, as always, like home.

Behind the counter, Johanna, the waitress who knew you both so well, lit up when she saw you.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite couple! Table 5, right?"

You and Seb exchanged bashful smiles and gave her a quiet "yes" as she led you, like she always did, to your usual spot.

As always, Seb took the seat with his back to the window, leaving you facing him, right beside the old jukebox that hadn’t worked in years. You noticed a small new doodle just beside where your initials and Seb’s were scratched into the wood.

You couldn’t help but smile as you traced the worn letters with your fingertips, thinking back on every date Seb had brought you here and, if you were being honest, even imagining bringing your future kids here someday if things kept going the way they were.

"Do you remember when you asked me to be your girlfriend right here?" you asked softly, locking eyes with him.

"Of course. I was sweating so much I tore the paper menu they gave us."

"I think you already know this, but that just made me fall even harder for you. You were so adorable."

Your food arrived almost instantly. Johanna knew your order so well you didn’t even have to ask. Two pizzas, one Margherita, one Carbonara, arrived with two Coke bottles packed with ice. No surprises there.

You ate slowly, lingering in your conversation from the car, which eventually turned to the mess with Eloise’s mother at the tutoring session earlier. You finally let yourself vent, opening up about your fears, your doubt about being good enough, or whether you really had what it took for a job like yours.

Seb listened intently, and when he responded, he did it with the same honesty. No one else could understand what you were going through quite like him.

Because yes, Sebastian Vettel also had moments of doubt, struggling with imposter syndrome as a teacher. And yes, you were always there for him when it was his turn to fall apart.

"You’re allowed to have horrible days, love," he said gently. "But you need to get it through that stubborn little head of yours, and I say this as someone who knows you better than you think, none of what happened today changes how I see you. Not as my girlfriend, not as a teacher. And it definitely doesn’t change how the kids see you."

Your eyes welled up again. This time, though, the tears weren’t from exhaustion or frustration, but from gratitude. From happiness. From the overwhelming luck of having someone like Sebastian in your life.

"I’m so lucky to have you," you whispered. "I wish every girl could have their own Sebastian Vettel."

"Well, I’m the lucky one, trust me," he said, reaching for your hand across the table. "I’m very lucky you said yes at this very table even if I was sweating as fuck and got your hands all clammy."

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Heyyy omg I just wanted to say I absolutely loved your Lewis Pullman fic and I was wondering if you’re taking requests? If not it’s totally fine feel free to just ignore this! But if you are I was wondering is you could write a little something similar to the recent Lewis Pullman fic but instead yn is like on a talk show (or smth like that) with Lewis and they’re like engaged or smth and the host suddenly pulls up like a video from yn’s childhood where she’s crying because she has like a major cute like childish crush on Lewis’s dad and the video is just yn’s parents trying to comfort her saying stuff like “oh but he’s got a boy your age(referring to Lewis)” and yn’s just not having it? Sorry this has been on my mind like the whole day I hope you understand where I’m coming from 😭😭 (ALSO BTW YN IS ALSO A CELEBRITY LIKE A SINGER OR SMTH) tysmmm 💕💕

thank youuuu & sorry this took so long!

INT. LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW SET – NIGHT

The audience is already laughing. The host leans forward, grinning devilishly at the ENGAGED couple sitting on the couch: Y/N, a radiant actress, and LEWIS PULLMAN, charming and just a little nervous. They’re mid-interview, talking about how they met when…

HOST Okay, okay—we’ve been gushing over the engagement, the movie, your matching tattoos— (audience laughs) —but Y/N, I heard from a little birdie…this crush on a certain actor ran in the family?

Y/N (immediately suspicious) Oh no. What did my mother do?

HOST (turns dramatically to the screen) Roll the clip!

A grainy home video starts playing on the monitor. The audience “AWWs.”

YOUNG Y/N (on tape) (sobbing hysterically in a princess dress) He DIED in the spaceship! He was the bravest daddy ever and now I’ll never marry him!!

In the video, JOSH BROLIN is crouched beside her, holding back a smile.

JOSH BROLIN (on tape) C’mon, sweetie…he's a movie star. He’s not really gone. Besides—he’s got a son your age. Maybe you’ll like him?

YOUNG Y/N (sobbing harder) I don’t want his son! I want HIM!!

The audience bursts into laughter. The clip cuts. Y/N hides her face in Lewis’s shoulder, mortified. He’s grinning ear to ear.

LEWIS Wow. Rejected before we even met.

Y/N (muffled) This is so evil. You guys are evil.

HOST Be honest, Lewis—was it weird when you found out your fiancée used to be in love with your dad?

LEWIS I mean, a little. But honestly? If that childhood trauma helped steer her into my arms, I owe my dad a thank you text.

Y/N (laughing, lifting her head) I’m gonna need therapy and a restraining order against my mother.

LEWIS (grinning at her) Worth it though, right?

Y/N (sighs) I mean… you are the cuter Pullman now.

The audience goes wild.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi, an another prompt, because I love your writing. I understand it takes time to fill.

Prompt for stronger ties: Magus and Alec enjoying their honeymoon and maybe meeting Ragnor and Cat. Or The Institute, and Alec’s family panicking over his disappearance.

SFW/ NSFW

thank you for the understanding <3 and I appreciate the prompts! last part here

this was supposed to involve Cat and Ragnor but Malec are having too good a time on their honeymoon currently and Alec has decided that since Izzy and Jace are at least safe, they can handle the fallout along with all the people who have more authority than him (aka Lydia/Imogen/maryse etc).

Alec's tired, okay? Nothing has been going his way AT ALL, his whole family got implicated in treason (again) and then actually committed several flavors of treason and also implicated Alec. so Alec is tired. maybe he'd be less 'fuck them' if he'd been there to see Jace and Clary 'heroically try to save the day' except they didn't save the day and he knows that.

Suddenly one thing goes his way. he saves his sister. he might lose the institute but that's better than losing himself to a marriage that isn't doing anything to help his family when push comes to shove. Alec has a marriage now that actually gave him something worthwhile (Izzy not being deruned when Lydia couldn't do anything)

alec's like: this one thing? this is mine now. goodbye and ty for coming to my talk.

i hope you enjoy <3

-lumine

the stronger of claims

Alec wakes to silk sheets as soft and luxurious as he’s imagined Magnus’ many shirts are. Golden light dapples across his body and he groans, despite his muscles being fine he feels as if he’s been thrown through several layers of concrete by a demon.

The bed smells like Magnus.

That’s the only thing keeping him calm and then there’s a deep chuckle against his back and Alec realizes there’s an arm around his waist and cool rings pressed against the skin of his belly.

“We go' marri'd.” Alec means to be articulate but it comes out in a hoarse slurry of words and Magnus laughs again, louder this time.  His warm muscles shake Alec’s body with his humor and Alec presses back into his warmth greedily.

Whatever it is that has Alec unable to think straight, being closer to Magnus helps.

“We aren’t married darling, we’re bonded. Which is something far more permanent than marriage. In fact, even by Clave standards a bond like ours is higher than marriage. So give your pretty head a break, your attachment to Lydia is no longer viable.”

The small pulse of sadness that went through Alec at the thought that they aren’t actually married is swept away by relief at Magnus’ words.

“Good.”

That’s about all he’s able to say really and if he had more energy, Alec would turn so he can burrow his nose into Magnus’ chest.  Instead he just wiggles back, content when Magnus chin slots against his shoulder, stubble tickling Alec’s skin.

“Izzy?”

Magnus wouldn’t be here, calm and with the magic between them settled if she weren't okay but still, Alec has to ask.

—-

“Safe and sound though demoted for the next year and with a few other restrictions, shadowhunter business. Once I knew she was safe I didn’t pay quite as much attention I fear.”

A lie, but Alexander is too tired to listen beyond the relief of knowing his little sister is safe.

Alexander falls back asleep before Magnus can ask him anything important and while he’s already moved the loft, that doesn’t mean Magnus needs to be obvious about where they are and staying in Brooklyn is obvious.

Within half an hour Magnus is booked at one of the most private and luxurious selkie run resorts and is portaling both himself and Alexander to one of their private bungalows. The one half of a wardstone he’s been given is the only reason the coordinates even work, or they’d have to take a boat. 

After all, they can be tracked on land but on the water, they’ll be untraceable.

Instead it’s out on the ocean, magical stilts holding up water worn wood and crystal and ocean mined rock that create a paradise of beauty without interruption.  

Mundanes can’t sail through this area, it doesn’t exist to them and the wind wards will redirect their boats and bodies, no matter what.

It also means they’ll be completely impossible to track, which will be necessary once Alexander’s family remembers he exists and is missing.

Honestly, the fact that over twenty-four hours have passed since Alexander first came to him and yet Magnus has yet to receive so much as a text or fire message.  That kind of behavior says more than enough about his boy’s family.

They’ll need to make a stop at the Labyrinth after their honeymoon. Alexander’s new status will need to be documented and recorded and the vows he’ll need to swear as Magnus’ consort will need to happen as soon as possible.

But still, after this.

Alexander wakes to sunshine, cradled by both Magnus arms and the hammock he magicked them both into.  

There’s awe on his face as he looks around and almost knocks them both out of the hammock and into the water with a laugh as he sits up.

“Keep it up and I’ll let you fall in the water.” Magnus threatens and Alexander just grins cheekily at him, as if the pain of the new bond has finally faded and then his boy tips himself out of the hammock.

Magnus curses.

Not from the seawater splashing him, but from the fact that Alexander doesn’t immediately surface.  There’s a moment where concern and terror grip him, and then Alexander is surfacing further away, a look of delight on his face and he’s holding... Magnus deliberately drops his glamour to get a better look.

“Why are you holding a fish, Alexander?”

Alexander grins at him, hair slick and half in his eyes as he treads water.

“To eat? It seems pretty isolated out here. Aren’t you hungry?” While Magnus could eat again — he’s made sure to eat while Alexander slept — it’s not surprising that his boy is ravenous. What is surprising is that he caught a fish rather than just asking for something.

“Yes darling, but that’s what I have magic for.” 

Alexander looks dubious as he swims closer, somehow holding onto the slick fish with only one hand before pulling himself and the fish up onto the dock where he drops it pointedly in an empty bucket. Magnus resigns himself to losing this argument even before it's begun.

“But fresh fish tastes the best.” Alexander has his arms crossed and is pointedly staring Magnus down as Magnus tries to avoid looking at both Alexander and the suffocating fish he can hear flailing around the bucket .

“I can summon us the freshest of—” Alexander’s eyes darken with sadness and Magnus sighs and deliberately doesn’t pinch his nose. “Do you know how to dress and cook fresh fish?”

Alexander does it seems.  

He’s a little unsure and lacking in confidence once they get into the kitchen but it seems he knows how to clean and dress a fish.  Magnus even summons an apron for him, some dark purple piece he’d once gotten for Cat and Alexander just asks Magnus to help him tie it.

The real hiccup starts when Alexander summons a small blade to his palm, the knife glowing and bright as it unfurls.

“If I use an adamas blade to clean the fish, will you be allergic?” 

It’s such an absurd thing to consider but also an absurdly thoughtful check-in and Magnus has to kiss Alexander. Ignoring both the still wriggling fish and the small glowing blade his consort is holding. Magnus is also trying not to mention how there is an entire knife-block and drawer full of sharpened knives already in the kitchen that Alexander could use instead.

“I’ll be fine darling. Also I’m summoning bread and side dishes. We are not eating just fish, Alexander. There is a limit to my tolerance.”

There’s a huff of protest but when Magnus looks at him, Alexander is grinning down at the fish he’s cleaning, eyes soft and cheeks vibrant with delight.

It’s a look Magnus has never seen on Alexander before and while that shouldn’t be too much of a surprise — they barely know each other all things considered, it means something. Magnus doubts that this is a normal or frequent expression on Alexander's face and yet something as simple as this, teasingly arguing about dinner is enough to bring it out.

They eat on the dock.

So far Alexander hasn’t asked a single question about why Magnus portaled them somewhere else and seems to be ignoring everything else beyond enjoying himself.

Magnus summons a thick blanket and they sit in nothing but boxers with their feet in the water as they eat.  The fish is delicious. Flaky and succulent and with plenty of lemon and from Alexander’s smug face, he knows exactly how good it is.

However, Alexander’s face when he bites into the bread Magnus summoned is just as delighted and before Magnus can tease him, Alexander’s already recanted his previous statement.

“So from now on, I’ll fish and you summon everything else?” Alexander asks, almost eager as he eyes the now empty basket of bread and Magnus summons another, just because he can.

And of course for the way Alexander smiles at him, crumbs catching on his growing stubble until Magnus wipes them away.

“I’d rather not eat fish every meal, Alexander. The selkies running this place might consider your efforts an effective show and try to woo you away from me.”

Alexander scoffs at the thought and Magnus laughs, because while he’s not completely joking he also simply has no wish to eat seafood for every single meal.

Besides, he plans to keep them there for at least five days. That might be a bit long considering whatever crisis the shadowworld is currently going through, however Magnus kicked up a bit of a hornets nest for the Clave.

It will be days before Imogen Herondale thinks of anything besides her newly ground grandson, something Magnus will still need to explain to Alexander at some point.

AN:

Alec: i'm with Magnus and we're on water so we can't be tracked. I know nothing. i'm living my best life... oh fish. Magnus might like fish too.

Magnus: ... look I understand that fresh fish is best but that doesn't mean I want Alexander fishing with his bare hands when his hands could instead be on me?? is this hard to understand? I can summon fish still alive so they're the freshest of fresh but I want my consort's hands all to myself. this is not complicated.

Alec *wakes up in paradise aka Magnus' arms and in a really nice place*: so this is new- nice. I meant nice. this is totally normal and where I went to sleep. carry on.

Magnus: ... you don't want to know where we are? or how long we'll be here? or even why we are here?"

Alec: if I ask questions then you'll give me answers and right now, I just want to exist with you. reality doesn't exist outside us right now. that's my stance.

Alec: I don't have to marry lydia? I don't have to wear her rune? or kiss her? or make medically induced babies I don't want with her? I am on vacation and I don't care if the institute explodes or implodes or whatever. it goes to hell whether i'm there or not and literally everything is above my pay grade right now. that's what my mother, Lydia and imogen exist for. they can deal with it.

Magnus: darling, don't you need to return to the Institute at some point? i'm not complaining, you just haven't mentioned it once

Alec who is sharpening a wooden spear to use for fishing looking up, eyes glinting violently: what institute, Magnus?

Magnus: your... ah. well I suppose it's not really your institute anymore, is it?

Alec: no. no it isn't. therefore, are the problems mine?

Magnus wisely shaking his head: no darling, of course not.

Alec: when they want me back, they can contact me. I currently don't hold an active rank in the Institute. I'm technically just an off-duty Commander sometimes pulled onto teams. and while Lydia's been relying on me to run things behind the scenes, she can just do them herself or delegate. this is our honeymoon, isn't it? why are you trying to cut it short?

Magnus: you're completely right. forget the institute. I shan't bring it up again, now darling did you say you saw oysters?

*honestly i'm still not sure what path Alec's going to take in this verse. he's kind of at the point where he's not sure either

[mmochammoss]

Could you do mha boys with a buff s/o??

This is too cute lol. I did these in HC style so I hope that’s ok🙏🏾🥹

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Izuku Midoriya

He’s not so secretly, secretly obsessed with you. Keeps a journal just for you and your training. Says it’s for his own training to cross-reference, but everyone knows that little freak is lying. Loves talking about you the most. He knows it’s weird to comment on your body so he tries to hold back but sometimes he just can’t help himself. Even if you're not proud of it, trust that he is. Can and will gush about your shoulder-to-waist ratio during casual conversation with anyone who asks (or doesn’t ask).

He immediately wants to know your workout routine, macros, reps, and gym playlist. Suggests “partner training” under the guise of bonding but really just wants to watch you lift. Don't worry; he wants to spend quality time with you, too, but if that quality time can be you spotting him or guiding him through a set…….yeah…..

Definitely loves your arms the most. Gets so flushed when you wear sleeveless anything. Can’t stop staring at your arms. His face gets redder the more skin you show, but he refuses to look away.

Despite your strength and physique he still wants to protect you, but also knows you could probably throw a villain through a wall no problem. Gets flustered whenever people point it out.

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Katsuki Bakugou

Absolutely loves it. Would never admit it but he does. He’s so down bad. Stares openly when you stretch or flex. Will fight anyone who makes comments, but also makes those same comments himself. It’s different though, only he’s allowed to talk about you like that.

You’re his spotter and he's yours. No exceptions. Don't even think about working out with anyone else he’ll legitimately throw a fit.

Thinks your abs are the hottest thing in the world. He absolutely hates it when you wear anything that shows them off. He tries to overcompensate by being shirtless as much as humanly possible to counteract your effect on him but it really just makes it worse.

Loves that your so strong but he needs you to think he’s strong too. Is always jumping in front of you at the first sign of danger. Never lets you open doors or jars just so he can casually prove that you need him even if you can get by on your own.

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Shouto Todoroki

Quietly admires you like you’re fine art. Traces your muscles absentmindedly when cuddling. Probably asked if he could take photos of your back “for reference,” but just stares at the pictures any time he remembers he has them.

He really tried hard not to outwardly react to the things you wear, he doesn’t want to come off as weird or a creep, but if you wear a tank top around him, he goes totally still and forgets how to breathe. Don’t let it be tight either….

The king of casual compliments. Will call you strong easily 5 times a day. “You’re very powerful.” Insert 10 seconds of intense eye contact. “I like that.” It’s both a compliment and a personal confession.

Started lifting and weight training so much more after you both got together. Says it’s because you're his inspiration but it’s really because he doesn’t want his big sexy s/o in the gym by themselves so other people can hit on them.

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Tenya Iida

Feels kinda bad that he finds your strength so sexy. Every time you lift something heavy without effort his brain gets all fuzzy. Feels like he’s almost objectifying you, so he’ll try and clear his conscience by showering you with compliments. “That was… an admirable display of strength! Very commendable!!”

Praises your physical form with dramatic sincerity but tries to frame the compliments around how hard you work rather than how you look. “Your dedication to physical wellness is exemplary!”

Loves loves loves your legs. Tries to be so subtle about it but anytime you flash a little leg at him he’s getting hot under the collar.

Don’t get it confused though, he’s still going to be your knight in shining armor. You could literally bench-press him, and he’d still instinctively stand in front of you when danger arises. “A hero must shield their loved ones, no matter their physical capacity!”

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Eijiro Kirishima

Literally obsessed with you. Never shuts up about how cool and manly you are. Posts your gym selfies with captions like “LOOK AT THIS POWERHOUSE!!” followed by 10 bicep emojis.

Always wants to play wrestle just so you can overpower him. It’s so hot to him. Gets giddy when you pin him. “Babe, do it again. Slam me. Please.”

Is so touchy-feely with you. Will happily rest his head on your chest in public. Wraps his arm around your waist and tells people, “They could literally crush me in a hug. Isn’t that awesome?”

Loves working out with you. His dream day consists of you both waking up early, hitting the gym, protein shakes, flexing at each other, and ending the day cuddled up after a workout. He’s so whipped it’s not even funny.

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Hitoshi Shinsou

Was shocked but definitely not mad the first time he found out you were jacked, he blinked slowly, nodded his head, and went, “…Nice.” He’s chill about it, most of the time.

He won’t admit it, but he loves being manhandled by you. Pick him up, move him out of your way, put him in your lap. He’s yours. Melts. Absolutely losing it on the inside.

Loves teasing and flirting with you while commenting on your physique. “Wow, those arms could kill a man. Good thing I’m into that.” Tries to come off as smooth and suave but it just makes him sound like such a little freak.

Is extremely possessive and jealous at times. If another muscular person flirts with you, his arms are immediately around your waist, pulling you close to him. Will actually crash out if he loses his Herculean baddie to some meathead.

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Requests are open!! <3