I hope this video I found puts you at ease even just a little bit. You've got this, no matter what. Remember, you are not your thoughts and negative emotions, those are fickle and mean very little in the grand scheme of things. You're more than capable of achieving all of your desires 🩷. Come back to this video whenever you need a reminder!
@shiftblrteas you are a mouth piece to spread hate && a plague spreading on shiftblr that cause users to leave. i’ve seen some of my moots being hated on for no apparent reason by your anons && i’ve already replied to one of your posts in which a anon calls my friend @vanillebirkin // helene “desperate for moots” and said it’s “hard to watch” which is such a nothing burger complaint my goddddd !!!!! just say you’re jealous that she actually tries to make friends in the community and not go to a fucking “tea” page to complain. next time man up and say it in her inbox without anon. i promise you if shiftblrteas didn’t exist then your ass wouldn’t have even made the anonymous comment. plus helene actually gives advice to people on shiftblr willingly, she does something positive, idk about you tho anon, all you do is bitch from what i can tell.
back to the tea page tho; you claim that you do not allow bigotry and kluklutzklan members on your asks but you literally called someone the “princess of a ice detention centre” …you are no better than the people in your ask box. you enable these people to have a place to openly be toxic which causes a further divide in the community.
you also allow anti black rhetoric by your anons which is so stupid as black people already have a lot to deal with in life and other communities online. i seen you call another black user sister on here but you’re not anyone’s “sister” you’re like uncle ruckus, a stain on the black community just so you can seek just the smallest amount of validation which you’re never gonna get. bc guess what? them niggas are never gonna chose you, they only like you because you allow them to say whatever they want. && just like ruckus’ bitch ass you are also a damn joke and would most likely never be taken seriously by anyone. and if you aren’t black, stop calling black people on here sister, we are not your sister.
i also wanna call out some weirdo in your likes under the ice detention comment you made. @sweetshifter // elara you are a bitch too. you are literally transphobic yet call yourself sweet? you are anything but sweet if you cannot be kind to people who have don’t nothing to you. prime example is your ethel cain post where you misgender her and disrespect her by calling her a man && not oppressed — as if trans people are not targeted for assault and have laws in the united states being pushed against them. now before you jump me for defending ethel cain, i do not support anything she’s done, i think it’s disgusting to support incest & be racist (that’s why i’m making this post is because of the racism i am noticing in shiftblr). you should be able to critique someone with invalidating their gender identity. it is not that hard to do.
elara, you were banned on two different accounts before, i’m guessing it’s because of the harmful rhetoric you repost and spew on your account. that should be a hint that what you are doing is wrong and stupid. if you care about women (since you are a feminist) then you should care about ALL women, as trans women are still women.
Why Shifting and the Law of Assumption are the exact same thing (In a nutshell)
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In both shifting and the LOA, the core premise is identical: "consciousness is the only reality". There is no physical world independent of what you are perceiving or assuming to be true.
The universe is not outside of you, you are the universe experiencing itself.
In the LOA, you create your reality by shifting your internal state. You assume your desire is already a present fact, and the physical world (the reflection) is forced to adapt to that new assumption.
In Shifting, you shift your focus of awareness from one reality to another. You align internally with the identity and state of the version of you who is already in that destination, causing your sensory experience to move.
In both practices, you understand that you don't have to physically "travel" or struggle to attain something. You aren't building a future or forcing your way across dimensions, you are simply recognizing that it already belongs to you in the NOW and allowing your experience to shift by the mere fact of assuming it.
˖°࿐ cedric as your tall, pretty boyfriend who constantly blushes around you and loves to keep his arms around your waist, his chin propped on your shoulder as you talk to your friends or do a menial task…
ugh guys, he’s so cute and pretty and kind and sweet to you. he constantly mushes up your cheeks to make you smile or because you’re too cute he can’t help himself. he loves when you put your hands under his clothes because you’re cold and you want to warm them up, he just wraps you up in his arms and lets you get all the heat you need. he’s sooooo endeared by you and is putty in your hands. ceo of #ilovemygf
god bless the prehistoric animals who died and became fossil fuels which powered the car that drove his mother to the hospital to give birth to him 😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫
Mixed people do not owe you conformity to one side. Mixed people do not owe you a simple explanation to our often complicated heritage. Mixed people do not owe you certain physical appearance expectations. Mixed people do not owe you sex. Mixed people may be connected to one of their ethnicities more than others and they do not implicitly owe you to be equally connected to all of them.
summary: you and fez keep circling something tender and dangerous, but every almost touch feels heavier when neither of you believes you’re allowed to want more.
word count: 7k words
a/n: i haven't written anything for angus since before he passed away but i randomly thought about this idea and thought fez was the perfect character for this fic! i hope you enjoy, thank you for reading!
WARNINGS: smut
⸻
The couch at Fez's place has a permanent indent where you always sit. Right side, corner cushion, close enough to the armrest that you can tuck your feet under you. You've been coming here for months now long enough that Ashtray doesn't look up when you walk in anymore, long enough that Fez keeps your favorite chips in the cabinet even though he doesn't eat them himself.
Tonight the living room is dim, just the blue glow of the tv playing some documentary Fez isn't really watching. He's on the other end of the couch, one arm stretched along the back, and there's maybe two feet of space between you. Might as well be miles.
"You good?" he asks, and his voice has that softness he only uses with you and Ash. Rough around the edges but careful, like he's afraid of saying the wrong thing.
"Yeah." You pull your sleeves over your hands. "Long day."
He nods, doesn't push. That's Fez, he gives you space even when you don't want it. His beard is getting longer, you notice. There's a small scar near his temple you've never asked about, you know too much and not enough about him all at once.
The documentary goes on about ocean life, neither of you are watching. You can feel the weight of his attention even though he's looking at the screen, the way the air feels different when someone's aware of you. Your heart does this stupid thing where it speeds up just because he moved.
"Come here," he says quietly.
You look at him. His eyes are already on you, have been probably, and there's something in his expression that makes your stomach flip. Not quite vulnerable but close, like he's offering something he's not sure you'll take.
You uncurl your legs, start to shift closer. The couch cushion dips as you move, and suddenly you're near enough to smell his cologne that you've come to associate with safety. His arm is still stretched along the couch back, and you're hyperaware of how easy it would be to lean into him, to close that last bit of distance.
Fez's hand moves, just slightly, fingers almost brushing your shoulder. The touch is so light you might be imagining it, but your whole body responds like he's set something on fire. His eyes drop to your mouth for just a second, and you forget how to breathe.
"Fez—"
"Yo, we're out of—" Ashtray's voice cuts through the moment. He stops in the doorway, takes in the scene with those eyes of his. "My bad."
The spell breaks. Fez pulls back, runs a hand over his beard, and you're suddenly very interested in the documentary, something about coral reefs. Your face feels hot.
"What you need, Ash?" Fez's voice is steady, but you catch the slight tension in his shoulders.
"Nothing. Handle it tomorrow." Ashtray disappears back down the hall, and you hear his door close with a pointed click.
The space between you feels wider now. Fez clears his throat, shifts away just slightly, and that small movement hurts more than it should.
"Getting late," you say, even though it's barely ten. "Should probably head out."
"Yeah. Yeah, a'ight." He stands when you do, walks you to the door like always. His hand hovers near your lower back but doesn't quite touch. "Text me when you get home?"
"Always do."
You smile at him, and he smiles back, and there's so much unsaid in the space between you that you could drown in it.
In your car, you grip the steering wheel and stare at his front door. The porch light is on he always leaves it on until you drive away. Through the window, you can see his silhouette moving back toward the couch.
He doesn't actually want me, you think, and the thought sits heavy in your chest. If he did, he would've said something, done something. He had the chance.
You drive home with that thought on repeat, trying to convince yourself it doesn't matter. Trying to ignore the ghost of his touch still burning on your shoulder.
⸻
You don't go back for a couple of days.
It's not dramatic, you don't block his number or anything. You just...create space. When he texts asking if you're coming by, you say you're busy. When he asks if you're okay, you say you're fine. The lies taste bitter, but they're easier than the truth.
Leaving first hurts less, you tell yourself. Pull back before he does.
But on the fourth day, Ashtray texts you: fez is being weird. come over.
You shouldn't, you know you shouldn't. But you've never been good at staying away from things that hurt you, so you go.
Fez opens the door, and the relief on his face is so naked it makes your chest ache. "Yo, where you been?"
"Around." You slip past him into the house, keeping distance between you. "Ash said you needed something?"
"I—nah, I just..." He closes the door, runs a hand over his head. "You been avoiding me?"
"No."
"Don't lie to me, ma." His voice is gentle but firm. "You ain't been by in days. Won't hardly text me back. What's going on?"
You can't look at him. "Nothing. I've just been busy."
"Bullshit."
The word hangs in the air, Fez doesn't usually push, which means you've worried him. Guilt twists in your stomach.
"I'm fine, Fez. Really." You force a smile. "Where's Ash?"
He studies you for a long moment, and you can see him deciding whether to let it go. Finally, he sighs. "Store run. Should be back soon." He gestures toward the kitchen. "You hungry? Was about to make something."
You should say no, should make an excuse and leave. Instead, you follow him into the kitchen, because apparently you're a glutton for punishment.
The kitchen is small, Fez moves around the space with easy familiarity, pulling out ingredients for sandwiches. You lean against the counter, trying to stay out of the way, but he keeps having to reach around you for things.
"Sorry," you murmur when he stretches past you for the bread. His arm brushes yours, and electricity shoots up your spine.
"You good." His voice is low, close to your ear. He doesn't move away immediately.
You should step aside and give him room. Instead, you stay frozen as he reaches across you for the mayo, his chest nearly pressed against your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of him, smell that cologne that makes you dizzy.
"Fez." It comes out barely a whisper.
He pauses, hand still on the refrigerator door. Slowly, he turns his head to look at you. You're close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the exact shade of blue in his eyes. His gaze drops to your mouth again, and this time it lingers.
"Yeah?" His voice is rough.
Your heart is hammering so hard you're sure he can hear it. The air between you feels dangerous. His hand comes up, fingers almost touching your jaw, and you lean into it without thinking.
The front door slams. "Yo, they were out of the good chips!" Ashtray's voice carries from the living room.
Fez steps back like he's been burned. You turn away, gripping the counter edge, trying to remember how to breathe normally.
"In here, Ash," Fez calls, and his voice sounds strained.
Ashtray appears in the doorway, takes one look at both of you, and his expression goes flat. "For real?"
"What?" Fez is aggressively making sandwiches now, not looking at either of you.
"Nothing." But Ashtray's eyes narrow as he looks between you. "Absolutely nothing, apparently."
You can't do this. Can't stand here in this too small kitchen with Fez's almost touch still burning on your skin and Ashtray's knowing eyes seeing too much. Can't keep wanting something you can't have.
"I should go." You're already moving toward the door.
"Wait—" Fez starts, but you're not stopping.
"Thanks for...I'll text you later."
You're out the door before he can respond, and you don't look back. In your car, you grip the steering wheel with shaking hands.
Leaving first hurts less, you repeat to yourself. Leaving first hurts less.
It's a lie, but you're getting good at those.
⸻
Fez is staring at his phone when Ashtray walks into the living room. Has been for the past twenty minutes, reading and rereading your last text: sorry for leaving weird. talk soon.
"You gonna actually text her back, or just keep looking at it like a sad puppy?" Ashtray drops onto the couch next to him.
"I texted her back."
"Yeah, three hours ago. 'It's cool.' Real romantic, bro."
Fez shoots him a look. "The hell you know about romantic?"
"More than you, apparently." Ashtray grabs the remote, but doesn't turn on the tv. Instead, he sits there, radiating judgment. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or we gonna keep pretending?"
"Ain't nothing going on."
"Right. That why she keeps running out of here? That why you been moping around for days?" Ashtray's voice is flat, matter of fact. "Y'all are being stupid."
"Watch your mouth."
"I'm serious, Fez." And he is, Ashtray's expression has gone hard, the way it does when he's about to say something he thinks needs saying. "She comes over, y'all do this whole thing where you look at each other like you're dying, then she leaves and you get all depressed. It's exhausting."
Fez sets his phone down, rubs his eyes. "It ain't that simple."
"Why not?"
"Because!" The word comes out sharper than he intends. He takes a breath, softens his voice. "Because I can't...Ash, you know what our life is like. What we do. I can't drag her into that."
"She already in it. She's here all the time."
"That's different."
"How?"
Fez doesn't have a good answer for that. He stares at the blank tv screen, jaw tight. "I could get her hurt. People we deal with, the shit we're involved in...If something happened to her because of me—"
"So you're just gonna keep pushing her away? That's your plan?" Ashtray's voice is hard. "You think that don't hurt her?"
"Better than the alternative."
"Is it?" Ashtray leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Fez, look at me."
Reluctantly, Fez does. Ashtray's eyes are too knowing. Sometimes Fez forgets he's just a kid, and then moments like this happen and he remembers that Ash has seen too much, grown up too fast in this life they're living.
"You're already hurting her by doing nothing," Ashtray says quietly. "I see it every time she's here. The way she looks at you, then catches herself. The way she leaves before she wants to. She's protecting herself from you, bro. Because you won't be straight with her."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Fez wants to argue, but he can't. Because Ash is right. He's seen it too the way you pull back, the careful distance you've started keeping. He did that, his fear did that.
"What if I can't keep her safe?" His voice comes out rough.
"What if you can?" Ashtray counters. "You keep everyone safe. Me, the people who come through here, even the ones who don't deserve it. You think you can't do that for her?"
"That's different. Y'all are—"
"Family?" Ashtray raises an eyebrow. "Yeah. And what's she?"
Fez doesn't answer, can't. Because the truth is you've been family for a while now, and he's been too scared to admit it. Too scared to reach for what he wants because wanting things has always been dangerous in his life.
"I don't know how to do this," he admits finally. "Don't know how to be...that. For someone."
"You're already doing it, dumbass. You just won't admit it." Ashtray stands, heads toward his room. At the doorway, he pauses. "She's not gonna wait forever, Fez. Eventually, she's gonna stop coming back. And then you're really gonna be miserable."
He disappears down the hall, leaving Fez alone with his phone and his thoughts and the weight of everything unsaid.
Fez picks up his phone, looks at your text again. His thumbs hover over the keyboard. He types and deletes three different messages before giving up, setting the phone down.
But Ashtray's words echo in his head, You're already hurting her by doing nothing.
He's spent so long trying to protect you that he never considered he might be the thing you need protection from. Not because he'd hurt you intentionally, but because his fear is doing the job just fine.
Outside the sun is setting, the house feels too quiet. Fez thinks about the space on the couch where you always sit, the indent that's shaped like you. Thinks about your laugh, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're nervous, how you're the only person besides Ash who makes him feel like maybe he's not just the sum of his mistakes.
He picks up his phone again.
This time, he doesn't let himself overthink it. He just types: can we talk?
Your response comes faster than he expected: when?
Tomorrow? Come by whenever.
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Finally: okay.
Fez stares at the word, heart pounding. He has no idea what he's going to say to you. No idea how to explain the mess in his head, the fear and want tangled up so tight he can't separate them.
But Ashtray's right, he has to try.
Because losing you slowly, watching you pull away inch by inch, is worse than any risk. And maybe you deserve to make your own choice about whether he's worth the danger.
⸻
You almost don't go in.
You sit in your car outside Fez's place for ten minutes, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to talk yourself into driving away. Whatever he wants to talk about, you're not sure you can handle it. If he's going to tell you to stop coming around, to give him space, you think it might actually break something in you.
But you're here and you've never been good at protecting yourself from him.
The door opens before you can knock. Fez stands there, and he looks tired and worried. His eyes search your face like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey."
Neither of you move, then he steps back, gestures you inside. The house is quiet Ashtray must be out, or hiding in his room. Probably the latter, knowing him.
You follow Fez to the living room, but neither of you sit. The air feels heavy, with everything unspoken. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and you cross your arms, and the space between you might as well be an ocean.
"So," you say, when the silence gets too loud. "You wanted to talk?"
"Yeah. I—" He stops, runs a hand over his beard. "Shit, I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"This. Talking about..." He gestures vaguely between you. "This."
Your heart is pounding. "Fez, if you're trying to tell me to stop coming around, just say it. I can handle it."
"What? No." He looks genuinely shocked. "That ain't—why would you think that?"
"Because you keep pulling away!" The words burst out before you can stop them. "Every time we get close, you back off. Every time something almost happens, you shut down. I'm not stupid, Fez. I can take a hint."
"That ain't what I'm doing."
"Then what are you doing?" You're angry now, months of frustration bubbling over. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like you don't want me here."
"That's not true." His voice is firm, almost desperate. "That ain't true at all."
"Then what is it? Because I can't keep doing this. Can't keep coming here and wanting—" You cut yourself off, but it's too late.
"Wanting what?" He takes a step closer, and there's something intense in his eyes. "Say it."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me. Say it."
"You!" The word rips out of you. "I keep wanting you, and you keep acting like I'm something you can't touch, and I don't understand why. If you don't feel the same way, fine. But stop—stop looking at me like that if you don't mean it."
The silence that follows is deafening. Fez stares at you, and you can see something crumbling in his expression, some wall he's been holding up finally giving way.
"You think I don't want you?" His voice is rough, raw. "You think that's what this is?"
"I don't know what to think anymore."
"I think about you all the damn time." The confession comes out like it's been pulled from somewhere deep. "Every day. Every night. You're in my head constantly, and it's driving me crazy because I can't—I don't know how to—"
He stops, jaw clenched, and you realize with a shock that his hands are shaking.
"Fez—"
"I'm scared, a'ight?" The words sound like they cost him something. "I'm scared of dragging you into my mess. The shit I'm involved in, the life I live—it ain't safe. And you're..." He looks at you, and his eyes are so full of emotion it makes your chest ache. "You're good. You're the best thing that's come into my life in years, and I can't stand the thought of something happening to you because of me."
"So you were just going to push me away?" Your voice is softer now. "That was your solution?"
"I was trying to protect you."
"From what? From you?" You take a step closer. "Fez, I know what your life is like. I've known from the beginning. I'm not some naive kid who doesn't understand what she's walking into."
"You don't get it—"
"No, you don't get it." Another step. You're close enough now to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. "You don't get to make that choice for me. If I want to be here, if I want to be part of your life, that's my decision. Not yours."
"What if I can't keep you safe?" His voice breaks slightly. "What if something happens and I can't—"
"What if it doesn't?" You reach out, slowly, and place your hand on his chest. His heart is racing under your palm. "What if we're careful, and smart, and it's okay?"
He covers your hand with his, and his touch is gentle. "I don't know how to be what you need."
"You already are." The truth of it sits in your chest, solid and sure. "You've been what I need since the day we met. You're just too scared to see it."
"I'm terrified," he admits, and this is Fez at his most vulnerable no walls, no protection, just raw honesty. "Of fucking this up. Of losing you. Of not being enough."
"Fez." You step closer, until there's barely any space between you. "Look at me."
He does. His eyes are desperate, pleading, full of want and fear in equal measure.
"I'm here," you say quietly. "I'm standing right here, telling you I want this. Want you. The only way you lose me is if you keep pushing me away."
For a long minute, he just stares at you. Then, slowly, his hand comes up to cup your face. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, and the touch is so tender it makes your eyes sting.
"I want you," he says, voice rough. "God, I want you so much it scares me."
"Then stop being scared." You lean into his touch. "Stop running. Just...be here. With me."
"I don't know if I can do this right."
"We'll figure it out." You cover his hand with yours. "Together."
Something in his expression shifts. The fear is still there, but underneath it is something else hope, possibility. He leans his forehead against yours, and you both just breathe for a moment, sharing space.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "For pushing you away. For making you think I didn't want you. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too. For pulling back instead of talking to you."
"We're both pretty stupid, huh?"
You laugh, and it comes out watery. "Yeah. We really are."
His thumb traces your jaw, and you shiver. "Can I—" He stops, swallows hard. "Can I kiss you?"
Your heart stutters. "Yeah. Yes."
But he doesn't move right away. Just holds you there, forehead to forehead, like he's savoring this moment before everything changes. His breath is warm on your lips, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.
"Fez," you whisper.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay." But still he hesitates, and you realize he's shaking. This man who's seen and done things you can only imagine, who's always so steady and sure, is trembling at the thought of kissing you.
So you close the distance yourself.
⸻
The kiss is gentle, like you're both afraid of breaking each other.
Fez's lips are softer than you imagined, and he kisses you like you're made of glass careful, reverent, like he can't quite believe this is real. His hand cradles your face, and the other finds your waist, pulling you closer but not too close. Still giving you space to pull away if you want.
You don't want to.
You sink into him, hands fisting in his shirt, and he makes this sound low and rough and desperate that sends heat flooding through you. The kiss deepens, but slowly. He's still holding back, still being careful, and you can feel the restraint in every touch.
When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Fez rests his forehead against yours again, eyes closed, and his hands are shaking where they hold you.
"Fuck," he breathes. "I've wanted to do that for so long."
"Yeah?"
"Since the first time you sat on that couch and laughed at one of Ash's terrible jokes. Since you stayed up with me when I was stressed about a deal. Since—" He opens his eyes, and they're so full of emotion it steals your breath. "Since always, feels like."
You kiss him again, softer this time, a promise. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You sure about this? About me?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
He studies your face like he's looking for doubt, for hesitation. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, still racing, and you wrap your arms around him.
"Stay," he murmurs into your hair. "Tonight. Just stay."
"Okay."
You stand there in the middle of his living room, holding each other, and it feels like something has shifted. Like the world has rearranged itself into a new configuration, one where this is possible. Where you and Fez can be this.
Eventually, you migrate to the couch. He sits in his usual spot, and you curl into his side, head on his chest. His arm wraps around you, and it feels right in a way nothing else ever has.
"Ash is gonna be insufferable about this," Fez says after a while.
You laugh. "He's been trying to get us together for months."
"Yeah, kid's too smart for his own good." There's fondness in his voice. "He told me I was being stupid. That I was hurting you by doing nothing."
"He wasn't wrong."
"Nah, he wasn't." Fez's hand runs up and down your arm, the touch absent and soothing. "I'm gonna try, a'ight? To be better at this. At talking instead of shutting down."
"That's all I ask."
The tv is still off, the neighborhood is quiet. You can hear Fez's breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest, and everything feels suspended in this perfect moment.
"What are you thinking?" you ask softly.
"That I don't deserve this. You." His voice is quiet. "But I'm gonna try to anyway."
You shift to look up at him. "Fez, you deserve good things. You deserve to be happy."
"You make me happy." He says it simply, like it's a fact. "Happier than I've been in a long time."
"Good." You settle back against him. "Because you make me happy too."
His arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. It's such a sweet thing that your eyes sting.
"I think about you all the time," he says again, like he needs you to understand. "When you're not here, I'm thinking about when you'll come back. When you are here, I'm trying not to stare at you like a creep. You're in my head constantly."
"I think about you too." You trace patterns on his chest. "More than I probably should."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I think about your voice. The way you laugh. How you're so gentle with Ash even when you're pretending to be tough. How you make me feel safe."
He's quiet for a moment. "You are safe. With me. I'll make sure of it."
"I know."
And you do. Despite everything the danger, the uncertainty, the complicated reality of his life you've never felt safer than you do right now, wrapped in his arms.
The night stretches on. You talk about everything and nothing childhood memories, favorite foods, the documentary about ocean life you never actually watched. Fez tells you about his grandmother, and his voice goes soft with grief and love. You tell him about your family, your dreams, the things you've never said out loud to anyone.
At some point, you shift positions. You're lying down now, Fez on his back and you tucked against his side, head on his shoulder. His hand plays with your hair, gentle and rhythmic, and you're so comfortable you could fall asleep right here.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Mm?"
"Thank you. For not giving up on me."
You tilt your head to look at him. In the dim light, his face is soft, unguarded. "Thank you for letting me in."
He kisses you again, and this time there's less hesitation. His hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek, and the kiss is deeper, hungrier. You can feel the want in it, the months of restraint finally breaking down.
When you pull back, you're both breathing hard again. Fez's eyes are dark and there's a flush on his cheeks.
"We should probably slow down," he says, but his hand is still on your face, still touching you like he can't help himself.
"Probably," you agree, but you don't move away.
"I want to do this right. With you." His voice is rough. "Want to take my time. Make sure you know—" He stops, swallows hard. "Make sure you know how much you mean to me."
Your heart feels too big for your chest. "Fez—"
"I'm serious. You're not just—this ain't just physical for me. You get that, right?"
"I get it." You kiss him softly. "It's not just physical for me either."
"Good. Okay." He takes a shaky breath. "Okay."
You settle back against him, and his arms wrap around you again.
"Stay with me tonight," he says again. "Just sleep. I just want—I want you here."
"I'm not going anywhere," you promise.
And as you drift off, warm and safe in his arms, you think that maybe Ashtray was right. Maybe you were both being stupid but you're not anymore.
Now you're just here, together and that's enough.
⸻
You wake up to early morning light filtering through the curtains and Fez's arm heavy across your waist. For a moment, you just lie there, taking in the unfamiliar feeling of waking up next to him. His face is relaxed in sleep, the worry lines smoothed away, and he looks the most peaceful.
You shift slightly and his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer even in sleep. The gesture makes your heart squeeze.
"You watching me sleep?" His voice is rough with sleep, eyes still closed, but there's a smile playing at his lips.
"Maybe."
He opens his eyes, and they're soft, warm. "Morning."
"Morning."
For a moment, you just look at each other. Then he leans in, kisses you slow and sweet. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek.
"Been wanting to wake up like this," he murmurs against your lips.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Another kiss, deeper this time. "With you here. In my arms."
You shift closer, and suddenly you're very aware of the warmth of his body, the solid weight of him against you. His hand slides from your face to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, and the kiss turns heated.
"Fez," you breathe, and his name sounds like a prayer.
"Tell me if you want me to stop." His voice is rough, strained. "Any time. Just tell me."
"I don't want you to stop."
He groans, low and desperate, and kisses you harder. His hand slides down your side, over your hip, and even through your clothes the touch burns. You arch into him, and he makes that sound again the one that sends heat pooling in your stomach.
"You're so—" He breaks off, kisses your jaw, your neck. "So beautiful. Drive me crazy."
Your hands find the hem of his shirt, slide underneath to touch warm skin. He shudders at the contact and you feel powerful knowing you affect him like this.
"Can I—" His hand hovers at the edge of your shirt. "Is this okay?"
"Yes. God, yes."
He takes his time, though. Pushes your shirt up slowly, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. When you don't stop him, he leans down, presses kisses to your stomach, your ribs. Each touch is soft, slow, like he's memorizing you.
"So soft," he murmurs. "So perfect."
You pull him back up to kiss him, and it's hungry now, desperate. Months of wanting finally breaking free. His weight settles over you, and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer.
"Wait, wait." He pulls back, breathing hard. "We should—I want to make sure—"
"I'm sure." You cup his face, make him look at you. "I want this. Want you."
"Yeah, but—" He takes a shaky breath. "I want to do this right. Want to take care of you."
The words make your chest ache. Even now, even in the middle of this, he's thinking about you. Making sure you're okay.
"You are taking care of me," you say softly. "This is taking care of me."
He searches your face, and whatever he sees must satisfy him because he nods. "Okay. But you tell me if anything's too much, yeah? If you want to slow down or stop or—"
You kiss him to shut him up, and he melts into it. His hands start moving again, sliding under your shirt, and this time when he pulls it off you let him. He stares at you for a long time and there's so much want in his eyes it makes you shiver.
"Beautiful," he says again. "So fucking beautiful."
He kisses you everywhere he can reach your shoulders, your collarbone, the curve of your boob. Each touch is careful, restrained, like he's holding himself back. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he's fighting for control.
"Fez," you murmur. "You don't have to hold back."
"Yeah, I do." His voice is strained. "Want to make this good for you. Want to—" He breaks off with a groan as you arch against him. "Fuck, you're making this hard."
"Good."
He laughs, breathless, and kisses you again. His hands map your body like he's learning it, committing every curve to memory. When he touches you, really touches you, you gasp into his mouth.
"This okay?" he asks, even though your reaction makes it obvious.
"Yes. Don't stop."
"Not planning to."
He takes his time, drawing it out, watching your face to see what you like. Every time you make a sound, he does it again, learning you. It's overwhelming, the attention, the care he's putting into this.
"You're so responsive," he murmurs. "So perfect. Love watching you like this."
You pull at his shirt, and he helps you remove it. Finally, you can touch him properly run your hands over his chest, his shoulders, feel the strength in him. He shudders under your touch, and you realize he's just as affected as you are.
"Your turn," you say, and push him onto his back.
He goes willingly, looking up at you with dark eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You kiss him, then start working your way down. He watches you with an intensity that makes you feel powerful, desired. When you touch him, he groans, head falling back.
"Fuck, baby. That's—yeah, just like that."
The endearment makes your heart skip. You've never heard him call anyone baby before.
"You like that?" you ask, doing it again.
"Love it. Love—" He cuts off with another groan. "You're gonna kill me."
"Good way to go though, right?"
He laughs, breathless and wrecked. "Best way."
You continue exploring him, learning what makes him gasp, what makes his hands fist in the sheets. He's vocal, telling you what he likes, praising you, and the words make you bolder.
"Come here," he says finally, pulling you back up. "Need to kiss you."
The kiss is deep, consuming. His hands are everywhere, and you're lost in the sensation of skin on skin, heat and want and something deeper. Something that feels like love, even if neither of you have said it yet.
"I want—" You break off, suddenly shy.
"What? Tell me what you want."
"You. All of you."
His eyes darken. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He kisses you again, soft and sweet. "Okay. But we go slow, yeah? And you tell me if anything hurts or if you want to stop."
"I will."
He takes his time preparing you, making sure you're ready, checking in constantly. The care he takes, the attention he pays to your comfort, makes you fall for him even more.
When he finally pushes inside, you both gasp. He stills, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.
"Okay?" His voice is strained.
"Yeah. More than okay."
He starts moving, slow and careful, watching your face. Each thrust is deliberate, controlled, and you can see the effort it takes him to hold back.
"You feel so good," he groans. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."
You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he curses. "Baby, you can't—I'm trying to go slow here."
"Don't want slow." You roll your hips, and he groans. "Want you."
"You got me. You got all of me."
The rhythm builds, and he's still careful but less restrained now. His hands grip your hips, and he kisses you like he's drowning and you're air. You're lost in it, in him, in the feeling of finally being this close.
"So beautiful," he murmurs. "So perfect. My girl. Mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sends a thrill through you. "Yours."
"Yeah. Mine." He kisses you hard. "And I'm yours. All yours."
When you come apart, he's right there with you, holding you through it, murmuring praise and endearments. After, he holds you close, pressing kisses to your face, your hair, anywhere he can reach.
"You okay?" he asks softly.
"More than okay." You curl into him. "That was—"
"Yeah." He sounds awed. "It really was."
You lie there together, tangled up in each other, and everything feels right. Like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.
"Hey," he says after a while.
"Mm?"
"I love you."
The words are quiet, almost hesitant, like he's not sure how you'll react. You pull back to look at him, and his eyes are vulnerable, open.
"I love you too," you say, and watch relief flood his face.
He kisses you, soft and sweet. "Good. That's—that's good."
You laugh at his awkwardness, and he smiles against your lips. "Shut up."
"Make me."
So he does, kissing you until you're both breathless again. And when you finally settle back into his arms, you think that this warmth, this safety, this love is worth every moment of fear and uncertainty it took to get here.
⸻
You wake up to voices in the hallway. Fez's arm is still around you, and you're wearing his shirt, and the morning light is brighter now. You must have fallen back asleep.
"—just saying, you could've texted me," Ashtray's voice carries through the door.
"I did text you," Fez responds, voice still rough with sleep.
"Yeah, at like 2 am. Real helpful."
You feel Fez sigh, his chest rising and falling under your cheek. "Ash, come on."
The door opens. You have just enough time to register that you should probably be embarrassed before Ashtray walks in, takes one look at you and Fez tangled together in bed, and stops.
For a minute, nobody says anything. You're frozen, Fez is tense, and Ashtray just stands there, expression unreadable.
"Finally."
The word is so flat, so deadpan, that you can't help it you laugh. Fez groans, covering his face with his free hand.
"Ash, man, can you not—"
"What? I'm happy for you." Ashtray's expression doesn't change. "Only took you like six months. Was starting to think I'd have to lock you in a room together."
"We're having a moment here," Fez says, but there's no real heat in it.
"Yeah, I can see that." Ashtray looks at you. "You good?"
The question is serious despite his tone. He's checking in, making sure you're okay, and the protectiveness of it makes your chest warm.
"I'm good, Ash. Really good."
He nods, satisfied. "Cool. Fez, we need to talk about the shipment later."
"Later, Ash. Jesus."
"Just saying." He heads for the door, then pauses. "Oh, and you're making breakfast. Both of you. I'm not doing it just because you finally got your shit together."
He leaves, closing the door behind him, and you and Fez just lie there in stunned silence.
"Did that really just happen?" you ask.
"Unfortunately." But Fez is smiling, and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft. "Kid's got timing, I'll give him that."
"He's been waiting for this."
"Yeah, he has." Fez pulls you closer, kisses your forehead. "We all have."
You stay in bed a little longer, just holding each other, before finally getting up. Fez gives you a pair of his sweatpants to wear with his shirt, and they're way too big, but he looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
In the kitchen, Ashtray is already at the table, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when you enter, and something in his expression softens.
"Pancakes?" you offer.
"Hell yeah."
You and Fez move around the kitchen together, and it's easy, natural. He stands behind you at the stove, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You lean back into him, and it feels like the most normal thing in the world.
Ashtray watches you both with something that might be approval. "You know you're gonna have to be careful, right?" he says suddenly. "People find out about her, they might try to use that."
The words are serious, a reminder of the reality you're walking into. Fez tenses behind you.
"I know," he says quietly. "We'll be careful."
"Good." Ashtray goes back to his phone. "Because I like her. Would suck if something happened."
"Nothing's gonna happen," Fez says firmly. "I'll make sure of it."
You turn in his arms, cup his face. "We'll make sure of it. Together."
He kisses you, soft and quick, mindful of Ashtray's presence. "Together."
Breakfast is comfortable, easy. Ashtray tells a story about something that happened at school, and Fez listens with that particular attention he gives the people he loves. You sit there, eating pancakes in Fez's clothes and think about how this is your life now. This kitchen, these people, this love.
"What are you smiling about?" Fez asks, nudging your shoulder.
"Nothing. Just happy."
"Yeah?" His own smile is soft, private. "Me too."
Ashtray makes a gagging sound. "Y'all are gonna be disgusting, aren't you?"
"Probably," you admit.
"Great. Just what I needed." But he's smiling, just a little. "Worth it though, I guess. Fez has been less of a grumpy asshole lately."
"Watch it," Fez warns, but there's no heat in it.
The morning stretches on. Eventually, Ashtray disappears to his room, giving you and Fez space. You end up back on the couch, in your usual spots, except now you're tucked against his side, his arm around you.
"This okay?" he asks. "Having you here like this? Not too fast?"
"It's perfect." You tilt your head to look at him. "This is exactly where I want to be."
"Good." He kisses your temple. "Because I'm not letting you go now. You're stuck with me."
"I can live with that."
Outside, the neighborhood is waking up. Inside, everything is warm and safe and right. Fez's hand runs up and down your arm and you can hear Ashtray's music playing faintly from his room
"Hey," Fez says softly.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For being patient with me. For not giving up."
You shift to kiss him, slow and sweet. "Thank you for letting me in."
"Always," he promises. "From now on, it's always."
And as you settle back against him, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you believe him. This is just the beginning there will be challenges, dangers, moments of fear. But you'll face them together. Because that's what love is. Not the absence of fear, but the choice to stay anyway. To build something soft and safe in the middle of chaos and to find home in another person.
And you've found yours.
In a house that smells like pancakes and safety, with a boy who loves fiercely and carefully in equal measure, and a kid who's too wise for his years but still knows how to hope.
This is your family now and you're not going anywhere.
