#sorry to keep going on about it I guess...

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (4) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neigbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You and Michael are catching up on home duties, tackling laundry and now grocery shopping. As you joke around in the aisles, having fun together, you’re suddenly interrupted by someone Michael knows. The encounter leaves Michael quickly defending himself, insisting that he doesn't have feelings for you, while you start to wonder if your playful behavior gave the wrong impression.

Word Count: 2880

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s)

Authors Note: Hello! This is prob gonna be my last post for now just because these last two weeks of May I am absolutely SLAMMED. Hanging on by a thread at my job, but I got 10 days left. I’m ready for summer. I’ll be back sometime beginning of June. Very sorry. Again thank you for all the love!!! This is gonna have to hold y’all over for a minute. - ryn

“Guess you had the same idea as I did,” you chuckle as you stand in the doorway of the laundry room.

Michael looks over his shoulder as he tosses his scrubs into the drum of the washing machine.

“Hey,” he smiles.

With your basket on your hip and holding it with one hand, you move towards the washing machine next to him.

“You’ve been neglecting home duties too?” you ask, popping open the washer and tossing in your clothes.

Michael lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Is it that obvious? I’ve been running on empty lately—just trying to keep up.”

He measures out the detergent, pours it in, shuts the lid, and turns the knobs with a practiced motion before starting his load.

“I have a mountain of stuff to do…I have to go grocery shopping,” you say, rubbing your forehead as if just remembering.

You toss in a couple of detergent pods and close the washer with a quiet thud and start the machine. 

“So do I,” Michael replies, leaning his back against the washer. “My fridge is completely empty”

There’s a small pause. The hum of the machines fills the space. You glance sideways at him, then back at your basket.

“We could go together…after our laundry's done?” 

” you offer, your voice gentle, almost careful.

You’d found excuses to spend time with Michael—more than just him stepping in to help. Taking you to dinner when Aiden flaked, fixing your jammed window, carrying that heavy shelf box up to your apartment and assembling it. As much as you appreciated all of it, something had shifted.

Your friendship with Michael was growing into something solid, something you looked forward to. You found yourself craving his company, wanting to be around him more than you ever expected.

It wasn’t because you needed something. It was because being with him felt easy, calm, and real.

You wanted more than just passing chats in the lobby or quick moments in the elevator. You wanted time together that didn’t need a reason.

So when you suggested grocery shopping, it wasn’t about the errands—it was about spending time with him. Just being.

He looks over at you, the smile returning—this time slower, warmer. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

—

You and Michael walked into the city’s grocery store, reusable bags in hand. The automatic doors whooshed open, letting in the familiar scent of produce and deli meats. Michael grabbed a cart, glancing over at you with a small smile.

“Alright,” he said, rolling up his sleeves a little. 

“What’s first on your list?”

You pulled out your phone, scanning the notes app. “Eggs. Bread. Fruit. Veggies. Stuff for dinner. Oh—sprinkle of junk food” 

He laughed. “A sprinkle?”

“Okay maybe more than just a sprinkle”

“How about you?” you asked, glancing over at him as he steered the cart forward.

“Pretty much the same as you…Minus the actual planning. I just sort of walk around until something calls to me.” He shrugs

You gave him a look. “So you’re a wander-and-wing-it kind of shopper.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright then,” you said, nudging the cart playfully. “Let’s start with my list, and if something speaks to you along the way, you can toss it in.”

The two of you start in the produce section.

You gasped, eyes lighting up as you spotted them. “Look at the tulips!”

Without thinking, you stepped closer, admiring them. “I love when they’re still closed or just starting to bloom. Not fully open—just that halfway point…”

You glanced back at Michael, smiling softly. “They’re my favorite flowers.”

You continued walking, not noticing that Michael had lingered for just a second longer.

As he passed by the cart, he glanced at the flowers again, filing it away.

Tulips. Half-bloomed. Your favorite.

He made a mental note.The two of you wander through the aisles. You grab the things on your list, while Michael picks up whatever catches his eye, things he wants, not necessarily things he needs.

You talk mostly about food. What you like, What you don’t and a few things in between.

In aisle nine, you spot a bag of Nutella Biscuits, your absolute favorite. Your friend had gotten you hooked on them.

You reach for the last bag on the shelf  and so does he.

Fingers brush.

Neither of you pulls away. Your hands linger, resting lightly over the glossy packaging.

The air shifts, quiet, still charged.

“Hey, I saw those first,” you say, raising a brow.

Michael smirks. “Pretty sure my hand got there first.”

“These are my favorites.”

“They’re my guilty pleasure.”

You narrow your eyes. “Oh don’t think I won’t fight you for these, old man—because I will.”

“Oh, you think you’re so funny,” he scoffs out a laugh.

You quickly yank the bag toward you. “Mine!”

“Come here!”

He steps forward, catching you around the waist, gently pulling you back against his chest. His arm wraps around you as he tries to grab the bag from your hands.

You shriek out a giggle. You twist and thrash against him, laughing, still clutching it. “Michael!”

“Hand it over!” he laughs

“Robby?” a voice calls suddenly from the end of the aisle.

You both freeze. Still tangled together. 

 Dana Evans, his colleague and charge nurse. His friend, the closest thing he had to a sister, stands there at the end of the aisle, eyebrows raised at the scene in front of her.

“Dana—” he says, startled. He quickly lets you go, the playful teasing evaporating as his hands fall to his sides.

“Hey,” she says, walking over with a grocery basket tucked in the crook of her arm.

You glance at Michael. There’s a flicker in his eyes, like surprise, maybe discomfort. His posture stiffens, the easy playfulness from a moment ago gone.

It almost feels like he doesn’t want her to see you together.

And that… stings more than you expect.

“Who’s this?” She asked to move closer to the two of you. 

You step in quickly, offering a polite smile and introducing yourself “…I'm his neighbor. Just… a friend.”

You don’t mean to sound awkward, but the words come out carefully, almost rehearsed—like you’re making sure they land a certain way.

Was she someone he was seeing? And here you are, being too playful, too comfortable with him. You didn’t mean to cross any lines, to overstep any boundaries. That wasn’t your intent.

“Right..” She nods. “I’m Dana,” she smiles, but gives Michael a look. 

You felt out of place—like maybe you had crossed a line after all. Like you were standing somewhere you didn’t belong.

You hold out the bag, whacking him in the stomach with it, not on purpose just out of being flustered. “I uh.. I don’t want these anymore. You can have them.” 

Michael blinked, taking the bag from you, confusion flickering in his eyes as you started walking away.

“Where are you going?” he asked, noticing the shift in your tone, in your posture.

Without meeting his eyes, you kept straight, not looking back “I just remembered—I, uh, need to grab something from another aisle.”

It’s a lie, you both knew it was, you don’t wait for a response as you turn the corner, needing more distance than biscuits.

Michael he calls after you, he watches disappear, the forgotten bag of Nutella biscuits still in his hand.

Your voice, your expression, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes—it all hit Michael harder than he expected. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to introduce you to Dana before you slipped away.

His attention goes back to Dana. She had only laughed. “Oops. Didn’t mean to scare her off…”

“She probably thinks we’re dating,” Michael muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “With you eyeing her down like that.”

Dana shot him a look. She threw a hand up, still grinning “That’s your fault! You didn’t introduce me fast enough! I run to the grocery store for oat milk and walk into aisle nine to find my friend pressed up against a woman, playfully fighting over cookies!”

She begins to get noisy.

“So who is she?” She was waiting for him to give her more information about who you are and the moment between the two she witnessed. 

Michael rolled his eyes and placed the Nutella biscuits into the grocery cart with a little more force than necessary. “Dana, don’t start—” knowing what she’s thinking. 

“Oh, come on!” Dana said, nudging him with her elbow. “Robby, she’s cute! You’ve clearly been spending time with her. How long has that been going on?! How come you never mentioned her?” Dana asked, with a smile on her face

Michael let out a breath and maintained his composure, pushing the cart forward a few inches. “Because Dana, nothing is going on. She’s just my neighbor.”

“She looked a lot more than a “neighbor” when I entered the aisle.” Dana said with a knowing look, cocking her head in the direction you’d disappeared.

He rolled his eyes.

He started pushing his cart, turned down the next aisle, hoping the shelves of canned goods might somehow end the conversation. “Dana, please drop it.”

Dana wasn’t going to drop it. She fell in step beside him, her gaze sharp. “So you’re seeing her?”

He froze, picking up a can of beans off the shelf, his fingers brushing the label like it held the answer. “No, I’m not seeing her. She has a boyfriend” 

Dana arched her brow. “That didn’t answer the question. You’re not seeing her—but are you wanting to?”

Michael didn’t respond right away. He turned the can in his hand, then returned it to the shelf, avoiding her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, she’s got someone.”

“But you don’t,” Dana pointed out, a note of challenge in her voice. “And last I checked, play fighting over cookies and laughing like that isn’t how you act with someone you’re indifferent to.”

He gave her a look, sharp and tired all at once. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“I’m reading what was right in front of me. Body language doesn’t lie, Robby”

Michael exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “She’s easy to be around, okay? She’s funny, she’s sweet. I like her company, but we’re just friends. I'm not trying to mess with someone who’s already in a relationship. I just help her out with stuff, you know be a neighbors ” 

Dana softened just slightly. “That’s not what it looks like on my end”

“Think what you want Dana, but she and I are friends. That’s all. Nothing more.”

He started pushing the cart down the aisle, leaving her standing behind. “I gotta finish shopping,” he muttered—and find you, he thought.

“We’ll continue this conversation later, Michael!” she called after him.

“No we won’t, Dana!” he yelled back in a sing-song tone as he turned into the next aisle.

—-

You were in the freezer section, staring at the wall of ice cream like you were deep in thought about flavors, though your mind was still spinning from the moment with Michael and awkward interaction with the woman Dana.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him approaching with the cart.

“So ice cream was that important, huh?” Michael said, pulling up beside you. “That’s what made you run off?”

You didn’t look at him right away. “I didn’t run off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, you kinda did. You didn’t even give me a chance to introduce you to Dana.”

“I didn’t want to be in the way…” 

“You weren’t in the way” 

Silence falls between the two of you. 

“So you and Dana?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but the question comes out a little too pointed.

“I work with her,” Michael replies. “She’s the dayshift charge nurse—”

You nod, not really sure what to say, or what exactly you’re feeling. You weren’t trying to pry. Not really. 

Then it hits you—a wave of guilt, sharp and sudden. You start replaying the moment in the aisle. The laughter, the teasing, the way you’d been so at ease with him. If Dana was someone he was seeing, the whole scene would have easily been misread. Maybe you were too comfortable. Too close. You hadn’t meant to cross a line, but now you’re afraid you had.

Before the guilt can fully settle in, Michael speaks again—his voice softer now, his eyes steady on you, like he already knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.

“Dana’s like a sister,” he says, and somehow, it’s like he’s reading your mind.

His tone is calm, even—but there’s a quiet urgency there, tucked just beneath the surface. Like he wants to be sure you hear him. Like it matters that you believe it.

You look at him “Oh… I thought you two were…”

“I know what you must’ve thought,” he interrupts gently, “but it’s not like that. Our coworkers joke that we're ‘work spouses,’ but she’s just my friend. We’ve known each other a long time. That’s all.”

He doesn’t really know why he feels the need to clarify all of that to you. He shouldn’t care what you think. But deep down, he does for some reason. 

A beat passes.

“Are you… seeing anyone?” you ask, your voice softer this time. You don’t know what made you ask. Curiosity, maybe since the two of you were sorta on the topic. 

“No,” he says after a moment, shaking his head. “I haven’t dated in a while.”

There’s a quiet honesty in the way he says it. Not embarrassed. Just real. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a second, neither of you says anything.

You wondered how he was still single.

Michael was kind. Steady. The kind of man who listened, who remembered little things, who made you feel like you mattered. He wasn’t flashy, but he didn’t need to be. Just being around him made you feel calm.

Any woman would be lucky to have him.

He seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t make you question where you stood. Who would show up, say how he felt, and mean it.

You let the thought pass. 

“So…should I get Mint Chocolate Chip or Cookie Dough?” 

“Mint”

“Alright, Mint Chocolate chip it is” you open the door in the freezer section, and placing it into the cart. 

——-

“Here, let me get those—” Michael reached for your reusable bags  along with his at check out. 

“Michael, stop,” you said, trying to swat his hands away. “I can carry my own groceries.”

“I know you can,” he said, easily slipping them from your grip. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

“They’re heavy, and—Michael, no—”

“Stop arguing with me and just let me carry the groceries,” he said, giving you a pointed look.

You huffed, but there was no real heat behind it. “Fine.”

He smiled, victorious. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

The two of you walked back to the apartment, climbing the stairs to the sixth floor, reusable bags in hand—well, in his hands. You stopped in the hallway, right between your doors.

“Thanks tagging along with me,” you said, turning toward him. “And for carrying my groceries… which, I’m more than capable of doing.” You take your bags from his hands. 

“Thanks for letting me tag along, and I know you can carry your own groceries,” Michael said, his voice low and easy. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

“Oh—before I forget,” Michael said, reaching into one of his reusable bags.

He pulled out a small bouquet of tulips, their soft petals just beginning to open, one of the bouquets you were admiring earlier. 

You gasped. “Michael, what? When did you get these? I was with you the whole time!”

“I have my ways,” he said with a teasing grin.

You looked at him, touched. Your pout wasn’t sad—just soft, surprised, the kind that tugged at the heart.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful” 

“Oh, here—take these,” he says with a grin, holding out the Nutella cookies like a peace offering, but his eyes are still challenging.

You shake your head. “You take them.”

He scoffs, clearly amused. “Well, you fought me for them.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Technically, I didn’t win.”

“Neither did I,” he says, shrugging like it's no big deal, but the tension in the air suggests otherwise.

A beat passes. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eye, you suggest, “How about we rock-paper-scissors for them?”

“Alright, you’re on,” he replies,

You both set your bags down with a soft thud, the hallway around you oddly quiet as you face each other.

The air feels a little charged as you both prepare. The competitive energy lingers in the air. Michael steps back, getting into position with an exaggerated stance.

“Alright ready?” He asks.

You nod in response.

"Rock-Paper-Scissors-Shoot!" you both say in unison, your hands moving in perfect sync.

You take a deep breath and throw your hand out confidently—rock.

His hand, paper, covers your rock.

“Haha! Sucker!” he cackled, snatching the bag from the ground and holding it over his head like a trophy.

You gasped, mock-offended. “You are the worst!”

“I am the champion,” he corrected, already walking in a victory strut toward his door. “Rock? Really? Rookie move.”

You shook your head, laughing as you scooped up your bags. “Enjoy them — I hope they go stale before you open them.”

He glanced back over his shoulder with a grin. “Joke’s on you. I’m opening them now.”

And with that, he tore open the bag, popped a biscuit into his mouth, and held another one out toward you — his smile softening just slightly.

“Want one?” he offered.

You hold out your hand, and he rattles the bag to get one out for you. 

“Thanks,” you said, biting into the biscuit.

You held out your hand, and he gently rattled the bag until one slid free. He placed it in your palm like it was something more than a cookie.

“I’ll see you later, Michael.”

You unlocked it, picked up your bags, and stepped inside.

“I’ll see you around,” he called, turning toward his side of the hallway.

The door closed behind you, but the smile stayed — along with the taste of chocolate and something just a little sweeter.

Tags: tag: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967 @lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg

Across The Hall (1) (2) (3) (4)

[robin-blog-18]

Well I guess I gotta go first we gotta keep in touch if anything happened I guess we gotta talk to Bruce about it

* then few days later they couldn't make it because Jason has other mission's outside of Gotham Emily has also other mission in New York the whole month*

( flash back to now)

Luther: and that's why I had to take the bait....miss delight please don't be upset because I lied to you because you think I'm your student ...I wish I would tell you everything about me but it was against my code to tell you that Im Robin.....I'm sorry

Hi you won't mind if I try RP with you right

Sure!

[shysuccubusstuff]

Milking time!

Content: Cow hybrid! Caleb + Possessive! Caleb; Size difference + Mentions of abuse and neglect + Scent marking + Rut + Facial + Face fuck + Masturbation + Cumshot + Dacryphilia

Note: Just read some new manhwa (smut) about hybrids and a farm and it was so good! Sadly there are no more episodes by the moment (right now it only has like 6) but it's so freaking good, gosh I could eat it completely, the dairy cow is so so handsome... and a cutie ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ I hope I explained the position correctly, it's like, laying on top of the person and using your lower thingy on their mouth... not that good with explaining positions, sorry! Let me know if I should make a part 2!

Cow hybrid ! Caleb who recently arrived to the farm. He was found in the middle of nowhere, with his body completely scarred as the rain soaked the small piece of clothing that barely covered his lower half. Just what the hell had happened? You had been trying to get the enemy farm to leave the town after the rumours abou them abusing their workers. You kept cursing under your breath, just why couldn't you do it faster? Well, of course you couldn't, by the time you had found out you barely had any proof apart from what some of the hybrids told you about, so you already knew that this was to be expected... Still, you had to rub your eyes, cleaning the tears that had started to fall down your cheeks and rushing towards the poor young man, trying your best to carry him to the truck so you could bring him to his new home.

Cow hybrid! Caleb who becomes extremely attached to you. It doesn't take more than a few weeks for him to recover from the injuries the old "owners" had caused to him, now constantly following wherever you go. He liked grabbing you by your hips, hiding his hand inside your pocket so he could stay as close as possible to you. You know this could be a bad idea, as you are planning on simply allowing him to choose whatever he wants to do next in life, and growing attached to you was not the best option for that, but you were unable to do anything. After all, he had recently been rescued, surely it was normal for him to become so attached to you, right?

Hybrid bull! Caleb whose possessiveness only worsens. It has been quite few months since Caleb had completely healed, so you had expected him to go back to the "usual" behaviour of the other bulls, who had already found someone to love within the vast farm. In contrast, Caleb had stayed with you, still following you everywhere you went, with a... slight change. He had become extremely possessive of you, constantly trying to start a fight with the other males every time he saw them giving you those glances... Just who did they think they were? Yes, he might have arrived way later than them, but that didn't mean they were allowed to give you those lustful eyes. Since that moment, Caleb had started to pick petty fights with the other hybrids, always acting as if he was simply protecting you from them, while he giving you those sweet puppy eyes he had learnt to do... It seems he did learn quite fast.

Cow hybrid! Caleb who is no longer able to handle his ruts. You used to let him use the toys you had bought for him during those special days, with Caleb using them without much interest, seeing as if it was just something to get over with. During this time, you had to make sure to keep some distance between you and him, trying your best to avoid leaving your scent on him in fear of another female thinking he had a partner, even politely removing his hands whenever he tried to get a bit too handsy with you. Not like it mattered to him, as he soon began to retaliate. Oh, you removed his hand from your hip because other females were watching at him? No problem, next time he would surround your waist with his beefy arms, making sure to pull you to him so you could feel his hard cock pulsing beneath his working clothes. Now you refused to get even a few metres close to him? Guess he simply had to make you come closer yourself.

Cow hybrid! Caleb who takes advantage of you. You were suddenly awakened by a strange noise, not only that, but it was then accompanied by a rustle, someone was moving under your blankets. With your heart thumping, you slowly moved the sheets, finally seeing the reddened and exhausted face, chest puffing as he kept pressing his hard-on against your ass, breath becoming heavier as he started to rub his hips even faster, with you already feeling how his underwear was getting wet from the precum. "Please... please... just help me... It hurts..." Caleb looked at you with tears in his eyes, almost making your chest hurt from seeing how he was struggling to keep himself together. "Just... fine. But don't get used to it, ok?" You tossed the sheets to the side, getting on top of Caleb and removing his wet boxers which had already been stained by his thick cum. Slowly, you started to move your hand up and down, marking a slow rhythm that almost made Caleb groan outloud, biting his own hand to stop himself from making some embarrasing sounds. You kept this rhythm for some minutes, confused as you kept feeling his dick throbbing, almost as if he was close to cumming, still, Caleb kept biting his hand, eyebrows furrowed as he forced himself to last as much as possible, what other opportunity would he have after this? "Maybe... Maybe if you lick it I will end faster...?" Caleb suggested, voice soft as if he was whispering, still, you could feel how much he had been waiting for him to suggest that. "Caleb... just where did you...? Ugh... just... just the tip, ok?" You kneeled, getting one of your legs between his, using your hand to keep his member up, slowly getting closer to it as you sticked out your tongue, carefully entering his tip into your mouth and sucking on it, using one of your hands to masturbate the rest of his member. "Fuck... So good... please, just a bit more, yeah? Please, I've been so good... Didn't fight with the other males for over a week, just a bit?" Caleb looked at you, his muscular body now looking even bigger due to the dim light that entered the window.

Before you noticed, Caleb's hands were already playing with your hair, petting it as you had done so many times before, the caring touch mixed with the feeling of his tip rubbing against your tongue almost making you moan from the pleasure. "Please...? Come on baby, let me do it..." You locked eyes with him from where you were, gradually entering his member until the tip was hitting against the back of your throat, the pressure on it making you gag on it. Caleb's grip got a bit tighter, now grabbing your hair as he restrained himself from pushing his hips forward and fuck your mouth without mercy. "Just do it..." You whispered to him, face flushing as you felt how Caleb's chest puffed up in joy, swiftly pushing you against the couch and straddling you, his cock now being just in front of your face. "Open wide~... here comes your big reward." Caleb abruptly pushed his whole length inside your mouth, using his arms as a way to keep this position in which it looked almost as if he was doing a plank, his happy trail now pressing against your face each time he forced his cock inside you causing tears to form in your eyes as you tried your best to take a deep breath each time he pulled out. Caleb stopped for a second, smiling at you as he saw your chest moving up and down rapidly, after all, he had set a ruthless rhythm for you, making sure to push his cock till it reached the back of your throat, then staying still a few seconds so he could feel your throat tightening around his cock, soon letting you breath once more, smirking as he saw you struggling to adapt to it. At the same time, he kept stroking your hair with care, almost as he wasn't practically bullying your poor mouth, pressing your whole body against the mattress and leaving you with little to no choice than to take it. "Keep your mouth open, here comes your reward..." All of sudden, Caleb moved away his dick moving a bit away so he could put the tip in front of your open mouth, strocking his cock with his right hand as he used the left hand to stay still, heavy ropes of cum falling into your mouth, a sweet aftertaste lingering in your mouth after you swallowed it completely... You hoped this wouldn't awake anything in you.

[creative-frequency]

Rafayel / Reader: Starfish

You and Rafayel fall into a comfortable after-mission routine. Established relationship, rated E for adult content, very vanilla smut Word count: 3k

27 new messages.

14 missed calls.

Dammit. You tuck the phone into a pocket.

“Is something wrong?” Tara asks.

You raise one shoulder to your ear in an attempt at half-shrug and pull the woolen sweater over your head. After four days on a mission and wearing the hunter’s uniform, the soft material feels like a fleecy, puffy cloud on your clean-scrubbed skin.

“Oo-kay,” Tara mumbles at your non-answer and watches as you speedrun your way through the motions; brush your hair, throw all the necessary things from the locker into your backpack, and break the Linkon City record of tying shoelaces.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to grab a bite on the way home?” she attempts, still blinking.

“No, sorry, I need to go…” You flash her a smile that is hopefully apologizing.

You toss the hair brush into the bag and quickly hop on the bench in front of the locker to see if you forgot anything on the upper shelf.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tara chuckles, mostly to herself.

You hop down and zip up the bag.

“See you later! Good job today,” you say on the way as you rush out of the door, fingers already fishing your phone out of your pocket.

You tap at the notifications and pick the number that has tried to reach you 14 times in the past three days.

“Sorry, the number you dialed is not in the mood for phone calls. Please try again later–”

Straight to voicemail, of course. You make a one-eighty on the street and head towards the closest bus stop.

Not surprisingly, the iron gate into the art studio is open when you arrive. Everything looks peaceful in the morning sun. It’s a perfect day for a brunch on the terrace – would the owner of the place be so inclined. You press your thumb into the front door lock, half-expecting a rude beep and red light, but it opens with a soft click.

With so many missed phone calls and incoherent messages mostly consisting of sad emojis and “what r u doing?” and “where r u??? call me”, you expected the place to be ransacked either by art thieves or fans.

You grumble and groan under your breath, kicking your shoes to the side before stepping into the foyer. The large place is as full of light and gentle sea breeze as always. The wind from the open studio windows has carried a few sketches to the foyer to litter the floor.

“It’s difficult to keep you safe, when you can’t be bothered to lock the gate!” you yell as a way of greeting.

Rafayel appears from his studio, bare feet tapping against the wooden floor and wearing a casual (casual for him) navy blue shirt and dark pants. He frowns as your eyes meet, folds his arms and leans a hip against the doorframe.

“Oh, look, you’re not dead,” he jeers, eyebrows scrunched.

You roll your eyes. “I was on a mission, as you well know.”

“I do?”

Abandoning your backpack on the nearest free surface, you shuffle up to face Rafayel, mirroring his pose.

“I sent you a message,” you say in a conciliatory tone.

Rafayel pulls his phone from a back pocket in a theatrical gesture and opens the private chat between you two. The 27 messages from him, most recently consisting of question marks and emojis, flood the screen. He shoots you a meaningful look, and scrolls up in grand motions, up to the last message he has received from you.

It’s an image of tacos from a street vendor cart.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. Unbelievable. You quickly open the same chat and come to the undeniable realisation that you never actually sent the message informing Rafayel you would be out on an unexpected mission for a few days. You click send and his phone buzzes.

“Better late than never,” you quip and peek up from under your lashes to see if he is actually mad.

“You forgot about me,” he whines and pouts, but not really. His signature tell is revealing that he is trying to hold back that gorgeous smile. It makes his cheek twitch. The fishie is trying to set up a trap.

You narrow your eyes and poke that twitch.

“Ow, hey–! You’re ruthless…”

He swats the hand away first, then grasps it from the wrist as you’re about to pull away, and rubs the spot your finger dug into.

“I can see right through you,” you deadpan to which he rolls his eyes, now bright and amused.

He uses the hand he is holding hostage to reel you closer. It’s impossible to look away and every inch that disappears from between your bodies makes your heart beat faster. Right until it’s racing and your cheek is pressed to Rafayel’s chest. You close your eyes and inhale; he smells like the salty sea breeze, fresh linen, and faint nodes of distilled turpentine, which reveals that he was painting when you walked in.

“Whatever you say, Miss Bodyguard.”

“I’m sorry that I made you worry,” you mumble against his chest.

Rafayel’s fingers tread lightly into your hair and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, but he doesn’t reply.

You stay like that for a short minute. It’s comfortable and safe and just right – like a tranquil breeze seeping into your soul, reminding you of the definition of calm. Right there, you’re home. After one last inhale, you tip your head back to see Rafayel’s face. His eyes are bright and content.

In wordless agreement, Rafayel leans to press his mouth gently on yours. His lips are as soft as always; the perfect warmth in the perfect motions and you barely register your surroundings anymore.

He pulls away too soon, but not before a deadly lick of his tongue on your lower lip. Heat rises to your face. Stupid siren.

“Shower, nap or dinner?” Rafayel asks, apparently satisfied with his payback as he is falling into your comfortable after-mission routine.

You step towards the large living room which also functions as his studio. A new canvas is propped against the wall. It's only painted with a turquoise hue that reminds you of a tropical ocean. Different colors of paint are littered on nearby surfaces with splatters of them on the floor, and the large windows are open to let in as much of the natural daylight as possible. The curtains wave gently in the sea breeze. Everything looks just as it was before you left for your mission.

“I already showered at the HQ,” you reply and are about to slump down on the plush, orange couch, but Rafayel grabs your elbow and turns you towards the bedroom.

“Then I’ll cook while you nap,” he says gently.

“I’ll help.” Your body is so exhausted but you don’t want to waste a minute together by taking a nap. You try to resist, but Rafayel decisively ushers you forward.

“Do I need to tug you in bed, cutie?”

“Depends…” you reply and allow him to walk you into his bedroom. The flick of his soft tongue still warms your lower lip like a faintly smoldering spark of fire.

His bedroom is a large, circular room surrounded by high, ornamental windows and a glass dome roof. Intricate knick knacks litter most surfaces and some lay on the floor, next to the walls. You spot a new sundial and a small-scale model of the solar system. He must have been doing some online shopping again.

In the middle of the room lies a large king-size bed, covered in white sheets and a cream-colored duvet.

“Rest. You can later tell me all about the Wanderers you defeated,” Rafayel urges.

At his insistence, you climb on the bed, pulling the bedspread to the side. You take off the sweater and drop it on the floor, leaving only your top and the comfortable leggings on.

“I’ll wake you in an hour,” Rafayel murmurs and presses another kiss into your hair. He pulls the duvet up to your chin, tucking you in neatly. 

Comfortable warmth floods into your soul and exhaustion washes over you like the tide as soon as you let your body relax. The sheets smell like Rafayel and that alone is enough to lull you into a deep sleep.

“Sweet dreams, cutie,” you think you hear Rafayel murmur as you fall into the ocean of slumber.

A blink passes and you stir into gentle fingers drawing stars and circles on your bare arms.

“Mmh?”

“I witnessed a miracle,” Rafayel whispers somewhere close.

“Huh?” You try to blink away the sleep and focus your gaze on him. He sits at the side of the bed, leaning towards you. His eyes glint with mischief.

“This is the first time I’ve seen a person transform into a starfish.” He chuckles. “You really conquered the whole bed like that, cutie.”

Your arm flails out from underneath the duvet, about to smack the sass out of him, but Rafayel snags your wrist and brings it to his lips.

“Dinner is ready,” he hums with a grin. He inhales the scent of your skin, lips grazing the inside of your wrist. A tender feeling whooshes into your middle; A tsunami of yearning.

“It can wait,” you reply.

You cup Rafayel’s chin and pull him down. From his sitting position by the bed, he has to lean over you to take purchase from the mattress – he eyes you curiously, the depths of those pearly eyes taking on more of the red, fiery hue. Soon he docks into a sweet, unhurried kiss.

Your hands wander over his cheeks, neck and shoulders, and into his soft, lush curls. You hum into the kiss, content but eager for more.

Suddenly Rafayel pulls away and throws a leg over you, straddling you over the duvet. He locks your wrists over your head with one hand, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes. A tide of familiar excitement rushes over you, leaving a pulse of wanting in its wake.

You should’ve known this fishie would trap you as soon as you laid down your guard. And yet, you don’t mind.

Rafayel leans down to kiss your neck. Each small, wet sound adds a drop into the need pulsing in your core. You arc to allow him better access. Rafayel’s scent fills your nose. Familiar, safe, comforting. The fingertips of his free hand continue creating art on your skin, finding and caressing every soft and sensitive spot.

“I take it you’re not hungry for food yet?” he murmurs low against your collarbone. His vice loosens on your wrists.

“Starving,” you quip and seize the opportunity to reach up to unbutton his shirt.

Rafayel chuckles low, sending ripples of desire through you that concentrate into that sweet aching sensation between your thighs. He tosses his shirt to the floor, revealing his toned chest, and helps you out of the top before eagerly claiming your mouth. His damned tongue peeks out skim across your lower lip and for a surging second you need him so much it hurts. Every shallow, hungry breath of his is music to your senses. Every spot your skin touches him leaves flames of desire in its wake. The need is all-consuming and you love every breathy moment of it.

The duvet is still crumpled between your bodies, like a sheen of pesky propriety. You start yanking it off, trying to reach body contact. Rafayel moves to the side, off you. He peels back the covers and you seize the chance to switch positions.

“Ah–!”

Rafayel’s yelp of surprise urges you on as you plant your lips on his exposed collarbone. You deftly ignore the flash of disappointment on his beautiful face and focus on coaxing out the blush on his cheeks. Your tongue flicks out in vengeance.

Rafayel’s chest starts to rise and fall more rapidly, his body squirming under you. His hardening length starts to grow against your thigh and you heed it with a grinding motion. He inhales sharply and his fingers grasp your bare hips.

You grind again, slower and with more intent. Rafayel groans under his breath. Your mouth trails over his neck and with each grazing kiss you can feel every anticipatory twitch of his cock.

When you look up from your ministrations, you’re rewarded with a sweet blush and an annoyed, but surrendering look. Rafayel’s bright eyes hold an almost pleading glaze. It’s been too long since you’ve had each other. The longing boils in your bones and souls as if the fire on your skins has just seeped deeper.

You straighten up to get rid of your leggings. The moment you’re about to unceremoniously yank your panties off too, Rafayel’s hands find yours and stop you. Distracted by the following kisses, you don’t get to see the expression on his face when he slowly removes your hands and caresses a finger down the front of your panties. 

You shudder with pleasure, barely containing a moan.

Rafayel smiles into your lips and continues gently circling the tips of his fingers over the cloth. The resulting pulsating ache has surely ruined your panties with wetness. Another tsunami of need crashes to the shore and you palm the front of his bulge. Rafayel is momentarily distracted so you start fidgeting with his belt, relieving him of it.

“So impatient…” he mumbles, moving on to help you with the task.

Rafayel pulls his pants down, freeing his hard, beautiful length. Your fingers curl around him carefully, luxuriating in the feel of him. Your mouth waters with anticipation and you give him a couple of good strokes, unable to wait for him to sink into you. Rafayel’s breathing grows ragged and his eyes fill with pleading that he can’t quite mask with all that usual bravado.

“I want you,” you whisper into his ear, fingers around his cock that twitches as the words sink in.

Rafayel essentially pushes your back to the bed, climbing on top of you while shedding the rest of his clothing. Your mouths barely pull apart and you ache, ache so much to feel him – can almost feel him already as he hovers on top of you.

Rafayel seems to want you as urgently as you do him – with a rigid motion, he drags his cock over your beseeching entrance, smearing the head with your wetness. You feel his delicious length as it slides back and forth, teasing, preparing you while his lips wander down on your neck and chest.

His mouth circles around your budding nipple and that damn tongue flicks out just as he pushes inside you, deep and slow. Your inner muscles spasm a little at the sensation of pure pleasure, a sure sign that it’s been too long.

Rafayel drags himself out of you carefully and gives you a couple of shallow, experimental thrusts. He kisses you deeply on the mouth, tongue skimming over your lips in a plea of entrance, and starts moving at a slow pace, dragging out every inch until the very tip of his cock, then buries himself right back into your heat. He feels so perfect. Every time, every thrust and pull. Your siren.

The muscles on his arms bunch as he holds himself over you, hips conjoing with yours in a steady rhythm like the ocean waves. You kiss Rafayel’s lips and let yourself drown into the rhythm, taking in every inch that he deigns to give you. Each smooth push and pull, every inhale, your hands caress across his body, finding soft edges and hard muscle and he thrusts and thrusts.

Your release builds steadily, closer, inevitable and all-consuming like the tide’s pressure until it hits the point of release with a drive of his hips. Gasps of air fill the sea of pleasure. Rafayel’s hips stutter against yours and he pushes deep to reach his own release. His cock spasms inside you as you clench around him, waves of ecstasy finally surging forth from the motion, satisfying and calming. His breaths are hot and moist in the crook of your neck as you come together.

You love, love, love this so much. Love him so much it has long since stopped making sense. Your fishie, your siren.

Your Rafayel.

Out of breath and satisfied, neither of you is in a rush to leave the bed. Head resting on Rafayel’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, you want for nothing.

Except maybe the dinner waiting in the kitchen since your stomach makes a gurgling protest of a sound, at which Rafayel chuckles lightly, still catching his breath.

You turn to peer at him. His fingers lazily draw patterns over your ribs.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” you say as your eyes meet.

“You already apologized, cutie,” he responds. His eyes are soft, swirling whirlpools of blue sea and red flames that have been quenched, for now.

“I know. I just… thought how mad I would be if our roles were reversed.”

Rafayel smiles and his arm coils tighter around you. He presses a kiss into your hair.

“Actually, I called the Dispatch Center and they told me the UNICORNS were on a mission,” he explains without a shred of remorse.

For a few seconds, you just gape at him. You should’ve known. Sneaky siren.

“Uh-huh. When did you and Colin become so chummy?” you ask since what else is there to really ask.

Rafayel grins and tries to hide it by pressing a kiss to your palm. You roll your eyes and decide to let it go. For now.

“C’mon, dinner should be perfect by now,” Rafayel says.

He tugs you closer from the hand and catches you into a deep kiss.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he murmurs, barely an inch away, as if confessing a great secret.

Maybe it is, one shared just between you two. After all those worried phone calls and texts, you should think so. You show him a conspiratory smile and say:

“Me too.”

[cherrygirlfriend]

── UPPER WEST SIDE ♫

♫ pairing: ceo!rafe x ex-girlfriend!reader

♫ summary: you and rafe had been together for a year, until you found out he was keeping a secret from you, and ended your relationship. a year later, rafe sneaks into your concert and you get reminded of all the good and bad in your relationship.

♫ warnings / tags: angst. fluff.

♫ author's note: inspired by upper west side by king princess, takes place in new york.

RAFE MASTERLIST

maybe it was pathetic of him to stalk your band's instagram almost obsessively after you blocked him from your personal one, but rafe was desperate; so desperate that when you announced that you were playing a show in the bar a few blocks away from your place where the two of you first met, he saw it as fate.

really, he didn't even mean to come. he was just going to walk past the bar, to see how many people were waiting. but the moment he saw the poster with your face along with your bandmates, it was like he was pulled inside with a magnet.

the bar was much more cluttered than usual and rafe couldn't help but feel a pang of pride in his chest. he knew music was your passion, having woken up to the sound of you strumming your guitar as you wrote down lyrics, so lost in your art it was like nothing else in the world mattered. the way you'd smile up at him, letting out a quiet "sorry, did i wake you?" before going back to what you were doing.

"thank you for coming." the same voice rung out from the speakers, some of the crowd clapping at you as your bandmates got to their places. rafe leaned against the bar, quietly ordering a whiskey on the rocks, his eyes locked onto you, the way the spotlight seemed taken by your presence, the way you seemed to get lost in the moment as soon as your bandmates started playing, your body swaying along to the melody.

you're so rich, bet you bought yourself a diamond chain to look real cool while you're telling all your friends it's fake but you know it's lies another bitch from the upper west side credit cards cutting all of your lines, yeah...

"your place is way too fancy." you chuckled as rafe turned the lights on his upper west side apartment, rolling his eyes, his hand in yours, "what do you even do? let me guess. it's something ridiculously illegal or immoral. you're probably an environmental criminal. or a finance bro."

"you don't like my apartment?" rafe grinned, his arms wrapping around your middle, "we're always at your place. it doesn't even have proper heating."

"so? we always find a way to warm each other up." you cocked your head to the side, your hands on his muscular chest, "besides, my apartment is cozy. this place just looks... cold." you looked around the modern penthouse, most of it either black or white, a strange contrast to the colorful space you'd made of your own home.

"maybe i'll give you a key." rafe pressed a small kiss on your lips, "we could go shopping for some furniture together. i'll let you go nuts on the whole apartment..." he mumbled against your lips.

"rafe, we've been together for three months, and you're already talking about moving in together?" you chuckled softly and pulled back to look up at him in the eyes, "you're crazy."

"yeah." rafe sighs, tugging a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "i'm crazy about you. come on, let's move in together. you can keep renting your little rabbithole in brooklyn just in case, but you could live here."

"it's not a rabbithole!" you smacked his chest playfully before grinning up at the man, "let me think about it."

you're so cute, bet you really wanna be a star, to feel like gold when you're dancing on broken hearts and you know it's true you're no good 'til they're looking at you bad front, i can see right through, yeah.

"shit, this place is fancy." leona said with wide eyes as three of your friends walked into your new home, you and rafe having finished redecorating it a while ago, the place now looking much livelier. "do you think your sugar daddy's gonna notice if we steal some of the silver?"

"he's not my sugar daddy." you rolled your eyes, leading your friends to the kitchen. rafe was standing at the counter, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up as he cut a cucumber. "guys, this is rafe." the man looked up with a nod, "rafe, these are my friends. we're gonna be in the living room and have a mini-housewarming party."

"have fun." rafe smiled, pressing a kiss on your lips, "don't drink too much."

"okay, mom."

i can't stop judging everything you do but i can't get enough of you.

it was two in the morning when you woke up to the sound of the front door opening and closing, along with the sound of someone taking their shoes off, soft footsteps against the hardwood floor getting closer and closer, the bedroom door opening.

rafe let out an exasperated sigh, and you watched from the bed as he discarded his jacket, his tie, blouse, and eventually his pants, the belt clinking against the floor as he was left in his boxers, making his way to the bed.

when he was settled in under the blankets, you whispered softly, "rafe?"

"hey. sorry, baby..." rafe mumbled, pulling you into his warm, muscular chest, "did i wake you up?"

"yeah. it's fine, though. where were you?"

"just had to deal with family shit." rafe pressed a kiss to your hairline, "let's go to sleep." his words marking that it would be the end of the conversation.

i sleep great knowing we will never be the same 'cause i'm downtown hanging out while you're in pain and i'm doing fine even though you're still on my mind train rides to the upper west side, yeah.

you sat on the toilet seat, tapping the back of your foot against the marble floor, the wait feeling so excruciating you felt like you'd drop dead any second. you had no idea how he'd react, if he'd be happy, if he'd be upset...

the timer on your phone that had been set for three minutes finally went off, and you practically jumped up, grabbing the stick off the bathroom counter and turning it over to see the result.

two lines.

i can't stop judging everything you do but i can't get enough of you.

rafe had just gotten home from work; you'd been hyping yourself up the entire day, tonight, you'd tell him, and no matter how he was going to react, you'd be alright. you heard the shower running in the bathroom, a small smile playing on your lips as you thought about what your future would be like. what it'd be like to build a family with rafe.

his phone pinged on his nightstand, and without even thinking, you took it, your blood turning cold when you saw the notification he had received.

emma ♡ i miss you, baby! come home soon. ♡

at that moment, the bathroom door opened, and you turned to look at him with your jaw clenched, holding up his phone, rafe looking back at you with an expression that basically screamed 'oh shit.'

i can't stop i can't get enough of you, yeah i can't stop judging everything you do but i can't get enough of you.

"you're engaged?!" you screamed, "you're fucking engaged and you didn't think to tell me?! we've been together for a year!"

"it's not like that!" rafe groaned, "just listen, it's an arrangement that my dad's pushing onto me, i don't want it, baby! i wanna be with you!"

you scoffed and shook your head, stuffing clothes into a duffel bag, "you've gotta be out of your mind if i'm gonna be some side piece to a married man, rafe. i'm not a fucking homewrecker!"

"i'll just tell them i won't do it! come on, baby, please." rafe took hold of your wrist to stop you from packing, "you're the person i love, you're the person i wanna be with."

can't get enough of you

you tried swallowing the hurt stuck in your throat before you spoke, "have you slept with her?"

rafe didn't have to say anything, the look of guilt on his face telling enough.

"have you slept with her while we were together?"

rafe looked away, taking a deep breath, bile rising in your throat as you thought about him touching her, only to touch you as if nothing had happened.

can't get enough of you

you rushed out of the apartment building with rafe hot on your trail, following you. "come on, let's just talk about this! we can fix this!"

"there's nothing to be fixed, rafe! go back to your fucking fiancée!" you shouted back, pulling open the door to a taxi, rafe watching as you got in.

you were gone.

can't get enough of you

you looked down at your stomach. how was it that in just one hour, the future you'd been planning and dreaming about with the man you loved and the child you were carrying was crushed?

can't get enough of you...

you finished the song, feeling a tear trail down your cheek, finally opening your eyes when you heard the crowd starting to applaud, a weak smile on your painted lips until you spotted something from the corner of your eye.

a familiar figure sneaking out of the bar.

TAGLIST: @raahosh @purpleplumpudding @rafesheaven @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @littlelamy @tinythebunni

[nakylvr]

— GLOW ✧ D.A

summary: a short drabble with dealer!dani expressing her feelings and vulnerability for the first time

warnings/tags: fluff, established relationship, dealer!dani au, f!reader, mild language

part of the substance series

just a little something to expand a bit on dani's feelings 🤗

"dani?"

"hm?" daniela looks over at you from her spot in bed next to you, her eyes low lidded and slightly red.

"can i ask you something?" you ask.

"anything." she nods.

you roll onto your side, one of your arms draping over her torso as you rest your head on her shoulder. "do you...am i clingy?"

"what?" daniela lets out, glancing down at you. "what do you mean?"

"well," you pause. "i guess i just think i make you uncomfortable by being affectionate and stuff," you mumble. "you always kinda freeze, and you don't look like you're all the way there with me. i just don't want you to be uncomfortable."

the words take a moment to process in dani's brain. going through it all, she does notice she does freeze. panic, almost whenever you're close to her. even now, two years later her heart still beats rapidly out of her chest just being near you.

hesitantly, she grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers with hers, causing you to look up at her. "you could never make me uncomfortable, mi vida," she says softly, bringing your hand up and kissing your knuckles. "i just...have never felt like this with anyone before." she admits quietly.

you don't say anything, waiting for her to continue, so she does.

"in all of my relationships—if that's what you would even call them, i wouldn't let them really get close to me. and i don't mean just physically, but emotionally also," daniela starts, averting her eyes to look at the tv that wasn't on. "i haven't told you this but...that wasn't the first time i got arrested. one of the girls i was with basically sent me out to a fake deal so she could take the money while i ended up in jail for a month until manon managed to get me out." she takes a shaky breath. "and i didn't let anyone get close to me for a really long time. then manon told me about this really nice, beautiful girl who was looking to find some weed from someone who 'wasn't a creep'. that girl was you." looking down at you, you can see the tears forming in her eyes, but she keeps going before you can say anything.

"i hadn't let anyone get close to me in so long, that i was scared in the beginning. i knew i was in love with you and that scared the shit out of me because i have never really loved anyone like this before. it always went to shit. nothing ever worked out. but, i couldn't let this one not work out. i was in too deep by the night you stayed over. i knew that, and i knew that if i didn't try then nothing would work out, like always. i love you so much, and i'm never going to stop loving you even when i'm dead. you mean the world to me. you never make me uncomfortable, i love the affection and the way you are with me. i just am still getting used to it." she finishes, pressing another gentle kiss on your knuckles.

you move your hand to cup her cheek, looking back at her with softness and warmth in your eyes as you wipe away the stray tear that fell down her face with your thumb. "i didn't know that," you say quietly. "i'm so sorry, daniela."

daniela can spot the signs of guilt seeping through your expression realizing you essentially made her relive that experience, and she shakes her head. "it's okay, you don't have to apologize," she tells you.

"i love you," you whisper. "more than anything else."

"i love you too," she says in the same voice. "i always will."

[mintedwitcher]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @jamieroyjamieroy ❤️ thanks for the tag!!! using this as an opportunity to share another snippet of my 'Buck leaves the 118' fic

(since I have a tag list for this fic, I'll leave the WIP Wednesday tags open to anyone who wants to participate!)

=========

“You never told me which house you were transferring to.”

“Oh, the 136,” Buck says. Tommy hums in that way of his, the one that means he’s surprised by something. “What?”

“My buddy, Sal,” Tommy says. “He’s a captain at the 136.”

“Deluca?” Buck asks, and Tommy nods. Buck snorts. “He’s my new captain.”

“Good,” Tommy says. “You two can keep an eye on each other for me.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks. Tommy hums again.

“Sal was a bit of a hothead, back in the day,” Tommy says. “Especially when Bobby joined up. Sal gave him all sorts of crap. Testing the waters, mostly. We’d had six floaters by that point. I think we were all just kind of… on edge. And Bobby was so confident. Sal didn’t like that. Rubbed him the wrong way, I guess. They butted heads a lot. Eventually, Sal took it too far. Bobby kicked him out. We were all kinda shocked by that.”

Buck tries to picture it. He doesn’t need to try too hard. He still remembers his probie year, as vague as the memory is now.

“Anyway, putting his foot down with Sal is what got Hen and Howie on board with Bobby as the captain,” Tommy continues, his hand rubbing soothingly against Buck’s stomach. “We used to go for drinks after shift, sometimes, and we invited Bobby along. I was surprised he actually showed up. But we got to talking about Sal, and what went down. And Bobby told us that Sal wasn’t fired, just suspended, pending transfer.”

“Wow,” Buck says. Tommy hums again, and squeezes Buck tighter for a second.

“Bobby knew Sal was good at his job,” Tommy says. “He just knew that they wouldn’t work well together. So he gave him a shot in a different house, and now look at him.”

“Now I’m nervous,” Buck says, only half joking. Tommy chuckles quietly.

“Don’t be,” he says. “You’re damn good at your job, and you know how to work as part of a team. Sal will respect that.”

“And there’s no way I can get you to give me any intel to get on his good side, is there?” Buck asks. Tommy laughs.

“Nope, sorry,” Tommy says, unapologetically. “You’ll just have to win him over with that good ole Buckley charm.”

“Damn,” Buck mutters, but he’s smiling. Tommy kisses his shoulder.

“So, how are you feeling?” Tommy asks. Buck nods.

“Better,” he says. He grabs Tommy’s hand and twines their fingers together. “Thank you. How is it that you always seem to know just what I need?”

“Oh, it’s entirely selfish,” Tommy says. “I like being the one to give you what you need.”

A long-forgotten heat stirs in Buck’s belly at his words. Buck can’t help but shiver against him.

“You always do,” Buck says. He takes a deep breath, sighing heavily on the exhale.

“Evan…” Tommy starts, hesitant. Buck waits him out. Waits for him to choose his words with consideration, just like always. He feels the tension in Tommy’s body, pressed against his, before he speaks again. “Evan, I need something from you, too.”

“What do you need?” Buck asks, immediately. He tries to fight off the echo of a fight weeks past, grounding himself in the here and now. He squeezes Tommy’s hand. “Tell me. Please.”

==============

tag list:

@littlepaws9 @tyrusshipper12 @loulou-land @dashing-disaster @kinardstits

@samjohnssonvt @magdalyna @sweaters-and-silly @safelycapricious @onceuponatmi

@hubcaphalo @letsdosciencetoit @ladyeyrewrites @cm1031sr @sunsetandevningstar

@marsflower @buckitweride @joyfullyhauntedmiracle @gayjaytodd @agentpeggycartering

@darkjediqueen @avnasace @lostintheuniverseslies @breadread101 @whentheresidentsareevil

@athenap47 @cheesycottagecheese @youreademonroyce @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @dearqueend

@paperyowl

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we? Chapter Fifteen

A/N: Sorry, I was kind of MIA this week. I got t-boned on Monday by an uninsured driver, so that's been my free time spent. Sorry, like trauma dump there. I also gave up mid proofread, so like if it doesn't make sense, like I don't know man, I'm tired.

Azzi stood in front of the mirror in the locker room, towel draped around her shoulders, hair still damp from the shower. The room was quiet now—just the distant hum of vending machines in the hallway and the occasional clatter of a stray basketball echoing from the gym.

Everyone else had cleared out already. Nika had bounced back with alarming speed, cracking jokes as she limped off with an iced coffee. Lou had disappeared for a meeting. Even Paige had gone to physical therapy, insisting she didn’t need a babysitter.

Azzi wasn’t so sure.

She leaned forward, resting her hands on the cool porcelain of the sink, studying her reflection. Her eyes looked tired, but it was more than just physical. There was a weight in her chest she hadn’t been able to shake since she woke up with Paige curled into her side, soft and warm and impossibly close.

And beneath it all, a dull ache pulsed in her right foot—a reminder that her body wasn’t invincible, no matter how many minutes she played through it. She shifted her weight instinctively, trying to ease the pressure, but it flared again, sharp for just a second before fading into that familiar throb.

She hated how used to it she’d gotten.

The trainers kept saying it was just residual inflammation, nothing serious. But Azzi knew her body better than anyone. Something still felt off—tight, fragile, like a wire pulled too taut. It wasn’t enough to sideline her, but it was enough to make her second-guess every pivot, every drive to the hoop.

And with playoffs around the corner, second-guessing was dangerous.

She sighed, reaching down to rub her arch gently, fingertips brushing over the tender spot near the heel. Another deep breath. Just keep moving. Push through. Be the calm one. Be the leader.

But between the unspoken feelings building with Paige and the quiet fear of reinjury whispering at the edges of every step, Azzi wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend everything was fine.

She glanced at the clock.

Time to move. Time to act like nothing was wrong.

Azzi stood, rolled her ankle once out of habit, then limped toward her locker with practiced ease, like the pain was just part of the uniform now.

Azzi made it to the team meeting just in time, slipping into a seat near the end of the table, opposite the whiteboard where the coaching staff had already started scribbling plays and notes. Her foot was already barking at her for the brisk walk over.

She kept her game face on.

Kind of.

While CD broke down film from the last game, Azzi subtly pulled off her sneaker under the table and pressed her fingers into the arch of her foot, trying to knead out the tension. She rotated her ankle in slow, controlled circles, hoping no one would notice.

"Hey." Caroline’s voice was soft, her elbow nudging Azzi’s lightly. "You okay?"

Azzi straightened quickly, slipping her foot back into her shoe like she’d been caught cheating on a test. "Yeah. Just… tight calves or something."

Caroline didn’t say anything at first. Just gave her a look—that Caroline look, equal parts skeptical and concerned. Then she leaned in, whispered under her breath, "Come get a salad with me after this. You look like you’re unraveling."

Azzi almost smiled.

The café was only a few blocks from campus, the kind of low-key spot with mismatched chairs, lo-fi music, and a corner booth that Caroline always claimed as "theirs." They sat across from each other, slowly picking at bowls of overpriced greens topped with chicken and quinoa.

Caroline sipped from her lemon water and tilted her head. "So... how’s your emotional storm going?"

Azzi smirked, stabbing at a cherry tomato. "Which one?"

Caroline shrugged. "I’m not gonna ask about whatever weird, slow-burn will-they-won’t-they situation you and Paige are locked in. That’s always complicated."

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the faint blush gave her away.

Caroline just grinned. "See? Exactly. That’s a whole separate thing. But that’s not what’s eating you."

Azzi’s fork stilled.

Caroline’s voice softened. "It’s your foot, isn’t it?"

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She just looked down at her bowl, the appetite she’d managed to fake now completelygone.

"I don’t know what to do," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not bad enough to sit out. Not bad enough to tell the trainers. But… it doesn’t feel right. And I’m scared if I push too hard, it’ll snap. And then… everything stops."

Caroline was quiet for a moment, chewing slowly like she was giving the words their proper weight.

“And?”

“And it’s not getting better,” Azzi admitted. She paused, picking at her cuticles. “But I can’t afford for it to get worse.”

Caroline watched her carefully, sensing there was more.

“You think it’s serious?”

Azzi shook her head. “No. Or… I don’t want it to be. But it’s not going away either. And with Paige out… it just feels like everything’s on me.”

There it was—the real weight. Not pain. Not fatigue. Guilt.

“I can’t afford to slow down,” Azzi said quietly. “Not right now. Not with her hurt.”

Caroline leaned forward, voice soft but steady. “Az��� no one expects you to carry this team alone.”

Azzi scoffed. “Don’t they? She’s on crutches. Coach is trying to keep the ship together. Everyone keeps looking at me like I’m supposed to keep things moving.”

“You’re not wrong,” Caroline said, and Azzi blinked at the blunt honesty. “You are a leader. You’re one of the best players in the country. But you’re also human. Not a machine. And playing through pain doesn’t make you strong—it just makes it harder to finish what you started.”

Azzi looked down again, her jaw tight. “If I say something, it feels like admitting I can’t handle it. Like I’m not enough without her.”

Caroline reached across the table, lightly touching her wrist. “You’re enough. With Paige. Without Paige. Limping. Flying. You’re enough. But you can’t carry all of this if you’re running on empty. And you sure as hell don’t have to do it alone.”

Azzi didn’t speak. She just nodded slowly, her throat tight with words she didn’t have the energy to say.

Caroline leaned back, letting the silence settle.

“Besides,” she added casually, “if you go down, who’s gonna shut Nika up in practice?”

Azzi let out a short laugh, the tension easing just a bit. “That’s true. Someone’s gotta keep her humble.”

“Exactly. So take care of yourself, captain,” Caroline said, raising her drink like a toast. “We kind of need you to make it to the tournament without imploding.”

----------------------------

It was nearly 9:00 p.m., and the study space above the team’s private gym was dead quiet—just the soft hum of the overhead lights and the occasional creak of the old ventilation system kicking in.

Azzi was curled up on one of the worn couches with her laptop balanced on her knees, a textbook open beside her, and a mess of highlighters scattered across the cushion. Her phone sat face-down on the table, on Do Not Disturb. She hadn’t looked at it in over an hour.

She was deep in a stats assignment—something about regression models that was somehow harder to decode than any zone defense she’d ever faced. Her brows were furrowed, lips slightly parted as she mouthed numbers to herself.

Then—click.

The soft sound of a door opening broke the silence.

Azzi turned around, her muscles tensing like she’d been caught doing something wrong. Her eyes softened instantly when she saw who it was.

“Seriously?” she said, eyebrows lifting. “How did you get up here?”

Paige stood in the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, hair pulled up into a messy bun, a DQ bag in one hand and two small Blizzards in the other. Her knee brace was visible under her oversized shorts, but the crutches were gone.

“Relax,” Paige said with a smirk. “I’m officially off crutches. It’s all about the brace now. Plus, Nika dropped me off at the front like I’m royalty or something. Had to bribe her with fries.”

Azzi blinked, then laughed, leaning back into the couch. “You bribed Nika with food? Rookie move. Now she owns you.”

Paige limped in slowly, careful but confident, and handed one of the Blizzards to Azzi. “Cookies and cream,” she said. “Figured you needed a break from being the world’s most intense math student.”

Azzi took it with a grateful smile, the cold cup pressing against her sore hands. “You figured right.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel heavy, just full of things neither of them had said yet.

Paige peeked over at her. “You’ve been up here a while?”

“Yeah. Needed to focus.” Azzi took a bite of her Blizzard, letting the ice cream melt on her tongue before she spoke again. “Wasn’t feeling the dorm tonight.”

Paige nodded, not pushing.

A beat passed. Then, almost casually, she asked, “Foot still bothering you?”

Azzi’s spoon froze midair.

She didn’t answer right away.

Paige looked over, her expression calm, but serious. “Caroline told me you’ve been limping more than usual. I figured if she noticed, it had to be real.”

Azzi exhaled, setting the cup down for a second. “It’s fine. Just sore.”

“That’s what you always say.”

Azzi gave her a look. “And you’re one to talk? You literally played three minutes on a torn meniscus before letting anyone help.”

Paige smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Touché.”

They sat with it a moment—two athletes who knew each other too well, two people orbiting the same quiet truth: they were both scared, for different reasons.

Paige nudged her shoulder gently. “I know you’re trying to keep everything together.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. And it’s okay,” Paige said. “But just so you know… I’m still here. Just because I’m not on the court doesn’t mean I’m not in it with you.”

Azzi looked over at her, heart clenching slightly.

She didn’t say anything. She just nodded once, quiet but full of meaning.

Then Paige offered a small, crooked smile. “Also, I walked up here just to watch you stress-eat a Blizzard.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Paige leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “It’s tradition.”

The gym study space had grown even quieter. The clock on the wall ticked toward 10:30, the lights now dimmed slightlyon the automatic timer. Outside the windows, the campus was wrapped in night.

Azzi was still hunched over her laptop, scribbling notes from a reading that looked like it was draining her soul in real time. Her brows were drawn together in deep focus, her Blizzard long forgotten, half-melted beside her.

Paige, stretched out on the other end of the couch, was glued to her phone—at least, she pretended to be.

But her eyes kept drifting.

First, a glance.

Then another.

Then just full-on staring.

Azzi could feel it. The weight of it. Paige’s gaze on her like a heat lamp, unblinking, relentless.

Finally, without looking up, Azzi muttered, “What?”

Paige blinked like she’d been caught. “Nothing.”

Azzi side-eyed her, skeptical, then turned back to her laptop.

Five seconds passed.

Then ten.

Azzi sighed loudly, her pencil pausing mid-sentence. “Bro. Can you stop staring at me?”

Paige didn’t even flinch. “Sorry. You just look so cute when you’re aggressively annotating.”

Azzi groaned. “Paige.”

“What? I’m just appreciating the intensity. It’s hot.”

Azzi turned slightly, leveling a dry look at her. “I need to do homework.”

“You’ve been doing homework all night,” Paige said, not bothering to hide the pout in her voice now. “Come on. Talk to me or something. I’m bored.”

Azzi shot her a look. “You’re always bored.”

“Well, yeah. I’m injured and useless and have nothing but screen time and painkillers. Meanwhile, you’ve turned into this… academic machine.”

Azzi sighed, rubbing her temple. “We’re on the road all next week. I don’t have the luxury of downtime like you.”

That one hit just a little too hard.

Paige stiffened, her smile faltering. “Whatever.”

Azzi closed her eyes for a second, then softened her tone. “Just fifteen more minutes. Then I’m done. For real.”

Paige didn’t say anything. She just turned her head and gave her the biggest, most ridiculous puppy-dog eyes Azzi had ever seen.

Azzi tried to ignore it. Failed.

“God,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Sleepover at yours after, okay?”

Paige’s grin was immediate and smug. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the small smile pulling at her lips. “I swear, you're worse than Nika.”

“High praise.”

Azzi turned back to her laptop, muttering under her breath, “More like deeply concerning.”

-----------------------------------

The night was quiet as they stepped out into the near-empty parking lot, the sound of their sneakers on pavement the only thing cutting through the stillness. Paige moved slowly, her brace visible under her hoodie and shorts, while Azzi unlocked her car with a quick click of the fob.

They didn’t speak as they got in. Azzi tossed both their bags in the backseat and slid into the driver’s seat. Paige adjusted the passenger seat back to stretch her leg out, settling in with a soft exhale.

Azzi connected her phone to the car’s Bluetooth, her screen briefly lighting up in the console’s reflection. She scrolled through her playlist for a second, then hesitated.

From the passenger seat, Paige said quietly, “Play Another Sad Love Song. The Khalid one.”

Azzi glanced over at her. “Seriously? You want to be sad right now?”

Paige leaned her head back against the seat, staring up through the sunroof at the dark sky. “I’m already sad. Might as well have a soundtrack.”

Azzi shook her head but didn’t argue. She found the track, tapped it, and the soft, aching intro filled the car.

They pulled out of the lot, the streetlights flickering across the windshield as Khalid’s voice floated between them:

“I can't keep your love, I can't keep your kiss / Gave you everything and all I got was this…”

They didn’t talk.

Azzi kept her eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, tapping lightly in rhythm. Paige, riding quietly beside her, was staring out the window, her features bathed in the glow of passing lights.

By the time the chorus came, they were both softly singing, quiet and a little off-key, but in sync:

“Another sad love song / I can’t forget…”

Azzi’s voice was barely above a whisper, but Paige could hear the emotion in it, just like Azzi could feel the weight behind Paige’s silence.

There was something unspoken between them, something neither had touched directly. But it lived in that song. In every line, they sang without looking at each other.

As they pulled into the lot outside Paige’s building, the last few notes played, fading into silence. Azzi turned the key in the ignition, and the engine cut off. The world felt still again.

Paige didn’t move to open the door.

“Depressing choice,” Azzi said quietly, breaking the silence.

Paige turned to her, a soft smile on her lips. “But kind of perfect.”

Azzi huffed a quiet laugh, looking down at her hands. “You always do this.”

Paige tilted her head. “Do what?”

“Make everything complicated.”

Paige just stared at her for a beat, her voice gentler now. “You didn’t have to sing with me.”

Azzi looked over, meeting her eyes for just a moment. “Yeah, I did.”

Paige blinked, then looked away, biting back a smile that wasn’t fully sad, but wasn’t fully happy either.

“Come on,” she said, her voice low. “Sleepover at mine?”

Azzi rolled her eyes like she was tired of saying yes. “Obviously.”

Paige grinned, unbuckling her seatbelt with a victorious flourish. “Knew you loved me.”

Azzi muttered, “I’m starting to regret it.”

But she was smiling as she stepped out of the car.

As they walked in through the door, Nika was sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes flicking up just enough to glance at the two of them. A smirk tugged at her lips as she leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. Her gaze darted between Paige and Azzi, and there was something in the way she looked that made Azzi’s stomach do a little flip. Nika’s eyes were sharp, almost knowing, but she kept her mouth shut.

Azzi, ever the expert at pretending to be oblivious, ignored her and headed toward Paige’s bedroom. Paige, however, lingered for just a second before turning down the hall toward the kitchenette, where Nika was still hovering with a knowing look.

“So, the plan worked, huh?” Nika asked casually, tilting her head just enough for Paige to catch the smirk.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the amused grin that pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Of course it did. She’s meant to be here.”

Nika snorted. “Sure, sure. Just admit you like the chaos.”

Paige stepped closer to Nika, leaning on the table next to her, eyes drifting down to the homework she was working on. “I was gonna start planning how to ask her to be my girlfriend… but she’s dealing with a lot right now, and I don’t want to add to her plate. But I hate this in-between, you know?”

Nika raised an eyebrow. “Thank god I don’t have to deal with that. And Nahiem? We’re officially locked in.”

Paige made a face. “Whatever, bro.” She shook her head in mock disgust and walked down the hall toward her room.

Azzi, already in Paige’s room, turned to her with a quiet, “I’m gonna go shower.”

“Okay,” Paige replied absentmindedly, her mind already wandering as she flopped onto her bed, letting her thoughts drift to the way things had been with Azzi. Things were slowly shifting, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.

Fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and Azzi walked in, her damp hair slicked back, wrapped in nothing buta towel.

Paige’s gaze snapped immediately to her, eyes locking on Azzi’s form as she walked into the room. She didn’t even try to hide the fact that she was staring. She watched Azzi move, the way the towel hung loosely around her frame.

Azzi pretended not to notice, but her lips twitched as she glanced at Paige. “What?”

Paige didn’t answer, but her lips curled up into a grin. Azzi raised an eyebrow, eyes glinting mischievously. “Can I just borrow your clothes? I don’t feel like digging through my bag.”

Paige leaned back on her hands, her voice low, teasing. “What else would you wear?”

Azzi grinned, her tone playful but pointed. “You’d prefer nothing, wouldn’t you? I can tell by the way you’re staring right now.”

Paige’s face flushed instantly, but she threw her hands up in mock exasperation. “Whatever, bro.”

Azzi shot her a playful glare. “Don’t call me bro.”

Paige tilted her head, her voice shifting into a more teasing tone. “Fine, princess. Wear the UConn shirt from my clean clothes.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smirked, dropping her towel and starting to change. Paige’s eyes widened involuntarily, and she couldn’t seem to look away, watching as Azzi slipped on her clothes, her movements smooth and confident. When Azzi turned around, now dressed in just boxers and the oversized UConn shirt, Paige’s breath hitched. Her gaze didn’t stray, frozen on Azzi’s back and—

Azzi turned just in time to catch Paige’s eyes locked on her. The instant the two of them made eye contact, Azzi’s smirk widened, now fully aware of how much she was affecting Paige.

“Oh, you’re staring,” Azzi teased, her voice light but filled with amusement. Paige’s face went fully red, and she quickly turned her head, burying her face in the pillow.

Azzi hopped onto the bed, landing next to Paige, and fluffed her hair before leaning back with a satisfied grin.

Paige rolled over with a groan, clearly flustered. “Your hair is still wet,” she muttered, burying her face deeper into the pillow.

Azzi chuckled softly, a smile tugging at her lips as she propped herself up on one arm. “Clearly, my hair isn’t the thing that’s wet.” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully, enjoying the rush of teasing that made Paige squirm.

Paige let out an exasperated sigh but couldn’t suppress the small laugh that followed. She glanced at Azzi, clearly trying to maintain her composure, but failing miserably. “I’m done with you, bro.”

Azzi grinned, her voice dripping with amusement as she flopped back onto the bed beside Paige. “You say that every time, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

--------------------------------------------

The hotel room was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic outside and the faint sound of ESPN murmuring from a muted TV across the room. Azzi lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers she couldn’t find in her head.

Lou sat on the edge of the other bed, tying her hoodie around her waist. She glanced over. “You good, bro?”

Azzi blinked, barely turning her head. “Yeah,” she said softly.

But her voice was tight. Too casual. Too rehearsed.

Lou squinted at her for a second, then sighed knowingly. “I’m heading down to Aaliyah and Ayanna’s room. Whole squad’s there.”

Azzi nodded. “Cool.”

Lou lingered for half a second, like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. She just grabbed her key card and left the room, letting the door fall shut behind her with a soft click.

Azzi didn’t move.

Ten more minutes passed.

She just kept staring—chest tight, heart thudding harder than it should’ve been for someone just lying still.

The ceiling had nothing left to say.

Azzi stared at it anyway, eyes unfocused, thoughts churning. Her heartbeat felt loud in her ears, louder than it should've been for someone lying still. March Madness. Ohio State. Everything they’d worked for was less than twenty-four hours away, and all she could feel was the weight of it.

Then the door clicked open.

Azzi sat up halfway as Paige slipped inside, the hallway light catching on her features. She was in a hoodie and sweats, barefoot, her brace hidden beneath loose fabric. She closed the door quietly behind her, like she already knew this was where she was supposed to be.

Azzi exhaled. “Wassup?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Why are you up here by yourself?”

Azzi shrugged, eyes avoiding hers. “Just thinking.”

“How’d you think I got in?” Paige said with a small smile. “Lou gave me your key. Said you were in your head. She wasn’t wrong.”

Azzi gave a quiet huff and laid back down. Paige followed, lying beside her, both of them staring at the ceiling now, shoulder to shoulder, like they were sixteen again and the world hadn’t gotten so loud yet.

After a long beat, Paige’s voice broke the stillness.

“You know, I’ve watched you carry this team without asking for anything back. Not attention, not credit—nothing. You just show up every day. Focused. Unshakable. But you’re not a machine, Az. You’re a human being. And I think sometimes… you forget that’s enough.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t speak.

“This season’s been hell,” Paige continued, her voice steady but low. “Injuries, pressure, losses. Uncertainty. We’ve been tested in every way a team can be. But through all of it, you’ve kept your head down and kept moving. You’ve kept us moving.”

She turned her head, looking at Azzi now, even if Azzi couldn’t bring herself to meet her eyes.

“I need you to hear this: you are not just our scorer. Not just our hope. You are so much more than that. You are Azzi Fudd. The girl I met when I was sixteen—quiet, brilliant, deadly with a jumper. The same girl who played like joy lived in her bones. The same girl who made me believe this game could be beautiful.”

A tear slipped down Azzi’s cheek before she could stop it.

Paige reached over and gently wiped it away, her fingers soft against her skin.

“You are not defined by what happens tomorrow,” Paige whispered. “Not by a win. Not by a loss. You are a sister. A daughter. A friend. A leader. And yeah… you’re kind of my idol.”

Azzi let out a soft, broken laugh.

Paige smiled. “Don’t play tomorrow to prove anything. You’ve already proven it. Don’t play to silence anyone. They don’t matter. Play because you love it. Play for you. Play for that little girl who fell in love with a basketball and never looked back.”

Azzi finally turned her head, eyes meeting Paige’s, glassy but steady.

“Thanks, P,” she whispered. “I needed that.”

Paige pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly.

----------------------------------------

The gym buzzed with the energy only March Madness could bring. The arena was already electric—crowds packed in, music blaring, TV lights scanning the court—but for Azzi, it all sounded muffled. Distant.

She was going through the motions: layups, pull-ups, corner threes. The kind of shots she could hit in her sleep.

Paige stood off to the side, quietly rebounding for her.

She wasn’t saying anything—hadn’t said much since they left the hotel—but her eyes never left Azzi. She tracked her rhythm, watched the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the way she held her follow-through a second too long, like she was trying to force confidence to show up by muscle memory alone.

And Paige could feel it. Something was still off.

But she didn’t say it. Not now. Not here.

Azzi caught the ball again, nailed another three, and jogged back to half-court. Paige passed her the ball gently this time, less like a teammate, more like a friend offering quiet comfort.

As they walked back to the locker room with the rest of the team before tip-off, Paige leaned in just enough to speak under the noise of the crowd.

“Let it all go, Az,” she said softly. “The pressure. The noise. Just play your game. Play for you.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Just nodded once, barely a motion.

Paige looked at her as they stepped into the tunnel. She wasn’t sure it landed. Wasn’t sure it ever could—not with the weight Azzi was carrying. But she let it go. For now.

The final buzzer rang, and the scoreboard didn’t lie.

Ohio State 73, UConn 61.

The air in the locker room was heavy. The kind of silence that filled your lungs with regret and left no room to breathe.

Azzi sat on the bench, still in her uniform, staring down at her hands like they’d betrayed her. Fourteen points. It wasn’t terrible. But it wasn’t her. Not when the team needed more.

Across from her, Paige was still standing, gripping the towel around her neck, her eyes locked on Azzi like she was trying to send comfort through sheer will.

Then the door slammed.

Geno walked in, fire in his eyes. “Are you kidding me? This is what we’ve been building for? That’s what you give me in March?”

No one spoke.

He paced the floor like a storm, voice rising with every step. “We played scared. We played soft. We rolled over. I don’t care how talented Ohio State is. That wasn’t them beating us. That was us handing it to them. You don’t get to wear this jersey and play like the moment’s too big for you.”

Azzi didn’t flinch, didn’t look up. She just sat there, still, jaw clenched so tightly that Paige could see the tension from across the room.

Geno kept going, but Paige barely heard it anymore.

All she could see was Azzi.

And all she could feel was the ache in her chest watching the person she cared about most look so small.

She wanted to cross the room, sit beside her, and say something. But she didn’t know if Azzi needed comfort or space. So she stayed still, watching her, willing her to lift her head, to say anything, to breathe.

But Azzi just sat there, silent, still, alone in a room full of teammates.

And Paige’s heart broke quietly in the space between them.

The hallway was dim, the hotel hushed in that heavy, post-loss silence. No music, no laughter, just the sound of zippers dragging and cleats being stuffed into duffel bags. Everyone moved on autopilot, tired and worn, emotionally drained.

Azzi moved quietly, folding her travel hoodie with more care than necessary. Her face was blank, unreadable, but her silence spoke louder than anything she could say.

The team bus waited outside in the cold March air. The red-eye flight back to Storrs loomed ahead, like a long, slow exhale no one wanted to take.

Azzi climbed aboard first, heading straight to the back corner, the furthest spot from the front, and pressed her bag against the window like a shield. She didn’t look at anyone.

A minute later, Paige stepped on board, her steps slow but certain. She glanced around once before making her way to the back and sliding into the seat beside Azzi, wordless. She didn’t say anything right away, just shifted to get comfortable, resting her arm between them.

Then, gently, she reached out and rubbed Azzi’s thigh. Slow, grounding.

Azzi didn’t speak. She just leaned sideways, her head softly dropping to Paige’s shoulder like it was the only safe place in the world.

Within minutes, her breathing slowed. She was asleep.

Paige sat still, eyes on the window, her hand never moving from Azzi’s leg. As the bus rolled through dark city streets toward the tarmac, Paige watched the city lights blur past and let herself feel all the things she hadn’t had time to say.

They arrived at the plane just before 1 a.m., headlights flashing across the private jet parked on the quiet runway. Coaches and staff filed out first, the team trailing slowly behind.

Paige leaned down and whispered, “Princess… wake up.”

Azzi stirred with a sleepy groan, her voice muffled. “Mmm… I’m up…”

She didn’t move for a second, then finally sat up, rubbing her eyes. Paige took her hand as they climbed down the bus steps together, walking side by side under the yellow tarmac lights.

Once on the plane, they gravitated to the same seat without thinking—side by side, window seat for Azzi. The hum of the engines filled the space as players settled in with headphones and hoodies.

Azzi leaned her head against Paige’s shoulder again before the seatbelt sign even blinked on. Her body curved instinctively toward her, like muscle memory. Paige didn’t hesitate—just let her rest there, and leaned her cheek against the top of Azzi’s head.

By the time the wheels left the ground, Paige was asleep too.

Three rows ahead, Caroline glanced behind her and grinned. She nudged Nika with her elbow, holding up her phone.

Nika glanced at the screen and stifled a laugh—there it was: Paige and Azzi fast asleep, tangled in that familiar way, Azzi’s hand resting lazily on Paige’s stomach, Paige’s chin against her curls.

Nika shook her head. “Bro, when is Paige gonna ask her out? I know she was too nervous like… a month ago, but now it’s just getting painful.”

Caroline blinked. “Wait—Paige wants to make it official?”

Nika turned toward her slowly, eyebrows raised. “You haven’t heard anything?”

Caroline whispered, “No?? I thought they were still just like… cuddly best friends.”

Nika let out a sigh so dramatic it could’ve passed for a groan. “I gotta talk to Paige, man. This is getting annoying.”

Caroline smirked. “Do it gently. They’re basically married already.”

They both turned around to peek again.

Still asleep. Still tangled.

Still, something more than either of them was saying.

----------------------------------

The campus had that early-May feeling—warm air rolling through cracked dorm windows, half-packed bags leaning in corners, people pretending finals weren’t as close as they were. The gym had started to empty after lifts, players trading sneakers for slides, and conversations about summer plans echoing off the walls.

Nika tossed her bag over her shoulder and caught up to Paige as they left the weight room, the sun low and gold behind them.

“So…” Nika started, glancing sideways with a smirk. “Any moves on Azzi?”

Paige didn’t miss a beat. “What do you mean?”

Nika gave her a look. “Our conversation? Back in, like… February? Study room? Plane? You being in love and scared?”

Paige paused, then laughed under her breath. “Oh. That.”

Nika scoffed. “Girl, don’t act like you forgot. This ‘in between’ thing you’re doing? Exhausting. I could only do it with Nahiem for, like, two weeks before I lost my mind.”

Paige shrugged, casual as ever. “I might have something up my sleeve.”

Nika perked up immediately. “Wait—what? Spill. Now.”

Paige stretched her arms above her head as they walked, like she had all the time in the world. “Well… I’m staying with my dad in Maryland for the summer. Rehab’s gonna be my full-time job. And since Azzi’s in Virginia…”

Nika blinked. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking… maybe I’d do most of my PT in D.C.,” Paige said, her voice light, but her smile couldn’t quite hide. “And while I’m down there, I take her to a nice dinner. Nothing too crazy.”

Nika grinned. “Cute. Go on.”

“And then,” Paige said, clearly enjoying the buildup now, “I might just happen to have Capitals playoff tickets.”

Nika’s jaw dropped. “Stop.”

Paige smirked. “And I might also have a hotel room booked in the city. Just in case we don’t feel like driving back.”

Nika clutched her chest dramatically. “Paige. You have to do this. This is the moment. Like… if this was a movie, this is the turning point.”

Paige rolled her eyes, feigning indifference. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

She turned and started heading down the hallway toward her room, walking backwards for a beat just to catch Nika’s face.

Nika was practically glowing with secondhand excitement. “No ‘maybe,’ Paige. You’re doing it. No more maybes. No more almosts.”

Paige just waved her off, grinning. “Text me if you survive finals.”

Nika called after her, “You better text me if she says yes!”

Paige didn’t answer—just tossed her a lazy peace sign and disappeared into her room.

Nika rolled her eyes. “She’s so dramatic,” she muttered to herself.

------------------------------

Azzi’s dorm room was halfway packed—open suitcases on the floor, a duffel full of sneakers, and her favorite hoodie already tossed on top of a pile of neatly folded shirts. The sun was slanting through the blinds, golden and quiet, and Caroline was sitting cross-legged on Azzi’s bed, rolling pairs of socks like it was her job.

“I still can’t believe it’s already May,” Caroline said, shoving a rolled-up UConn tee into one of Azzi’s bags. “Summer’s about to fly by.”

Azzi zipped up a toiletry pouch and shrugged. “Yeah, it always does.”

Caroline looked up, smiling. “Okay, so—first weekend of July. I’m coming down to visit. Already talked to my parents. You better not ghost me.”

Azzi smirked. “When have I ever ghosted you?”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “When you’re with Paige.”

Azzi threw a hoodie at her, and they both laughed.

Caroline caught it and held it up. “So… we’re still going to Minnesota, right? Visiting Dorka?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, moving to her closet. “Paige booked our flights last week. I think we’re staying at a hotel right outside the city.”

Caroline grinned. “Aww, how romantic.”

Azzi shot her a look.

Caroline ignored it. “I’m gonna be third-wheeling hard. We should drag Aaliyah along, even the odds.”

Azzi rolled her eyes as she folded another sweatshirt. “Paige keeps treating me like her girlfriend, but she still won’t ask me out.”

Caroline blinked. “Wait—still?”

Azzi sighed. “Yup.”

Caroline dropped a pair of socks in the suitcase and looked up at her deadpan. “Then ask her.”

Azzi didn’t even look up. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Azzi said, zipping her suitcase with more force than necessary, “it’s not supposed to be me. I’m not the one who’s been planning mystery dinners and getting playoff tickets and calling me ‘princess’ for months. If she wants to date me, she can say it.”

Caroline raised her hands. “Okay, okay. I tried. I’m stepping back.”

Azzi shot her a tired smile. “Thanks, though.”

They kept folding and zipping in a comfortable silence, the kind only built over seasons of shared rooms, bus rides, and life lived at full speed.

But beneath it, there was something quieter humming—a question Azzi hadn’t answered yet, and maybe didn’t want to.

Not until Paige finally asked it first.

The air was warm, still clinging to the heat of the day, and the two of them sat side by side on a curb just outside a quiet little ice cream stand on the edge of campus. Their cones were starting to melt just fast enough to be annoying.

Azzi’s was double chocolate fudge. Paige had some chaotic swirl of peanut butter, Oreo, and brownie chunks that she’d claimed was “for recovery.”

“So,” Paige said, licking around the edge of her cone. “I’ll be doing my PT in D.C. pretty much every day once I get back. My dad’s letting me use his place as base camp.”

Azzi nodded, eyes on the sidewalk. “That’s good. You'll be close.”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Then, like, end of June? We’re still going to your grandparents’ lake house, right? With Nika?”

Azzi grinned. “Yeah, that’s still on. Nika’s already planning games and playlists.”

Paige laughed softly. “Of course she is.”

“Then Caroline said she’s coming down for a weekend in July,” Azzi added, taking a bite of her cone, “so we’ll be around for that.”

“And then Minnesota,” Paige said, “with Dorka. Feels like we’re doing a whole summer tour.”

Azzi chuckled, her voice light. “Caroline was saying she’s gonna be third-wheeling us the whole time. She’s so stupid.”

Paige didn’t laugh. “Yeah.”

Azzi turned slightly. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Paige said quickly, too flat.

Azzi studied her. “You sure?”

“You have some ice cream on your face,” Azzi added, leaning in and wiping a spot off Paige’s cheek with her thumb, gently. She let her fingers linger a moment longer than necessary.

Paige blinked, eyes still on her. “We’re gonna be so busy this summer.”

Azzi leaned back against the brick wall behind them. “That’s just life.”

There was a beat of silence before Paige spoke again, her voice quieter now. “Hey, uh… I got Capitals playoff tickets. For me and you.”

Azzi looked over, surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “From one of the NIL guys. I was thinking… maybe we could make a night out of it? Dinner beforehand? They booked me a hotel, since they didn’t know I’d be staying at my dad’s. Figured we could use it either way.”

Azzi blinked, a little thrown. “Oh. Cool.”

“So…?” Paige said, trying to sound chill. “You down?”

Azzi hesitated for just a second too long, then nodded. “Okay. Sure, I guess.”

“Alright,” Paige said, brushing a bit of cookie from her lap. “Sounds like a plan.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the night humming quietly around them—cars rolling by, crickets somewhere in the grass, the faint buzz of summer creeping closer.

Paige stood, tossing her napkin into the trash. “It’s getting late. Let me drive you home.”

Azzi gave her a small smile, standing too. “Okay, Captain.”

They walked toward Paige’s car, ice cream forgotten, shoulders close but not quite touching. Still circling something. Stillwaiting.

----------------------------------

The screen flickered as Paige adjusted her phone, propping it up against a water bottle while she wiped sweat from her forehead with the hem of her shirt. Her hair was still damp from the brutal PT session she’d just finished, the D.C. sun low and hot outside the rehab facility.

Nika’s face popped up on the screen as the FaceTime call connected, instantly scrunching up at the sight.

“Damn,” Nika said, squinting. “You look rough.”

Paige let out a breathless laugh. “Thanks, queen. Just got done with some PT stuff. Final stages before I start full contact in June.”

“Bet,” Nika nodded. “So… we're stressing over this supposed date night or what?”

Paige tilted her head back against the bench. “Yeah, I don’t know what to wear.”

Nika rolled her eyes. “It’s not a Met Gala. Just wear cargos and a polo for dinner, then change into the Capitals jersey for the game. Easy.”

Paige nodded, clearly half-listening now, her eyes drifting somewhere past the screen.

Nika narrowed hers. “You’re zoning out. It’s not the game that’s stressing you, is it?”

Paige didn’t answer.

Nika raised an eyebrow. “It’s the hotel, isn’t it?”

Paige blinked. “Hmm?”

Nika sighed. “Bro. You and Azzi have sleepovers all the time. What’s different?”

Paige looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. “…I think I’m gonna ask her. Like, officially. To be my girlfriend. At dinner.”

There was a beat of silence before Nika clapped both hands to her cheeks, sarcastic shock written all over her face. “OMG, I never guessed.”

Paige groaned. “Bruh.”

“I’m just saying,” Nika said with a grin. “It’s about damn time. I feel bad for Azzi. She’s been over here waiting for what feels like a year. You’re lucky she’s patient.”

Paige exhaled through her nose, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess. I mean… her family kind of already knows something’s up. Since last summer, really. But I think we’re both ready to be, like… open open. Not just secret-in-the-hallway energy. Even beyond social media.”

Nika’s tone softened. “No, I get that. People don’t need to know everything, but she needs to know where she stands.”

“She will,” Paige said quietly. “I’m gonna make sure she knows.”

Nika yawned, stretching out across her bed. “Alright, it’s getting late over here. I’m crashing. But text me tonight after you get to the hotel, ‘cause it’ll be morning by then.”

Paige gave her a tired smile. “Alright. I got you, twin.”

Nika flashed a peace sign. “Don’t blow it.”

“Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome,” Nika grinned before hanging up.

Paige stared at her blank screen for a moment, letting out a long, steady breath. Then she pushed off the bench, grabbed her bag, and headed toward the locker room, her heart beating just a little faster now.

Paige💗:

don’t forget to pack an overnight bag 👀

Azzi💗:

how could i possibly forget

so unlike you to casually mention we have a hotel tonight 🙄

Paige💗:

alright bro 😐

Azzi💗:

my name’s not bro 

Paige💗:

sorry, princess 👑

Azzi💗:

[Read at 2:36 PM]

Paige💗:

be like that i guess 😒

Azzi💗:

[Read at 2:37 PM]

Paige💗:

you better be ready at 5 when i pick you up

4:50 PM

Paige eased her car into Azzi’s driveway, her hands a little too tight on the steering wheel. She cut the engine, pulled out her phone, and fired off a text.

Paige💗:

i’m outside

Azzi💗:

it isn’t 5 😒

Paige💗:

so?

Azzi💗:

come inside my house big head

Paige smirked, shoved her phone in her pocket, and stepped out of the car. She walked up the familiar path to Azzi’s front door and knocked once before it opened—Katie was already waiting with a knowing smile.

“Wow,” Katie said, tilting her head, eyes dancing. “Who looks so pretty today?”

Paige blushed instantly. “Hi.”

Katie pulled her into a warm hug, rocking her slightly side to side.

Katie kept her hands gently on Paige’s forearms, admiring the subtle geometric pattern on Paige’s pale blue polo. “This is nice. You dress up for my girl or just for the occasion?”

Before Paige could answer—or spiral—Azzi appeared at the top of the stairs, her laugh already floating down the hallway. She was wearing a short denim skirt and a black silk blouse that clung just enough to her toned frame, every inch of her confidence shining.

Paige’s brain stalled. Muscles. Skin. That smirk.

Katie raised an eyebrow. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

“Alright, Mom,” Azzi said, rolling her eyes playfully as she walked down the stairs. “We get it.”

Paige cleared her throat, trying to focus. “Let me get your bag.”

“It’s in my room,” Azzi said, brushing past her with a teasing glance that lingered.

As Paige disappeared down the hall, Katie folded her arms and turned to her daughter. “So… is this a date?”

Azzi groaned. “Mom.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Katie replied, looking far too pleased.

Azzi glanced toward the hallway, voice quieter now. “It’s not like we’re hiding it anymore.”

Katie’s tone softened. “I know. And I’m not worried, baby. I’m just… relieved. You deserve to feel free.”

Before her mom could say anything else, she called out, “Paige!”

Paige returned with a small overnight duffel in one hand, eyebrows raised like she knew something was up. “We good?”

Azzi nodded, grabbing her phone and sliding it into her purse. “We’re going.”

They started walking to the door, but Paige shot one last look over her shoulder at Katie, clearly sensing something had passed between them.

Katie just smiled, waving her off. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Paige raised a brow. “Alright then.”

And with that, the door closed behind them.

The sun was starting to dip, the sky stretching out in soft pinks and oranges as Paige opened the passenger door for Azzi.

Tonight was only just beginning.

---------------------------

The windows were cracked just enough to let the early summer breeze through as Paige whipped through the streets of D.C., her playlist blaring classic ’90s R&B at full volume.

🎶 “If I ever… fall in love… again…” 🎶

Paige was singing loudly, way off key, eyes bouncing between the road and Azzi as she belted out the next line with an over-the-top falsetto that made Azzi double over laughing.

“Oh my god, stop!” Azzi said, covering her face with her hands, still grinning. “You sound like a dying cat.”

Paige hit the high note anyway, throwing her whole body into the delivery. “I will be sure that the lady is a frieeeeeeeend…”

Azzi leaned her head back against the headrest, shaking it. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“You love it,” Paige shot back, a playful glint in her eye as she turned the music down with a smirk. The car quieted, leaving just the hum of traffic around them.

“So,” Paige said, glancing over. “How we feeling?”

Azzi lifted a brow, feigning confusion. “I don’t know… is something exciting supposed to happen?”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “Bruh.”

Azzi gasped. “Oh my god, I’m not your bruh. How many times—”

“Alright, alright,” Paige said, rolling her eyes but smiling. “So we excited for some dinner, princess?”

As they turned onto a sleek brick-lined street, a glowing sign came into view ahead — a high-end steakhouse nestled in the heart of downtown D.C., warm lights twinkling inside.

Azzi looked out the window at the valet waiting near the curb, eyebrows raised slightly.

“I guess so,” she said, her voice quieter now, more curious than sarcastic.

Paige parked and stepped out quickly, walking around to Azzi’s side to open the door for her.

“Let’s eat,” she said, trying to sound casual, but her heart was already racing.

Azzi slid out, brushing against her lightly as she stepped forward, and Paige paused for a beat before falling into step beside her.

Tonight, the game was on.

And Paige was finally ready to take the shot.

The restaurant was cozy in that way that tried to feel effortless, but was probably someone's very calculated vision. Dimlights, exposed brick, flickering candles on every table. Paige had already slouched halfway down her seat, menu tossed aside, while Azzi was still reading the descriptions like she was scanning for a hidden message.

When the waiter arrived, Paige didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll do the ribeye,” she said, practically bouncing in her chair. “Rare. Like, rare rare. I want it almost mooing.”

The waiter gave a polite nod and scribbled.

Azzi barely looked up. “Citrus quinoa salad for me. Dressing on the side.”

Paige whipped her head around to face her. “Ew. Why so healthy? We’re not in season right now! This is our break. You don’t have to pretend you like plants.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Some of us have a long-term relationship with our arteries, Paige.”

Paige mock-clutched her chest. “Wow. That’s rich coming from someone who ate an entire box of Gushers in the locker room last week.”

“That was emotional support Gushers,” Azzi shot back, sipping her water like she was above it all.

Paige leaned in across the table. “Just saying. Salad girl Azzi? During the off-season? It’s a little alarming. Like, blink twice if someone’s holding you hostage.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes and blinked twice, slowly and exaggeratedly. Paige burst out laughing.

The conversation drifted for a bit, half-teasing, half-updates on mutual friends, with the occasional interruption from a waiter refilling their drinks. But somewhere between the breadbasket and the low hum of jazz spilling out from the speakers, Paige got quiet.

Azzi noticed immediately.

“You good?” she asked, nudging Paige’s ankle under the table.

Paige nodded, but she looked like she was working up to something. “Yeah, I’m good. I just… I’ve been thinking.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly. “Dangerous.”

“Shut up,” Paige laughed, but it came out softer than usual. “No, really. About us.”

That made Azzi pause. Her guard went up just a little, shoulders tightening, eyes watching closely.

“I mean, I love this. I love hanging out with you. I love how easy it is. Even when you’re making fun of my protein addiction or calling me dramatic when I clearly have valid emotions.”

Azzi didn’t say anything—just watched.

“And I was just sitting here, watching you order your little leafy green sadness bowl,” Paige went on, “and it hit me. Like, damn. I really don’t want this to be… casual.”

A beat. Two.

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige said, a bit more deliberately now. “I want you to be more girlfriend.”

Azzi blinked.

Paige stared at her, wide-eyed. “Wait, that came out wrong. I mean—my girlfriend. Be my girlfriend. Not like, upgrade your girlfriend stats. I—”

Azzi didn’t move. Just looked at her.

“Say something,” Paige finally muttered.

Azzi tilted her head, eyebrows lifted. “Oh no, I’m just shocked. I mean… finally.” She let out a short laugh. “Honestly, I figured we’d be, like, twenty-six, living in a shared apartment with mismatched furniture, and you’d propose in between bites of French toast at brunch.”

Paige groaned, slumping back in her seat. “Okay, dramatic much.”

Azzi laughed again—bright and easy now—and reached across the table, her fingers curling gently around Paige’s wrist. Her thumb traced a slow circle, grounding them.

“No, seriously,” Azzi said, voice quieter now. “I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

She smiled. “You’re sweet. Big head.”

Paige smirked—slow and crooked, like she was trying not to smile but couldn’t help it.

“You’re such a nerd,” she muttered.

“And you love it,” Azzi replied, fingers still resting on her wrist.

Paige didn’t deny it.

The inside of Paige’s car smelled like spearmint gum and takeout fries. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the cool D.C. night, carrying the distant echoes of traffic and fans already migrating toward the arena. Paige had one hand on the wheel and the other resting loosely on Azzi’s thigh—fingers drumming idly to the beat of whatever lo-fi playlist she’d thrown on to calm her pre-game nerves. Not for the game—for the night.

Azzi sat in the passenger seat in her red Capitals jersey, the sleeves cuffed to her elbows. Her legs were pulled up slightly, feet on the edge of the seat like she was half-curled in, watching the city blur by outside.

“So,” Paige said, casually but not really. “Still think the salad was the right call?”

Azzi glanced at her. “My arteries are thrilled. My soul, however, is writing complaint letters.”

Paige smirked. “Told you. Off-season’s for indulgence.”

Azzi leaned her head against the window. “Says the girl who was nervously cutting her bread roll into surgical pieces.”

“That’s called emotional restraint,” Paige muttered.

“No, that’s called ‘I’m about to ask my best friend to be my girlfriend and I might throw up all over the appetizer plate,’” Azzi teased, eyes twinkling.

Paige groaned and slapped the steering wheel lightly. “You saw that?”

“You were sweating, Paige.”

“I was glistening.”

“You were spiraling.”

They both laughed, and Paige reached over to poke her in the knee. “Shut up. I did it though.”

“You did,” Azzi said, quieter now. “And it was perfect. Stupid and awkward and very… you.”

The car slowed at a red light, brake lights glowing ahead of them. Paige glanced over.

“You didn’t hesitate.”

Azzi turned her head. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know.” Paige looked down, fingers tightening on the wheel. “Maybe ‘cause I’m a mess. You’re all balance and structure and green smoothies, and I’m—”

“Chaos,” Azzi said, smirking.

“Exactly. Like, if our lives were books, yours would be one of those beautiful hardcovers with gold foil edges and mine would be… a used copy of Percy Jackson with gum on page 42.”

Azzi laughed, then reached over, gently tugging on Paige’s sleeve.

“I like chaos. I like your chaos.”

“Even when it’s loud and messy and inconvenient?”

“Especially then.”

The light turned green. Paige didn’t move for a second. She just looked at Azzi, who was staring at her like she was something worth staring at. Then she smiled, slow and crooked.

“God, you’re good at that.”

“At what?”

“Saying the exact right thing in the exact right moment.”

Azzi shrugged, leaning back. “Only when I mean it.”

They kept driving, the arena drawing closer. Red jerseys on every corner, vendors waving foam fingers, the whole city vibrating with playoff tension. The kind of night you remember by how it felt more than what happened.

Paige turned down the music.

“You ever think about the fact that we could’ve never gotten here?”

Azzi looked over, caught off-guard by the sudden weight in Paige’s voice.

“Like, if we never admitted it,” Paige went on. “If we just kept dancing around each other forever. Teammates. Friends. Flirty-but-not. All those dumb, blurry lines.”

“I do think about it,” Azzi said. “And then I stop. Because we did get here. You asked. I said yes. And now you’re driving ten miles under the speed limit and holding my leg like I’m gonna float away.”

Paige grinned. “That’s fair.”

A few minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot. Paige shut off the engine, but neither of them moved.

The arena lights glowed just ahead, and the muffled sound of the crowd rumbled through the air like a living thing. Paige looked over at Azzi again, like she was taking inventory of something she still couldn’t believe was hers.

“I’m scared I’m gonna mess this up,” she admitted, voice barely above the hum of the engine cooling.

Azzi reached over and took her hand again. “Then don’t.”

“That simple, huh?”

“No,” Azzi said, leaning in just slightly. “It’s not simple. But I’ve seen you go 4-for-18 and still hit the shot that won the game. So yeah, I trust you.”

Paige stared at her.

Then laughed, the sound loud and warm and a little disbelieving. “God, you’re cheesy.”

“Yeah,” Azzi whispered, brushing her lips against Paige’s cheek. “But you’re mine now. So you have to deal with it.”

Paige didn’t say anything. She just kissed her. Quick. Sure. Then opened the car door like she hadn’t just lit her whole heart on fire in the front seat.

“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go scream about hockey.”

Azzi followed, grabbing Paige’s hand again as they joined the crowd heading toward the arena. Under the lights. In their jerseys. With all that fear and hope and ridiculous love burning between them like they were walking into the playoffs of their own hearts.

----------------------------------

The arena was electric. Red lights flashed across the crowd like sirens, the rumble of cheers rising and falling with every pass, every hit, every near miss. Paige and Azzi had killer seats—close enough to see the sweat on players’ faces, far enough to avoid being pelted by a rogue puck.

Paige was in heaven. She stood half the time, yelling at every power play like she was behind the bench, fists pumping, voice already cracking by the second period. Azzi, meanwhile, leaned back in her seat, watching Paige with the same amused look she gave her when Paige tried to parallel park—equal parts fond and terrified.

Halfway through the third period, the arena lights dimmed for a moment, and the JUMBOTRON camera landed right on them.

A split second of confusion—and then Paige saw themselves on the screen.

“YO!” Paige’s shout cracked midway through. She grabbed Azzi’s hand, lifted it over both their heads, and waved wildly. “Hey! It’s us!”

The caption below their faces read:

“Women’s basketball royalty in the house 👑 Paige Bueckers & Azzi Fudd!”

Azzi smiled politely and gave a cute little wave. Paige, naturally, leaned into the moment—hands in the air like she’d just hit a buzzer-beater.

When the screen cut away, Paige dropped into her seat, face flushed and buzzing. “Did you see that?! We’re basically part of the team now. Like, honorary fourth line or something.”

Azzi laughed. “You’re gonna be insufferable.”

“I am insufferable. That’s my thing.”

By the final buzzer, Paige had screamed herself hoarse. She could barely speak above a raspy whisper, but that didn’t stop her from trying. All the way out of the arena, through the crowded streets and back to the car, she was still going—voice cracking, hands flying, retelling plays like Azzi hadn’t just watched every second with her.

“I swear,” Paige whispered with gravel in her throat, “that third-period penalty kill? Legendary. Like, I need to analyze it later. Freeze-frame breakdown.”

Azzi just hummed beside her, snuggled deeper into the hoodie she’d thrown on, body folded toward the window like she’d finally let go of the adrenaline. By the time they hit the freeway, Paige glanced over mid-rant and realized—Azzi was asleep. Head tilted slightly. One hand in her lap, the other still loosely resting between them.

Paige smiled so hard it hurt.

She reached over and gently turned down the music—some chill synth beat now barely audible—then slid her hand over to Azzi’s thigh, fingers drawing soft circles there like a habit. The city lights passed in glows and shadows, each oneflickering across Azzi’s face like slow movie frames.

They pulled into the hotel valet line a while later. Paige shifted into park, glanced around, then looked back at Azzi—still asleep, lips slightly parted, her hand now resting on Paige’s knee like she’d moved there without even waking up.

Paige bit her lip, reached for her phone, and snapped a quick photo. Azzi’s face soft in the overhead light, her hand on Paige, their jerseys still on like kids who’d just come from recess.

She opened up her texts and sent it to Nika.

Photo attached.

Caption: mission success 🫡🏒💘

The valet tapped on the window a second later, and Paige gently nudged Azzi awake with her thumb tracing one last circle.

“Hey,” she whispered, grinning. “Come on, hockey girlfriend. We made it.”

Azzi blinked awake, groggy and warm, and without even thinking, laced her fingers with Paige’s again.

And yeah—Paige still couldn’t really talk.

But she didn’t need to.

[little-diable]

Cherry - Dean Winchester (smut)

I dedicate this one to @waynes-multiverse since we still haven’t managed to meet up (us busy bees). But I hope this little piece will still be fun to read!! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. Xxx

Summary: Dean has been a subscriber of Cherry’s page for quite some time, so it feels like an absolute dream once their paths cross in real life.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, car sex, strangers to lovers, reader posts spicy videos online, loverboy Dean, choking, spitting, handjobs, the full program

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (1.9k words)

With a sigh Dean stepped into the bathroom, thankful that Sam had fallen asleep a while ago. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub, green eyes focused on the screen. It was a routine by now, hiding away in the depth of the night after another exhausting day, only to find her profile for a few moments of distraction. 

Dean couldn’t remember how he had first found the profile, but he was grateful for it. He loved seeing her pop up on his screen, offering glimpses of the body he wanted to feel beneath his hands. His tongue ran along his lower lip, waiting for the shitty motel wifi to finally load her full profile and the new posts she had uploaded, which forced a groan out of him the second he finally saw all of her. 

Without taking his eyes off the screen, Dean undid his trousers, set on quickly getting himself off before catching a few hours of sleep. He leaned back further, back pressed against the old tiles while he clicked onto the newest video she had uploaded. Fuck, he loved watching her, loved the sounds she made while touching herself for all the people paying for her content. 

His hand took care of his aching cock, stroking himself to match the rhythm of her moans. Dean swore that he had never seen something this beautiful before, the lace barely covering her breasts, the perfectly painted fingernails which circled her bundle of nerves with enough pressure to make her tremble. He hated how much power this woman he had never met before had over him, but Dean wouldn’t ever pull back from her. She was everything he wanted, everything he’d never have. 

…

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Dean mumbled the words while Sam kept looking at their notes, combing through their research. With fast steps Dean entered the shop, set on buying some more beer before they’d leave for their next appointment at the sheriff’s office. 

He hummed a song while walking down the aisle, hoping that the following hours would pass quickly enough for him to be able to check her profile again. But just as Dean rounded the corner, he bumped into someone, arms reached out to catch the falling person. And then everything stopped moving. 

“Cherry?” The name rolled off his tongue as he took the familiar face in. Wide pupils stared at him as she cleared her throat while letting go of an embarrassed chuckle. 

“Well, this is awkward.” Dean couldn’t stop staring at her. She was even more beautiful than in her videos, he was utterly fucked. 

“Sorry, that was probably creepy of me, huh?” A small giggle left her while her eyes took in his features, and slowly Dean began to relax. He was all too used to the effect he had on most women, loving the way they stared at him with big eyes, taking in every inch of his features as if they were scared to miss something. 

“Don’t worry, I guess I should expect this to happen more often. But thank you for catching me, -“ she looked at him expectantly, with her smile only growing wider as he introduced himself with his first name. “Thank you, Dean. I should let you get to it, but how about a beer tonight, as a thank you?”

“I certainly won’t say no to some beer and a pretty girl keeping me company. Give me your phone, then you can text me a time and a place.” Dean typed in his number before he gave her the phone back with a smile. Both held eye contact for another second before she turned from him with a small wave, disappearing from his sight. 

The second she was gone, Dean had to let go of a deep breath to ground himself and to realise what had just happened. His head was spinning, even as he stumbled back to Baby and almost fell into his seat with a smirk so wide even Sam began to pick up on it. 

“Dude, you won’t believe what just happened.”

…

“So, you’ll leave tomorrow?” She leaned closer, fingertips firmly pressed against his lower arm. (Y/n) had met Dean at the bar hours ago, easily falling into a conversation both didn’t ever want to end again. 

“Mhm, probably. Why? You’ll miss me?” (Y/n) threw her head back with a laugh, but her hand tightened his grip on Dean. A part of him revelled in the fact that she wanted him close while she undoubtedly could have any guy she wanted. Another part cursed him for giving into this longing when he knew he’d struggle to let go of her. 

“I don’t know yet, I guess you’ll have to show me what else there is to miss.” Without understanding what she was doing at first, Dean watched her lean close enough for her lips to ghost over his. After a second or two he gave in, deepening the kiss with a gritty laugh leaving him. Even kissing her felt more perfect than he could have imagined, only worsening the inner struggles he felt. “I want you to fuck me on the backseat of that nice car of yours.” 

“That car has a name and I don’t play around when it comes to her. I only fuck the special ladies on Baby’s backseat.” The grin he wore only grew wider as (y/n) broke out into another fit of giggles. Giggles that were drowned out by the sound of Dean pushing back his chair to stand up before reaching his hand out for her to take. He pulled (y/n) out into the night while his hand found its way to her ass, disappearing in the back pocket of her jeans. 

Wordlessly he helped her into Baby before he started the car, set on driving a few miles down the road until they’d find a quiet enough spot. It didn’t take Dean and (y/n) long to move into the backseat, lips connected, hands fumbling with one another’s clothes. 

“This feels like a fucking dream, you’re even prettier than in all of your pictures.” Dean mumbled the words against her lips the second he felt her breasts against his hands. He had to part from her for a second, green eyes taking in her upper body as (y/n) rolled her hips. It was a sight for sore eyes, a sight so beautiful, Dean feared he’d cum in his pants before he even got a chance to fuck her. “Careful there, sweetheart, I don’t know how much longer I can hold back.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to hold back, Dean. Definitely not.” The devilish smirk she wore made his cock twitch in his pants, drawing a groan from Dean’s lips. He kissed her again, firmer this time while he silently thanked her for wearing a skirt which allowed his wandering fingers to find her already damp panties. 

(Y/n) was just as impatient, set on burning her touch into his body as if it was a map people would find centuries from now, using it to decode an old secret. She was quick with her hands, undoing his pants to grasp his aching cock with skilled fingers, pumping him at the same time he pressed his fingers against her bundle of nerves.

Both moaned in unison, pushing even closer to use more pressure for their touch. They were ready to lose themselves in the moment, unable to think of anything but the somewhat stranger they were ready to give their body to. It was a dance, a dance both seemed to have perfected years ago but were only now getting the chance to fully pull through with.

“Fuck, you’re so big, I can’t wait to fuck you.” (Y/n)’s moaned words made Dean groan into the darkness. His lips found hers with one hand pressed to the back of her head, not daring to leave any room between them. Their tongues met, tangling themselves together as their bodies burned from inside out. 

“Babygirl, you can fuck me any way you want.” It was all (y/n) needed to hear. She pushed back on his lap to get lost in his eyes while Dean reached for a condom she then rolled down on his cock. Deep down he wanted to drag out this moment, well aware that this was probably the only chance he’d ever get to fuck her, but his body was too eager, needing to feel her wrapped around him.

They held eye contact as (y/n) sank down on his cock, panties pulled aside. Baby seemed to grow hotter with every passing moment, allowing their moans to fill the car like it was the only song Baby would ever be able to play. With one hand placed on (y/n)’s hips, the other found her throat, as if Dean needed to hold her to remind himself that all of this was very much real. 

“Look at that fucking perfect pair of tits, shit, I fucked my hand to them too many times.” A breathy chuckle left her at his praising words, a chuckle that turned into a moan the second Dean tightened his hold on her. He stared at (y/n) for a second before he shifted them around, pulling out of her to press her down on the seat. 

“Oh God, Dean.” Her eyes fluttered close the second he entered her again. Their hips met with every ferocious thrust, burying him deeper and deeper inside of her as if he was closer to heaven than ever before. “Right there, fuck, please.”

He fucked against the spot again, set on making her cum with his eyes fully focused on her pleasure-drunken features. Wordlessly he tapped her chin, proudly grinning as she opened her mouth, staring at him while he spat down on her tongue, making her swallow as if she had always been his. 

“You’re mine, hope you’ll fucking remember this.” His raspy words made her whimper, all she could do was nod her head while tightening her legs around his waist. She was about to cum, walls fluttering around his cock, while she rubbed her bundle of nerves with trembling fingers.

And then she came. And Dean could have sworn that he’d never seen a sight this beautiful. She choked on his name, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back. He kept snapping his hips, high on the feeling of her walls clenching around him so tightly he feared he’d never be able to pull away again.

“Christ, baby, you’re perfect.” Dean groaned the words the second he came, filling the condom with his release. Both were panting, unable to let go of one another while she chased his lips for another kiss. 

“I don’t think I can let you leave tomorrow.” (Y/n) whispered the words into the darkness, feeling Dean chuckle against her throat as he kissed her there. 

“So I managed to show you what’s there to miss, hm?”

[inkbyme]

If you’re taking requests, if not that’s fine because I didn’t see a yes or no.

May I please have the MHA guys with a buff reader, preferably afab (assigned female at birth but gender neutral). Like reader is simply jacked and loves working out?

༊*·˚ MHA Characters When Their S/O is Absolutely Ripped ༊*·˚

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya ✧ Katsuki Bakugo ✧ Eijirou Kirishima ✧ Shouta Aizawa ✧ Hanta Sero ✧ Hawks ✧ Tenya Iida ✧ Shoto Todoroki ✧ Denki Kaminari ✧ Present Mic ✧ Neito Monoma

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Strong, bold, and absolutely unstoppable—here’s how MHA boys would handle being in love with someone who could crush them (lovingly).

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Izuku Midoriya

• Absolutely floored. The second he sees you bench press something heavier than All Might’s career, he’s in awe.

• “W-Wait! How much weight was that?! Do you track your macros? What’s your split?!”

• He gets so nerdy about it. Not in a weird way, just pure admiration. You’re basically the embodiment of “smash,” and he’s here for it.

• Tries to work out with you once. You lap him. His arms are shaking. He’s beet red. He writes about you in his notebook under “Physical Prodigy”.

• Lowkey tells everyone “they could totally go pro in hero work with their strength alone.”

• And when he’s holding your hand and feels the muscle flex? Dead. Man. Walking.

⸻

Katsuki Bakugo

• His ego barely survives your first training session.

• “Tch. That was decent form—for a showoff.” He says that while secretly planning to copy your leg day routine.

• He loves it though. No cap. Especially when you lift him up during sparring or piggyback him with zero effort.

• He’s definitely not saying it out loud, but he thinks your power is hot as hell.

• The minute someone underestimates you in battle, Bakugo’s immediately like, “You picked the wrong f**king person.”

• He refuses to let you carry groceries though. “You already carry this relationship, nerd. Lemme do something.”

⸻

Eijirou Kirishima

• INSTANT RESPECT. BRO ENERGY ACTIVATED.

• The moment he sees you bench more than him? He’s yelling, cheering, pumping his fists like a proud gym bro.

• “THAT WAS SO MANLY—Wait, sorry! I mean—UH, STRONG! BADASS! YOU’RE AWESOME!”

• Constantly asks to train together. Wants to be your spotter. Will 100% make you protein shakes.

• Every time you flex, he’s blushing and looking away like “I am NOT simping rn… Okay maybe I am.”

• Loves how strong you are, emotionally and physically. You’re his ideal.

• Keeps bragging about you to others like, “Yeah, my partner can probably lift a truck. No big deal.”

⸻

Shota Aizawa

• Doesn’t react much outwardly—just raises an eyebrow the first time he sees your workout.

• “Huh. Impressive.”

• But trust, he’s noticing everything. How you move, how efficiently you conserve energy, how precise your lifts are.

• Appreciates it because he’s all about practicality. You’re strong and smart about it? Yeah. You’ve got his attention.

• Silently proud when you disable a villain in one move. Leans over and mumbles, “Remind me not to piss you off.”

• He lets you take point during missions more often than not. It’s his quiet way of saying, “I trust you.”

⸻

Hanta Sero

• Bro is SHOOK the first time he sees you lift something twice your size like it’s nothing.

• He immediately blurts, “Okay, wait—are you secretly a pro wrestler or…?”

• Sero’s super chill and goofy, but there’s this lowkey admiration in the way he watches you train.

• Always cracking jokes like “Guess I’m the one getting carried in this relationship—literally.”

• But behind the laughs? He genuinely loves how capable and powerful you are.

• Gets extra protective when people make dumb comments like “Shouldn’t you be less muscular?”—nah, he’s instantly stepping in.

• “Don’t talk to them like that. They could fold you, and honestly, I’d let them.”

⸻

Hawks

• Tries to act like he’s chill about it, but the second he sees you pick up a villain and slam them like a sack of potatoes? He’s swooning.

• “You ever consider hero work full time? I could recommend you, y’know. Perks include looking fine while saving the world.”

• Loves that you’re strong enough to toss him around—jokes about it constantly.

• “Hey, if you ever wanna throw me across a room for fun, I’m down. No safe word needed.”

• Total flirt about it, but underneath? He’s genuinely impressed and obsessed with how capable you are.

• Will absolutely brag about you during interviews without naming you directly. “Strongest person I know? Yeah, I sleep next to ‘em.”

⸻

Tenya Iida

• Buff reader? He is shooketh. Immediately launches into admiration mode.

• “Your physique is incredible! Do you follow a specific regimen? Is it Quirk-enhanced or pure effort?!”

• Probably starts working out more just to keep up. “As your partner, I must strive to match your level of excellence!”

• Gets a little flustered when you carry him bridal-style—like, his glasses fog up.

• Deeply respects your discipline. Like, seriously. He sees it as heroic in itself.

• He’s always offering to assist in your routine—hydration checks, cooldown stretches, structured meal planning. Boy treats you like a top-tier athlete.

⸻

Shoto Todoroki

• Blinks. Quietly processes.

• “You’re very strong.” And he says it so sincerely it makes your brain short-circuit.

• Offers to spot you during workouts even though you clearly don’t need it. He just wants an excuse to be close.

• Gets kind of hypnotized watching you train—especially if your form is flawless.

• When someone questions if you’re “too bulky,” he calmly says, “Their strength keeps them alive. That’s beautiful.”

• Your strength makes him feel safer. You’re the only person he doesn’t try to shield in battle—because he knows you don’t need it.

⸻

Denki Kaminari

• Full-on jaw drop. He’s short-circuiting from how cool and attractive you are.

• “WAIT—YOU’RE BUILT BUILT??” followed by him poking your biceps and whispering, “…hot.”

• Denki is the biggest hype-man. He’s taking gym selfies with you flexing in the background like, “LOOK AT MY PARTNER THOUGH!”

• Asks if you can lift him like a princess. When you do, he screams and blushes at the same time.

• Super supportive and genuinely loves working out with you, even if he’s nowhere near your level.

• He’ll jokingly ask you to open jars for him, but it’s also 20% serious.

⸻

Present Mic

• OH HE’S OBSESSED.

• “YEEEOOOOHHH, LOOK AT THOSE GAINS!!” This man is LOUD with his admiration.

• Makes gym playlists just for you. Hypes you up so much while you’re working out that people stare.

• Thinks you’re the most badass human alive and tells everyone. “My partner could deadlift YOU, Aizawa—just sayin’!”

• Absolutely down for couples workouts. Posts on his social media like: “Power couple energy? ACHIEVED!!”

• But on a real note—he respects the discipline and strength behind the muscles. Deep down, he loves how passionate and driven you are.

⸻

Monoma

• OH. HE’S SO JEALOUS AT FIRST.

• “Tch. Of course you’re unnaturally strong. Probably from showing off too much.”

• But after sparring with you and getting absolutely humbled? His tune changes.

• Secretly adores your strength and talks about you constantly to Class 1-B—just pretends it’s complaints.

• “It’s not like I LIKE that they can carry me bridal style! But if I did, it wouldn’t be your business.”

• Gets real flustered when you help him train. Can’t handle how cool you look while lifting.

• “Y-You should tone it down. Or don’t. I mean—ugh. Shut up.”

Apologies for the delay! University exams are having me fighting for my life, but your request never left my mind. Thank you for your patience.

Let me know if you have any feedback or if there’s any warnings I need to put on my post. I am always open for requests as long as I know the characters! I hope you enjoyed reading this!

[allthingsfangirl101]

Look At His Face – Tyler Owens

Tyler's POV

"Thank you," I smiled as I took the keys from the girl behind the front desk. I turned around and instantly bumped into a beautiful girl my age.

"Sorry about that, darling."

"No worries, cowboy."

"Cowboy?" I asked.

She laughed as she reached up and tapped my hat. "Point taken," I chuckled. "So what brings you to Oklahoma?"

"Just passing through," she shrugged.

"Yeah? What's your final destination?" I asked, to keep her talking to me.

"New York."

"The big city," I smirked.

"You got something against cities, small town boy?"

"It's based on what you're used to," I shrugged as I put my hands in my back pockets.

"That it is," she chuckled as she walked by me. When she passed, I got a whiff of vanilla and strawberry. She talked to the girl at the front desk and got her room key. I wanted to stay to catch her name, but Boone called me over.

"Tyler! Where are you at?"

"Coming," I yelled over my shoulder. The girl looked over her shoulder and smiled at me. "It was nice to bump into you," I teased.

"Maybe we'll bump into each other again," she paused before adding, "Tyler."

I watched her as she grabbed her key and walked out. Right as she got to the door, she turned around and said, "Let me guess, cowboy. You were surprised to see the cells to the west choke each other out, weren't you?"

My mind was still trying to connect the dots as she walked out. I cleared my throat, forcing myself to snap out of it. As I walked back to my group, I kept looking back at the check-in office.

"What's with you?" Lily asked when I joined them.

"What do you mean?" I asked as I handed out the room keys.

"Yeah," Dex smirked. "You walked over here with this. . . look on your face."

"In fact," Boone elongated, "you walked out of the office with this cheeky smirk on your face." We all jumped when he gasped loudly. "You met a girl!"

"No, I didn't," I instantly pushed off. I walked past them and headed to the truck. I grabbed my bag and headed up to my room. I kept the door open like I usually do as I got myself settled. I walked out of the bathroom to see Boone sitting on my bed.

"Last I checked," I sighed, leaning against the small fridge, "I got you your own room, Boone."

"Tell me about her."

"Who?" I stuttered, trying to brush this off.

"The girl you met in the office earlier," Boone explained. "Who is she?"

I sighed and looked away. I turned my focus to my shoes as I slowly answered him. "I don't know, to be honest."

"How the hell do you not know?" Boone laughed.

"I didn't get her name," I sighed. "I turned around after checking in and instantly bumped into her. We talked for thirty seconds before you called me over."

"Sorry about that," he smirked.

"About what?"

Boone walked past me as he left my room. As he passed, he patted me on the back and laughed, "Sorry about taking you from that girl."

* * * * *

A few hours later, the little gathering was a full-on party in the parking lot. People were drinking, playing music, and exchanging stories. I was drinking a lot slower than the rest of my team.

I lifted my second beer to my lips and instantly froze when I saw Y/N leave her room. She walked out and leaned against the railing. When her eyes landed on me, she smirked and slowly lifted her hand and waved.

I forced myself to tear my eyes away from her as she walked downstairs and joined the party. Every once in a while, I found myself searching the crowd for her. She seemed to talk to everyone here.

My group was exchanging "war stories" as I was on top of the truck fixing some of our systems that got taken out by that last storm.

"Yeah," Boone was laughing. "We did it."

"Here we go, now we gotta top it," Dani smirked. Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught Y/N heading up to her room.

"City girl," I called out to her. My team laughed.

"The cells to the west will choke each other out," I restated what she said to me in the office. "That's what you said."

"I did," she shrugged. "My guess is even the one to the east didn't throw you off the scent."

"Hey," Boone defended me before I could stop him, "that's what makes Tyler famous."

"You mean on YouTube?" She smirked.

"Uh, yeah," Boone chuckled. "Yeah, we're on the YouTube. We got what? About a million subscribers now, huh?"

"Yes, sir!" Lily laughed as she pointed at him, but kept fiddling with her latest project.

"What's your name?" Ben asked her. "Just in case I include you in my piece."

"Y/N," she said, glancing at me.

"Surname?" Ben pushed.

"Just Y/N," she instantly responded. My chest felt weird when I noticed her slightly shift.

"She's a tricky one," I tried to tease to get her to relax.

"Actually," Boone said, sending me a look over his shoulder before continuing, "you made a good call with what you told Tyler earlier. The other cell looked stronger, but cap never broke."

"What's a cap?" Ben asked.

"It's a temperature inversion in the mid part of the lower atmosphere," Y/N explained. "It inhibits a storm from forming."

She looked past Ben, her eyes instantly landing on me. Whatever expression I had on my face made Y/N's face turn light pink.

"Right," Ben said slowly. "Okay. Good."

"Where did you guys all meet?" She asked, her eyes scanning the group. "Did you study meteorology at the U of A?"

Y/N's facial expression dropped as everyone started laughing. When she looked at me, I sent her an apologetic smile and a small shrug. I went back to fixing our truck as they continued talking.

"All right, Y/N, me?" Boone started. "You know, I just flow with the wind. You know what I'm saying? Yeah, I never went to, like, school or nothing. But Tyler? Tyler studied meteorology, though."

"You did?" She asked, glancing at me.

"Yeah," Boone answered for me. "He's a real cowboy scientist. He's got this natural instinct."

"Okay, Boone," I sighed.

"He taught me everything I know so. . ."

"Boone," I cut him off. I slightly cleared my throat before looking over at Y/N.

"My crew's not like most crews, Y/N. We don't need PhDs and fancy gadgets to do what we do. I guarantee you these guys have seen more tornadoes than anyone else in this lot combined."

"Is that right?" She smirked.

"Do you think there's a chance we'll see one tomorrow?" Ben asked Y/N.

"Oh yeah," Boone answered for her. "Outbreak, baby."

I rolled my eyes when he yipped. I looked over at Y/N and said, "You know, if you can keep up, we'll put you in the episode."

"Wow," she sarcastically laughed.

"Do you chase?" Ben asked.

"No," she said, but there was something in her eyes that said there was more to that simple answer than we thought. "I used to."

"Used to?" Ben asked.

"Things happen," Y/N tried to shrug off.

"What kind of. . ." I crushed my empty beer can and tossed it at him, cutting him off. When he looked up at me, I shook my head.

"If you were still chasing, where would you chase tomorrow?" Lily asked, helping Y/N by changing the subject.

"Oh no. No, no, no. You see, Y/N's from New York," I teased. "Can't trust a thing she says."

"Well, you can always trust a guy who puts his face on a t-shirt." She sent me a wink and walked up to her motel room. I couldn't help but follow her with my eyes.

"Man," Boone laughed. "Man, that was good."

"Awwww," Lily cooed. "Look at his face!"

"Shut up," I said, instantly putting on a glare and turning away from Y/N. I walked past my team, hoping my face wasn't as red as it felt.

Luckily, my friends let it drop. Or so I thought.

I jumped off the truck and put my toolbox in the back. When I shut the truck door, Lily was standing there.

"What?" I asked.

"You were starstruck," she teased.

"What are you talking about?"

"Y/N," she said slowly.

"What about her?" I asked, clearing my throat.

"You like her," she smirked.

"She was. . . I mean, she seems cool," I stuttered.

"You should go talk to her," she said, teasingly pushing me. "Invite her back down here. Or, better yet, invite her to walk around that nearby park."

"We're in the middle of chasing," I brushed off. I tried to walk away, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

"Ty," she said gently, "you never let anyone in."

"What are you talking about?" I challenged. "I let people in. I talk to you guys all the time.

"That's not the same, and you know it," she sighed. "Whenever we run into a girl you're interested in, which is rarely, you have one conversation with her and then instantly push her away."

"I do not," I scoffed. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at me in a way that made it clear that she knew I was lying. "Fine," I gave in. "But it doesn't matter, alright? I can't date right now. I need to be focused so I can bring you all back alive. I need to be focused on chasing."

"You know, Ty," she sighed, "there is such a thing as too focused. Especially when it's on the wrong thing."

* * * * *

I looked around to see my team officially too drunk to realize I was gone. I grabbed two beers and snuck up to the second floor of the motel. It wasn't until I knocked on her door that I realized how creepy this was.

Right as I was about to leave, she opened her door. "Tyler?"

"Hi," I said, sounding a lot more insecure than I had wished.

"What can I do for you?" She asked with a small smirk on her face. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorway.

"I thought you'd like a drink," I shrugged as I showed her the beers I'd brought. My stomach dropped when her smirk fell.

"I don't drink," she admitted. "But I could go for some pizza."

"On it."

This time, when I returned to Y/N's motel room, I didn't hesitate. I walked right up to the door and knocked. She soon opened the door, a small chuckle left her lips.

"You're back."

She laughed when I showed her the pizza. I ignored the feeling in my gut when she stepped aside and smirked at me. I sent her a wink as I walked into her motel room. As I sat across from her and we ate the pizza, I realized this would be the scariest thing I've ever chased.

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

Oh my god so you know this person from Tinder I went on a date with? Well I sent them this long rant about how I'm sorry but I just realized I'm actually aroace and I get that that's not what they're looking for fully expecting them to just go "well good luck with that I guess" but instead they said that they wanna be friends??? That they hope we can keep seeing each other as friends 🥹

[clara-a7]

𝙁𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙃𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚 || Pedri⁸

彡PAIRING ; pedri x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

彡SUMMARY ; you stole his favorite hoodie

彡WORDS ; 540

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language!

It started innocently enough. You’d had a long day and, while Pedri was away at training, you decided to raid his closet for something comfortable to wear. That’s when you found it his favorite hoodie.

An old Barça one from when he was a teenager.

The one he always wore after matches, the one that smelled like him, the one he swore he’d never let anyone else wear.

But today, you were feeling bold. Slipping it over your head, you curled up on the couch and put something on the TV. The fabric was soft, warm, and the perfect escape from the stress of your day. You could practically feel Pedri’s presence around you, and it made you smile.

Pedri had a habit of misplacing things always forgetting where he left his keys, his shoes, or, more often than not, that beloved hoodie. So when he walked in, exhausted from training, looking a bit disheveled and clearly on the hunt, you already knew what he was after.

“Have you seen my hoodie?” he asked, running a hand through his messy curls. You could tell from the way he was scanning the apartment that he was starting to panic just a little.

You tried to keep a straight face, but the corners of your mouth gave you away. “What hoodie?” you asked, pretending not to know.

“Y/N…” he sighed, dropping into that adorable whiny tone that always melted you. “You know the one I’m talking about.”

You bit your lip to hide your grin. “Haven’t seen it. Did you check the laundry?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, clearly suspicious. But a small smile was already tugging at his lips. “I swear, if you’ve taken it again!”

Before he could finish, he dropped down next to you on the couch, his eyes locking onto the sleeves that gave you away. He tugged at them with a smirk.

“Pedri!” you laughed, trying to tug the hoodie back. “I’m comfy!”

“Mhm,” he said, already pulling you into his lap like that was the end of the discussion. His chin rested on your shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around you as he nuzzled into the hoodie. “Knew something was off. You looked too cozy.”

“It’s not my fault,” you mumbled, still giggling. “This hoodie’s stupidly comfortable.”

“I know,” he said, playfully. “That’s why I wear it. Or used to, anyway.”

He didn’t sound mad far from it. His arms tightened a little more around you, his hands smoothing down the back of the hoodie like he couldn’t help it.

“Guess I’ll let it slide,” he murmured. “This time.”

You leaned your head against his chest, letting the quiet settle in.

“You’re very generous.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair, smiling against you. “I like it on you anyway.”

You didn’t say anything else for a while. Just stayed there, wrapped up in him in the hoodie, in the quiet, in the warmth that always came with him.

“Next time you go away,” you whispered, your fingers playing with the cuff, “I’m sleeping in this.”

“Good,” he said with a soft chuckle. “That’s what it’s there for. To keep you warm when I can’t.”

Funny how something so simple could feel so much like love.

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[urinarythreatinfection]

Wider View

Shanks x Woman!reader. Very suggestive. 589 words. Bottom Shanks. Outside POV.

a/n: can be read as transfem probably. posting early bc impatient

It’s a slow day for an adult store, the shop owner, bored, looks around. They already don’t have a lot of people that shop in person, but there is the occasional person or delivery person. Today though, nothing, and the sun has almost set. They perk up when the little bell rings as someone walks inside, finally something to do. “Welcome!” They say happily, which falters when they see a sudden 6’6 man walk in. Scar over his eye, muscular, even missing an arm. He looks like bad news. His blood red hair moves as he does, making them nervous. ‘He wouldn’t try to rob an adult store right? Maybe the register? Should I call someone?’ Their mind runs through options as he peruses around. He seems to sense their unease because he turns to them and gives a friendly smile.

“Hello! Do you have this in a bigger size?” He asks, holding up sexy red lingerie. So he is here to shop, and that smile didn’t look fake.

‘Is he getting something for his girlfriend? That’s bold.’ They think to themselves before answering. “Yes! It should be in the back, how big would you like?”

“An extra large, and if you have the stockings longer that would be good too.” He explains and the shop owner goes to the back.

‘He’s got a big lady, I guess he could handle something like that.’ They grab the larger size and go back, handing it to him. He looks it over, then goes to a mirror and puts it to his body. ‘He’s gay!?’ Their eyes widen in shock, the man unknowing as he smiles looking at himself. ‘I would’ve never guessed..’

Ring ring

“O-Oh, welcome!” They snap out of it and spot a woman.

“Yes, is my husband here?” She asks and then spots the redhead, who quickly hides the lingerie behind him. The shop owner’s heart tightens, is he hiding his sexuality from her? A secret gay lover? “Shanks, there you are!”

“Sorry, love, just buying some condoms.” He lies and she hums.

“Well okay, hurry up because I already made a reservation for the restaurant.” The shop owner looks away, they can’t watch this. Telling her feels out of the question too, he looks like he could kill them in seconds. Their eyes go back when she continues. “Oh, and buy more lube. I don’t think even a slut like you could handle getting fucked rough without it.” Their eyes widen when she gets closer to him, her hand trailing to his ass and giving a small squeeze. “And I’m not slowing down even if you cry~” He shivers with a shaky breath.

“Yes, love.” He says submissively and she smiles.

“Good boy, I’ll see you at the restaurant.” With that, she leaves and the man takes a moment to catch his breath before grabbing lube and condoms. He places the items on the register while the owner is frozen. They manage to tear themselves from their mind and ring the items up. While the man is giving the berries they make eye contact, and he suddenly gives a mischievous smile.

“I hope it surprises her as much as it did you.” His eyes go dark, and the owner is suddenly reminded of those demons in legend that feed off of sexual energy. “See you later~” He winks and leaves the store, leaving the store owner with a dropped jaw and flushed cheeks.

‘Well. I’m glad they’re happy.’ They think, but their world has definitely gotten larger.

I got too excited. Anyway, this can be read as transfem reader, but i didn't really know how exactly to tag that since ive never read about transfem reader stories. Anyway either fem with a strap or transfem no bottom surg. Taking everything in my body not to just post the rest. im a little nervous.. what if i hyped this and its trash.. its just a drabble.. gotta remember to keep my head on straight.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 9

Source for pic

Imperfect 9

Word Count: 5836

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: I'm sorry, everyone, this might not be the chapter you all deserve, but it's the chapter I managed to get out. Life kicked my butt a little bit these last few days. I aimed for this chapter to have a little bit more plot, but it was already getting too big. Still, plenty of setup for exciting things to happen next chapter. I hope you're still with me and enjoying this! Love you all.

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

“I can’t believe it, Kid, you really remade this engine from a bunch of scrapped junkyard parts?” You’re leaning on the tips of your toes, admiring the new farm tractor engine Kid is setting up. 

Well, ‘new’ is an euphemism. Kid was just telling you how buying a new engine was about as expensive as a new tractor, since your dad’s tractor is over fifteen years old. So, he came up with a cheaper solution. 

“Sure did, Sparkles.” Kid tightens another bolt and cranes his neck your way, one eyebrow shooting up in disbelief. “I’m actually offended ye doubt me!”

A giggle escapes your lips as you raise your hands in mock defense. “Don’t be! You just keep surprising me, that’s all…” Your voice softens as you lock eyes with him for what feels like the hundredth time today. 

A loud harumph breaks the spell and Kid gets back to his screws while you turn on your heel to scowl at your father. Shanks decided he had ‘stuff to do’ in the barn while you helped Kid fix the tractor, which was code for: “I don’t want you alone with Kid if I can help it.” And there’s nothing you can do about it. 

“I found parts in three different scrap yards, cleaned ’em up, rebuilt what mattered, ditched the rest… bam! New fuckin’ engine for half the price, more power too. Yer welcome.” Kid wipes the sweat off his forehead and leaves a small streak of grease across it, making you giggle again.

“What?” he growls, looking back at you. 

“Got a little something there, hang on.” Stepping closer, you remove the rag from his back pocket and scrub the grease mark. His hand instinctively grips your waist, and you bite your lower lip, holding back a gasp.

“Ah-ahem!” Shanks clears his throat again, and you exhale sharply, handing the rag back to Kid and stepping away from him while he chuckles and gets back to work. You death-glare the back of your dad’s head, since he doesn’t even deign to give you a side glance, pretending to fuss over the bedding of the horses’ stalls. 

“Cockblock…” Kid whispers beneath his breath, and you turn your loud chortle into a fake cough. 

After that, Kid keeps explaining what he’s doing and asking you to pass him some tools. You said you wanted to learn and to help, and he’s teaching you. 

“So, um…” Kid sighs after a while, hands deep in the bowels of the tractor, eyes fidgeting without looking your way. He’s not whispering, but he’s speaking softly. “I got Victoria registered for a Car Show… It’s in a few days and, um…”

Shanks stops what he’s doing, and Kid gets visibly more flustered, but you wait to hear what he has to say before reacting, even though you can already guess where this is going. He stops and looks at you before continuing. 

“Well, I was thinkin’, since ye helped set her up, maybe ye wanna come with?” You stare at him, lips parted, eyes wide, and silent. He takes your silence for a denial and starts to shake his head, already turning back towards the engine. “Ye ain’t gotta come. I just thought, ye know—”

“Yes! Obviously I want to go!” Kid lets out a huff of breath but quickly turns his expression into an unbothered one. “When are we going?”

He continues tweaking the tractor’s engine, but his movements are lighter. “It’s a weekend thing. Whole day Saturday and Sunday till late afternoon. We’ll have to spend the night—”

A horseshoe clatters against the floor, and one of the horses neighs while Shanks curses loudly, losing his balance and banging his head against the side of the stall. 

“Are you okay, Dad?” You’re already turning around to see if he’s fine, but he’s quick to answer.

“Fine! I’m fine!” His growl seems far from fine, but you leave him alone and turn back to Kid so you can finish the conversation. 

“I’m game!” you agree, ignoring another colorful expletive leaving your father’s lips. “I guess we should work really hard on Victoria until then, right?”

Kid nods, never meeting your gaze, even though there’s a stubborn smile on his lips, he’s trying to contain it. “Aye. Just the finishin’ touches.”

“Get ready, Kid. I’m not the easiest person to deal with in a road trip!” you say, squealing with excitement, and ignoring Kid’s mock pained grunt. You do not miss, however, the way your heart swells at Kid's invitation to tag along on such an important event. 

-*-

“Spit it out, Dad,” you say, your fork clattering obnoxiously against the plate as you set it down. Shanks has had ‘the look’ ever since Kid left. He keeps side-eyeing you like he has something to say but he’s trying his damn hardest not to.

“It’s… It’s nothing,” he mumbles, not lifting his gaze from his half-eaten baked potato. 

With a groan, you push your plate to the side. He’s going to make it difficult. 

“Dad, just say it. We can talk like adults. I don’t want you to keep your opinions and thoughts to yourself.” You know what this is about: Kid, obviously. Shanks hasn’t uttered another word about your burgeoning friendship with the redhead since you two fought the other time, but you can tell that the way you’re close to Kid bothers him.

Much more than he’s willing to admit.

“I know,” he admits with a shrug. Sipping your water slowly, you give him more time while he chews both on his thoughts and his food. “So you’re going to that car show with Kid, then? It’s settled?”

You nod. “Yeah, it sounds fun. I helped Kid with his car, even though I barely did anything, and I want to go. Unless… do you need me that weekend?”

Shanks’ eyes light up, and you know it’s because if he says ‘yes,’ it’s his chance to make you stay without being a smothering father. 

“No,” he sighs defeated. “I don’t need you, Bug.”

You let out a small, relieved huff of breath and get up to fill your glass of water before returning to your seat, giving Shanks time to gather the rest of his thoughts. 

“Be careful.” Well, that’s… vague.

“Sure. I’ll make sure Kid drives slowly.” As if. He’ll want to test Victoria’s limits, and you’re not going to be the one to stop him, especially because you’re also curious. 

“Not that,” Shanks pushes the plate to the side and sighs your name, his hand tousling his hair nervously. “I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it as often as it takes: Kid is dangerous.” Shanks lifts one finger to stop you from intervening. “Don’t give that look, I know him.”

“So do I!” you interrupt anyway.

“Sure, you know what he shows you. But when he’s pressured or cornered, he lashes out, and that’s when he sees red, baby, that’s when he’s volatile and you—”

“I’m not afraid of him, and you’re not going to make me fear him, Dad.” Kid already felt cornered and pressured when next to you. He lashed out, sure, but you handled it just fine!

“I’m not trying to make you fear him,” Shanks pleads, slamming his palm on the table. “I just want you to be careful, stay sharp, pay attention!”

“He’s not a ticking time bomb!” you say.

“He’s an angry man!” he counters.

“Sure!” you groan in disbelief. “But being angry is a far cry from being dangerous. Yes, he’s loud, yes, he’s irascible, but that shouldn’t be what defines him when there’s so much more underneath.” You let out another huff. “Besides, he’s not angry at me. Kid’s angry at himself.”

Shanks raises in his chair, his hand supporting his weight on the table so he can look at you. “And that is the problem, babygirl, because when you’re constantly angry at yourself, the ones who suffer are the ones who care the most.” 

Your breath hitches as you lock eyes with Shanks, and his eyes soften. He squeezes your hand gently, a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes gracing his lips. “And I know you care. So I’m so scared you’re going to suffer.”

He’s not wrong. Kid is constantly angry at himself, whether he shows it or not; there’s an underlying grudge he can’t seem to shake. 

“I’m a fuckin’ monster.” His words still echo inside your head, still holding your heart ransom to the pain he was feeling. 

Kid’s angry. Kid’s suffering. And Shanks is right. He will make you suffer too, but not in the way your father fears. 

You suffer because he’s in pain. Not because he causes you pain.

-*-

“She’s shining! She looks so good, Kid.” You pace around Victoria, taking in how the bright red, closely resembling her owner’s hair, stands out in the dimly lit garage. Kid’s been working nonstop to get her show-ready, and it’s paid off. “Are we going to ride her to the show?”

Kid takes out two beers from the fridge, but doesn’t put back the one you decline, instead setting it down on the workbench to drink once he’s done with the first. He leans back against the counter and tilts his head at Victoria, making sure everything is perfect. 

“Damn right we are. I’ll get her fuckin’ sparklin’ again once we arrive.” He smirks and takes a long sip of his beer. “She ain’t no helpless virgin to be carried around in a tow. She holds her own.”

With a soft chuckle, you lean on the workbench next to Kid, purposefully brushing your leg against his. His arm stops midway before raising up for another sip of beer, but the silence stretches for a while before you decide to break it. 

“Why haven’t you kissed me again?” It’s a question that’s been lodged in your throat since that day. You helped Kid in a terribly vulnerable moment, and he let you. You thought, once again, that you had made progress, that walls had been torn down and breached. But he hasn’t kissed you or mentioned what happened between you since. 

Kid sets down his beer and exhales a long breath, his hand reaching up to press over the lower half of his face. 

“It ain’t so simple…” Still avoiding your eye contact, Kid pulls up a stool from under the workbench and sits down, as if pressured by a heavy weight and standing up seems unbearable. 

“It isn’t?” you ask in disbelief. 

“Aye…” Kid risks a small glance at you and breaks it the next second. “I told ye before. I don’t know how to do this.” He gestures to the space between you. “I claim girls and I dump ‘em. That’s what I do.”

Right. He has said so before. Where’s he going with this, and why is your heart pounding like it wants to escape your chest? Does it always have to be one step forward and two steps back with Kid?

“What do you mean, Kid? Is that what you’re going to do to me or—”

“No.” Kid wraps his hand around your waist and pulls you to him, dragging you to the middle of his open legs. You eye him with suspicion, never quite knowing what to expect from him. Then his fingers dig into your waist, and he forces eye contact. “That’s exactly what I don’t want to do to ye.”

Oh.

“I’m wired to do that. Kill says it’s a defense mechanism, but what the fuck does he know, he ain’t a shrink,” Kid grumbles. “So I’m—”

He minces his words with grunts and sighs, and you know what he can’t say. He’s scared. About everything. The heat of his body spreads to your palms as you place them over his chest, waiting for him to go on. 

“I can’t take that risk. I can’t take it further. Yet.”

You take another step forward, and you’re nearly flush together. Kid’s hands drop to your hips.

“We don’t have to take it further,” you admit. Then a sly grin curves the corner of your mouth upwards. “But I do like your kisses…”

Kid leans down, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Aye, me too. But the problem is I like ‘em too fuckin’ much.” You let out a small giggle at that, hands climbing to his neck as you twirl strands of his hair. “When I’m kissin’ ya, I don’t want to fuckin’ stop.”

Your lips brush but never quite touch. He leans his head to one side, and then the other, just small feathery brushes that tease you more than if he were actually kissing you. 

“This is torture,” you whisper, anticipation climbing to impossible heights while his fingers dig deeper into your flesh. You press on his neck, pulling him towards you, but he’s not budging. He keeps leaning away from your search for a deeper touch. “God!” you breathe out the expletive in exasperation. 

Kid’s smug chuckle warms your lips, and you nearly let out a whine. “Not my name, sweetheart, but I don’t mind the upgrade.”

You start to chuckle lightheartedly at his smugness, but that’s when he shortens the distance between you and your mouths collide. It starts slow; hands behaving nicely, barely touching or gripping, lips only pressing, tongues still. 

And then you whimper softly, so softly it resembles more a sigh than a moan. Yet, it’s all it takes.

Kid makes a deep, throaty noise and wraps both arms around your back, pulling you flush against him, his fingers climbing possessively to your nape. He grips your hair and tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. 

No longer do tongues stand still; instead, they eagerly explore. Kid pushes more, and teeth collide before he nips your lower lip and sucks it into his mouth. His hand lowers and finds the hem of your shirt, already slipping inside to touch the feverish skin of your back. 

A proper moan leaves your lips, and Kid breaks the kiss abruptly.

He doesn’t push you away, though. With your foreheads pressed together, he removes his hands from your skin as you both regain your breath.

“See what I mean? Can’t fuckin’ stop. Ye do this to me.”

Why do his words stir something so real inside you? It’s like everything he says provokes a visceral reaction in you; be it rage, desire, or this weird feeling you can’t quite explain.

“But you did stop. Does that mean we can try it again?”

“Temptress,” he teases, and you stick out your tongue at him. 

“Fineee,” you let out, trying to wiggle out of his embrace. “I’ll behave.” He eases his grip, and you take a step back, though you’re still between his legs. “Guess you can delete that awesome schedule you prepared for us the other day…”

Ass demolition… being folded like a pretzel… You sigh. 

“Ain’t doing that,” he rasps as his hands find their way back to your waist. 

“What?”

“I’ve postponed it. To a month from now.”

You raise your brow, bringing your index finger to your lips in a pensive expression. “One month? You expect me to keep my hands off you for that long?”

Kid grunts, his hands squeeze, and you don’t miss the way his eyes fixate on your curving lips. “Rules and schedules are meant to be broken, Sparkles. I ain’t the man to follow rules, ye should know that already. Still…”

You smile softly, knowing where he’s going with this. He wants to take things slow, he doesn’t want to mess this up. He’s being different for you. Having a sort of deadline; an objective, makes it real and easier to abide by.

“All right. Let’s behave, then.” You push away from him and point at Victoria. “There’s another lady that needs your attention right now, and I don’t mind sharing with her.”

Kid grins, passing by you and squeezing your ass, eliciting a small yelp from your lips, before heading towards Victoria. 

“Well, yer a better person than me, then, because I wouldn’t share ye with nothin’. Not even a car.”

-*-

“So, are you guys officially dating?” Killer tilts his head to the side, arms crossed over his chest, as Kid exits Victoria and walks over to open the trunk. He drove the car outside of the garage, and he’s waiting for you to arrive before heading off. 

“No.”

“But you said you kissed again,” Killer deadpans.

“Right.”

“And you’re not doing your ‘just for fun’ bit?” Killer keeps pressing. Kid throws a duffel bag and a toolbox inside the trunk and goes back into the garage to get his set of cleaning products to pack it too. 

“No.”

“Well, you’re really talkative today. I’m so happy we shared this insightful conversation, Kid.” 

“Aye, me too.”

If looks could kill, Kid would be dropping dead at any second now. 

He sighs, places the cleaning products inside the trunk before closing it and leaning on it. He looks over at Killer without searching for his eyes. “It’s… we… it’s a situationship, I guess.”

“The fuck is that?” Killer asks, genuinely curious.

“Fuck if I know!” Kid growls. “We ain’t dating, but we ain’t NOT dating. Got it?”

“No.”

“Fuck off! We’re somethin’. That’s it.”

Killer’s about to retort when your car pulls up and you park it in the shade. “Good morning!” you greet them, stepping out of the car and reaching into the backseat for your duffel bag. It’s an overnight stay, you don’t need much stuff. 

“Hey,” Killer waves, going into the garage for a moment. 

Kid walks over to you and grabs the bag so he can store it in the trunk. “Mornin’, Sparkles.” You show him that sweet smile that could start wars, and he fights back the urge to press his lips against yours. 

If you were anyone else, any other girl, he would’ve already done a million things to you. Surprisingly, manhandling and folding you like a pretzel are actually very tame activities for what he usually goes for. And then he would’ve dumped you without looking back or thinking twice about it. 

But you’re not just any other girl. Despite what he said the other day, you are special, and he’s not about to ruin that. Girls have taken one look at him and decided they could fix him. More times than he can count, actually. He just has this unreachable, broken aura about him that gets some girls going. 

You said you didn’t want to fix him. You said you wanted all of his broken pieces. 

And fuck it. He was not expecting that. To be accepted exactly as he is. 

So he needs to be a little bit better; he needs to try and be good, even though he doesn’t know how to do it. He’s willing to try. 

He’s about to turn to Victoria to place your bag in the trunk when you reach up, holding his face with one hand and standing on the tips of your toes just so you can land a kiss on his cheek. 

And he just stands there, like an idiot, holding your bag and staring at you.

That’s when they start to snicker. He can’t see them, but he feels them. They’re always there.

‘Coward.’

‘Undeserving.’

‘Stay miserable for the rest of your life.’

They’re ruthless. But they’re right.

He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve happiness.

Why does he even allow himself to think of a possible future with you? Sure, you’re special and different, but he’s not. He’s the same selfish, cowardly motherfucker who can’t do anything right with his life. 

He can’t drag you down with him. He refuses. 

But fuck it all to hell. He’s selfish enough to want to try, even if it hurts both of you.

Killer returns with a paper bag in his hand, and Kid immediately turns to place your bag inside the trunk, dismissing his thoughts instead of letting them cloud the time he’s about to spend with you. 

“What’s that?” you ask Killer, hopping over to his side to try to take a peek.

He gently swats your hand away and hands the bag over to Kid. “It’s breakfast. Sun’s barely up, and it’s gonna take you close to three hours to get there. You need something to eat.” The lilt in his voice tells you he’s smiling, and you thank him. Then he leans down as if he’s sharing a secret and whispers, “Good luck putting up with Kid, by the way.”

You snicker loudly, and Kid grumbles. Whenever you and Killer get together, Kid always ends up being the butt of the joke. And damn it if he doesn’t like that. Not that he would ever admit it to you two. 

“What is it?” You try to pry the bag away from Kid, but he just holds it high above your head, and you don’t even try to reach for it. Instead, you frown at him, hands on your hips.

“Sandwiches,” Killer answers. 

“No eatin’ in the car! We’ll stop soon enough to eat ‘em.” Kid places the bag on the floor of the backseat, away from your reach. “Let’s go, Sparkles.”

“Fine,” you grumble, nose crinkling in an adorable way. “But I get angry when I’m hungry.” Then you turn to Killer and wave. “Thanks, Kill. See you soon.”

Killer waves and tilts his chin up to Kid. “Hear that, Kid? She gets hangry. Make sure to feed your Gremlin soon.”

You snort on the way to the car, and Kid shakes his head at his friend, slapping him on the back. “Thanks for watching the shop, asswipe.”

Killer slaps his back, too. “Drive safely, dickhead.”

“I don’t understand this type of bromance…” you mutter before settling into your seat. 

-*-

When Kid slows down and parks Victoria on the side of the road, under the shade of a tree, you stretch your arms over your head. You’ve only been riding for forty minutes, but you tested his patience for over half an hour, saying the sandwiches smelled delicious, that you were getting pretty hungry, and that you should stop to eat. 

He got tired of listening to you whine and pulled over.

“She’s amazing,” you admit with a light tap on the dash. “You outdid yourself, Kid. Everyone’s gonna love her at the show.”

Kid grumbles, grabs the paper bag, and exits the car. You follow him as you both lean on the hood of Victoria, staring at the road stretching ahead of you; just worn-out asphalt, barely any curves. You’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dirt and trees, birds, and lush greenery. It’s peaceful. 

“What’s wrong?” you try, not knowing if he’s in the mood to answer you or to be a puzzle.

“Nothin’.” Kid lets out a grunt and hands you your sandwich. 

“She’ll do just fine, Kid,” you take a guess. He fussed so much about Victoria being just right for the judges when he was prepping her that you’re pretty sure your educated guess is accurate. 

“Aye, I know. I built her.” The defensiveness in his answer shows that you were right on the money. 

“Maybe that’s why you’re so nervous. Because although they’ll be judging Victoria, you’re the one under scrutiny.”

His head snaps to the side, and he widens his eyes at you, not believing how you can already read him so well. Right on the money, indeed. 

“Whatever,” he grumbles and turns away from you. 

You unfold the foil covering the sandwich while Kid processes your words. You know he won’t talk about his real feelings, but you do know he’s listening to what you have to say to him. “She’s perfect. You did an amazing job. Everyone will love her so much, you’re going to get jealous.”

This pulls a smirk from the corner of his lips as he mimics your actions to get the wrapper off the sandwich. 

“Aye. I can handle her bein’ ogled. As long as nobody gets too fuckin’ touchy.”

You stifle a snort. “Nobody but you can touch your gall, right? Possessive much?”

He finally grins, giving you a side-eye. “Fuck yeah, I am. Ain’t nobody touchin’ what’s mine. Besides, nobody knows her like I do.” His hand drops to the hood of the car in the space between your legs, and he pats it affectionately. Then his fingers brush against the side of your thigh, and he gazes back at you. “I know every curve of her body, every little purr, everything she likes… Nobody can take care of her like I can.”

Your breath hitches as you hold his gaze. Is he still talking about Victoria?

“Good to know,” you murmur, getting back to your sandwich. “Maybe she doesn’t even want anybody else’s touch. Maybe all she craves is yours…”

You feel the heat of his hand leave your thigh even before you see it, but there’s no time to miss it when he places his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your face up so you can stare at him. 

You hold your breath again as Kid swipes his thumb across your lower lip, slowly, deliberately. “Keep sayin’ stuff like that and ye’ll be taken care of better than her.” Parting your lips, you draw a breath, ready to answer him, but he removes his hand and pats the half-unwrapped sandwich on your lap. “Eat, Sparkles. If ye eat that cold ‘cause I was busy flirtin’ with ye, Killer will murder us in our sleep.”

You huff a soft chuckle and nod, unwrapping the food and taking a greedy bite out of it. “Hmm! Damn!” You take another bite, not even bothering to swallow the first, and hum in delight again. “This is so good!” you say between bites, “Stupid good!” 

Kid snorts and takes his own bite. “Aye. Killer’s a damn good chef. Learned in the army. Used to cook us the best food ye could get in the middle of the goddamned desert.”

You nearly stop chewing. Kid never talks about their army days. You just nod, absorbing the information like a greedy little sponge. You don’t press, don’t push for more. You’ll take whatever he gives you. 

But it’s clear he’s not going to share any more for now, and that’s fine. It’s enough. Whatever he gives you, it’s enough.

“Remind me to thank him later, then.”

Kid hums in agreement, and you finish your sandwiches not long after. The silence is more comfortable than awkward at this point. 

You’re wiping your hands on your jeans when Kid throws something at you. You stumble with it, juggling the object in your hands before steadying it. With a confused gaze aimed at Kid, you raise your hand and inspect it. It’s a keychain: a guitar, a miniature Harley, and Victoria’s keys dangle from it. 

He wipes his hands on his pants, opens the passenger seat door, and sits in your place, adjusting it back so he can fit his legs. 

“Well? What are ye waitin’ for? She ain’t gonna drive herself.”

After all that talk about ’nobody touches Victoria but me,’ he just hands you the keys? Is he seriously trusting you to drive her?

“Are you serious, Kid?”

“Sweetheart, ye’ve been messin’ with her guts for weeks. She knows ye, she trusts ye. Get yer fine ass inside and let’s go. Don’t wanna be late to show her off to rich bastards.”

Well, since he’s put it that way! 

You grin, getting comfortable in his seat. Then you adjust the seat and the mirrors and take three deep breaths just before starting her up. 

“Ye ain’t givin’ birth, Sparkles. Just be careful with the clutch and let’s go.”

“Hey, I got it!” you grumble defensively. Kid snorts, opening the window and leaning his elbow. 

“I’ve seen ye drive. I’ve fixed yer car.” Kid stares back at you, an infuriating smirk painting his lips. “Watch the clutch and let’s go.” You mumble something unintelligible, mostly cursed words aimed at him, and he snickers. 

Victoria eases back into the road like she owns it, and for a vintage car, the ride is smooth as velvet. You feel happy. Kid looks happy. And the road trip extends for a few more hours that pass in a beat.

You trade places with Kid along the way again because he can’t act like a passenger princess and spends the entirety of your drive giving you pointers and being a backseat driver: ’careful with that sharp turn; that truck’s gonna hit the brakes, give him space; easy on the clutch; you can’t stand to hear him anymore, so you relinquish your seat.

Eventually, time rolls by as lazily as the road, and you reach your destination. There are still cars parking up, and one of the staff comes up to Kid to tell him where to park and that he needs to have his car ready in an hour before the judges and guests start coming in. 

The car show is being held outdoors, sprawled across a large park. The large trees cast a much-needed shade all around, and their leaves rustle softly with the vernal breeze. Kid parks Victoria in her designated spot, and you step out, stretching your arms and taking a big breath.

It smells like fresh grass, wildflowers, and, unavoidably, gasoline. 

Your eyes roam through the paved lot, taking in the car lineup in awe. There are a lot of classic cars, some well-cherished, others pristine new, like they’re never touched except for exhibits, which is probably the case. 

They’re impressive. 

But none of them is Victoria. You may be biased, but seeing her shine, burning as hot as fire amid boring classics that shine without flair, just cements this fact. She’s a beast of her own, and she’s going to claw her way to the top.

Kid groans as he too looks around. You close your door and stop beside him, placing one hand on his bicep and squeezing. “You got this, Kid. You got the best gal, don’t doubt it!”

Then you turn to open the trunk so you can take out the cleaning gear and get her show-ready. Kid grins, a very cocky grin. “Aye, I fuckin’ do have the best gal.” And when he winks at you, you’re left thinking once more if he’s talking about you or Victoria.

-*-

“I’m so exhausted!” you hide a yawn behind your hand as you walk to the motel conveniently located in front of the park. 

The first day went on in a blur of thrill and novelty. Beyond the first stressful hour when you and Kid worked hard to get Victoria gleaming and shining, everything worked out perfectly. The judges made their initial pass through the show, taking in their first impressions of the displayed cars. Their eyes lingered on Victoria with interest, and you swore Kid was proud when they nodded approvingly. 

Then came the side contests: loudest exhaust, best paint job, craziest modification. Victoria wasn’t registered for any of those competitions, but watching the crowd go wild was pretty fun. Even Kid seemed amused, grinning and smirking far more than his usual scowls. 

You had a quick lunch with some food from the food stalls, washed it down with ghastly locally brewed beer, which made you gag and almost lose your lunch. Kid called you a lightweight and suggested that you should stick with water instead of drinks made for men. He regretted that comment instantly when you started to discuss gender equality with him in a loud, passionate discourse until he was begging you to stop.

When the audience started to pour in after lunch, Kid tensed up because they were, in his words, ‘touchy, meddlesome, uneducated, and annoying.’ Though he might’ve phrased it a little less eloquently and with many more curse words in between. 

When he almost lost it, grumbling at a kid because he was about to touch Victoria with his ice-cream-covered hands, you took over talking to the public, and he only spoke to answer technical questions. You told him he did a very good job at being a grumpy Wikipedia page, if Wikipedia pages were R-rated. 

When the sun set, after your dinner consisted of a repeat of lunch minus the awful beers, the show closed for the night. Some participants decided to hit the town bars and keep the party going, but you were feeling exhausted. Kid said he wouldn’t be caught dead socializing with other people, and you knew he just didn’t want to leave you alone, because you’d never seen him say no to a few drinks. 

Now, Kid opens the door to the motel’s reception, and the obnoxious bell on the door dings to get the receptionist’s attention. Kid drops the two duffel bags on the floor and leans on the counter. 

“Hey, I had a reservation under Eustass Kid. It was a single, but now I gotta get one with two beds.” He told you during the show that he still didn’t know you were coming when he made the reservation for himself. 

The girl behind the counter chews her gum and clicks her mouse without looking at either of you, clearly bored out of her mind to be working the night shift. 

“We’re out of doubles, but we have rooms with king-size beds.”

Kid grunts a curse between his teeth. “Another single, then.”

“Oh, no need!” you chime in, stepping forward and shoving yourself between Kid and the counter. “The one with the king-size bed works just fine.”

The girl starts to click the mouse again, and Kid scowls at you, which only makes you grin. 

“Don’t worry, Kid, I’ll only bite if you want me to.”

The receptionist snaps her head up for the first time since you entered and gives you both a knowing smile. Kid tries to act annoyed at you, but the smirk and glint in his eyes tell you he’s looking forward to this as much as you are. 

“Careful not to swallow yer words, Sparkles.”

You reach for the card that the now-amused receptionist hands you, and Kid grabs the duffels. “Big words for someone who wanted two singles just a minute ago.”

He huffs a laugh and leads you outside with his hand on your lower back, barely touching but scorching you like a live flame. 

“Keep talkin’ and see where that attitude gets ye.”

Under you or over you would be great, thank you very much. These are the words you want to say, but you can’t. Because you’re both taking things slow. Torturously slow. 

“A girl can only hope…” you snicker at him, and he lets out one of those throaty sounds that send a shiver coursing through your spine but doesn’t say anything else. 

You can barely keep it together in shared spaces, as poor Killer can attest. How the heck are you going to last a full night sleeping next to this man?

Fuck.

Tags: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @dazzlingstarlight23 @bearg-bia @babyboofangirl @praline357 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @traffys-heart @cherileecore @violetmatcha @theloserqueen @mapachito @shamblespirate @ibuch7

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[awrkive]

Miss ma'am any spoilers for the next chapters please I literally can't wait for it please I am begging 🙏🏽

ERKAY ... heres a huge spoiler for the next chapter bye adios ciao

You’ve drowned out your environment at that point that you guess you didn’t hear the shower shut close and the feet padding the floor, because when you crane your neck around, there Jungkook is.

And again, he is without a shirt.

And without pants. 

And you’re mostly certain it’s his penis right there in between his thighs.

"Oh my god!”

"__, what the hell!” 

“Jungkook, that’s your penis!” 

“What? Turn around and don’t look!” Jungkook says wide-eyed, attempting to cover his dick with his two hands. But it’s too late now because you’ve just seen it and there’s no way to blur it out in your head. 

“But I already saw it!” you cry, seeing different momentary emotions flash on Jungkook’s face. 

“I was calling for you because the towel is in the cabinet but I thought you got knocked out from exhaustion and so I decided I was just gonna sneak in!” Jungkook explains frantically, and you can see his ears turning red from where you are as he tries to seemingly cover all of him, quite poorly might you add. 

You stutter, “W-what do you mean knocked out, of course I’m awake!” 

“I called you thrice, and you didn’t— okay. Okay. Just turn around, please, so I can get the towel.” 

“Okay!” You bite your lip and almost snap your neck as you turn around swiftly, landing your eyes on the torn portion of the wallpaper in the room. “Oh my god…” You whisper to yourself as you hear shuffling from behind you, and if it was not any more obvious, you're about to burst in embarrassment. “What the fuck,” you hiss, trying not to physically shake your head to erase the image of Jungkook’s very naked body that keeps flashing in your head.

It seems like he picks up on it.

“Can you not sound so mortified?” 

And for the first time in your life, there’s a tone to Jungkook’s voice that sounds genuinely annoyed.

You slap both your palms to your face. “Well, I’m sorry! I just saw your— your thing! how am I supposed to react to that? It’s embarrassing!” 

“My penis is embarrassing?” Jungkook incredulously says.

You wish your mind worked faster than your mouth, but unfortunately, it doesn't. And you should’ve known that already, because it has gotten you in a lot of trouble all this time.

“No! Your penis is fine! It’s wonderful! I’m embarrassed, that’s what I meant.” 

There was no way to take that back, because the silence that follows is too loud that at this point, you hope the building burns to fuck so Jungkook can forget about what you said and maybe all about you too while you’re at it.

“… okay.” you hear Jungkook’s unsure voice. 

You groan. “Can I turn around now?” 

“You can.”

Thankfully, Jungkook has his pants on now. You try to see past his bottom half but the upper part is no help at all because you're wearing his shirt and there’s no way you’re giving it back to him so he’s naked, again.

Jungkook cocks his head to the side. He looks at you curiously, then he shakes his head.

“If anything, I should be the one embarrassed here, not you,” he says as he walks by the edge of the bed. 

“Well…” you watch him, following his figure. “I was speaking for both of us. You’re embarrassed about having your thing get seen by me and I’m embarrassed for seeing it.” 

Jungkook pauses.

“That is definitely not offensive.”

You’re about to release a sigh of relief when you realize that was him being sarcastic. 

You eye him apologetically. “Oh, Jungkook, how was I supposed to react? Your one-eyed monster just stared right at me. I had to scream.”

“My… what?” he incredulously says, seemingly just getting more and more confused the more the conversation gets going. 

You remember your promise to yourself to stop calling penis weird names so you shake your head.

“I didn’t say that, actually,” you try to give him your sweetest smile but you’re sure you just look constipated. You sigh, shoulders deflating. “Jungkook, I think it would really benefit the two of us if you stop me from speaking sometimes.” 

“Okay I get it,” Jungkook raises his hands, shrugging. “You’re mortified about seeing my dick. It's fine.” He says and you swear he sounds a little defensive.

“What? No!” you quickly deny. “I’m not mortified about seeing your dick, I’m mortified about having to see it in the situation…!” When Jungkook doesn’t say anything, you let out a loud sigh again, eyeing him helplessly as you quietly accept that nothing is coming out right.

In defeat, you let your bum fall on the mattress and cross your arms as Jungkook finishes his make-shift bed on the floor.

“… well you would actually also scream if the situation was reversed, so.” You tell him as a matter of fact.

Jungkook stops on his tracks and turns to you. “You mean if I saw you naked?” 

“Well, yes.” 

You hear him scoff a little, prompting your brows to raise. 

“Trust me, I’ll have an entirely different reaction if I saw you naked.”