#And I won't lie. I am not. Looking forward to that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nsharks · 10 days ago

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach.

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No.

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free.

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension.

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows—or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall.

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it.

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side.

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood.

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?"

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold.

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?"

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear.

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring.

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp.

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm.

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak into the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"But if they don't manage to kill her... her punishment for me will be worse." "Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

756 notes · View notes

norrisleclercf1 · 2 months ago

Text

Day 4 of 25 Days of Christmas: Movie Night

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Words: 743

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: None really just slightly suggestive

You couldn't even get the words 'Movie Night' out before your boyfriend canceled his padel "date" with Max and Oscar. He suddenly had matching pajamas and was happily lying on the couch, smirking at you. "Best idea ever," He says, turning the TV on and clicking through everything at lightning speed. He finds the Christmas movie channel and hits pause.

"Well?" He asks, and you just scuff softly, shaking your head as you move to go change into the fuzzy Hello Kitty pajamas that Fewtrell bought you two as a gag gift, except to his delight and karma, Lando had loved them so much he wears them everywhere, even to the damn paddock once. You come back, rolling your eyes as Lando already has multiple blankets laid out and is stretched across the couch.

"And where am I going to sit?" you ask. His eyes leave his phone, his eyebrows wiggle, and you can't help but chuckle at his teenage humor. "Lando," you say seriously, and he moves around so you can lie beside him. You can use me as a pillow," he says, and you smile, leaning down to kiss him. "Want any snacks?" you ask before you two get too comfortable to move later. "Yeah, probably something healthy," He grumbles, and you smile gently, seeing his pout and how his nose scar scrunches slightly.

"It's winter break," You reply, which has him freeze and look up, eyes wide, "Oh yeah!" He laughs happily, "I'll take candy and popcorn; if you want, I can run to the corner and get us other things," Lando says, jumping up and sliding on shoes, "No! You're not leaving the house dressed like that, Lando. Please remember what happened last time," You say, almost begging as you had to scroll past hundreds of people calling him a baby. Lando didn't care; he once defended the pajamas at a press conference.

"Embaressed by me?" He gasps, holding his hand to his chest, "No, but maybe you should be embarrassed by yourself once in a while, babe," Lando gasps harder, and you chuckle, seeing the mock horror on his face. "Maybe I shouldn't have canceled on Oscar and Max; at least they love me!' He yells, stomping back to the den. You move to stand around the corner and stare at him. "Seriously?" You ask, and Lando turns, "Shut up! They love me!" He yells, while you just roll your eyes.

"Yes, because you and Max and Oscar shared so much love this season," You call, and Lando yells something back, but it sounds more like just noise than anything else. Coming back, you carry chocolate-covered pretzels and gummy bears with salty popcorn and sugary drinks. "This good," He hums as he clicks on Elf, and you shake your head. You sigh and lie on the couch. I am forever thankful you talked Lando into getting a deep couch.

"Ah," You jump, and Lando chuckles as you turn and glare, seeing Lando laying his legs on top of your and his hands on your ass, smirking, "Now, it's perfect," You laugh and smack his hands. "I won't if you don't want me to," He says, suddenly serious. You smile gently and bring his hand forward, kissing it gently, "I don't mind, baby, just warning next time," You smile behind his hand. He smiles at you, giving you that boxy signature smile you adore.

You two watch the movie, each laughing as you enjoy it and see the lights from the tree twinkling in the dark, gently illuminating the room. The movie pauses, and you turn back to see Lando staring at you. "Can you come here? I just, please," he whispers. You move immediately, molding into his body as he gently lays you two down and sighs, enjoying the way you feel on top of him.

"Want to get away? Disappear and go somewhere warm?" he mumbles. You turn to face him slightly and trace the outline of his jaw. "Why?" you ask, not minding; curiosity was getting the better of you on this topic. "I'm tired of people. I want to go and not come back until I absolutely have to. Will you come with me?" He asks, hand cupping your cheek.

"I'd follow you to the ends of the world," You mummer, leaning down to kiss him as Buddy jumps on the Christmas tree. "Good, cause I want to go to the ends of the world,"

368 notes · View notes

jihyoruri · 3 months ago

Text

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ CONSUME (richgirl!yn | chaewon x reader )

❀ ͘ ⴰ previous chapters | richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick ⭢ super rich kids ⭢ girl, so confusing

— BONUNS CHAPTER | the dark sides of the moon family

JUNE 21st 1994

“On June 21st today at exactly 3:14 am Moon Minjun son of Moon Joonho was found unconscious in the road. The 18 year old has been rushed immediately to urgent care and is reported to be okay, but this has us all wondering how and why was he found in this state?”

In the heavy silence of the room, the camera lingered on minjun's face, his expression tense as he glanced between his father and mother. his father scanned the documents in front of him, offering no reaction, while his mother placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, a hint of worry in her eyes..

a reporter finally broke the silence. "Minjun, can you explain why you were found in such a state?"

minjun cleared his throat, shifting in his seat with a forced composure. "I was... out with other young professionals in similar family businesses," he began, his tone carefully measured. "and, well, I believe someone may have slipped something into my drink."

gasps rippled through the crowd as reporters exchanged looks of shock. he nodded slowly, letting the words sink in before adding, "I have my suspicions about who it could be, but I won't be disclosing that in this press conference."

he kept his face neutral, holding the lie in place with an almost practiced precision. but behind the mask, the truth remained locked away, hidden from the prying eyes of the public.

the real reason was overworking and exhaustion and maybe a little bit of over drinking, but nobody would know the conditions of the family.

the headlines were off the rails two weeks later.

KIM SUBIN UPCOMING LEADER OF K.I IS NOW IN CUSTODY FOR SPIKING MOON MINJUN’S DRINK WHICH LEAD TO HIM BEING FOUND IN THE ROAD

poor subin.

FEBRUARY 14th 2014

“On february 14th five members of the Moon family held their monthly conference. The youngest that we know as 12 year old yn was sitting in between her two older brothers while Their father was talking. From what we could see from the video Moon Yeonjin gestured for yn to get a water bottle for her brothers which the she complied to but she didn’t get far after completing collapsing after two steps. An insider reported that the cause was due to lack of food and fluids, which makes us wonder why a 12 year old girl is lacking those nutrients.”

the camera zoomed in on yn’s gaze that nervously swept across the rows of reporters and journalists in front of her as her family stood solemnly behind her. she cleared her throat, mentally rehearsing the words she had been given, each syllable feeling heavier than the last. for some in the audience, this scene was painfully familiar.

a reporter leaned forward, his voice laced with concern. "How are you feeling today, YN? Have you eaten well?"

a faint smile broke through her nerves, and she replied softly, "yes, I've been okay. I had a big breakfast." Her answer brought a ripple of fond laughter from the crowd, a brief moment of levity that softened the tension.

"can you tell us if there's a reason why you weren't able to meet your basic needs?" he continued, a hint of sympathy in his tone.

yn’s heart raced, the weight of her words pressing down on her. "I had been sick the week before," she began, keeping her voice steady. "I didn’t have an appetite and couldn’t keep anything down. I was still recovering during the conference."

the lie words left her lips smoothly, a perfectly crafted explanation. she didn’t dare look back at her family, praying her carefully delivered answer was enough to satisfy the room’s prying eyes.

and make her family proud.

DECEMBER 23rd 2018

“On December 23rd the every single person apart of the Moon family was called into an emergency press conference regarding the business but the business was the last thing on peoples minds after seeing the terrifying look of the family.

People described them as sick looking and pale. The family has never looked like this before in public which is causing a lot of worries onto why every single Moon in the room looks like this, take a look at the video.”

the cameron zoomed in on minjun who looked rather pale his eyes steady on the papers in front of him, the room had an scary silence to it.

the camera went into to zoom in on every single member of the families face, all of them draped in chanel, they all talked normally and acted normally but looked unusual, like a tim burton animation.

they looked sick.

when the camera finally landed on yn, she looked directly into the lens, her eyes hollow, her gaze unsettlingly steady. it was the killing shot of the whole video, an unspoken message from the youngest member of the family, leaving viewers to wonder what unspeakable truth lay beneath the moon family’s facade

#richgirl!yn #lesserafim x reader #lesserafim #le sserafim x reader #chaewon x reader #kim chaewon #chaewon #kim chaewon x reader #girl group imagines

446 notes · View notes

sobbingscripter · 3 days ago

Text

Tags: [mlw][mdni][aged up!][college-type au][friends to more?][cute lil blurb][anal][sloppy fuck][spit down the crack][claustrophobia warning][finger-sucking][muffled][anal creampie][orgasm denial][mdom][just a lil' sumn-sumn][spit][rough sex][my beta reader is asleep][for my anon mark girlies][no plot, just porn]

"Thank God you're here." Mark hisses under his breath, slender fingers wrapping around your wrist before tugging you towards one of the random closets, and shoving you in, alongside coats and brooms.

"Play Truth or Dare with me."

The request catches you off guard, and you stare at him, upper lip curled in distaste.

"What am I, twelve?"

"No, you're my best friend and you need to do twelve year old things with me." He huffs before pursing his lips. "That didn't come out right but—"

"Why are you playing Truth or Dare anyway?" You question. "You don't like party games."

"I got roped into it! Now you need to help me or else."

"Or else what?"

"Exactly."

You let out a huff, swatting Mark in the back of his head, watching as his hands reach for the back of his scalp, brows creasing into a pinched frown.

"I'm not letting you rope me into the potential situation of putting my mouth on someone else's filthy ass, dirty ass, grimy ass mouth."

You seethe.

"That's like saying you want me to put a turd in my mouth. Because that's what'll happen."

"But you might get to put your mouth on my mouth. Isn't that better?" Mark tries to appease you, brilliant brown eyes twinkling as he looks down at you, his hands moving to rest on your shoulders, thumbs brushing against the soft skin exposed by the rather wide-neck of your T-shirt.

"A cute cat turd is still a turd, Mark." You deadpan before letting out a huff, scowling up at him.

"Fine." You hiss. "But you owe me."

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"And we meet again."

The grin that creeps onto Mark's face is shit-eating, dimples in his cheeks popping and he leans back against the wall, arms crossing over his broad chest, and you watch the lean muscles of his arms flex. Definitely intentional.

Just like the dare to be in the closet.

"You're vagina repellent in a knitted sweater. I hope you know that."

The laugh that Mark let's out is melodious, slivers of light creep under the door and paint the wooden interior with faint light, features shadowy as Mark drops to the floor, legs extended and jeans straining against the muscles of his thighs.

It's an appealing sight.

Invincible, staring up at you through dark lashes, chocolate hued eyes locked on your form in that way that's always been too... Assessing to be friendly. And a hand wraps around your ankle, his thumb gently brushing over the tightly wound laces of your boot before gently guiding your foot to rest over his crotch. He feels the weight of your leg and you feel the weight of his gaze, boring into you.

"That was mad smooth, wasn't it?" Mark breaks the tension-ridden silence and your only answer is a snort, before you crouch down, planting yourself on his shins instead of sitting on the floorboards.

"It was, I'm not gonna lie." You concede, your thighs on either side of you, sneakers tucked on either side of your ass and your hands rest lazily on Mark's thighs.

"How long do we need to be in here?" You question with a hum, picking at the lint of his jeans, attention lowered so that you don't have to meet that million-eyed stare of his.

"15-ish minutes." Mark hums. "20 if we wanna do something."

The snort that leaves your lips has his mouth twitching into a little grin. He's always loved the way your lips curl, the way your eyes twinkle the slightest bit and the way your chest heaves when you take that breath.

"Is that you telling me you wanna do you something?" You tease with a hum, leaning forward and tugging playfully on the V-neck of his sweater vest.

There's always been a bit of a 'will-they won't-they' situation between you and Mark.

Shy gazes, and soft touches, the way your eyes would automatical crinkle at the corners whenever you'd catch sight of him and the way his jokes would automatically become more pandered towards you than anyone else.

Mark genuinely doesn't give a shit if no one else finds him funny, but as long as you do, it's a win.

Even if it's just a stupid snort that leaves you.

"Yeah." Mark's voice breaks the silence, his tongue dragging slowly across his top row of teeth, from one canine to the other. "I wanna do something."

"Shit—" You gasp, the coolness of the closet wall pressed against your cheek, hands splayed against the surface and your skirt around your waist, panties discarded to God knows where and Mark's voice is a breathy pant, his hips snapping against yours.

The burning stretch is painful, your nails nearly peeling paint from the walls before Mark's hips slow to a tantalizing grind, his hands moving from the cool surface of the wall before palming the fleshy globes of your ass, spreading the plush and looking at where your tight, furled hole sucks him in so sweetly, pulsing around his thick, weepy cock.

"Ohhhh, so fuckin' pretty."

Your gummy walls flutter when you feel that cooling glob of spit run down the crease of your ass, parting only to lubricate where Mark has you speared on his cock, hips rolling and grinding to reach the deepest crevices of your insides.

His palm collides with the jiggly flesh of your ass, and he drinks in your weak, whiny whimpers, as your hands continue to attempt to stabilize you inbetween the mindboggling thrusts that have your tongue lolling and drool trickling down your bottom lip.

Two digits force your plush lips to part, fingertips pressing against the flat of your tongue, fucking your mouth sloppily while his cock continues to fuck into you with reckless abandon.

"Where am I?" Mark huffs, one hand grasping the fat of your ass cheek with the desperation of a man dying in 20 minutes and his other fucks your mouth, fingers bullying the back of your throat until you gag, thick globs of saliva spilling from your lips with each painfully hard thrust.

"Tell me where I am." He repeats.

"M—my ass..." You whine, words muffled and eyes brimming with tears, your mascara's ruined and your lipgloss is smeared across your chin.

Mark's cock twitches, smearing precum against your sensitive walls that keep sucking him in with neediness, your cunt clenching around nothing and slick dripping down your thighs. There's nothing that makes him harder than the way your eyes flutter when he hits particularly deep, when he leans forward and gets even deeper.

He likes the way your voice deepens and you let out that groan that makes his hips stutter just a bit.

"Tell me you like it." He breathes out, smearing his saliva and spit covered hand across your features, very much ruining your makeup and you gasp shakily. "Tell me I'm doing a good job, baby. And I'll let you come."

The promise of being able to extinguish that paining burn that's been fizzing in your belly is magnetic and you don't even know when your swollen lips part to whine and mewl.

"I like— I love the way you fuck m-my ass— ...shit— you're so good at fucking me, Mark. Don't stop, please."

You sound pathetic and if you weren't so cock drunk, you'd have cringed at how weak you sound.

But your back is arched like a cat, your face is messy and your ass is being treated like a fleshlight, so you're not too capable of being a bitch.

Not when Mark's hiking up your leg, his hips speeding up in the way that has you muffling your screams, biting down onto his fingers before his hips still and you feel the way warmth fills your insides.

Cum leaks around his cock, pearly droplets forming pools at your knees and soaking into the carpet below you, and you pant weakly when Mark pulls his cock from your ass.

And he watches his snowy slick trickle out of your puckered hole, and down your slippery and neglected folds, and dripping.

It's damn near uncomfortably cramped but Mark finds his way, pushing you against the wall as lowers his head, dragging his tongue through your sodden folds, his cum coating his tongue before he spits it back at your cunt, watching the way your hole clenches.

There's nothing sexier than the way your body twitches and shakes when he eats his cum, his hands grasping your fleshy thighs so tightly that he's definitely leaving indentations. His lips find purchase, suckling at your clit and rolling his tongue against the sensitive nub, and your hips buck.

Your toes curl and you feel the way your belly burns with an oncoming orgasm.

And you feel the burn increase tenfold when Mark grabs your hand, gently easing three of your own fingers into your still abused hole, and you whine, staring at him over your shoulder.

Mark looks unapologetically feral, sucking and tongue fucking your cunt before he meets your gaze, hazy brown eyes staring at you from below long lashes.

"I never thought you'd look this pretty with your ass stuffed."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@fayethefaerie 🦋

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@allycat4458 🪻

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

#sobbingscripter #mark grayson smut #mark grayson x reader smut #mark grayson x reader #invincible mark grayson #mark grayson #invincible x reader smut #invincible x reader #invincible show #invincible comic

240 notes · View notes

steddiealltheway · 2 years ago

Text

For some reason, Steve and Eddie do not know how to greet each other. Maybe it's because their friendship is somewhat new, and they both don't know how to outright say, "How the hell am I supposed to say hello?"

So, it just kind of becomes a thing between the two of them to almost rapid-fire greetings until they land on a mutual one. And usually... it takes them a while.

This time is no exception.

Eddie sees Steve and lets his heart do a little flip that he knows isn't just nerves from their little greeting thing, but eventually, he'll learn how to push those feelings down. He just can't help it when Steve always looks like a- like.... okay, he's hot, and Eddie's brain goes to mush whenever he's around him.

Speaking of being around him...

"Hey!" Eddie says throwing his arms out wide for a hug while the kids walk around them.

Steve counters him by thrusting his hand forward going for a handshake while saying, "Hey, man!"

They both laugh at their awkward greeting and move on to the next one. For some reason, Eddie goes for a bow, and Steve does Eddie's signature devil horns while sticking his tongue out which really should not be so damn attractive.

Then, Eddie stands up straight and goes for a high five while Steve goes for a fist bump. "Almost had it," Steve says with a wide smile.

"We'll get it on this next one," Eddie states. Then, he moves his elbow forward as Steve does his little finger wave.

"I definitely should've seen that coming. That's on me," Steve says running a hand through his hair.

"No worries, man. But I won't lie, I'm starting to run out of greetings, and they're about to turn weird," Eddie admits, but this is usually the fun of this game. Somehow they always get to some mutually weird greeting that no human would actually ever do.

So, Eddie prepares himself when Steve gets a rare mischievous look in his eye and asks, "Ready?"

Eddie nods then jumps into the air as Steve raises his foot up, luckily not kicking him but getting fairly close.

"Were you trying to kick me?" Eddie asks with a laugh.

"Was going for a footfive," Steve replies with a smile.

That smile is going to be the death of Eddie one of these days. And for some reason, with that thought on his mind, Eddie suddenly remembers that sometimes people kiss each other on the cheeks as a greeting, and wouldn't that be funny?

"Ready?" Eddie asks, excited for his plan.

"Ready," Steve replies.

Unexpectedly, Steve steps forward as Eddie does the same. But Eddie doesn't chicken out of his plan. So, he quickly leans forward, but Steve must entirely misread him because suddenly he is kissing Eddie. Like... full-on kissing him. On the lips. With his hands gently cupping his face.

When he pulls away, Eddie is still a bit in shock, but Steve just raises his hand in a high five and excitedly yells, "We found a greeting!" Like they usually do as if he did not just kiss him.

So, Eddie does the only thing he can think of and celebrates with him as if nothing life-changing just happened.

When Steve walks away, Eddie can't help but get stuck on the fact that they're going to have to go through the same process when saying goodbye again. Is he allowed to test his luck?

He glances around and realizes that no one else witnessed their little moment, having gotten used to their antics long ago. But maybe when everyone is leaving and they're around the two, Eddie won't be so lucky. If anything, he can say he was going for a cheek kiss.

So, the night goes on, and Eddie tries as hard as he can to forget the kiss.

It does not work at all.

And before he knows it, people are starting to leave, and Steve is even looking at him expectantly. So, Eddie walks up to him and says, "Bye, man." And before he can even think of a way to say goodbye to cover how much he wants to kiss Steve again, Steve is already leaning in.

This time, Eddie easily meets him in the middle to properly kiss him which gives him butterflies in his stomach until he hears Dustin say, "What the fuck?"

Steve and Eddie jump apart breaking the kiss, but Steve quickly defends them. "We found our new greeting!"

Eddie thinks he might die on the spot. This is going to be a recurring thing? Jesus H. Christ. Steve is going to be the death of him.

"Good for you?" Max says as she walks out the door clearly weirded out but Eddie thinks she could care less.

Everyone else kind of dismisses it as well, but Dustin just stands there flabbergasted.

Steve takes a small step forward with his hands on his hips and his eyebrows raised. “You got a problem, Henderson?” Steve asks, more fearful than accusatory.

“No!” Dustin squeals then calmly continues, “No. it’s just I…�� he trails off and looks between the two before shaking his head. “I don’t want to see any tongue,” he states.

“Gross, I would never in front of you kids!” Steve says shoving him out the door while ruffling his hair.

“No promises!” Eddie shouts after him, but then it hits him that Steve just said he would make out with him with the kids not around… and right now the kids are all gone.

Oh shit.

The door closes behind Dustin, and Eddie knows that he needs to leave the Harrington house. Especially because he’s the kids’ ride home.

He ducks his head, letting some strands fall in front of his face, and says, "Goodbye, Steve." He takes a few steps toward the door but is stopped by Steve's hand on his shoulder.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, sounding a little too hopeful.

Steve just steps in front of him and cups his face. "This okay?"

Eddie melts into the touch and grabs Steve's hips. "More than okay."

He's not sure who moves first, but Steve is pinned against the door, and Eddie fulfills his secret wishes of taking Steve apart as he learns that Steve wasn't lying when he said no tongue only in front of the kids.

There's a loud knock on the door, and Dustin is suddenly yelling, "Hurry up in there! Some of us have a curfew!"

So, Steve and Eddie reluctantly pull apart, but Eddie can't help but kiss him one more time and wish him a good night.

In the car, the kids grill Eddie to answer when the hell they started dating, but Eddie assures them that they're not. Then, they all take bets on how long it will be, and Eddie chimes in that he's pretty sure he's not supposed to hear their bets.

(Secretly, he wants to make El's bet of two weeks come true.)

Eddie knows it's just a fluke though. Steve is probably just kissed starved after his series of failed dates, and Eddie is just an outlet.

It's pretty depressing when it's put like that but... Eddie is willing to take anything from Steve.

So, he can't be too upset when Steve kisses him the next time he sees him. And the time after that... And the time after that...

But, then it shifts to whenever Steve sees Eddie after he goes in another room, the bathroom, hell, sometimes Steve just says he hasn't looked in his direction in a while and misses him before he swoops in to kiss him.

It shifts even further when Steve starts purposely making excuses to get Eddie alone only to make out with him. They're not even good excuses. He once asks, "Eddie, can you come in here to observe the color of the inside of this door?"

But every time Eddie thinks maybe this is not good for my heart, Steve looks at him sweetly and says, "Hi," before leaning in to kiss him again.

And maybe it would be easier to distinguish whatever the hell this whole greeting thing is if only Steve wasn't acting all lovey-dovey outside of it. He starts insisting on sitting next to Eddie and slinging his arm around his shoulders. He even starts whispering flirty stuff in his ear that makes Eddie turn bright red - he didn't know someone could do that to him.

And the kids are getting worse in the van, insisting that they each have their bet in the bag with it being any day now.

And Eddie knows they're all wrong.

Steve has just hit a rough patch and he's content with using Eddie until the next girl comes along.

Once again… that sounds really bad. But it has to be the only way that Eddie deserves this.

But maybe he should end it before things go too far.

With that in mind, Eddie goes to Steve’s house unprompted and without anyone else for once. He needs to make it clear that a new greeting is needed.

He gets there quickly and rushes to the front door before he can change his mind. He can do this. He can set a boundary.

But then Steve opens the door and his whole face lights up when he sees Eddie. “Finally. I was wondering when it would just be you, but I didn’t want to push it.”

Instead of dodging the kiss once he’s through the doorway, Eddie completely gives in to the way Steve desperately throws himself at him practically devouring him. And Eddie is a very weak man.

Every kiss breaks his will and he begins to wonder why he should say anything and instead just accept anything he can.

Then, Steve starts kissing his jaw and down his neck and Eddie freezes up. Whatever comes next, he definitely does not want it to mean nothing.

Luckily, Steve notices and pulls back. “You okay?” He asks looking him in the eye.

Eddie shakes his head. He’s not. God, he really likes him. But he can’t go any further or this will tear him apart.

“Hey,” Steve says gently. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Eddie thuds his head against the door and feels so dumb when his eyes start to burn and his bottom lip starts to tremble. “Please don’t hate me when I tell you this.”

“I could never hate you, Eddie.”

Eddie laughs humorlessly. He’s going to flip out when he finds out. “I like you, Steve. As in, I have feelings for you.”

Steve waits a moment, brows furrowed, and Eddie is sure he’s going to kick him out. Instead, he asks, “But…?”

Why is he prompting him? “No but. That’s it,” Eddie states. Maybe Steve just heard him wrong?

“Okay?” Steve says as if it was the most obvious confession in the world. “And why would I hate you when you told me that?”

Eddie’s eyes widen. Does he not get it? “Because I like you! Like… romantically! And I can’t have you kissing me since it means nothing to you and everything to me!” His heart pounds in his chest as Steve takes in what he’s saying.

“Holy shit,” Steve says having the realization.

“Yeah, holy shit.” Eddie thuds his head back against the door again. Hopefully he’ll let him down easy.

“No, I mean holy shit holy shit,” Steve crowds into his space and cups Eddie’s face. “Did you not think I had feelings for you too? Hell, I thought we were like… dating by now.” Steve pulls away and runs a hand through his hair anxiously. “Holy shit,” he mutters in disbelief.

Eddie just stares. “You thought we were dating? Like… you have feelings for me?”

“I thought I made them clear after the second time I kissed you! Why would I make out with you if we were just friends?”

“I don’t know!” Eddie yells back and runs his hands over his face. He laughs. “Oh god, none of the kids will win the bet because we have no idea when we started dating.”

“There’s a bet going on?” Steve asks with a small smile. “What did El say?”

“That’s who I was hoping for! She said we would be dating two weeks from… Oh, that was two weeks ago exactly,” Eddie realizes with a big smile. Maybe she won fair and square after all.

“Want to make it official then since I somehow forgot to?” Steve asks with a big smile.

Eddie pretends to actually think about his answer before considering, “Maybe I should review all the bets first.”

“Eddie,” Steve says exasperated.

“I’m joking. I will be glad to be your boyfriend… if it means El wins the bet.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh at Steve’s irritation. He leans forward and easily kisses him. “You’re going to get tired of me so fast, boyfriend,” Eddie can’t help but tack on at the end.

“I’d like to see you try, boyfriend,” Steve replies before kissing him again.

From then on, their greetings only slightly change. In addition to the kiss, they always say some form of, “Hi, boyfriend.” The kids quickly get tired of it, but Steve and Eddie never do.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #stranger things #I know I made errors because I’m half asleep rn #hope you enjoy :)

3K notes · View notes

imaginespazzi · 6 months ago

Text

Part 8: The Toxic In Intoxication

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

Your mouth is poison (your mouth is wine)

(In which an all over the place writer, writes something that's a little bit all over the place)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy,

Words: 9.0K

TW: Swearing, a little bit of violence, mentions of blood, men being men

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Unfortunately, as I've been warning y'all for a while, the deadline did finally slip through my fingers. However I'm hoping y'all will forgive me for it because I am only one day late and this chapter is quite long. I do wanna warn y'all in advance that there won't be a chapter next week because I am going on vacation and my laptop is staying very, very far away from me. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing but I'm hoping y'all will enjoy it anyways. I did actually edit this time but who knows how successful that was, so please let me know about typos/mistakes. As always, feel free to tell me about what you liked, what you disliked and anything you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your weeks my loves <3

August 2025

Azzi Fudd is a spectacular liar. She excels at keeping up a façade of yes everything is perfectly fine in front of her friends and family. She’s quite good at tricking people she can barely stand into thinking oh yes i’m totally enjoying this conversation. But the person Azzi lies the most to, is without a doubt herself. As she steps out of the car into the hot Indiana air, bustling with noises from the growing crowd inside, Azzi internally repeats a lie to herself again: she did not show up to all-star weekend for a glimpse of her ex girlfriend. She’s here, as per Colleen’s managerial advice, to build connections, to further her career and to expand on opportunities in the basketball world. The fact that Paige Bueckers, who Azzi hasn’t seen in three months -the longest period of time they’d spent apart since she’d started at UConn- is definitely also going to be attending tonight’s party, is merely a happenstance.

Taking a deep breath, Azzi puts one kitten heeled foot in front of the other, trying to ignore her heightened nerves. This isn’t her preferred scene by any means. She’d much rather be back in her hotel room, curled on her couch with a book and a pint of ice cream. It’s not that Azzi doesn’t like parties; she has her fair share of fun at Ted’s, but it’s the unfamiliarity of the environment and the lack of that once ever present comforting hand that used to tap out i’m here for you against the back of her own at big events like these, that has her yearning to crawl back into the car and hide away.

“Azzi?” a familiar voice calls from behind her and Azzi lets out a sigh of relief as she sees Aaliyah walking towards her with a large welcoming grin, “Azeray!”

“Li-Li. Thank god you’re here,” Azzi reaches up to hug her former teammate, mentally thanking whatever god was looking out for her. She’d dreaded walking in by herself and now she wouldn’t have to. Really she probably should probably send Coach a ‘thank you’ text for having so many alumni in the league that there was bound to be a Husky she could attach herself to for the night.

“I’m glad to see you too Az,” Aaliyah says, pulling away and looking at Azzi with a semi-concerned look, “but you seem a little extra relieved to see me? You good dude?”

“Just- just a little nervous,” Azzi admits, shuffling her feet uneasily.

Realization dawns on Aaliyah’s face, “cause of Paige?”

“No you know I don’t like big unfamiliar places,” Azzi sighs when Aaliayh gives her a pointed look, “but I guess maybe- maybe a little cause of Paige.”

The Mystics forward shakes her head before linking her arms through Azzi’s, “I swear, I leave y’all for one year and everything implodes-," she bites her tongue, "shit was that insensitive?”

“No,” Azzi grimaces, “that’s pretty much exactly what happened.”

Something hard coils in her stomach at Aaliyah’s words. The truth is they’d been fine. Better than fine even. And then suddenly Azzi was lighting a box of matches she hadn’t even known she was holding and her whole world was on fire; an implosion of everything Azzi had once thought inflammable. She’d burned her hands trying to rescue them and all she has to show for it are invisible red hot pustules that refuse to heal. But perhaps, she thinks, that’s what a pyromaniac like her had deserved.

Azzi cowers under the flashing lights of the cameras, clinging tighter to Aaliyah’s arm as the two of them make their way onto the orange carpet, the cameramen immediately swinging their devices to capture the college basketball player more than likely to be the number one pick in next year’s WNBA draft. She feels herself tense under their piercing gaze, anchored only by Aaliyah's strong and steady presence next to her. And as they pose for the cameras, she’s thankful for her former teammate’s company but she can’t shake the feeling that it should have been someone else.

“And look who we have here,” Lexie Brown says excitedly as the two of them approach the interviewer, “y’all Huskies clean up nice.”

“We try, we try,” Aaliyah answers charismatically, doing a little hair flip to match her tone.

“Aaliyah, it's your first all-star nod, how are you feeling?”

“I feel great, you know it’s always good to see yourself being acknowledged and being an all-star has always been a goal of mine. So, I hope it’s the first of many and I’m just hoping my team gets the W tomorrow,” Aaliyah answers diplomatically.

Lexie turns to Azzi, “I bet you’re really proud of her. I mean you’ve got a couple of teammates who are first-time all stars between Aaliyah and Paige. You’ve gotta be feeling pretty proud of them”

“Y-yeah I mean,” Azzi clears her throat, trying not to flinch at the mention of Paige’s name, “It’s been- it’s been really exciting to watch them and I’m extremely proud-”

She’s cut off by the sound of excited chatter filling up the air and Azzi doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s just entered the premises. Not when she has a whole separate sensory system that flares up just for her. Azzi’s skin prickles as she registers the sound of familiar peals of laughter echoing from the orange carpet. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand, forcing herself not to turn around.

“Speak of the devil,” Lexie says goodnaturedly, getting her hand ready to beckon the blonde over and Azzi feels panic suffocate her lungs, not quite ready to face Paige yet.

“Oh I don’t think-” Aaliyah tries to cut in, glancing worriedly at her friend but it’s too late.

“Paige,” Lexie calls out, beaming over Azzi’s head at the Dallas Wings’ newest star point guard.

The world seems to move in slow motion as Azzi feels Paige getting closer and closer to her. She smells the faint scent of fresh mint weaved with a hint of citrus first. Then she hears the sound of Paige’s breathing, perfectly even to anybody else but Azzi can hear the staggered harshness hidden beneath it. And as the blonde passes over her to settle on Lexi’s other side, she feels Paige’s arm brush against her own and it hurts to breathe. The contact lasts for a second but Azzi swears it’ll last forever, tattooing itself on her bicep as a wretched reminder of a touch she’s no longer allowed to crave.

It’s funny, there’s a hurricane swirling between them and Paige can barely look at Azzi, keeping her eyes firmly on Lexie and Aaliyah as she greets the trio. And yet, there’s a sense of calm -of peace- that seems to wash over Azzi just by having Paige near her again. The older woman seems to possess some sort of magical power that weaves itself into Azzi’s nervous system, soothing away her frazzled nerves with an unspoken promise of and if you give me the chance i’ll make it all okay.

Despite the hectic transition from a full college season to a frantic W season, Paige looks ethereal as always. Her two piece cropped vest top and straight fitted pants match the color of her eyes and a silver chain dangles across her chest. Two strands of blonde hair hide her signature diamond studs, the rest of it pulled back into a slightly messy bun. Azzi gulps at the way the vest top parts right above her midriff, Paige’s toned abs playing peek-a-boo behind it. She lets her eyes roam over Paige’s exposed arms, trying to ignore memories of how they used to go taut under her touch, down to the blonde’s bare fingers and she feels her heart constrict. No rings. It feels wrong. But then again, nothing has felt right for three months.

“Azzi,” Aaliyah hisses and Azzi snaps out of her thoughts, realizing she’d been asked a question.

“Sorry,” she laughs nervously, moving a strand of her hair out of her face; Paige’s eyes intently following the movement, “what was the question.”

Lexie smiles, “I was just asking about your thoughts on Paige’s amazing rookie year so far?”

“Oh um-” Azzi hesitates, shivers inching up her spine as she feels Paige drinking in the sight of the her body like she's a woman parched, “I’m just-” their eyes lock with each other’s and everything else seems to vanish until it feels like it’s just the two of them floating in between remnants of what they used to be, “I’m just really proud of her. I always knew she’d be amazing. She’s just doing what she always does. Being the best player she can be. So yeah I’m just- I’m just really proud of her.”

And Azzi doesn’t know how they got to this point where Paige seems almost shocked that Azzi could be proud of her, to this point where there’s droplets threatening to spill over both of their water lines and they no longer have the right to wipe each other’s tears away.

“Aww,” Lexie coos, oblivious to the tension, “well on that sweet note, off y’all go and we’ll see y’all later.”

The walk into the party is kept alive with Aaliyah’s attempt at keeping a conversation going. While Paige tries to at least entertain some of, Azzi finds herself completely zoning out until they finally make their way inside into the cacophony of music and laughter.

“Y’all wanna get-” Aaliyah begins.

“I see Jewell and Téa,” Paige cuts her off immediately, her legs already moving in a rush, “I’ll see y’all later.”

She gives Aaliyah a tentative grin but barely looks at Azzi as she practically trips over her pant-sleeves trying to get away. It feels like something’s biting against her skin, sharp teeth indenting you did this to yourself as Azzi watches Paige walk away. She watches as the tension slowly leaves the blonde’s muscles as she’s pulled into a hug by Jewell and then by Téa. The fake smile that she’d politely kept on her face the last couple of minutes for the sake of the cameras and reporters is replaced by something far more genuine. Azzi watches as Paige is absorbed into the warmth of the growing crowd, embraced by a league that adores her, and she feels the ice cold pinch of she belongs somewhere without you now start to freeze her own heart.

***

Azzi’s doing fine. She’s gotten through the night with Aaliyah by her side, making small talk with a bunch of different players and she’s managed to keep a friendly smile the whole time. She’d even danced for a little bit, letting loose with some of the other college basketball players that had made the trip to Indianapolis. Sure, she’d occasionally been distracted by her eyes flickering over to the bar and finding a new pretty influencer batting their fake eyelashes at Paige but really she’s doing fine. Her head’s a little dizzy and maybe the third shot of tequila, influenced by a one leggy brunette that had gotten a little too handsy, wasn’t her brightest decision of the night but really, Azzi’s doing fine.

Until she’s not.

And it’s Paige's fault. She had to know that it would be Azzi’s last straw. She had to know that Azzi could live with watching a thousand girls flirt with Paige as long as the blonde in question stood rigidly by the bar doing nothing but smiling politely at them. She had to know that Azzi, after having spent most of their college life watching girls fawn over her girlfriend, could deal with the flirty hands that lingered just a little too long on Paige’s bicep. But it’s when Paige leans into this one girl -whose dark curls and tanned caramel skin are just a little too reminiscent of her own- when Paige’s lips graze just a little to close this one girl’s ear, that Azzi realizes she’s decidedly not fine.

“I need some air,” she manages to bite out, ignoring Aaliyah’s concerned look as she marches out the back door, heading towards the deck.

Azzi buries her face in her hands as she leans back against the brick wall. She knows she’s being unfair; knows she has absolutely no right to feel this way but something burns within her anyways and the light breeze does nothing to cool it down.

“I’m not cheating on you,” a harsh voice interrupts her pity party and Azzi sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re not together and I can flirt or kiss or fuck-” she flinches, “anyone if I want to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Paige’s voice is laced with accusation, “because the way you just stormed out says otherwise.”

Azzi continues to keep her head in her palms, refusing to look at the blonde, “it’s hot and stuffy in there. I just needed some fresh air.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying,” Paige spits out.

“Well what do you want me to say instead?” Azzi finally looks up, her even cadence in stark contrast to Paige’s fiery tone, “I know we’re not together-”

“Because that’s what you wanted-”

“I know,” Azzi yells, and then quieter, “I know. I know I- I know I did this. But that- that doesn’t make it any easier to see you with someone else,” she swallows, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

Paige scoffs, rubbing her face as she begins to pace, “you miss me? I was at Mohegan when y’all had summer camp. The whole team showed up to the game except for you and you want me to believe that you miss me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there,” Azzi confesses in a whisper, “you were so mad at me after-after everything- and I just- I didn’t want to ruin coming back to Connecticut for you.”

“For me,” Paige lets out a laugh devoid of any emotion, “god Azzi there you go again with this fake ‘selfless’ bullshit.”

A thousand and one retorts die on the tip of Azzi’s tongue as she shakes her head and pushes herself off the wall. She can smell the alcohol on Paige, can tell the blonde is itching for an argument but all she feels is pure exhaustion.

“I don’t wanna fight Paige. I’m tired and I just-” she bites her lip, fighting the urge to caress Paige’s cheek, “believe it or don’t but- I really do miss you.”

Sparks of electricity dance their way through Azzi’s veins when Paige curls a hand around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks from going inside. And suddenly she doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

“Dance with me,” Paige whispers.

“What?”

Paige shrugs, tugging on Azzi’s hand to pull her closer, “you said you don’t wanna fight and I- I don’t want you to go,” the confession hangs between them as Paige’s hands fall to Azzi’s waist, “so- let’s just- let’s pretend.”

“What are we pretending?” Azzi asks quietly and despite the warnings ringing in her head, she wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. It feels like coming home.

“We’re pretending that we’re okay,” Paige says softly, holding Azzi’s hips as she begins to sway them gently, “we’re pretending that three months ago you said yes.”

“Paige-”

“Close your eyes Azzi,” the blond waves her hand gently across Azzi’s face, willing both of their eyelids to flutter shut, “we’re pretending that we’re not here- we’re in Minnesota or DC or I don’t know just- anywhere. And our families are here, laughing and talking and some sappy romantic song is playing. It's the best day of our lives and we’re both- we're both dressed in white-”

“Paige,” Azzi lets out a sob, as she begins to understand the picture Paige is painting for them; a picture drawn on a canvas that Azzi had torn up before any color could touch it

“Sshhhh just- let me have this okay,” Paige’s voice trembles as she leans her forehead against Azzi’s, “if I can’t have it for real, please just let me pretend.”

If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Azzi would fight Paige’s tightening grip. If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Paige would let go. Instead Azzi lets Paige play pretend, lets them keep their bodies pressed against each other, moving from side to side in rhythm with the wind.

It isn’t until she hears footsteps approaching them that Azzi hurriedly moves away first and she can see the betrayal of if only you’d just let me hold you in front of the world written all over Paige’s face. They’re both quick to swap their tears for smiles that don’t reach their eyes as they turn to face the intruders. And Azzi wonders if Paige wishes she’d drank a little bit more too. Because maybe if they were both just a little more drunk, then tomorrow they wouldn’t have to remember just how right it had felt to play pretend tonight.

April 2033

“You look so pretty Mama,” Stephie gushes from where she’s perched on the bed as she watches Azzi put the finishing touches to her makeup

“Thanks baby,” Azzi smiles, blowing a kiss in the mirror.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie flips the running facetime call, skipping over to her mother with the phone in her hand, “doesn’t Mama look beautiful?”

Sixteen years later, and maybe it’s because of all the time they’d missed in between, but Azzi can’t help the bout of shyness that flushes across her features when Stephie places the phone, Paige’s face illuminated all over it, against the mirror so the blonde can get a proper look at Azzi’s outfit.

“You look-” Paige clears her throat, eyes dilated as they rake over Azzi’s whole body, “you look phenomenal.”

“Big word Bueckers,” Azzi teases, trying to disguise her blush, “did you just learn it?”

Paige rolls her eyes, “can’t even give you a compliment without an insult Fudd.”

“You guys argue too much,” Stephie says exasperatedly, shaking her head at the two adults who laugh. The younger girl sometimes seems far wise beyond her age.

“We’re not arguing Stephie, we’re just-” Azzi struggles to think of a word.

“Foreplaying,” Paige mutters under her breath and Azzi immediately glares at her.

“Paige!”

Stephie scrunches up her nose at the screen, “what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says shrilly, “Miss Buecks is just making up words.”

“Why would Miss Buecks do that?” Stephie asks, looking back and forth between her mother and the screen.

“Why does Miss Buecks do anything,” Azzi babbles, as she begins to usher Stephie out of her room, “go grab your things Stephie-bean. Mama’s almost ready to drop you off at Nana and Pop’s house.”

Stephie pouts, “I wanna go to the party with you and Miss Buecks. It’s no fair you both get to go and I don’t,” she picks up the phone, looking at Paige with wide guilt-tripping eyes, “don’t you love me Miss Buecks?”

Azzi has to hand it to her daughter. She’s a smart one to choose Paige as the victim of her emotional blackmail, knowing her wiles had long stopped working on her mother.

“You know I’d take you with me if I could Stephie,” Paige says, “but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow I swear.”

Stephie smiles and Azzi shakes her head at how quickly the five-year old’s plan had worked, “you’ll take me to the park and then we’ll get fries and then get ice cream?”

“That’s a lot of junk food Steph-”

“Ssshh Mama,” Stephie chides, “this is between me and Miss Buecks.”

“The park, then fries, then ice cream it is,” Paige concedes and Azzi rolls her eyes.

Stephie grins brightly, puckering her lips to kiss Paige through the phone and eliciting a laugh from the older woman when she cheers, “you’re the best-est-est Miss Buecks. See you in a little bit. Don’t hang up without saying goodnight.”

“I promise I won’t,” Paige calls out after the little girl as Stepehie hands the phone back to Azzi and starts skipping towards her room.

Azzi gives the blonde a look, “we have got to have a conversation about you learning to say no to her.”

Paige shrugs unhelpfully, “I don’t want to learn how to say no to her.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Azzi remarks, hands on hips, “and foreplay? Seriously? Us bickering is not foreplay.”

“Well it could be if you’d just let me fuck you after,” Paige grumbles and Azzi’s mouth falls open at the bluntness of it.

“You say the most romantic things to me Paige Bueckers.”

They’re both quiet for a second as Azzi moves around her room, collecting her wallet and keys and to put into her purse.

“You know there’s still time for me to come pick you up,” Paige says finally.

“Paige,” Azzi sighs, not wanting a rerun of the same argument they’ve been having for the last week. She knows it’s a touchy subject for Paige; that it veers a little too close to insecurities that stem from their past but she’s not quite ready to take this step yet. There isn’t quite any rhyme or reason to her logic except well, she’s haunted by memories of the last time they’d let the personal mix with the professional. Her phone still holds invitations to countless team reunions that she’d actively avoided and a group chat that she’s long muted. Azzi hasn’t stepped foot in the state of Connecticut since she’d entered the draft; she refuses to lose California too.

“Teammates can carpool,” Paige explains vehemently, “it’s easily explainable.’

“I know-”

“Is this about Clémence?” bitterness tinges the edge of Paige’s voice as she chews her bottom lip. And there it is, the other subject they’d been tip-toeing around since it had been brought up at breakfast a week ago. Paige and Azzi are both excellent at avoiding talking about the harder topics but they’ve never quite managed to let anything go forever.

“Why would this be about Clémence?”

Paige narrows her eyes, sitting up from where she’d previously been lounging against her pillow, “maybe you don’t want her to see us together? Maybe you’re trying to spare her feelings I don’t know.”

“Paige-”

“You know what it’s fine,” Paige huffs, “I’ll see you at the bar Azzi.”

She hangs up before Azzi can say anything and the brunette lets out a litany of curses under her breath, annoyed with Paige’s ability to go from A to Z by skipping everything in between. There’s a part of her that knows Paige deserves an explanation about Clémence, a chance to have her lingering doubts confirmed or denied, but amidst the egoistic thoughts of well she married someone else and the self preservationist urge to prevent a potential fight, she hadn’t been brave enough to approach the topic just quite yet. Azzi’s about to step out of the room, when her phone pings with a facetime call from Paige again.

“Are you calling to apologize for hanging up?” Azzi asks with a frown.

“No,” Paige replies stubbornly, “I called because I hung up without saying goodnight to Stephie and just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss saying goodnight to her.”

Something wonderful and warm blooms in Azzi’s chest as she silently walks over to Stephie’s room. This is a new chapter in Paige’s storybook that she’s slowly beginning to read; one scribbled with the blonde’s devotion to Azzi’s baby girl. Azzi still has every other chapter memorized; had thought nothing could be more beautiful than the words within the one that had been dedicated to her. But she’d been wrong. Because every day that she watches Paige and Stephie fall more and more in love with each other, she finds herself falling in love with how much they love each other.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals, practically snatching the phone from her mother’s hand as she goofily grins at the screen, “you didn’t hang up.”

“I promised I wouldn’t,” Paige says, the hardness that had existed in her voice while talking to Azzi, dissolving into adulation, “you be good for Nana and Pops okay?”

“I’m always good,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, “can you come over really, really, early tomorrow?”

Paige laughs, “I’ll be there as soon as I wake up.”

“Good,” Stephie claps contentedly as she grabs Azzi’s hand to start walking towards the car, “good night Miss Buecks.”

“Good night Stephie-bean,” Paige echoes, blowing a kiss through the screen.

“Paige,” Azzi says urgently, trying to stop the older woman from hanging up, “can you just hold on a second while I buckle Stephie in.”

“Az-”

“Please.”

“Fine,” Paige says, averting Azzi’s gaze as she sulks.

Azzi lifts Stephie onto the car seat, fastening her seatbelt and pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, before she closes the car door and uses it as a stabilizing structure to lean on as she pulls her phone back in front of her.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hi,” Paige says back begrudgingly, “you wanted to say something?”

“I-” Azzi swallows, “don’t go the bar-”

“Oh fantastic,” Paige cuts her off, her voice furious as she glares daggers at Azzi through the phone, “not only do you not want to go to the bar together, you don’t want me to go at all. Fine. Okay. Whatever. I won’t go. You have the time of your life with fucking Clementine or whatever-”

“Yet,” Azzi says loudly, trying to speak over Paige’s angry rant, “don’t go to the bar yet.”

“What?”

Azzi licks her lips, “don’t go yet. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents-”

“What does that have to-”

“Will you just let me fucking finish?” Azzi almost bangs her fist on the car in frustration and she’s glad to see that it makes Paige look just a little bit sheepish, “as I was saying. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents and uh- your house- it’s um- it’s on the way to the bar so I thought,” she shrugs with fake nonchalance, the edge of her mouth turning upwards, “I thought maybe- maybe I could pick you up on the way.”

Paige stares blankly at the screen, eyes blinking as Azzi’s words slowly register, “you- you wanna go to the bar together?”

“I didn’t say that,” Azzi teases, eyes twinkling as she basks in the thrill of eliciting that Azzi smile from Paige’s lips, “teammates carpool right?”

“Teammates definitely carpool.”

April 2029

“You invited Clémence to our movie night?” Jana asks in a whisper, as she walks into the kitchen where Azzi’s making popcorn. Her Saturday nights have gotten rather boring since she’s had Stephie, consisting of alternating between movie nights with Jana and dinner with her parents. It wasn’t the most thrilling of times but she looked forward to them all week, excited to not have to spend a night in solitude.

“She asked what I was doing tonight and I told her we were having a movie night and then she asked if she could join and well I couldn’t just say no,” Azzi explains, sticking the bag into the microwave.

Jana cocks an eyebrow, “do you want me to leave?”

“Why would I want you to leave?” Azzi asks, crinkling her nose as she juts out an ear just in case the baby monitor goes off.

“C’mon Az,” Jana says pointedly, leaning on her elbows against the kitchen counter, “you’re telling me there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Azzi grimaces uneasily, not quite wanting to answer the question, “nothing that would require you to leave.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it,” Jana relents, grabbing a soda from the fridge on her way back to the living room, before she pauses in the doorway to look back at Azzi, “but I know what it looks like when somebody’s in love with you. And that girl out there,” she nods her head towards where Clémence is daintily sitting on the couch, “she’s definitely getting there.”

Jana’s a rather observant person but Azzi knows that she’s at least a little bit wrong this time. Because Clémence might be a little bit in love with -even if that’s not a fact Azzi particularly wants to acknowledge- but it's impossible for her to look at Azzi the way Jana remembers someone else looking at her. That had been something completely different; a gaze that saw all the little chinks in her armor, all the imperfections carved against her walls and loved her inspite of them, maybe even because of them. Clémence might love her, but Azzi doesn’t think anyone can be in love with her the way the person she’d been hopelessly in love with, had.

When she walks back into the living room with the popcorn in hand, still plagued by her younger teammate’s words, Azzi’s deliberate to sit on the couch next to Jana instead of the open space next to the francophone. The flash of hurt in Clémence’s eye causes guilt to trickle down her spine but Azzi thinks a flash is better than the tsunami of pain she could cause if she doesn’t start to ease herself out of this right now. There’s a selfish part of her that doesn’t want to, that’s going to miss having somebody who hangs onto her every word. Azzi likes this feeling of being wanted, even if it’s not by the person she wants. But that person isn’t hers to want anymore and she won’t torture Clémence by barricading her in the same jail that has held Azzi’s soul captive for the last four years.

They’re about half way through the movie, awkward tension eased by Jana’s incessant chatter, when Azzi’s phone buzzes. Already confused at the timing of the call, she’s even more perplexed to see Ice’s name flashing on the screen.

“Oooh Iceyyy,” Jana’s eyes light up when she catches a glimpse of the CallerID, “put her on speaker. Ice is one of our UConn teammates,” she explains, turning to Clémence who nods in recognition, “she probably did something dumb as fuck and need Azzi’s advice.”

“Don’t be mean,” Azzi scolds with a grin, knowing that Jana’s probably right as she picks up the call, “hello-”

“I hate you,” Azzi freezes at the sound of the familiar voice, laced with unfamiliar malice. Next to her Jana stiffens immediately while Clémence observes the scene in front of her with a guarded frown.

“Paige who the fuck are you calling?” Ice’s voice is muffled in the background, “oh shit, Paige give me back my phone.”

“No. She needs to hear this,” Paige grits out, her pitch wavering with the effects of alcohol, “she needs to hear how much I fucking hate her. Azzi do you hear me? I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there. Did you hear what I said?”

“Paige,” Ice hisses again.

Azzi swallows the lump in her throat, fingers digging into her bare thighs as she grips her phone so hard, she half-expects it to break into pieces in a reflection of her heart, “I heard you Paige.”

“Good. Because I do. I really fucking hate you,” Paige repeats again and Azzi flinches, “you ruined me Azzi. And now you’re ruining my marriage. My wife is perfect. She loves me. She loves being seen with me. She loves being known as my wife. Everything I ever wanted from you, she’s willing to give me. But she saw that damn hug at the Olympics and she- she’s upset with me. She thinks- she thinks I’m not over you.”

“Az maybe you should-” Jana says softly but Azzi immediately raises a hand to stop her. Maybe she’s a masochist but she can hear the hurt laced underneath the anger in Paige's voice. And if what Paige needs to get rid of her pain is a target to aim all her arrows at, then Azzi’s willing to sacrifice her heart, or at least what little is still left of it.

“And the worst thing about it,” Paige’s voice breaks, “is that she's probably right. I have the perfect fucking woman at home and I can’t seem to get over the one who broke my heart and never looked back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Paige,” Ice pleads again and Azzi can hear her former teammate trying her best to wrangle the phone out of Paige’s firm grasp.

“I’m not done yet Ice. I need to talk to her and I need to talk to her now because if I don’t, I’ll never get the courage to say any of this again,” Paige is sobbing now, and her broken whimpers pierce Azzi’s heart deeper than any words could, “why couldn’t you just have said yes Az? I know- I know your reasons but why- why couldn’t you have just loved me enough to look past them? How do you do it Azzi? How do you live without me because it’s been four years and I- I still don’t think I know how to live without you and I hate you, I hate you because you do.”

No, Azzi thinks, I really don’t. But she doesn’t say anything, rapidly blinking back tears as she avoids both Jana’s concerned look and Clémence’s more thoughtful gaze.

“I wish I could just feel nothing towards you Azzi,” Paige confesses, heaving as she struggles to breathe through her tears, “I don’t want to hate you. I don’t want to miss you and I really- I really, really don’t want to love you. Please just make it stop. I’m so tired of this Azzi. I’m so tired of hurting. How do I make it go away? Please tell me how I make it go away? How did you make it go away?”

“I didn’t,” Azzi whispers, so soft she’s not sure Paige heard it; she’s not sure if she wants Paige to have heard it. It’s the kind of pain, she thinks, she’s destined to feel forever. It’s weaved itself into every crevice of body and now it exists as just another innate part of her. Paige thinks Azzi’s learned to live without her but really all Azzi’s learned is how to live with these permanent scars of i think i’ll miss you forever.

“That’s enough Paige,” Ice’s voice is clearer now, having finally snatched the phone out of her teammate’s grip, “Azzi-” she begins apologetically, “she’s just drunk. She didn’t mean-”

“She did,” Azzi clears her throat, sinking into the way Jana's arms wrap around her, “she’s um- she’s gonna be really hungover in the morning. Make sure she- make sure you give her water but don’t- don’t give her coffee. She’ll want it but it’ll only make it worse because she uh- she- when she drinks too much, her stomach hurts and the caffeine- it just- it makes it worse so- don’t let her drink coffee tomorrow morning okay? And make sure- make sure she eats something before she takes painkillers. And Ice?’

“Yeah Azzi.”

“If she doesn’t remember any of this tomorrow morning, please don’t remind her.”

***

April 2033

The bar is buzzing with noise by the time Paige and Azzi finally arrive. It’s an exclusive enough place that they won’t be too bothered by fans asking for pictures and autographs but the size of the crowd still puts Azzi a little bit on edge. She can’t help the small smile that flitters across her face when she feels Paige’s hand resting on her lower back as the blonde guides the two of them through the crowd in search of their teammates. For the last eight years, Azzi has been her own protector and she’s learned to guard herself but it’s nice -it feels right- to have someone else ready to be her shield too.

“You know Bueckers,” Joyce says as the two of them finally approach the table that had been reserved for the Valkyries, “some might say that one should be on time when meeting their new teammates. Just a thought.”

“And some might say Edwards that being fashionably late is being on time,” Paige quips back.

Joyce grins, “alright time for introductions.”

“I’m pretty sure I know-”

“Shut up,” Joyce reprimands, throwing an arm around Paige’s shoulders, “let me introduce these brand new people to you.”

“They’re not-”

“Sssshhh. Let me have my fun. We’ll start over here with Westbeld and Booker. You might know them, their teams kicked your ass during the 23-24 season,” Joyce says with a smirk.

“Oh I do remember that,” Paige says thoughtfully, eyes twinkling with mirth, “what happened the season after?”

“Don’t be cocky Bueckers. It’s unbecoming,” Madison chides as she rises from the table to give Paige a hug.

“Yeah I try not to remember that Elite Eight game thanks,” Laila says, making a disgusted face.

Joyce glares at her, “did I introduce you yet Miss Phelia?”

Laila raises her hands in surrender as Joyce continues to give Paige a tour of the Valkyrie team. Azzi had known that Paige would fit in well with her teammate -really the blonde had the uncanny ability to fit in anywhere- but seeing it realized in front of her, it seems even clearer. Paige feels like the last mosaic piece, slotting in right where she belongs.

“Those two over there are our babies,” Joyce points to Haylen and Jayla, “they’re like five years old but we love them anyways.”

“I’m almost 25,” Haylen protests.

“See,” Joyce remarks, “literally children. And that one,” she points to Jana who beams at Paige, “well you already know her even if you sometimes wish you didn’t probably-”

“Hey!”

“Oh shush Jana,” Joyce says airily, “and I supposed there’s no point in introducing Azzi to you since y’all came together,” she pauses to look between them, “y’all don’t live that close to each other. Why didn’t you just carpool with Jana? I’m pretty sure she lives closer to you.”

Paige opens and closes her mouth a couple of times as Azzi feels her own cheeks heat up at the innocent enough question, “we um- well it's just- you see- my house is on the way from her parents and she had to drop off Stephie so it just- it just made sense you know? For efficiency’s sake.”

“Oh yeah for efficiency’s sake. They’re both very efficient,” Jana smirks, “makes a lot of sense.”

Joyce gives all three of them a weird look, “y’all Huskies are strange. It was just a question but anyways,” she grins as she finally steers Paige towards the blonde in the corner and Azzi stiffens at the way Paige’s body immediately tenses, “a couple of our teammates aren’t here but we do have a former teammate. Paige meet Clémence.”

“We’ve met,” Paige says, attempting to school her features to resemble anything but the discomfort she’s feeling within, “during the Olympics that is. We’ve beat France a couple of times.”

It’s a purposeful word choice, beat instead of played and Azzi's fingers fidget with the hem of her top as she tries to avoid looking at either of the two women.

“Yes. It is good to see you again,” Clémence says tersely, her French accent stronger than the last time Azzi had spoken to her. She shakes Paige’s hand rather formally before her eyes focus on Azzi and she determinedly walks towards the brunette, “and it is really good to see you Azzi. I have missed you.”

“I-” Azzi stutters at the French woman pulls her into a hug; over her shoulder she can practically see steam coming out of Paige’s ears as she hyper focuses on how Clémence makes it a point rub her thumb down Azzi’s back, “it’s um- it’s good to see you too.”

She pulls away and she can feel the disappointment reverberating from Clémence’s body as Azzi practically flings herself on the chair next to Jana, wondering what she’d done to deserve this moment as a punishment for her sins.

“Save me,” she pleads as Clémence and Paige sit as far away from each other as possible, occasionally shooting glares when they think the other isn’t looking.

“Save you from having two hot women fighting over you?” the center teases, “you truly have such first world problems Azzi Fudd.”

“They’re not fighting over me-”

“Azzi you will have your usual rum and coke no?” Clémence asks and Azzi looks over to where the francophone is intently staring at her, “I will go-”

“Oh there’s no need,” Paige says immediately, “you sit Clémence. You already have a drink. I was gonna go get one for myself and I’ll get Azzi’s too. Besides, Azzi's more of a fruity drink girl. Az I’ll get you a piña colada-”

Clémence narrows her eyes, “maybe she liked that when she was in college but Azzi likes something different now.”

“She might like something different now,” Paige counters, standing up aggressively so she towers over the table, “but she’s always gonna love a piña colada right Azzi?”

All eyes turn to look at Azzi who wants nothing more than to cower under the table- or hit Jana who seems to find this very unamusinging situation rather entertaining, “I um-” she swallows, “I think tonight calls for something stronger. Round of shots for the table? On me?”

It placates the situation for a while as the rest of the team cheers on the idea, beckoning over one of the bartenders to orders a round of tequila shots for the table. For a moment, Azzi tricks herself into thinking maybe that’ll be the end of ridiculous situations for the night as the team downs shots to Jana yelling “to the Valkyries” but she should have known it was wishful thinking.

Half the team ends up on the dance floor, swaying to the mixed rhythm of the music and the newly minted alcohol coursing through their bloodstreams. Azzi watches with a smile as despite her protests, Joyce manages to drag Paige onto the dance floor with her, engaging her in some eccentric dance moves as they try to outdo each other on who can look the silliest. And as the rest of the girls cheer the blonde on, it feels like Paige is chiseling out a place for herself in another part of Azzi’s world.

“She is easy to love,” Clémence’s hot breath fans Azzi’s ear as the francophone takes Jana’s empty seat next to the brunette.

“Clém-” Azzi sighs.

“She fits in well with the team,” Clémence continues, something wistful in her voice, “I have seen her play. She will fit in well on the court with you guys as well. She will fit in well next to you.”

“That’s the hope,” Azzi says softly as she tilts her head to look at the other woman, “you fit in well too. I mean it Clém. We’ll miss you at GSV.”

Clémence smiles bitterly, “I would have liked to stay but they needed the cap space so they could sign her. She- she’s quite expensive. I mean considering she is casually wearing swarovski crystals on her neck in a bar on a random Saturday night, I am not surprised.”

The two of them laugh despite the gravity that looms heavily over them. Azzi and Clémence haven’t been anything in a long time but she’d never quite shut the possibility of a potential future done. She can hear the lock ready to click now. It’s bittersweet doing the right thing but as Paige glances over from the dancefloor, eyes darting cautiously between the two of them, Azzi knows that she doesn’t want to keep any other doors open. Not when the one with Paige’s name etched on the door handle, leads to home.

“One last dance?” Clémence asks softly, holding out her hand.

Azzi hesitates, knowing that it would irritate Paige but she thinks she probably owes Clémence this and so she smiles and takes the francophone’s outstretched hand as they join their other teammates. It’s nothing beyond friendly and they both keep their hands to themselves as they sway to the music, but Azzi can feel the annoyance radiating off of Paige from across the dancefloor. She would never admit it, perhaps it’s a little toxic of her, but there’s a certain thrill to making Paige jealous. There’s something about the way the blonde’s blue eyes flare with ice cold envy, the way her jaw hardens as she grinds her teeth. The way she looks at Azzi like if she had her way she’d drag the brunette out of the bar and mark her with a possessive you’re mine you’re mine youre mine. It makes Azzi clench her thighs together as she tries to focus on Clémence.

“I understand now,” the francophone says thoughtfully as Azzi’s peers up at her in confusion, “when you told me that you could not be with me. I get it.”

“I don’t-”

“You are here with me but you aren’t actually. You will always be with her,” Clémence tilts her head towards Paige, “you always have been. I understand now,” she says again simply before her face hardens, “even after all those words she said to you on the phone that night.”

Azzi’s stomach curls at the reminder. She knows exactly what night Clémence is referring to. Sometimes when she closes her eyes, it’s those words, coated in anger and malice, that shower around her like acid rain, seeping into her skin and infecting her bloodstream.

“I told you, you deserved better,” Clémence says and Azzi gulps, “but you said- you said you deserved worse. I hope you don’t believe that anymore Azzi. Just because you hurt her doesn’t mean you need to let her hurt you too.”

“I-” Azzi’s cut off by a hard body ramming into her own and she feels herself going stumbling back into the unwanted arms of a random man, “I’m sorry,” she says tersely, struggling to get out his grip.

“No worries pretty girl,” he says toothily, the heavy stench of alcohol in his breath making Azzi feel nauseous, “but now that you’re here, how about I buy you a drink.”

“No thank you,” Azzi says sternly, trying to push the man away but he’s relentless.

“Aw c’mon don’t be like that sweetheart,” the term of endearment sounds like an insult falling from his lips and Azzi loses her patience, stomping her heel into the man’s foot to finally free herself from his grip and he yelps in surprise.

“I said no thank you.”

“What the fuck,” the man spits out, standing up as Azzi takes a step back. He’s got some muscle and although, despite his bravado, she knows she’s strong enough to take him, she’d rather not create a scene. Her plan is to walk away. Paige seems to have other ideas, suddenly materializing in between Azzi and the man, a furious look on her face as she squares him up.

“Do we have a problem?” the blonde asks menacingly.

“Nothing other than your little friend here being a fucking bitch.”

Paige’s eyes darken as she takes a threatening step towards him, prevented from going further only by the way Azzi immediately laces a hand around her wrist, “what the fuck did you call her?”

“I called her a-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azzi cuts in, stepping in between a glaring Paige and a man who’s clearly underestimating her strength, “let it go Paige.”

“Yeah,” the man mocks, “let it go Paige.”

“You fucking-” Paige tries to lunge at him but Azzi’s quick to shove her back gently.

“Don’t cause a scene,” she warns.

“Azzi-”

“Paige please.”

“Holy shit,” the man wolf-whistles, “y’all play for the Valks. You’re Azzi Fudd. I know you.”

“Good for you,” Azzi spits out at him before turning her attention back to Paige, who looks like she could kill the man if given the chance, “c’mon let's go back to our tab-”

“It’s funny you’re acting like such a fucking prude when you have a bastard chi-”

An unmistakable crunch rings out through the bar as the man goes flying backwards. Azzi’s knuckles are bleeding as her breath comes out in ragged huffs. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene; could have walked away from a man being a drunken idiot, could have walked away from being called a bitch or hell, even something worse. But the man had attacked the one part of her that she’d always be ready to go to war for. He’d brought up Stephie and she’d seen red. Her fist had moved of it's own accord.

Paige doesn’t say anything and Azzi can feel the anger still vibrating from the older woman’s body as she roughly grabs Azzi’s unhurt hand.

“Let’s go,” the blonde’s voice is eerily low, “we’re going home.”

***

It’s a subconscious choice to let Paige drive Azzi’s car even though they’ve both sobered up considerably, not that one shot had done much in the first place. It’s a subconscious choice that Azzi reaches over to lace her fingers through Paige’s free hand, resting it on her lap, as the blonde use her other hand to grip the steering wheel. It’s a subconscious choice that they end up driving to Azzi’s house in complete silence. She’s not sure who’s mad at who, if they’re even mad at each other or that man or just the world but she can feel the fury suffocating the air.

“Where’s your first-aid kit?” Paige says gruffly as Azzi unlocks the door.

“Bathroom,” Azzi says quietly and Paige is off towards it before the word has even fully left the brunette’s mouth. Azzi scrambles after her, pausing in the doorway as Paige rummages through drawers, knowing better than to interrupt to help when Paige looks livid like this.

“Sit,” Paige points to the sink once she’s finally found the sanitizer and gauze to clean up dried up blood staining Azzi’s knuckles.

“I can do it my-”

Paige glares at her, “just sit on the fucking sink Azzi.”

Putting away her own irritation at being told what to do, Azzi lifts herself onto the flat surface of the sink, opening her legs slightly so that Paige can stand between them. Despite still quivering with barely concealed rage, Paige’s touch is gentle as she dabs at the remnants of red liquid on Azzi’s hand.

“You should’ve just let me punch him when I wanted to,” she says finally.

“So you could be the one bleeding?” Azzi raises an eyebrow.

“No because he would’ve never gotten the courage to say shit about Stephie if you’d just let me kill him when he called you a bitch,” Paige bites out venomously.

“And let you go to jail? I couldn’t do that to Stephie,” Azzi tries to lighten the tension in the room, “she’d miss you too much.

“This isn’t funny, Azzi,” Paige seethes as she begins to wrap the white gauze around the wound.

“I know,” the younger woman says, trailing her other hand down Paige’s arms trying to soothe her anger, “but it’s fine-”

“It’s not fucking fine,” Paige yells.

“Baby-” the word slips out from Azzi’s lips before she can catch it. She hasn’t used it for someone other than Stephie in so long that it feels foreign on her lips and yet, it fits exactly right.

“Did you call Clémence that too?” and there it is, the real reason behind the volcano erupting as Paige decidedly looks away from Azzi.

Azzi narrows her eyes, “I don’t know Paige. Did you call Olivia that?”

“That’s different,” Paige grits out, “Olivia was my wife.”

Azzi flinches at the word; hates that somebody else had ever had the honor of being called that even if she knows it’s unfair of her to feel that way when she’s the one that had turned it down first.

“Exactly,” she says slowly, “you married someone else-” she holds up a hand when Paige protests, “I know. I know I said no but you married someone else Paige. So you don’t get to be mad at me for having something with someone else too.”

Paige is quiet for a moment and Azzi sees the exact moment the fight leaves her body as she lets out a sigh, leaning her head against Azzi’s shoulder.

“You’re right,” Paige whispers into Azzi’s neck, hands moving to rest against the brunette’s thighs.

Azzi runs her hand through Paige’s hair, brushing it in tandem with the harmony of her breathing, “we can’t keep throwing the past in each other’s face, Paige.”

“I know,” Paige breath tickles against Azzi’s skin and she shivers in spite of the tense moment,“I just-” the blonde lifts her head to look at Azzi, “I need to know who Clémence was to you. You- you know what Olivia was to me and I- I just need to know the same about Clémence.”

“She-” Azzi hesitates, “we hooked up a couple of times,” she squeezes Paige’s hand when the blonde flinches, “but then she- she wanted more but I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that. Partly because I didn’t- I didn’t feel the same- don’t look so smug,” Azzi chides when a small grin forms on Paige’s face, “and partly because we were on the same team. I didn’t want to complicate things, not like last time. Feel like I should probably have a rule not to date teammates.”

“Right.”

Azzi watches the cogs turning in Paige’s brain and she reaches out a hand to ease the creases forming on her forehead, “what are you thinking Bueckers?”

“I just-” Paige bites her lip, “what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I mean we’re gonna be- I mean we are- we’re on the same team too,” Paige says and Azzi can hear the insecurity of will you leave me again weaved through her voice.

“You don’t get it yet do you,” Azzi whispers, reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “baby you are the exception to all of my rules.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

371 notes · View notes

nanamis-bigtie · 1 month ago

Text

oxytocin

↬ higuruma hiromi x gn afab!reader ↬ jjk masterlist // ao3 version // kofi

cw: smut, chubby reader, established relationship, oral sex (r receiving), scent kink (hiromi likes to take a sniff) summary: hiromi apologizes to you for broken promise. with his lips. word count: 2,293 a/n: i promised myself I'm gonna write more self-indulgent stuff in 2025. and what's better indulgence than your fave being crazy about your body type, right? i like having my readers as neutral as i can make them but hell, i enjoyed writing this sooo much. I think this won't the last chubby reader I post. the idea for this fic came to me when I was listening to "oxytocin" by billie eilish on repeat - and thus the title. divider by saradika

"I could swear you promised you won't work on your days off."

You creak the door open just enough to slide in and lean against the frame, arms crossed on your chest. You try to look stern, but Hiromi barely flicks eyes over his laptop, so engrossed by his task even your grimace can't pull him away. Under other circumstances you would leave him to his matters, knowing better than interrupting him when he's in the flow, but today is different. Today is the first proper morning you spend together in your new house; no more unpacking, no more chaotic struggle between this place and your old apartment, no more exhausting IKEA trips, everything sneaked into your busy schedules by a thin margin.

He should be snoring softly by your side in your shared bed, sleeping off the housewarming party and a month-long plague of overtime. Not—bothering his body and mind with extra job he won't be even paid for.

"Hiromi..." You tiptoe closer and behind him, arms thrown over his shoulders and crossed over his chest.

He jumps a little but leans into your touch soon after. You press face into the crown of his head, inhaling fresh scent of his shampoo.

"I put the dishes away," he mutters and groans as you work through the tension in his sides and shoulders. "And cleaned up the living room."

"That's not what I meant." You pepper kisses down his temple, cheek and jaw. "You promised you won't do that. And especially not at 7a.m."

You reach over him and close the laptop, gently pushing it away before Hiromi catches on your move and tries to snatch it. He meets your hands instead, gathers them in his and pulls them close to his chest, trapping you in the role of a weighed blanket.

"It was just a single e-mail." Blatant lie, mollified with his nose rubbing against your neck, looking for the most delicious spots. "I would have finished before you wake up."

"Well, I am here, awake, and what do I see?"

You nip and suck at the tip of his ear, noting with satisfaction how his body trembles, the faintest of whines escaping his lips before he whisks away and returns the favor.

"I'm sorry, darling." Hiromi kisses his apologies along your neck, twists his torso to try and sneak a taste of your chest, delicious strap of bare skin revealed by loose pajama top. There's only one thing stronger than his persistent work obsession and he's chasing it like starved now, the fear of being punished for his broken oaths creeping behind hasty pecks and licks. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

He's ready to beg to get what he wants and avoid the repercussions, and as much you love the teary look he gives you when he's desperate, you're in mood for quite different Hiromi. You woke up with a goal on mind, disappointed you found his side of the bed empty and cold, unable to sate your needs without leaving the comfort of freshly bought sheets.

He pouts when you move away but hopeful gleam returns to his eyes when you sneak in between him and the desk. You wiggle yourself on top of it, legs spread just right to engulf him—and he doesn't make you wait, immediately shoving the chair forwards, until he's surrounded by your thick thighs.

"You're so warm..." He runs hands up them, trailing the lines of your stretch marks towards the hem of your skimpy shorts, kneading the soft rolls right under it.

"I would be warmer if you hadn't forced me out of the bed," you scoff but your voice is already melting. His hands are so smooth and gentle, so addictive with the way he touches you. He adores each inch of your skin, no crumb of your body able to escape his attention when he's in trance like this.

"I'm sorry." Hiromi darts his eyes up at you, drooping eyelids adding to his begging puppy look—but the fire in his gaze has nothing to do with submissiveness. He lets you hold the leash but it's not a firm hold.

He's going to yank it out of your hands soon.

You rest your feet on the armrests and lean a little to the back. Your shirt rolls up, revealing a roll of your tum over the doubled elastic band of shorts and panties.

Hiromi pounces on it like starved.

His kisses are soft at first, grazing the lines of stretch marks and adoring the delicate skin, but he can't restrain himself any longer. He licks and sucks, bites marks of possession in place only him is allowed to look, teases your bellybutton with the tip of his tongue to drag a sweet, ticklish giggle out of you. Greedy, he shoves the shirt more out of his way and buries his face whole into your tum, his moans swallowed by your body.

"Fucking hell, you're so hot..." he half-cries, blood rushing south already messing with his senses. His eyes are unfocused as he steals a sight of your face from his spot, almost rolling into the back of his head when he takes in the smell of your body, natural and soaked in lazy warmth of your shared bed. In no time, he's diving for more, pulling your bottoms with hands and teeth alike; when the line of your pubes and a glimpse of your soft mound welcomes him, he moans so obscenely you could swear he's finished in his pants just at the sight.

Your shorts are thrown aside and forgotten but he keeps your panties on, eyes transfixed on the wet stain right over your slit.

"For me?" He sucks air in, sharp, and traces it with a thumb, pressing gently at the outline of your clit.

For a moment he's overwhelmed by the gamut of options, but he doesn't let you grow impatient and dives straight for his favorite. Keeping you in place with surprisingly strong hold on your hips, Hiromi leans for it and sniffs your pussy through the fine fabric, loud whiff followed by even louder moan. Through seconds heavy like lead he only breathes you in and pushes his nose right at the center of the growing wetness—but he doesn't forget about you, he could never, your pleasure the most delicious treat for him.

He rubs his face whole into it, soaking himself in your scent, using his nose and lips to get you off through your panties. He sucks on your clit, his mouth full of the fabric, licks your juices, sneaks his tongue into all the delicious crevices, more and more soaked, the barrier between you two almost ceasing to exist.

"'romi..." you struggle to speak, to make any sound, really. The work of his mouth is divine and the fact he hasn't tasted you raw yet only adds to the fire. Anticipation is growing with each impatient lick and groan of his pleasure. He holds on to you as if you were bound to escape him if he lets go only for a second, his nails digging in your thighs, spreading you open and pinning you down for him.

But soon he can't be satisfied only with that.

You chirp with disappointment when he pulls away, but you quickly catch on his plan and lift your hips as much as you can with your legs on the verge of folding. He yanks your soaked panties down to your ankles, frees them—and pushes his face into them, inner, wetter side right for his nose. A few deep and desperate breaths later, he folds them into his pocket for later, and focuses his eyes on your pussy, bare this time, moist and ready for him.

Hiromi mutters a curse as he loosens the collar of his shirt, futile attempt of protecting it from your juices. With how he eats you out—like a madman, like a feral animal—it stands no chance; its front ends up crumbled and stained in seconds as he leans his whole body into yours, sniffing you bare from the waist to crotch.

He's finally there, nose grazing your clit, tongue darting out to tease your lips and the edge of your entrance, ready to slip in as soon as you pull on his hair.

But the softest taps of fluffy feet stop him in his tracks. Both of you forgot about the door, still open for your curious cat, ready to investigate the source of noises so unusually early in the morning. Hiromi freezes, face inches over your mound, and follows her with the corner of his eye, can't help a chuckle when she assigns him as the most interesting object in the room and enthusiastically rubs her face against his calf.

"Oh kitty, not now." He still leans down to scratch her behind ear. "Good girl. Now let us be."

"You're nicer to her than to me," you joke but Hiromi takes it personally, look in his eyes so hurt you almost regret teasing him. Abandoning cat to its own shenanigans, he cradles your hand in his and pulls it to his lips, his kiss pressed to your wrist wet with your own arousal still lingering on them.

"I'm horrible today," he mutters against your skin, trails his love up your forearms, nuzzles his cheek into your wrist. "I hope you'll forgive me."

Intrusion has simmered the heat between you two down, but he quickly builds it back. You're no longer able to hold yourself on your elbows, with each kiss and hickey sucked into the softness of your thighs you lean more to the back, finally lying flat on the desk, with little to no care for possibly slipping down. Hiromi wouldn't let you, anchoring your hips as he finally returns to his breakfast. He laps, sips and sucks; dirty praises he mutters between slurps drown under wet sounds his busy tongue creates.

Self-indulgence is gone, Hiromi's only goal now is to bring you the most delicious orgasm. Even commotion between his legs doesn't distract him, not with your legs frantically closing on him, engulfing him with the plush of your thighs.

You're close, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

Cat meows for attention, paws at Hiromi's pants, attempts to climb his lap but falls, unable to squeeze between the union of your bodies. Hiromi, head buried in his favorite spot, reaches blindly to untangle her paws from himself. One of them somehow slips into his pocket, dragging half of your panties out. Delicious, dangling treat for a curious creature, now interested more in fishing it out than begging for attention from her favorite human.

"Shoo, go away." Hiromi has to stop, much to your irritated whine. "That's not for you."

Panties are clumsily showed back, cat pushed further under desk with a foot. You start lifting yourself on elbows again, determined to pull Hiromi by hair where he belongs, but he's faster, lips wrapped around your clit, two fingers sliding inside you and curling, right at the delicious spot he knows will have your back arching in ecstasy.

You curse through clenched teeth, legs tensing and trembling, thighs squeezing him tight until he's moaning into your cunt. He sucks even harder, sharp draft through nose the last breath he takes before putting every ounce of his focus into bringing you pleasure.

"—mi!" You sob and tense, finally reaching the longed-for peak. He gently licks you through it, fingering you until you stop throbbing around him, and he can finally pull away, panting, his cheeks red from lack of air.

Hiromi nuzzles up to your thigh and welcomes you with a lazy, enamored smile when you find power to lift yourself again and look at him. His face is flushed and stained with your juices and his saliva, eyelids drooping even lower than usual. You thread fingers through his hair; he closes eyes in pleasure and leans into your touch.

"Am I forgiven?" He smiles, enamored with the views in front of him and drunk on your taste.

"You are. More than forgiven."

He helps you shimmy closer and chases your lips with the softest kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue—a pleasant, nerve-tickling reminder of pleasure he's given you with it.

A shared moment of sweet distraction is enough for the cat to get the attention she wanted. A quick paw later, she steals your panties from Hiromi, and bolts with it in her teeth as if death itself chased her.

"Ah, you little—" Hiromi tries to grab her, only gets a tickle of her tail. "There she goes..."

"I'm gonna get her." You slip off the desk, ready to corner the little thief where you know she's hiding, under her favorite armchair in the living room. But Hiromi is even faster than the cat, one hand grabbing your hand, the other pushing you back towards the desk—and down, bending you with hips right at the perfect height for him.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" He ruts against your ass, groans as its softness swallows his erection, ready to be freed of his pants and sunk into your hot hole. "I thought I were forgiven?"

"But cat—" You fight against it just for the show, heat perking its head again, hungry for his cock.

Hiromi pins you down harder, until you mewl in discomfort, the hard edge of desk sinking into your tum. He steals a shallow thrust against you and presses close to your back, panting into your ear in need between words, his voice strained and guttural, "No, darling. Cat can wait. You can chase her after I've creampied you thoroughly."

165 notes · View notes

t-a-a-1 · 2 months ago

Text

Dandelion: Prequel

4k Words

One-Shot

Summary: Optimus loves you. You love him. The two of you are too stupid to realize each other's feelings.

But following a conversation about the afterlife, you realize how much he means to you.

...

A/N: Yearning. Love confession. Jealousy. Optimus confesses but doesn't realize it. You are dumb. Angst and Fluff. Enjoy!

Dandelion: Prequel

.....

Optimus thinks about you.

A lot.

And more than he likes to recognize.

Optimus has learned many things about Earth. You showed him music, art, poetry, literature, and movies. He enjoyed them, mostly because you shared them with him. The archivist in him was hungry for knowledge and you were the chef who satisfied his craving.

He also enjoyed sharing things with you. Of everything he could of Cybertron. The arts, the poetry that sometimes you didn't understand. The history and legends of his people.

He had thought many times of the things he would like to show you once Cybertron is restored. You would love it, he was sure of that. He could take you to see a play or maybe show you the beautiful cascades of Energon or the resting place of the Primes.

Optimus also thought of building you a home. You would be coming to Cybertron often after all. Maybe if you were comfortable enough, you could live with him. That way he could take care of you, just in case you woke up scared from a nightmare. He would cradle you until you fall asleep again and if needed, you could share his berth with him. Cybertron is naturally cold, he could keep you close to his spark to keep you warm.

"I won't live forever you know?"

You were waiting for him to roll into your driveway. He had promised you to do this for a very long time now and there's no way escaping it.

"I am aware," he says as he swiftly moves forward. "Your life expectancy is rather short."

"The more reason I have to clean you up," you walk towards him. "I may die tomorrow and you may live on without a proper bath? Not in my watch."

You had two buckets of water and a hose ready to be used. Some soap, sponges and rags. The buckets were heavy as you struggled to pick them up, you somehow still managed to whistle a song as you made your way to him.

He didn't understand how you could look so content while talking about your death. Optimus couldn't even phantom the idea. Much less imagine a day when you won't be with him. He had grown too accustomed to your presence. His spark had grown too fond of you.

In fact, you had occupied so much space in his spark that he knew that it wouldn't be able to function without you.

What will he do once you are gone?

"Where will you go?"

He asks as he feels the warm water impact his windshield and hood. It was nice to think you took the time to heat up the water just to make him comfortable.

"What do you mean?" you ask as you put soap on the big sponge and start rubbing it around. You had to use a small stool to reach the top of his hood. This is the first time you were doing this and you were trying to be extremely gentle. You had to remind yourself that Optimus is still a biological being. His body may be made out of metal but he still feels everything.

"Once I stop functioning, I am certain my spark will become one with the AllSpark," he makes a small pause before continuing "But what about you? Where will you go once you die?"

You stop and look at him.

"Will it be a place where I can meet you? See you at least?"

Contemplating what to do, you look at the sides to make sure no noisy neighbor is listening to you talking to a truck. You look back at him and wonder if you should tell him the truth or lie a little. He sounded worried. It is no wonder that he perceives death differently. For him, it was just another transformation. To you ... Well, you didn't know nor could explain the finality of death. You didn't want to worry him.

"Human souls work differently," you say as you go back to wash him. This time more delicately, trying to feel each inch of scratch he has ever gotten. War was written all over his body. "We don't go to a specific place. But I think we become one with the universe."

"Whenever you feel the wind on your faceplate," you lie to him but there's enough hope in your voice to comfort him. To make him believe you. "Whenever you see the rain or snow, when you see a rainbow, a flower or star. That's where I will be. Always."

It's comforting to know that everything beautiful the universe has to offer, is because of you. Of course, it would be. How couldn't it? When you smile the sun becomes brighter. When you laugh, the sound becomes a melody. You were alive and made life so breathtaking because of it. He imagined your death would be the same. Eternally beautiful as you become one with the universe.

He ex-vents in relief and you smile. Your lie was good enough. He believed it.

Nothing else was said but spent the rest of the time in a comfortable silence. You took your time to really study him. He has many scratches, some parts of his paint were even gone and you wonder if he had insecurities about them.

After all, if humans did, what made Cybertronians different?

You ran a finger through a large scraping on the top of his hood, feeling each small bump. The scrapped metal is rough against your fingertip, wondering what had attacked him to make this much damage.

"Are they not of your liking?"

For a small second, you could hear the doubt in his voice.

"Oh, no, I-"

As soon as you are about to respond, a sports car passes by, honking loudly and making the sound of its motor as loud as possible. Although you were uncomfortable you didn't want to give the guy the satisfaction of receiving attention. But you were now self-conscious of what you were wearing, Shorts and a dirty old black shirt. You wonder how was this even attractive.

"Hey, beautiful!" the guy rolls down his window and you feel the urge to wipe the smirk off his face. "Wanna ride this instead of that old rusty truck?"

You were about to defend yourself until you heard Optimus's engines turn on, the sound of his motor was so piercing that you felt your entire being vibrate. He turns his headlights as well, bright and powerful, almost blinding the guy.

Turning to look at Optimus, you see his holoform taking the pilot seat. You hated that holoform but it will do.

"Sorry, but my husband is quite overprotective."

You tell the guy, hoping he will take the hint and leave you alone.

"Well, if you ever want a good time, I am always available," his words disgusted you but you are glad he is finally leaving. "That truck got nothing on my car anyways."

Optimus moves forward in an aggressive manner. You are surprised at his behavior but don't question it.

"Thank you," you say as you step down off your stool.

You made sure that Optimus was covered in soap before taking the hose and letting the water flow.

"I don't know why every guy with a nice car has to act so weird."

"Oh, so you did find that car to be visually appealing?" He asks. "I would understand. After all, you might prefer an automobile with more agreeable qualities for someone of your age."

"Is that jealousy I hear, dear husband?"

You liked to tease him and even flirt with him from time to time. Mostly, you knew that nothing would ever happen. It was stupid to think that a Cybertronian and a human could ever be something more than just close friends. You assumed Optimus thought the same.

He had to.

"Just mere curiosity," he says as he feels the water running through his body, watching off all the dirt. It felt nice. "And what is a husband?"

"A life partner. Husband and wife usually take care of each other until the end of their days," that was the simplest way you could explain such a concept. "And I prefer Cybertronian men if you ask me. Even old rusty trucks."

"Can I conclude that you know other Cybertronian males who are old rusty trucks besides myself?

"No, just you."

Although you couldn't see his faceplate, you knew he didn't mind the comment. The two of you had joked around before and Optimus can definitely take a joke.

"So, you do indeed believe me to be an old rusty truck?"

"Yes, but you are my old rusty truck."

Optimus didn't know why but he enjoyed the sound of that.

"And that makes all the difference."

The hospital wasn't like you remembered. You had grown used to being in a military facility and being taken care of by soldier medics. Not only because of the Decepticon attacks you had faced before but because you had seen your fair share of war while reporting for the news.

"OH YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE NOW!"

The last person you expected to see was Agent Fowler. Stepping inside your room, with a suitcase on hand and documents on others.

"I am fine thank you," you say as you sigh heavily. "The car crash didn't kill me and no Autobots were involved... so why are you here?"

"Because I have a very bothered Prime demanding to see you, saying that as your husband he has a right to know of your well-being."

"... What?"

"Look, I knew you and Prime had something going on but this has become a national matter," he shows you the documents he was holding but your head still hurts and don't feel like reading at all.

"If you and Prime are indeed married then by law I have to let him come see you. Do you know how hard we have worked to keep the Autobot's existence a secret?"

"And since when does the government of the United States care bout following their own laws?" you look around your room. You hoped to see another change of clothes but nothing. You were in desperate need of a shower. "Look, this is all a misunderstanding, I'll talk to Prime."

"It better be. We don't want to deal with court cases about deciding which constitution laws will apply to non-human beings," Fowler was moving the documents very aggressively and you assumed those were drafts of new laws to be reviewed. He works fast.

"Do you know how many laws we would have to re-write if you and Prime were to be married? Don't even get me started if you two were able to conceive a child."

"You better than I know that's never going to happen."

"I don't know the way Prime was begging to see you didn't seem normal," he put the documents in his suitcase and for once you were glad to see him go. "If I was you, I would hurry up. I don't want Prime to cause a commotion because he can't see his wife."

"I am not his wife," you say again, the term annoying you a bit.

Fowler just rolls his eyes and opens the room's door.

"Yeah, yeah, just hurry up Mrs. Prime."

The drive back to the base was unexpectedly quiet. When you saw Optimus parked outside the hospital parking lot, you thought you would be bombarded with questions.

Instead, Optimus just opened his pilot door and let you in. Nothing else. You didn't even dare to ask him to take you home. You just let him do what he pleased.

You two arrived at the base's tunnel. He stopped before reaching the hangar. He opened the door and you assumed he wanted you to get out. You were worried by his strange behavior.

As soon as you got out, he changed back to his normal form. He didn't hesitate to kneel in front of you. His optics look at every inch of your body, examining you.

"How are you feeling?" He asks you but there is a certain coldness in his voice.

"I am fine, thank you."

He stands up, his optics still on you.

"You shall remain here until the next sun cycle. To make sure of your well-being."

He turns around and starts to walk away.

"Are you alright?"

You run towards him, your head still hurts but you want to talk to him. His indifference hurts more than you imagined.

"You lied to me."

You were confused. Speechless. Has he found out? That the only reason you were helping the Autobots to find the ancient relics is because you were waiting for the right moment to expose them? That you had a notebook in your home, with all the evidence you have so far of the existence of robot alien life? That every day you were waiting for the final piece of the puzzle. The last thing you need before revealing the truth to the world.

"While at the hospital, Mrs.Darby approached me and briefed me about your status. We talked, and she informed me that there are no scientific conclusions on Earth that your soul can become one with the universe."

You weren't expecting that.

"She said that your soul may be going to an unreachable dimension or just become nothing."

You didn't know what to say. There was a certain hurt look on his optics that you couldn't believe. He is grieving. It's the closest thing you have seen him in pain. But you couldn't say a thing. You weren't expecting this would affect him so much.

"Prime, I just ... I just didn't want to-"

"My apologies," he stops you and turns around. He didn't want to see you. That made your heart sink. The thought of disappointing him, of inflicting any type of pain was unimaginable to you.

But why?

"I just need a moment to myself."

A few days had passed. You hadn't talked to Optimus. But today was Friday and as per usual, you made your way to the rooftop, outside of the base. It has become a spoken agreement between you and the leader of the Autobots. To meet every Friday and just enjoy each other's company.

You two usually go on patrol night before and end up talking until sunrise. But today Optimus had left the base early, leaving you unattended. You took the time to go to the closest gas station and get yourself a pack of cigarettes and Optimus's favorite brand of oil. With the hope that he will still meet you.

But the hours passed and you had waited. You started a bonfire and lit up a cigarette.

More time passed and you became worried. Was he still upset? The day had become dark, the night was cold and you missed him. Stupidly so.

And you feel pathetic.

You were about to give up until Optimus finally showed up. He looked surprised to find you there. Probably thinking that you didn't want to see him either. When, in fact, it was all the contrary.

He didn't say a word as he sat next to you. You quietly put a small bucket of oil next to him. Of course, he noticed you and accepted the gesture.

You are about to take another puff from your cigarette when you see Optimus' servo reach out towards you. Using two digits, he takes the cigarette from your hand and throws it on the bonfire before you.

"Hey, I was-"

"Ratchet has informed me that this object you inhale from can reduce your lifespan significantly," Optimus slightly lectures you and you can sense some anger in his voice. "I see no meaning in you engaging in such activities."

"I am here for a good time not a long time," you say as you search in your backpack for the cigarette box. Marlboro wasn't your favorite cigarette brand but it was the only one that had menthol flavor at the gas station. "A very, very short time compared to yours."

You wanted to somehow go back into the topic of the afterlife. Anything that could open the conversation so you can have an opportunity to apologize. You wanted to hear him too, his thoughts. You wanted to know if he still finds your company enjoyable. If things were right between you two.

"You know, it kinda makes me sad that you'll probably forget me one day," you use a lighter for the cigarette, feeling piercing optics coming from Optimus. "And there's nothing I can do about it."

"I don't believe my processor will ever be capable of erasing memories related to you."

"How are you so sure?"

"I'll always have you in my spark," Optimus doesn't look at you but rather stares into the bonfire. His optics follow the dancing of the flames. He speaks freely.

"Even after I rust away and turn into nothingness. Once my spark has joined with the Allspark, it will still remember you. Even after the last star in the universe bursts into oblivion, my spark will reach you and it will call your name."

You are about to take another puff from your cigarette but his words stop you. Eloquence was not unknown to the Prime, he speaks it rather fluently but you didn't imagine it like this.

"I remember you now and I'll remember you then."

It seems he was on autopilot. It wasn't Optimus speaking but Orion Pax.

The bot who once knew how to love, the one who had dreams and hopes and was free to be himself. Without the pain in his shoulders, without responsibilities. No. This was not Optimus Prime. It was not Orion Pax. It was someone else.

His spark.

It was talking directly to you.

"My spark will look for you and I'll know it's you even if I was blind and deaf. Even if I ripped off my sense of smell and touch. I'll know it's you because not even time or death could take you away from me."

It's like he came back to himself. He blinks repeatedly after staring at the flames for too long. It was as if he was in a trance and when he turned to look at you, he noticed your cheeks. A little more redder than usual.

And all you could think of was him. Of the purity of his words. Of his beautiful being, of everything of him. His kindness, his truth. How he had changed your world with simple words. It was just him and this moment. United in this time. And you thought that maybe the reason you had been born was only to meet him. To hear those words that will forever be engraved in your heart. Will he ever know how much it means to you?

You weren't a believer. You used to be, when you were younger and less experienced. Before you witness war. Now you don't believe in anyone or anything.

But you believed in him. If anyone could make the impossible happen it was Optimus.

If he says he will find you in the afterlife, you know he will.

He made you believe.

You feel relieved to know that your existence meant more to the universe. That there's more than just finality, your soul will travel somewhere and have an impact on the bigger scale of things.

And if not ... then at least you could spend all of eternity with Optimus.

Your heart had finally begun to feel hope again.

And maybe something more than that.

Oh.

"Are you alright?" He asks, concern in his voice. "It seems you are overheating-"

"YOU GUYS CAME HERE ON A DATE WITHOUT TELLING US?!"

You shake a little and Optimus immediately moves closer to you in a very protective manner. The unknown voice startled you both although Optimus is always alert in a different way.

He immediately relaxes as his optics lay on the known small figure. You kinda wished he had stayed closer.

"Miko, leave them alone!" Jack comes out of the rooftop door, following Miko close behind. "Besides that's the whole point of a date. Let them enjoy it."

"Oh, no, you actually missed it!" you decide to amuse the kids, knowing that Optimus probably wouldn't mind you playing along.

"Prime just proposed and I said yes! We are getting married and having a bunch of human-cybertronian hybrid sparklings!"

You giggle a little, saying that out loud sounded ridiculous.

"Aha! I knew you two had a thing! Optimus always cleans his windows when he knows you are coming!" Miko turns to look at Jack and points at him. "You owe me a free meal!"

"She's not serious!" Jack says with a hand on his hip, frustration is clear. "Besides Ratchet said Earth didn't have the necessary resources for (y/n) to conceive."

"Wait, wait, wait," you throw away your cigarette into the bonfire, not wanting to be a bad influence and smoke in front of the kids. "You two talk to Ratchet about us?"

"Well, yes," Miko says. "He also bet cleaning duty-"

"Ahh, tsk,tsk!" coming from the rooftop door, the medic bot pops out. "Not talking behind my back! I did not bet on anything!"

"Yes, you did!" Miko points at the Autobot leader as Ratchet fully steps outside the door. "You said Optimus would never confess!"

"Is that true, old friend?"

Finally, Optimus speaks. He doesn't seem angry but confused.

"I-umm," Ratchet stumbles with his words until the realization hits him. "WAIT, YOU DID!?"

"No," Optimus says. "My feelings for (y/n) are strictly platonic."

"Ha! I win!" the medic turns to look at the kids. "You two will be doing cleaning duty."

Optimus sees you laugh with the kids. A scene that warms his spark. He can't guarantee tomorrow so he will treasure the now. Then maybe, if the stars align, he will gift you the strange flower he found.

A/N: Sorry for any mistakes I made, I don't proof read lol.

In this story, I originally intended for Optimus to have this big realization but Dandelion was already too long and rushed for my liking.

But, I think he has loved the reader for way longer than he realizes and when he does realize it...

Uff. He feels like a complete idiot and begins yearning for you like crazy.

I think Optimus would be devastated at the thought of one day losing you. He just doesn't know he would feel like that.

But I think my version of Optimus and Reader is that both of them are very oblivious to each other's feelings. Because in their mind, there is no way a Cybertronian and a human could ever share intimate feelings.

So they just go around each other thinking, 'Oh, this is a person whose company I enjoy very much' and 'Caring so much for this individual is absolutely normal ... Right?"

Dandelion was supposed to be a one-shot story but due to the support given I decided to write a prequel for it.

Sadly, I don't think I will write a continuation of the story. This is to prevent any more spoilers for the current fanfic I am writing 'The Darkest Hour.'

This prequel already gave out too many spoilers as it is and as I was writing this I had to stop myself from integrating certain scenes I wanted to write.

For example, Optimus finding out that human souls actually go nowhere goes completely different.

He can't understand the finality of death and he grieves for months at the thought he may not see you in the afterlife. He makes his research, anything, any sign that your soul and his spark might reconnect again.

And one day he sees you throwing away some of your things (you were cleaning your house) And he goes through the trash and asks you if he can stay with the things.

You tell him no because those things were trash (to you) they were like old used notebooks, empty boxes, pens, old clothes and make-up. He starts gathering things up but you take them away and he very anxiously tells you:

"Why are you so cruel to me? I only wish to preserve your memory once you are gone. You have taken my spark, do you also wish to take what's left of my sanity once you leave my side?"

Of course, he later on realizes that his love for you is so intense and real that he is certain his spark will meet your soul once again.

Dandelion may have come to its definite end but if you really want to read more then I do recommend reading 'The Darkest Hour' although it is a slow burn, it will have this type of content but more improved and polished.

ALSO

Requests are open so if any of you have any prompt ideas, you may inbox me or send me a message on this account. If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, everything is welcome! I can write small drabbles and other stuff.

And once again, I want to thank you all for your kind support! I am very new to Transformers and I didn't think I would be good enough to write fanfiction of it. But all of you have been extremely kind and I'll continue to write things that make me and all of you happy. Thank you for reading!

And I'll see you next time :)

Dandelion Pt.1:

https://www.tumblr.com/t-a-a-1/768702467874684928/dandelion?source=share

You can also read my other stories in here or Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandream

Thank you!

378 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 5 months ago

Text

Hear me out

Rosinante lay bleeding out in the snow, the soft dust if winters chill falling from the sky to perfectly preserve his body in a beautiful stasis. If you had met him under different circumstances, you would've cried at taking the man's life to sate your thirst.

He was just so beautiful.

You had never seen such grace in an almost departed man, especially one that wore a smile on his death-like features. Lapping at his wounds, you felt the life once again returning to you and fleeing out from his wounded body. Barely needing to puncture his skin with your fangs, you simply chose one of the unloaded bullet holes within his body to drink from.

His lungs began to deflate as a few words gently tumbled within his last breath.

"Trafalgar... D..." He began, coughing as his essence fled through his oesophagus and dribble down his chin, "...Water Law. Please," his auburn eyes parted, the gloss of life shrouding his hue began to deepen. "...Vampire. Watch him... Watch over him."

Rising from your latch on his chest, you cradle his cheek within your hand. His skin felt as warm as your flesh was, his desperation only fuelled his beauty. You felt bound, your icy heart breaking the longer he spoke.

"I won't do that, sir," you whisper, shaking your headband gazing at him lovingly, "But I will give you the opportunity to rise once more as my kin." Using the last of his strength, he gazed at you while weighing the consequences within the recesses of his fading memory.

"What-... Must I do, as your thrall?" He groaned, the gurgle of blood choking within his throat, "Heed your demands-... and fight your battles?"

You shake your head, a sweet smile ticking up at the corners of your lips.

"No, my heart," you coo down at him. "All you must do, is simply say 'yes'." You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, rubied droplets forming from your canine indents. "Is that something that you want?"

Rosinante darted his dazed eyes between yours, searching for any lie in your tone or gesture. He gazed down to your lips before looking up within your darkened pupils.

"Yes."

Within the same breath of his confirmation, you surged forward and claimed his lips beneath your own. Your hunger and passion was expressed in the weighty kiss, forging a covenant met in blood and lust.

Rising from the snow: with messy locks of blonde hair, eyes consumed with deep sorrow. All wounds faded to the silvery glow of illuminated skin, and his hunger for retribution rose alongside his bloodlust.

Donquixote Rosinante Corazon, a freshly indoctrinated vampire spawning to a much older and wiser breed of fallen Nephilim.

And he was so beautiful.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

I don't think I'll add any more to it, but it has been plaguing my thoughts lately.

#one piece #x reader #Donquixote Rosinante #Donquixote Corazon #spooky season #vampire au #op corazon #op rosinante #corazon x reader #rosinante x reader #x gn!reader #vampire!reader

203 notes · View notes

etfrin · 1 year ago

Text

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — second chapter | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | Coriolanus is his own warning, elitism

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coriolanus Snow meets his tribute and lands on a cage and then a car ride with his girl <33

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 i never tasted orange chicken but since @nowitsmissing likes it, that means it's good and worthy for Coryo to eat

Series Masterlist | Navigation | previous chapter!

“I wouldn't sing a note for you if I were her!” - Coriolanus reminded himself of Tigris's words as he waited for the train to arrive. Besides a handful of peacekeepers, he was the only one standing in the train station, waiting for the tributes to come.

He wasn't going to lie to himself, he was terrified. He wasn't sure if he was breaking any rules as he stood and waited. The academy hadn't sanctioned this, but they didn't tell the mentors what to do or not to do either.

It's not his fault he's getting a headstart.

Though he was surprised that you weren't here, waiting. He glees internally. He had already one-upped you and was going to continue to do so.

Snow lands on top.

He was going to be five steps ahead of everyone. No one can take the Plinth Prize away from him and he's going to make this ‘Lucy Gray’ won't either.

If not a winner, she'll create a fine spectacle for the Capitol, with her snakes and voice. Even if some part of him was terrified of her, leave it to Dean Highbottom that he got an insane tribute.

And of course, leave it to Dean Highbottom that he gave you someone who has actual chances of winning. And of the same district too, as if trying to push them both into a battle with each other.

It was highly annoying. It felt like Dean Highbottom was mocking him with this. Dangling a carrot in front of him and expecting him to take the bait and snap. But he won't. You weren't going to win this, and Dean Highbottom won't be getting the satisfaction of the Snows' falling.

Finally, the train had arrived, and with it came his Lucy Gray Baird. She was a girl with a rainbow frilly dress and a mess of brown curls. She was pretty (not as much as you) and had a certain accent when she came to him, asking who he was.

“I am Coriolanus Snow,” he begins to introduce himself with a warm tone, “and I am your mentor.”

He holds a white rose in his hand, pushing his arm forward to offer it to her. A part of him watches in horror as she spews nonsense and tears a petal from the beautiful rose and eats it.

She eats it and smiles at him, “Tastes like bedtime.”

A part of him was horrified, his mind solidifying the fact that Lucy Gray was truly insane. But a part of his mind went back to yesterday when you had taken off a petal of the red rose.

When you had crushed it between your fingers, the red juices of the petal pigmented your fingertips. He wonders if he could take the digits in his mouth and clear your skin of the taint if it would taste delicious with the flavor of your skin. If it-

His thoughts were interrupted by Lucy Gray (damn her!). “What does a mentor do besides bringing me flowers?” Her voice calls him out.

He tried hard not to frown or snap at her. He controls his voice, depriving it of the annoyance he feels as he replies, “I try my best to help you win.”

She hums in response. And before he could continue the conversation, the peacekeepers came in to sweep the tributes into a truck. He tried to keep pace and asked for permission if it was alright to enter but was ignored. So when a distraction was caused by a tribute trying to run (foolish, foolish boy), he entered the truck.

He was being stared at by them all as if he was the animal, and not them. All of the tributes looked more or less filthy, sick, and District. It seemed like only Lucy Gray bothered to somewhat take care of her appearance, with her bizarre make-up and rainbow dress.

Soon enough, he was pinned by a black boy, named Reaper. Everyone around him yelling to kill him, cheering him on, goading him on. Lucy Gray decided to prove herself to be useful to Coriolanus. She was the one speaking up about how if he died, their families would be hurt and that she might need him.

Despite many protests and not being convinced to leave him alone, they couldn't do anything about especially when suddenly the truck gates swung open, and then bam!

Light sweeps in and everyone loses their balance. Falling onto bare, rough ground, landing onto a cage. Coriolanus barely managed to stand up before he realized where he was. A zoo, a fitting place for district animals but not for him. Not only that, he was surrounded by people and cameras.

With his luck, this was probably broadcast live. He felt panic rush in his veins, his mouth drying up and his hands getting sweaty. He was going to make a fool out of himself in front of all of Panem, Sejanus, and You.

No, wait, you were there. His wide, panicking eyes find yours. Just like him, you were in your academy uniform. But you were outside the cage and he was in it.

Never on the same side. You and he.

He could feel his body shaking, an anxiety attack beginning with his breaths becoming shorter and shorter. Just then he could see you form the words, ‘Own it. Own it, Coryo.’ He nods in reply, his mind quietening as he becomes focused on a task.

The Capitol wanted a show, he was going to give them one.

He snaps off the stem of the rose and places it on Lucy Gray's ear. He will never know how your eyes glared at him for that action. He takes her hand his, swallowing the disgust about the fact he was touching District.

“Lucy Gray, let me introduce you to my neighbors,” he said as he dragged her in front of the cameras. The girl had been smart so far, if she knew what was good for her, she would continue acting like that.

He goes near Flickerman, the guy with the microphone and you were standing there beside him. Your arms crossed in front of your chest, your eyebrows raised in an unimpressed way. He only shrugged in response before giving his attention to the cameras.

He lets Lucy Gray sweet talk to the camera. She was polite and playful, playing into the hearts of the Capitol citizens with ease. Then the cameras turn to him, and before Flickerman asks him why he is in the cage. He isn't sure what to answer.

As if you could sense his panic, you immediately take the attention of him with your reply. “That's Coryo for you. Always making an impression. You should look forward to him. And his tribute,” your eyes turn to look at Lucy Gray, a hint of poisonous hate in your look that was hidden by the fake warmth of your smile.

“And you should be looking forward to my tribute too, Jessup Diggs.” You added as you stole the show with your sweet words. The broadcast ended with Flickerman praising you for your encouraging words despite the fact you and Snow were rivals.

He grits his teeth as he is dragged into a car by the peacekeepers. He supposed he was going to be taken to the Academy. He sat in the back seat, waiting for the car to start. He wished he would go there before lunch began, he hadn't breakfast. He couldn't have those damn cabbages again, he would rather tie the shower curtain around his neck.

The car door opens and you slip inside, sitting beside him. His breath hitches as he takes in the scent of your perfume. The heat of your body sweeps into his as your arm brushes against him. “You're crazy,” you said, not looking at him but the ruins of the Capitol outside the window. The car had started to drive back to the Academy.

“For getting a headstart,” he replied, “it's not crazy if it's smart.”

“Smart,” you mock, you turn to him, your face twisted in anger. You spit out, “It's not smart if you die, Snow! Those animals could have done anything to you! During the ride! During the cage! Do you think the cameras or the people would have stopped them? Fuck no and for what? A headstart!? It was stupid.”

Coriolanus blinks as he sees your childish tantrum. He was sure it was because he was going to be the talk of Panem, and not because you had genuine concern for him. He doesn't reply anything to you, despite feeling offended that you called him stupid.

He had been caught off guard, but he wasn't stupid. He furrows his eyebrows but keeps quiet. The silence was heated, and awkward. But it continues to persist, that's until his stomach growls, reminding him of his uneaten cabbage soup.

He felt his body flush in embarrassment. He begins to think of excuses to explain the loud growl but before he can even think of anything, a box is handed to him. You had taken something out of your bag and just set it on his lap along with a plastic spoon.

“It's not poisoned,” was the only thing you said, your eyes now back at the window.

“I sure hope so,” he replied, his voice controlled and his mind glad that you didn't glance at him to see his red face.

He opens up the box to see rice and orange chicken. He devours it as manner fully as he can. It took him a lot of self-control not to moan with each bite. It was that good. Perhaps his mind was subconsciously biased because it was by you. He didn't linger much on that thought.

But his touch did linger when he handed you back the box. He didn't thank you and you didn't ask for one. Neither of you said a word as your fingers laced together with his.

Neither of you said a word when your hand squeezed his, tightly. A warning not to act stupid again.

Neither of you needed to.

Both of you reached the Academy and Coriolanus stepped out of the car.

Time to face the consequences of his actions.

Next Chapter

Taglist : @tristanswildcat @alllriseabove @sushirolliee

@masimptoowth @ppcowboyprincess @lauravanderbooben20 @captainbabybear

@linkcommercial831 @write-from-the-heart

@kodzuvk @arzua10 @frill04 @cremebruleequeen @nan-nie @xreaderandreaderinserts @impeterporker @shoutingcardinal @coffee-tulips-books @Insomniac1345 @chaoticcoffeequeen @xyraphine

@blairfox04 @555saccharine @gisellesprettylies @livid-euphoria @fentyxmalik @buckysjuicyplums @cryinginanuncoolway @duckielikesgames @articxari @or-was-it-just-a-dream @serving-targaryen-realness @qardasngan @wendythedarling @mashathestarx @maybankswhore @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @bunny24sstuff

@lot4ever @diannana @abaker74 @ultrav10l3nce @jjstyles @reaganswiftie01 @freyaaah-writings @marauders-wife

945 notes · View notes