#How to Turn Off an Electric Lamp

[thatsbelievable]

[agxxb]

We All Need Joel’s Help .𖥔 ݁ ˖

joel miller x f!reader

summary: after ellie embarrasses joel at the winter dance, you help take his mind off of it.

warnings: smut. fluff. angst. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). use of pet names (sweetheart, honey, my love, darling). praise. age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is his age in the second season). no mention of y/n. [ 4k ]

You saw Seth's outburst at Ellie and Dina firsthand, and Joel's reaction was immediate — his body tense, fists clenched at his sides. He pushed his body away from the bar he stood at beside you, rushing forward and placing his hands on the older man, the entire town watching Seth fall to the floor from Joel’s forceful shove.

Ellie’s face was frozen in horror, but it was anger that burned through most vividly. She watched as Maria rushed to pull Seth away, then turned her eyes to Joel – the man who had become a father to her – standing there, silently waiting to ask if she was alright.

That’s when everything fell apart.

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

The entire hall fell silent, the weight of Joel’s pain hanging in the air, and he took a step back, his chest tightening with a pain that was sharper than any blade. His eyes locked onto Ellie, but all he found was a hardness in her eyes that he had never seen before. The harsh words hung in the air, and for a moment the world seemed to fade away. It was as if time had frozen, the silence so loud it deafened everyone in the hall. Then everything came crashing back. The hum of electricity, your breathing, the sound of Joel’s boots on the ground as he walked forward and out of the church. Acting on nothing but instinct, you gave Ellie a small, tight-lipped smile as you past her and followed Joel outside.

The sudden cold hit you as you walked outside, the temperature having dropped significantly despite it only being an hour or so since you entered the church. The lights of Jackson were dim compared to the lively glow of the dance. You spotted Joel's tall, broad figure stood by a lamp near the church, one hand running through his hair as his head tilted downwards.

"Joel?” You started, and his attention snapped over to you as you approached, head lifting to meet your gaze.

You heard the quiet sniffle that he tried to hide and watched as he brought his hand up to wipe away a tear. A beat of silence passed as you took a few steps closer, then another. And another. You stopped when you were less than a meter away, the light from the lamp illuminating Joel’s features. His face was weary and gaunt, the years showing themselves on his tired, sad eyes. You wanted to reach out to him… To comfort him…

"You alright?" You heard yourself ask, and the moment the words left your mouth you knew it was a dumb question.

He let out a scoff in response, hand dropping to his side as he moved to lean back against the wall of the building next to the church. He was quiet, his gaze falling to the ground, eyes glossy. You gave him a soft smile, a small one that held both love and understanding. Silence fell once more as you studied Joel’s figure, his shoulders slumped and head lowered in defeat. He looked broken, as if everything was finally catching up to him. And in a way, it probably was.

You knew better than to try and get Joel to talk about how he was feeling. He wasn't one to talk about his emotions, not even with you. Instead, you took in a deep breath and allowed the silence to envelope you both once more. You leaned against the wall beside him, not wanting him to be alone in that moment.

"She hates me."

You turned your head to look at him, hand reaching out to touch his, trying to ground him. "She doesn't. She's just angry because she wanted to handle the situation herself."

"I just wanted to protect her," he said, voice thick and full of emotion. “What that asshole said was out of line.”

“I know, my love.” You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You did what you thought was right, and no one can fault you for that.”

He still wasn't looking at you, instead staring down at your hand, his thumb gently stroking over your skin as his fingers wrapped around your own. He was silent for a moment as he processed your words.

"But it still hurt her,” he admitted finally, his voice soft yet rough.

You nodded in understanding, your heart felt heavy seeing Joel this way. "I know," you replied gently, “But trust me when I say that she'll come around. She just needs some time to process everything."

Joel said nothing in response, his eyes now having returned to looking at the ground. You could tell he was still beating himself up over the entire situation.

"Come here.”

You let go of his hand and moved to stand in front of him, arms open for him to fall into. He didn’t hesitate, and you felt his head rest against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, instantly feeling the dampness of his tears on your skin. You held him tightly, one hand moving to gently stroke his greying hair as the other rubbed circles across his back.

"It's okay," you whispered, trying to soothe his pain. "It's going to be okay."

You felt him take in a deep, shaky breath as he pulled you even closer, his grip on you tightening. He stayed as he was for a while, silent save for the occasional soft sob or quiet sniffle that escaped him. His weight against you was comforting, and you continued to hold him, providing a safe place for him to let out his pain and frustration.

He shook his head lightly against you, and you heard his voice, muffled by the fabric of your clothes. "I just... I want her to be happy. I miss her."

You nodded, and even though you knew he couldn't see it, he could feel it. "I know, honey. She just needs some time to cool off, that's all.”

There was a moment of silence as Joel held onto you, and you could feel the tremors running through his body as he tried to contain his emotions. You continued to run your hand up and down his back, not saying a word, just allowing him to feel whatever he needed to feel. After several moments, he pulled away slightly and looked at you, his face tear-streaked. Your heart broke seeing him like this, so vulnerable and hurting. So, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, right above his scar.

"Let's get you home, yeah?”

He nodded, a final sniffle leaving him before he pulled back from the embrace. You interlocked your fingers with his once again as you turned and began walking together, the snow-dusted dirt crunching beneath your boots.

As you walked through the streets of Jackson, the town was quiet and peaceful, the only sounds coming from the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet and the faint music in the distance. Tall lamps on the sides of the roads gave off a soft, warm glow, and the houses had large porches wrapped around the outer walls. You could see glimpses of the town's residents inside their homes through the windows, warm fires burning in the fireplaces and the low hums of conversation. There was comfort in the silence, in the way your shoulders brushed every so often.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach home. When you stepped into the house, it was warm despite having no heat source on for a few hours. You flicked on the nearest lamp, letting the soft orange glow fill the room, and turned to Joel as you shrugged off your jacket. You saw the exhaustion in his features, the deep bags under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders. He shut the door behind the two of you and walked over to the couch, collapsing down onto it with a huff.

"I'm gonna grab something to drink, you want anything?" you asked softly, stepping closer to him.

He shook his head, but just as you were about to turn and head toward the kitchen, you felt a hand grab yours. Joel pulled you around, making you face him. Without saying a word, he tugged you closer until you were standing between his legs. You let out a small noise of surprise but quickly settled, your hip pressed against the edge of the couch. You could see Joel's face clearly now, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight streaming in from the window.

He was watching you closely, eyes roaming your face like he was trying to commit every feature to memory. His grip on your hand tightened, drawing you closer still. His other hand moved to rest on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles into your jeans. You felt butterflies in your stomach as he looked at you, his touch sending electric shocks through your body. You placed a hand on top of his that was resting on your leg, gently tracing your fingertips over his knuckles.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Joel spoke quietly, his voice gruff but holding so much love. He lifted your hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against the back. “I love you.”

It was like a bolt of lightning striking through you at his words. No matter how many times he said it, your heart skipped a beat.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. You brought your other hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across the scruffy facial hair along his jawline.

His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, and he leaned into your hand, seeking out your touch like a man starved of affection. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed this side of Joel — the vulnerable, tender side that only came out when he was with you.

“Still can’t believe ya want me,” he mumbled against your hand, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “Don't know how you put up with me.”

“Always have, always will,” you promised, gently running your fingers through his hair, the silvering strands soft against your touch. “And quite easily, believe it or not.” He cracked an eye open, looking at you like he didn't quite believe you. You smiled softly and cupped his face in your hands. “I love you. That’s not gonna change just because you and El are going through a rough patch.”

Joel let out a small huff at your words, and you saw the corners of his lips pulled up in a slight smile. He leaned into your touch once more, eyes closing as he savored the feeling of your hands on his face.

“She’s pissed off with me,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can’t really blame her.” He sighed. “I just... I dunno, feel like I keep messing up with her, ya know?”

“It’ll work out.”

Joel was silent as he looked up at you, his expression softening even more. He lifted a hand to rest against your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, the calloused skin rough against your own. You leaned into his touch, a sigh escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. It felt nice to have these moments of comfort with each other, in the midst of all the chaos that was constantly happening around you.

"I hope so," Joel said after a moment of silence, and you both knew he was talking about more than just his relationship with Ellie.

You opened your eyes to look at him, feeling a little pang in your heart at the pain that was visible on his face. He looked tired, like he had been battling demons on his own for far too long.

"Hey," you said softly, your hand moving to cover his, "You're doing the best you can. You have to give yourself some credit for that."

Joel let out a scoff, his gaze drifting away from your face to look at something in the distance. "Doesn't feel like it."

You could feel the guilt and blame radiating off him, and it pained you to see him like this. You frowned at his words, not liking how he was talking about himself. "Stop that," you said firmly and brought your hand up to his chin, tilting his head to look at you again. "You need to stop being so hard on yourself."

He let out a gruff sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a hum, but he didn't argue. Instead, his thumb brushed over your cheek again, his touch gentle yet firm.

"Sometimes my best doesn't feel like enough, ya know?"

You nodded, understanding the weight of those words all too well. "I know, but it is," you promised him. "You may not see it, but you're doing more than enough." You lifted a hand to gently touch his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath your fingertips. "You're only one person, Joel. You can't save everyone."

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of a lie or doubt. When he found none, he let out a sigh and leaned his forehead against your chest, his grip on your waist tightening. You could feel the tension leaving his body as he leaned into you. His head rested just above your heart, the steady rhythm of your pulse filling his ears. It was a comforting sound, grounding him in the moment, reminding him that he wasn't alone. And here in your arms, he felt safer than he had in years.

"I just want to protect you all," he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled. "I'm scared of losing you."

Your fingers running gently across his broad shoulders, tracing small patterns as he let his guard down. He was strong and capable, but even the toughest man could break.

"You've already saved so many people," you reminded him, your voice soft. "Including me." You leaned down so your chin rested atop his head. "You're not alone in this, Joel. I'm here for you. Always."

He finally lifted his head, looking up at you from where you were perched on his lap. His eyes were tired but filled with love. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind you ear, his thumb gently tracing along your jaw before sliding down to rest on your chin. The corners of his mouth tugged up into a small smile and his eyes were glossy. You could see the raw emotion in them. It was rare that he let himself be this vulnerable, and it only happened when he was with you.

He didn't say anything, his hand coming up to slide up your leg, fingertips leaving trails of heat in their wake. You shivered slightly at his touch, the heat of his hand seeping through your jeans. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers slid under your shirt, hand pausing at the spot just above the waistband, his thumb rubbing small circles into the sensitive skin. You felt yourself leaning into his touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. This is what it meant to feel alive. To feel his hands on you, knowing that he was there, that you had each other.

It was a feeling you'd never get tired of.

He was watching you closely, his gaze filled with both heat and hesitation. You felt your heart rate quicken, the intensity of his look coupled with his touch driving you crazy. You knew he was asking a silent question, and with a slight movement of your hips, you gave him an answer.

His breathing hitched in his throat as you shifted on his lap, the movement bringing you even closer together. You felt his grip on your hip tighten, his fingers digging into your flesh ever so slightly. There was a moment of hesitation, a split second where the both of you held your breaths, and then he was pulling you down, crashing his lips against your own. The kiss was heated and hungry, as if he was starving for the taste of you. His tongue immediately sought entrance, and you willingly obliged, your own tongue meeting his in a desperate dance as your hands moved to cradle his face.

The two of you were pressed tightly against each other, and you could feel his body heat seeping through your clothes, the heat from his kiss adding to the flush that was probably evident on your cheeks by now. His hands were everywhere — on your hips, in your hair, slipping beneath your shirt to feel the soft skin of your back. The kiss was frenzied, the desperation in his touch sending your head spinning. You both needed this, needed the connection, the reassurance. He pulled back for a moment, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, but the look he gave you held a clear message — he wasn't done with you yet.

He kissed you again and you let out a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his long, greying hair. The feel of his lips on yours was enough to send you spiraling, the heat coiling deep in your belly. His hands moved back down to your hips, gripping tight as he pulled you flush against him, your body molding against the hard planes of his. You could feel him hardening beneath you, the knowledge sending tendrils of electricity throughout your body.

His hands slowly moved up your sides, calloused fingers skimming your ribcage, causing you to shiver. His touch was both rough and gentle, a contradiction that only served to drive you even crazier. You ground down against him, wanting nothing more than to feel closer to him, every touch and kiss leaving you needing more.

He pulled back momentarily, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the heavy-lidded eyes that were filled with desire. You began placing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as you went. The sound of your name slipped from his lips as you nipped at the spot just below his ear.

“God, darlin’," he murmured, voice thick with need. "You're driving me insane."

You pulled back slightly with a small grin. “Yeah?”

His eyes locked with yours, the intensity behind them making your heart skip a beat. "You have any idea what you do to me?"

You ground down on his lap again, biting your bottom lip as a groan left him. “I can feel the effect I have on you.”

His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as you rubbed yourself against him, the friction causing a curse to escape his lips. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

"You're gonna be the death of me, ya know that?" he rasped out, his voice low and filled with want.

“After everything you’ve been through, you’ll end up dying in a funny way — like slipping on a golf course or something.”

He huffed out a laugh against your shoulder, vibrations sending ripples of pleasure through you. He lifted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted against you, the action causing his groin to press up into yours, and you felt the hard length of him press against you, even through the layers of clothes.

Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling, and he let out a soft chuckle. "You're hilarious, ya know that?”

You couldn't help but let out a soft moan, your hips involuntarily bucking against him, seeking that delicious friction. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, a gesture that only heightened the desire coursing through you. He shifted again, his grip on your hips tight as he ground up into you, his eyes never leaving your face.

"I have my moments,” you managed to gasp out, your hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself.

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking down to your flushed face, the desire in his expression nearly pushing you over the edge. "Oh, I know," he murmured, his voice deep and rough. He shifted again, his hips rolling against yours, creating friction that had you biting back a moan.

His fingers moved from your hips up to your waist, the gesture almost reverent, like he was touching something precious. He tugged you closer, his body heat seeping through you even through the thin shirt you were wearing. Your hands slid down from his shoulders, moving to his chest and fingers playing with the buttons of his flannel shirt, a silent request to get his consent to go further.

His eyes flicked down to your hands as they played with the buttons of his shirt, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He gave you a quick nod and you felt his grip on your hip loosen slightly, allowing you to move freely. He leaned back, resting against the couch and watching you with an intense gaze, his eyes dark with lust. You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal a toned chest beneath, sprinkled with scars and dusted with a light covering of hair. You traced your fingers over his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him, his muscles twitching faintly under your touch. Your eyes flicked up to his face and you saw his gaze was hooded, watching your every move with rapt attention.

He was the perfect blend of strength and snacks, body holding a soft armor of fatherhood.

You pulled back for a moment, breath coming out in short gasps. Joel's eyes were still fixed on you, his breathing just as erratic as he attempted to control his own desires. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the tension between the two of you at its peak.

Your pause was met with a slight frown from Joel as you pulled back, his hands sliding up your arms, gripping your elbows. "Ya alright there, sweetheart?" he asked, disquiet evident in his voice.

You smiled, giving your man a slow, short nod. Gazing down at him – eyes hungry, heart full – you saw the want mirrored in his face, raw and unspoken. Right then, right there, you were exactly where you belonged.

“Never been better.”

There was a moment of silence, Joel's gaze studying you intently, his hands still holding your elbows. He could sense the sincerity in your words, and it caused a slight smile to pull at the corner of his lip.

His gaze dropped to your hands as you began unbuttoning your own shirt, the action causing his breath to hitch in his throat. The sight of your fingers moving, the movement of the fabric sliding down your shoulders... it was all driving him crazy.

“I’m one lucky son’a bitch,” he muttered to himself, his eyes following your every movement.

You dropped your hands as Joel's replaced yours, working to unbutton your shirt, his fingers deft and precise as they popped open the buttons one by one. His eyes were fixed on your skin, his breathing increasing in pace as more was revealed. He gently pushed the fabric aside, his gaze roaming over the newly exposed skin.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You smiled softly and thanked him, leaning forward to press your lips against his — this time much more soft, despite the urge still being there. He returned the kiss with equal softness, his grip on your elbows loosening as he allowed the moment to settle into something more tender. His hand came up to cup your face, his touch light and almost tentative. The kiss was gentle, a far cry from the heated passion of before, but no less intimate. The feel of his rough-worn fingers against your face a comfort as he deepened the kiss slightly, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip, seeking entrance.

You parted your lips in response, letting him in, your breaths mingling. His kisses were slow and thorough, his touch tender but firm. You could feel the heat building again, but it was different this time — less animalistic and more forbearing. His tongue glided against yours in a slow, lazy dance, as if he was savouring the taste of you. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you even closer, the heat of his bare skin against yours driving you crazy.

You could feel his body respond instantly to your movements, his grip on your waist tightening as he let out a low groan. His lips left yours, trailing down your chin to the sensitive skin of your neck. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you forward, grinding himself up into you. His teeth nipped at your pulse point, a desperate moan leaving your lips as you found yourself once again caught in a vehement moment with your lover.

Joel’s hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, struggling to undo them as you continued to move against him. He pulled away for a moment, looking down at where his hands worked to achieve his goal of taking your pants off. He tapped your thigh, a silent signal for you to stand, and – with your help – he managed to successfully pull them down, watching as you kicked them off before settling yourself back on his lap.

Once you were settled, his hands were on you again, impatiently sliding up your thighs, leaving scorching trails in their wake. His eyes were dark with desire, his breath coming in laboured gasps as he looked at you, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Need you,” you mumbled, hands lowering to his belt and pulling at it. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you as you slid his belt through the loops of his jeans.

“Yeah?”

You nodded desperately, hands moving to undo the buttons of his jeans. You didn’t care if his shirt still hung around his shoulders or if his jeans weren’t entirely off — you just needed him inside you. You were soaked, all because of Joel Miller. There was something about the way his voice sounded when he spoke, so sweet and dominating, that made pleasure burn through you, making you want him even more.

You leaned forward to kiss him, your lips meeting his instantly. He kissed you almost desperately, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could possibly satisfy him. Your hands switched between resting on his chest and shoulders, pushing your underwear to the side as Joel pulled pulled himself from his boxers. He reached down and lined himself up before allowed you to sink down onto him. Your eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure, having him fill you to the brim. No matter how many times Joel fucked you, you would never get over how good he felt.

"Good girl," he murmured, voice rough. "That's my good girl."

"Oh, my god..."

You took a moment to collect yourself before lifting up and sinking back down onto him. He could feel your hands on his shoulders, your nails clawing at his skin, and it only turned him on more. You moaned as you moved, the sounds of your sopping wet pussy filling the room.

“That feel good, sweetheart?" Joel asked, voice strained with how good you felt wrapped around him.

"S-So good," you nodded, eyes closed in pleasure and moans falling freely from your pillowed lips. "So deep."

"Fuck," Joel moaned in response, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. The backs of your thighs hit his as you bounced, and it left you feeling dumb, no thoughts left in your head apart from how pretty Joel looked beneath you. His own lips parted as he reached his hands up, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he stared as your tits in awe. “Just like that, darlin’, shit-"

He could feel every little gasp, every moan, every whimper you made, and it was driving him crazy. Despite often struggling with reaching an orgasm at his age, he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, and he knew he couldn't hold back for much longer. You leaned down, his face just inches away from yours, and pressed your forehead against his. Joel suddenly slid his hand down your body, his thumb finding your clit and quickly rubbing it. You moaned loudly, nails scratching down his chest and leaving red marks in their wake.

"F-fuck!" you cried, the pleasure consuming you. You sped up, moving harder and rougher. He loved the sound of your voice, the way it changed as he touched you, the way it got higher and more desperate as you got closer.

"That's it," he rasped. "Let me hear how good you feel." He suddenly grabbed your hip, using it as leverage as he started to thrust up into you, his body tensing at the movement.

“Joel-” you whined, one hand moving to the back of his neck. You stared into his brown eyes, seeing nothing but love and desire in them. He knew you were close, could feel it in the way you moved, and he felt his own body grow taut in response.

His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and he let out a soft moan, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. He pushed himself against you, his chest rumbling beneath your hand.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips grazing against your jawline. His lips began to trail kisses down your neck, his kisses open mouthed and hot. His beard scratched against your skin, causing a moan to leave you at the feeling. “Doing such a good job for me.”

“Fuck,” you cried out, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down at him. “Y’look so good, Joel– Oh my god.” Another moan left you. “Want you to cum so deep inside me.”

Joel let out a low grown, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you. "Sweetheart, you're killin' me here." He pressed his face into your neck, hot breath against your skin, his fingers digging even further into your thighs in a vice grip.

“Need it, Joel — please.” He nodded against your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as his arms wrapped around your wait, holding you to him. His thrusts sped up, a clapping sound filling the air around you as his breathing became more laborious. “‘m gonna cum-!”

You pretty much screamed his name as you did, legs shaking around his hips with your arms hugging his head to your chest. He felt you tighten around him, felt your nails digging into his skin, and he couldn't hold back anymore.

"That’s it, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled, running purely on primal instincts now. Your tits bounced as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you. “Gonna- Fuck. Gonna cum, darlin’.”

“Inside me, cum inside me,” you pleaded, pressing kisses up and down his neck. “Please.”

Joel grabbed ahold of your hips, grinding his hips deep into yours a few more times before coming to a stop. He came hard, his body tensing up as he buried his face into your neck, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You felt his cum fill you up, letting out a hum of content. He was breathing heavily, his body still shaking from the intensity of his release, and he couldn't remember ever feeling this good, this wrecked, this satisfied.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re really sexy when you’re angry and protective?”

[leyavo]

Wife/girlfriend series, Ghost, Price and Gaz already done. Soap’s around 26 years old and more interested in progressing in his career. So I don’t think he’d be married, but would have a girlfriend…. [Wife/Gf masterlist]

Soap’s girlfriend is wild.

You’re few years younger than Johnny and making the most of your youth whilst you can. He likes that things are fun and not too serious. You’re always scratching that itch, trying new things out and pushing him to play more.

Play electric guitar in a band, every Friday night, rock night at a pub which promotes independent artists. Johnny met you when he went there on the off chance, you jumping down the platform after your set and kissing him. Johnny thinks the lead singers a little prick.

Started as a fuck it and see relationship (where he called whenever he was home and you had sex). Turned into you staying longer each morning to cuddle him instead of rushing out straight after.

There was just something that pulled the two of you back together. The back and forth messaging whilst he was away, filled with nonsense but fun nonetheless.

Sending him videos of you dancing in the nightclub and taking shots on the weekend whilst he’s away working. A pic of your breasts in a push bra and a little black dress.

“Fuckin’ hells bells,” he mumbles to himself as your video blares through his phone speaker (he’s always forgetting to turn the volume down). Gaz and ghost glaring at him as they pick their own personal items up after a long mission.

He replies instantly, but doesn’t get anything in return for hours. Just you sending a pic of yourself hungover in bed with your best friend.

You always meet him at the train station or airport. Waiting for him, running and jumping into his arms.

Dragging Johnny to rock festivals in the summer when he’s home. Making him mixtapes of your favourite bands so he can listen to it back at the base.

You work part-time at a tattoo studio doing piercings. Pierced Johnny’s eyebrow once and pouted when he had to remove it to go back to work. Also have random temp jobs here and there.

Johnny can’t believe the stuff that comes out of your mouth, even he wouldn’t say half of it.

“I would’na say tha’ lass.”

“Well I bet you’ll be using that line on your little radio with the boys.”

Constantly teasing him about being a serious military man. Even more so when a guy gets a bit too comfortable with you. Whenever you go out you’re never on time and he’s telling you down to the minute how long it’s been since you were supposed to leave.

“what’s that drop and give me twenty?” You shout back. Johnny stomping into your room and diving over the bed to get you. Mock saluting him as he’s got you cornered, as if that’s going to make up for it.

“Drop and give me somethin’ else.”

Love to play fight, but you’re still mad at Johnny for breaking your lava lamp that you bring it up all the time. You also bite him to get out of his hold, a scar on his bicep where your teeth sunk a little too deep.

When you finally move in together it’s chaotic, Johnny’s got a set routine and you just follow whatever mood you feel.

Loves hearing you play the acoustic guitar in the apartment, laying on the carpet in the living room whilst you sit and play. The scratch of your pen on paper as you create something new. Sunlight warm on his face, eyes closed as he listens to you humming along. Finds your guitar picks everywhere, even in his wash bag when he opens it at work.

Lazy Sundays are his favourite, your hand tracing the side of his shaved head as you hum.

Understanding about Johnny’s need to check the security regularly in the apartment and reminding you to keep your location on. Likes how you reassure him that he’s safe, those seconds when he wakes from a night terror and the weight of your hand on his, grounding him. Your scent comforting him as he rests his head on your stomach. Words whispered of all the things you used to be afraid of as a kid, silly little things to make him laugh.

“You know I think I was actually scared of my shadow.”

FaceTiming him to ask his opinion on your outfit for a night out. Johnny saying it’s not quite you, only so he can watch you change out of your clothes again.

“I have nothing to wear.” Your camera panning to the mess in the bedroom. The piles of clothes strewn over the floor and bed.

“Just stay, talk to me.” Johnny’s plan to keep you on the call working quicker than he thought. Leads to phone sex.

Johnny gets you a guitar that your dad used to have, your dad passed away years ago. Even down to the red embroidered guitar strap attached to it, so alike the one in the photograph of your dad teaching you to place as a kid. You try to teach Johnny how to play too, but he’s too distracted by how soft your voice is and the way you move his fingers each time. Distracted with how soft you are with him.

You’re not as scared of certain things, Johnny showing you that you can be strong on your own. Scared to drive after what happened to your dad. Johnny even taught you how to drive and now you can go anywhere, including visiting him at the army base.

When you meet the rest of TF141 guys you and Johnny are having a hot make out session on the sofa of the residential house at the base which they all live in. Thankfully it hadn’t escalated from just his tongue in your mouth, but you didn’t let it bother you as climbed off Johnny’s lap and greeted them.

You end up staying in and playing poker with the guys. Trading cigars, coins and anything you could find in your pockets. Price loses all his cigars to you, but you give the guys one each so you can smoke on the patio at 3am. Simon talking to you about an obscure rock band that isn’t really mainstream and you trade stories about some concerts he went to when he was teen. Gaz asks you if he can still use earrings even when he hasn’t for over a decade, which you repierce for him. Price telling you that you have a good one in there, his head nudging over his shoulder to Johnny in the house as you finish off your cigars.

[rowarn]

bizarre thought.....shadow entity!ghost..... @sgtgarricks is responsible for this!!!

i already want to write another part to this LMAOOOOOOO

part : two

when you first moved into your new house, you knew it was old and had been vacant for a looooong time. it had a bizarre history of people living there and moving out months, even weeks later. most people declined offering a reason for their quick move but others would just vaguely supply that the 'energy was dark in that house', you weren't bothered.

it was a nice, big, house and for damn cheap too. you weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

your first nights in the house, you understood what they meant. there was something off about the house for sure. at random times, you would feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, as if alerting you to danger. when you would turn around, there was nothing there. but it would leave you with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

it wasn't until a week into your new life that the first weird thing happened. it was like something from a stereotypical horror movie. you heard a strange sound and got out of bed to investigate. when you got to your kitchen, all the cabinets and drawers were open and your kitchen chairs were placed on top of your table -- which had also been moved across the kitchen.

you tried to take some deep breaths to calm yourself as you returned everything back to normal. you went over and over in your head for some kind of explanation for the event before finally landing on the fact that this house was fucking haunted.

strange events kept happening after that. lights would turn on, your kitchen cabinets would be open, sinks and showers would turn on, doors would slam from across the house. you were losing sleep over it. every single night you'd be woken up by some strange event and you were beginning to understand why the past tenants had moved out so fast.

this was a rotten way to live.

the final straw for you was the night the activity really seemed to ramp up. whatever spirit was haunting you wanted you out now. multiple doors slammed, jolting you from your sleep -- your heart racing from how hard you had been startled from your dreams. you got to your feet and turned on your lamp only to find it wasn't working.

next, you tried the overhead light. same thing.

fuck. it had caused the power to bust.

now you were really scared.

you grabbed your phone, using the flashlight to navigate your way out of the bedroom. the floorboards creaked beneath you, considerably louder without the hum of electricity.

you were halfway down the hall when you heard it. quiet at first, but definitely there. footsteps. mimicking your own, as if echoing after you took your own steps, making sure you knew it was there.

you spun around, shining the light upon nothing. you let out a heavy breath, noticing the way the flashlight shook from how hard you were trembling.

"a-alright, ghost," you called into the empty house, too scared to feel stupid that you were talking to nothing, "i-i'll admit i'm pretty scared right now. i-i know you probably want me out of your house. this is your house, i get it. bu-but i already sunk all my damn savings into moving in here s-so i can't leave!" you swallow, a loud gulping sound that would be funny if you weren't about to piss yourself, "s-so if we could just live together for a little while longer. i-i promise i'll get out the second i have the money!"

there was nothing but tense silence. you felt like an idiot the more seconds that passed. were you trying to make a deal with a fucking ghost? a spirit of someone who probably died in this house? what kind of shit had your life become?

you peered into the inky blackness of the hallway, blinking as you try to futilely see. it takes you a moment to realize you're not just staring into the darkness of your hallway. it's something else.

pure darkness. a dark entity taking form in the blackness of the night. you want to step back, primal fear coursing through you like you never felt before. whatever fear you were feeling was primordial in nature -- as if this entity was something you were born to fear.

the darkness began to swallow up the hallway, eating away at the light your flashlight had created. the air felt heavy and oppressive, making it difficult to take in oxygen.

you swear you could feel hands on you, grabbing you and pulling at you. the longer you stared into the darkness, the more you thought you could see things. eyes. hundreds of eyes. but when you blinked, the images vanished.

then, all at once, the entity was gone and your light was shining down the hallway again unimpeded. after another second, the sound of the electricity slamming back on filled the house and you collapsed to your knees.

whatever that was, it was dangerous. you knew that now.

but it didn't hurt you. perhaps it agreed to your terms and would leave you be now?

oh how wrong you were. sure, it wasn't nearly as scary as that night but now you saw it.

around every turn.

you could see the shadow take shape from the corner of your eye but when you looked, it would be gone. you would be brushing your teeth and when you looked in the mirror, it stood behind you, making your heart leap out of your chest. when you would turn, it wasn't there.

you were no longer woken up in the night, at least. but you weren't sure if you preferred the regular haunting stuff to seeing the ghost or not. you were on the fence about which was worse.

after another scare from the ghost, you jumped so hard that you almost fell over, "alright you -- ghost! will you quit scaring me like that!?" you found yourself shrieking.

to your abject horror, you heard laughter in return.

the shadow shit was fucking laughing at you. like it was enjoying this.

it wasn't evil laughter either. it sounded like pure enjoyment.

you suppose it wasn't out of the realm of possibility for a ghost to make sounds but it didn't make it any less horrifying.

you started talking to it more after that. once you heard its voice - sort of- it became easier. the fear also dissipated in time. sure it would jump scare you from time to time to get a laugh but other than that, it became like living with a really annoying roommate.

"will you get out of my mirror!" you snapped, mouth full of toothpaste with you facemask on. its disappearance was marked with its mirthful laughter.

you also noticed as the days and weeks passed, it stopped looking like a shapeless shadow and more like a person -- a big one at least. well over 7 feet tall. if you looked for long enough, you could almost make out what you think is a skull where the face would be on a human.

one night, you're laying in bed, comfortable. there's rain pelting outside on your window and distant thunder, too nice of weather to sleep away. so you just choose to relax and listen to it.

"ghost?" you find yourself calling into the darkness, "are you there?"

its silent but you feel the air grow heavy and you know that it's arrived. it seems to have...consciousness, you realized. it reacts to you and listens to you. there's one thing that's been plaguing you that you want to ask, though you're not sure if it will answer -- if it can answer.

"you're not really a ghost are you?" you ask.

you're greeted by silence for several, long seconds before you hear it. it's deep and masculine, a whisper of an echo following its voice when it speaks as if multiple things were speaking but only one voice was amplified, "no."

it's the answer you were expecting but that didn't mean you liked it. you swallow harshly around the lump of anxiety in your throat.

"are you going to hurt me?" you ask it, dreading the answer to this one. just because it's been toying with you doesn't mean it's not still dangerous.

"no," it responds again. you can hear footsteps, the entity walking closer and closer to your bed.

you let out a relieved breath at that. though, you're not sure if you should actually believe the dark entity that lives in your house. but at this point, you've really got no choice except to take it's word for it.

"what's your name?" you find yourself asking it.

"ghost," it responds quickly.

you laugh at that, "no, you're real name."

"ghost," it insist, "you gave me a name."

a lightbulb goes off over your head.

"is that why you're being so nice to me?" you ask, not sure if 'nice' is the appropriate word to use.

"i wanted a name," it answers, "you gave me one."

"a name in exchange for living in this house," you muse, deciding to roll over in bed, "alright then. goodnight, ghost."

"rest well," it responds before vanishing, freeing the room from that oppressive feeling.

you close your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep, briefly wondering where ghost even came from and what exactly it was.

this is unedited i wrote it in a fury of inspiration i hope u enjoyed it regardless of how WEIRD this was LMFAOOOOOOOOOO

[petermorwood]

More on pre-electricity lighting.

Interesting to see this one pop up again after nearly two years - courtesy of @dduane, too! :->

*****

After experiencing a couple more storm-related power cuts since my original post, as well as a couple of after-dark garden BBQs, I've come to the conclusion that C.J. Cherryh puts far too much emphasis on "how dark things were pre-electric light".

For one thing eyes adjust, dilating in dim light to gather whatever illumination is available. Okay, if there's none, there's none - but if there's some, human eyes can make use of it, some better or just faster than others. They're the ones with "good night vision".

Think, for instance, of how little you can see of your unlit bedroom just after you've turned off the lights, and how much more of it you can see if you wake up a couple of hours later.

There's also that business of feeling your way around, risking breaking your neck etc. People get used to their surroundings and, after a while, can feel their way around a familiar location even in total darkness with a fair amount of confidence.

Problems arise when Things Aren't Where They Should Be (or when New Things Arrive) and is when most trips, stumbles, hacked shins and stubbed toes happen, but usually - Lego bricks and upturned UK plugs aside - non-light domestic navigation is incident-free.

*****

Here are a couple of pics from one of those BBQs: one candle and a firepit early on, then the candle, firepit and an oil lamp much later, all much more obvious than DD's iPad screen.

Though I remain surprised at how well my phonecam was handling this low light, my own unassisted eyes were doing far better. For instance, that area between the table and the firepit wasn't such an impenetrable pool of darkness as it appears in the photo.

I see (hah!) no reason why those same Accustomed Eyes would have any more difficulty with candles or oil lamps as interior lighting, even without the mirrors or reflectors in my previous post.

With those, and with white interior walls, things would be even brighter. There's a reason why so many reconstructed period buildings in Folk Museums etc. are (authentically) whitewashed not just outside but inside as well. It was cheap, had disinfectant qualities, and was a reflective surface. Win, win and win.

*****

All right, there were no switches to turn on a light. But there was no need for what C.J. describes as stumbling about to reach the fire, because there were tinderboxes and, for many centuries before them, flint and steel. Since "firesteels" have been heraldic charges since the 1100s, the actual tool must have been in use for even longer.

Tinderboxes were fire-starter sets with flint, steel and "tinder" all packed into (surprise!) a box. The tinder was easily lit ignition material, often "charcloth", fabric baked in an airtight jar or tin which would now start to glow just from a spark.

They're mentioned in both "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings". Oddly enough, "Hobbit" mentions matches in a couple of places, but I suspect that's a carry-over from when it was just a children's story, not part of the main Legendarium.

Tinderboxes could be simple, just a basic flint-and-steel kit with some tinder for the sparks to fall on...

...or elaborate like this one, with a fancy striker, charcloth, kindling material and even wooden "spills" (long splinters) to transfer flame to a candle or the kindling...

This tinderbox even doubles as a candlestick, complete with a snuffer which would have been inside along with everything else.

Here's a close-up of the striker box with its inner and outer lids open:

What looks like a short pencil with an eraser is actually the striker. A bit of tinder or charcloth would have been pulled through that small hole in the outer lid, which was then closed.

There was a rough steel surface on the lid, and the striker was scraped along it, like so:

This was done for a TV show or film, so the tinder was probably made more flammable with, possibly, lighter fuel. That would be thoroughly appropriate, since a Zippo or similar lighter works on exactly the same principle.

A real-life version of any tinderbox would usually just produce glowing embers needing blown on to make a flame, which is shown sometimes in movies - especially as a will-it-light-or-won't-it? tension build - but is usually a bit slow and non-visual for screen work.

*****

There were even flintlock tinderboxes which worked with the same mechanism as those on firearms. Here's a pocket version:

Here are a couple of bedside versions, once again complete with a candlestick:

And here are three (for home defence?) with a spotlight candle lantern on one side and a double-trigger pistol on the other.

Pull one trigger to light the candle, pull the other trigger to fire the gun.

What could possibly go wrong? :-P

*****

Those pistol lanterns, magnified by lenses, weren't just to let their owner see what they were shooting at: they would also have dazzled whatever miscreant was sneaking around in the dark, irises dilated to make best use of available glimmer.

Swordsmen both good and bad knew this trick too, and various fight manuals taught how to manage a thumb-shuttered lamp encountered suddenly in a dark alley.

There's a sword-and-lantern combat in the 1973 "Three Musketeers" between Michael York (D'Artagnan) and Christopher Lee (Rochefort), which was a great idea.

Unfortunately it failed in execution because the "Hollywood Darkness" which let viewers see the action, wasn't dark enough to emphasise the hazards / advantages of snapping the lamps open and shut.

This TV screencap (can't get a better one, the DVD won't run in a computer drive) shows what I mean.

In fact, like the photos of the BBQ, this image - and entire fight - looks even brighter through "real eyes" than with the phonecam. Just as there can be too much dark in a night scene, there can also be too much light.

*****

One last thing I found when assembling pics for the post were Folding Candle-lanterns.

They were used from about the mid-1700s to the later 20th century (Swiss Army ca. 1978) as travel accessories and emergency equipment, and IMO - I've Made A Note - they'd fit right into a fantasy world whose tech level was able to make them.

The first and last are reproductions: this one is real, from about 1830.

The clear part was mica - a transparent mineral which can be split into thin flexible sheets - while others use horn / parchment, though both of these are translucent rather than transparent. Regardless, all were far less likely to break than glass.

One or two inner surfaces were usually tin, giving the lantern its own built-in reflector, and tech-level-wise, tin as a shiny or decorative finish has been used since Roman times.

I'm pretty sure that top-of-the-line models could also have been finished with their own matching, maybe even built-in, tinderboxes.

And if real ones didn't, fictional ones certainly could. :->

*****

Yet more period lighting stuff here, including flintlock alarm clocks (!)

[reasonsforhope]

"Evening is approaching at the confluence of two rivers in the Bay of Bengal — the Payra and Bishkhali. Still, the fishermen at the pier in Gazimahmud village are busy preparing for the next day’s work — every boat here is now illuminated by small solar-powered devices.

“Solar power is now not only in homes, it is also at our work. Now, there is no rush to return home when it is evening,” says fisherman Altaf Hossain, who is arranging fishing nets in his boat so that he’s ready for tomorrow.

Hossain is now able to work longer hours and boost his income, and he doesn’t have to worry about his wife and kids at home at night. The children sit under a solar-powered light to study, while Hossain’s wife, Roksana Begum, does various chores.

“The sun gives us light both during the day and at night,” Begum says. “It has made our lives much easier and has changed our livelihoods.”

Gazimahmud village is about 30 kilometres away from Barguna Sadar, the southernmost district of Bangladesh. A winding road leads to this village, where the sea and two rivers meet. The people of this remote community still remember the devastation caused by the powerful Cyclone Sidr in 2007, when 30 locals died. When the storm hit, it was difficult for many to reach safety as the entire area was dark. Now, thanks to most of the houses in the village having solar power, the community feels better prepared for future disasters.

“We have more faith in solar power, because, when a storm comes, the electricity connection may be disconnected or the power may be turned off, but solar power helps us to find a safe shelter by showing us the way,” says resident Monir Hossain.

Unprecedented success

Bangladesh has implemented the world’s largest off-grid solar power programme, with 20 million people across the country benefiting, according to the World Bank.

What began as a pilot project in 2003, involving 50,000 households, ultimately reached 14% of the population within 15 years, while some 200,000 rural businesses and religious facilities benefited from the Solar Home Systems (SHS) initiative as well.

The programme, which officially ran until 2018, was implemented in partnership with the private sector. Among other measures, the state provided generous incentives, such as tax breaks, for rooftop solar installers, and also focused on ensuring financing mechanisms were in place.

Together with 56 partner organisations, the government installed 4.1 million solar systems in remote areas by 2018.

According to the World Bank, the initiative has improved health and living conditions — including by reducing the use of kerosene lamps and thereby tackling indoor air pollution — and boosted school attendance. It also led to household solar becoming “a credible electricity source”.

“The Solar Home Systems programme has shown that millions of dollars raised internationally can be efficiently leveraged to provide loans of as little as $100 in remote corners of the country, enabling a rural household to purchase a solar home system,” according to Amit Jain, a senior energy specialist at the World Bank...

To clean up its power grid and contribute to the fight against climate change, Bangladesh plans to install 4.1GW of renewable energy capacity by 2030, up from around 1.2GW today."

-via The Progress Playbook, March 10, 2025

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen help their s/o who's scared of the dark

requested by @klmllr ! sorry for getting to this so late </3

PLEASE REMEMBER TO REBLOG WHAT YOU LIKE ‼️

masterlist

seungcheol

puffs his chest out and squares up like he's about to fight the shadows to protect you when you tell him you're scared of the dark. very much goes into “dw babe, i’ll keep you safe” mode. all the lights in his house are voice controlled, so all you have to do is yell “turn on the [insert room] lights” and they'll automatically turn on for u so u don't have to wander around his house in the darkness. and when the power goes out at night, he's totally more than ready to have you cling to him like a koala bear for the entire time until you feel relaxed enough to fall asleep in his arms

jeonghan

you're scared of the dark? like, actually actually scared of the dark? he's not making fun of u, it's just that this means he can't play any pranks on u by going “boo!” in the middle of the night like he wanted to :( it's no fun when you're actually terrified, yk? he's actually super good at helping u thru power outages. tells you silly stories to take your mind off the dark, and has a whole drawer in his bedside table full of torches and extra batteries ready at his disposal to provide you with some light so ur not too afraid. 

joshua

never ever ever leaves ur side in the evening when you're together. like even if you're walking down the street after a date and it's actually quite a well-lit main road, he's not letting go of ur hand at all and sticks vvv close to your side. he's not going to leave you for one second, no sir, not him. power outages at his house are never a big deal, because he has so many fairy lights strung up and candles and battery-powered lamps at the ready to light up your life so you're not left in the dark. never let it be said that joshua hong is an inattentive boyfriend. 

junhui

you sheepishly admit that you're kind of embarrassed to still be scared of the dark even after so many years, and he just blinks at u bc. what. that's a totally valid fear to have. who knows what could be hiding in the dark??? he does his best to rid you of your fears tho, encouraging u to talk thru your thoughts with him as you lie together in bed, the door cracked open only the slightest bit. his nonsensical reasoning and the way he manages to reshape all the dark creatures in ur mind into silly and cute shapes really does help you calm down. 

hoshi

you're scared of the dark????? nooo wait that's actually so cute :(((( pls he actually can't take this wdym ur fear is the dark??? that's the cutest thing ever </3. kinda just thinks that's super adorable of u tbh. you complain that it sounds like he's making fun of u but he rly doesn't mean it like that!!!!! it's just so cute that out of all the phobias in the world, what you're most scared of is. blackness. you pinch him for saying that bc hey >:(( it's a real and valid fear ok. he gets it tho and when it gets super dark, he's always the one to cling to you first to reassure u he's there for u

wonwoo

dw about it baby. he makes enough money that you can leave all the lights on 24/7 so don't even fret over that for a second, okay? ‘most prepared bf’ award has to go to him because not only does he buy lamps, torches, fairylights etc etc in case of a power outage, but he also invests in solar panels and energy storage electric battery banks so he always has energy spare to power some lights so you never have to sit in the dark. he's the light of your life, literally, bc you never have to worry about the darkness when he's near

woozi

pretends to not be scared of the dark for ur sake but man. sometimes it's really hard. he totally understands ur fear of the darkness and while he's cringing in fear on the inside, he stays gentle and calm for u, taking you through breathing exercises and offering to show u what he's working on on his laptop to take both your minds off of ur fears. however, strangely enough, being with you has helped his fear of the dark begin to lessen also. as he becomes more focused on taking care of you, his own terror seems to melt away, as he focuses only on you and how to make you feel better. 

minghao

switches on all the lamps, puts in a classical music cassette into his cassette player, hauls you to your feet and starts dancing with you across the living room to take your mind off any fears you may be having. teaches you silly little dance steps bc having to concentrate on learning choreo means your brain doesn't have time to start conjuring imaginary fears. not when minghao's hand is warm in yours and his voice is soft and all you can feel is his guiding touch as he directs you to move with the music. it's terribly romantic, really. only minghao could turn your fear into the sweetest memory of all. 

mingyu

you've never told him about ur fear of the dark before so when the power cut happens, you scream super loud. this prompts mingyu to scream too, making you scream again, and then he screams also and then you scream too, going round in a cycle until you're shaking with fear and are too scared to scream. scaredy cat mingyu x you who's scared of the dark is a terrible combo, but he eventually calms down, turns on his flashlight and makes his way over to u, apologising profusely. makes sure he's always prepared for the next power outage so u guys never have to have an impromptu screaming match again

dokyeom

oh no :(((( dw sweetheart he's there to help u thru any worries u have!! lowkey understands your fear of the dark very well bc like. who knows what can be hiding in the pitch black darkness?? has sooo many of those battery powered lamps at his disposal already but when you moved in with him, the amount only increased bc like hell is he not gonna be The Most Prepared Boyfriend Ever. scoops you up in his arms and sings softly to u to take ur mind off the darkness when the power goes out. he's so warm, and you can feel the vibrations when he sings, and it's so comforting that you actually end up falling asleep against him

seungkwan

tbh he's kinda scared of the dark too, especially when it's the kind of pitch blackness that comes with a power outage, so he totally gets u. the two of you huddle together in the middle of the bed, blankets pulled tight around you, pretending that you're not shaking with fear. fortunately, though, the experience is always marginally better bc seungkwan is by your side — even though he's shaking like a leaf, he's still warm and grounding against you, and you just know that it would feel 10x more terrifying if you didn't have him here. 

vernon

buys you different shaped night lights every year on your birthday as a way of showing his support for u. they inhabit different areas of the house and act as like guiding lights for u whenever the power goes out. the crescent moon shaped one sits on your bedside table; the glowing, spinning globe resides in the living room; the squishy lying-down goose is splayed out in the study. even tho they're a pain to turn off bc every single one of them is battery powered with the tiny switches that hurt his hands to get to, he makes sure to diligently do so once you've fallen asleep so the battery lasts til the next day so u can use them again

chan

helps you through your fear of the dark by loudly talking to you about anything and everything he can think of as he hugs you tight. it certainly provides good enough distraction, bc his voice is so animated and captivating that u can't pay attention to anything else apart from what he's saying. it only occurs to him a long while later that he can, like. buy lights. to help you. and he doesn't have to help just by talking loudly to u in the dark. almost buys out the entire lights section in ikea before seungkwan stops him and tells him to just get the highest wattage bulbs he can find

request guidelines

reactions tags: @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @kellesvt @kikohao @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @all-american-fangirl @f1uffyjun @sea-moon-star @nonononranghaee @isabellah29 @mcu-incorrect @hrts4hanniehae @suraandsugar @pan-de-seungcheol @dokyeomkyeom @melodicrabbit @bananabubble

[vinnyvamppp]

Hey love you are a great writer so much so i had to request you to write a fic This story idea is super toxic This would never be a real scenario But I'm twisted so here's how it goes sinister mark or whom ever you choose is trying to study and girlfriend is just trying to get his attention kissing him, loving on him taking pictures with him and his snaps and accidentally hit her. He doesn't think that she will fight back though turning into this toxic love hate f$ck

You would be doing a great service (to me mostly😩)

Attention Hungry

NOTE: The person requested and the people have agreed! Typing this on my phone in staples while they fix my computer made me lose brain cells. Sorry in advance! Didn’t stray too far from the request. @nefertiti2003

Warnings: Rough Sex, Accidental Assault, Mild Choking, Mutual Orgasm, Hate Fucking, Power Imbalance, Pussy Eating, Dom!Invincible Variant, Power Bottom!Reader, Biting, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Love/Hate Relationship, Porn w a Plot, etc.

Sinister!Mark x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,072

Mark is at his desk, the glow of his tablet screen reflecting against the sharp angles of his face. His brows are furrowed in concentration, scanning lines of text faster than any normal person could. The lamp above casts long shadows, stretching across his strong frame, making him look even more unapproachable than usual. You should know better than to bother him when he’s like this. Focused. Distant. Untouchable.

But you never listen.

You step behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pressing your chest against his back. His body is warm—too warm, like a furnace barely contained beneath his skin. A normal person would melt under the heat of him. You just take it as an invitation. “Mark,” you murmur against his ear, letting your lips brush against the skin just below it. He doesn’t react. Not at first.

You tighten your arms, fingers splaying over the solid muscle of his chest. “You’ve been sitting here forever.”

Nothing.

You try again, trailing your fingers up his neck, into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. His jaw tenses. Progress. A smirk tugs at your lips. “You’re really gonna ignore me?” Still nothing.

Alright then.

You grab his phone from the desk and spin away before he can snatch it back. “Smile,” you tease, pointing the camera at him. He doesn’t even glance up, still reading, as if you’re nothing but background noise. So you step closer, angling yourself into the shot, pressing against his arm. Click. The flash goes off, illuminating his sharp features, and his unreadable eyes. Blinding you in the process. That gets his attention.

It happens fast. Too fast.

A blur of movement—his hand shoots out. A hard impact. Your head jerks to the side. The sharp sting spreads across your cheek before you even register what happened. For a second, everything stops. Your breath catches. Your heart slams against your ribs. Mark’s hand hovers in the air where your face used to be, fingers still curled slightly from the slap.

You gasp. He blinks.

Then—he exhales sharply through his nose, something unreadable flashing behind those crimson-tinted eyes. A mistake? No, he doesn’t make those. His mouth parts like he’s about to say something, but you don’t give him the chance.

Your hand flies before you even think about it, striking him across the face just as fast. The crack of skin-on-skin reverberates through the room. His head barely moves. Your palm burns from the impact. It didn’t hurt, but he felt it. He shouldn’t have felt it, that means he was getting weak, it meant he had to show who was stronger, better in every way. And he would.

Silence. Heavy. Charged.

Slowly—too slowly—Mark turns his head back toward you. His tongue swipes over his lip, testing for blood. And then he grins. “Really?” His voice is low, amused. Dark. Your heart pounds, but you don’t step back. You can’t. The air between you is electric, suffocating, dangerous. His fingers flex, then relax. His eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate. He shifts in his chair, the movement lazy—like a predator just now deciding whether the thing in front of him is prey or something worth playing with first.

Then, with one hand, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down onto his lap. "Now you have my attention."

He seemed amused, if anything.

With a short huff, your wrist curled against his firm grip, yanking with all your might. Nothing. His fingers barely budged, the strength in his hold effortless, as if he wasn’t even trying to restrain you, just reminding you that he could. Your jaw clenched. “Let go.” Mark tilted his head, eyes glinting under the dim light. “Why?”

Your skin burned where he touched you. Not from pain—from frustration. From the way he always did this. Letting you squirm, watching you fight, like you were nothing but a passing entertainment. Like you didn’t even matter. “You don’t even care,” you snapped, struggling again. “I don’t know why I—” He cut you off with a low chuckle. “Why you what?” His grip loosened, but only enough for his fingers to slide down your forearm, keeping you anchored in place. “Keep coming back? Keep trying to get my attention?”

Your breath hitched, but you covered it up with a scowl. “You never bother with me, Mark.” Something flickered in his expression—brief, perhaps sympathetic, but it was gone. “You’re always off somewhere else,” you continued, voice sharper now. “Thinking, planning, doing whatever the hell you do. You don’t talk to me, you don’t look at me, unless I force you to. Like I’m a distraction.”

Mark sighed, as if this entire conversation was beneath him. “You are a distraction.” The words stung more than you wanted to admit. Your nails dug into his wrist. “Then why the hell are you still holding onto me?” His fingers flexed around your arm. A quiet, drawn-out moment passed before he leaned in, just slightly, breath warm against your skin. “Because,” he murmured, “you’re not boring.”

Your stomach twisted. You hated the way your body reacted to him—to this. With a sharp inhale, you pushed against his chest. “I should leave.” Mark didn’t stop you. Didn’t tighten his grip. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms dropping to his sides, leaving you free. Daring you. His eyes met yours, calm, knowing. “Then do it.” The room felt smaller, like the walls were closing in. Your muscles tensed. He watched and waited.

Seconds passed. Your heart pounded. You should leave. You should turn around, walk out the door, and never look back. But you didn’t move. Mark smirked. “That’s what I thought.” Your fingers curled into fists. “I hate you.”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head, dragging his gaze over you, slow, deliberate. “Funny. I hate you too.” Your chest rose and fell, breath shaky with something you refused to name. “Then let me go.” He exhaled through his nose, almost like a laugh, before reaching out. His fingers traced your jaw, gentle, too gentle before gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t think you want that,” he said, voice dropping an octave. “And I know I don’t.”

And just like that, you were pulled right back into his orbit.

You moved first, tilting your chin up, daring him, challenging him. His lips met yours in an instant, not gentle, not sweet—hungry. It was all heat and dominance, a battle for control that neither of you wanted to lose. His hand slid lower, fingers pressing into your skin, grounding you against him. Every touch, every movement was deliberate, meant to remind you exactly who he was—who you were dealing with.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "Still think you hate me?" You exhaled shakily. "More than ever." Mark’s grin was sharp, almost cocky. "Good."

He stood up abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. With a firm grip on your hips, he lifted you effortlessly, tossing you over his shoulder like a ragdoll. You yelped in surprise, the breath momentarily knocked out of you. You managed to gasp out as he carried you across the room, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He ignored your weak protested mumbles, his hand resting heavily on your ass as if to remind you of his dominance.

The bedsprings creaked as he threw you down onto the mattress, your body bouncing from the impact. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he was on top of you, his weight pinning you down. Your hands scrabbled at his chest, but he easily overpowered you, gripping your wrists and shoving them above your head.

His other hand found your throat, fingers curling around your slender neck. He applied just enough pressure to make you gasp, to remind you who was in control. His red eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a dark, feral hunger.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Fuck, yes. Now give it to me." He released your wrists, only to grab the collar of your shirt. With a sharp tug, he tore the fabric open, sending buttons flying across the room. Your breasts bounced free, the cool air pebbling your nipples.

He wasted no time, ducking his head to inhale your sweet scent as his tongue teased your collarbones. He sucked hard, his teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pain and pleasure straight to your core. His hand roughly traced the curves of your figure, squeezing what he could. You arched into him, a moan escaping your lips. But he was already moving, trailing kisses down your stomach, pausing to flick his tongue against your navel. Lower and lower he went until his face was nestled between your thighs.

He breathed hotly against your core, the damp fabric of your panties the only barrier between you. With a low growl, he tugged them aside, exposing you to his hungry gaze. Without warning, he licked a long stripe up your slit, from entrance to clit, the wet heat of his tongue making you shudder. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pushing him closer, silently begging for more. He obliged, sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard. At the same time, he slid two fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping them in and out, giving you little time to adjust.

Your hips bucked against his face, fucking yourself on his tongue and fingers. But he didn't let up, his grip on your thighs holding you in place as he feasted on your pussy like a starving man. "Jesus, Mark," you gasped, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "Don't. Fucking. Stop..."

You doomed yourself, his eyes meeting yours

But just as you were about to tumble over the edge, he delivered a harsh teething and pulled away, leaving you empty and aching. You groaned at the loss, but it was quickly silenced as he covered your mouth with his, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

You could feel his cock, hard and throbbing, pressing against your thigh. He ground against you, seeking friction, and you knew he was just as desperate as you were. With a snarl, he grabbed your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach. He yanked your hips up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You barely had time to steady yourself before he was inside you, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

You cried out at the sudden invasion, your walls stretching around his thick length. But he didn't give you time to adjust, setting a punishing pace that had the headboard slamming against the wall. Each thrust was harder than the last, his hips slapping against your ass as he pounded into you. The obscene sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixing with your muffled moans and his grunts of pleasure.

His hand found your hair, fisting the strands and pulling your head back. He leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear. Both of too far gone in the haze of pleasure to form coherent words. He seemed to take that as a yes, his thrusts becoming even more brutal.

You felt the pressure building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each snap of his hips. Your legs began to tremble, your arms threatening to give out beneath you. "Come for me," he demanded, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. "Let me feel you come all over my cock." This time coming as a more of a plea.

And with that final command, you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your walls clamped down around him, fluttering and squeezing as wave after wave of ecstasy washed through you. Behind you, Mark let out a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. He buried himself deep one last time, spilling his release inside you with a shuddering groan.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both struggling to catch your breath. Finally, Mark slipped out of you, rolling onto his back and taking you with him. “We’re… not done yet, you fuck.” You sneered, and he obliged with a toothy grin. The tip of his cock rubbed gingerly against your lips as he parted the soft flesh. This is so dramatically written LMFAO.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[bu3ck3r]

pretending

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 11.2k

warning: drinking

a/n: so this one shot is inspired by a song called pretending by fletcher (ty anon for this idea) and there is a lot of angst but there’s a lil bit of fluff too so enjoy🤓

The gym is nearly empty, save for the rhythmic sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood and the steady echo of a bouncing basketball. The rest of the team has already cleared out, heading for post-practice ice baths or late-night study sessions. But Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd are still here. They always are.

Paige dribbles slowly at the top of the key, rolling her shoulders, eyes locked onto Azzi, who stands in a low defensive stance a few feet away. The air between them hums with something electric, something neither of them ever acknowledges.

“You ready?” Paige smirks, shifting the ball between her hands.

Azzi’s lips twitch, but her expression remains locked in concentration. “I was born ready.”

Paige chuckles, shaking her head. God, she loves this—this back and forth, this unspoken challenge between them. She and Azzi have always had chemistry on the court, an almost telepathic connection that makes them unstoppable when they’re on the same team. But right now? Right now, Azzi is the only thing standing between Paige and the basket. She takes a slow step forward, letting the ball roll off her fingertips, testing Azzi’s reactions. Azzi doesn’t bite. She stays planted, knees bent, arms wide, her focus razor-sharp. Paige exhales, tightening her grip.

Then she moves. A quick crossover. Left to right. A hesitation. Azzi doesn’t flinch.

Paige drives to her left, shoulder dipping low as she powers toward the paint, but Azzi is there—fast, reading her like a book, stepping into her space before Paige can fully make her move.

They collide. It’s subtle, just a brush of bodies, a brief press of Azzi’s arm against Paige’s side. But it’s enough to throw her balance off, just slightly.

Paige recovers, spinning on her pivot foot, shifting back to the right.

Azzi mirrors her perfectly.

Paige grits her teeth. Damn it.

She fakes a shot—Azzi doesn’t bite—then pivots again, twisting toward the baseline. There’s a half-second opening, and she takes it, launching a fadeaway jumper just as Azzi reaches for the block.

The ball arcs high, smooth, effortless—

Swish.

Paige exhales, letting her arms drop.

But the game doesn’t end there. Because when she lands, she realizes just how close Azzi still is.

Too close.

Paige can feel the warmth of Azzi’s breath against her cheek, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the lingering weight of her hand grazing Paige’s wrist before she finally pulls back.

Azzi doesn’t move for a moment.

Neither does Paige.

For a split second, the gym falls silent, the sounds of their heavy breathing the only thing filling the space between them.

Azzi’s eyes flicker to Paige’s lips. It’s quick—so quick that Paige almost convinces herself she imagined it.

Almost.

She swallows, forcing a smirk. “That all you got?”

Azzi’s jaw tightens, but she steps back, shaking her head like she’s trying to reset. “Not even close.”

Paige laughs, but it comes out a little breathless. She shouldn’t be thinking about this. About how her skin still burns where Azzi touched her. About how the weight of Azzi’s gaze lingers even as she turns away.

It’s just basketball, she tells herself. Just competition.

But as they reset for another round, Paige knows she’s lying.

To herself.

To Azzi.

To everyone.

And the worst part?

She thinks Azzi might be lying, too.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

Paige leans back on the bed, stretching her sore legs out in front of her as the low hum of music plays from her phone. The dorm room is dimly lit, just the soft glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. Azzi sits cross-legged on the other end of the bed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, her knee just inches from Paige’s. It’s late—too late for either of them to be awake, especially with practice in the morning. But they always end up like this, talking until exhaustion finally forces them apart.

Paige exhales, rolling her head to the side to look at Azzi. “You ever think about what comes next?”

Azzi doesn’t glance up from her screen. “Like… next season?”

“No.” Paige shifts, adjusting the pillow behind her. “Like… after all this.”

Azzi’s fingers still against the glass of her phone. Slowly, she looks up, her expression unreadable. “Basketball doesn’t last forever.”

Paige nods. “Exactly.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Azzi sets her phone down. “Why are you thinking about that now?”

Paige shrugs, even though the question has been gnawing at the back of her mind for weeks. Maybe longer. “I don’t know. I guess… it just feels like everything is moving so fast. Like, one day we’re here, playing ball, and the next…”

Azzi tilts her head slightly, watching Paige with an intensity that makes her throat dry. “And the next what?”

Paige hesitates.

And the next… we aren’t in the same place anymore? And the next… you move on, and I have to pretend it doesn’t matter?

She shakes the thought away, forcing a small smirk. “And the next, we’re in the WNBA…on different teams and everything.”

Azzi huffs a quiet laugh, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. “You’re really scared about that?”

Paige grins. “You’re literally delusional if you think I’m not.”

Paige isn’t sure why she even brought it up in the first place. Maybe because lately, she’s been noticing things she shouldn’t.

Like the way Azzi’s laugh sounds softer when it’s just the two of them, the way her fingers tap against her thigh when she’s nervous, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s trying to avoid a question, the way she’s looking at Paige right now, head tilted, brows drawn together, like she’s about to ask something Paige isn’t sure she’s ready to answer.

“You okay?” Azzi finally says, voice quieter than before.

Paige blinks, pulling herself back to the present. “Yeah.”

Azzi doesn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

Paige nods, forcing herself to stretch out lazily like she’s completely unbothered. “Just thinking.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “Dangerous.”

Paige snorts, shaking her head. “Says you.”

Azzi just hums in response, leaning back against the couch, eyes flickering toward the ceiling. “You know, I try not to think about the future too much.”

Paige glances at her. “Why not?”

Azzi shrugs, but there’s something tight in her jaw, something restrained. “Because it makes it harder to enjoy right now.”

Paige swallows. Sitting in this dimly lit dorm room, the air thick with something neither of them want to name. Right now, with Azzi’s knee just barely brushing against hers, with her hoodie slightly slipping off her shoulder, exposing the smooth skin beneath. Right now, with this ache settling deep in Paige’s chest, an ache that she’s been trying to ignore for too long.

She shifts slightly, their knees pressing together. Azzi doesn’t move away. Doesn’t look at her.

Paige inhales. “Yeah.” Her voice is quieter now, softer. “I get that.” The silence stretches between them. Paige’s heartbeat pounds in her ears, loud, insistent. She wonders if she reached out right now, if she traced her fingers along the exposed skin of Azzi’s shoulder, would Azzi let her? Or would she pull away? Paige doesn’t risk it. Instead, she lets the moment pass, exhaling slowly as she sinks deeper into the couch.

After a beat, Azzi yawns, stretching her arms above her head. “We should sleep.”

Paige forces a smirk. “You’re getting soft, Fudd.”

Azzi rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Paige watches as she stands, grabbing her phone, already halfway to the door. But before she leaves, she pauses, glancing back. For a moment, Paige swears she sees something in Azzi’s eyes. Something hesitant.

But then Azzi just gives her a small, tired smile. “Night, P.”

Paige swallows. “Night, Az.”

The door clicks shut behind her. And Paige is left alone, staring at the space where Azzi just stood, trying to pretend that the weight in her chest isn’t real.

Paige doesn’t sleep much that night. She lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to will away the thoughts running circles in her head. The dorm room is quiet, except for the occasional hum of cars outside and the low ticking of the clock on the wall. But inside her mind, it’s loud.

Azzi’s voice. Azzi’s eyes. Azzi’s hesitation at the door. It’s all there, playing on repeat like some cruel highlight reel she can’t turn off. She rolls onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut. Stop thinking about it. She shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t want something she knows she can’t have. Azzi is her best friend. Her teammate. The one person she can always count on, the one who understands her in a way no one else does. She won’t mess that up. She can’t. So when she wakes up the next morning, groggy and running on barely three hours of sleep, she makes a decision. She’ll bury it. She’ll ignore the way her stomach flips when Azzi smiles at her. She’ll ignore the way she catches herself watching Azzi during practice, how she notices the way sweat drips down her neck, how her fingers twitch with the urge to reach out, just once. She’ll push it all down, deep, until it’s nothing but a distant, fading ache.

She’s been pretending for months.

She can pretend a little longer.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

It’s easier during practice.

The moment she steps onto the court, everything else fades. The game demands too much focus, too much intensity for her to get caught up in her own head. She plays hard, going at full speed during drills, knocking down shots with mechanical precision.

But of course, Azzi is right there.

They’re paired together for scrimmages, passing back and forth, moving like they share the same brain. It’s effortless, the way they read each other. Azzi doesn’t even have to call for the ball—Paige just knows where she’ll be. They win every matchup, of course. And when practice finally ends, sweat dripping from her forehead, Paige almost convinces herself that things are normal. That everything is fine.

Until Azzi pulls her aside.

“Hey.”

Paige stops mid-step, glancing at her. “What’s up?”

Azzi hesitates, shifting from foot to foot. “You okay?”

Paige blinks. “Yeah. Why?”

Azzi studies her for a second too long, like she’s trying to see through whatever mask Paige is wearing today.

“You just feel… different,” Azzi says slowly. “Like, I don’t know. You’ve been quiet.”

Paige forces a laugh, shaking her head. “You know me. Just locked in.”

Azzi nods, but her eyes stay on Paige, searching.

Paige hates it. Hates how easily Azzi sees through her, how she can pick up on every little shift in her mood. So she does what she always does when things get too real.

She smirks, bumping Azzi’s shoulder. “You worried about me, Fudd?”

Azzi rolls her eyes but doesn’t smile. “I mean it, Paige.”

Her voice is too soft, too sincere. Paige’s chest tightens. She could tell her the truth. She could say, Yeah, I’m different. I’m different because every time you look at me like that, I feel like I’m falling apart. I’m different because I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she keeps the smirk on her face, pats Azzi’s shoulder like it’s all a joke. “I’m good, I promise.”

Azzi doesn’t look convinced. But after a moment, she sighs and lets it go. “Alright.”

Paige turns away before she can say anything else.

Because if Azzi keeps looking at her like that—like she actually cares—Paige isn’t sure she’ll be able to keep lying.

Later that night, Paige finds herself at a party she doesn’t want to be at.

It’s one of those packed, too-loud dorm parties, music blasting, people pressed together in a too-small space. Normally, she’d thrive in this kind of setting—joking around, playing drinking games, letting loose.

But tonight, all she can think about is how Azzi isn’t here. She told Paige she was staying in, something about finishing an assignment. Paige isn’t sure why that bothers her so much. Maybe because she wishes she was staying in too. Maybe because she’s tired of pretending she’s okay when she isn’t. Maybe because no matter how many people fill this room, it still feels empty without Azzi.

She sighs, running a hand through her hair, debating if she should just leave.

Then someone slides up next to her.

“Hey, Bueckers.”

She turns, finding herself face-to-face with some guy she barely recognizes, probably from another team. He’s smiling, leaning in a little too close.

“You look like you need a drink,” he says, handing her a cup.

Paige takes it automatically, barely processing his words. She glances down at the liquid inside—some mix of cheap beer and whatever else they could find.

She doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want to be here. But she doesn’t want to think either. So she lifts the cup to her lips, downs a sip, forces a smile. “Yeah, sure.” If she can’t have what she really wants, at least she can pretend none of it matters.

At least for tonight.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

Paige wakes up with a pounding headache and a bitter taste in her mouth. She groans, rolling onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut as the morning light slants through the half-open blinds. Her head throbs, a dull reminder of last night’s mistake. She barely remembers getting back to her dorm.

The party had blurred together—loud music, sweaty bodies, too many drinks she hadn’t even wanted. She remembers laughing at something dumb, pretending to be okay, letting some guy drape an arm around her like she gave a damn. She remembers letting it happen, because if she was focused on that—on something meaningless—then she didn’t have to think about Azzi.

Didn’t have to think about the way her heart clenched every time Azzi got too close. Didn’t have to think about the fact that she wanted something she wasn’t allowed to want. She groans again, shoving her face into her pillow. You’re so fucking stupid.

The knock on her door comes too soon. Too sharp, too sudden.

She winces. “Go away.”

The door opens anyway. She doesn’t even have to look to know who it is.

“Seriously?” Paige grumbles, voice hoarse.

Azzi doesn’t answer right away. There’s just the soft creak of the door, the quiet sound of her footsteps as she steps inside. Paige forces herself to sit up, blinking blearily. Azzi stands near the door, arms crossed, brows drawn together in something between concern and disappointment.

Paige sighs, scrubbing a hand down her face. “How’d you even get in?”

Azzi lifts a key, twirling it between her fingers. “You gave me a spare, remember?”

Oh. Right. Azzi always has a way in.

Always.

Paige groans again, collapsing back against the pillows. “You didn’t have to check on me.”

Azzi ignores that, stepping closer, eyes scanning Paige like she’s assessing the damage. “You look like shit.”

Paige snorts. “Feel like it too.”

Azzi sets something down on the desk—a bottle of water and advil. “Drink that.”

Paige eyes her. “Are you my mom now?”

Azzi just stares. It’s the same look she gives when Paige is forcing up a bad shot, when she’s trying to do too much on the court and Azzi is waiting for her to get her head on straight. And it’s annoying. Because it’s too much, Azzi cares too much and she sees too much.

Paige shifts uncomfortably, reaching for the water just to have something to do. “I’m fine.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then—quietly—

“Why do you do this?”

Paige stiffens. “Do what?”

Azzi exhales, crossing her arms tighter. “Act like you don’t care about anything.”

Paige looks away, taking a long sip of water. “It’s not that deep, Azzi.”

Azzi tilts her head, studying her. “You didn’t even want to be at that party.”

Paige swallows. “How would you know?”

Azzi takes a step closer. “Because I know you.”

And there it is. The truth, sitting between them, thick and suffocating.

Paige clenches her jaw. “It was just a party.”

Azzi doesn’t look convinced. “Right.”

Paige exhales sharply, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “What do you want me to say?”

Azzi looks at her for a long moment, like she’s deciding something. Then, finally—

“The truth.”

Paige’s chest tightens. She wants to laugh. Wants to tell Azzi that the truth isn’t an option. That the truth is too dangerous and would ruin everything.

So instead, she does what she always does.

She lies.

“I’m fine, Azzi.”

Azzi’s eyes flicker, like she hears the lie, like she knows. Like she’s waiting for Paige to take it back. But Paige doesn’t. Can’t.

So after a long, tense silence, Azzi just nods.

“Okay.”

And Paige hates it. Hates how small that word feels. Hates how it sounds like giving up.

Azzi grabs her bag, heading for the door.

Paige should say something. Should call her back. But she doesn’t. She just watches as Azzi walks away, leaving her alone with the truth she can’t say out loud.

And for the first time in a long time, pretending doesn’t feel like enough.

Paige tries to shake it off.

She tries to act like that conversation with Azzi never happened, like the way Azzi looked at her—like she knew Paige was lying—didn’t sit heavy in her chest for the rest of the day.

But she feels it.

Every time they step onto the court, every time they pass in the locker room, every time Azzi’s hand brushes against hers and she pretends not to notice.

She feels it.

And it’s killing her.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

Practice is brutal.

Coach isn’t in the mood for half-efforts, barking orders as they run through drill after drill, pushing their bodies past exhaustion.

Paige throws herself into it, trying to drown everything else out. But Azzi is off. Paige notices it immediately. She’s a half-second too slow on rotations, missing shots she usually makes in her sleep. She’s there—but she’s not.

Paige hates it.

Hates seeing Azzi like this. Hates knowing it has something to do with her.

So when practice finally ends, when the team starts filtering out toward the locker room, Paige doesn’t let Azzi slip away this time.

She grabs her wrist, holding firm. “Azzi.”

Azzi stops but doesn’t turn around. Paige swallows, heart hammering.

“What’s wrong?”

Azzi laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re really gonna ask me that?”

Paige’s grip tightens. “Yeah. I am.”

Azzi finally turns, eyes sharp, guarded. “You tell me, Paige. What’s wrong?”

Paige clenches her jaw. “I don’t know what you—”

Azzi pulls her wrist free. “You do.”

Paige exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Azzi—”

“You push everyone away,” Azzi says, voice low but steady. “You act like nothing matters, like none of this—like we—don’t matter.”

Paige’s breath catches.

Azzi shakes her head. “And I’m tired of pretending with you.”

Paige freezes.

The words cut deep, deeper than she’s ready for.

Because Azzi knows. She knows what they’re doing—this dance around something they won’t name, this thing that lingers in every glance, every almost-touch. And for the first time, she’s calling Paige on it. Paige opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

Azzi sighs, stepping back. “If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. But don’t stand here and ask me what’s wrong when you already know the answer.”

Then she turns and walks away.

And Paige—stupid, stubborn Paige—lets her go.

They don’t talk for two days. It’s the longest they’ve ever gone without texting, without some inside joke or random Snapchat or stupid TikTok sent at 2 AM.

And Paige feels it. It’s ridiculous, how much she feels it. She tells herself it’s fine. That this is what she wanted. That distance is better than wanting something she can’t have. But then game day comes, and everything falls apart.

They’re playing a ranked team, and from the start, it’s clear UConn is out of sync. Paige still plays well—she always does—but something is missing. Azzi is cold. She’s hitting shots, but she’s not there.

And Paige hates it.

Hates the way they aren’t moving together the way they usually do, hates the way the chemistry that’s always been so effortless suddenly feels strained.

The game is tight, coming down to the last possession. They’re down by one, Paige has the ball and Azzi is open in the corner. She hesitates.

Just for a second. But it’s enough.

The defense recovers. The pass is tipped. The buzzer sounds.

Game over. They lose.

And it’s Paige’s fault.

She doesn’t hear anything as she walks off the court, heart pounding in her ears. Doesn’t listen to the postgame talk, doesn’t look at anyone as she rips off her jersey and storms toward the locker room.

But then—

“Paige.”

Azzi’s voice. Paige stops.

Azzi steps closer, voice softer this time. “What happened out there?”

Paige swallows, staring at the floor. “I don’t know.”

Azzi exhales. “Yes, you do.”

Paige’s fists clench. “I hesitated.”

Azzi is quiet for a moment. Then, gently—

“Why?”

Paige closes her eyes.

Because i couldn’t stop thinking about you and i don’t know how to be around you anymore and you make me feel things I’m not ready to feel.

She exhales.

“I don’t know.”

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

Paige doesn’t sleep that night.

She lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the game over and over again in her head. That last possession. That hesitation. That moment where she saw Azzi wide open, and instead of making the pass, she froze.

She let them lose.

Because of her. Because of this thing between them. She could pretend all she wanted, but the truth was suffocating.

Azzi mattered too much.

And Paige didn’t know how to handle that.

She avoids Azzi the next day. It’s childish, she knows that. But she can’t face her yet. Not when everything feels too raw, too close. She buries herself in the gym instead, staying late after practice, putting up shot after shot. She tries to drown out everything else.

But then—

“You gonna keep ignoring me forever?”

Paige freezes mid dribble.

Azzi is standing at the baseline, arms crossed, watching her.

Paige exhales sharply, gripping the ball tighter. “I’m not ignoring you.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “Right.”

Paige turns back to the hoop, aiming another shot. It clanks off the rim.

Azzi steps closer. “Are we gonna talk about this?”

Paige scoffs, catching the rebound. “Talk about what?”

Azzi’s voice is steady. “You know what.”

Paige grips the ball so tightly her fingers ache. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Azzi exhales, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Paige’s jaw tightens. “Then why are you still here?”

Azzi flinches, just slightly. But it’s enough.

Paige instantly hates herself for saying it.

Azzi swallows, blinking hard. “Maybe I shouldn’t be.”

She turns to leave. Paige should let her go. She’s spent months pretending, months pushing Azzi away. But something inside her cracks.

“Azzi, wait.”

Azzi stops.

Doesn’t turn.

Paige swallows hard. “I—”

But she can’t say it. Can’t find the words.

Azzi waits for a second. Then, finally, she exhales, shoulders dropping. “Let me know when you’re ready, Paige.”

And then she’s gone. And Paige is left standing alone, heart hammering, gripping the ball like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. She stares at the empty gym, at the door Azzi just walked out of, and realizes something terrifying.

She’s losing her.

And she doesn’t know how to stop it yet.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

The silence between them stretches.

It’s not like before, where Paige could pretend things were normal. Now, there’s something heavy between them, something neither of them are saying but both of them feel. And it’s breaking Paige apart. She’s always been good at control. At locking things down, keeping her emotions in check. But Azzi is the one person who makes her feel out of control.

And it’s driving her insane.

So she finds herself at another party.

She doesn’t want to be here, but the alternative—being alone in her dorm, thinking about Azzi—is worse.

So she drinks. More than she should. Laughs at jokes she doesn’t really hear. Lets some random girl flirt with her, just to feel something other than this gnawing ache in her chest. But when the girl leans in, when she presses too close, all Paige can think is—

She’s not Azzi.

She jerks away. “I gotta go.”

The girl calls after her, confused, but Paige doesn’t stop. She stumbles outside, the cold night air hitting her like a slap.

And then—

“Paige?”

She turns too fast, head spinning.

Azzi is standing a few feet away, hands shoved into her hoodie pockets, staring at her.

Paige swallows, heart hammering. “What are you doing here?”

Azzi steps closer. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Paige exhales, running a hand through her hair. “Just needed to get out.”

Azzi studies her. “Are you drunk?”

Paige forces a smirk. “Maybe.”

Azzi doesn’t laugh. “Paige.”

Her voice is soft. Too soft.

Paige looks away. “Why do you care?”

Azzi exhales sharply. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Paige clenches her jaw. “Get what?”

Azzi steps closer, eyes searching hers. “You can keep pretending all you want, but I’m done playing this game.”

Paige’s chest tightens.

Azzi shakes her head. “You push me away, and then you pull me back in. And I let you, because it’s you.”

Paige swallows hard. “Azzi—”

“No.” Azzi’s voice is firm. “I’m not gonna stand here and watch you destroy yourself because you’re too scared to admit how you feel.”

Paige flinches. “I don’t—”

Azzi sighs, shaking her head. “You do.”

And then, before Paige can stop her—

Azzi turns and walks away. And this time, Paige can’t let her go.

Not again.

So she does something she’s never done before. She runs after her. Grabs her wrist, spinning her back around.

Azzi stares at her, startled. “Paige—”

Paige doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate. She just kisses her. Hard. Desperate. Like she’s been drowning for months and Azzi is the only thing keeping her afloat.

And for a second—just a second—Azzi kisses her back.

Then—

She pulls away.

Paige’s stomach drops.

Azzi’s eyes are wide, searching hers.

Then, quietly—heartbreakingly—

“You can’t just do that, Paige.”

Paige’s throat tightens. “Azzi—”

But Azzi shakes her head.

“You don’t get to kiss me when you’re drunk,” she whispers. “Not when you’re gonna pretend it didn’t mean anything tomorrow.”

Paige feels like the ground has been ripped out from under her.

Azzi swallows hard, stepping back. “Let me know when you’re ready to stop running.”

And then she’s gone. And this time, Paige doesn’t chase her.

Because for the first time, she’s terrified she might have already lost her.

The next few days feel like a nightmare in slow motion.

Paige can’t stop thinking about the way Azzi looked at her after the kiss.

The way she pulled away, like the very thought of Paige touching her was too much.

The worst part? Paige knows she deserves it. She’s been playing games, keeping Azzi at arm’s length when all she really wanted was to pull her closer. She’s been pretending for so long, pretending like she didn’t care, like she could keep it all under control.

But now, everything is falling apart, and she doesn’t know how to fix it.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

It’s game day again, but Paige’s head isn’t in it.

She can’t focus. She’s going through the motions—waking up early, putting on her uniform, showing up for pregame warm-ups—but her mind is miles away. Every time she looks up, she half-expects to see Azzi standing across the court, staring at her the way she did the night of the kiss.

But Azzi isn’t here. She hasn’t been speaking to Paige. And Paige is miserable because of it.

During the team huddle before tip-off, Paige forces a smile, nodding along as Coach gives her usual pregame pep talk. But it’s all a blur.

The game is intense. UConn is up against a tough team, and they need this win. But Paige can’t think about that. She can’t think about anything but Azzi. Every time she makes a play, every time she passes the ball or makes a shot, she’s just hoping—hoping—she’ll catch a glimpse of Azzi on the sideline, or in the locker room after.

But Azzi stays distant. And every time Paige looks in her direction, Azzi looks away. It’s like an invisible wall has gone up between them, and Paige feels like she’s suffocating behind it.

At halftime, Coach pulls her aside. “Bueckers, what’s going on?”

Paige blinks, taken off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You’re off your game today. You’re not playing with the same focus as usual. What’s going on?”

Paige opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

She’s not sure what to say. The truth would destroy everything.

Coach stares at her for a moment, then sighs. “Get it together, Paige. This team needs you.”

Paige nods, swallowing the lump in her throat.

But inside, her heart is pounding.

Because the team might need her, but all she can think about is the fact that she’s losing Azzi.

The game ends in a narrow victory, but Paige hardly notices. The court is filled with loud cheers, teammates high-fiving and celebrating their win, but all Paige feels is the weight of the silence between her and Azzi.

Azzi hasn’t spoken to her since the kiss. Not a word.

Not even a glance.

And it’s killing Paige.

After the game, as the team heads to the locker room, Paige hesitates. She lingers in the hallway, torn between the desire to face Azzi and the fear of what might happen if she does.

Finally, she decides.

She can’t keep pretending. She won’t lose Azzi without at least trying.

Paige walks into the locker room, eyes scanning the room for Azzi. When she spots her, sitting at her locker, head down, pulling her shoes off, her chest tightens.

Azzi doesn’t even look up.

Paige swallows hard, stepping closer. “Azzi, we need to talk.”

Azzi doesn’t respond. Paige feels like she’s suffocating. “Azzi…”

Azzi’s voice is quiet, almost cold. “What do you want me to say, Paige?”

Paige feels the heat rise in her chest. “I want you to talk to me. I want you to stop pretending like I don’t exist.”

Azzi looks up, and for the first time in days, their eyes meet. There’s no warmth there. Just a guarded emptiness. “I’m not pretending,” Azzi says, her voice calm but firm. “I’m just done with this. With you.”

Paige’s heart stops. “What do you mean?” she whispers.

Azzi stands up slowly, facing Paige. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep giving you everything I have and watching you push me away.”

Paige opens her mouth, but the words don’t come.

Azzi shakes her head. “You’re afraid of me, Paige. You’re afraid of what this—” she gestures between them, “—could be. So you keep running. And I’m done chasing.”

Paige feels like the room is spinning. “I’m not running.”

Azzi steps closer, her voice breaking just a little. “Yes, you are. Every time I try to get close, every time I try to reach you, you pull away.”

Paige swallows, her throat tight. “I don’t know how to—”

Azzi’s eyes soften, just a little, but the pain is still there. “You have to figure it out, Paige. You have to decide if this—” she gestures to the space between them again, “—is worth it. Because I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter.”

The silence stretches between them, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. Azzi’s eyes are filled with something soft, something vulnerable, but Paige can’t tell if it’s regret or just the last remnants of something they never gave a chance. Finally, Azzi turns away, walking toward the door.

Paige’s heart races as she watches her go.

She doesn’t know how much longer she can hold on before everything slips through her fingers.

“Azzi…”

Azzi stops, her back still to Paige.

“I’m sorry.”

Azzi doesn’t move. And for a second, Paige thinks maybe—just maybe—it’s not too late. But Azzi doesn’t turn around. She walks out the door, leaving Paige standing there, holding onto nothing but the hope that someday, somehow, she’ll get it right.

The next few days blur into a haze.

Paige barely sleeps, spending every moment thinking about Azzi. About the way she walked out of that locker room, leaving Paige standing there like she didn’t matter. She can still feel the echo of Azzi’s words, the soft but firm declaration that she couldn’t keep running, that this—whatever this was—meant more than Paige had allowed herself to believe. And it’s been eating Paige alive. Azzi’s face lingers in her mind. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees the way Azzi looked at her when she said those words. There was so much hurt there. But also… something else. Something softer, something she’s not ready to admit.

Paige has always prided herself on being strong, on being in control, but with Azzi? She’s never felt more out of control in her life.

And the worst part?

She doesn’t know how to fix it.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

It’s late, past midnight, when Paige finally gives in. She grabs her phone from the desk, the screen lighting up her room in the dark. Her fingers hover over the screen, trembling for just a second. She could send a text. It’s the easy way out. But she knows it won’t work. Not anymore. So she opens up Snapchat instead.

One quick glance at Azzi’s story shows her sitting in her dorm, headphones on, playing some music. She’s all alone, just like Paige. But for some reason, that makes it worse.

Paige types.

“Can we talk?”

She stares at the message for what feels like an eternity. And then—send.

The message is gone. Out there, floating in the void between them. But still, nothing happens. Azzi doesn’t reply. Paige lies back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

Did I ruin everything? Is this too late?

She shuts her eyes, not willing to admit how much it hurts to feel her world slip away.

She waits.

And then, finally, her phone buzzes. She opens the message with shaky hands.

Azzi: “I don’t know, Paige. I don’t know if we can fix this.”

Paige’s heart sinks. She types, slowly.

“We have to try.”

She holds her breath as she waits for Azzi’s reply.

And then—

Azzi: “I’m scared too, you know. I’m scared of what happens if we do this. But I don’t want to keep pretending anymore.”

Paige’s chest tightens.

“I don’t want to pretend either.”

She stares at the screen for a moment, heart racing in her chest. She’s never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. But the only thing that matters now is fixing this. Fixing what she’s broken.

“Meet me at the court?” And this time, she doesn’t hesitate.

Azzi’s reply is almost immediate.

“Okay.”

It’s after 1 AM when Paige walks into the empty gym. The lights are dim, casting long shadows over the court, and everything feels quiet, too quiet. But she’s here. She’s finally here.

The sound of footsteps echoes in the distance, and Paige turns to see Azzi stepping onto the court, her hoodie pulled up, face unreadable. She stops a few feet away, just far enough that Paige can’t touch her, but close enough that the distance between them feels suffocating.

For a long moment, neither of them says anything. Paige wants to say something. Wants to explain, to apologize, to beg for a chance. But she doesn’t know where to start.

Azzi beats her to it. “You wanted to talk.”

Paige nods, her voice thick. “Yeah. I—I don’t know what happened, Azzi. I don’t know why I kept pushing you away, why I was so scared.”

Azzi’s eyes search hers, but there’s no anger there. Just… understanding.

“Why were you scared?” she asks, her voice softer now.

Paige swallows. “Because you… you mean more to me than I’ve ever let myself believe. And I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Azzi’s expression softens, but she still keeps her distance. “You don’t think I know that?”

Paige shakes her head, feeling like she’s losing the battle. “I don’t know what to do, Azzi. I don’t know how to fix this, but I know I don’t want to lose you. I—I can’t lose you.”

Azzi takes a step closer, and for the first time, she reaches out, lightly brushing her fingers against Paige’s. The contact is gentle, but it feels like a shock.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than to be close to you, Paige,” Azzi says softly, “But I don’t know if I can just jump back in. You’ve hurt me, and I need to know you’re really ready to change.”

Paige feels a tightness in her chest as the words sink in. She knows Azzi is right. She’s hurt her, and no amount of apologies will make that go away. But it’s the only thing she can offer now.

“I’m ready,” Paige whispers. “I want to prove it to you. I want to be with you, Azzi. No more games. No more pretending.”

Azzi looks down, biting her lip as she thinks it over. The silence hangs between them, thick and heavy.

Then, slowly, she meets Paige’s eyes again. “I need time.”

Paige nods, her heart aching. “Take all the time you need. But please… don’t give up on us. Not yet.”

Azzi takes a deep breath. “I won’t. I just… I need to know that you’re in this for real. That I’m not the only one who’s putting my heart on the line.”

Paige’s eyes flicker with hope. “You’re not. I swear.”

For a long moment, neither of them moves. Then, with a sigh, Azzi steps closer, her hand now resting lightly on Paige’s arm.

“I’m scared too,” Azzi admits softly. “But I don’t want to keep pretending anymore.”

Paige’s breath catches, and then—slowly—she steps forward, closing the gap between them.

“Me neither.”

And finally, without hesitation, they close the distance.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as though they’re both testing the waters. But when Paige feels Azzi’s lips against hers, the floodgates open. She feels everything—years of longing, confusion, and frustration—crash over her like a wave.

They pull back only for a second, their breaths mingling in the air. And then, as if this time is different, Azzi deepens the kiss. This time, there are no barriers.

Just them.

And for the first time in months, Paige feels like she’s finally found her way back.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

The days that follow are a mix of overwhelming emotion and tentative hope. Paige and Azzi have stepped into uncharted territory, and every moment feels like both a victory and a vulnerability. But they both know this is just the beginning. They are both tentative, unsure of how to navigate the newness of what’s between them.

The first few conversations they have are clumsy—awkward pauses between words, too much silence, too many things unsaid. But there’s a deep, unspoken understanding between them. No one else on the team knows what happened after the late-night conversation at the court. For now, it’s just them—sitting on the sidelines of their friendship, waiting to see where it will take them.

It’s a late afternoon practice when things begin to shift. They’ve finished running drills and the team has scattered, but Paige lingers. Azzi, too, is still here, halfway through the gym, shooting free throws. Paige watches her for a moment, trying to read the way Azzi’s face remains unreadable.

Then Azzi turns, her eyes meeting Paige’s across the gym. There’s no hesitation this time, no pulling away. Azzi’s lips curl into a faint, tentative smile, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Paige feels that wall begin to crumble. She doesn’t know what’s happening between them yet, but she knows one thing for sure—this is real.

Paige walks over slowly, as if afraid to break the fragile thread that binds them together. “Can we… talk? Again?”

Azzi nods, her smile softening, and it’s as if the weight they’ve both been carrying lifts a little.

They sit on the bleachers, side by side. The gym is nearly empty now, just the two of them, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above their heads.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Azzi begins, her voice calm but steady. “I don’t want to rush anything. I don’t want to dive back into something we’re both not ready for. But I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with how we were before. I can’t pretend like I didn’t feel anything, like I wasn’t affected by the way you pulled away.”

Paige feels her heart constrict. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she says softly. “I just didn’t know what to do with everything I was feeling. I didn’t know if it was too much. I didn’t know if you… if you even felt the same way. And I guess I was scared.”

Azzi turns her body toward Paige slightly, her eyes meeting hers. “You don’t have to be scared anymore, Paige. Not with me. I just need to know that we’re doing this because we both want to, not because we’re afraid of being alone, or afraid of the unknown.”

Paige nods, her fingers fidgeting nervously. “I don’t want to rush. I just want to take it slow. But I also don’t want to keep running away from what we both know is real.”

Azzi’s gaze softens, and for a moment, Paige sees that raw vulnerability—the same fear, the same uncertainty. And it’s almost comforting.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” Azzi says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m willing to figure it out with you.”

The air between them feels charged, like something unspoken has passed between them, a pact forged in quiet understanding.

“I’m with you,” Paige whispers back. “We’ll figure it out together.”

The weeks that follow bring a new rhythm to their lives, one that feels uncertain but filled with possibility. Paige and Azzi are no longer just teammates, but they’ve also begun to carve out space for each other beyond the court. The change is subtle at first, but it’s there—shared glances, inside jokes, moments when their hands accidentally brush during practice and neither of them pulls away. They’ve begun to talk more, slowly opening up about the things that have always been too hard to say aloud. It’s not just about basketball anymore, not just about their shared goals as players, but also about their fears, their dreams, and the things that keep them up at night. It’s those small conversations—those quiet moments when they’re vulnerable with each other—that make Paige believe that maybe they really can make this work.

But there are still moments of doubt. Paige feels the weight of those doubts especially when they’re surrounded by their teammates. The unspoken tension, the way people stare or whisper when they’re too close or too comfortable around each other. She’s not sure if the world is ready for them, but right now, it feels like they’re building something that’s worth fighting for, even if no one else understands it.

One day after practice, the team is gathered in the locker room, and the buzz of excitement is palpable. There’s a big game coming up, and the stakes are high. The chatter is loud, everyone’s discussing strategy, pumping each other up for the competition.

Paige and Azzi are standing by their lockers, talking quietly amongst themselves, when one of their teammates approaches. “Hey, you two,” Caroline says with a teasing smile. “You’re practically joined at the hip lately. What’s going on?”

There’s a slight edge to the question, and for a moment, Paige feels her heart race. Azzi glances at her, a silent understanding passing between them. This is the moment—the one where they’ll have to face the world and the weight of their relationship.

Azzi takes a breath, glancing back at Paige. “Yeah,” she says, her voice light but firm. “We’ve been talking. We’ve been figuring things out.”

Caroline raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push further. The unspoken tension hangs in the air for a moment, but Azzi’s calmness settles the situation. “It’s nothing to worry about,” Azzi adds with a shrug, turning back to her locker. “We’re still focused on the game.”

Caroline nods, but there’s a knowing look in her eyes as she walks away.

Paige exhales, relief washing over her, and she looks at Azzi. “That went better than I thought it would.”

Azzi smiles. “They’ll get used to it.”

Paige chuckles softly. “I hope so.”

But in the quiet of the locker room, as their teammates continue to talk strategy, Paige knows that nothing will be the same again. They’ve crossed a line now, and there’s no going back. Whatever happens, she’s in this with Azzi.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

There’s a storm coming, and it’s not the weather. It’s the pressure that’s been building between Paige and Azzi. There’s something undone between them, something they still haven’t talked about, and it’s hanging in the air, thick and heavy.

It’s the night before their biggest game of the season. The team is resting, but Paige can’t sleep. She’s lying in bed, the sheets tangled around her, staring at the ceiling. The quiet hum of the world outside feels distant, far away, as if everything is happening somewhere else.

Her phone buzzes, and she glances at it.

Azzi’s name.

Paige’s heart skips a beat.

“Can I come over?” the message reads.

Paige doesn’t hesitate.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, Azzi is at her door, standing in the hallway, her hoodie pulled tightly around her.

She steps in without saying a word, and Paige’s chest tightens. There’s a heaviness in Azzi’s eyes, something that wasn’t there before.

“What’s wrong?” Paige asks, her voice low.

Azzi shakes her head, her fingers running through her hair. “I don’t know,” she says quietly. “I feel like I’m pulling away, but I don’t know how to fix it.”

Paige stands up, moving closer to her. “What do you mean?”

Azzi looks at her, a mixture of confusion and frustration in her expression. “I want this. I want us. But I’m scared that if I let myself get too close to you, I’ll lose control. And I don’t know how to balance that. I don’t know if I can keep being who I am and still have you.”

Paige’s heart aches. “Azzi, you’re not going to lose me,” she says gently. “But you can’t shut me out, either.”

Azzi’s eyes search hers, and for a moment, Paige feels like they’re on the edge of something huge—something they both need to confront.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Azzi admits quietly.

“I think the first step is being honest,” Paige replies softly, her hand reaching out to touch Azzi’s arm. “We’re in this together, remember? We’ll figure it out, one step at a time.”

Azzi nods, and the air between them feels different now—charged, but with a sense of understanding. A sense that, maybe, they can truly make it work.

And that’s when Paige realizes that whatever happens tomorrow, whatever happens in the game, this is the moment that matters. They’ll face it together.

The morning of the big game is tense. The gym is filled with excitement, players stretching, fans lining the bleachers. But inside Paige, there’s a quiet storm brewing.

Azzi is beside her, but their connection is different now. It’s deeper, more fragile, and yet more real than it’s ever been. They haven’t solved everything, but they’re not pretending anymore.

It’s not just about basketball anymore, not just about the competition. This is their test. Paige can feel it in the air, the tension building between her and Azzi. They’ve been walking a fine line, trying to balance everything they’ve been through, but now they have to prove something, both to themselves and to each other.

The crowd is loud, the excitement palpable. The team is buzzing, their adrenaline building. But Paige can’t focus. She’s watching Azzi out of the corner of her eye, noticing the way her body is tense, like she’s holding herself back from something. They haven’t talked much about what happened the night before—about the way Azzi had admitted to feeling like she might lose control. But Paige knows it’s weighing heavily on her.

As they stand in the locker room before the game, the coach is giving one last pep talk. The team is hyped, their adrenaline building. But Paige can’t focus. She’s watching Azzi, her gaze flickering back to her every few seconds, trying to read her without being obvious. Azzi doesn’t meet her eyes, her mind clearly somewhere else, and Paige wonders if Azzi is just as nervous as she is. Not about the game, but about them. About what happens if things don’t work out. If the emotions they’re both carrying end up being too much.

“Alright, everyone!” Geno calls, clapping his hands to bring them back into focus. “We’ve trained for this. We know our game plan. We know what to do. Just go out there and play your hearts out!”

The team cheers, but the noise is a blur to Paige. Her focus is entirely on Azzi. The air between them feels heavy, like something unsaid, something important is hanging in the balance.

The game starts with a roar of the crowd, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, and the sharp, crisp calls of the referees cutting through the atmosphere. Paige and Azzi are both locked in, playing with everything they have. They’re a perfect pair—working in sync, passing with precision, their chemistry undeniable. But under the surface, there’s a quiet storm.

Midway through the second quarter, Paige and Azzi find themselves on the court together, an opportunity to show off their partnership. A fast break—Azzi with the ball, her eyes scanning the court. Paige sprints ahead, calling for the pass. Azzi’s gaze flicks to her, but just for a moment. She hesitates before making the throw.

Paige catches it, but the hesitation hangs between them, and as she tries to make her move to the basket, she feels the pressure. The energy from the crowd is deafening, but for a split second, it feels like everything is silent except for the rapid thumping of her heart. She can hear Azzi’s breath behind her, but it’s not just the usual trust that pushes her forward. It’s the weight of everything they’ve been avoiding.

She takes the shot and misses.

The ball clanks off the rim, and the rebound is grabbed by the opposing team. Paige curses under her breath. Azzi is right there, helping to get the ball back, but she avoids making eye contact. It’s not just the play that’s off—it’s them.

The rest of the game blurs by in a series of moments that Paige struggles to remember. Her shots are missed, her passes too quick. And every time she looks at Azzi, there’s something cold in her expression. Something unresolved. Something she can’t quite place. By the final quarter, they’re trailing. Their team is losing. The tension on the court is palpable, but it’s the tension between Paige and Azzi that’s the most obvious. There’s no more pretending, no more side glances or lingering touches. They’re too far apart now—physically and emotionally.

Geno calls a timeout. The players gather around, but Paige finds herself standing alone at the edge of the huddle. She watches Azzi, who is talking with one of the other players, her back to Paige. The distance between them is undeniable. They were so close—just yesterday, they were standing in the locker room, saying things that felt like breakthroughs. But now, with the game slipping away, the cracks in their connection seem to widen.

Azzi catches her eye briefly, and Paige feels that familiar pang in her chest. There’s so much she wants to say, but the words are lost.

The game ends with a loss. It’s not just the scoreboard that’s heavy—it’s the way the team scatters after the buzzer sounds. The air in the locker room feels thick, suffocating. Paige sits on the bench, trying to catch her breath, but she can’t shake the feeling that something inside her has been broken. She looks around, but the other players are talking, laughing—disappointed, yes, but moving on. The disappointment is still there, but it’s not the only thing in the air. What hangs over Paige now is much darker.

Azzi hasn’t said a word to her.

When she looks over, she sees Azzi by the door, pulling on her hoodie and grabbing her bag. She’s already halfway out the door when Paige stands up, suddenly feeling the urgency to speak.

“Azzi, wait!” Paige calls out, her voice shaky, but louder than she intended.

Azzi stops, her back to Paige, her shoulders stiff. There’s a long pause, the weight of everything between them settling like a stone in the pit of Paige’s stomach. Finally, Azzi turns around, her expression guarded.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Azzi says, her voice raw, almost too quiet. “I thought we were past all of this. But it feels like we’re both still pretending. We’re pretending to be fine, pretending like things are normal, but it’s not. I can’t do that anymore, Paige.” Paige’s heart clenches. She wants to say something, wants to explain everything, but the words don’t come. She’s been so focused on trying to prove something—on trying to make everything work—that she’s forgotten that sometimes the only thing that matters is honesty.

Azzi’s eyes are filled with something Paige can’t place. Frustration, maybe. Or sadness. But there’s something else there, too—fear. Fear that Paige isn’t ready to admit.

“I’m not pretending anymore either,” Paige says, her voice steady but filled with an edge of desperation. “I thought I could figure this out, I thought I could make it work, but I know now that I don’t have all the answers. But I want to try, Azzi. I want to make this real.”

Azzi’s gaze softens, but only slightly. “I don’t know if I can trust that anymore.”

Paige steps forward, the urgency in her movements almost frantic now. “Please, don’t walk away. Not now. We’ve come this far.”

Azzi takes a deep breath, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just shakes her head, her eyes closing for a moment as if trying to gather herself. Finally, she looks back at Paige, her expression still guarded.

“I need space,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. And with that, she turns and walks away.

The days after the game are a blur. The team recovers from their loss, but Paige’s loss is much more personal. Azzi hasn’t spoken to her. There’s a cold distance that has settled between them, one that Paige doesn’t know how to bridge. She tries to give Azzi the space she’s asked for, but it feels like the space between them grows wider with every passing day. Practice is awkward. Paige and Azzi barely make eye contact. The team keeps their distance, too, sensing the tension in the air. Paige feels like she’s walking on eggshells, unsure of what to say or do. She can feel the weight of her mistakes. She’s been too caught up in the idea of making things work that she’s forgotten the one thing she needs to do—be real. She knows it’s not too late. There’s always time to make things right. But how? Azzi’s voice echoes in her mind: “I need space.”

And Paige is left alone, wondering if she’s let the one thing she truly wanted slip through her fingers.

Days pass in the aftermath of the game, and the tension between Paige and Azzi lingers, unspoken and unresolved. Despite their shared history, despite everything they’ve been through, it feels as though they’ve both become strangers. They’ve built something so real, so fragile, and now it seems like it’s unraveling before their eyes. The team is pushing forward, getting ready for the next big challenge, but Paige’s mind isn’t on the game—it’s on Azzi, and the overwhelming fear that maybe it’s all slipping away.

The next few days are filled with a quiet desperation. Paige tries to focus during practice, but every move she makes on the court feels like a reminder of the distance between them. The passes are too quick, the shots miss their mark. She’s distracted, unfocused, and every time she looks to Azzi, the coldness in her eyes makes her chest ache. One afternoon, after a particularly tough practice, Paige can’t take it anymore. She’s frustrated—frustrated with herself, with the situation, with everything that’s been left unsaid. She doesn’t know how to fix it, but she knows she has to try. She has to do something.

As the gym empties out and the last of the teammates head to the locker room, Paige lingers, waiting for the one person she needs to talk to. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Azzi steps into the gym, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t see Paige at first, her eyes on the floor as she walks toward the exit. But Paige can’t let her slip away—not this time.

“Azzi,” Paige calls, her voice tentative but steady.

Azzi pauses, her shoulders stiffening at the sound of her name. Slowly, she turns around. Their eyes meet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s something in Azzi’s gaze that makes Paige believe there’s still a chance. They stand there in silence for a few moments, the weight of everything that’s happened hanging between them. Paige wants to say everything, but she knows the words won’t come easily. This isn’t just about fixing things—it’s about finding a way forward.

Azzi breaks the silence first, her voice quiet but full of emotion. “I’ve been thinking a lot,” she admits, her eyes softening. “About everything. About what you said—about us. And I realized something: I can’t keep running away from this. From you. From what we have.” Paige feels a surge of hope, a flicker of something deep inside her. She takes a step forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to run away either. I’ve been scared—scared that I’d mess everything up, scared that I wasn’t enough. But I know now, I know that I want this. I want us, Azzi. I don’t really know how to make it work yet, but I want to try. I want to fight for it.” Azzi’s gaze softens, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world falls away. The noise of the gym, the pressure of the game—they all disappear, leaving just the two of them. Azzi steps forward, closing the distance between them, her eyes never leaving Paige’s.

“You don’t have to have all the answers,” Azzi says softly, her hand reaching out to gently touch Paige’s arm. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” In that moment, Paige feels a sense of peace she hasn’t felt in days. Maybe they don’t have all the answers. Maybe they don’t even know what the future holds. But what matters is that they’re here, in this moment, and they’re choosing each other. Azzi’s hand lingers on her arm for just a second before she takes a deep breath. “We still have a lot to figure out,” she says, the smallest smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “But I’m willing to try.” Paige smiles back, her heart racing. “Me too.”

For the first time in what feels like ages, the weight that’s been hanging over them lifts, if only for a moment. There’s still a long road ahead, full of unknowns, but this is the first step. They’ve both come to terms with what they feel—and with the fact that they can’t pretend anymore. They can’t pretend that things are perfect, but they can work through the mess. Together.

The next few weeks pass in a blur of practice, games, and quiet moments shared between Paige and Azzi. They aren’t perfect—not by any means—but they’re real. They’ve stopped pretending that everything is okay when it’s not, and they’ve stopped hiding behind their fears. Every conversation they have now is raw, honest, and, for the first time in a long time, there’s a sense of peace between them. The tension on the court begins to ease. They start to trust each other again, not just as teammates, but as something more.

There are moments when their eyes meet during a play, and they know exactly what the other is thinking. There’s an unspoken connection between them that’s stronger than any game plan. The next big game arrives, and it’s one of the most important of the season. Paige and Azzi are ready—not just for the game, but for whatever comes next. They’ve put everything on the line, and the only thing they know for sure is that they’re in this together.

As the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game, Paige and Azzi are victorious. But the win isn’t just about the scoreboard—it’s about the journey they’ve been on together, the way they’ve faced their fears and their doubts. And in that moment, they both realize something: they’ve come out stronger. Together.

As the season winds down, Paige and Azzi find themselves in a new place. They’re still figuring things out, but they’ve found a new kind of rhythm—one built on trust, vulnerability, and the willingness to face their fears together.

There’s still a long road ahead, filled with challenges, but for the first time in a long time, Paige doesn’t feel like she’s walking alone. She knows that whatever happens, they’ll face it together. They don’t have all the answers yet, but they’re ready to keep moving forward, side by side.

And maybe that’s the most important part of all.

[wstviewvidal]

homesick- w. maximoff

summary: at last.

pairing: rich!wanda x r

a/n: (real) last chapter of dirty cash! thank you to those who were patient with me. life is crazy!

minors do not interact

the brisk walk to wanda’s office building had you holding your coat shut and your face hidden beneath your scarf. the thick material doing nothing to shield you from the sharp gusts of wind slicing through the street.

the following days after your first kiss were filled with hour long phone calls and dinner dates around the city, the kind that lasted hours because neither of you wanted them to end. you two rivaled that of two lovesick teenagers— not that either of you really minded.

you couldn’t ask for someone as thoughtful and sweet as wanda. she made you forget that you ever wanted to swear off of relationships after jess.

the breakup between the two of you was brutal, the kind that left wounds you struggled to heal.

but then came wanda— who came into your life and swept you off your feet, gentle and electric. a surprise you never expected to love and cherish so much.

you push through the front doors of the building and greet the receptionist with a wide grin as you walk into the building.

she looks away from her computer, peering over her thick glasses, “you here for miss maximoff?”

the subtle smirk on her lips causes you to roll your eyes playfully. you respond with a sarcastic tone, “it’s either for her or to discuss how to buy a share of her company.”

swatting her hand at you playfully, she picks up her desk phone to alert wanda that you are on your way up to her office.

in your hands, you carry a lunchbox filled with a homemade lunch— a small excuse to steal wanda away for a bit.

knocking on her office door, you patiently wait for a response before you walk in.

given the green light, you walk in cautiously, unsure if you’d be intruding on a conversation. you scan the room, noting her degrees framed on the wall and the warm light lamp that’s turned on for ambiance.

wanda stands from her chair, walking over to you with a warm smile, “hi, beautiful.”

you meet her halfway and stand on your tip toes to meet her in a brief kiss, “hi,” you say softly as you pull away.

wanda holds you by your waist, looking you over with a subtle smirk. her eyes have a glint in them, a glint you don’t think you’ve seen before.

“i brought you some lunch,” you gesture to the pink lunch box in your hand, “you have time for me?” you tease gently, rubbing a hand on her forearm.

a small chuckle escapes her lips, her thumbs brushing over your waist in a gentle manner, “for you? always.”

the two of you sit adjacent to each other, enjoying the homemade pasta you’d brought. as you eat, wanda updates you on on the latest work drama that’s been going on— little bits and pieces she’s picked up from afar.

you nod along, finding it humorous that someone so polished and professional would enjoy work drama— especially sharing it with her.. girlfriend?

the title flits through your head and your heart stumbles over it.

the two of you have yet to discuss the topic of labels, wanting to take it slow. you don’t know where wanda stands on labels, or if she wants to take this any further than what it is now.

your heart feels heavy at the thought of wanda not wanting to pursue anything further than what you two are right now. wanda is a busy body, always throwing herself into her work. you can’t blame her for that, but you wonder if this is all she will want from you.

wanda watches you, the small frown on your lips causing her concern, “hey, you okay?” her voice is soft, one she uses with valerie when she’s upset.

you look up at her with a confused look, blinking away the thoughts, “yeah, why?” your voice is slightly high pitched. wanda catches it immediately and raises an eyebrow at you.

she sets down her plate and looks at you with a gentle expression, “what’s wrong? work? your friends?” wanda studies you, as if the answer is written on your cream knit sweater.

a soft sigh escapes your lips and you shake your head, “one day when you’re older,” you poke fun at wanda’s words to valerie when she asks too many questions beyond her age.

with an eye roll, wanda drops the topic but not before nudging your foot with her shoe. you two continue to eat, enjoying each other’s company. you glance at each other with playfulness, not hiding from each other for once.

you glance at the clock on wanda’s wall, a small sigh escaping your lips, “let me call my boss before she thinks i abandoned ship.”

wanda lets out a small laugh and nodding in understanding, “of course.”

you step outside of her office, quickly making the call. you’re just about to put your phone in your pocket before a blonde woman walks past you, a smirk on her lips as she slows down just in front of you.

“didn’t know we had any new hires, are you new here?” she asks, a devilish look in her eyes that you’re not sure you’re a fan of.

you politely shake your head and give a small smile, “just here visiting someone important.”

the woman looks over you, something of a satisfied look taking over her features, “well, when you’re tired of that, we could use some more pretty faces around here.”

the woman’s boldness catches you off guard, causing you to blink at her. a nervous laugh escapes your throat, “good to know.”

before the woman can shamelessly flirt any further, you politely excuse yourself and slip back into wanda’s office. she’s scrolling through her computer, a concentrated look on her face.

holding back a smirk, you decide to tease her, “you’ve got a really good environment going here, you know? very welcoming.”

you’re leaned against the door frame, eyes tracing over wanda’s poised face. her tailored suit enamoring you in the easiest way.

wanda raises an eyebrow, moving to face you completely, “oh?”

“yeah,” you’ve cross your arms over your chest, “one of your employees said i would add to the… camaraderie.”

wanda’s expression doesn’t fade, but you can see how her jaw clenches slightly and her eyes narrow just the tiniest bit, “really? who was it?”

laughing at her subtle jealousy, “not like you’re going to fire them.”

wanda’s eyebrows raise at that, “are you forgetting i have the power to do that?”

playing along, you act like you’re thinking pensively, “i mean, she did call me pretty…”

wanda hums, looking alarmingly calm, but the way her nostrils flare a bit and the way her head tilts to the side— yeah, she’s definitely jealous.

“that’s funny,” she murmurs, “i was under the impression you were already taken.”

before you can even process your next words, you say, “well, i wouldn’t be a good girlfriend if i let people at your company flirt with me, wouldn’t i?”

silence.

the realization hits you like a truck. your face instantly heats up and your stomach does flips.

the both of you freeze, but the expressions on your faces differ drastically. you look mortified at the idea of assuming too far ahead, wanda looks like she just won a game you weren’t even aware you were playing.

“girlfriend?” her voice has a hint of amusement.

you squeeze your eyes shut, as if wishing you could teleport yourself out of the situation you put yourself in.

“wanda, i didn’t mean-“

she leans back in her desk chair, a smug look on her face as she watches you squirm, “am i your girlfriend, baby? when did i earn that title?”

if you weren’t already mortified, that would’ve done it. a nervous smile tugs at your lips and you glance over at her, “are you?”

wanda’s smug look slowly morphs into a warm expression. she stands from her chair and walks over to where you’re standing, her hands finding their familiar spot on your waist.

wanda’s exhales a small breath as she looks over your face, “am i your girlfriend?” her voice is low and soft.

you swallow, hands instinctively finding the lapels of her jacket, “unless you don’t want to be.”

your voice is laced with nervousness and you’re sure wanda can hear the slight shakiness in your words.

a warm laugh escapes wanda’s lips as she places gentle kisses along your jaw, “of course i do.”

she pulls away from you slightly— just enough to look you in your eyes, “is that okay with you?”

you nod softly, taking in the warmth in wanda’s eyes— the genuine sincerity laced in her words, “yeah.”

and then she leans in, placing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. it’s not rushed or urgent— slow and promising. when she pulls back, she places her forehead against yours.

“i like the sound of that,” she whispers.

you two stand there for a moment, enjoying the moment— wrapped in each other’s arms and letting the weight of it settle.

then—

“now tell me about this employee of mine who thought they stood a chance,” she says, pulling back from you.

laughing, you nudge her shoulder playfully, “relax, maximoff, they never stood a chance.”

wanda’s scoffs, rolling her eyes, “of course they didn’t.”

and just like that, the air in the room is lighter and filled with promise. promises of stability and trust. you and wanda, together. no guessing and no more hesitation.

[hurtspideyparker]

When Steve and Tony move in together they discover a lot of differences.

Tony leaves the light on in every room. He's always had either hired help or an AI to turn it off for him, and he's never sweat an electricity bill.

Steve turns off every light when he leaves a room, even if he's only gone for two seconds. It's an old habit from not having reliable electricity growing up or in the military. Tony will catch him squinting at his book in the dim light until the sun fully sets and he's bathed in darkness, or turning off a lamp Tony's using because "you already have two more on!"

Steve always makes the bed first thing in the morning. If Tony's still sleeping in it, then he gets tucked in...tight. Sometimes he struggles to get out.

Tony rolls out of bed with his eyes still closed. The sheets follow him to the floor, his pajamas are strewn on the ground until he's caffeinated and showered.

Steve's showers usually last 5 minutes. 10, if it's post-mission and the dirt still clings. A slightly warm temperature that leaves no steam on the mirror.

Tony's last 25 at minimum. When Steve asks what he's even doing in there he says "enjoying the moment". Steve has listened through the door and has found that to mean enjoying scalding hot water while talking math through with Jarvis, singing, or...yeah. Steve usually follows him in for that one.

Steve is a "do the dishes right after a meal" kind of guy. A meal that should be eaten at a kitchen table. He also refuses to use the dishwasher.

Tony is a "let them soak" man. Which he usually forgets about and Steve ends up doing. He'll also leave the dishes wherever he pleases. Coffee table, work bench, dresser. "Tony why is there a coffee mug in the bathtub. Again."

Steve runs hot. Tony runs cold. Steve has long since given up trying to mess with the thermostat ever since it started yelling at him when he touched it—he thought about protesting the heat by wearing less clothing, but Tony would just enjoy that too much.

Instead he started refusing cuddles. He wasn't even lying about how hot and uncomfortable it got when Tony lies on top of him like a weighted blanket. A week into the boycott the temperature got lowered a whole 5 degrees, and has been ever since. (Steve still sweats a little in the night when Tony clings under the duvet, but he never really minded it; the benefits outweigh the drawbacks).

[gildedwillow]

late night phone call - melissa schemmenti - 18+

.

you call her late, voice all sleepy and sweet. she’s already in bed, voice rough with exhaustion, but when you start describing what you’re wearing… she’s suddenly wide awake. “put the phone on speaker,” she growls. “and don’t stop touching yourself until i say so.”

.

melissa schemmenti x fwb!female reader

You call her close to midnight, tucked under your sheets, body still warm from the shower. The apartment is quiet, dim, lit only by the amber glow of the bedside lamp. You're already stretched across the mattress in just one thing: Melissa’s old shirt, soft with wear, smelling faintly like her perfume and cigarette smoke. It hangs off you oversized, sleeves to your elbows, hem just barely grazing the tops of your thighs — and nothing underneath.

She picks up after three rings. Her voice is hoarse with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say softly, lips brushing the receiver like you’re whispering into her ear. “I just… couldn’t sleep. Missed your voice.”

A beat. You can picture her — head heavy against the pillow, red hair tousled, one eye squinting open at the time. “It’s late,” she mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. Then, quieter: “What’re you wearin’?”

You smile, biting your bottom lip, heartbeat kicking up just from the question. “One of your shirts.”

There’s a pause. You hear the subtle rustle of her turning over in bed. Her voice deepens, shifts into something darker. “Yeah?”

You hum, dragging your fingers lightly along your inner thigh. “The black one. It still smells like you.”

“Jesus,” she murmurs. You don’t miss the tension behind the word.

“No panties,” you add, just to push it further.

The silence crackles between you — thick and electric.

Then she says, “Put the phone on speaker.”

Your fingers tremble slightly as you obey, setting it beside you on the pillow. Her voice comes through a little louder now, raspier, more commanding. “Good girl. Now listen to me and do exactly what I say.”

A bolt of heat shoots through you. “Yes, ma’am.”

You hear the sharp inhale she takes when you say it. “Fuck. Alright. Start slow. Show me how you touch yourself when I’m not there.”

You drag your fingertips back up your inner thighs, teasing just beneath the hem of the shirt. Your legs fall open naturally, spreading for her even though she’s not here to see it. Your fingers glide over your folds — already wet, already aching — and you let out a soft moan when you brush over your clit.

“Already wet for me?” she asks, voice low and almost smug.

You can barely speak. “Yeah. Thinking about you. Your voice. Your hands.”

“Then don’t tease yourself. I want two fingers, right now. In deep.”

You gasp as you obey, sinking two fingers inside yourself, slow at first, the stretch familiar and satisfying. Your back arches off the mattress slightly. You moan again, louder this time, not bothering to hold back. Melissa lets out a low sound on the other end, something like a groan.

“That’s it, baby. You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you take it slow like that.”

You keep moving — curling your fingers just right, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room. Your hips start to roll with every thrust, chasing the friction. Your other hand creeps up your body, slips beneath the shirt to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it’s stiff and aching.

“You playing with your tits too?” she growls.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Wish they were your hands. Wish your mouth was on me.”

There’s a strained pause. Then: “I’d suck you so slow, baby. Hold your legs open and lick you until you begged me to stop.”

“Melissa,” you gasp, your pace faltering from the sheer want in her voice.

“You close?” she asks, her tone suddenly sharp. “You better not come yet.”

“I’m trying,” you whimper. “I’m so close, fuck—”

“Harder,” she commands. “I want you to fuck yourself hard. Pretend it’s my fingers. You know how deep I go.”

You moan, loud and desperate now, pushing your fingers in harder, deeper, angling them the way she does when she’s knuckle-deep inside you and murmuring filth against your skin. You can feel it building fast, white-hot and unbearable, pressure winding tighter with every wet stroke.

“Say my name,” she growls. “Say it while you come.”

And when it hits — it hits. You cry out her name, high and broken, body convulsing, thighs shaking as the orgasm rolls through you in waves. You don’t stop until you're spent and panting, fingers still buried inside, the sound of your slick and your breath the only thing filling the room.

You lie there trembling, body buzzing, lips parted as you slowly come back to yourself.

There’s silence on the line for a moment. Then Melissa speaks again, her voice hoarse and wrecked with restraint.

“I’m gettin’ in the car.”

Your eyes flutter open. “What?”

“You think I’m gonna let you sleep like that? After that? Nah. Keep the shirt on. Leave the door unlocked. I’ll be there in ten.”

You grin as you roll onto your side, flushed and sated. “Drive safe, ma’am.”

She groans. “You say that again when I walk through that door, I swear to God—”

Click.

You barely have time to straighten the sheets before you hear the familiar sound of her keys jangling in the lock. Your heart stutters. You leave the lamp on, body still humming from earlier, Melissa’s shirt clinging to your skin in all the places it got damp when you came apart over the phone.

The door swings open. You sit up slowly, legs folded beneath you, trying not to smile too wide when you see her standing there — hair tousled, jacket thrown over sweats, that familiar scowl barely hiding the fire behind her eyes.

Her gaze drops instantly to your bare thighs. “Still wearing my shirt?”

You nod, watching the way her jaw tightens.

She shuts the door behind her without a word, then stalks toward you like she’s been thinking about this — you — the entire drive over. You don’t move. You want her to take her time, to look at you like this, flushed and ready, already ruined once tonight and aching for more.

But Melissa doesn’t take her time.

She climbs onto the bed, pushes you back without ceremony, and slots herself between your legs like she owns the space there — and fuck, she does. Her hands slide up your thighs, rough palms spreading you open, tugging the shirt up and over your hips until it’s bunched around your waist.

“Lemme see that pretty pussy,” she growls, eyes locked between your legs.

You spread them wider without hesitation. She lets out a low groan.

“Fuck, look at you. Still so wet. You dripping for me, baby?”

You nod breathlessly. “I didn’t come down. Still throbbing.”

“Oh, I’ll take care of that,” she murmurs, voice thick. “Gonna get you writhing for me all over again.”

Then she leans in.

She doesn’t ease in soft, doesn’t tease. She licks a long, slow stripe up your slit and groans into it, burying her face between your thighs like she’s starved. Her tongue is firm and unrelenting, circling your clit, then flattening over it, sucking just hard enough to make you cry out.

You fist the sheets, hips twitching. “Melissa fuck—”

She doesn’t stop. One hand comes up to press flat against your stomach, holding you down. Her other hand slips two fingers back inside you without warning — her rings cold against your heat, her thrusts deep and perfect. She crooks them just right and doesn’t stop licking your clit while she fucks you open.

“Stay still,” she rasps. “You wanna come, you take it.”

You’re already trembling, gasping, your legs trying to close around her head but she’s stronger, pinning you wide open with her forearm and moaning against your cunt like she loves the way you taste. Every flick of her tongue is fire, and her fingers don’t slow, curling deep inside you over and over again until you’re babbling her name.

“I—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“That’s right,” she growls, lips slick with you. “Come on my face, baby. I want it. Now.”

You break.

The orgasm rips through you sharp and deep, your thighs shaking, fingers tangling in her hair as your hips jerk against her mouth. She groans when you come, keeps licking, keeps fucking you through it like she wants to feel every aftershock, every spasm of your body clenching around her hand.

You can barely breathe by the time she finally pulls back, her lips glistening, her eyes heavy with want.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess,” she says, voice low and wrecked.

You laugh weakly. “That your fault.”

Melissa leans over you, palms on either side of your head, and kisses you — hard and deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. “You think we’re done?” she murmurs against your lips.

“I ... no,” you whisper. “God, no.”

She smirks.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not leaving until I’ve made you come again. And again. And again.”

Before you can catch your breath, she’s already moving — pulling off her jacket, yanking her t-shirt over her head, bare underneath. Her tits bounce as she tosses the shirt to the floor. You barely get a second to admire them before she shoves her sweatpants down, no underwear there either, her toned thighs flexing as she kicks them off. She climbs back into bed like a woman possessed.

Now she’s naked above you, skin flushed, red hair wild, her eyes locked on yours like she’s daring you to look anywhere else.

You can’t. She’s gorgeous. All soft curves and heat. She settles between your legs again, but this time she doesn’t reach for your pussy. No — this time, she grabs your hips and drags you downward, lining her body up with yours until her wet heat is pressed against your own.

Your breath catches. “Melissa—”

“Shut up,” she growls. “You said you were still throbbing.”

You are. You’re soaked. And now so is she.

She shifts her hips forward, and the moment your pussies slide together, slick to slick, your back arches like you’ve been electrocuted.

“Oh my god—”

“Yeah, baby,” she groans. “Feel that? That’s me. So wet for you.”

She starts grinding. Slow at first, dragging her clit against yours with purpose, with rhythm, her hands tight on your hips guiding the motion. You fall into it easily, matching her thrust for thrust, and the wet sounds of your bodies grinding together are fucking obscene.

Your thighs burn, your stomach tightens. Her breasts bounce with every motion, her breath coming fast through clenched teeth.

“Look at you,” she hisses, eyes dropping to where you’re joined. “So fucking messy down there. Can feel how much you want it.”

You can barely reply — too overwhelmed by the pressure, the pace, the raw drag of your clits rubbing just right. Your fingers find her waist, nails digging in as you meet her thrusts, desperate for more.

She leans forward suddenly, one hand braced beside your head, the other still locked tight on your hip. The angle changes — and the second your clit hits hers just right, your mouth drops open on a broken sob of a moan.

“There it is,” she pants, sweat dripping from her chest onto yours. “Right there, huh? That’s what gets you?”

“Yesfuck, yes—don’t stop, please—”

“You come when I say,” she growls, voice gone feral.

You try to hold back, but she keeps going, grinding harder now, faster, rougher. Your wetness is smeared across both your thighs, your clits swollen and sensitive and locked together in this filthy, desperate rhythm that neither of you can break.

Your stomach tightens. Your legs start to shake.

“Melissa...”

“You come with me,” she pants. “Say it.”

“With you,” you gasp. “Please...I want to—”

“Then come.”

It’s instant. You cry out, legs clamping around her as the orgasm rips through you, sharp and electric and raw. She’s right there with you, gasping your name, riding it out with you, her hips still grinding through it until you’re both a soaking, trembling mess.

She collapses on top of you, chests heaving, your thighs still pressed together, slick and throbbing and sore.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. Just breathing. Just feeling.

Then Melissa lifts her head, looks down at you, eyes still dark and wild. “You better not be done.”

You blink up at her, dazed. “What?”

She smirks. “I said ‘again and again and again,’ didn’t I?”

You're still tangled up when your body finally stops trembling. Your skin is sticky with sweat, your thighs slick, your breath still shaky as Melissa shifts above you, propping herself up on one elbow. Her bare chest hovers over yours, and her tits—Jesus Christ, her tits—are right there. Flushed. Bouncing slightly from her breath. Untouched.

You frown, lips still swollen and sensitive. “You know,” you murmur, voice hoarse, “we’ve been doing all this, and I still haven’t had your tits in my mouth.”

Melissa laughs, low and wrecked, like you’ve just reminded her of something vitally important. “That so?”

You pout up at her, dragging your nails lightly down her ribs. “It’s a tragedy. Honestly, I feel neglected.”

She raises an eyebrow and shifts fully on top of you, straddling your hips again, thighs bracketing yours. “Poor baby,” she coos, but her tone is dripping with sarcasm. “You want my tits in your mouth, huh?”

You nod, eyes wide and hungry, because fuck yes you do. You want everything. You want to suck on her nipples until she forgets her own name. You want to tease her, bite a little, make her beg while you take your time.

Melissa leans in slow, deliberately dragging her nipples over your mouth but not letting you catch one.

“You want it,” she murmurs, brushing her breast over your lips again. “Then open that pretty mouth.”

You do. And the second you do, she presses in, lets you wrap your lips around her nipple and suck.

You moan. Loud and shameless.

She's so warm, so soft in your mouth, and you flick your tongue against the peak, sucking greedily. Her hips twitch against your stomach. You glance up — her head’s thrown back, lips parted, her breathing uneven already.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “You got a mouth made for this.”

You hum in agreement and switch sides, dragging your tongue from one nipple to the other before closing your lips around it. You suck a little harder this time, using your teeth just enough to make her gasp.

Her thighs tighten around your hips. Her cunt grinds down against your stomach.

“Keep doing that, and I’m gonna come just from your fuckin’ mouth,” she warns, voice strained.

You grin up at her, lips wet, and say, “Isn’t that the point?”

That does it. She growls low in her throat and grabs the back of your head, pressing your face into her chest, forcing you to keep sucking. You go willingly, hungrily, wrapping your arms around her back to keep her close.

She rides your stomach slowly, the mess between her legs dripping down onto your skin. Her nipples are stiff and swollen now, your spit glistening on them as she pulls back just enough to look down at you — flushed, panting, breasts red from your mouth.

“Greedy little thing,” she mutters. “You want me to come on you?”

You nod, breathless. “Please.”

She grinds again, harder, and your hands move to her ass, guiding her as she fucks herself against your body.

“Keep sucking,” she pants. “Don’t stop. Don’t fuckin’ stop.”

You do as you’re told, sucking hard while she rocks against you, your stomach slick with her wetness, the pace turning frantic. She’s cursing under her breath now, fingers fisting the sheets beside your head.

And then she breaks.

Her body locks up, hips jerking wildly as she comes hard, her clit dragging over your skin, your lips still locked around her nipple. She moans long and low, voice rough and raw and so fucking hot, and you hold her close through it, swallowing every sound she makes.

When she finally collapses on top of you, she’s trembling. Sweaty. Completely wrecked.

“Holy fuck,” she mutters into your neck. “You got a mouth on you, huh?”

You smile smugly. “Told you I felt neglected.”

She chuckles, breath warm on your throat. “Well. Can’t have that.”

“Now get comfy,” she murmurs. “You’re gonna ride my thigh next. And this time, you don’t stop ‘til I say so.”

She pulls you up without warning, grabbing your hips like she owns them and dragging you across her lap. Her thigh slots perfectly between yours, firm and slick with sweat, muscles taut under your cunt as she spreads her legs wider to give you more room to ride.

You’re soaked. Absolutely fucking dripping. The second your cunt makes contact with the solid press of her thigh, you let out a needy, high-pitched sound that makes her smirk.

“Yeah,” Melissa murmurs, voice low and dangerous, “you need it, don’t you?”

You nod, already rocking your hips forward, dragging your clit along her thigh. The friction is unreal — every movement sends sparks up your spine. She’s still warm from her own orgasm, her skin damp under your knees, and the heat between your bodies is suffocating in the best way.

“You’re gonna ride it, baby,” she says, tightening her grip on your ass. “You’re gonna rub that pretty pussy all over my thigh, and you’re not stopping ‘til you’ve come three fuckin’ times.”

Your eyes go wide. “Three?”

She nods, dragging you forward harder, like you weigh nothing. “Three. And if you stop, I start the count over.”

Your stomach flips, your clit throbbing. That threat goes straight to your core.

So you move.

You grind forward, hips rolling slow at first, catching your clit just right on the firm muscle of her thigh. She flexes it for you, smirking when your mouth drops open. It’s perfect. You ride her like you’ve been waiting for this all night — wet and fast, your slick spreading over her skin, every drag of your clit against her leaving you closer, closer, closer—

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come,” you pant.

“Good. Do it. Soak me.”

You cry out when it hits. Your thighs clamp down around hers, hips jerking wildly as your orgasm crashes over you, clit pulsing hard against her thigh. You’re soaked, making a mess all over her, but she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you.

Her hands grab your hips again, dragging you back into motion before you’ve even finished shaking.

“That’s one,” she growls. “Give me two more.”

You whimper, but you keep grinding — even though you’re already sensitive, already gasping. It hurts, a little, but it’s so good, that sweet ache as your clit rubs against her slick, flexing thigh again and again. Melissa leans up and bites your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and the pain only drives you further.

“You’re such a fuckin’ mess,” she rasps against your neck. “Dripping all over me. This pussy don’t even know when to quit.”

Your second orgasm hits harder — sharper, more desperate. You grab her shoulders and scream when it rolls through you, your whole body trembling as you grind through it, hips stuttering. Your slick spills over her skin, sticky and hot, making it easier and dirtier and more intense.

“That’s two,” she pants. “Come on, baby. One more. I know you got it in you.”

You’re sobbing now, dizzy from the overstimulation, but you keep going because you can’t stop — you need it, need to come one more time, just to make her proud. She grabs your face, pulls you in, and kisses you — hard and messy, tongue already deep in your mouth before you can catch your breath.

It’s disgusting. It’s perfect.

Your lips slip, teeth clack. Her tongue tangles with yours, spit dripping from the corners of your mouths as she fucks your face with her mouth just as relentlessly as you fuck her thigh with your cunt. You moan into her mouth, helpless, broken open, completely hers.

And then it happens.

The third orgasm rips through you without warning — deeper than the others, drawn out and full-body, your thighs squeezing around her like a vice as you grind down frantically. You scream her name into her mouth, hips rolling uncontrollably, your clit pulsing over and over and over again until you can’t anymore.

Your body collapses against her, trembling and drenched and gasping.

Melissa pulls her lips from yours, dragging one final filthy kiss across your cheek before she speaks, her voice like gravel and smoke.

“There she is,” she whispers. “Look at my good girl.”

You laugh — breathless, overwhelmed — and let yourself melt into her chest, her arms wrapping tight around you, her thigh still soaked with you, her mouth still sticky from all the spit you shared.

She strokes your back lazily, lips brushing your temple.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” you murmur.

“Wasn’t planning on leaving.”

“Good,” you say. “’Cause next time, you're tying me up.”

[velvrei]

caught in the heat

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

summary: you and rafe meet at a random party & instantly hit it off… and eventually go upstairs to “talk.”

word count: 1k

…

nsfw below the cut

the music’s loud, the house packed, lights low and bodies pressed too close. you weren’t even gonna come out tonight, but your friends dragged you along—and now you’re leaning against the kitchen counter with a red cup in hand, watching some drunk dude try to do a backflip off a couch.

“ten bucks says he lands straight on his face,” a voice says next to you. deep, smooth, a little cocky.

you turn—and he’s tall, a little skinny but with arm muscles, wearing a white t-shirt, two pieces of hair framing his face. there’s a hint of arrogance in the way he stands, his jaw set and eyes cold, but there’s also a wildness about him, like he could snap at any moment. his t-shirt clings just right to his chest, and he has that signature swagger—like he knows exactly how much power he holds over everyone around him.

rafe cameron.

you know who he is. everyone does.

you raise an eyebrow. “you say that like you’ve seen him do it before.”

he grins. “i’ve seen him fail before.”

you both laugh when the guy misses the flip entirely and knocks over a lamp.

rafe leans closer, smelling like clean cologne and a little weed. “you new around here?”

“nah,” you says, sipping your drink. “you just haven’t been paying attention.”

his eyes drop to your mouth, then back up—slow. deliberate. “i’m paying attention now.”

it’s electric.

like the room disappears around you two.

…

twenty minutes later, you’re in the hallway just off the living room, half-hidden in the dark, your back pressed to the wall, his hands on your waist, mouth locked with yours like he’s starving.

he kisses deep, with tongue and teeth and heat, one hand sliding up your thigh, the other tangled in your hair.

you pull him closer, moaning into his mouth, nails scratching at his chest through his shirt.

he groans, breath hot against your neck. “you’re gonna get me in trouble.”

“you started it,” you breath, tugging on his hoodie.

his eyes flick up the stairs, then back to you. “come with me.”

your heart’s racing as he grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd, up the stairs, down the hall to a quiet room.

as soon as the door shuts, you’re on each other again: his hands under your top, your fingers dragging through his curls, his mouth everywhere at once.

“you sure?” he murmurs against your skin.

you nod, breathless. “been sure since the kitchen.”

he grins—and then it’s all heat and tangled limbs and that feeling of finally.

he kisses you like he’s starving—hands on your waist, mouth dragging from your lips to your neck and lower, like he’s mapping you out inch by inch.

you barely notice the way he walks you backwards toward the bed until your legs hit the edge and he’s easing you down, slow, like he doesn’t want to rush even though his breathing is already ragged.

rafe looks down at you like he can’t believe this is real. “you don’t know what you’re doing to me right now,” he mutters, pushing your shirt up with careful fingers, pausing just long enough to catch your eyes.

you arch up into his hands, your skin prickling under his touch. “then stop talking and show me.”

that’s all it takes.

his clothes are gone, your shirt’s somewhere on the floor, and you’re pulling him back down, kissing him like you’ll forget how if you stop for a second.

his hands are everywhere—sliding up your sides, gripping your thighs, brushing over spots that make your stomach tighten.

he’s gentle, but not shy—like he wants to take his time but he’s been wanting this way too long.

his voice is all rough murmurs and little groans right against your skin, like, “you feel so good,” and “you’re driving me crazy,” and you can’t stop your hips from moving under him, needing more, closer, all of it.

you’re both a little messy with it—hands fumbling, laughter mixing in with moans, the kind of chemistry that’s so real it buzzes under your skin.

at one point, he pulls back just enough to look at you—eyes dark, lips kiss-swollen.

“you’re trouble,” he whispers, then kisses you so slow and deep it makes your head spin.

“and you like that,” you breathe.

“i love that.”

it’s hot and slow and charged, and by the time you’re both tangled up in the sheets, breathing heavy, skin flushed, you don’t remember what song was playing downstairs or who else was at the party.

just the way he looks at you now—like everything’s changed.

…

rafe cameron taglist: @rafestoothbrush @xavierslvrr

[lovelynicho]

Boynextdoor reaction - one night

(unexpectedly spending late night with them)

Pairing: boynextdoor x gn!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: not proofread, but nothing else

Note: no, still not a request, I'm sorry, I swear I'm working on those too! Also I started writing this like months ago and today I felt like finishing it because I had a sudden attack of ideas for this fic, hope you like it! English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes

Masterlist

Sungho

Originally he invited you over to try out a new video game he got but neither of you thought that it will be so entertaining that you'll be at it for hours. First you were very calm about it, still figuring out how everything works but after you got into it, there was no stopping. You tried to accomplish more and more together in the game and playfully scolded each other when someone made a mistake. You had so much fun together that you didn't even realise how much time passed since you started. The sun slowly switched places with the moon and stars appeared on the dark sky one by one. When you noticed the time your were shocked about how long ago you started this game, but you didn't want to go home yet. So at the end you decided to turn this afternoon and evening spent together into a sleepover because you just didn't want to leave your boyfriend's side. Not tonight.

Riwoo

You planned a movie date for the evening at your place. What you didn't calculate with was the huge storm that decided to start right after he arrived and soon the electricity went off in the whole building thanks to that. So the movie date became impossible. You lit some candles to have something light up the place, it actually turned out pretty romantic. You ended up eating all the snacks you guys bought for the movie while waiting for the power to come back. After an hour or two everything went back to normal, the lamp working again, the tv turned on and the internet connection came back. However, Riwoo and you had so much fun doing nothing in the dim lights of the candles that movie night already became forgotten, you didn't want anything else than to just be with, and focus on each other. And maybe a little bit more snacks.

Jaehyun

Jaehyun is a weird guy. Everybody and their mother knows that. Therefore when he plans a date you never know what to expect. But something that you actually didn't expect was for him to put together the most romantic dinner ever known to mankind at his place. He put candles on the table, gave you your favourite flowers and cooked a delicious male by himself (or at least that's what he claimed). When you finished you didn't want to leave yet. It was a gesture that showed you how much he really loves and adores you and you didn't want this moment to end. So you just kept sitting at the table talking, really opening up to each other for hours straight. This was probably the point when both of you realised how serious you are about this relationship. And another thing that you realised that night was that Jaehyun can actually stay calm for more than an hour long.

Taesan

You were at his place, laying in his bed, cuddling. He hugged you so softly but still so close, your head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat. It was calm. You made it calm. The same way he calmed you down. At that moment it didn't matter how stressful of a day you've had, how angry you were at the whole world just hours ago. But as soon as you were with him everything seemed to suddenly get better. And there you were, laying down with him as a calm melody was playing on his vinyl player. Words weren't needed in that moment. You were planning to lay there for a few minutes, but minutes soon turned into an hour and then more and more hours. "It's getting late" Taesan whispered to you "shouldn't you go home?" You looked up at him, right into those beautiful eyes of his, and said "right now all I want is to be with you"

Leehan

You know how much Leehan loves watching his fish even for hours straight. At first you didn't understand; how can someone be so entertained by some fish? they're not even doing anything special, just swimming around, how can someone just stare at them non-stop? But it seems like tonight you finally understood. Today was not just long but also really stressful for you and you didn't want anything else than just some comfort so you came over to your boyfriend's. After eating something the two of you just settled in front of his fish tank watching as the little animals swim around in the water. Your head resting on his shoulder, calmly breathing in and out, non of you breaking the silence. You didn't know how much time has passed since you sat down there but honestly, you didn't care. You felt closer to him than ever before, it gave you so much comfort, and all you did was watching some fish in the dim light.

Woonhak

Woonhak LOVES basketball and he also LOVES you so one day he just decided that he's going to teach you how to play. In the late afternoon of a random week day you two went out to the basketball court nearby and started to play together. He thought you a lot, even got carried away to teach you every single trick he knows so much that by the time you were too tired to move anymore the sun has settled, it was dark already. But neither of you wanted to go home so, the caring boyfriend he is, Woonhak put his hoodie on the ground and the two of you laid your heads on it to watch the stars while talking about everything and nothing. Calm moments with him were rare, not that you complained about it, his active personality is one of the reasons why you fell in love with him, but still, you cherished every second spent together with him, even if you are just doing nothing together.

[librababe99]

Raw Temptation

CW: Fem!Reader, Oral (fem! receiving), body worship 

Word Count: 1841

A/N: This is my first time writing anything smut related (please bare with me lol) and depending on how this does I may slowly ease into it more... And don't worry "Moments Between Time: Part One" will still drop later this evening! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

The night was heavy with the scent of rain, the soft patter of droplets against the window filling the dimly lit room. You leaned against the cool glass, your breath fogging up the pane as you stared out into the storm. The flickering light from the bedside lamp cast long shadows, dancing across the walls and highlighting the rough textures of the room's wooden furniture.

You heard the door creak open behind you, the familiar scent of whiskey and leather mixing with the rain-soaked air. Logan stepped inside, his presence filling the room with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His gaze was dark, lingering on you in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You're up late," he murmured, his voice gravelly and low, as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. His muscles rippled beneath the tight fabric of his shirt, every movement deliberate, almost predatory.

You turned to face him, your back pressing against the cool glass. "Couldn't sleep," you replied softly, your eyes meeting his. The tension between you was palpable, a silent challenge hanging in the air.

Logan's eyes darkened as they roamed over your figure, taking in the way the soft light illuminated your skin, the curve of your lips, the rise and fall of your chest. He took a step closer, his boots heavy against the wooden floor.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I can think of a few things to tire you out." His hand brushed against your arm, the touch sending a spark of electricity through your body.

You swallowed, your breath hitching as you felt the warmth of his body radiating against yours. "Is that so?" you managed to whisper back, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Logan's lips curled into a half-smile, one that was both dangerous and inviting. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Why don't I show you?"

Before you could respond, his hand slid around your waist, pulling you against him. The roughness of his touch was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. His other hand came up to cup your chin, tilting your head back as he captured your lips in a searing kiss, filled with the promise of everything that was to come.

The kiss was fierce, a clash of want and need that left you breathless. Logan’s lips moved against yours with a possessive hunger, as if he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had. His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The heat of his body pressed against yours, the hard planes of his chest and the roughness of his calloused hands a stark contrast to your softness.

You moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in the thick strands of his hair as you tried to keep up with the intensity of his kiss. Logan growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your entire body and sending a thrill straight to your core. He pulled back slightly, his lips hovering over yours as his eyes, now dark with desire, searched your face.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his breath warm against your swollen lips. The rough edge to his voice was laced with restraint, as if he was barely holding himself back.

You shook your head, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, as if afraid he might actually pull away. “Don’t you dare,” you whispered, the words spilling out in a desperate rush. You didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want the distance, the restraint. You wanted all of him.

Logan’s eyes flashed with something primal, a fire that burned hotter than before. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, darlin’,” he rumbled, but the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth told you he was more than willing to give it.

His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he pushed you back against the window. The cold glass pressed against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat blazing between you and Logan. He held you there, his grip firm and unyielding, his body pinning you in place. You wrapped your legs around his waist, the friction of your bodies igniting a spark that sent a jolt of pleasure through you.

Logan’s mouth trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he nipped and kissed his way to your collarbone. The roughness of his stubble against your skin only heightened the sensation, each touch a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. You arched into him, your body begging for more, and he obliged, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingers brushing over your heated skin.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned against your throat, his voice rough and breathless. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your own hands were just as eager, slipping under his shirt, feeling the hard muscles beneath your fingertips. He was all strength and power, but there was a gentleness to the way he touched you, a reverence that made your heart race even faster.

Logan pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity that made your breath catch. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, but there was an edge of vulnerability there, a hint of hesitation that surprised you.

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumb brushing over the roughness of his jaw. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you whispered, the honesty in your voice clear.

He stared at you for a moment, as if committing this moment to memory, before his lips crashed against yours again, this time with even more fervor. He kissed you like a man starved, his hands everywhere, touching, caressing, claiming you as his. And you let him, surrendering completely to the sensation, to the heat that was building between you, until nothing else existed but the two of you, lost in each other.

Logan's kiss deepened, his mouth moving with a raw intensity that left you dizzy. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding your body against his in a way that had you gasping for air. You could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, the heat between you building to a fever pitch. His touch was rough, but there was something achingly tender in the way his fingers brushed against your skin, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he moved lower. The feel of his teeth grazing your collarbone sent a shiver through you, and you arched against him, craving more. Logan growled softly, a sound that sent a rush of heat straight to your core. His hands slid beneath your shirt, pushing it up slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist before he finally pulled it over your head.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before his mouth was on you again, his lips and tongue working a path down your chest, making you moan. He took his time, savoring the taste of your skin, his hands caressing your sides as he explored you inch by inch. When he finally reached the swell of your breast, his eyes flicked up to meet yours, a dark, hungry look in them that made your pulse race.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. The way he looked at you, like you were something precious, made your heart flutter in your chest.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you tugged at it, wanting—no, needing—more. He got the message, shrugging out of the shirt in one fluid motion and tossing it aside. The sight of him, bare-chested and utterly feral in the low light, made your breath catch. Every muscle in his body was taut, his skin marked with scars that told stories you could only imagine. But right now, all you could think about was how badly you wanted him, all of him.

Logan’s hands were on you again, sliding down your sides to the waistband of your shorts.. He paused, looking up at you with a question in his eyes, seeking your permission even now. You nodded, breathless and eager, and with a swift, practiced motion, he peeled them off you, leaving you exposed to his gaze.

His eyes darkened as they roamed over your body, drinking in the sight of you laid bare before him. “God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, but the words sent a rush of heat through you all the same.

He moved closer, his hands finding your thighs, spreading them apart as he positioned himself between them. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, every nerve in your body on fire as he leaned in, his mouth hovering over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. When his lips finally made contact, you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed his way up, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

Logan’s touch was relentless, his mouth exploring you with a fervor that bordered on worship. He took his time, tasting, teasing, driving you to the brink of madness with every slow, deliberate movement. You could feel the tension building inside you, every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge.

“Logan,” you breathed, the sound of his name on your lips urging him on. He growled in response, the vibration sending a shock of pleasure through you. You were close, so close, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Logan’s mouth found that perfect spot, his tongue flicking against your clit with just the right pressure. The world around you shattered as pleasure crashed over you in waves, your back arching off the window as you cried out his name, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He didn’t stop, your body quivering from the orgasm that ripped through you.  Only then did he pull back, his lips swollen and glistening, his eyes dark with desire as he watched you, his expression one of pure, unbridled lust.

You were still catching your breath when he leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that tasted of you, of the pleasure he’d just given you. It was slow, sensual, a promise of everything still to come.

When he pulled back, his voice was rough, his breath warm against your lips. “We’re just getting started, darlin’.” 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

[deathworlders-of-e24]

Liz, Biotechnician

Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I still can’t get this stupid arm to work right,” Liz groaned. She’d managed to get to the lab on time today, and she’d been able to get dressed herself, but only barely. Her lab coat and uniform were both disheveled, the new bionic hand unable to get every button resulting in half of them being left undone. She’d ended up having to tie her shoe laces in knots to keep them on her feet because her fingers couldn’t bend the way she wanted or grip the thin laces. The only reason Liz was wearing the lab coat these days was to hide the cross section where her arm ended and the cybernetics began. Looking at it was… upsetting, to say the least.

“It’s only been a few cycles, Human Liz,” Coco said. “It’s my understanding that losing limbs is fatal to most other species of non-botanicals. Having the ability to complain right now is a gift.”

“It’s been over a week,” Liz said. “And I know, everyone keeps reminding me I’m lucky to be alive, you, the captain, Jane, I know how lucky I am, but this,” she waved the hunk of metal she called a hand, “is starting to piss me off.”

“You are upset,” Coco said. They were standing beside the center lab table. Liz couldn’t even see the claw marks the predator creature had left on their trunk anymore. “This is to be expected.”

Coco walked over to their wall computer, avoiding the small automated cleaner Liz had made to tidy up the dirt they tracked everywhere.

“Remind me again, this device you have made to remove the dirt, why have you attached a weapon to it?” Coco asked.

“Thought it’d be funny,” Liz said, “which it was.”

“And you have designated it…?”

“Stabby, ‘cause of the steak knife.”

“Why?”

“Old Earth legend. Makes us humans laugh,” Liz said, smiling as she leaned her chin on her good arm.

“You will have to explain that story to me again some time.” Coco clicked a button on their screen and a wall panel slid up between them, revealing the clutch of 5 eggs they’d taken from MX13 sitting in their tank. They were about the size of baseballs, or stone fruits. Liz had stuck a strip of electrical tape on the front and written ‘arm eating bastard eggs’.

“You know I’m half tempted to eat them,” Liz said.

“Please do not engage in predator behavior around me,” Coco asked. “It still makes me nervous sometimes watching you try to swat at insects.”

“Really? Why?” Liz chuckled.

“I know you are more evolved than a simple animal, but when I observe you stalk and hunt down the… mosquitoes? It reminds me of the predators we have on Spryga. It is unsettling.”

Liz stopped and thought for a moment. She hadn’t considered that before. It was probably a normal complaint among former prey species working alongside humans. Whoops.

“Well, sorry. Humans are weird like that, but I’ll try to be more conscious about it,” Liz said.

“Thank you. I do not mean to… step on your hands, but I appreciate it.”

“Step on your toes, hon.”

“Right.”

Liz pulled the tank out of the wall while Coco set the lab up, turning on heat lamps and setting the environmental controls in the room to MX13 standard, except for the air. Upon further analysis of the predator creature from the moon, it didn’t need the methane in the air to breathe. From what was left of its ‘lungs’, they breathed more like frogs, through their skin, stripping oxygen from out of the water they swam in. Apparently they were more reptilian than Liz had expected. There were underground rivers and lakes all across the subsurface of the moon, hunting grounds for the creatures. Liz guessed they came above ground to lay their eggs, away from the competition.

Furry reptiles, Liz thought. Why the hair though? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe to keep warm? The underground water has to be freezing.

“What do you think the GAIL will want to do with them after… if they hatch?” Liz asked.

“Standard procedure would be to return them to their natural habitat after a nano scrub to remove any and all unnatural scent from their bodies, so they can be reaccepted back into their species later,” Coco explained. “But hatchlings would be another question entirely. Perhaps they would be sent to an outpost for further study, or released into a controlled habitat somewhere.”

“What, like a zoo?” Liz asked. “You have zoos in the GAIL?”

“Possibly, I’m not sure what this zoo is.”

“We had them on Earth a long ways back. It was pitched as a way to study animals up close, but it was really just cheap entertainment for the masses. Eventually it kinda grew into a way to help endangered species, but it was still pretty on the line.”

“Then no, we don’t have zoos. What I’m speaking of are rehabilitated planets or moons with an ecosystem created to cater to the needs of the species we simply can’t put back where they are from.”

“That still kinda sounds like a zoo, but I guess if nobody is throwing peanuts at the elephants it’s still an improvement.”

The lab was set up for observation, the eggs were supposedly viable, so while they waited to see what would happen, the two got back to their other work. Reasonably they could’ve just left the eggs in the temperature controlled wall slot, but Liz had said that’d be boring, considering it was ‘the most she’d ever paid for less than a full carton of eggs.’

Coco stepped into their pot and watched the eggs, Liz in her desk chair tinkering with her new arm. She was sure if she could just get the pathways right, she’d be able to get the thing working properly. The cable running from her arm to her computer was annoyingly equated to a leash in her mind.

If I could just open a can of soda by myself, that’d be a huge win.

As they sat there doing important scientific work, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Coco said, unmoving in their corner. The door opened and, oddly enough, another human walked in. He stood just inside the doorway looking around sheepishly. Liz glanced at him and was surprised to see a maintenance droid sitting on his shoulder.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you guys, uhh, I’m Thomas, from engineering,” said the man.

“Well, hi, I guess,” Liz said, a little confused. “What are you doing all the way up here Thomas? We didn’t make any maintenance requests.”

“No, you didn’t, but I think you need one anyway,” Thomas said. “See, I was just in the med bay for the last couple cycles, and I overheard the nurses talking about the human who needed a cybernetic arm. I’m assuming that was you and not one of the other two, right?”

“What gave it away?” Liz said dryly, waving her metal hand. “And what are you doing, asking about me anyway? You want to see the robot arm or something, get an upgrade for your little buddy there?”

“Oh, no no no, I’m sorry, I just figured you’d need the fix for it,” Thomas said. He walked further into the room, albeit cautiously. “I asked about the model arm they gave you, the MK6, and there’s a small chance the one you have has a problem.”

“… huh?” Liz said, actually confused now.

“Yeah, the MK6 is a great design, but the company putting out the arms had a faulty inspection system, a couple hundred came off the line with a bug in the wiring.”

“I’ve ran a dozen tests on this thing, I would’ve found any code defect.”

“No, I mean, an actual insect, little crawly thing, in the arm. The factory where they were made had a pest problem so they were fumigating for a while. The whole plant is totally automated, so they didn’t stop production while they did it. Bugs went everywhere trying to escape, and some went into the product to avoid the pesticides. Prosthetics got sealed up, and so did the bugs. It’s probably gunked up the wiring in your arm, that’s why you can’t… you know,” Thomas explained, gesturing to her uniform.

“There… there’s a bug in my fucking arm?” Liz said, disgusted.

“I’m just saying there might be,” Thomas said, hands up like he was going to defend himself.

“Beep.”

“Yeah, I know buddy, but we gotta get permission first.”

“Did the small drone speak?” Coco asked.

“Oh my god you’re a Sprygan!” Thomas said, surprised. “I’m so sorry, I thought you were just a houseplant.”

“It’s no problem, I am not offended,” Coco said.

“Uhh, yeah, his name is Roomba, he asked why we don’t just fix the arm and go. We’re still learning patience and manners, apparently.”

“Beep.”

“Apology accepted. Thank you Roomba.”

“Can somebody just check my arm for bugs now please, before I throw up?” Liz half squealed, panicking. She could charge a hostile alien creature no problem, but the thought of insects touching her was enough to make her stomach churn.

“Yup, right, okay, gimme a sec,” Thomas said, coming into the room fully now. “Roll your sleeve up, I gotta remove the casing for this.”

Liz rolled the sleeve of her lab coat up past her elbow, grimacing as she caught sight of the connection plate set into the bone. The skin around it was still red and scarring.

Thomas pulled a small set of tools out of his back pocket and got to work. With a thin pick, he popped the forearm plate up, exposing the circuits running the length of the device, what Liz had in place of muscle tissue now. He took a small pair of needle nose pliers and started poking around, gently moving aside some wires here, around a bolt there. Liz turned her head away. As fascinating as the mechanism was, the idea of seeing an insect inside her body was going to make her sick.

“Okay, talk, bot boy, how come you knew about the defects?” Liz demanded. “I need stimuli to keep from thinking about this revolting situation, so talk.”

“I, uhh, wrote a paper at the academy, about how designers only see solutions to what they think could be the problem,” Thomas said, moving up her forearm. “A lot of people don’t realize they’re smarter than they give themselves credit for, especially actually smart people. Knowing what could go wrong, they start to doubt themselves, and when things do break, they wrack their brains over all the little things they think they did wrong. So I wrote a paper about all the other things that could go bad… like this little guy right here.”

Thomas clamped onto something and slowly fished it out of the device. Liz turned her head even further away, but it didn’t matter. Coco, ever present, and blunt as always, described it to her.

“It appears quite dead. Human Liz, you seem to have had a beetle of some kind in your prosthetic limb,” they said.

“Hon, I love you, but please don’t tell me the details,” Liz said, covering her mouth with her good hand.

“The lady who designed the MK6 is a certified genius, so I used her factory in my thesis paper. After they started getting complaints about some of their prosthetics, they ran every test they could think of, even rewrote the software a few times. It wasn’t until a no name engineer opened one up that they found the problem. Wasn’t anyone’s fault, it’s just a difference between working software and working hardware.”

“And you wrote an engineering thesis paper on that?” Liz asked, dry heaving ever so slightly.

“No, I wrote my psychology paper on that. I wrote my engineering paper on a new WARP drive design I made up.” Thomas threw the dead insect in the trash. “Bigger brains just see bigger problems. Takes a… well, not dumber person, just maybe a different kind of person to see the small problems.”

“Clearly. Anyone with two degrees isn’t what I’d call dumb either,” Liz said, turning her head back.

Thomas used a little brush to clean up the arm a little, squeezing a small tube of sanitizing gel into the empty space between wires.

“Roomba, sterilize this for me, would you?”

The little drone carefully climbed down from his shoulder and dropped onto the table. It held its little hand up as one of its finger tips ignited, making a small controlled torch. Liz held her arm out, looking concerned. The little droid ran its finger over the affected area and after a moment, the little flame went out.

“Beep.”

“Good job buddy. He said it’s totally clean now, 100% sterilized,” Thomas said.

“Oh thank god,” Liz breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks little guy, I owe you one.”

“Beep.”

“He said you’re welcome,” Thomas translated, handing the small droid a data pad. The pad wirred and trilled, and Liz realized the droid was playing a video game.

Odd little fella, huh, she thought.

“You should be able to get the arm working by the end of the day now. It’s had plenty of time to adjust to your neural pathways, it just couldn’t execute any functions till the block was removed. It’ll work just like your old one now,” Thomas said, putting the little tool kit back in his pocket.

“Guess I should say thanks for that,” Liz said, rolling her sleeve back down. “So… thanks. I owe you one too. Any of you guys down in maintenance need a hand, I’ve got a shiny new one to offer.”

“Human Thomas,” Coco chimed in, “thank you for fixing my friend. Your service has been greatly appreciated.”

“You’re very welcome,” Thomas smiled at them, “both of you. I better get back down to the maintenance deck though, we’re still repairing the core room from that flare the other cycle.” Thomas turned to leave, and was almost at the door when Liz called after him.

“Hey, hardware!”

He stopped in the doorway.

“Weird thing to call me, but I can dig it. Yeah?”

“How many degrees do you have?” Liz asked.

“Four, why?” He said.

“Know anything about eggs?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thomas left after a while, saying he’d be back to help build a better inclosure for the hatchlings. Apparently he’d kept bearded dragons as pets when he was a kid, so he knew at least a little about ‘lizards’.

Liz opened a desk drawer and dug out a stress ball, something Doctor Shaw had given her for rehab, and tried to squeeze it. Amazingly, her metal fingers actually curled and the ball morphed out of shape.

“Finally!” She said. “Coco, look! I can squeeze the ball!”

“That is wonderful, Human Liz,” Coco said, the lit photo bar in their branches feeding them synthetic star light. “The human capacity to overcome body altering trauma is fascinating. In my research of non-botanical life, this is very clearly an exception. Other lifeforms would simply perish from such catastrophic damage.”

“Wait until you hear our bones grow back stronger after they break,” Liz said, laughing.

“They do what?” Coco asked, a note of alarm making its way into their voice synthesizer. Liz cackled, throwing her head back and everything. She felt better than she’d had in days, like whatever funk she’d been in was starting to disappear. She suggested they discuss human bone structure while they go get something to eat, saying Coco could gorge themselves on chocolate while she got a sandwich or something.

The mess hall was lively, and various species meant various different cultures and cuisine, so it always smelt different every few minutes or so. They sat and discussed cellular structures, bone density, and the like, how calcium deposits support bone regeneration for a while, making the broken area stronger than ever, for a time at least. Coco was simultaneously fascinated and terrified. They had no idea non-botanical lifeforms were so resilient in the Terran System.

After some time, and a second sandwich, they made their way back to the lab. They’d just stepped off the lift and were a few feet from the door when Liz heard it.

…scchhtt scchtt sschht…

Something was scratching at the door, low to the floor. Something small.

“Coco wait a minute,” Liz said softly, holding out her good arm in front of the Sprygan.

The door opened… and there was a baby arm eating bastard sitting there, looking up at her. The thing looked almost like a big kitten, except for the gator snout and reptilian limbs. Its body was covered in patchy fur, almost like a baby seal. It looked up at the two of them and chirped like a cat before waddling over, sat on Liz’s foot, and began gnawing on her laces.

“Holy shit,” Liz said. “It’s so ugly I love it.”

“I will go call Human Thomas,” Coco said, “we will need the new enclosure now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Thomas arrived, the scientists had found two more Armeaters. “Yeah, one word, that’s what I’m calling them,” Liz had said when asked. One had been crawling around in Coco’s plant pot, and the other was sniffling around under the desks. As for the other two eggs, it seemed the three had…

“You mean they ate the other eggs?” Thomas asked, mildly horrified.

“Yeah, we checked the recordings. They sat looking at the eggs for a bit before they, uhh, kinda just crushed the eggs and ate them scrambled,” Liz explained. She was sitting in her desk chair, covered in Armeaters. Coco didn’t put out any body heat, so the little buggers had decided Liz’s lab coat and uniform were the optimal place to get warmth. It was actually pretty cute, in a weird sort of way, as they were all three purring in a guttural manner.

Thomas rigged the big tank the eggs had been in with a little 3D printed ‘rock’ cave, with some spare dirt the Sprygans had on board. The engineer worked hard to make the enclosure as close to the environment on MX13 as possible. By the time he was finished, they even had a little ‘pool’ made out of a file tub they weren’t using.

The problems started when the humans tried to put the creatures in the tank. They didn’t go for it. The moment Liz tried to set them down, they started whining, making this pew sound, much like baby alligators.

“I do not understand,” Coco said. “Why are they doing this? There is food and water in the enclosure, as well as a heating rock to keep them at the optimal temperature.”

“They probably imprinted on Liz when you walked in,” Thomas said. “Lots of creatures think the first thing they see after they’re born is their parent.”

“That sounds… confusing,” Coco said. “On Spryga, we either sprout from the ground near our progenitor, or we are sometimes an offshoot of them when branches or limbs break off and take root on their own.”

“This is just great,” Liz said sarcastically. “Gonna have to get a blow up bed or something, sleep in the lab now. We’re having a slumber party Coco, sorry, but apparently the kids need me.”

“Beep.”

“Because they’re newborns Roomba, they don’t know any better- OW SHIT!”

Thomas looked around, then started laughing uncontrollably. The auto-cleaning device had started its rounds, cleaning up eggshell and dirt. It had nicked his ankle with its knife.

“THERES A ROOMBA WITH A KNIFE!” He howled. “This is amazing! Why didn’t I think of that?”

He looked directly at Liz, more serious than either of the two scientists had seen so far.

“Do you think Roomba can ride the roomba? Can one of the little guys ride with them too?” He asked, so seriously.

“You humans are starting to concern me,” Coco said. “I’m getting more chocolate.”

“Can you grab me a drink too hon? These little guys are sleeping and I don’t want to wake them.” Liz was petting the little creatures when she noticed she was using her prosthetic arm. She hadn’t even noticed, it felt so seamless. She curled the fingers and scratched gently behind one of their ears.

About time, she thought. The funk was over. The new normal wouldn’t be that bad it seemed. She looked at the engineer.

“Thomas, if it’s the last thing I do on this ship, they’re riding the roomba.”