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daryltwdixon · 1 month ago

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Summary: The night began in chaos. After a tense, high-speed drive to the hospital, you labored through the night with Joel and Tommy at your side. Come morning, a surprise visitor appears at your door.

|| fluff, fmc is in labor, I am not a mom nor have I ever been in labor so please excuse my inaccuracies. ||

notes: mini chapter to ease some of the pain from p6!

Tommy’s white knuckles were only colored by the flashes of streetlights as he wove in and out of traffic like he was running from the law. The truck rumbled and swayed with every sharp lane change, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack.

Meanwhile, Joel sat stiff in the passenger seat, one hand gripping the dash, the other braced against the back of Tommy’s seat as he twisted to look at you again. You were stretched out in the backseat, one hand clutching the door handle, the other pressed firm over your belly.

“Breathe, baby. Just keep breathing,” he said, voice low, trying to keep calm for your sake. You nodded half-heartedly, but then another contraction hit, tearing a groan out of you so raw it made his heart drop.

He turned forward again, eyes flicking to the speedometer.

“Jesus Christ, Tommy,” Joel muttered, “you plannin’ to get us killed before we even hit the damn parking lot?”

Tommy didn’t look at him. Just kept staring down the road, jaw locked, foot iron heavy. “You wanna get there or not?”

“I’d prefer we get there in one fuckin’ piece.”

“Then quit distractin’ me and keep her focused.”

Joel made a frustrated noise under his breath, but he turned around anyway, checking on you again. You were trying to breathe through it, trying not to cry out, but it was clear you were barely holding on.

Tommy glanced up at the rearview. “You alright back there?”

You let out something that might’ve been an ‘uh-huh,’ but it cracked into a strangled whimper by the end. Joel reached for your hand that was on your swollen belly, covering it with his. “Almost there, sweetheart. You’re doin’ real good. Just hold on.”

“Almost?” Tommy barked, half-laughing, half-panicked. “We’re still fifteen goddamn minutes out and traffic’s backed up to hell.”

“Then maybe quit driving like it’s the Indy 500, might actually get there without flipping the truck,” Joel bit back.

“Oh, now you’re concerned about safety? After everything else you’ve done?”

Joel blinked, slow and sharp. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Tommy finally looked over, his eyes wild, his lip split and already starting to bruise. “Means maybe if you hadn’t stressed her out so bad, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. You ever think about that? Stress-induced labor. Look it up.”

Joel’s lip curled, a bitter edge to his voice. “So now this is my fault?”

Tommy scoffed. “Sure as hell ain’t mine.”

Joel turned fully toward him now, his voice darkening. “You really wanna do this right now?”

“You’re the one who kept pushin’. Kept stirrin’ shit up between us. Came over drunk and reekin’ of the bar floor.”

“Oh, don’t start actin’ like you were some saint in all this.”

“I wasn’t the one—”

“Enough!” you cried suddenly, your voice cutting through the cab like a blade. Both men fell silent, eyes snapping to you.

You were hunched forward, teeth gritted, a fresh wave of pain pulling a sob from your chest. “Just—shut up. Both of you. This is no one’s fault. He’s jus-just early.” you tried to breathe, “So just get me to the fucking hospital.”

Joel immediately reached for you again, his voice softening like a switch flipped. “Alright. Alright, baby. You got it.”

Tommy swallowed hard and said nothing, just turned his eyes back to the road, white-knuckled all over again.

The hospital doors blew open. Bright fluorescent lights hit your eyes, too sharp after the darkness of the drive. Everything felt loud, voices layered on top of each other—nurses barking orders, the squeak of your shoes on tile, Tommy at the desk shouting at someone, Joel’s voice cutting through it all as he gripped your hand.

“Just breathe, baby,” he said, voice low and ragged. “You’re doing so good. Just breathe for me, alright?”

You didn’t remember the wheelchair. Only the sensation of motion, the floor rushing beneath you, the dizziness of being moved too fast when the world was already spinning. Joel was somewhere beside you, close and constant, Tommy on your other side.

It felt like you were underwater. The world narrowed to pain, pressure, the seizing of your body as another contraction stole the air from your lungs. You moaned low in your throat, teeth gritting as you folded in on yourself.

There were hands. One on your face, brushing sweat-drenched hair away. Another on your shoulder, grounding you. Joel’s hands, you thought. They were always there.

“You’re alright,” he whispered, “You’ve got this. Just keep breathing, sweetheart. That’s it. In… out…there you go.”

You didn’t even realize you were holding Tommy’s hand until he spoke beside you as they put you in the hospital bed.

“I’ve got you,” he said, tight and thick with emotion. “Gonna meet our boy soon, honey. C’mon now, you’re okay,”

You squeezed hard, unaware of the bruises you were probably leaving. Nurses kept glancing between the two men flanking you, but neither of them budged. They stayed close, with you, no matter what.

Everything blurred together. You were trying to breathe through it all, tears streaming from your eyes before you even felt them welling. You were too far gone to think. Time slipped away from you in uneven gasps and ragged sobs.

Push.

Someone said it. Maybe more than once.

You bore down, trembling, sobbing, the world going white around the edges.

Another push. Another cry torn from your throat.

You did. You had to. And then again. You pushed until it felt like your body might tear apart, until you were sobbing openly and clawing at Joel’s shirt, until Tommy’s hand was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

And after hours of breathing and pushing and crying, the pressure left your body all at once.

There was a beat of silence. Then a cry from below you—sharp, shrill, alive.

The entire room seemed to pause.

You slumped back against the bed, chest heaving, tears streaking hot down your cheeks. Joel’s laugh broke in your ear, breathless and choked. You turned your head toward the sound, only half-conscious.

Somewhere beyond the ringing in your ears, someone was saying something. Healthy, breathing, strong.

Someone brought the baby to you. Warm, wet, crying from being brought into a new world.

You let out a broken sob as they laid him on your chest, his tiny lungs howling against your skin. You didn’t even realize you were crying until Joel’s hand wiped at your cheek.

“There he is,” Joel murmured, wonder in his voice. “You did it. You did so good, baby.”

You could barely see him through the blur of tears, but when you did, he looked wrecked. His face was flushed and damp besides the redness of the hits he took, his eyes red-rimmed, his expression soft in a way you’d never seen before.

He pressed his hand gently over yours, helping you cradle the baby closer.

Tommy was still holding on too, his other hand on your shoulder now, but you weren’t looking at anyone. Just the tiny face nestled against you, mouth open in protest, fists trembling with life.

Everything else fell away. The pain, the noise, the bright lights and the blood. All of it quieted as you cried and cried, holding the little boy you’d waited so long to meet.

And through it all, neither of them let go.

The morning light poured softly through the blinds, golden and slow, as if the world outside had the courtesy to match the quiet stillness in the room. Nurses had come and gone. The monitors beeped a little less urgently now. Your body ached in places you hadn’t even known could ache.

Your baby slept against your chest, warm and impossibly small, his breath rising in slow, shallow waves. You shifted just enough to look down at him, your fingers brushing lightly over his soft cheek, then along the delicate curve of his ear. He didn’t stir. Just let out a tiny sigh, his lips parted slightly, pink and perfect.

You traced the bridge of his nose, the gentle slope of his brow, the faintest suggestion of lashes already curling against his skin. His skin was soft, like nothing you’d ever touched before—like velvet and milk and something too new for words. His tiny hand rested over your collarbone, his fingers curled in a loose fist, barely the size of your thumb.

You couldn’t stop staring.

This was him.

He was real.

And somehow, he was yours.

You were barely holding onto wakefulness when a knock sounded at the door. Not a nurse’s knock, but lighter. Almost hesitant.

Before anyone could answer, the door creaked open and a familiar voice cut through the sleepy hush.

“Hi.”

You blinked. Sarah stepped into the room, her backpack still slung over one shoulder, a cardigan half-buttoned over her school clothes. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, cheeks pink from the morning air.

Joel straightened where he’d been hovering near the window, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to sit or pace. “Sarah?”

“I called you,” she said, giving him a pointed look. “You texted you were coming to the hospital and then didn’t answer me. I caught the early bus.”

Joel’s mouth opened, then closed. “Right, shit. Sorry.”

She stepped over to Tommy first, wrapping him in a hug before he could say anything. “Congrats, Uncle Tommy,” she smiled, though her eyes flicked curiously between him and her dad. “You both look like hell. What happened to you two?”

Tommy gave a low laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Long story.”

“Very long,” Joel echoed, clearing his throat.

Sarah tilted her head, eyebrows raised, but didn’t press.

Then she turned and saw you, her expression shifting immediately and softening with wide-eyed awe. She stepped toward your bedside like she was approaching something sacred.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

“Hey,” you managed, your voice a little hoarse.

She leaned down and half-hugged you without jostling the baby. “He’s so beautiful,” she whispered, eyes going to the tiny bundle in your arms.

You nodded, emotion thick in your throat.

“Does he have a name?” she asked.

You glanced at Tommy beside you, then over at Joel who was standing near the window again, hands on his hips. “Still haven’t decided,” you admitted. “Though the nurse is gonna be back soon, demanding something official.”

You looked up at her then, “Do you want to hold him?”

Her eyes widened even further, “Are you…are you sure?”

You nodded, jerking your head lightly toward the armchair in the corner, “Go ahead n’ sit. Joel? Give me a hand?”

Sarah scurried to the armchair in the corner, all nervous energy and fidgeting hands. Wordlessly, Joel stepped over to you, his hands steady as they slid beneath the baby’s head, his fingers brushing against yours, warm and careful in their gentleness. He carried the baby over, crouched to explain how to hold her arms just so, and then settled the tiny bundle in Sarah’s lap. She curled her arms around him, her whole world narrowing to this single, impossible moment.

You watched as the room went still.

It wasn’t a heavy silence, not really. It’s warm. Full. Everyone seemed caught under the same spell. Sarah, her arms careful and sure around your son. Tommy, smiling in a way you hadn't seen him smile in a long time. Even you, wrapped in a quiet awe that made it hard to breathe.

But when you finally looked up, you caught Joel’s gaze—and he wasn’t looking at the baby.

He was looking at you.

Something passed through his eyes, something so unbearably soft it made your throat tighten. He looked… grateful. He looked haunted. Like he had a hundred things he wanted to say but knew this wasn't the time. So he just held your gaze for a long moment until, after a long beat, Tommy’s voice cut through, a little too loud in the hush.

“You eaten breakfast yet, kid?” he asked, glancing at Sarah.

She shook her head sheepishly, a small, guilty smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers trailed across the hem of the blankets in her lap as she looked up at him, then down again.

Tommy grunted as he pushed up from his chair, dusting his palms over his jeans. “Think the cafeteria’s open by now. C’mon. I’ll take ya.”

Sarah carefully handed the baby back toward Joel. He moved without hesitation, cradling the newborn in his arms like he was something precious. Something he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.

You watched Tommy and Sarah walk toward the door, her voice a soft murmur you couldn’t catch. Tommy paused, glancing back over his shoulder at you as he held it open for her. His eyes held steady on yours. “We’ll be back,” he promised.

You nodded and they slipped out into the hallway.

The door swung shut with a soft click, and the room was left in that stillness again. Morning light stretched long across the bed, brushing over your bed sheets and Joel’s boots where he stood.

He made his way back over, slow and cautious, his eyes never leaving the baby’s face. That quiet awe was still there, softening the hard lines of his features. He didn’t speak as he approached, but you saw the way his gaze tracked every inch of the newborn like he was memorizing him. Like some part of him still believed this might not last. You just watched him. You watched the way the bruise on his cheek had darkened, the exhaustion in his eyes, the worn expression that had settled into his face like it belonged there. But it wasn’t just tiredness. There was something else just beneath the surface. Guilt. Uncertainty. The sharp edge of nerves that he hadn’t quite shaken.

No one had mentioned the fight from the night before. In the chaos of labor and everything that followed, no one had found the space to say it aloud. And you were grateful. Grateful that, for now, it could wait.

Joel leaned down and settled the newborn back against your chest, so careful and gentle in his movements. Once the baby was settled into your chest, Joel began to step back. Not…far, but enough to start retreating. You saw the way his eyes darted to the floor, his hands flexing open and closed like he didn’t know what to do with them now. The only sounds in the room were of the baby’s breathing filling the room, tiny little sighs that made something in your chest ache.

You reached for him. Your hand found his wrist, fingers brushing warm skin and wiry hair. He stilled under your touch, breath catching slightly. You let your hand trail upward, sliding along his forearm, anchoring him. You looked at his face, waiting to meet his eyes—but he wouldn’t look at you.

Still, he let you pull him in.

Joel knelt beside the bed, as if unsure whether he was allowed to come any closer, and your hand moved gently to cup his face. The scruff of his beard scratched against your palm as you laid your fingers along his jaw, and for a second, he just breathed.

“Look at him,” you murmured, your gaze never leaving Joel’s face. He followed your cue, looking down at the baby again. A long breath left him, his shoulders lowering, his brow drawing in as something in him buckled in him. Not broken, but loosened. Softened.

“Look what you gave me,” you said, “Gave us.”

You smiled faintly as your fingers slipped into his hair, stroking through it gently. He stayed quiet, breath shallow, eyes fixed on the tiny face resting against your chest. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly, like he couldn’t believe any of this was real, let alone that he had a hand in it.

“Joel,” you whispered, and his eyes finally met yours.

“I love you too.”

His hands rose almost immediately, pressing against his forehead like he was trying to hold everything in, to steady something inside that was unraveling faster than he could control.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so damn sorry.”

You didn’t need to ask what for. You already knew.

He was sorry for the night before. For showing up drunk and aching and helpless. For not being able to hide his feelings anymore and for letting Tommy see all of it. For all the ways he had failed to keep his distance when he should have. For not being able to carry it in silence anymore.

You reached up again and threaded your fingers through his hair, slower this time, more deliberate. Your nails grazed lightly against his scalp, and you felt the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he leaned into it.

His eyes stayed shut, but he didn’t pull away.

“I know,” you murmured. “It’s okay. We’re going to figure it out. And…I’m sorry too. For pushing you away like I did. It wasn’t right.”

Joel didn’t say anything. But he heard you. You could see it in the way his eyes closed briefly, in the way his shoulders softened again. He didn’t brace this time. Didn’t tense like he expected to be pushed away. He just breathed, each inhale and exhale long and deep as he let himself stay right there with you.

But then his hands moved. Slowly, he reached up, his calloused hands rough and worn but so warm and careful as he took your hand from his hair. He pulled it down, cradling it in both of his hands like it was the most precious thing. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles for a moment, and then he brought your palm to his lips, and kissed into the center of it.

His beard tickled your sensitive skin, and his warm lips pressed gently into your palm, sending a quiet spark across your nerves. Goosebumps rose along your arms, not from surprise but from the sweetness of it. How he was so soft, so unhurried. There was nothing rushed or dramatic about the gesture, but it carried more weight than any words could have in that moment.

Your breath caught in your throat at the tenderness of it, and for a second, you just looked at him with his head bowed, your hand still held gently in his grasp, the baby breathing softly between you.

You let out a long, tired sigh. Not from frustration, but from relief. From the ache easing a little in your chest.

“Alright,” you said finally, voice light but a little hoarse as you tried to lighten your tone. “So what’re we naming this kid?”

Joel’s head lifted, his eyes catching yours. Still glassy. Still overwhelmed. But a ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t look afraid.

taglist: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698 @doblasftcisco @devotedlypaleluminary @elsplayground @puduvallee @victoriaholland @legoemma @leenieweenie12 @possiblyafangirl @alitaar @mads198-9 @emmaoc10 @auteurdelabre @the-last-twin-of-krypton @lilasskicker2 @levislegislation @flowercrowns-goodvibes@starmurdock@94namkooksworld@staley83, @escapefromrealitylol, @starkleila, @ashleyfilm, @honeyydip, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @brooklynbbxo, @ratoonstown, @caroldxnvxrs, @lovelykat001 @snowlycanroc @powellssaturn,

#idk if y'all believe in deja vu but I had serious deja vu editing this #you know the kind where you remember being so confused about what you were doing #I remember being like who tf are joel and tommy bro #lmaooo #mustve been a long ass time ago #family matters #the last of us #joel miller #tommy miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #tommy miller x you

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dearestzaychik · 3 months ago

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Our Forsakened Destiny.

[ Forsaken x Isekai'd Reader! ]

[ Gender Neutral Reader! ]

TW : Some Cursing then and there..

WORD COUNT : 6,092K words!

NOT PROOFREAD. Please do tell me if there was any mistakes whatsoever!!.. Because I'm not proofreading a 6,092k worded chapter..

Chapter 2

READER'S POV.

Knocking can be heard at the door, as you opened your eyes to the sounds. You didn't have to reply, As the figure that was knocking at the door started talking either way.

"..Hey, Elliot here. I just wanted to let you know that soon, the rounds start again. You slept for a hefty while, but we decided to wake you up early so that you'll be able to talk to the others. As well as to talk about your Abilities and Role. We'll be waiting downstairs!- No rush for you of course, but Builderman said he hoped you get ready as soon as possible."

Elliot mentioned, before footsteps were moving away until it was no longer there. It was still dark outside, as the realm never seemed to have the concept of day. It would be hard to know what to tell what time it was, but this was probably considered morning for them. You had no time to loose, so you got up and started to get ready. Even if you felt a bit anxious at your own situation, running away from it was not the wisest answer.

Before you headed out, you looked at your Stats and Abilities once more.. and they finally have something written down on them that's for sure.

ROLE : Support.

DIFFICULTY : ★★★★☆

HEALTH : 90

STAMINA : 90

ABILITIES :

Short-term Relief

- Bottoms Up and Cheers!

• This active ability allows the user to give out Pain Pills, making way for a new mechanic, TEMPORARY HEALTH.

If you need a quicker way to provide health, this is the quickest way you'll be able to get it for! This Survivor can share Pain Pills through out the round, and can even save a life in need if used right! It gives 65 health points that diminishes over time. Although.. One wouldn't recommend using it more than 1 time for each survivor.

If a Survivor manages to get their hands on another batch of Pain Pills after the first one.. They'll be inflicted with Nausea 2, and if they were to drink 3, Not only do they get inflicted with Nausea 4, The Health Points diminish faster as well as chipping off 5% of their actual health. This is not able to kill the Survivor, leaving them in 1% health if they were to drink a third time. At last, if the Survivor were to drink 4 or more, they will be lead to an Instant Death depending how lucky they are to live after each drink. The Cooldown is 35 seconds.

The Thrill of our Misfortune

- I don't like this chase, I'm out!

• This active ability allows the Survivor to gain access to three Adrenaline Shots, and is able to give them out or use it on themselves.

More on said, This Survivor not only carries Pain Pills, as well as 3 sets of Adrenaline Shots in which they can drop to share with other survivors or use it for themselves. The survivors are locked into an Adrenaline Rush, no longer fearing the Killer as they get a boost to get away. It can give Speed 2 for 5 seconds, as well as 45 health points that diminishes over time. Once all shots have been used, theres no other way to get these back so make sure you use it wisely. The Cooldown is 40 seconds when used, 35 seconds if dropped for another survivor.

Desperation.

- I don't belong here.

• This passive ability grants the Survivor Nausea 1 every 30 seconds and lasts 15 seconds when they aren't near at least 3 meters to a survivor, but gives Speed 1 for as long as they haven't encountered a Survivor nor a Killer, as well as 30 health points that diminishes over time when their alone and already injured.

This Survivor feels very uncomfortable even when not in a round, its best to provide them with Company to them to make sure they don't feel so.. out of place.

During Last Man Standing, due to the pressure this survivor is experiencing, Nausea 1 will stay for the remainder of the round, and Speed 1 will be given for only 15 seconds before the effect fades away, then 50 health points that diminishes over time will be administered to the said survivor after the effects are no longer present. Because of this, it leaves the Survivor very vulnerable when it comes to Last Man Standing.

Seems like Nausea will be your friend in the long run with the amount of Nausea status effects you can get in your kit. Your kit looked really complicated, hell you couldn't even seem to comprehend it right now to say the least. Whoever planned these abilities definitely wanted you to suffer.

None the less, there was now a Difficulty and your HP stats and stamina changed. It seemed balanced enough, but you still didn't get why you would be Difficulty 4 out of 5. Back then you were just a normal human being working a minimum wage job, nothing can be deemed special to your old life to have an entirely complicated kit like this..

Getting ready, you opted for a quick shower before changing into clothes that was exactly the same as your last pair before slipping on shoes and opening up your door, only to see a figure with a Pumpkin head opening their door at the same time as well.. Dussekar stared at you as you stared at him, having a minute of silence as both of you didn't move, before of course he took the intiative to break the silence.

"You must be the new survivor of this morning. You're presence will hopefully, be lovely."

Dusekkar stated, his legs never seem to touch the floor as he levitated off the ground. Honestly, you almost forgot he spoke in rhymes and riddles. Mentioning your presence, you remember how some survivors have different opinions of one another, as back then your friends mentioned about tensions and relationships between characters during the time you played..

"..Hello, Goodmorning."

You replied, even if it wasn't day at all outside the window, it seemed to be considered Morning for them. Dusekkar nodded in acknowledgment, holding their staff as he went ahead to the Lobby. You followed close by, fiddling with your hands. Soon enough both of you made it through the hallways, reaching the Lobby where the rest of the survivors are. Shedletsky and Builderman spotted you first, seemingly looking at something as Shedletsky raised their hand.

"Yo, Dusekkar and New comer! Over here!"

Shedletsky yelled out, signaling for both of you to come near. As you did, they seemed to have been looking at your stat and abilities. Seemingly investigating and looking at what you can do.

"It seems like they're a support."

Builderman blankly stated, looking at the stats as he seemed to have already figured out your kit faster than you did. Looking up at the message, there was something stated there.

NEXT SURVIVORS FOR THE NEXT ROUND...

Builderman

Two Time

Chance

Pharmacist

Noob

007n7

Shedletsky

Pharmacist.. That might be the title your called as. It seems like there were only 7 survivors playing this round, the others that weren't mentioned seem to get a break for one round at least. Its weird how you were called Pharmacist than your actual name, but its a decent title none the less. A Pharmacist, huh. Right, that was what you wanted to be when you grew up. But you never managed to suceed in actually following that career path, with that said.. There was indeed a reason why you wanted to be a Pharmacist back then, but you can't seem to remember why. Snapping you from your thoughts, Dusekkar, Shedletsky, and Builderman were looking at you, seemingly waiting for a Reply.

"Well?"

Shedletsky said, tapping the table as he waited for your response. Builderman shook his head, seemingly making up a decision for you.

"..They didn't seem to hear what you asked, but its fine. They can stick with me so that we can avoid that passive of theirs."

Builderman stated, glancing at you before he looked at your abilties and stats once more. He will most likely and definitely help you during this, considering he was a support as well.

"Also, This might be for you as well. It was in front of the front door earlier."

Builderman quickly added, seemingly remembering something as he picked up a Belt that had 3 adrenaline shots, as well as a container for Big Batches of Pain Pills.

"If that's one's case, then I shall take my leave. To prepare for the next round, is my current top priority."

Dusekkar said, patting you on the head as they seemed to have acknowledged your abilities.

"This shall be your first round, So one will wish you Great Fortune during this expedition."

Dusekkar wished you Good Luck, but in a somewhat fancy way.. None the less, he meant well that's for sure. Without waiting for your reply, they levitated away seemingly off to do their own thing as they weren't up for this round.

"Dusekkar is always so conservative, but I tell you he means well!"

Shedletsky said as he glanced at the Pumpkin figure gradually faded away from View. After Dusekkar left, he looked at you with a positive smile.

"There's still time until the round starts! Why don't you get along with the other members of the team? Off you go now!"

Shedletsky said, seemingly wanting you to interact more with the others as he gave you a little nudge that you needed to walk away. Giving you a thumbs up before talking to Builderman about the upcoming round.

In the actual Lobby, most of the Survivors were there. Even some of the survivors that you didn't manage to meet yesterday were there as well, all of them minding their own business or preparing for the next round. Elliot seemed to spot you as he waved, coming up to you with a bright smile.

"Hey, Have you met Builderman and Shedletsky yet? I heard they wanted to discuss your abilities. None the less, I won't be there to support you next round sadly.. But Im sure Builderman will find a way to teach you how to be a great support for the team!"

Elliot mentioned, patting you on your shoulder as they seemed to have hoped to teach you how things worked around here. A figure behind Elliot seemed to appear, looking behind him as they had a blue shirt and green pants.

"I-is this the new survivor..?"

They said, stumbling on their own words as they looked to be a bit afraid by your presence. Elliot looked behind him before smiling again, moving aside and showing the said figure. Noob jumped at the sudden movement Elliot did, but they still managed to stand still without freaking out at least.

"Meet Noob! Don't worry, They're nice."

Elliot stated, but the second sentence seemingly more so to Noob than for you. Noob looked at Elliot and then back at you as they didn't seem to know what to reply, after all they were described as Quiet and Withdrawn even after gaining more friends from this Realm..

"..Hello, It's nice to meet you Noob."

Deciding that you should take the first move this time, They seem to flinch as you offered your hand for a hand shake. After a moment or two, they took your hand and shook it lightly. Avoiding your gaze as they looked down.

"..It's nice to meet you too."

They replied, still a bit frightened but they managed to give a small smile. You took your hand away as you can feel someone staring at you, looking behind, you can see a pale-skinned robloxian with black scene-like hair. Just blankly staring at you as you stared back at them. It was a silent showdown as none of you seemed to speak up about the awkward staring contest between you both. Before of course, Elliot stepped in once again.

"..Ahh, that person over there is just Two Time. They might come off at the wrong glance at first but their decent."

Elliot stated, mentioning how Two Time is known for being a little bit insane in the membrane.. None the less, Two Time diverted their gaze in another direction as soon as Elliot is finished, seemingly off to their own little world once more. In another corner of the room, There seemed to be a person with a blue shirt, having a burger ontop of his head. But before you can even get any interactions with him, Noob patted your shoulder as they signalled you to look up, seeing that the timer's countdown was almost over.

"T-The round is almost starting.."

Noob said, stammering between their words once more as they seemed to be preparing themselves for this round even if they looked like they didn't want to participate any longer.

"..Good luck, You two."

Elliot stated, looking at you and Noob with a look of worry. You weren't even given time to say anything as your vision faded to black.

[ THE ROUND HAS STARTED. ]

Opening your eyes, You seemed to be in the Glass Houses map. Nobody seemed to spawn near you, so for the time being you were alone for now. What did spawn near you was a Generator, you might as well complete it to for the team and to not be completely useless.. While doing the Generator, there was seemingly a Menu you can open during the round, floating beside you as you can see the remaining time of the round as well as both your stats and your other teammates stats. This was definitely gonna be useful later on deciding who can get prioritized for temporary healing and actual healing later on.. A sudden feeling of panic eased within you, as your heart was beating louder and louder. Was this the passive ability you had? But it hasn't been 30 seconds yet, and you were just halfway done with the machine when Sudden Spikes appeared from the ground and blocked most of your exits besides the exit that you had to walk up through stairs to get out. Looking up, You could finally see the Killer as realization sets upon you.. John Doe was the killer. Probably from last round's events, the other killers were probably notified of your coming. And looking at his face, he seemed to look like he found the right survivor to toy with.. along with that, A sense of Nausea slipped within you, what a great timing of events.

"..So, This... is the New Comer."

John Doe managed to say, even though he was mostly mute in the actual game, in this reality you find yourself in he actually is able to talk but seemingly not much, showing how the Corruption affects him. Enough about needing to talk to the killer, You can do that any time. Right now, you didn't want to die. Especially the fact that you have not ever experienced death in this realm once, getting Impaled by a spike and ripped apart into two was NOT a pleasant way to die. Immediately shotting up to your feet, you quickly made your way up the stairs to the somewhat second floor of the building even with the Nausea you had during this. Looking down, you were steered away for a bit due to the height. In game, you were just playing a silly little pixel game. So the drop didn't seem much at first, but now that you're actually here.. it was steeper than expected. But John Doe was following close behind you, so you had no other choice but to Jump. Jumping off, you survived the jump successfully, but you lost balance as you landed and fell to the floor while at it. You swore you could hear John Doe's laughter up there, seemingly seeing your pathetic attempt to get away from him.

"You need to work on that landing of yours."

John Doe stated, easily following behind you as he jumped off so effortlessly and landed successfully as well. He was about to hit you with his clawed arm before..

BANG!

The sound of a explosion ran out through the air, pausing John Doe's movements as both of you looked at the side, seeing Chance who had a awkward grin, holding his now destroyed gun that exploded on him instead of stunning the killer.. Well, it did seem to stun John Doe at least from the sheer stupidity of the situation, so Mission Failed Successfully?..

Seeing the Opportunity at hand, You stumbled onto your feet, before running at Chance as you handed him Pain Pills before running off in another direction. John Doe seems to have scoffed at this action, before immediately changing targets as he chased Chance, who looked to be very grateful for your ability to say the least. After you deemed you've ran far enough, you stopped to catch your breath, noticing how your body trembled just based off of how much your hands shook. Right, all that you did was something you acted upon instinct. You didn't actually expect to be able to pull that off, especially knowing how Lazy and Carefree you were back then.. Clapping can be heard, as you looked up to the source to find Shedletsky, impressed by what just happened.

"Not bad at all for someone who just got here Yesterday!"

Shedletsky stated, before he suddenly got hit by a wrench as he winced from the pain. Stumbling back to the side, he revealed Builderman who was seemingly behind him this whole time.

"Talk later, Chance needs someone to distract that thing."

Builderman stated, behind him a Dispenser that he has built for the round. Shedletsky realized this as he checked the status, with Chance only having 67 HP left, and 30 of it was his actual health. Seems like he got hit once already, and with that Shedletsky quickly left, waving a quick goodbye as you were now left alone with Builderman.

"..I didn't manage to find you before your Passive activated, so I do apologize for that."

Builderman suddenly stated, checking the status of his machines as he noticed that his Sentry was down. Before you can even say anything in reply.

"You think ya' can handle being Alone for a bit? I just need to place down a sentry for these sentinels."

Builderman stated, looking at you as he adjusted his tool belt. You could only nod in reply, he gave a small smile and started walking away.

"Your work is much appreciated."

And with that, Builderman faded out of your view. Your left alone with the dispenser.. Oh wait, someone was near the dispenser and you didn't even notice until now. Not even Builderman seemed to notice him before he left, As 007n7 was near the Dispenser getting healed. It seemed that he just got here, having serious wounds as he was probably hit pretty badly by John Doe probably when he started chasing Chance, probably Body Blockeing so that Chance wouldn't die right off the bat. You didn't need to say anything else, remembering how Meos used to yap to you about 007n7's backstory to say the least.. if you were right, this man was the Adoptive Father of c00lkidd. 007n7 seemed to notice you staring at him, before he averted his own gaze.

"I understand if you do not want to interact with me in any way, but I do hope my presence and background doesn't dissuade you from helping someone like me.. But I don't blame you if you do of course..-"

007n7 stated, still looking away as an awkward tension fell before you two. You almost forgot, Almost every survivor disliked 007n7, especially knowing his misdeeds in the past. But you yourself didn't know much about him, only knowing about him being an Exploiter back then. None the less, he seemed to be trying his best to help the team with body blocking despite the situation. You didn't really know how to reply back to 007n7, especially with this heavy tension in the air. You could only look at the man before you with sympathy, before you dropped one of your Adrenaline Shots. While at that, 007n7 looked surprised that you even gave something. He hasn't done anything good for you, has he?..

"..Thank you for your work."

You muttered out, slightly repeating what Builderman said to you. 007n7 looked surprised as he looked at you with such shock. You stood back up and left him with the Dispenser, not bothering to look back as he himself didn't reply to you. Only grabbing the Adrenaline Shot you gave him as he stayed a little longer near the dispenser to heal up.

As you roamed around, with the machines being completed and picking up a Bloxy Cola along the way.. You happened to spot Chance once more, He doesn't seemed to be getting chased anymore, meaning John Doe went after a different target as he was sitting down leaning onto the wall while flipping his coin. He seemed to have spotted you as well as you went up to him.

"..Thanks for the Pills back there, It definitely made me see another day that's for sure. You think you can spare me an Adrenaline Shot at the moment?"

Chance asked, fixing his hat as he had a new gun that was fixed as well. With that, he stood up despite his Injuries as started flipping his coin once more.

"Oh.. Sorry, I can't give one at the moment. I just gave one to 007n7, and I can't give another one for a few seconds. But I do have this.."

You replied, taking out the Bloxy Cola that was hanging off your belt as you gave it to Chance. He only nodded and took the Bloxy Cola you gave him, not bothered by the fact that your Adrenaline Shot was currently unavailable.

"Oh, That Awkward Fella? Its all good, he deserves it for sparing me a hit or two. But Two Time on the other hand... wasn't so lucky to get away."

Chance mentioned, frowning at the thought. You didn't even realize Two Time was dead, looking at the Survivor's list and Two Time was indeed in fact dead. Every other survivor took a hit besides you and Noob, who was probably hiding and doing the last machines for this round.

"..None the less, I appreciate the gesture. Don't worry that fella got transported back to the Lobby and didn't actually die but... It might take you a while to get used to it so that's just a heads up for you."

Chance said, looking at you as he grinned once more. You could only wonder something that happened earlier, and your curiosity got the better of you.

"..Why did your gun explode on you?"

You asked, before a short silence filled the air. Chance's expression went blank, probably remembering the pathetic attempt at trying to stun the killer earlier. until it was replaced with a toothy grin, as he tried forgetting that ever happened.

"That's because I load extra gunpowder in it, nothing more, nothing less.. Its all good though, so you don't have to worry."

Chance stated, trying to save himself some dignity as he continued to flip his coin infront of you, but it always seemed to land on tails. Which seemingly made him more frustrated to say the least. Who wouldn't be?

"Now why would you do that..-"

Chance paused once more from your question, thinking about it before he shrugged, flipping his coin once more as it finally started landing on heads.

"..'cause where's the fun in that?"

He said with a proud grin, before he stopped flipping his coin as he finally got 3 charges. While at that, he started walking away once more.

"I would ask for more Pain Pills, But Shed needs it more right now. I'll go ahead and find either a Medkit or Builderman's dispenser somewhere here, but its best you go to Shed's aid."

Chance said as he left, leaving you more dumbfounded than ever by his own answer. So this little shit just loads in extra gunpowder for shits and giggles.. you could only sigh at his answer, before taking the initiative and got moving once more. After all, Shedletsky and the others still need your help. but you can't help but feel a bit guilty about Two Time's case. Even if you were a support that had healing abilities, your abilities were only there to give relief momentarily. You weren't paying attention to the Survivor Status as well, so you wouldn't even know that Two Time was dead if Chance didn't point it out. You remember how the whole entire fandom hated Two Time specifically, the intense backlash they gets due to their "useless" kit made everybody dislike them. You can't help but reminiscence on the times where Peanut tried to defend Two Time's horrible kit with their own life.

As you walked further and further from the direction you were once from, you could slowly start hearing yells and chattering amongst the silent night. As you got closer and closer, you could spot spikes from the ground. Your definitely getting close. As you ran, you could see John Doe still chasing Shedletsky due to the fact he had half of his health left. With your CD finally over, you used your ability as Shedletsky gained extra health temporarily as the Pain Pills quickly kicked in. John Doe seemed to pause from this, before he slowly turned to you, seemingly fuming with rage.

"..You annoying, little BRAT."

John Doe stated, before he suddenly started chasing you. This was most definitely your queue to run as John Doe followed close by, his anger seemingly reaching its peak from you healing the survivor he was chasing after. Who wouldn't be? After all, you yourself raged when an Elliot healed a survivor you were about to kill back when you were the killer.. Okay, that really shouldn't be the focus right now. Especially considering how close John Doe really was to you and the fact your stamina was running out.

It wasn't long before you felt a sharp pain at your back, being slashed by John Doe. His slashes were absolutely painful, but you weren't dead just yet at least. You got back at your feet as you looped around John Doe, going back to where you left Shedletsky. As you went back, you can see Shedletsky and Builderman with a sentry deployed right in front of them. Before you can even seem to get to them though, Spikes appeared from the ground as not only did it hit you, but blocked the pathway to them as well. Landing onto the ground, you couldn't help but wince in pain. Before you can even try getting up, you were kicked so that you wouldn't be able to. The very person that stood before you was John Doe, who definitely had intentions of murdering you with how bad his glare burned onto you. He scoffed, his spiked arm going under your chin as he forced you to look up to his Malicious Smile.

"..You're out of Luck, you bothersome fool. I'll make sure your first death will be a painful one."

John Doe said, as he was about to strike you with his other clawed hand once more.. Hah, You really fucked up this time, didn't you? Nobody and Nothing can save you now as you closed your eyes and waited for the inevitable until...

[ The Round has Ended. ]

[ Survivors Won. ]

JOHN DOE'S POV.

Seeing this New Survivor flailing around on the ground like a pathetic worm felt great. Especially after all the shit they pulled off as well. It was fun at first, but its starting to get irritating knowing this Survivor was another annoying support to say the least. But he couldn't help but Smile, seeing how frightened they really are. A taste of their own medicine, they said. This was just another victim for his own games, as he was about to strike them before..

Everything went black, he was back in the Lobby again. As he processed everything that was happening, he felt his anger rising once more. Grabbing something and throwing it across the room, that very item that was thrown being a Sword. And the person right across him was 1x1x1x1, almost getting hit by the said Sword but none the less remained Unphased as she stayed quiet. What a weirdo.

"..Seems like the new Survivor got under someone's nerves pretty quickly..."

A voice rung out from the room, with c00lkidd stating the obvious. Scoffing from his statement, glaring at the child as c00lkidd immediately put their hands up and shutted up, not wanting to make him angry even more. Jason didn't seem to be present in the main room, probably off to do their own thing. John Doe didn't have any more business done here as he went back to his room, his spiked arm dragging across the floorboards. He only managed to kill 1 survivor from the 7 survivors last round.. He'll make sure he'll wipe them all next time.

"..H0w B0th3rs0m3 1nd3ed."

1x1x1x1 stated, agreeing at John Doe's last statement as he looked up at a screen that was broadcasting the round as the screen only shown a Pain Pill left on the ground before the screen itself finally went away.

READER'S POV.

You waited for the inevitable to happen, expecting something painful yet.. nothing seemed to happen. Opening your eyes, your back to the Survivor's Lobby as you were sitting on a Table with the other remaining survivors. You actually survived that, and your injuries seemed to be gone. But where it was felt sore and a bit painful if touched to say the least, but what matters was that you survived. Your hands were shaking once more, but this time you couldn't tell if it was from fright because of the experience or if it was from the sheer happiness that you managed to actually survive. Some of the other survivors like 007n7 and Noob seemingly got up from their seats and went away, probably to have either some alone time or back to their room.. or both. Chance got up as well, walking up to Elliot and asking for a Pizza. Two Time was no where to be seen, and Shedletsky and Builderman stood up as well, but seemingly looking at you as they seemed to be relieved.

"..You did well, I'm honestly surprised how ya' managed to survive that

Builderman stated, his accent seemingly slipping in as he looked at you with a furrowed expression. Although his words were definitely sincere, his furrowed expression was practically screaming the fact that he seems to want to scold you for your reckless actions, but didn't as you were new after all, its common for this to happen..

"I wonder how Lucky this New Addition can get.. I swear, you might be even more lucky than Mr. Exploding Gun over here."

Shedletsky stated, mentioning the failed attempt of a stun from Chance as he probably was looking at each survivor status during it to find out what was happening.. Chance came back, with pizza in his hands as he scoffed, frowning as he didn't want to remember that once more.

"..That was only one time during the round...-"

The other survivors started chatting amongst themselves, With Shedletsky and Chance seemingly teasing and making fun of eachother's misses as Builderman just seemed to watch like a disappointed parent while Elliot watched as if he has seen this multiple times already. Everybody seemed to be so well connected already.. well, most of them at least. But something felt off, and you couldn't help but wonder yourself.. Will this Peace last forever? Who knew. But right now, enjoying this moment felt like the right thing to do.

Your enjoyment was definitely short-lived though, as you felt someone pull you away, unable to see who it is as they pulled you away from everybody and out the Cabin without anybody noticing. Looking behind you, you could see Two Time who stared blankly at you. You couldn't help but feel uneasy again as their stare was off-putting to say the least.

"..Oh, Hello... Do you need anything?--"

You asked, looking at them as you noticed they had a few bandages around certain parts of their body where John Doe probably slashed them at. before you can even finish your sentence though, Two Time cutted you off as they were quick with their words.

"007n7 never told you their name during the round, and I'm sure you didn't interact with him earlier.. How did you manage to know and mention his name when you spoke with Chance earlier?"

Two Time stated, mentioning the fact that you slipped up and said 007n7's name when talking to Chance earlier. They were really observant, and you felt like if you lied they wouldn't buy it. You were forced in a tough spot to say the least, this turned out far more worst than expected. Someone is already managing to figure you out and it hasn't been even a week yet. You couldn't help but feel frightened once more, a cold shiver went down your spine as your face to face with Two Time who wants answers. You know that whatever you will plan to answer, there will definitely be consequences for each one.

WARNING :

Major Decision Making up ahead.

Surprise! Interactive Choices appear! It seems like someone already got suspicious of you, and it was Two Time none the less. Whatever you choose WILL affect on how the story would go, so choose wisely!

TAGLIST

@takingnap55 @vyn-nn @g4tyjust4tw0 @ilikedrinkingsoda @subspacekisser1 @m-just-call-me-that @yukinaabutlazy @ms-sh0rtcak3 @no-hearts-included @agenteighter @bombcake @jawzwix

[ If your tag is white, for some odd reason I can't seem to tag you! (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠) ]

[ If you want to be apart of the Taglist, don't be afraid to ask! ]

NOTES

AAAAA... VERY SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT!! I've been busy since I'm currently undergoing my last few weeks of the School Year and is heavily bombarded with school work.. Next chapter might take a while to upload considering I still have to finish up every single one of my works, but none the less I'm kind of glad I got this out of the way.

The reason why Reader doesn't maintain their Injuries because of the little headcanon I have where Survivors that DO survive the round will have the luxury to not experience any wounds, while Survivors that do perish in the round are forced to deal with the wounds until all the rounds that are prepared for the day are completed. Then they can actually rest then pray to spawn that it heals up quickly before the next round of 'games.' I thought of this headcanon because I wanted a Punishment for 'failing' to survive the rounds and also because I see Spectre doing this to the Survivors to make them suffer more.. this is further more shown when Reader is faced with Two Time which they had bandages around them, as well as in Chapter 1 with Guest 1337 themselves having bandages around their body when the Reader met them after the round was over.

For this series, theres a lot soon to come! But right now, things are definitely getting more serious. There will still be some silly moments then and there, but there will be more decision making sitiations in the future! I think thats all I have to say for now. Thank you for your patience!

EDIT :

NGL GANG.. I ALMOST LOST THIS FIC!.. ITS OKAY PROBLEM IS SOLVED BUT OH MY DAYS THIS WOULD'VE BEEN A LONG CHAPTER DOWN THE DRAIN..

#forsaken #forsaken roblox x reader #forsaken x reader #roblox forsaken x reader #★ 𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓼

631 notes · View notes

asxgard · 2 months ago

Text

Companionship | pt. 2

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You and Michael have some late night phone calls. He struggles to open up.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: wow! Y’all are really so nice omg, I really appreciate all of you who took the time to like, comment or reblog. I also appreciate all you silent readers too! I’m genuinely surprised with how much traffic part 1 got, so thank you all so much! Contemplating adding this to my AO3 account from the perspective of a f!oc, but still undecided (I prefer to keep my reader works strictly for tumblr, idk why). This is definitely going to be multiple parts (my rough outline currently has ten chapters whoops).

I don’t know much about sugar babies aside from what I’ve read, so I took some liberties with my guesstimates.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap, slowburn, foul language, allusion to a panic attack, work stress, Robby trying to avoid his feelings/anxiety, my basic understanding of accounting, angst

not beta read

“You’re lucky. Someone only looking for companionship is a small pool of men. Not as lucrative as a traditional sugar baby, but if that’s more your speed, maybe reach out to some more.”

Your smile twisted, “I’m already uncomfortable with just one. Thinking about adding more makes me feel icky.”

Erin rolled her eyes, ��Why? They know what they signed up for. If they wanted fidelity, then they should get a girlfriend.”

“I’m telling you, I could hook you up with a shift or two a week at the bar. I make great tips.” Marsi said, her eyes not flickering from her laptop.

You frowned. “I already gave him my number. My Google Voice number, but yeah.”

“That’s my girl!” Erin praised with a laugh.

You wondered if it was a mistake. He had not reached out since you had sent the number on the app, nearly four days prior. Perhaps he was having second thoughts. Anxiety filled your chest at the thought of having to go through the whole process again.

Or just drop it and take Marsi up on her offer.

—

Your night passed slowly, studying with your friends until dinner time, when they left. You kept your focus on the Excel spreadsheet in front of you, checking over your homework with careful eyes. Numbers were easy, they did not hold the complexities of human beings—

Your phone buzzed on the table, immediately pulling you away from your work.

You have any time to talk?

It was an unknown number. You watched as the three dots appeared immediately after, though it wasn’t hard to guess who it was.

This is Michael by the way.

So formal, you found yourself thinking with a small smile, quickly adding him to your contacts.

I have time.

It only took a few more moments before your phone started ringing. Anxiety thrummed through your system, heart beating like a drum against your ribcage. You took a long breath through your nose before answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” He answered awkwardly.

“How are you?” You asked out of habit.

There were several moments of silence. “I want to say I’m okay.”

“But you’re not?”

“But I’m not.” Came his quiet reply.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Another measured silence. “No. Yes? I don’t know.”

You hummed. “I understand your hesitation, we don’t know each other. But isn’t that the whole point? I’m unconnected to your life and you basically have anonymity. I won’t pry, so we can talk about something else, if you’d like.”

He was silent for a long time. You checked the call to make sure it hadn’t dropped. The seconds ticked away on the call, so he was still there. You waited.

“Just a…rough day.” He said, his tone sounding stressed. “I think I’d rather talk about your day right now.”

“My day?” You questioned, surprised.

He only hummed in response.

“Do you want the play-by-play or the cliff-notes?”

Michael exhaled a ghost of a laugh, “Give me all of it.”

You cleared your throat, “So my alarm went off at 5:20, no! 5:25, and then I got out of bed—”

He laughed, bringing a smile to your lips.

“I have early classes on Thursdays, so I was up earlier than I usually like to be…”

“Night owl?”

“Guilty.” You smiled. “But it was my forensic accounting class, which I’ve been enjoying, so I wasn’t too upset getting out of bed. Add in my morning coffee, and I was a pretty happy camper.” You paused, but he was quiet on the other end. “I had taxation today too, and despite the fact I love the numbers, learning tax law just isn’t my favorite thing.”

“Why do you like it? Accounting?”

“Oh, um,” you paused, deliberating. “I like turning unreadable stuff into a well-crafted report, turn a mess into an easy to read story of a company’s financial history. Plus, numbers are a lot less complicated than human beings.”

There was his quiet laugh again. “Yeah, I can see how that can be true.”

“As a doctor, I can imagine you would.” You were smiling.

“I’ve seen…a lot of complicated people.”

You waited a few moments, but he didn’t elaborate. People were the primary reason you had left the medical field early on in your college career — while you enjoyed being helpful, people could be too overwhelming.

“And my shift today was good, busy and boring, but easy enough.”

As you went on about your day as a payroll clerk (though vague about the company details), Michael was quiet. It was clear he needed the distraction from whatever his day had been. You explained your studying routine with your friends and your love of baking. You got the occasional hum of acknowledgment, but it was clear he just wanted to listen to you talk. You moved from topic-to-topic without complaint, pausing occasionally to make sure he did not want to comment, or change the subject.

It was late when you realized the time: 11:08.

“Michael? I’m sure I could keep going, but I’m not sure you want to hear my opinions on office politics.” Your tone was jesting.

Still no response. Furrowing your brows, you listened silently to the other end.

Small puffs of air, slow and steady, in and out. In. Out. He had fallen asleep.

Your first instinct was to be offended — no telling how long since he had drifted off or how long you had rambled to no one. But then you relaxed. He had clearly needed the distraction from what was going through his head when he first called, enough to quiet his brain. Or perhaps he was just that exhausted. Either way, you did not take it personally, you would have likely been up this late anyways.

You ended the call at two hours and seventeen minutes.

—

Are you available at 9?

You checked your phone when you moved into the living room, dinner cooking in the oven, finding a text from Michael. Per your agreement, you usually talked about once a week. He usually gave late notice, though it usually reflected how bad his day had gotten. Your last talk, however, had only been three days prior.

In addition to the one only days ago, you had talked two additional times since your first, typically at night, where you did most of the talking. You almost found your talks therapeutic; plus you were getting paid to just talk. Though, you wished he talked more — part of you felt like you were taking advantage of the situation and he was barely getting anything out of it.

He had already put money on the prepaid Visa card you had picked up after your first phone conversation. Michael thought the card would be more discreet and confidential than Venmo. The $400 dollars you had agreed on for the month had done wonders with relieving the pressure on making your rent payment.

Erin had encouraged you to set up an online wishlist as well, adding things periodically in case he wanted to buy something extra for you. “As a tip,” Erin had told you, a wide smirk on her face. That same day, Erin had coincidentally brought her new Valentino canvas bag that you were sure cost more than your rent payment. You held off on the wishlist, but you kept a few things in your notes app. Just in case.

You sent him a confirmation that you were fine with nine. He must work late hours. He had said he was a doctor, but you wondered in what specialty or where, but you had never broached the topic. You both valued your privacy when it came to your arrangement, not wanting to muddy the waters.

Surprisingly, he did not call at nine. He was usually pretty punctual when it came to a time he asked for. You waited patiently for several minutes before moving to start some hot water for tea, looking out the window at the rain. You figured to give him a bit of extra time before turning in.

At 9:24, your phone rang. Part of you nearly picked it up on the first ring, but you gave it a few moments before picking up. When you answered, he spoke first.

“Please just talk. About anything.” He sounded out of breath, talking quickly. His tone sounded more stressed than you had heard before.

“Are you alright?” Was your first instinct instead of doing as he asked, standing from your chair at the dining table, mug of tea forgotten.

“Fuck. No, I’m not. Please just talk to me. Your day. Your job. The fucking traffic this morning. Anything,” Your name was so quiet on his tongue, you nearly missed it.

It sounded like a plea.

You swallowed, pulse quickening, before running with it, “This asshole actually cut me off this morning, which considering his bumper stickers, wasn’t all that surprising. No blinker, nothing. I swear, sometimes the subway is less stressful, though I hate the morning crowds.”

Suddenly realizing talking about stressful things might not be the best way to calm him down, you pivoted, pacing across your apartment. Deciding quickly on something boring to most, you began to explain your most recent accounting assignment. How you came up with the financial analysis from the numbers your professor had given, to the tax implications of several of the (fake) business’s decisions. You explained it as best you could in layman's terms, trying not to make the math too complicated, before walking him through your report and your thoughts about how to help the business improve.

You paused long enough to hear his breathing, not quite as ragged but still loud and quick. “I don’t need you to respond, but think of five things you can see.”

Oh this was cliche, but you did not dwell on it.

After a few moments, “Okay, four things you can touch.” You paused, finding four things of your own to ensure he had time. “Now three things you can hear.”

“You.” He croaked, much quieter than he had been. “I can hear you.”

“That’s good. Now two more things.”

“…the rain. The cars outside.”

“Good,” you breathed out. “Two things you can smell?”

He didn’t answer, though his breathing had slowed tremendously from when you had first answered his call. It felt relieving, and you finally made your way to sit on the couch.

“Last is one thing you can taste.”

He let out a long deep breath, but kept whatever it had been to himself.

“Are you okay?” You asked again after a few moments.

“No.” He said. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

You nearly huffed, but the annoyance was fleeting. You smiled, “I can tell you more about accounting, but most people find it incredibly boring.”

“You seem to really enjoy accounting. Though, I can’t imagine being cooped up in an office all day.”

“Well I wasn’t quite cut out for psychiatry, and I’ve always enjoyed a good spreadsheet.”

“Psychiatry?” He sounded surprised. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“What does that mean?”

“You would’ve been good at it.”

Oh?

“Thank you.” You whispered. “Um, can I interest you in what my professor assigned today or how my manager nearly fucked up payroll this week?”

He cleared his throat, “I’ll take ‘how my manager nearly fucked up today’ for $200, Alex.”

Your lips quirked back up at the Jeopardy reference, trying to shake off the feeling his praise had given you. With a long sigh, you rubbed your fingers along your hairline.

“He messed up the new employee’s tax deductions by misclassifying his title. When he backtracked to fix it, he cleared out the entire category — thankfully I caught it when I was putting my own numbers in for the small team I oversee.” You told him, looking at your nails. “Led to quite a frustrating day.”

Despite the fact that it had led to quite a hectic start to your workday, adding several tasks that interrupted you workflow, you felt mildly pathetic knowing his day had clearly been so much worse. You tried not to compare, your days had just as much value as his, but it was still a creeping feeling in your gut.

You continued on after a beat of silence on his end. Fixing the problem hadn’t necessarily been the issue — it was redoing every employee's numbers that led to your annoyance. That, and the lack of accountability from your manager.

Time ticked on, Michael only adding in his thoughts here and there, mostly staying quiet.

He coughed awkwardly during a lull in your conversation, “Uh, thank you for tonight.”

Beginning to feel your exhaustion, you smiled tiredly. “No thanks necessary.”

“Goodnight,” there was your name again.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

[ Next ]

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v1x3n · 3 months ago

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BLOOD. TEETH. GUTS! ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - angst - mentions of torture, breakdowns, violence, possible sa, argument, johnny being a dick, starving.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

The buzzing fizzes up your ears. Constant. Painful.

It's like static. Yeah. Static blocks out all other senses, the only thing you could focus on was the ringing, forever ringing that fills your head.

Then you look up at him. The guy that caused the pain - well, one of the guys - the guy who's currently standing at the fucking door to your therapist's office.

Why does HE need therapy?

Your eyes were full of shellshock, the memories of the eyes you were looking into, feral as they glared at you whilst ripping your teeth out one by one. But now they look at you, sadness overfilling the wet eyes. The corners are red, just as yours are. Just as yours will always be. Breathing slightly picks up as you stand up.

"I'm sorry, do you two know each other?" Jones starts to speak, following you with her eyes when your legs shake slightly, your movements taking you slowly to the right. Moving to the side of the sofa. "Why the f-fuck are you here." your breathing picks up vastly. Flashes of blood, teeth and guts pop into your head as you're reminded of what he did to you.

"Oh god, fuck- y/n." Johnny steps forward, closing the gap between you two as your breathing thins. Short sharp breaths you inhale and exhale. "Why the fuck are you here!" demanding an answer you didn't want. "Jones is my therapist, trust me, she helps tons." Johnny says casually. As if you two were friends, fucking friends. This wasn't casual though. You were fuming, steam almost flowing out of your ears, your face glowing red.

"What the fuck do you need therapy for?" you scoff, your eyes looking at him up and down, giving him the hackiest of looks. Eyes squinting, trying to see what he truly wanted, trying to see underneath all the lies that dared to utter from his mouth. "A lot of people go to therapy, y/n-" Jones starts but you cut her off, fury raging stronger than your natural kindness. "You. Don't. Fucking need SHIT!" Blood. Teeth. Guts.

You step forward, crashing all around you as you inhale the familiar scent of Johnny. The one you used to link to drinking together or that one time you accidently walked in on him showering and saw him using your shampoo. But now all you saw was when he would harm you. Hatred fuels through you as the scent overtakes you, a prick of tear showing at your waterline. Dripping down your angry face.

"I- bonnie-" he steps back. The tension in the room filled it, an overwhelming atmosphere all around you - you couldn't be here anymore. Your breathing picked up faster than before as everything seemed to move at 2 times speed. "Fuck off!" you barge past him, making sure to push him into the doorframe as you walk by.

Johnny grunts as he hits the wood. The hard frame probably bruised him but fuck him. You didn't care. Actually, you hoped he was hurt. You hoped he would feel the pain that you did - that he put you through. And it would take a lot more than a small push.

It was a stupid idea to follow you, wasn't it?

Tears stream down your face as you scream at him, "you fucking dickhead!!"

Blood. Teeth. Guts.

The images flash through you as his hand reaches toward you, "Y/n, I'm sorry. We made a mistake." "no fucking shit!!" swatting his hand away from you, he couldn't fucking think for a second that you would let him near you. He was lucky you touched him when you barged past him, he was lucky you were talking - well screaming - to him. He was lucky you didn't kill yourself after everything. "I told you! I fucking told y-you that it wasnt me!" sobbing out whilst shouting at him, hitting his chest with more and more anger as you continue to talk.

"Why do you need fucking therapy? Was it so hard for you when you tortured me? When you ripped my teeth out? When you CUT my fingers off?"

People around you were looking. But you didn't care, you didn't care about the stares. All you cared about was your rage. You hadn't let out much emotion since it happened, nothing but what was burning inside of you. Every person you knew told you that you needed to let it out before it started spilling. You were just letting it out. This wasn't even half your rage.

"I didn't fucking want to - and yes it was hard! You were my best friend!"

"And yet you didn't believe me?"

"how- how could I? You would've done the same thing if you got told I fucking betrayed you."

You look up at him, misery in your eyes. "I would've found more fucking information before ripping someone's teeth out!" you hiss spitefully at him, glaring at him as you do so. You were so sick of that fucking excuse, 'we had to do it', bullshit.

They didn't have to strip you, they didn't have to tie you up, they didn't have to starve you. They didn't have to be so fucking cruel about it all.

"You don't fucking understand how hard it was for me to do that."

"Excuse me, you two need to calm down" a doctor walks up to the two of you, surrounded by some other doctors, yet you ignore them. Your eyebrows rise in utter shock. "I'm sure it was really fucking hard!" You yell at him. Blood. Teeth. Guts. Drops spill down your face at a rapid speed. The doctor's eyes dart between the two of you, concern etched into his features. He takes a deep breath. "Please, you two are upsetting patients. Let's just all calm down." He suggests gently, hoping to diffuse the situation.

"'Calm down'" you mock, "Yeah! Sure! Let's just forget about fucking everything!" Your tears flow down your face as the man in front of you sighs. You step towards the man who harmed you, daring him to come closer. Your steps are like thunder as they stomp towards the man. "I'm sure you'd fucking love it!" Unable to contain your anger, you take a swing at Johnny. Blood. Teeth. Guts. Unluckily he swiftly dodged. After taking a deep ragged breath, you could hear commotion around you as the doctors rushed to you and closed in. Random hospital words that you didn't know were thrown around. You feel hands pulling you back, voices urging you to stop. Pulling you away from the situation but you wouldn't stop.

You defy, trying to push them off as you see Johnny being escorted away through glimpses of your tears. The images flash through your mind, over and over. On repeat. Blood. Teeth. Guts. Blood. Teeth. Guts. Like a never-ending cycle of rage. The security guards finally intervene, separating you from the doctors. As they try to escort you out, tears stream down your reddening face as you try as hard as you can to part from their aggressive grasp. As you get more and more uncooperative, a silver cold metal shoots into your neck - instantly effective as you slump into the many guards' arms.

Johnnys eyes are wet as he is brought away, looking over at you slanted in the many guys arms/ guilt and regret evident in his weary eyes.

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ariestrxsh · 6 months ago

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dom!matt x sub!reader x dom!chris

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 content warning: smut, use of vibrator, degradation, unprotected sex, dumbification, size kink, threesome

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 summary: chris and matt find a flaw in the bet you made with them, meaning you submit to them.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 author's note: this is the second ending i wrote for this fic. enjoy! 🤍

dividers by @/anitalenia

Love Potions

chapters: | 1 | 2 (first ending) or (alt ending)

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Fifteen

"I'm tired of you being such a little slut all the time," a shirtless Chris smirked down at you while a shirtless Matt was pinning your wrists above your head.

Chris was using your vibrator on you, the same vibrator he'd just found you using on yourself as you laid completely naked downstairs on their couch.

They had just woken up and come downstairs for breakfast to instead find you, practically begging to be fucked by them both.

You had been getting annoyed at how disciplined the two of them were, ignoring your teasing and not giving into you. It was halfway through No Nut November, and you were doing everything in your power to get into the two boys' heads and make one of them cave on the bet you'd made with them.

"I bet you're both gonna have to go touch yourselves after this, aren't you?" You asked, giving both Matt and Chris a devious smile. You peered down at the way Chris' cock was straining against the cotton fabric of his pants.

"Why would I touch myself when I could just fuck you?" Chris wondered aloud. "Because then you'd lose the bet, and you'd lose No Nut November," you replied between whimpers as the soft buzz of your toy stimulated your clit.

"Well, there's a loophole in the bet you made," Matt replied, tightening his grip on your wrists. "If one of us loses the bet because they fucked you, then the other gets to fuck you after. And so did either of us really lose?" Chris asked, sneering at you.

"I like the way you guys think. Not as dumb as you both look," you responded smugly. "We might both look dumb, but not as dumb as we're about to make you on our cocks," Chris shot back.

Chris turned off the vibrator he held in his hand, tossing it off to the side, and he started to pull down the waistband of his sweats. You watched as his cock sprung out, letting out a gasp at how big it was.

Before you had much more time to react, he was gently running the tip up and down your slick folds. "I knew you wouldn't be able to go a whole month without nutting," you scoffed at his lack of self-control.

"Doesn't matter, sweetheart. I'm still getting what I want," Chris told you as he rested the tip at your entrance and without skipping a beat, he thrust his hips forward, stretching you out as he entered you inch by inch.

You gasped and let out a squeal while you peered up at him wide-eyed. "You love how big it is, don't you?" Chris asked in a sweet voice. You nodded.

"Say it," Chris demanded, dying to hear you compliment the size of his cock. "I love it, Chris. I love how big you are," you whimpered. It had been so long since you'd been properly fucked.

"Take this big dick, you little slut," Chris panted, relishing in the way you gripped around him. He quickly picked up speed, moans pouring from his lips while he plunged his cock into your drooling hole, bucking his hips back and forth and watching the way his member moved in and out of you.

"Fuck," he groaned under his breath, admiring the way his length looked coated in your arousal each time he pulled out before pushing it back in again.

"You like being used by us, don't you?" Matt cooed, running the back of his hand delicately along your flushed cheek. You bit your lip and nodded. "Use your words, princess," Matt softly ordered you. "Yes. I love being used," you whined.

Chris slammed into you over and over, both of them studying the way your tits bounced and admiring the metal jewelery that decorated each of them. Chris reached down and cupped one of your breasts. "So fucking hot," he whispered, running his thumb over your pierced nipple, drawing more pornographic sounds from you as he teased you.

Chris could usually last a long time in bed, but it had been weeks since he'd cum, and it had been weeks of your relentless teasing. He could already feel that familiar feeling in his lower belly quickly building. You could feel the way he throbbed inside of you, begging for relief.

His pretty blue eyes were locked on yours, his expression softening, and the prettiest moans you'd ever heard falling from his full, pink lips. Before he could even make the conscious decision to finish, he was injecting you with his milky, white fluid, his cock twitching as he filled you up.

"Oh my god," he softly whimpered, looking down at the mess he made in your hole. A satisfied smile formed on his fucked out expression as he delivered a few final thrusts, pulling your climax from you as well.

You started to clench around him, your legs shaking, and your eyes rolling back into your head while Matt held you down against the couch, watching the whole scene unfold.

Before you could even recover from the incredible sensation, they were switching spots. Chris' grasp around your wrist was tighter than Matt's had been, and it immediately turned you on again to have him handling you that way.

Matt positioned himself between your legs, pulling out his poor, neglected cock. He wasted no time before he drove his hardness into you, stretching you out once more.

"Oh, fuck," the words passed through your parted lips as Matt rocked his hips back and forth, quickly gaining momentum and chasing sweet release as soon as he entered you.

Matt placed both your legs on his shoulders to gain deeper access, and you both moaned louder as he orchestrated himself further into your pretty pussy. His hands wandered towards your breasts, and he gently squeezed each one.

"You like taking us both, one right after the other, don't you? Fucking slut," Chris smirked down at you. You didn't need to answer. The desperate look on your face said it all.

Matt's cock was extra sensitive after being neglected for so long, and he was already on the tail of his climax after only a few more minutes. His fervent moans filled the room as he peered down at the way he slipped in and out of your drooling slit.

It was too much. He couldn't take it anymore. He started to pulsate inside of you, pumping you full of his seed. His expression was steeped in pleasure, his brows drawn together in an almost-concerned-looking manner, his cheeks flushed and pink, and his jaw hanging slack in awe.

His hooded blue eyes were fixated on your pussy and the way you started rhythmically tightening around him as you finished as well. He studied the mixture of both of your fluids that varnished his pretty cock as he pulled out of you, nearly collapsing from how intense his orgasm felt.

"Fuck," Matt breathlessly whispered, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "We both got to tag team you, and didn't even have to wait until November ended," Chris chuckled, amused with himself for being the one who found the loophole.

You laid beneath them in a puddle of cum and drool after having the sense fucked out of you. You could barely form a thought or a sentence, but you finally mustered up the brain cells to utter the words, "Well played."

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myladybelle · 9 months ago

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𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter thirteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi my loves i’m back!! thank you all for your patience while i was sick and preparing for the new semester, i appreciate all your kind messages so much x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐖𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒’ 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“Newcomer on the professional tennis scene, Y/N Y/L/N surprised virtually everyone when she won the Ladies’ Semi Final two days ago,” an English-accented sports journalist said on TV as you waited for your cue to step onto the court for the finals. “She’s not only the most technically excellent player of her age, but she has the fastest serve on the WTA tour.”

“She’s a remarkable player,” the other journalist agreed. You watched them play back a clip from your most recent match, highlighting one of your aces. “But if she wants to win on Centre Court here at Wimbledon for the very first time, she’s going to have to start embracing her volleys. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her boyfriend’s book.”

“Patrick Zweig? He only made it to the second round!”

“Yes, but he played some very entertaining tennis this week. It was a joy to watch and very well suited to a grass court!”

“It’s true, Zweig plays a sneaky game of tennis. He keeps his opponent on his feet.”

“In any case, the whole world is sure to be watching Y/N Y/L/N tonight, eager to see her take on Anna Mueller.”

“Now, this isn’t the first time Y/L/N and Mueller have played. They faced off numerous times in junior tournaments, and Y/L/N already beat her at Indian Wells, Milan, Roland-Garros, and the US Open last year. They have yet to play each other in a final, though, and Y/L/N has no grand slam titles to Mueller’s two.”

“Will it be experience and longevity that give Mueller the win, or will new talent Y/L/N take the match with precision and speed?”

“We will soon see.”

You had never been this nervous before a match until your second time at Wimbledon.

For the first time in your professional career, just a year and a half after entering the tennis world, you made it to the final round of a grand slam tournament. The other tournaments you had won within the last year put your name on the map, allowing you to garner attention and recognition from your peers and spectators.

But a grand slam title meant you would be a part of history.

It was everything you wanted, everything you worked and struggled for. Your heart pounded so quickly that you thought it might leap out of your skin, and your quickening breath made spots appear in your vision. The pressure mounted, not just because your life goal was an arm’s length away, but from all the people who had their eyes on you. Some scrutinising, some rooting for you.

Bracing your hands on your thighs, you closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. It felt like you were losing control. Everything you did to maintain your anxiety felt like it was slipping through your fingers, just like your dream of becoming a grand slam winner.

Tashi’s voice rang in your ears. You’re going to be fucking miserable, and you’re going to hate your life just as much as your mother hates the fact that she had you. Art’s voice joined Tashi. Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game. You have a lot of anxiety, and…

The sound of your phone getting a text message interrupted your tornado of negative thoughts.

PAT 💞: Don’t listen to any of those assholes, they don’t matter. I love you so much and I’m proud of you no matter what happens today. Hold your head up high and do your best, nothing else matters. Don’t forget to breathe, pretty girl. P x

As you stepped onto the court, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You could feel the vibrations of their applause through the soles of your shoes; the energy was electric, and the buzzing of quiet chatter set you on edge. Remembering Patrick’s advice, you breathed deeply and waved to the crowd, smiling as you headed for your bench. Everyone on your team was sitting in the player’s box with Patrick and your dad, and it was a relief to see them there supporting you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this final round match. This match will be played as the best of three sets,” the umpire said. “To the left of the chair, from Switzerland, Anna Mueller. To the right of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. Y/L/N won the toss and elected to serve.”

From his seat in your box, Patrick chuckled. “I bet Anna Mueller’s terrified right now,” he commented. “Going into a match against Y/N and having her serve first would push me over the edge if I was playing her.”

Next to Patrick, your father happily declared, “If Mueller wasn’t nervous to play Y/N before, she will be once she realises how many aces she has up her sleeve.”

Mueller crouched behind the baseline, nervously twirling her racket between her hands. Her poker face wasn’t nearly as good as yours, betraying her fear as you bounced the ball and prepared to serve. Knowing that you had this effect on your opponent, even before the game had started, made you feel powerful.

With a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins, you tossed the ball in the air and served it over the tennis net. Mueller ran in the wrong direction, expecting you to serve to her backhand, and cursed when she couldn’t change courses fast enough to return the ball.

Your first ace of the game. 15-love.

Mueller played nervously. She knew your baseline game was strong, but her mistake was assuming that you could only play from the baseline. You decided to play closer to the net, consistently hitting gently when Mueller expected you to go hard and fast, making it impossible for her to generate the power needed to return well.

When you took the first set 6-0, Mueller cursed and turned to her box to yell something at her coach. During the changeover, you could hear her muttering to herself, failing to compose her posture and expression. She looked panicked and angry. From experience, you knew that the right amount of anxiety could help you focus on the match, but anger would destroy a player’s self-control and concentration.

When you served an ace at the beginning of the next set, Mueller stomped her foot angrily and challenged the call. The call held up, declaring your serve was in and awarding you the point. You watched in shock as Mueller’s face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing as she smashed her racket against the ground. Over and over again, the crowd gasped and booed as the frame cracked and the strings bent out of shape.

“Code violation, racket abuse. Warning, Mueller.”

From his seat, Patrick smirked, applauding the action while you maintained professionalism. He was the type of player who occasionally broke his racket or committed other code violations, so Patrick admired your ability to hold back. There was something rewarding about watching your opponent fall apart as you waited for her to get it together so you could keep playing.

The atmosphere of the game changed after Mueller’s outburst. Releasing her anger had done Mueller well, and one of her backhands shot forth like a lightning bolt, making it impossible for you to return. She got a few points in, making you run for it. Sweat glistened on your brows, and your heart pounded, a steady drum beat that echoed the rhythm of your feet as you struggled to return some of Mueller’s balls. The crowd watched in awe as she started finding her rhythm, pushing through the fatigue with a newfound unwavering focus.

Mueller looked incredibly smug to have caught up with you. So, you let her win a little bit.

Your father frowned when you served into the net twice, giving Mueller the point. “What’s she doing?” he muttered quietly. “Are the nerves getting to her?”

Patrick shook his head, chuckling as he realised, “She’s throwing the set on purpose.” A smirk graced his lips when he remembered how you used to do the same thing when you played Tashi. “She wants Mueller to think she’s beating her.”

You let yourself enjoy it, toying with Mueller and never letting her know what you planned next. When you volleyed the ball back to her, she sprinted to the net. Just when she got used to playing close to the net, you hit a flat groundstroke past her. Once Mueller realised your pattern, she stayed closer to the baseline, and you hit her with your drop shots, far too close to the net for her to return.

Quickly, you caught up, 7-7. You needed one last game to win the match, and it was your turn to serve.

Two aces in a row. Mueller yelled in frustration and anger when she missed both serves, once to her forehand and once to her backhand. Your focus sharpened with each passing moment. Serving was your area of expertise. You had the match exactly where you wanted it.

With each point you won, your confidence grew. Your movements were fluid and instinctive; your racket felt like an extension of your arm, sending powerful, precise shots that left Mueller scrambling to return them. Like always, your serves were lightning fast, unerring and spectacular, kissing the line every time without fail.

Mueller chased down every ball, but exhaustion was setting in, and her anger had returned. She was irritated that you had let her win, annoyed that it had boosted her ego so much, and furious that she couldn’t get in your head the way you got in hers.

You were playing the best tennis of your life, each moment a testament to your skill and resilience over the years. The beauty of your game captivated the spectators, leaving the crowd in awe of your mesmerising strokes and masterful returns. The more points you won, the closer you got to winning the tournament. Tension and excitement were palpable, mounting in a crescendo of enthusiastic applause and standing ovations.

“Match point.”

The cacophony of cheers faded into the background as you bounced the ball in your hand. You were good at keeping the pressure of winning off your shoulders, but the enormity of this point pressed down on you heavily. With your stomach in knots, you adjusted your grip on your tennis racket. Amid all the stress, anxiety, and fear, you felt a spark of determination.

You didn’t just want to win; you deserved it.

You served her backhand, which Mueller anticipated and hit back with equal intensity. The ball hit the ground awkwardly on your side of the net, creating minimal bounce with little power. Regardless, you hit it hard. As the two of you rallied back and forth, you followed the sports journalist from earlier’s advice and used a trick shot Patrick had taught you. When Mueller hit your forehand, you pretended to miss the ball. She celebrated, prematurely stopping while you hit the ball back between your legs, surprising Mueller and making her trip as she tried to return the ball.

As Mueller landed on the floor, the ball bounced on her side of the net for a second time, earning you the point and the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles title.

An overwhelming surge of triumph and disbelief hit you all at once. Your ears rang, drowning out the cacophony of the crowd’s ecstatic roars as you collapsed to your knees, dropping your racket. The weight of victory crashed upon you, and tears streamed down your face as you sobbed. Each teardrop released the intense pressure and emotion you had carried through the gruelling tournament.

You cried for your mother, who you no longer needed to please; for Tashi, your former best friend who would not be here to celebrate this moment with you; and you cried for yourself, the person who got through it all and made it to the other side.

When you wiped the tears from your cheeks and stood to shake your opponent’s hand, the world around you blurred back into focus. The cheers and applause of the crowd went from being a distant echo to a deafening roar. Mueller barely touched your hand before going to shake the umpire’s and—for a brief, solitary moment—you were enveloped by a profound sense of accomplishment.

You did it.

After waving to the crowd and thanking the umpire, you turned to your player’s box. There, Patrick stood applauding your victory. His heart swelled with immeasurable pride and love for you, feeling an overwhelming admiration for your strength and dedication. You laughed, running across the court towards the box and excusing yourself as you squeezed past ball boys and line judges. Stepping up on one of the nearby benches, you lifted yourself closer to your boyfriend, who leaned over the railing, giggling.

Up close, Patrick’s eyes were misty, and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. Every sacrifice you made, every early morning and late night, came rushing back to him in a flood of memories. He could hardly contain his excitement.

“You just fucking won Wimbledon!” Patrick yelled. “You were incredible!”

“I love you,” you replied, equally breathless and giddy. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pat.”

Pushing up on your toes, you hooked your arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissed him. The crowd cheered even louder around you, but you didn’t care. Nothing and nobody else mattered at that moment. All you knew was that you had just achieved something incredible and Patrick was the only person you wanted to celebrate it with. He held your head carefully and kissed you hard, expressing his passionate pride with every press of his lips.

“Thank you. For reminding me to breathe,” you acknowledged when you parted, gazing up at your boyfriend with sparkling eyes. “And for teaching me your favourite trick shot.”

Patrick chuckled, taking one of your hands and pressing several kisses to the back of it. “That was all you, gorgeous. I had nothing to do with it. This win belongs to you,” he said sincerely. “Fuck, I love you, pretty girl.”

Art Donaldson stood in the crowd, his heart heavy with pride and melancholy as he watched you give Patrick a final kiss before returning to the court for your interview. It was a privilege to watch every powerful swing of your racket and every point you earned. Art was reminded of the countless hours you had poured into your practice, the determination that had always driven you while you were at Stanford. He had once been the one to share in those moments of victory with you, celebrating every win with the joy you now showed on the court.

But now, as Art saw the happiness in your eyes and heard the crowd’s cheers, a wave of sadness washed over him. He was no longer part of your triumphs. He was just another face in the sea of supporters, knowing your victory wouldn’t be shared with him.

Art’s gaze flickered between you standing on the court and Patrick sitting with your father in the player’s box. His former best friend looked happier than Art had ever seen him, and knowing that your memory of this day would always be intertwined with your relationship with Patrick filled Art with an ugly jealousy.

He knew he had no right to your life and joy, but Art wanted to celebrate with you. He wanted to tell you that he was proud of you and always knew you had the talent and perseverance to succeed. In fact, there were a lot of things Art wanted to say, including a sincere apology for what he said the night you broke up. But you had moved on, and you were happy, and the last thing Art wanted to do was ruin any of that for you.

So instead, Art got up and pushed through the crowd, making his way to the exit as he heard your voice thanking Patrick for his love and support over the loudspeakers.

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

It felt good.

Sitting in the booth with Tashi was almost like when Art used to sit in the dining hall with her at Stanford, back when you, Art, and Tashi were all attached at the hip.

A month ago, Art and Tashi graduated and began working in the professional tennis world, but it meant nothing to either of them without their best friends by their sides. Neither of them could have guessed that you and Patrick would leave behind such a huge hole when you stopped being friends with them.

“Maybe you wanna jump ship?” Art said, half-joking as he signed the bill and paid for their meal. “Come be my assistant coach?” When Tashi stared dumbfoundedly at him, he grinned. “Oh, I get it. You want to work with someone who has a little bit more potential.”

“No!” Tashi protested. “No. No, it’s not that. I mean, you have plenty of potential. It’s just–” she cut herself off, nervously observing the blond sitting in front of her. It had been years since you and Art broke up, but it felt like yesterday. “You think that would be a good idea?”

“Why not?” Art retorted. Tashi gestured vaguely, referencing their complex shared past. “That was a long time ago–”

“–It was not that long ago,” she disagreed, interrupting Art’s attempt at nonchalance.

“Well, it feels like a long time ago,” Art mumbled.

“So, you’re saying you’re not in love with her anymore?” Tashi argued, raising a questioning eyebrow at her old friend.

Art schooled his expression, not wanting to give his lingering emotions away. But Tashi saw through it, recognising the familiar signs that indicated his love for you still ran deep. His features softened at the mention of you, and there was a faraway look in his icy blue eyes.

Back when you were dating Art—and Tashi and Patrick were casually seeing each other—Patrick used to describe the look on his best friend’s face when he first laid eyes on you. That look of pure, absolute adoration and love never once faded from Art’s face at the mention or sight of you. Tashi knew with certainty that it would never fade.

“Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for her,” Art retorted. “That ship has clearly sailed.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t clutching the hull for dear life,” Tashi remarked, using Art’s ship analogy against him. “Did you see her at Wimbledon?”

“Of course I did,” Art replied, fiddling anxiously with the napkin on the table.

“She was incredible, wasn’t she? I mean, I always knew she had it in her, but watching her win that final…” Tashi sighed.

If she was as good a friend to you as she always thought, she would have noticed that you used to hold back to help Tashi pursue her dreams of being the best tennis player in the world. Upon reflection, Tashi realised she would never be as good a friend to you as you were to her, and she should never have considered you to be less talented, hard-working, or capable than herself.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tashi said proudly.

Art agreed, “She’s officially a grand slam winner, the whole world was watching her that day.”

Tashi nodded. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Her lips curved in a disappointed frown, recalling all the times you and Tashi promised you would always be there to celebrate each others’ accomplishments when you were teenagers. “All of a sudden, the whole world feels entitled to a part of her. Instead of going through this journey with her, we’re on the outside looking in, just like everybody else.”

“It was pretty surreal,” Art affirmed. “I mean, I always knew what she was capable of. I remember all those late nights, talking about what she would do if she ever won a grand slam. And now that she has, I can’t help but feel a little lost.”

“Like you should be there with her,” Tashi guessed. She gave Art a sympathetic smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Art sighed, leaning back in his booth. “We used to be the people who knew her best in the world,” he recalled. “And now, we aren’t a part of her life anymore. It’s not just about tennis or success, it’s about her. She didn’t just hold us all together, she was seeped into the essence of everything I did and everything I dreamed.” The vulnerable honesty in Art’s voice made Tashi swallow harshly. “What am I supposed to do without her now? None of my plans ever accounted for me reaching this point in my life without her in it.”

Art’s words rendered them both silent.

You used to take up so much space in their lives, filling a void neither of them knew existed until you left them. Thinking about you and reflecting on your absence was always bittersweet. There was so much warmth and joy in their memories of you, but they were constantly paired with painful reminders of how much they hurt you. You, who only ever wanted to love and be loved.

“Maybe this is what we deserve for hurting her in the first place,” Tashi offered. “The things I said to her that day–” she inhaled sharply, pain filling her chest as she recalled the argument that ended your friendship– “I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.”

“The look on her face when I told her I went to see you the night you fought…” Art shook his head in disappointment, his jaw clenched tightly as the frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I should have told her I went to confront you for hurting her. I should have told her I was desperate to figure out why she was inconsolable, but I let her believe I went to you because I was on your side. I was so angry and frustrated during the break up that I told her things just because I knew they would hurt her. Who does that to someone they love?”

“Us, apparently,” Tashi said, grumbling like she couldn’t believe what they did to you. Reaching across the table, Tashi covered Art’s hand with hers, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “My mom says that Y/N was my life lesson,” she explained. “That losing her was supposed to teach me something.”

“Yeah?” Art met her eyes and frowned. “What did it teach you?”

“To hold on,” Tashi declared. “When you meet someone like her, someone who’s warm and loving and far kinder to you than you deserve, you hold on to her. Because going through life without her is unimaginably worse than when she’s by your side.”

It hurt to reflect on how much worse life was without you. You had been everything to Art for so long, and his eyes stung with tears every time he thought of you. The emptiness you left behind felt insurmountable, a constant ache he couldn’t escape. Every moment without you reminded him of what he’d lost, of how your presence had once filled his world with light and purpose.

Now, that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of what used to be; the pain of your absence was a relentless companion.

Art pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “This is really stupid, but, uh… After your injury… I couldn’t help but just think about what would have happened if I had beaten Patrick,” he confessed.

Tashi froze at the mention of how you met Art and Patrick.

She knew Art well enough to understand that everything he did led back to you and how he lost you. No matter how badly Art wanted to change the past, Tashi knew you would always love him and Patrick throughout your life.

In a way, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were the three great loves of your life.

One for a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, one for the boy who made you realise what it was like to be loved, and one for the man who would wait a lifetime just for a minute of happiness with you.

No matter how much you once loved Art, Tashi knew you would love Patrick in every life, too. It didn’t matter what order you met them in; you were the catalyst that changed each of their lives.

Tashi thought she was the only objective spectator to your relationships with Art and Patrick. She was your best friend at Stanford when you dated Art, and she was practically a stranger now that you were with Patrick. Watching your romantic relationship unfold on TV and in newspapers and magazines was entirely different from having a front-row seat back in college, but Tashi knew you well enough to see how deeply and genuinely you loved Patrick, just as you had loved Art.

“So you want me to join your team because you couldn’t win Y/N’s number that day?”

Art lifted his head to meet Tashi’s gaze. “No,” he denied. “I want you to join my team because I want to win.”

Tashi suppressed a grin. She should have known that if it wasn’t about you, it was about Patrick. “I think you’d beat him now if you guys played,” she commented, sipping her coffee. “Don’t you think?”

It was a challenge that Tashi knew Art would easily see through.

Perhaps Art could beat Patrick if their history wasn’t complicated by you entering their lives. If the two of them were just best friends trying to make it in the tennis world, Art had the skills, practice, and tenacity to win now. After all, he had dedicated himself to the sport at Stanford and had an excellent team supporting him, while Patrick continued to rely on raw talent. As Art steadily climbed the ranks with every game, Patrick floundered somewhere in the lower 200s.

But all of this was negated by one simple fact. Patrick had the one thing that Art truly wanted: you.

If Art and Patrick played a match tomorrow, you would be in Patrick’s player box, cheering his name and applauding his wins. Your presence at the match—and in Patrick’s life—would be more than enough for Art to lose every time he faced his former best friend, just as he lost you. The only thing that could give Art a chance to beat Patrick would be having you on his side.

“Don’t know,” Art replied cryptically. “We, uh… haven’t played professionally, and don’t keep in touch.” Tashi laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “What?”

She cleared her throat. “Just… She never saw it,” Tashi explained. “The rivalry between you and Patrick. Ever since that night we first met, she always assumed the two of you were after me.” She shook her head, visibly entertained. “She used to say that I was the sun and she was the moon. But, God, wasn’t she just everything? The moon and the stars and everything in between, that was her.” Tashi and Art shared a soft, sentimental expression. “I never understood why she couldn’t see it. Everything was over the moment you and Patrick met her, and I knew none of us would ever be the same.”

A small smile stretched across Art’s lips. “Yeah…”

Tashi was right—you had been everything to him.

Art felt it the moment his eyes first met yours, an instant connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if something within him recognised you, a deep and undeniable pull that resonated in both his body and heart. It wasn’t just about your smile or how you moved; it was how your presence seemed to complete something in him, filling a void he hadn’t even known existed.

You became his anchor, the one person who made everything else make sense, and from that moment on, he knew his life would never be the same without you.

“We joked that we weren’t homewreckers the night we met you, but…” Tashi trailed off, sighing as she set her mug on the table and crossed her arms. “I never thought it would come between me and her. I always thought I was a better friend than that. And I hate it, but running into you today is the closest I’ve felt to her in years,” she confessed.

Sitting there opposite your former best friend, Art couldn’t help but agree. So many parts of you lived on in Tashi, remnants of your lifelong friendship that had shaped both of you in ways he could now see clearly. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought mirrored your own, a habit you’d both picked up during your countless late-night conversations. That amused, all-knowing expression on Tashi’s face when Art tried to lie to her was uncannily similar to yours.

Even her choice of words, the little phrases and inside jokes that only you two shared, brought you vividly to life at that moment, making it feel like a part of you was still there, sitting right across from Art.

“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed, trying to keep the sudden gust of sadness out of his tone.

To make matters worse, seeing Tashi was the closest Art had felt to you and Patrick in a very long time.

It brought back memories of his former best friend, who had once been his world. There was a time when the four of you felt inseparable, and now, sitting there, Art could almost hear the echoes of those days. The way Tashi absentmindedly rubbed her forearm was like Patrick used to, a nervous habit that always surfaced during serious conversations. Tashi’s honest recount of how much she missed you felt like a mirror image of how much Art missed Patrick. Being with Tashi now, it was impossible not to feel the empty space left by the absence of the friendships that had once defined them both.

That night, as Tashi stepped into Art’s hotel room, the invisible string that still bound them both to you seemed to tighten, pulling them a little closer to where you slept just a few floors away.

𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“I just got off the phone with Elora,” you declared, stepping into your shared hotel room with Patrick and finding your boyfriend lounging on the bed with the TV on. “I’ve been asked to play an exhibition match tomorrow. Just something quick and fun before the first round to boost ticket sales for the qualifiers. A bunch of American players from the tour will be there.”

You dropped onto the bed beside Patrick, kicking off your shoes and curling up in his awaiting arms. The two of you had been travelling together for over a year, sharing rooms while on tour and cohabitating in every aspect of your lives. It was like a reward after enduring a long-distance relationship during your final year at Stanford. Instead of just talking on the phone and occasionally getting surprise visits from Patrick, you went everywhere together and supported each other at every match and tournament you attended.

The two of you had slipped into an easy routine. Having the same profession meant that you were constantly going to the same places, and it made travelling and sightseeing so much more special. After working hard for over two weeks at each tournament, exploring new cities with Patrick was the ideal way to wind down and relax. There was something incredibly special and romantic about doing every day of your life with him.

Your relationship had been grabbing headlines ever since the press caught on to the fact that you were together over a year ago, but the attention ramped up exponentially after you won Wimbledon.

What used to be short articles about an up-and-coming, attractive couple in the tennis world had snowballed into detailed timelines of your dates and public appearances with Patrick. Luckily, the public adored you, and there was very little criticism or negativity surrounding your relationship. Other players on the WTA and ATP tour often teased you about being real celebrities, pointing out how rare it was to win public favour as much as you and Patrick did.

Even though this shift was odd, and you had yet to get used to the constant eyes on you, there were perks to having your picture taken professionally every time you went on a date with your boyfriend. You had framed your favourite newspaper clipping, a beautiful picture of you kissing Patrick after winning Wimbledon, with the heading The Darlings of the Tennis World written above it in a large, bold font.

“Great,” Patrick drawled, blinking lazily as he wrapped his arms around you. His hands gravitated under your shirt to draw circles on the bare skin of your midriff, immediately sending butterflies to your stomach. “Which unlucky girl’s getting her ass handed to her while you beat her in straight sets?” he joked, knowing any match you played would end in a crushing defeat for the other player.

“Actually…” you trailed off, sending him your best smile as Patrick drew his head back to meet your gaze.

He observed your innocent expression with quizzical, unsure eyes. Even though you were giving him your sweetest look, there was something mischievous about the glint in your eyes. When realisation hit him, Patrick sighed and said, “I’m the unlucky girl, aren’t I?” His distraught tone made laughter bubble from your lips.

“Smart and handsome? I really hit the jackpot,” you teased, buttering him up with compliments so that he would agree more readily. “Come on, Pat, it’ll be fun!”

“Oh yeah, really fun!” Patrick agreed sarcastically, matching your energetic tone. “Like how a lion treats a lamb during slaughter!”

You rolled your eyes, stifling your laughter at your boyfriend’s dramatics. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll go easy on you,” you said, imitating his voice and tone. He had never used those exact words about playing tennis, but Patrick’s tone was always thick with the same arrogant confidence. “Think about it! If you play against me, you’ll get to see that winning serve of mine up close and personal.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been on the opposing end of your winning serve plenty of times during practice,” Patrick defended. “I always knew you were better than me, gorgeous, but I don’t remember agreeing to public humiliation when we started dating!”

“Drama queen,” you accused. “It really will be fun! We’ll be mic’d up and we can talk and joke the entire time. It’s the best of three sets and it’ll be just like practising together. Come on, what do you say?” At Patrick’s uncertain expression, you sat up in bed and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The fire that instantaneously burned in his gaze made you smirk triumphantly. “I’ll be really grateful if you do it,” you said suggestively, placing your hands on his chest and grinning. “Pretty please?”

“Well, since you said pretty please,” Patrick joked, unable to keep the wide smile off his face when you tilted your head at him. “Sure. What’s one more event where everyone thinks you’re out of my league?”

Happily, you exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!”

“Wait–” Patrick frowned when you got up from his lap and began scurrying around the room looking for your phone– “I thought you were going to show me how grateful you are?”

You snorted. “Nice try. You can have your reward after the exhibition match,” you declared, chuckling quietly.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Patrick complained.

“Don’t act like you don’t love the chase,” you retorted, winking as you texted Elora that you and Patrick were happy to participate in the exhibition match.

From his place on your shared bed, Patrick rolled onto his stomach and observed you. It was hard to imagine that he had only known you for four years. Your participation in his life felt so insurmountably important that it was like he had known you his entire life. You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of Patrick’s daily existence, shaping his world with a depth and significance that defied the brevity of time.

Unlike Tashi and Art, Patrick realised early on that you were someone he should hold on to. His life before you had been filled with disappointment from his family, and Patrick recognised what a rarity you were. Having already lost you before when his relationships with Tashi and Art ended, Patrick knew losing you meant losing something irreplaceable. Your presence filled gaps he hadn’t noticed before he met you, making it obvious that you were someone worth cherishing.

As you picked up a phone call from your coach, Patrick went on his laptop and checked how much money was in his savings account. He won enough matches to pay for plane tickets, tennis equipment, and other daily necessities, saving an immense amount of money because the fat cheque you got from Nike every month more than covered your shared accommodations. Over the last year, in particular, Patrick had started saving for something very special.

An engagement ring.

As much as Patrick wanted you to have the very best, an engagement ring from Harry Winston or Bulgari just wasn’t within his budget. He was entitled to a family heirloom ring, but Patrick didn’t want to give you something from his family. Any engagement ring he chose had to represent you and your relationship with him, rather than the generations of unhappy, reluctant marriages his family seemed destined to repeat.

After carefully perusing different stores and comparing the cost and quality of various rings, Patrick found the perfect one at Cartier. It was simple and classic, exactly the style you had mentioned you preferred offhandedly on several occasions. To his surprise, it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, and he had almost saved enough to get you the exact ring he wanted you to have.

After Wimbledon, you noticed and commented on the fact that Patrick was training harder than ever. To you, it seemed like he was finally starting to take himself more seriously. Instead of coasting on his natural talent, Patrick began seeing your physical trainer with you and even quit smoking to improve his stamina. What you didn’t know was that he was doing all of this to increase his chances of winning more matches at the US Open, where a significant amount of prize money was on the line.

In Patrick’s mind, the more matches he won, the more money he could take home, and the nicer your engagement ring could be.

“Hey, do you know what ring size you are?” Patrick asked as casually as he could when your phone call was over. “Jess got a bunch of rings that don’t fit her and she was wondering if you want them instead?”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t believe she thought of me,” you acknowledged, grinning. Ever since you met Patrick and his extended family last year, you were constantly invited to spend time with his cousins Jess and Alex. While Patrick wasn’t best friends with them, they were the closest family he had, so you had accepted several invitations over the past year. “I would love that, Jess has amazing taste in jewellery! Tell her I’m an eight in ring size, but I’ll squeeze into anything she wants to give me,” you joked, not thinking much of Patrick’s question.

With shaking hands, Patrick sent a text with your ring size to the sales associate at the Cartier store in New York, who had been keeping him updated on when the exact ring he wanted was available. Once the US Open was over, all Patrick had to do was head to Manhattan and pick up the ring. It had taken him almost four months to find the perfect one for you, and then it was just a matter of winning enough prize money to afford it. As long as Patrick won two rounds at the US Open next week, he’d have enough to buy your engagement ring.

Then he would have to decide how and when to propose to you.

#challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x you #art donaldson x you #challengers fanfiction #mike faist x reader #josh o connor x reader #tashi duncan #fic: guilty as sin?

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hwaretic · 1 month ago

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Accidentally Yours | j.yh

Chapter 2 : The Chaotic Grocery Hour

∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿∿

note : yes I changed the headcanon I wanted to so lol ;)

pairing : roommate! yunho x roommate! reader

genre : fluff, comedy

word count : 2.2k

synopsis : well... chaotic grocery time. you get it.

chapter 3

There were only two rules when it came to grocery shopping with Yunho.

Rule one: never let him take the cart.

Rule two: never ever let him near the snack aisle unsupervised.

But on that bright Saturday morning, both of those rules were broken within the first five minutes.

And it was your fault.

“Okay, here’s the list,” you said, holding your phone like a treasure map. “We’re getting what’s on here. Only what’s on here.”

Yunho, dressed in a hoodie and backwards cap, saluted dramatically. “Aye, aye, captain.” (he's part of ateez, pirates. let him be TvT)

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he said, taking the cart from you. “No distractions. No side quests. I’m totally locked in.”

You watched him push the cart confidently down the aisle like a man who had absolutely no intention of following orders.

“This is a mistake,” you muttered.

Ten minutes later, you were standing in front of a towering pyramid of instant ramen, watching your so-called roommate stack cup after cup into the cart.

“Yunho.”

“These are the spicy ones,” he said, like that explained everything.

“We have ramen at home.”

“Yeah, boring ramen,” he said, clearly offended. “These are imported. Limited edition. Lava-level spice. You don’t just walk away from destiny.”

“You’re literally sweating just holding one.”

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “That’s the thrill.”

You reached into the cart and started removing them one by one.

He gasped like you’d just unplugged his life support. “You monster.”

“You said—no distractions.”

“Okay, but that was before the noodles called to me. You don’t ignore a calling.”

You glared at him. “Are you always like this in public?”

“Worse,” he said proudly. “Wait till you see me near the frozen pizza.”

You made it through produce and dairy with minimal chaos. Yunho somehow turned choosing yogurt into a game of “which container feels luckier,” but you let it slide. You were in a surprisingly good mood, despite him humming the Power Rangers theme song under his breath the whole time.

Then came the cereal aisle.

He stopped in front of the colorful boxes like a kid at an amusement park. “Okay, this one has a dinosaur on it. That’s already a win.”

“Yunho, that has 39 grams of sugar per serving.”

“But the dinosaur is surfing.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You’re an adult.”

“Am I? Or am I just a tall child with a debit card and anxiety?”

You didn’t mean to laugh, but you did. Loudly.

He looked triumphant. “See? I’m useful.”

“Useful is a stretch,” you said, tossing a healthier cereal option into the cart.

He looked betrayed.

Somehow, you made it to checkout without murdering each other, though the cart now contained a suspicious amount of snacks, three boxes of fruit roll-ups, and a bottle of glittery grape soda Yunho claimed was “for emergencies.”

He started unloading items onto the belt with a flourish, making a drumbeat on the conveyor belt with a box of granola bars.

“Please don’t perform at the register,” you whispered.

He bowed. “Too late.”

The cashier—an elderly woman with sparkly eyeliner—smiled at the two of you like you were her favorite soap opera couple.

“You two are adorable,” she said. “Newlyweds?”

You froze.

Yunho didn’t even blink. “Not yet,” he said casually. “We’re waiting until our dog learns to high-five. Then it’s go time.”

You choked on air.

The cashier giggled and handed you your receipt with a wink. “Well, good luck, lovebirds.”

You grabbed the bags and speed-walked toward the exit while Yunho trailed behind, whistling.

“Why didn’t you correct her?!” you hissed.

“Why would I?” he asked, grinning. “It was fun. Plus, you didn’t say no.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“I hate you,” you said weakly.

“You say that,” he replied, nudging your shoulder with his, “but you let me keep the dinosaur cereal.”

Back at the apartment, you both collapsed onto the couch, surrounded by shopping bags and poor life choices.

“I feel like we just ran a marathon,” you said, stretching out.

Yunho leaned back, arms behind his head. “A sexy, chaotic marathon. Ten out of ten, would do again.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

He turned toward you. “Hey.”

You glanced over. “Hm?”

“Thanks for coming with me. Grocery shopping sucks alone.”

You met his eyes for a moment. Something in his voice was soft. Genuine.

You didn’t say anything, just offered a small smile.

He smiled back, and for a moment, the room felt too quiet. Too still. His gaze lingered. Yours did too.

Then he stood up, clapping his hands. “Alright! Time to organize the snack shelf by color.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Don’t question the vision.”

Later that night, you were in the kitchen organizing the fridge while Yunho carefully arranged the ramen cups like prized trophies.

“I don’t know how you eat so much of this,” you muttered.

“I’m a man of taste and no self-preservation.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the top shelf to move the drinks around. You stood on tiptoe, stretching for the oat milk Yunho had shoved to the back.

He appeared behind you suddenly. “Need help?”

“I got it—”

Your hand slipped, and the carton tipped forward, falling straight toward your face—until Yunho caught it with one hand and steadied you with the other.

You froze.

He was close. One arm braced around your waist, the other holding the milk, and his chest was warm against your back.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see his face.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

His voice was lower than usual. “Anytime.”

You pulled away gently, stepping aside as your heart did an uncomfortable flip.

Yunho didn’t say anything else. Just handed you the oat milk and went back to his ramen wall.

But neither of you mentioned how your hands touched for just a second longer than they needed to.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

You could hear him through the wall—faint music, occasional laughter, maybe a video game. The usual.

But something felt… different now.

You’d moved in thinking it’d be temporary. Just a weird in-between phase until you found your own place.

But somehow, in the span of a few days, Yunho had turned your life upside-down.

With dumb jokes and kind gestures.

With Post-its and surprise takeout.

With laughter in grocery store aisles and hands that caught oat milk—and maybe, just maybe, caught you too.

You rolled over, pressing your face into the pillow.

You were so, so screwed.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #yunho angst #yunho fluff #ateez hard thoughts #ateez smut

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 7 months ago

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Shadows and Paws

Chapter 1: Into the Wild

Pairing: 141 x reader, Eventual Poly 141 x reader

AU: Hybrid 141 x Hybrid reader

Warning: Mostly Angst with like a smidge of fluff

Authors note: I hope yall enjoy this hybrid AU, I’ve been dabbling into a lot of things

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist | Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The sanctuary was nothing like they’d expected.

Dense fog clung to the forest floor, muffling their footsteps and swallowing every sound. Towering trees stretched endlessly above them, their branches twisted together like ancient hands guarding the sanctuary’s secrets. The air was thick and damp, carrying scents of moss and earth, tinged with hints of wild animals and faint traces of something else—something that felt old, almost sacred. It was a place untouched by the outside world, a haven carved out of the wilderness, and every instinct in Price told him they were being watched.

Captain Price led the way through the misty forest, his senses heightened, the quiet hum of wolf instincts ever-present in his mind. His eyes scanned the shadows, alert for any sign of movement, every fiber of him tuned to the pulse of the forest. Behind him, Ghost moved like a wraith, his panther-like form blending seamlessly into the darkness, each step careful and deliberate, his presence almost an extension of the shadows themselves. Gaz circled above in falcon form, his sharp eyes piercing through the canopy, scanning the surrounding trees with precision, watching for anything out of the ordinary. Soap followed close to Price, his husky ears perked and alert, his energy barely contained, as if every sound was calling him to explore.

As a pack, they moved seamlessly, each member adapting to the environment, their hybrid senses complementing each other. The forest around them was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of birds and insects absent as though the sanctuary itself was holding its breath. Just as Price was about to signal for a halt, Gaz’s voice crackled softly through the comms, a low murmur that barely broke the stillness.

“Got movement, Cap. Northwest, closing fast. Looks like we’ve got company.”

Price’s ear twitched, picking up the faint rustling of leaves from the direction Gaz had indicated. He raised a hand, signaling the others to stop, his body tensing as he scanned the shadows ahead. His gaze sharpened, waiting for any sign of a threat, when a sudden flash of red fur caught his eye, there and gone again, darting through the underbrush with silent grace and a speed that suggested they weren’t alone.

“It’s a fox,” Price muttered under his breath, though he didn’t relax, his hand hovering near his weapon just in case.

Moments later, a figure emerged from the trees, moving with a fluid confidence that put the entire team on edge. It was a fox hybrid, their stature smaller than the 141 members but exuding an unmistakable presence. Their sharp, glinting eyes danced over each of them, assessing, appraising, lingering just a moment longer on Ghost before finally settling on Price.

“Well, well,” the fox drawled, their voice carrying a playful yet dangerous edge as they crossed their arms. “More rogues, I assume? You’re not exactly blending in.”

The fox’s sly smile and relaxed stance belied a readiness, a coiled energy that suggested they could vanish or attack in an instant if provoked. Price held their gaze steadily, refusing to let himself be rattled. “We’re just passing through,” he said, his voice steady, but every word measured.

The fox tilted their head, studying them intently with a glimmer of amusement in their eyes. “Nobody just passes through here,” they replied, one brow raised as they spoke. “But if you’re here to help, then maybe we can have a chat. Otherwise…” They trailed off, their fingers twitching ever so slightly, a subtle hint that they could disappear into the shadows in a heartbeat if they chose.

Price exchanged a glance with Soap, who was watching the fox intently, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I like ‘em already,” he whispered to Ghost, whose only response was a quiet, amused huff from under his mask.

The fox’s gaze flickered between them, clearly aware of the silent exchanges. “So, are you going to keep staring?” they teased, their voice laced with a challenge. “Or should I show you somewhere a bit safer than out here?”

“Lead the way,” Price replied, stepping forward, his voice a quiet command as he signaled to the others to follow.

The fox hybrid didn’t hesitate, moving deeper into the forest with a quick, confident stride, winding through paths that seemed invisible to anyone who hadn’t been born to this place. As they walked, the fog grew thicker, shrouding the trees in a ghostly mist that muted every sound and blurred the edges of the world around them. It was as if the sanctuary itself was wrapping them in secrecy, guarding its mysteries from prying eyes.

They came to an abrupt stop near a secluded glade where a small fire flickered, casting a warm, welcoming glow against the cold mist. The fox turned to them, their gaze unwavering as they gestured for them to sit around the fire. Soap dropped down with a grin, his tail wagging with an eagerness that made Price feel the faintest sense of relief at being out of the open, if only for a moment.

“I’ll make this quick,” the fox began, folding their arms across their chest as they met each team member’s gaze. “There’s a group of rogues here, causing chaos for hybrids and humans alike. They’re not subtle, and they’re dangerous. If you’re here to help with that, then I can give you intel—maybe even show you some safe paths.”

Price studied them carefully, his expression unreadable. “And what’s in it for you?”

The fox shrugged, a slight smile tugging at the corner of their mouth. “I don’t trust anyone to do a job properly unless I’m involved. Besides, you all look like you could use a bit of help.”

Soap chuckled, an amused spark in his eyes as he looked the fox over with admiration. “You’re not wrong about that.”

Ghost’s voice cut in, low and sharp as he fixed the fox with a piercing stare. “And how do we know we can trust you?”

The fox met Ghost’s gaze without flinching, their own expression softening slightly. “You don’t,” they replied simply. “But you can trust that I don’t want those rogues overrunning my home.” For the first time, Price caught a glimpse of something deeper beneath their confident demeanor—a hint of loyalty, a fierce protectiveness that resonated with him.

The fox shifted, stretching out with a lazy elegance as their red tail curled around them, a playful glint returning to their eyes as they looked each of them in turn. “Well, boys, do we have a deal?”

Price didn’t need to look back at his team to know their answer. He extended his hand, sealing the alliance with a firm nod, his gaze steady. “Looks like we’re in this together.”

---

End of Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Hope you all enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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howlettsangel · 1 month ago

Text

— under the spotlight

tags/warnings: smut mdni 18+ singer f!reader x bodyguard!logan, jealousy, protective logan, rough sex, pet names, a bit dom!logan, unprotected p in v, spanking, degradation?, light choking, reader is sort of a cry baby, dirty talk

wc: 1.8k

The crowd roared loud around you, the ear piece in your ear managing to keep you in time with the song. It was overwhelming, but you've been able to get used to it with every passing gig.

Logan stood in the wings of the small stage, the venue slightly bigger than the bars and clubs you were used to playing. He'd kept a silent watch on you all night, like he always did, his scrutinizing gaze making sure you were out of harm's way.

Deep down, your voice always captivated Logan a bit. The passion in your voice, the emotion you never showed off stage. At least, not to him.

Sometimes he couldn't tell if you didn't want to talk to him or if you didn't know you could. Either way, his heart hurt when he could tell you were keeping things from him. He understood it, I mean he never has been the best listener.

The lyrics you sang into the microphone wrote a story that he would read over and over again if you let him, and at times it felt like he was just waiting for the next chapter. For you to trust him enough.

His eyes stayed on you through each new track, watching the sweat on your forehead, the lipstick that smudged onto the mic, that hand that slid over your waist. No. His eyes flicked up to the taller figure you stood face to face with, your guitarist. He's always been a flirt, and you never made the choice to push him away when he made moves.

His hand folded over the curve of your waist during your solo parts of the chorus, the drummer being the only instrumentals backing you up. The audience could hear his voice in time with yours, and so could Logan.

He hated that.

When the show ended, Logan found you backstage within a matter of minutes. He tried his best not to bring up the display he witnessed on stage, bit his tongue no matter how hot his blood boiled.

"C'mon, we're goin'," he barked from the doorway of your dressing room, his eyes flicking behind him a few times out of caution. It confused you, his urgency, but you weren't gonna argue. It was probably good to get going anyway, you thought. Your head hurt, your feet were tired, you really just wanted to get back to the hotel.

"Oh, yeah, okay," you spoke with a nod, pushing away from your vanity and moving to grab your stuff. Before you could even put your purse over your shoulder, he had a rough grip on your forearm, tugging you into his side.

"Logan– what the hell?" you fussed at him as he dragged you out to the back parking lot. He let go of you when he noticed he was probably hurting you, but tried to just brush it off as he opened the passenger side of the car.

He was silent as he helped you in, and he stayed that way until the two of you were on the road. However, keeping his mouth shut was a task that ate away at him the longer you gave him the same treatment. He broke the sounds of cars speeding past on the highway, the rain that you didn't even realize started pouring.

"You datin' him now?" he grumbled under his breath, loud enough for you to hear. His words confused you, but only until you realized what he was talking about.

"Who?" you responded, speaking just as quietly as he did, only you didn't bother to look up at him.

"That guitarist of yours. James, Jayden, whatever his name is," he scoffed. He didn't seem to care much about him, just the fact that there was a chance you were seeing him. "Saw you two on stage."

"We aren't... it's complicated," you shrugged. It was mostly the truth, I mean the whole thing was complicated, but you knew that there's been something between the two of you lately. You hung out almost every weekend for rehearsals, went out to less than friendly dinners... Logan knew that. Why did he care about your dating life?

Logan just scoffed at that, turning his head to look out the window briefly before focusing back on the road. His reaction was almost a laugh. He didn't buy one word out of you, and he knew he wasn't just gonna let that slide.

When the two of you made it back to the hotel room, he walked you inside. He didn't usually, and this time he couldn't tell if it was out of hope for something he knew he shouldn't want. Something he couldn't help but want.

"You don't have to stay y'know," you spoke up as you placed your purse and keys on the small couch of your suite. "I think I'll be fine if you're not standing watch outside my shower."

You kept your tone as teasing as you could, the air in the living room feeling heavier than it had when you walked in. Logan just looked down at you from where he stood, his eyes hungry as he took you in.

Your hair was messy from the performance and your lipstick had worn off from pressing against the mic. Every detail made his blood run hot, and they way his eyes stared holes into your body did the same to you.

"Why're you looking at me that way?" you mumbled, almost breathlessly. Your chest started to feel heavier with the tension between the two of you, and you had to avert your eyes.

He reached out a hand to grab your chin, tighter than he intended but firm so he could force your eyes on him. Before you could ask him about that look again, he was kissing you.

Logan was kissing you.

It stunned you for a few seconds before your lips were moving against his. His hands moved from your face to grip your waist, the kiss heated and angry in nature. He was jealous of that little boyfriend of yours, pissed about it even. It wasn't someone else's job to put their hands on you, to smile and sing to you like some high school love story.

"Logan," you practically whined, almost begging him to get you out of that damn living room and into the king sized bed waiting right around the corner. He wasted no time in picking you up, his hands slipping under your thighs to hold you tight in his arms.

He tossed you onto the bed, your stomach hitting in when you landed. It drew a squeal from you, almost a giggle until you felt his rough palms gripping the edges of your skirt. Your face buried into the linen of the sheets, your back arching into his touch as he stripped your bottoms to your knees.

"Talkin' to other guys," he huffed in your ear, pressing a hand on the small of your back to push you into the mattress. "Fuckin' slut."

His hand came down hard on the meat of your ass before he shifted to pull his belt buckle open. He didn't bother with getting you undressed, his heart practically pounding in his chest at the adrenaline rush.

"M' sorry," you mumbled into the pillows, the sound coming out as a pathetic whine. You couldn't even get another form of apology out before you felt the length of his cock bottom out inside of you. Your nails curled into the sheets, his name leaving your lips in a strangled moan as he pinned your hips against his.

He didn't give you any sort of response, barely even a grunt, too focused on the feeling of you wrapped around him. It was all happening so quick, his professionalism going right through that imaginary window he tried to bolt shut.

Your eyes brimmed with tears and they stung as your cheek stayed pressed into the sheets. You could feel him piston against your backside, his palm meeting the already reddened flesh a few more times until he heard your sniffles.

He leans over the curve of your body, hips slowed and his breath hot in your ear. He could tell something was wrong as soon as he became hyperaware of your tears.

"I'm hurtin' you, baby?" he murmured through the kisses he left on your earlobe, his movements ragged, yet still purposed with the goal of calming you.

A small whine that seemed halfway like a yes but more so like a no left your lips. It was a lie of course, but your body didn't want him to stop moving even if it was hurting ever so slightly.

"Don't lie," he continued, and you felt his bicep curl around your neck. He tightened just enough to hear your breath catch in your throat, but the shock of losing your breath only made you whine for him again. "Use those words darlin'."

"Keep going," you managed to croak out against the firmness of his arm, your legs shifting further apart as you sank into his protective hold. The squeeze of his headlock made you see stars when he did exactly what you'd asked for.

The jealousy fueled each of his thrusts until it felt like he was damn near feral. He hadn't realized how borderline possessive he was over you, every damn part of you, but he was no better than any other man. Desperate for a girl he shouldn't have.

He groaned low in your ear when he felt your walls clench hard around him, strangling his cock until he was just about to topple over his peak.

"There you go," he praised, pressing your weakening body closer to his as he tried to finish you off. He could tell you were moments away from release, and he would be an asshole not to let you cum first even if he got impatient.

"C'mon, sweetheart. You know damn well you've been waitin' to cum on this dick," you heard him growl as he paced his quick thrusts, and the coil in your gut immediately unraveled. It had your teary eyes rolling back while Logan guided you through the intense orgasm, his grip on you loosening to give you some room for air.

He pulled out of you before he came himself, leaving the mess for the hotel to handle. He wasn't gonna take the risk of knocking you up, especially since he technically worked for you.

Your heavy pants mingled with his for a while in the heated air of the room, and your thoughts raced through every possibility of how awkward this might be in the morning. Even though it was all you could think about, you knew it was the least of your worries right now.

Knowing Logan, he'd clean you up and hold you in the moonlit room until you were absolutely sick of him.

tags: @ellaynaonsaturn @ellaynahowlett @blah-blah-bee @nymphoniah @sweetverine @cruel-as-sin

#logan howlet x reader #logan howlett #x men headcanons #x men #x men fandom #old man logan #body guard!logan #smut #logan howlett smut #james logan howlett #logan wolverine #x reader #x men first class #singer reader

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itdontmatter283472374 · 18 days ago

Text

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.

#pazzi fics #pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #paige x azzi #dallas wings

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antinousletmehit · 4 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 24 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇warnings: WRITTEN BEFORE THE ITHACA SAGA

“My love I’m finally home!”

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

As Telemachus’s ship neared the coastline, the familiar silhouette of Ithaca came into view. The salty breeze carried a bittersweet weight, reminding him of home and of the uncertainty that awaited him there. Yet, even as his heart swelled with longing, Athena’s voice echoed in his mind from the night before.

“Dock at the western port, away from the eyes of others. It is safer there.”

He hadn’t questioned her. He never did. Her guidance had saved him countless times during his journey, and though the eastern port was closer to the palace, something in her tone told him this wasn’t a suggestion.

“Acrisios, steer west,” he called out.

His friend furrowed his brow but obeyed without protest, guiding the ship toward the quieter, rockier shore. The crew worked silently, their movements efficient, until the vessel was safely anchored. Telemachus jumped onto the sand, the familiar earth grounding him after weeks at sea.

“Why are we docking here?” Acrisios asked, hands on his hips as he eyed the deserted coastline.

“Athena’s orders,” Telemachus replied, his gaze scanning the surroundings. “She didn’t say why.”

Before Acrisios could respond, a figure emerged from the trees ahead, sprinting toward them. Telemachus squinted, his heart skipping a beat as he recognized the flowing hair and frantic movements.

“Y/N?” he murmured, his breath catching in his throat. She was running full speed, her face streaked with tears. Her dress was slightly disheveled, and her sandals kicked up clouds of dust as she hurried toward him. Telemachus dropped his pack and ran to meet her, his heart pounding.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice filled with both relief and worry. When she finally reached him, she threw herself into his arms, clutching him tightly as sobs wracked her body. Telemachus held her close, his arms wrapping protectively around her as he murmured her name.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, his voice trembling as he pulled back just enough to see her tear streaked face.

“They… they were going to kill you,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “Antinous and the suitors—they planned to ambush your ship at the eastern port. They wanted to throw you into the sea and… and force Penelope to choose one of them.”

Telemachus’s face hardened, his jaw clenching as anger and disbelief surged through him. “Antinous? My mother’s suitors?”

She nodded, her hands gripping his arms as if afraid he would vanish. “I overheard them… Antinous—he’s so blinded by hatred for you and his ambition for the throne. I didn’t know what to do. I just… I couldn’t let them hurt you.”Telemachus exhaled shakily, his heart breaking at the sight of her tearful, panicked expression. He reached up, brushing the hair from her face and wiping her tears with his thumb.

“it’s okay Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude. “Athena must have known. That’s why she told me to dock here.”

She clung to him, her body trembling as her sobs subsided. “I was so scared, Telemachus. I thought I’d lose you.”

He pulled her close again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t lose me, Y/N. Not now, not ever.”

Behind them, Acrisios cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, so… what’s the plan? Because this sounds…like not good.”

Telemachus straightened, his protective instincts flaring as he looked toward the palace in the distance. “The plan is to stop them,” he said firmly, his hand still resting on her back. “But first, I need to know everything. Y/N, tell me everything you overheard.”

She nodded, her voice steadier now as she began recounting the suitors’ plot. Telemachus listened intently, his resolve hardening with each word. Whatever it took, he would protect her, his mother, and his home.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Y/N and Telemachus stood near the ship, the sea breeze tugging at their hair as they exchanged soft laughter. Acrisios leaned against a nearby post, watching with a mix of annoyance and dread. He could already sense where this was going.

“Are you two done being gross yet?” Acrisios asked, crossing his arms and glaring at them.

Telemachus smirked, turning to Y/N with a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you think, love? Are we done?”

She giggled, catching on to his plan. “Hmm, I don’t think so.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to Telemachus’s, and the two began kissing—slowly, and with far too much enthusiasm for Acrisius liking.

“By the gods,” acrisios muttered, groaning as he turned his gaze to the sky. “What did I do to deserve this? Zeus, Athena, anyone listening up there, get me out of this nightmare. Get a room!”

Telemachus pulled back just enough to glance at Acrisius, grinning. “What’s the matter, Acrisios? Feeling lonely? Maybe you should tell her how you feel when we get back to the palace.”

Acrisios froze, his eyes narrowing as a flush crept up his neck. “Don’t you dare—”

She tilted her head, curious. “Her? Who’s her?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Telemachus said, feigning innocence as he kissed her cheek. “Our dear Acrisios has a little crush back home. Isn’t that right, Acrisios? Your father’s friend’s daughter, wasn’t it?”

Acrisios turned red, both from embarrassment and frustration. “You swore you wouldn’t bring that up!”

Telemachus laughed, pulling Y/N closer as if to shield himself from Acrisios’s glare. “I didn’t swear anything. Besides, we’re just talking about feelings. Isn’t love worth discussing?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Acrisios muttered, running his hands through his hair. “I swear, Telemachus, one more word and—”

“Relax, Acrisios,” Telemachus interrupted, now fully leaning into Y/N again. “Why don’t you take notes? Who knows, it might help you impress her when we get back.”

She snorted, burying her face in Telemachus’s shoulder to hide her laugh. Acrisios let out a long, exasperated groan, turning his back on them.

“You two are insufferable,” he muttered, stomping away toward the other side of the ship. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be praying to every god I know to send a storm and drown this madness.”

Telemachus couldn’t contain his laughter as he kissed Y/N’s temple. “I think he’s warming up to us.”

She rolled her eyes, but her grin betrayed her amusement. “You’re such a tease.”

“And you love it,” Telemachus teased before pulling her in for another kiss, knowing full well Acrisios could still hear their laughter echoing across the ship. As Acrisios stomped off, grumbling to the gods for mercy, a sly smirk suddenly crossed his face. He spun back around, leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed.

“You know,” he began, his voice dripping with mockery, “it’s funny how confident you are, Telemachus. Especially considering the night I caught you—what was it again? Oh, right. Naked, practicing with a pillow, muttering Y/N’s name.”

Telemachus immediately froze, his face flushing a deep crimson. “You—”

She blinked in confusion. “Practicing with a pillow? Telemachus, what is he talking about?”

“I—he’s lying!” Telemachus stammered, shooting Acrisius a glare that could rival Zeus’s lightning.

Acrisios chuckled darkly, clearly savoring the moment. “Oh, am I? Shall I paint the portrait for her, Telemachus? You were—what was it? Holding the pillow, all desperate, saying, ‘Oh, Y/N, I’ll be so good, I promise!’”

“Acrisios!” Telemachus barked, now completely flustered, while she stared at him with wide eyes before bursting into laughter.

“Oh my gods,” she gasped, clutching her stomach. “Is that true? You practiced on a pillow?”

Telemachus covered his face with his hands, his ears practically glowing red. “It was—it’s not what it sounds like!”

“Oh, it’s exactly what it sounds like,” Acrisios interrupted smugly. “And the best part? He got so into it that when I caught him, he practically jumped out of his skin. He’s lucky the pillow didn’t come to life from sheer embarrassment.”

She was laughing so hard now that tears streamed down her cheeks. “Telemachus, you’re adorable!”

“Adorable?” Telemachus groaned, glaring at Acrisius. “You’re dead, Acrisius. I swear, I’ll throw you overboard myself.”

But Acrisius only raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin unwavering. “Hey, you’re the one who decided to perfect your ‘skills’ on a pillow. I’m just here to share the good news.”

She leaned into Telemachus, still giggling. “I can’t believe you went to those lengths for me. That’s… kind of sweet, actually.”

“Sweet?!” Telemachus exclaimed, clearly mortified.

Acrisios gave a hearty laugh, turning to leave. “Well, I’ve had my fun. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to pillow talk.”

As he walked off, Telemachus groaned, burying his face in his hands again. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Probably not,” she teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “But I think it’s cute that you were so nervous about impressing me.”

Teasing as it was, the soft kiss made Telemachus feel a little better—though he was sure Acrisios would pay for this later.

Acrisios wasn’t done. Oh no, not yet. He turned back once more, arms folded and a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, Y/N, that pillow story is just the beginning of how utterly pathetic he was over you on the voyage.”

Telemachus groaned, his hand already on his face. “Acrisios, don’t—”

But Acrisios was on a roll. “Oh, I must. She deserves to know the full story.” He smirked. “Like the time he tried carving your name into the mast and spelled it wrong halfway through because he was daydreaming about your ‘beautiful smile.’ The crew still laughs about that.”

Her eyes lit up with amusement. “You carved my name?”

Telemachus mumbled, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, but it was,” Acrisius said, grinning. “He panicked and tried to cover it up, so now the mast says ‘I/N,’ and he claimed it was a prayer to some obscure goddess of… what was it, Telemachus? Fishing?”

She burst out laughing again, and Telemachus turned a deeper shade of crimson. “It was just one mistake,” he muttered.

“One mistake?!” Acrisios snorted. “How about the time he made us stop at that random island because he thought he saw flowers that looked like the ones you like? Turned out they were just weeds, and we wasted a whole day while he dug around like some love struck idiot.”

She gasped through her laughter. “You stopped your entire voyage? For flowers?”

“They looked like the ones you liked!” Telemachus protested, his voice cracking. “How was I supposed to know they weren’t?”

Acrisios raised an eyebrow. “And let’s not forget how he insisted on fishing every single day, convinced he’d catch a rare sea fish ‘worthy’ of you. And guess how many he actually caught? None.”

She was in stitches now, clutching her sides. “Oh gods, Telemachus, you’re hopeless!”

“And don’t even get me started on how he lectured us all on how to be proper gentlemen, because apparently, ‘Y/N deserves nothing but the best.’” Acrisius mimicked Telemachus’s voice mockingly, earning a glare from his friend.

She wiped tears from her eyes, grinning ear to ear. “You really did all that for me?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Telemachus groaned, glaring daggers at Acrisius. “You’re just making it worse.”

But she leaned in, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. “It’s sweet, Telemachus. You’re ridiculous, but sweet.”

“Ridiculously pathetic,” Acrisios added, snickering. “But hey, who am I to judge? I guess it worked. She’s still here.”

Telemachus shot him a warning look. “If you don’t leave right now, I swear by Poseidon’s trident, I’m going to—”

“All right, all right, I’m going!” Acrisios said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. As he walked away, he muttered loud enough for them to hear, “I/N… honestly.”

Telemachus groaned, burying his face in her shoulder. “Why do I even keep him around?”

She just laughed, stroking his hair. “Because deep down, you love him too. And besides, now I have some hilarious stories to tell.”

Telemachus groaned again. “Great. Just great.”

——

As Telemachus leaned into Y/N’s embrace, his attention was suddenly caught by the soft sound of paws shuffling against the stone floor. His breath hitched as a figure slowly approached them—a familiar, graying dog, moving with measured steps.

“Argos?” Telemachus whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief.

The old dog’s ears perked up slightly at the sound of his name, his cloudy eyes lifting to meet Telemachus. Despite his age, there was still a spark of recognition in Argos’s gaze. Slowly but surely, he made his way toward the pair, his tail giving the faintest wag. She smiled softly and crouched down, holding out her hand. “Come here, boy,” she murmured, her voice gentle.

To Telemachus’s shock, Argos didn’t hesitate. He padded over and nuzzled her outstretched hand, his tail wagging a little more energetically now. Pandora ran her fingers through his fur, her touch careful and soothing.

Telemachus blinked in astonishment. “Wait… he lets you touch him?”

She glanced up at him, amused. “Why wouldn’t he? He’s a sweetheart.”

Telemachus shook his head, still staring at the scene before him. “Argos barely let anyone near him, especially after Father left. He was loyal only to him and mother. I mean, even I have to earn his attention most days.”

She chuckled, scratching behind Argos’s ears as the dog leaned into her hand with a contented sigh. “Maybe he just knows I’m not a threat. Animals can sense these things, you know.”

“Or maybe he’s just as charmed by you as everyone else,” Telemachus muttered, crossing his arms but smiling faintly.

She gave him a playful look. “Jealous of your dog now?”

“No,” Telemachus said quickly, but his expression betrayed him. He knelt down beside Y/N and reached out to pet Argos as well. The dog’s tail thumped against the floor, and Telemachus felt a swell of emotion in his chest.

“I can’t believe he’s still here,” Telemachus murmured, his voice soft. “I thought… after all these months, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see him again.”

She glanced at him, her teasing tone replaced by something gentler. “He’s been waiting for you, Telemachus. Just like the rest of us.”

Telemachus’s throat tightened, and he gave Argos a firm pat on the side, his fingers brushing against her as they both tended to the old dog. “I guess he’s smarter than I gave him credit for,” Telemachus said, his voice thick with emotion.

Argos let out a low, contented huff, resting his head on her knee. She smiled down at him, then looked up at Telemachus. “See? He approves of me. You should take notes.”

Telemachus laughed softly, the weight of everything they’d been through momentarily lifting. “Fine. You win. Argos likes you more than me.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she replied with a wink, her fingers still moving gently through Argos’s fur.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world

@simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @xo-cuteplosion-xo

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #aphrodites gamble #antinous #epic telemachus #telemachus #antinous x reader #telemachus x reader #epic antinous

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starkeymeow · 2 months ago

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plot ── after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

content ── rafe trying to process things, cliffhanger i fear, him seeing u conveniently bc the universe hates him

authors note ── im gna switch between past & present with these chapters so we get a build up of each process (rafe making his decision about going to lucuna but also the process of why they broke up in the past) simultaneously so NEXT CHAPTER IS ANOTHER FLASHBACK n then we’ll pick up here in ch5. if ud like to be part of the tag list, feel free to lmk thru dms, replies, anons, or reblogs !! <3

main masterlist | ending vote | previous next

rafe doesn’t think. he just drives.

his truck tears down the dirt road, the engine roaring beneath him, the tires spitting up gravel and dust as he presses the gas harder, harder, like he’s trying to outrun the thoughts clawing at the inside of his skull.

his grip on the wheel is tight, fingers curling, jaw locked. his head is just a storm. questions crash into each other, his thoughts spinning so fast he can’t grab hold of a single one before it slips away, replaced by another. why? how? when? did you even hesitate? did you even think about him before you signed away every single piece of him, of you, of us? did you—

his chest is tight. the truck is going too fast. or maybe not fast enough.

rafe presses down on the gas again, speedometer needle twitching up, adrenaline surging. for a second, just a second, he wonders what would happen if he just let go. if he took his hands off the wheel and let the truck decide where to take him, let fate roll the dice. would he end up wrapped around a tree? flipped over in a ditch? would you even care? would you even know?

he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head, forcing the thought away. stupid. dramatic. he’s better than that. he’s rafe fucking cameron, and he doesn’t let a girl, even you, turn him into some reckless idiot.

but that’s a lie, isn’t it? because you always did.

he forces himself to slow down, foot easing off the gas, hands flexing and tightening on the wheel, exhaling through the knot in his chest. a minute later, he pulls into a gas station.

it’s muscle memory. he doesn’t even realize where he is until he steps out, the familiar ding of the old station bell ringing as a car pulls away. the air is thick and humid, the faint smell of gasoline and saltwater clinging to the breeze.

rafe doesn’t move at first. just stands there, hands braced against the truck, breathing hard, his pulse still hammering from the speed, the anger, the everything.

then he swipes his card at the pump.

the numbers on the screen blink to life as he grabs the nozzle, shoving it into the tank, pressing down until the gas flows. the steady hum fills the silence, the rhythm almost grounding.

and that’s when it really hits him.

this gas station. this fucking gas station.

he exhales sharply, staring down at the pavement like it might split open and swallow him whole.

it’s different now. no loud music blasting from your open car window, no smell of coconut sunscreen mixed with weed, no teasing smirk as you leaned against the pump, watching him with that spark in your eyes like you already knew how the two of you were gonna end up.

it’s just him.

he grips the handle tighter, knuckles going white, his other hand dragging over his face. he shouldn’t have come here.

the pump clicks off.

he stays still, slowly letting go of the handle, like now if he moves too fast, the moment might crack wide open. then, headlights cut across the pavement, the low hum of an approaching engine rolling over the quiet. a car pulls into the next pump over.

rafe doesn’t have to look. he already knows.

but he does anyway.

and there you are.

mindless, effortless. like the universe isn’t playing some sick joke on him right now. like you didn’t just wipe him from your life and go on existing like nothing ever happened.

your window’s cracked, letting the warm night air slip inside. the radio hums low, a song he almost recognizes but doesn’t. you park, put the car in park, and reach for your phone in the passenger seat. the screen lights up against your face as you check something, tapping a quick reply before you push open the door and step out.

you don’t notice him at first. why would you?

rafe watches, standing still as you move on autopilot. the way you pull your card from your back pocket, swiping it at the pump without a second thought. the way your lips move as you talk—oh. you’re on the phone.

your voice is light, casual, like you’re talking to someone you’ve known forever. you laugh, and it’s soft, like nothing in your world is out of place. like you haven’t just turned his completely upside down.

then, as if you finally feel the weight of his stare, your eyes flicker over.

just for a second.

and that’s all it is. a second. a passing glance, a polite, distant kind of recognition, like seeing a stranger at the grocery store.

but then, a smile. small. barely there. not the kind that means anything, not the kind that holds weight, but it kills him anyway.

then you look away. back to your pump, back to your phone, back to anything but him.

rafe exhales slowly, fingers pressing into his eyes like he can erase the sight of you standing there, so close but so impossibly far away.

small fucking island. of course, the two of you would end up at the same gas station at the same time. of course, it would be tonight.

he wants to say something. wants to hear your voice directed at him instead of whoever’s on the other end of that phone.

but he just watches instead.

silent, because what the fuck would he even say?

but you look . . . happy. the realization cuts deeper than anything else. because even if you don’t know him anymore, even if every piece of him has been stripped from your mind, something in you is still light, still soft, still unburdened.

and who is rafe to disturb that peace?

his stomach turns, his ears ring, his chest aches.

he remembers that smile. remembers it pressed against his skin, against his lips, felt between kisses and whispered promises. he remembers how it used to be his.

now it’s just a ghost.

the pump clicks off on your side, and you move without hesitation, tucking your phone into your pocket and grabbing the receipt before getting back into your car.

still, you don’t look at him, not when you start the engine, not when your headlights sweep over him as you pull away, not even when you turn onto the road and disappear into the dark.

rafe is still standing there long after you’re gone. he swallows hard, forces himself to move, slow and mechanical, placing the pump back on the rack before climbing into his truck.

the engine roars to life, but he doesn’t drive off right away. instead, he sits there, staring at the spot where your car was just parked. his head falls back against the headrest, and he lets out a breath that shakes on the way out.

he should go home. and eventually, he drives.

the roads blur under his tires, the world moving past him without sticking, without sinking in. the drive back home is muscle memory too, turns he barely thinks about, stop signs he doesn’t register.

when he pulls into the driveway, the house is exactly how he left it. quiet. still. like nothing happened at all.

the door slams harder than he means for it to. the wind picks up, stirring the trees, rustling the leaves against the pavement as he makes his way up the front steps. every movement feels mechanical, every step dragging like he’s walking through water.

ward is already there, standing in the foyer like he was waiting for this exact moment. he watches rafe carefully, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in the way his arms are crossed, the way his weight shifts slightly. it’s hesitation, maybe.

“where’d you go, bud?” his dads voice is low, but it carries, the casual tone sharp with concern, like he’s trying to get through to him in the way he always has.

rafe doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t look at his father. the words come out like they’re forced, halfhearted, still thick with the tension gnawing at his chest.

“nowhere.” he shrugs it off, his hands digging into his pockets. he can feel the weight of his eyes on his back as he walks toward the staircase, but he refuses to turn around. refuses to let ward see whatever the hell he’s feeling.

he hears ward shift behind him, a grunt of acknowledgment, but the silence that follows feels too loud.

his shoes creak on the stairs as he begins to ascend, each step dragging him further from his dad, further from the weight of the house. it’s the quiet that gets to him.

rafe feels it deep in his chest, gnawing, pressing against him from the inside. this all feels wrong. like he doesn’t know who he is anymore. like everything has changed and all he’s left with is this hollow feeling and the question of whether it’s all worth it.

he takes another step. everything is crashing in again. those little moments with you. the way you used to smile at him. the way he thought he could hold onto you forever, not knowing how badly things would get so fucked up.

his feet come to a sudden halt on the next step, his hand bracing the railing as he stares at the wall in front of him, his head spinning.

there’s no going back now, is there?

the words come out before he can even think, slipping from his mouth like a desperate plea for something, anything, to pull him from the dark hole threatening to swallow him whole,

“what was the name of that company again?”

@luvrclub @nemesyaaa @flvredcas @montanajgbn @f4dedtouch @psychocitylights @faephoria @annaconscience @congratsloserr @rafekisser @grandfartvoid @vampiriito @countryclubwhore @yktayy9669 @lilou0401 @gemininormouzz @k4yr14 @pinkamenap1e @nelo321 @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @dreamybabbyy @peachyparkerr @drewstarkeytruelove

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azzifuddslover · 7 months ago

Text

༯ OFF THE COURT — CHAPTER ONE 𝜗𝜚

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

trope: “enemies” to lovers

theme: angst?

tw: light swearing, self homophobia

word count: 2.2k

a/n: hii! i absolutely adore reading pazzi fics so i figured i’d write one myself 🙃 i’m sorry this is so boring but i kinda want to build it up yk. i also apologize for my lack of basketball terminology. and i’m aware yanna and ashlynn aren’t the same year as carol and azzi, but for the purpose of this series, pretend they are.

USA BASKETBALL TRIALS

regardless of paige’s flashy smile and head held high, her heart was beating out of her chest with nerves. this was it. the USA basketball trials she’s been working so hard for. it was time to prove she was the best she knew she could be.

walking into the open gym, there was a few girls scattered around, talking quietly amongst their friends. some were already getting reps in, working on their dribbling and shooting while others stretched. paige felt her heart slow down at the sight of other young girls looking equally as nervous.

quickly setting her belongings in a nearby locker, paige began to stretch her already sore limbs. yesterday, she practiced and practiced until the sun went down, trying to calm the overwhelming feeling of what if i’m not good enough?

paige looked over at the gym door as it opened loudly, spotting a curly headed girl clutching the straps of her backpack tightly. paige’s cheeks immediately heated at the sight of the beautiful brunette; she looked like nobody she’s ever seen before.

“alright ladies,” the head USA coach shouted, “time for warms up. get stretched, practice shooting, then we’ll get this show on the road.”

one hour later in and paige started to feel herself. her confidence spiked as soon as shooting begun after noticing how she’s clearly one of the best ones here, although she’d never say that out loud.

it eventually came time for 3v3s, so the coaches could closely analyze each player’s strengths. the first team was fran, azzi, and caitlin, while the second was paige, aliyah, and celeste.

it started with caitlin draining a few 3s, aliyah getting all the rebounds, and paige raking up assist after assist. once azzi had her hands on the ball, though, was when everyone realized who they were up against. azzi, with her textbook perfect shot, hit five 3s back to back, regardless of the good defense celeste was applying. paige was shocked to see such a good shooter, especially one she’s never heard of before these tryouts.

after a failed shot, aliyah secured the rebound and passed it to paige who then moved it up the floor at full speed. azzi, the slightly shorter brunette who paige noticed earlier, was successfully keeping up with her pace.

annoyed at azzi’s skills, paige passed the ball behind her back, causing azzi to slip to her knees. paige then took the easy layup, smiling smugly to herself.

“jesus,” azzi muttered, still on the floor.

paige couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of azzi on the ground, considering how good of a player she truly is.

“you good, azzi?” fran asked, helping pull her to her feet.

“yeah, just fine,” azzi replied.

paige didn’t ignore the glare she got from azzi, who purposefully hit her shoulder.

“it was an accident,” paige said defensively.

“whatever,” azzi rolled her eyes, brushed it off, and continued to focus on the 3v3.

only a minute after, azzi had her hands on the ball, bringing it up the court, with paige on her heels. she got to the 3 point line; paige set up her defense with her hand out, ready for the 3 shot to come, but azzi took a step back and drained it before paige could react.

azzi snickered at paige’s expression. it was paige’s turn to harshly glare at her, which only caused azzi to laugh harder.

“oh, shut up, you’re not even that good,” paige lied through her teeth.

“yeah, well, you aren’t either,” azzi said.

“paige, azzi, can we focus, please?” the coach shouted, making several heads turn to look at the two who turned red and nodded.

five days past, and the rest of the tryout went smoothly. azzi and paige didn’t have to interact again, and certainly made good impressions on the coaches with their skill sets.

today was the day the team was posted, and paige couldn’t be more nervous yet excited. the final 20 girls were all doing their own thing, some continued to shoot, while others socialized with the friends they’ve made. paige worked on her dibbling on her own, stealing glances at azzi who was with celeste, laughing together. paige couldn’t help the jealous feeling she got in her chest.

“it’s posted!” one of the girls squealed.

all 20 young girls rushed over to the paige that said the lucky 12 who made the USA basketball, 2017 team. somehow, azzi and paige ended up standing next to one another, but didn’t seem to mind at this moment. once it was paige’s turn to scroll through the names, she quickly spotted hers and smiled to herself, proudly. azzi was next to look, and instantly recognized hers right under paige’s. she blew out a breath in relief and congratulated the other girls that also made the team, as well as comforted those who didn’t.

paige’s eyes wandered to azzi, annoyed that she made the team but also secretly pleased, knowing how well of a player she is. she told herself it was for that reason, and that reason only.

“congrats, paige,” azzi told her, though her face was said she was not happy about them being on the same team. not after their little interaction in day one of tryouts.

“thanks, i guess,” paige muttered, keeping her face neutral.

they went their separate ways, azzi going to her friend celeste while paige walked over to aliyah and caitlin. azzi pretended to ignore the looks paige was sending her, deciding to focus on her and celeste’s conversation rather than wondering what paige was thinking.

throughout all of the USA basketball games, azzi and paige continued to ignore one another. they barely spoke, and if forced to, it wouldn’t last long.

one night after a tough game, paige laid in her hotel bed, scrolling on her phone while her roommate, samantha, was sound asleep. she stumbled upon azzi’s instagram paige, totally on accident. she definitely didn’t look it up. she couldn’t stand azzi.

paige scrolled through azzi’s posts, closely looking at azzi throughout the years. paige felt her cheeks grow warm at azzi’s beauty; her full lips not that she was looking at her lips, perfect brown curls, cute ass dimples.

with a slip of a finger, paige accidentally liked a photo from 2015. panicking, paige closed instagram and threw her phone down.

“oh, shit,” paige muttered, embarrassed and praying azzi wouldn’t notice the small like.

only a few minutes later, paige felt her phone buzz from underneath her. it was a instagram notification. paige’s heart began to race as her shaking hand clicked on the notification. of course, it was a dm from none other than azzi fudd.

stalker, much? it read.

paige’s face reddened as embarrassment flooded her body. not knowing how to respond, paige accidentally left azzi on read for a short while.

damn, read too? okay paige.

paige’s eyes widen at the dm. why did azzi care that she left her on read? they hate each other. she should leave it alone, really.

sorry. and it was an accident, paige typed.

anxiously waiting for azzi to reply, paige continued to observe azzi’s few posts. pictures with her friends and family, a cute photo of her dog, pictures from previous basketball games. she attempted and failed to hide her admiration for azzi, but she just couldn’t help it. her beauty was unreal.

paige hated these warm feelings she was having towards azzi. towards a girl in general. why can’t i be normal? she would constantly ask herself.

lol ur fine, read azzi’s dm.

paige didn’t want the conversation to end, not just because she was bored out of her mind, but also because she kind of liked talking to azzi, although she would never admit it.

so wyd? paige quickly sent without having a chance to overthink it.

why do u care? azzi replied. she had a good point; why did paige care what azzi was up too? she definitely had better things to do than texting paige, someone she hated, at 10 pm.

dunno, just curious i guess. forget it lol paige replied.

i’m laying in bed, wondering why in the world is paige bueckers looked at my instagram posts.

well damn, she had paige there. what excuse did she have? i wanted to look at you even though i’m supposed to hate you? that wouldn’t do.

must be a glitch was the best paige could come up with. she definitely didn’t want to admit to looking at her profile, though it’s obvious she was.

a glitch. sure paige, whatever you say.

not knowing how to continue the conversation, paige liked the message and plugged her phone into the charger. sleep soon consumed her, letting all of the azzi thoughts go.

it was the day of the final USA basketball season. the girls have won all of the games, blowing each team out of the water. azzi’s 3s were on point nearly every time, while paige mastered in passing to open teammates.

the team was up 25 points against canada. both paige and azzi were doing well the entire game, so they were given a break to rest on the bench. paige shifted nervously with having azzi’s presence so close, still extremely embarrassed about her accidentally liking an old post of azzi’s only a couple of nights ago.

azzi was laughing at something celeste said, causing paige to look over at her. when they made eye contact, paige almost instantly looks away while her cheeks grew pink.

get azzi out of your mind, she told herself over and over. frustration overwhelmed her because why in the world did paige feel for azzi? she wasn’t suppose to likes girls. she just wanted to be normal.

“you okay, paige?” azzi questioned, cautiously looking over at the girl.

“just fine, azzi,” paige nearly shouted.

“okay, geez, i was just asking,” azzi scrunched her eyebrows, confused at paige’s outburst.

“don’t,” paige answered coldly, earning a glare from not only azzi but also celeste and fran, who had previously heard paige.

the game ended soon after the two’s interaction. the 2017 USA basketball season had come to a close, with them winning 105-71. the girls began shouting and hugging one another. paige hugged most of her teammates, all besides azzi who she made a point to ignore.

mid hug with aliyah, paige felt someone back into her, hard. shocker, it was azzi who was beaming, still absorbing the win.

trying to ignore azzi’s cute ass smile, paige said, “watch where you’re going.”

azzi’s smile faltered immediately at paige’s attitude. “it was an accident, god.”

“yeah, well, make less of them,” paige rolled her eyes, moving away from azzi.

however, azzi was done with the constant annoyance paige carried when talking with her. azzi quickly grabbed the older girl’s shoulder, causing her to face her.

“what is your problem, paige?”

anger clouded paige’s face, “you, dammit!”

“what have i ever done to you?” azzi shouted back.

“god, azzi, just leave me alone!” paige pushed azzi back, making her slip into the backs of her teammates.

“jesus, paige, calm down, will you?” caitlin said, helping azzi reposition herself.

paige looked at her teammates glaring at her. feeling ashamed and embarrassed, she bolted for the exit door, never turning back regardless of the coaches shouts.

PRESENT DAY

can u hurry tf up? nika’s message came into paige’s phone.

“oh fuck,” paige had totally forgotten today was the day incoming freshman were being introduced to everyone. paige, nika, and aubrey had taken the responsibility to show them around, though paige fought it every chance she got. she knew who was going to be here, and dreaded having to show her around.

paige quickly brushed her teeth, threw on a comfortable outfit, and tied her blonde hair back into a low ponytail. she slipped on a pair of nike slides and made her way to the gym where they planned to meet.

aubrey and nika were already in the gym by the time paige got there, no surprise. paige was constantly late to things like this, not that she cared.

“about time, p,” nika called out as paige made her way to them.

“yeah, yeah, sorry,” paige smiled at the two of her closest friends.

“when do you think they’re gonna be here?” aubrey asked.

“pretty soon, i think,” nika answered, checking her phone for the time.

“i heard they’re really good,” aubrey said, a grin on her face.

“i sure hope, cause we need it,” nika replied, laughing a little.

“hey! i think we make do with our players just fine,” paige told nika.

“p, we’re down like 5 players. we need this.”

as soon as nika said it, the gym door opened and in walked the 4 incoming freshman. caroline led the group, then ayanna, followed by ashlynn. paige’s eyes wandered before looking back at the last freshman. as soon as paige saw her, paige’s heart quickened and her palms began to sweat. azzi fudd looked the exact same as she did back in 2017, with the same bright smile and dimples popping out. however, when azzi’s line of sight landed on paige, her smiled dropped.

“here we go,” paige whispered to herself before the freshmen crossed the room to the three girls.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige x azzi #pazzi #fanfic #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #wbb #usa basketball #basketball #paige buckets

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sailorblossoms-rankane · 9 months ago

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I've been thinking about how Ranma falls for Akane. It's definitely her smile, but it's also everything about the way she approaches him: friendly and considerate, taking him away from an uncomfortable situation. From their first interaction, it already says she's on his side

Virtually every character Ranma meets challenges him to a fight. The way it goes down communicates a lot, so it stands out that only Akane's offer is friendly. It's not a challenge, revenge, hostility, or competition. This is Akane offering to connect through the thing she knows they have in common.

Nobody approaches Ranma like Akane does: with friendliness, consideration, and a no stakes competitivity. The fight is our first glimpse at Ranma's insane skill level, and Akane is the only one who reacts to a loss with a laugh, because with them fighting is connection

By offering this connection, Akane is essentially welcoming Ranma to her house and her life. Their fight also foreshadows part of their dynamic: their fights are a form of communication. No one riles Akane up like Ranma. He'll always go after her (the fight literally ends with him behind her, reaching out to touch her).

This is a comedic scene but I think there's something about them both being so exposed on their first meeting. They have nothing to hide from each other – literally (iirc Ranma is always covered at least by water from the waist down, but Akane is seeing everything lol)

Speaking of exposure: they practically show their worst, least palatable sides to each other right from the start... and they're still not repelled (like they are when their other suitors show them their worst).

Also interesting to compare Ranma's first fights with their other suitors to the one with Akane. They're unserious clownery: Ranma kicks them (misunderstanding or attempts at de-escalation). But he only poinks at Akane with a finger. It's soft, tender, and reinforces connection.

Right from the start, Ranma cares about not being rejected by Akane. When she does, it doesn't have any weight: it's not that she really hates boys, she's just tired of being harassed (we get the reveal that every morning she has to fight the boys in her school – who try to beat her to date her – pretty much in the next chapter). "We're not friends," she might say, but she immediately confides in him and essentially lets him look at her heart.

Everything about the way they fight from the start is established with an undertone of connection, a pig tail-pulling sort of camaraderie. Through their fights, we see how similar they are. When the fight is with an outsider, they work as a team. It's them against the circus.

When her smile makes his heart speed up (distracting him so much he doesn't see the ball coming) he's already jealous and worried about his feelings being unrequited. The hints of Akane being/becoming his best friend and supporter have already been laid by the time her beauty is highlighted.

bonus:

Akane grabbing Ranma by the pigtail is a constant throughout the manga. It's hilarious, but also: only she is allowed to do this... And the fact that it happens in the first couple of chapters highlights how quickly Ranma connects with her/trusts her

#akane tendo #ranma saotome #rankane #ranma 1/2 #ranma ½ #ranma x akane #tendo akane

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sulkingheichou012 · 3 months ago

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Into the Dungeon with You

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Future Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's note: I'm happy that some of you are enjoying my silly work! Yes, if you're asking to be tagged—sure! 😊

Chapter 11

The calm after the battle barely lasted. Portals still flickered like scars in the sky, waiting to burst open again. Though the latest threat was repelled, no one believed it was over.

The recent battle had left scars across the city—and across everyone's hearts. But there was no time to rest. Hunters from around the world gathered for a joint training initiative under the Korean Hunter Association. They needed to be faster. Stronger. Ready. Because this fragile peace was temporary, and everyone felt it.

On the Association’s largest training grounds, the top Hunters were already at it—stretching, sparring, sharpening their reflexes. Among them were the absolute best: Sung Jinwoo. Cha Hae In. Liu Zhigang. Thomas Andre. Goto Ryuji. Lennart Niermann. Christopher Reed.

And there was Y/N, standing slightly apart, quiet but unmistakably there. Not a licensed Hunter. No official ranking. But she was here. She’d fought alongside Sung Jinwoo, cutting through monsters like a scythe through paper.

Some whispered. Some stared. Y/N ignored it.

Because it might be.

“Time to pair up,” Go Gunhee’s voice boomed across the field. “Choose wisely. Push each other. We need to be faster. Stronger. Smarter.”

Cha Hae In was already walking toward Jinwoo.

“I’d like to spar with you,” she said, polite and composed. “You’re the strongest. I’ll test my limits against the best.”

Y/N sighed and crossed her arms. Of course. The main couple vibes are strong today.

As Hae In and Jinwoo faced each other in the middle of the field, Y/N’ thoughts spiraled.

“Cha Hae-In is the perfect partner for Jinwoo, I can’t deny that. The silent, noble knight type. Total power couple material. But if we’re going practical, Joonhee is the best choice. She’s been there from the start! When Jinwoo was still weak, rank E, practically jobless. That’s loyalty! Ride or die! Dammit! Why is it always the blonde beauty?!” She glared at Hae In’s gleaming hair. “What about dark-haired women?” Y/N flicked a strand of her own black hair. “Villainess energy right here! Hmph!”

Jinwoo and Hae In stood opposite each other on the sparring mat. No weapons. Just hand-to-hand combat. Raw speed. Raw strength.

The two of them were like shadows and light, moving so quickly most eyes couldn’t follow.

But… Jinwoo’s attention wasn’t entirely on Hae In. His gaze kept flicking toward Y/N. Who, at that very moment, was chatting and smiling with Liu.

Jinwoo blocked Hae In’s strike a second too late. Her fist grazed his jaw.

“Distracted?” she asked, arching a brow. “Eyes over here, Sung Jinwoo.”

Jinwoo exhaled through his nose. He refocused… mostly. But the territorial flare in his eyes was hard to miss.

Meanwhile,

It was Liu Zhigang. The strongest hunter in China and one of the five National Level Hunters, ranking 2nd in the world. And he was smiling. At her. Golden eyes gleaming, like he was sizing up his next favorite person. “We meet again.” he said smoothly. “It would be a pleasure to spar.”

Y/N blinked. Externally? She tilted her head, gave a tiny, polite nod, and said, “Sure. I’ll go easy on you.” Voice calm. Totally collected. Cool as a cucumber.

Internally? System Notification: “Y/N.exe has stopped working.” Her brain slammed the red “EMERGENCY” button. Sirens were going off. Cue the internal screaming cat meme: “AAAAAAA!” Her inner self was slamming her fists on a table screaming, “NOTICE ME SENPAI!” And somewhere in the back of her mind? A tiny version of her was ugly crying while waving a Liu Zhigang body pillow.

Get it together, she screamed at herself, pasting a composed expression on her face. She was a professional. A fighter. Not some fangirl. (But oh, she was absolutely going to write about this in her diary later.)

Their spar began. He was fast. Fluid. But Y/N was ruthless.

Liu was fast. Precise. His strikes were surgical. But Y/N fought differently—more like someone used to reacting on instinct, unpredictable and fluid.

She ducked under a jab, sidestepped a low sweep, then planted a sharp punch right in his ribs. He grunted, stepping back. Then she spun, kicking his leg out from under him. He hit the ground hard.

And Jinwoo… Jinwoo was done watching. His spar with Hae In ended abruptly when he shoved her back gently but firmly. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I need to switch.”

Hae In’s brows knit together. “Distracted again?” she asked, half amused, half exasperated. “Careful. One of these days, that’s going to cost you.”

But Jinwoo wasn’t listening anymore. He was already stalking toward Y/N.

“Switch,” Jinwoo told Liu flatly.

Liu raised a brow but backed off with a shrug.

Y/N blinked.

Then Hae In called. The blonde stood ready, calm and focused. “Y/N, Let’s spar.”

Y/N cracked her knuckles. “Thought you’d never ask.”

No weapons. Just raw skill.

They circled each other, the tension thick. Hae In struck first—clean and fast. A palm aimed for Y/N’ shoulder. Y/N slipped under, pivoting, and aimed a knee at Hae In’s ribs.

Blocked.

They moved like dancers—fluid and graceful. Strike. Block. Counter.

Y/N smiled. “You’re good.”

“You’re better than I thought,” Hae In admitted.

Then Hae In pushed harder, her sword aura flickering around her fists even without a blade. She punched, and the air shuddered. Y/N blocked, sliding back, feet skidding across the dirt.

Y/N’ grin widened. “Now we’re talking.”

She darted forward, ducked low, and swept Hae In’s legs. Hae In flipped mid-air and landed on her feet.

Then they both lunged. Fists clashed. Shockwaves cracked the ground.

The other hunters stopped to watch. Even Chrispher Reed whistled in appreciation. “These women,” he muttered, impressed.

They shared a faint smile. For a moment, there was peace.

Y/N blinked as the tremor rolled through the training ground like a localized earthquake. Loose tiles cracked. Dust sprayed into the air. Nearby Hunters stumbled back, some scrambling for balance.

Boom!

A shockwave ripped through the air, and the noise that followed was like a thunderclap inside an enclosed space.

And there he was. Sung Jinwoo. Standing in the middle of the wreckage… With Liu still struggling to get back on his feet.

And then there was Y/N.

Already seated cross-legged on the sidelines, her face puffed out like an annoyed chipmunk, a juice box stuck firmly in her hands.

SSSSLURP.

She sucked aggressively through the straw, the noise cutting through the calm like a sword slash. Her eyes squinted ever so slightly as she glared at the two national-level hunters like they owed her rent.

The sparring session had left everyone winded but strangely satisfied. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, offering a brief sense of accomplishment and unity. Even Y/N found herself smiling, stretched out on the training field, towel draped over her head, watching Jinwoo.

This isn’t so bad, she thought, chest warming.

But peace never lasted. And far away, behind the veil of dimensions, unseen eyes watched.

In the space between realms, where no life should exist, an ancient presence stirred.

A massive throne of fused bone and molten obsidian floated in the dark. Coiled upon it, like a slumbering cataclysm, was Antares, the King of Dragons. His wings folded tightly against his body, his molten gold eyes half-lidded as he listened.

Below him, circling the ruins of a once-great battlefield, were his Ancient Dragons—each one older than the Monarch War, older than the age of men. Titans of scale and fury, their voices echoed in a guttural tongue that made the void itself quake.

“The Balance Keeper walks,” growled Kardum, a dragon with iron plates covering his head like a war helm. His voice sounded like continents grinding together. “The girl.”

“Y/N,” spat Zerathul, his scales oozing venom as his long neck twisted toward Earth’s pale glow. “She stands with the Shadow Monarch… the Ashborn’s heir.”

“The others are dead,” rumbled Veyraxis, the oldest of them all. Her wings were torn, ancient wounds that had never healed. “Ashborn. Beast. Plague. Frost. All gone.” Her teeth bared in a grin of bone and rot. “But we remain.”

Antares slowly opened his eyes. They glowed with smoldering fire.

“You remain because I remain,” he said softly, though his voice carried the weight of inevitable ruin.

The dragons fell silent, watching their king. Antares rose from his throne, each movement like a continent rising from the sea. His gaze drifted to the image of Earth, suspended before them—a fragile blue jewel against endless black.

“She is the last piece,” Antares said. “The Balance Keeper. The one Ashborn hid from us all.”

“She does not know,” Kardum said, flexing his talons. “She doubts,” hissed Zerathul. “She falters,” Veyraxis added.

Antares smiled. “Good.”

A clawed hand hovered over the floating image of Y/N. “Break her balance… and the Primordial Hunger awakens. A force even I do not control.”

Zerathul’s slit eyes gleamed. “Then why summon it?”

Antares' wings unfolded like a shadow blotting out a sun. “Because when the Hunger fully awakens… there will be nothing left to balance. No rulers. No monarchs. No armies.” His gaze hardened. “Only dragons.”

The dragons hissed their approval, fire leaking from their mouths.

“Prepare the legions,” Antares ordered, his voice a promise of extinction. “We will burn their world. We will break the Balance Keeper.”

“And if the Shadow Monarch stands in our way?” Kardum asked, baring obsidian teeth.

Antares laughed, deep and cruel. “Then he will fall beside her.”

The dragons roared their agreement. Their wings spread wide as they took flight into the void, each one dragging with them an army of horrors.

The war had begun.

Dear Diary,

(Or as I like to call you: my therapist I don’t have to pay. >:) )

I’m in trouble. Not dungeon-trouble. Not "oh no, the world is ending" trouble. Worse. I am in romantic trouble.

I think… I might be falling for Sung. Jinwoo. (!!!) And I know what you’re gonna say: “But Y/N, you’re the quirky side character who crashes into portals and accidentally teleports into showers. He’s the main lead! The hero! You’re just a guest star in this world!”

EXACTLY. I was supposed to root for him and Cha Hae In, maybe cheer from the sidelines while eating popcorn and dodging ice spears. NOT… get confused because he keeps doing these things.

Like yesterday.

We were training. (Which I agreed to because I’m not a coward… okay, I was bribed with snacks but that’s not the point.) And I tripped. Like a loser. (Classic me.) But instead of laughing or stepping over my face like a normal apex predator, Jinwoo caught me. And—listen carefully—he tucked my hair behind my ear. BEHIND. MY. EAR. WHO DOES THAT?! And his hand lingered, like he was memorizing my face. I don’t even know what face I was making but I’m pretty sure it was somewhere between "blinking goldfish" and "loading screen."

I thought, “Okay, cool, maybe I imagined it.” But then today, he made me tea. Like, actual tea. With honey. Because “you’ve been pushing yourself lately.” BRO. He noticed. He’s not supposed to notice! I’m not even his type! Right? I mean, Cha Hae In is literally a goddess with silky blonde hair and sparkly vibes. I’m over here in all black looking like I’m about to kick someone’s shin in a villainess cosplay.

AND THEN—get this—he smiled. Like, softly. At me. And I felt my brain rebooting. If he keeps this up, I might actually… Nope. No. Not happening.

I’m a side character. This is temporary. He’s just nice. Like, super nice. Dangerously nice. The kind of nice that makes you think about stuff. Like… cuddling. And holding hands. And— NOPE. We are NOT going there.

But if he does the ear-tuck thing again, I’m suing. Or kissing him. (I need help.)

Send snacks. And maybe a reality check. Or a portal home. Preferably not cracked.

Sincerely,

Y/N

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