#I was like in the middle of playing and thought

[spearofheaven]

MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE— ex boyfriend! gojo satoru

SUM. alone in a hotel room with your ex boyfriend after he pulled a risky stunt. what could go wrong?

CONTAINS. 18+ content, MDNI. non canon compliant/au. no plot just porn. x fem reader. 3k words. gojo’s lowk an idiot. ex sex. unprotected p in v. cunnilingus and fingering. creampie. some hints of body worship. nipple play. panty sniffing + panty taking. missionary. hair pulling (m receiving). belly bulge. some aftercare. unresolved feelings. reader probs folded too fast idk.

A/N. if you recognize this smut scene, no you don’t 🫡 #reuse reduce recycle

you knew this mission was bound for failure the moment principal yaga opened his mouth to announce that you and gojo were working together. no exceptions.

why he needed help in the first place was beyond you.

he was loud, arrogant, cocky, but he knew how to handle himself well (you would rather die than admit it, though).

and he also happened to conveniently be your ex boyfriend.

your ex boyfriend who you haven’t spoken to since your breakup—despite his various attempts to reach out to you: from extravagant bouquets waiting for you on your doorstep to cashapp requests in the thousands asking for you to unblock him. (which you accepted but never unblocked).

tensions had been running high since the moment the two of you stepped foot into your hotel. arguments left unsaid, lingering looks that the two of you ignored far too well. all until today, of course. when the idiot made the mistake of getting too close and letting his guard down, just for the sake of showing off to the first years.

“do you just get off on going against instructions? you could’ve gotten hurt.” you’d been nagging in his ear for the entirety of the way back, though he wasn’t complaining. after a couple months of silence, this was practically music.

“you still care about me, sweets? i’m flattered.” gojo could practically see the smoke coming out of your ears with that response.

"well, yes. but that’s not the point. you just can't do anything by the rules, can you? i swear, it's like it goes in one ear and ou-" your complaints were quickly shut down, his lips pressing against your own before you could even muster what was happening.

every single atom in your body was screaming to push him away, not to do this. again. but instead of doing just that, your fingers dug into his shirt and pulled him all that much closer.

kissing him felt all too familiar—a practiced dance you hadn’t quite managed to forget all the moves to. “be mad at me later, just.. let me have this please,” he pleaded, pressing his forehead against your own.

and you were certain that the man had done witchcraft, gotten some spell from a witch on etsy that’d been activated with the kiss, because somehow, someway, you found yourself nodding.

satoru hooked his fingers underneath your thighs, squeezing the supple flesh once while he made his way over to the bed. “mmph, fuck, i missed you baby,” he let out a quiet moan against your lips.

“shut it,” was your response, nibbling down on his bottom lip. your nails raked through his hair, tugging at the strands when you pulled him closer.

“yes ma’am,” satoru breathed out, walking over to the california king bed in the middle of the room before gently placing you down. you practically melted into the expensive silk sheets. (courtesy of gojo having millions upon millions to blow)

every second was savored—not willing himself to stay away from you for too long. he was hovering above you in a matter of seconds, holding your chin in between your fingers, “can i?”

once again, every thought in your mind was telling you to push him away. to remember how little he made you feel. “yes,” your mouth had a mind of its own, answering him before you thought better of it.

satoru let out a sigh, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “are you sure? i want you to want me. to want this as much as i do.”

you shook your head, reaching up and pressing your palm against his cheek. he was like a pathetic puppy, rubbing against your touch. “i do want it, toru. i want you.”

his touch was careful, almost like unraveling an expensive gift he didn’t quite want to ruin the wrapping of. a strangled breath left him upon seeing your lingerie, cerulean and lace framing your body in the best damn present he’d opened.

a cerulean blue that was too similar to his eye color—too much for him to deem as a coincidence.

looking over at you in disbelief, he asked, “when’d you make the switch to agent provocateur?”

you raised a brow at how quickly he recognized the material—deciding to leave it be though, “ever since i had seven grand to blow from a veryyy generous donor last week.”

satoru let out a quiet scoff, tracing the outline of the lace on your bra with the tip of his finger. his thumb barely circled against your clothed nipple, a featherlight touch, “and just who were you planning on showing this pretty set to?”

“wouldn’t you like to know weather boy?” a scoff of your own left your lips, rolling your eyes. but he was already in his own little world by now.

satoru had been deprived of the taste of you for months now—the very feeling of your skin underneath his fingertips nearly having him break out in a moan.

every nerve in his brain seemed to go haywire when he pressed his lips against your neck, the lingering scent of your perfume intoxicating whatever brain cells remained in that big noggin.

"did you just moan?" you raised your head as you looked down at him. never mind, not almost.

“you taste and smell good, what did you expect?” he licked a stripe down your neck, reaching your collarbone. gojo gently pulled the skin in between his teeth, sucking at the flesh. determined to leave a mark—even if you’d just have him for today.

each kiss trailed lower and lower down until he got to your shoulder, unable to resist the urge of snapping your bra strap. before you had the chance to glare at him, he reached for your back—unclasping the hooks and tossing your $300 bra to the floor.

you nearly winced.

“there’s my girls.” satoru took one of your breasts in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your nipple, “my favorite girls. missed them too, missed everything about you, baby.”

one of his large hands engulfed your other breast, rolling his thumb against your areola while he mindlessly sucked on the one in his mouth. “there you go. arch your back for me, sweetheart.” a groan left his lips, slipping his knee in between your legs to keep them open.

satoru alternated between each breast, giving each equal attention. leaving your nipples hard and covered in his spit. “so pretty,” he whispered in awe, giving each a farewell kiss.

he made his way down to your navel, pressing chaste kisses to whatever skin he had access to. kissing everywhere but where you needed him most—where he was rubbing his knee against.

you almost expected him to pounce up at the first opportunity, but instead, he settled by the foot of the bed. his touch featherlight as he dragged his fingers from your ankle to your calf, eliciting goosebumps down your spine in his wake.

“i’m sorry,” satoru started off, pressing his lips against your right calf before moving on to the left. “never wanted to make you break up with me,” he continued, kissing his way up your leg.

not a single inch of your body went untouched by his lips before he moved up, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. you raised your hips, letting him slide them down your legs.

he looked up at you with puppy eyes, holding the slick-covered panties in his hand. a silent request.

your eyes narrowed, “no. you’re not keeping those.”

satoru let out a whine, bringing your panties up to his nose. taking an audible whiff and closing his eyes, practically relishing in the lace. “oh come on, i’m the one who got you these, technically.”

“generous donor, since we’re getting technical,” you shrugged, “put the merchandise down on the floor.”

“i’ll get you ten more. twenty, if that’s what you want. just let me keep these,” he spoke quickly, watching the way your eyes practically turned into money signs. “and maybe if you just show them off to me.”

he’d already spent over seven grand, what was a couple more thousand?

you looked at the pair in his hand, before shrugging, “i’ll be generous and only ask for fifteen.”

satoru quickly pocketed your panties, kissing up your thigh. “the most generous,” he mused, nibbling on your inner thigh. his hands spread your legs out, presenting to him like one of the finest meals.

and he was more than ready to feast.

he leaned forward, swiping his tongue in between your folds. your fingers ran through his hair again, gripping his hair tightly. or at least.. you thought your grip was tight. it was hard to tell when satoru moaned regardless, sucking on your folds.

“so good, so good, use me, i’m all yours, always been,” just one taste of you again was enough to have him pussy drunk, babbling against your cunt. you pushed his head further into your cunt, swiveling your hips against his eager tongue, “yeah, yeah, just like that, don’t stop.”

you looked over to see satoru laying down on his stomach, completely at bliss slurping and sucking at your cunt with his feet swinging back and forth. if his mouth and hands weren’t busy, you had no doubt that he’d be twirling his hair and giggling.

“come onnn, let me know how i’m good i’m making you feel,” he pouted as he looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, his lips glossed over with your slick.

"fuck you," you bit down on your lip, gritting the words out in an attempt to keep any moans at bay.

"aht, aht, that's my job, cutie. and first, you gotta tell me what you want," satoru gave your thigh a loud smooch, his fingertips tracing your folds and barely dipping inside of your dripping cunt before he’d pull away. only to repeat it again.

in a moment of weakness, you found yourself relenting, “your fingers, toru. please,” it came out low, barely enough for his ears to register. and almost like clockwork, he took that opportunity to tease you further.

“what was that, baby? couldn’t really hear you,” he retorted, clicking his tongue. when you went to open your mouth, he pushed his fingers inside of your cunt. the loud squelch cutting you off completely.

“your. fingers,” you gritted out, your request coming out louder, “please.” only the bastard would make you beg after apologizing to you.

he pushed his fingers inside of you yet again, bringing them to his lips and swirling his tongue around them, “please what?” another tease.

“please, toru. i want your fingers,” a whine was evident in your voice.

“there we go, baby. that wasn’t so hard, hm?” his fingers thrusted inside of you once more, curling in a come hither motion.

satoru closed his lips around your puffy clit, sucking on it before swirling his tongue. he started with drawing small circles on your nub, before your brows furrowed.

he was using your damn clit as a writing board.

the tip of his tongue carefully spelled each letter,

‘I. LOVE. YOU.’

“seriously?” it came out shakier than you would’ve liked, little gasps and unsteady breaths leaving your lips.

“mhm,” he didn’t bother on elaborating further, covering your clit in his spit as he sucked. the curl of his fingers hit that spot inside of you with each thrust, his fingers thrusting deeper than even some of your toys.

“ah ah, fuck!” you let out a moan, hips bucking into his face to meet his tongue frantically. “don’t stop, don’t stop, just like that!” each swipe and thrust brought you closer and closer, your back nearly off the mattress.

satoru simply shook his head, swiping his tongue back and forth. the idea was simply absurd—that he was even capable of thinking to stop. “not gonna stop, baby. just wanna keep tasting you,” he responded, swinging his feet back and forth again in sync with his thrusts.

you weren’t sure if you hated him or you wanted to fuck him even more. maybe a little of both.

that familiar coil tightened in your lower stomach, your nails practically digging into his scalp in response. “ah fuck, yeah, dig them in there, i can take it, i can take it,” satoru was reduced to a babbling mess yet again, each whine vibrating against your clit.

“i’m close, i’m close, gonna cum,” your moans had him pushing his hips into the mattress, seeking anything to relief his aching cock. but—this wasn’t about him. it was about you first. “come for me, baby, take what you need.”

the coil inside of you snapped, your orgasm hitting you at once. your hips stilled, your release coating his fingers and spilling out onto the bedsheets underneath. he sucked his fingers, cleaning up every. single. last. dribble.

gojo wasted no time in unzipping his pants, sliding them down along with his boxers. freed from its confines, his cock sprung up against his stomach. pink tip twitching and all—dripping drop after drop of precum.

wrapping a hand around the base, he swiped the tip against your folds. much like he’d be swiping his card later. up and down, letting your slick coat the head before he slowly pushed it inside. pushing against that initial resistance.

“biggg stretch, there we go,” a hiss escaped from his lips, feeling your walls squeeze against him tightly. he had to close his eyes, refusing to look down at you. he knew that if he did, that would be all it would take for him to bust.

satoru placed your legs on his shoulders, slowly starting to move his hips forward. pushing inch by inch inside with each thrust, up until he could see his tip bulging in your lower tummy.

“toru?” your voice broke him out of the trance, hazy blues meeting your own glazed over expression.

“yes, baby?”

“you think maybe, just maybe, you could go a little faster?”

satoru broke out into a cheshire like grin, making you instantly regret your ask, “anything for you, my princess.”

*PLAP* *PLAP* *PLAP*

the sound of your skin slapping against his own, the sound of your moans and his shaky breaths filled the room, mixing in with the heavy stench of sex. satoru’s grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging into you while he used your cunt how he pleased.

“that fast enough for you, baby?” satoru taunted, a smirk on his face. the sight in front of him was nothing short of perfect—from the way your jaw fell taut, drool leaking out from the corner of your lips with each punishing thrust. all the way down to the way your tits bounced, each bounce nearly putting him in a hypnosis.

“yes yes, fuck!” your hands dug into the bedsheets underneath as a lifeline, something to cling onto. you could even feel the slight curve to the left, each vein grazing your walls.

“y-yeah? finally good enough for you?” you could only nod in response, his cock drilling out every thought. your walls squeezed around him, toes curling against his back. you didn’t have to give him any warning this time—he simply knew.

“so good, so good,” you babbled like a broken record, his dick hitting your g-spot with such ease it had you wondering why you’d ever broken up with him in the first place.

“suck for me,” satoru prodded his thumb against your bottom lip. you instinctively parted your lips, swirling your tongue around it and sucking on it. all while keeping your eyes on him. he could’ve sworn you were trying to kill him now.

you released with a pop, his thumb glistening with your saliva. “ah fuck! keep going, keep going!” satoru rubbed quick circles against your clit, his own thrusts starting to grow sloppier and sloppier. heavy balls smacked against your ass with each push of his hips, one of his feet propped up against the mattress for an angle that had your eyes rolling back.

“t-toru! make me cum, please, please!” you whined, nails scraping against the cotton bedsheets. your walls clenched against him tightly, milking his cock, before your orgasm washed over you like a wave.

your release coated his shaft, your cunt squelching as he fucked you towards his own orgasm. he was close, so so close, but the man needed one more push. “tell me you love me, please,” his voice came out ragged, “i need you to tell me.”

“i love you, toru,” his name had never sounded so good, so sweet before. the quiet whisper of your admission was all it took to push him from the edge. a low groan left his lips, spurt after spurt of cum dripping inside of you. painting your walls white, pooling where he and you were still connected.

satoru pulled out carefully, the mixture of fluids dripping from his softening shaft onto the silk bedsheets underneath. “stay here, i’ll be right back with something to clean you off.”

he came back into the room with a wet hand towel from the guest bathroom, gently cleaning in between your legs. wiping away at the cum dripping down your legs, staining your thighs. “there we go, how are you feeling? you need water?” satoru tossed the towel to the side, pulling his pants back up.

“i’m good. but we should probably talk about this,” you gestured in between the two of you, “we both said.. a lot. and i do love you, toru. but just because we had sex doesn’t mean everything’s fixed between us.”

“i know,” gojo replied almost instantly, like he’d been equally dreading and looking forward to this conversation. “trust me, i know. i want to work things out with you. if you’ll let me.”

but for now, in the comfort of the hotel room, you allowed him to hold and snuggle against you like a human blanket. letting yourself momentarily enjoy the moment of peace before you reminded yourself that you were still exes.

yaga didn’t bother asking why the two of you showed up later than expected or why you two were less tense the next day.

[heliosunny]

The Hollow Crown

Prince!Anaxa x Reader

You, a runaway apprentice turned petty thief, stood before a king and queen whose grief had hollowed their eyes and made their crowns feel heavier than gold.

"Another one" the king muttered, his voice flat with exhaustion. You barely bowed. You knew your odds.

Behind you, the guards tightened their grip on their spears. One wrong word, and your head would join the pile left by healers, scholars, and miracle-workers who'd failed.

“I can heal him.”

A lie? Maybe. But it bought you time. And time was all you needed.

'He used to be brilliant. He once debated four councilmen to silence when he was ten.'

You heard it all on the way here. What a pity.

The king waved his hand. “Fail. And you die.”

That was fair.

You were led to the prince’s chamber.

The man who once charmed courts and terrified scholars now sat in the middle of the room, barefoot, with leaves in his hair and a belt wrapped around his head like a crown.

He was humming to a beetle crawling on his palm.

You cleared your throat.

He glanced at you. “Do you think beetles are born knowing they’ll be crushed?”

"That depends. Are you crushing them on purpose?”

He blinked, then grinned. “You’re funnier than the last one. He tried to exorcise my lungs. I'm Anaxagoras.”

You stepped closer.

“Yeah, yeah prince A.”

You were just a dropout with half a spellbook and a death sentence in every direction. But you could feel pressure, a kind of twisted resonance, like a spell wrapped around him.

The prince tilted his head. “You don’t look like a real mage.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh good,” he said. “They make my brain itchy.”

You were panicking. The pressure was unbearable. You had minutes to prove your worth, or your neck was next.

You whispered a spell under your breath: Echo Tongue. To make him mirrored the words you said.

“Say this: ‘My mind is clearing. I feel… lighter.’”

“My mind is clearing. I feel… lighter.”

A gasp echoed behind you. The queen had stepped inside, the royal physicians followed.

“What did you do?” the queen asked.

“I severed the mental snare around him. The effects will strengthen with time.”

Lie. But it worked.

Cheers broke out from the hallway. Inside, your heart was clawing to escape your chest.

The king entered last.

“If this is a trick—”

“It isn’t.” you interrupted smoothly, guiding the prince to his feet. “He needs rest and continued monitoring. I’ll remain close, in case of relapse.”

You didn’t say: Because if I leave, the spell wears off. Or Because I have no cure.

And now you had it. Time… and a prince who parroted your every word like a puppet on a golden string.

That night, while he slept, you poured over scrolls, scraps. Whatever cursed him hadn’t just broken his mind. The false cure bought you hours, maybe days. Eventually, they’d realize something was off. The prince was too agreeable, too rehearsed. You had to find the real root.

You didn’t expect him to be a genius. Parents usually brag about their kids so you thought maybe the queen did the same. No, he's not just any genius, but the kind of genius who could recite entire economic treatises from memory, solve siege logistics in his head, and critique high court decisions while brushing his teeth.

And now, the kingdom expected him to return to duty.

They assigned you as his assistant. Every hour he was dragged to meetings, study halls, strategy sessions. And every hour, you were there behind him, feeding him lines when needed, making sure his “miraculous recovery” didn’t unravel in public.

It was exhausting. More importantly, it was dangerous. The longer he played puppet, the more people stared, noticed the uncanny pauses, the oddness of his phrasing.

You needed time.

So you made it.

You waited until the prince was halfway through a military briefing. The sun shone gently through the palace windows. A perfect afternoon. A rock soared in from the garden. You’d enchanted it minutes ago.

Thwack

It smacked the prince clean in the temple.

The prince collapsed. You rushed to him dramatically, checking his pulse. “He needs rest and healing. Alone.”

Within the hour, he was carried to a private room in the medical wing, under a healer’s care.

You returned to your quarters, pulled the curtains shut, and unwrapped your tool - a glass globe.

You contacted your master. The globe flickered with a dull light. Then, slowly, an image emerged through the glass.

“Well,” he drawled, “I thought you were dead in a ditch.”

“I might be soon,” you said. “I need your help.”

He scoffed. “You always need help.”

You shook your head. “I’m trying to break a curse. It’s… it’s on a prince. Everyone who tried to cure him got beheaded. I only survived by pretending I did.”

Your master blinked. His face softened, hardened, settled somewhere between curiosity and...was that respect?

“Well,” he muttered. “You learned some courage.”

“Whatever this curse is, it’s not normal. It feels like it wanted him quiet. Like it hated that he was clever.”

Your master frowned. “A sabotage.”

“So someone did this on purpose?”

“Fools fall two ways - by nature's hand or another's. So ask yourself: what slipped past his lips? What 'blessing' came with strings? And what's been staring at you this whole time?”

You scribbled the words down. You hate quizzes.

He added, “If it’s still lingering, it means the anchor’s close. Break the anchor, and the spell will collapse.”

“Any clue what it could be?”

“Could be an object. A name. A symbol burned into his soul.” His gaze narrowed. “Or it could be someone he trusts.”

The globe dimmed. Then he vanished.

The spell you cast was… unstable, to say the least. You didn’t even have all the ingredients, so you substituted powdered mooncrab shell with stale chalk, and you’d spilled ink on half the glyphs. But it was all you had.

It worked, though.

The moment you whispered the incantation, a sickly shimmer outlined two objects in the prince’s quarters. One was a bronze pendant tucked inside the folds of his pillow. The other - a porcelain chess knight sitting quietly on his bookshelf. You smashed both.

Nothing changed.

That was the problem.

You slumped against the wall, clutching your head in your hands. You were tired.

And the third anchor? Still hidden.

It felt close. But you couldn’t see it. Couldn’t feel it the way you were supposed to.

You were cursing under your breath when the prince suddenly stopped spinning in circles and walked up to you.

“Why are you sad?”

“…I can’t find something” you admitted. “Something very important.”

The prince tilted his head. His long light green hair shifted over his shoulder. “When I’m lost,” he said, “I always look for Seraphel.”

“Seraphel?” you echoed.

He nodded. “He gives me tea and tells me what thoughts to ignore. He says I think too much.”

Anyone the prince truly trusted was suspicious now.

You waited until nightfall. Then broke into Seraphel’s chamber.

He slept like a statue. His room was neat. Almost unnervingly clean.

The third anchor. A sealed ring tucked in a velvet box under Seraphel’s bed. Marked with the same sigil etched into the tattoo on the prince’s hand.

You shattered the ring, burned the box.

All three anchors disappeared.

You waited.

But the prince didn’t move. He had fallen asleep moments after you broke the curse, head resting gently on a spellbook.

You tried shaking him.

He wouldn’t wake up.

It was like his mind, freed at last, had left to find itself.

You sat by his bed, hands trembling.

The curse was gone. But so was he.

What if breaking the curse came too late?

It happened in the soft hush of dawn, when you’d half given up hope.

The prince stirred. A faint sound escaped him.

“Good morning.”

He recognized you immediately, of course he did. You’d been his shadow for weeks. Feeding him lines, lying for him.

But there was something new in his stare.

By noon, the entire palace knew the news: Prince Anaxagoras was well. The king wept. The queen kissed your forehead like you were a holy relic. Nobles who once scoffed at you now bowed so low their knees cracked. And Anaxa just watched it all with a faint, feline amusement, like he was testing how far they’d crawl.

When the king asked how to reward you, you’d barely opened your mouth before Anaxa’s hand settled on your shoulder.

“I’d like them to stay,” he said sweetly. “Beside me. They’re useful.”

The king hesitated. Who would dare refuse the miracle child returned to himself?

And so it was done. You were no longer a prisoner. You were the prince’s personal aide.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. You helped him catch up on lost months—papers, councils, secretive letters.

But then… the games began.

He’d catch you watching him from across the room. Smirk, as if he knew every thought that flickered behind your eyes. Drop a pen and make you pick it up, only to brush his fingertips along your wrist when you did.

Yet outside those moments when he bullies you, he guarded you like a dragon its hoard.

A chancellor sneered at your common birth, Anaxa cut him off mid-sentence. “Do not speak to them again.”

Only he could torment you. Tangle your nerves until you wondered if he was toying with you or protecting you from something far worse.

One night, you found yourself alone with him in his private study. He reclined in his chair, long hair brushed to one side.

“You look frightened,” he murmured. “Don’t be.”

“Why keep me here, Your Highness?”

“Because you made me interesting again,” he said, “And because you belong to me now. Don’t you?”

----

Today was spectacle disguised as labor, Anaxa’s favorite kind of cruelty.

He’d dragged you to his private study. Scrolls, treaties, and obscure arcane scripts were stacked in leaning towers that threatened to crush you.

He perched behind his massive desk, long green hair tied into its usual elegant ponytail, eye unblinking as it skimmed lines of ancient text at a pace you’d once described as “inhuman.”

“Write this down” he ordered. He began reciting words you’d never heard, whole pages unwinding from his tongue.

You scrambled to keep up. Ink splattered your cuffs. The first pen cracked in half under your grip. The second one slipped and left a black streak across your wrist. Halfway through your third pen, he paused, just long enough to watch you struggle to jam the nib back into its slot, then went on.

You wanted to hiss at him. Maybe cry.

By the tenth pen, your fingers were numb and your notes looked like the aftermath of a dying spider on cheap parchment.

When you handed him the stack, Anaxa didn’t even glance at the ink-stained pages. He just leaned back and said, “This is hideous.”

“You didn’t even read it—”

He tapped his temple. “I remember it all. You only wrote it so you wouldn’t forget how small your mind is beside mine.”

You hated him a little, then. Not enough to say it. Just enough for the sting to settle behind your teeth.

And he wasn’t done.

He swept the table clear with a single swipe, papers and pens clattered to the floor. He tossed you a piece of chalk. “Draw.”

“Draw what?”

“Whatever you know. Whatever you think you know. Let’s see how useful you really are.”

So you drew. Your palm cramped. Your knees ached on the cold marble floor. A third of your attempts flickered, sparked and died.

He watched it all.

When the final line sputtered out, you were sure he’d ask for more. Instead, Anaxa stood. His robe brushed your shoulder. He cupped your chin with his fingers, forcing you to look up at him.

“You look dreadful,” he said, “I suppose you’ve earned your bath.”

“You suppose—?!”

“Go.” He released you, already turning away. “If you’re not clean when I call for you again, I’ll drag you back half-soaked. Understood?”

You almost barked back something rude, but your aching back and filthy hands betrayed you. You just nodded.

“Good,” he murmured. “Off you go.”

The bath was the closest thing to heaven you’d known in weeks. You stayed until the water cooled. Until your thoughts were soft and boneless.

When you returned to his study, half expecting another trial, he didn’t even look up. He was alone at his desk, the tower of scrolls replaced with a single open ledger, candlelight dancing over the gold embroidery of his robe. His pupil flicked back and forth, tracking line after line at impossible speed.

You lingered by the door longer than you meant to.

He didn’t look up. But his voice, when it came, cut through the silence like a knife. “Staring is rude.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he said calmly, still eyeing on his work. He dipped his pen, “Do you like what you see?”

You folded your arms. “I was wondering if you’d break another ten pens for fun.”

He chuckled “If I did, would you curse me?”

“I’d consider it.”

Finally, he looked at you. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“To read to me. Your voice is tolerable when you’re not whining.”

You snorted despite yourself. “So you do enjoy tormenting me.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I enjoy many things about you.”

And you did what you must. Because you valued your life.

You never liked staying in one place too long. You’d made a life out of slipping through cracks, stealing bread, disappearing.

But Anaxa… Anaxa was an iron lock around your ankle, disguised as silk.

It started over a half-finished supper in his private garden, where he’d dragged you out to “get fresh air”. Really, he just wanted to watch you feed the koi while he read court letters and pretended you weren’t entertainment.

He must have felt the shift in you. The way your eyes drifted to the walls, the guards beyond them, the distant sky.

“You’re restless.” he said, not bothering to look up from his letter.

“You’re imagining things.”

“You want to leave.”

“Always do.”

He set the letter aside. When his eye lifted, they pinned you like a specimen on a tray. “You could take me with you.”

You choked on your laugh. “Right. Sure. I’ll just drag the prince out. No one will notice.”

“You could use magic.”

You snorted. “What do you want me to do, fly us both? The only time I flew, I almost left my legs behind.”

“Then open a portal.”

You rubbed your temples. “That’s worse. The last time I opened a portal, it swallowed my teacher’s cat for two weeks.”

“Then figure it out. You’re clever when you’re desperate.”

You stared at him. “You’re serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

You gestured at the palace behind him. “You’re royalty. You have an entire country under your thumb. You can’t just run off because you’re bored—”

“It’s not boredom.” His voice snapped, just a bit. “It’s disgust. Look at them.” He gestured vaguely toward the invisible halls beyond the garden. “They used to laugh behind my back. Call me the idiot. Feed me honeyed words and shove me into walls when no one was looking. Now they line up to kiss my feet because I’m useful again.”

You fell silent.

“Did you know they plan to marry me off soon?”

“I figured,” you muttered. “You’re a prince. It’s how kingdoms stay rich.”

“It’s how vipers stay fed.” he corrected. “I heard them. They treated me like a stray dog back then. Now I’m a prize.”

“Then… don’t marry them.”

“I won’t,” he said. “Not if I have something better to amuse me.”

You stepped back.

“If I have to,” he continued, “I’ll marry you instead.”

It wasn’t a proposal. It was a threat.

You scoffed, pushing him back by the shoulder. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not. I’d rather chain myself to you than to any of them.”

“Do you hear yourself?” you snapped. “You can’t just decide that because you’re bored—”

“I’m not bored!” The koi scattered at the sound. He caught your wrist before you could retreat.

“I remember everything. Every laugh. Every lie. I know exactly what I am to them. But you—” His thumb traced your pulse like he might snuff it out for fun. Or keep it beating, just because he could.

“You’re mine.”

You pulled your hand back. “You can’t own me.”

“I already do.”

“You’re insane.”

“Perhaps.” He leaned in, close enough that you could see the gold thread of his eyepatch. “But you’re the one who broke my curse. You should’ve let me rot if you wanted to run.”

“I saved your life. That doesn’t mean you get to ruin mine.”

“Stay, and I won’t have to.”

“So what, you’d rather cage me here forever than let me walk away free?”

“You’d leave?”

You looked away. “I don’t belong here. I never did.”

The koi drifted back to the surface, scales flashing silver under the garden lanterns.

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to belong wherever you run.”

And you realized, with a cold knot in your throat.

You weren’t the one keeping him caged here anymore. He was the lock on your door. And you were the key he’d swallowed whole.

----

Prince Anaxa summoned the Board of Masters. Everyone knew: when Anaxa wanted to know something, he wouldn’t stop until it cracked open in his palm.

And someone had to be the test subject.

Of course they picked you.

You sat in a circle of chalk. Anaxa stood just outside the circle, watching.

“Let’s increase the pull by half.”

You wanted to curse him. Instead, you braced your palms on the circle’s edge, forcing the flow of your magic through the sigils into the new vessel—a glass sphere.

You felt the drain immediately.

When you swayed, he was there, one hand on your shoulder.

“Focus.”

When the session ended, you collapsed back onto cold stone. Someone draped a blanket over your shoulders, it wasn’t him. He just looked down at you like a craftsman studying a flawed tool.

You’d thought that was the worst of it.

Whispers slithered through the hallways. Servants snickered when you passed. Apprentices called you pet, plaything, parasite. A pretty toy to drain dry for the prince’s amusement.

You tried to ignore them. Tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter. For now, you were… useful. That was enough.

But one morning, bruises bloomed on your wrist where someone shoved you against a cold marble wall, just out of sight.

“You think you’re special?” they hissed.

You shoved them back, but the sting stayed. The words too.

Anaxa found out, of course.

He said nothing at first. Just called for another test.

“We’ll test the vessel directly.”

He held up the finished sphere. He gestured for the man who’d shoved you.

“Come.”

The man obeyed—how could he not? He placed his hands on the vessel. The moment the spell triggered,the apprentice gasped, spine arching as raw power licked through him.

Anaxa didn’t look away from you. Not once.

The apprentice collapsed.

“Perfectly. No more questions, yes?”

Later, when the Masters were gone, he sat with you in the empty hall. Your head rested against a pillar, hair damp with sweat. He twirled the vessel in his hands, its gem glinting with magic trapped inside.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m bored,” you lied. “That’s all.”

“Good. Stay bored here, with me.”

You shut your eyes. “One day, I’ll go.”

He pressed the vessel against your palm.

“Then I’ll follow.”

“Yeah, Prince A. I doubt that.”

----

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw his fingers hovering at the edge of his eyepatch. You were just going to find some food when you saw him.

“A?” you asked. He didn’t answer.

He just tilted his head back against the pillar, thumb pressing into the black-gold edge of the patch that covered his left eye.

You remembered all those nights lately, catching snippets of what he read when he thought you were half-asleep by the hearth.

And suddenly it all made sense, why he’d been mumbling about magic sigils, why he’d half-joked about keeping you close.

“..I shall sacrifice this.” his thumb pressed harder, you lunged forward and grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t.” You hadn’t meant to shout, “Don’t you dare.”

He blinked at you, startled, caught in the act.

“What are you doing?” you hissed. “Curse it? Offer it up? Do you think I’d stay?”

“It wouldn’t hurt for long.”

“You idiot. You idiot.”

You forced the next words out before they stuck in your throat. “I’ll stay. For… however long.” Your jaw twitched. “Until someone assassinates you. Or me. Or both of us. So leave your eye be.”

His breath caught, like he hadn’t planned for that answer. Like he didn’t know what to do with it.

Then he lowered his hand.

“Ah…” he sighed, like he was letting go of something too heavy to carry anymore.

You opened your mouth to say something when he bent one knee down onto the cold marble floor.

“What are you—? Wait—don’t—don’t propose to me right now.” A laugh puffed out of you. “I swear I’ll knock you out—”

But he didn’t pull out a ring or something. Instead, he hissed sharply through his teeth, winced, and shifted his weight off the knee.

“…I think I strained it.”

“You—what?”

“Well? Do something about it.”

You stared. “You want me to—”

Anaxa pointed at his own shoulder. “Piggyback ride. Now.”

You threw your hands in the air. “You—”

“You said you’d stay.” he reminded you sweetly, ignoring how you nearly growled at him. “That includes carrying me if I hurt myself for your sake.”

You crouched anyway, let him drape himself over your back, let his breath tickle your ear as he settled in with infuriating satisfaction.

“Don’t drop me.” he warned smugly.

“Maybe I should.”

[crazziforazzi]

Fighting for the love (of the game) -Chapter 8

Chapter 8: The difference between space and distance

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Trope: Second chance

A/N: I know I have been saying it for a while, but I do hope you feel how we are slowly getting closer to the cute moments. Let me know what you think! ;)

Word Count: 8.6k words

Masterlist

Paige POV: It should have been a normal night out, that was the whole point.

I was supposed to be a simple team bonding thing. Sparks players supporting the Lakers, seats in the fifth row, laughing too loud and cheering too hard because the season hadn’t started yet and no one was judging them.

The Sparks Organisation had hooked them up with prime seats, Paige was wedged between Rae and the aisle, with Rickea, Cam, Azzi, Dearica, and Sarah filling the rest of the row. The entire arena was buzzing with energy, the kind that usually pulled Paige in and made her feel alive.

But not tonight. Tonight all she could feel was her jaw locking tighter by the second.

Because of Jaxson fucking Hayes.

The first time he jogged past their section, Paige barely noticed. Sure, she knew him, big guy, shaggy hair, whatever. Just another Lakers player doing his job. She thought maybe he was glancing at a camera close to them. Paige had even smiled politely, pretending not to notice the way his eyes lingered a little too long in their direction.

But the third time he came down the floor, it wasn’t subtle anymore.

Mid-stride, he turned his head just enough to make it clear he was looking, eyes skating past Cam and Rickea without so much as a flicker of interest before landing and settling on Azzi. No hesitation. Just a slow, intentional once-over and a grin paired with a look that was so confident, like he’d already decided he liked what he saw and wouldn’t mind letting her know it.

And Azzi…God, Azzi wasn’t even paying attention.

She was laughing at something Rickea had just said, her head thrown back in that easy, unbothered way that made her whole face glow under the lights, the curve of her cheekbone catching just enough shimmer. She was wearing a pink Under Armour hoodie and baggy black pants, minimal makeup, and somehow still managed to look like the star of the show without even trying. 

She wasn’t even doing anything flirtatious, just existing in that magnetic, impossible way she always had. 

But Paige saw it, saw the way he looked at her, saw the way his eyes lingered, calculated, like he was already playing out some fantasy in his head.

And Paige, who hadn’t earned the right to touch Azzi in months, who still woke up with her name half-formed in her mouth and her hand reaching for someone who wasn’t there, felt her jaw tighten and her heartbeat climb. Every instinct in her body screaming to do something she no longer had the privilege to do.

But all she was allowed to do was sitting there, pretending she didn’t notice the way the guy kept glancing back during timeouts. Pretending she didn’t care that Azzi was glowing so effortlessly beside her and that she wasn’t seconds away from unraveling just because some cocky benchwarmer had the audacity to look at Azzi like that.

In the next second, Jaxson landed a two-handed dunk with the kind of unnecessary flourish that only made sense if you knew you had an audience.

As he jogged back down the court, his expression said it all. His chest puffed, curls bouncing, that smug, self-satisfied grin spreading across his face like it had been waiting all night for this exact moment.

And that grin was aimed directly at Azzi.

And oh, it landed. Their entire group burst into chaos like someone had lit a match.

Rickea immediately threw an exaggerated elbow into Azzi’s ribs and sang out, "Okaaaayyyy, somebody’s got a fan!"

Dearica let out a loud laugh that carried across the row, while Rae leaned forward, eyebrows raised, visibly trying to do the math on a possible NBA-WNBA crossover while Sarah giggled behind her hand.

Azzi, in the middle of it all, just laughed.

Her cheeks blooming pink, head shaking like she was trying not to indulge it, not to make it a bigger deal. But even in the way she ducked her chin, in the way she tucked a loose curl behind her ear and bit her lip to hold back a smile, there was something soft and flattered about her expression. 

She wasn’t asking for the attention, but she wasn’t exactly immune to it, either.

And Paige... Paige was not laughing.

She sat frozen, spine too straight, hands gripping her knees so tightly her knuckles ached. Her heart thudded hard in her chest, loud enough that she was sure if she moved, if she blinked too fast, it would give her away.

She didn’t know what she wanted more, to roll her eyes and pretend none of it mattered, or to stand up right there in row five, and make it absolutely, unmistakably clear to everyone in Crypto.com Arena that Azzi Fudd was not available. 

Not for flirty grins or stupid glances and definitely not for NBA players who couldn’t guard a folding chair and probably didn’t know the first thing about what made Azzi so goddamn special.

But the reality was that Paige had no right to be jealous and she knew that. She reminded herself again and again, silently, like a mantra she didn’t quite believe but had committed to memory out of sheer necessity.

And still, her body didn’t care didn’t care. Her stomach was already twisting itself into knots, and her whole being buzzed with one desperate, aching truth: She is mine. She has always been mine.

But at the same time: You promised her space. You promised her time. You don’t get to want this right now.

Except this wasn’t just space, this was torture.

This was her entire chest being torn in two while everyone else around her laughed and nudged and played matchmaker with someone Paige still dreamed about every night.

This was different, this wasn’t hypothetical.

This wasn’t just her overthinking or spiralling in silence. This was watching someone else look at Azzi like they could handle her, like they even had the faintest idea what it meant to love her. This was someone else recognizing the magic that Paige used to hold in the palm of her hand.

And worse, it was watching Azzi smile back, even if it was just a polite smile, even if it meant nothing.

She hadn’t realized that "waiting" would mean this. That it would mean sitting still while the person who used to fall asleep in your arms was being admired like artwork by someone else, as if she were on display and open to interpretation.

That it would mean letting other people take swings while you stayed quiet, your hands tied by guilt and timing and every mistake you couldn’t take back.

She had told herself she could handle it, that she could give Azzi the space she asked for, the clarity she needed, but she hadn’t prepared for this. For the way it would hollow her out from the inside.

Another smug, over the top celebration from him that made the whole lower bowl crackle with energy. And as Hayes turned to jog back up the court, this time he didn’t just glance or grin, he looked directly at Azzi, cocked his head slightly, and winked. 

A full-on, confident wink, like he had already decided this was a game and he was winning.

Paige saw it all, the flick of his eyes, the smirk, the unbearable certainty that radiated off him like heat.

And then she saw Azzi’s reaction. 

The way her face flushed again, pink blooming across her cheeks, her eyes widened slightly before she looked away, biting back a smile with that little head shake that meant she was flustered, maybe even a little charmed. Like she couldn’t believe someone had the audacity to flirt with her this directly in front of everyone.

And that, God, that was the final fucking straw.

She stood up too fast, knee knocking against the cup holder, heart thudding like it was trying to crawl up her throat, and blurted out, "I’m getting drinks. Anyone want anything?"

The words came out clipped, almost too bright, like she was trying to pass off urgency as enthusiasm. She didn’t wait for a full chorus of replies, just caught a wave of overlapping "Yeahs" and "Gatorade if they got it" and something from Rae that sounded like "booze, please" as she turned sharply on her heel and started up the aisle, away from all of it. 

Away from Azzi.

But she had barely made it two steps up the aisle when she felt it, gentle but firm, warm fingers curling around her wrist with a touch so familiar it knocked the breath from her lungs before she could name the feeling. It wasn’t forceful but had just enough pressure to make her stop. To make her feel stopped, like everything in her had come to a full, stunned halt.

Paige froze mid-stride, heart tripping hard against her ribs, her thoughts slamming into each other all at once. For a second, she didn’t even turn around, she just stood there with her back to the row, bracing herself for someone to ask for a change of order, something harmless and normal.

But when she finally turned, slowly, her body already knew what her mind hadn’t dared to hope for, she saw her.

Azzi.

She was standing close, too close. Her eyes wide and unreadable in that way Paige knew by heart. It was open, searching, seeing straight through her without having to try. It was the kind of gaze that made Paige feel like every mask she wore had already fallen, like she wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all Azzi.

She didn’t speak at first, just looked. And somehow, that silence carried more weight than anything anyone else could have said.

Because in that split second, all the noise in Paige’s chest, the swirling ache of jealousy, the embarrassment, the panic, the helpless, hopeless want, quieted. It didn’t disappear, but it slowed. 

Like Azzi’s hand on her wrist had pressed pause on the spiral and given her just enough stillness to breathe again.

"I’ll come with you," Azzi said, her voice soft and steady, nearly drowned by the hum of the arena but somehow cutting straight through it.

She could have said anything else, could have made a smug joke about Paige clearly fleeing the scene again. She could have joined in with the rest of the row and poked at her, gentle and playful, the way they always had when Paige was being too obvious. But she didn’t. 

Instead, her fingers lingered just a second longer around Paige’s wrist before slipping away. And Paige, for once, didn’t try to play it cool. She just nodded, her throat too tight to trust words.

Azzi stepped in beside her, their shoulders almost brushing as they started up the aisle together, their movements quiet and in sync, just like they always used to be.

Paige could still hear the crowd buzzing, the game unfolding below, the girls in their row still laughing about whatever had just happened, but it all felt far away now. 

They stepped into the back concourse, where the thundering energy of the arena thinned. It was still loud, muffled bass thumping through the walls, scattered cheers erupting from the court, but out here, away from the spotlight, everything felt dimmer. 

Paige still didn’t say anything.

Not because she was angry, she wasn’t. Not at Azzi, not even at him, even if part of her wanted to be. No, what she felt was messier than anger, way harder to name.

She was overwhelmed, so heavy with emotion she didn’t have language for, stuffed tight with all the things she wasn’t supposed to feel, let alone say. 

Because when someone you love looks you in the eye and asks for space, asks for patience, for time to figure out their heart, the last thing you are supposed to offer in return is jealousy.

You do not chase, you wait and respect their request.

So Paige stared at her shoes instead. Nike Dunks, worn-in, the toe of one just starting to peel at the edge. She focused on the tile beneath her feet, the subtle sway of the line as it inched forward, the illusion that standing still might help settle the storm in her chest. 

Azzi stood next to her, just close enough that their sleeves brushed when they stepped forward in the slow-moving concession line, just close enough that Paige could feel her there without needing to look. 

There were maybe five people ahead of them. A kid whining about nachos. A man explaining, far too seriously to his friend, why churros was an elite choice of snack during basketball.

All of it blurred around the edges of Paige’s mind, white noise to the war inside her, the quiet desperation to not ruin the fragile thing they were building again by saying too much too soon.

And then Azzi’s voice came, soft and low, threading through the noise with ease.

"You know I am not interested in him, right?"

There was nothing defensive in her tone, just calm steadiness with the slightest tremor Paige almost missed.

Paige exhaled slowly through her nose and gave a small shrug that was supposed to be casual but came out too tight. She bit down on her bottom lip, not in the flirty, familiar way that used to earn her a laugh from Azzi, but in the quiet, self-protective way that kept everything from spilling out.

She nodded without looking up, tried to leave it at that.

But the second her eyes did flick sideways, just for a moment, and landed on Azzi’s face, on the worry in her brow, the soft furrow between her eyes, the sincerity radiating from every inch of her, Paige’s walls caved in.

The words she’d been sitting on broke loose before she could stop them.

"I'm trying," Paige said, her voice rough, low, like each word was being dragged across something sharp on the way out. "I mean to keep my promise. I do. I want to. And I will. But…" She trailed off, eyes dropping again before she could finish, then forced herself to look back up, just long enough to be honest. "It’s not easy. Watching someone act like that toward you. Like they have got a shot. Like you are…" Her throat tightened. "Like you are available."

Azzi didn’t speak right away, but her lips parted slightly, her expression unreadable in that way that always made Paige nervous, because it meant she was feeling something big.

"I know you technically are," Paige added quickly, wincing at her own choice of words, "I know that’s the deal right now. I know you don’t owe me anything. But it still… it still feels like..." She stopped again, jaw tightening as she fought for the words. "It feels like watching someone trying to flirt with my girl. Even when she’s not…" Her voice cracked on the edge of the word. "I mean…God, you know what I mean."

There was a stretch of silence, long enough that Paige almost opened her mouth to apologize, to walk it all back, to tell Azzi to forget it.

But before she could, Azzi shifted to face her more fully, like she’d been holding back and just now decided she wasn’t going to anymore. Her eyes, those deep, kind, infuriatingly steady eyes were softer than they’d been all night.

"Paige," she said, quiet but clear, her voice almost lost beneath the buzz of the arena, "it doesn’t matter if they are looking at me or trying to flirt."

Paige blinked, startled by the calm certainty in her voice, and met her gaze fully now, unable not to.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. "I am not interested," she said, simply. "I have already got enough thoughts about one person in my head. There is no room left for anyone else."

Paige could not breath for a second, not while the weight of those words settled gently but firmly over her, quieting the storm in her chest without demanding anything in return. She just stood there for a moment, letting the truth of it sink in. 

This felt like a gift Azzi had just placed in her hands. It wasn't a promise or a fixed future, but a present-tense clarity.

There’s no room for anyone else but you.

She let her shoulders drop, just a little, let herself exhale. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost reverent, like she didn’t want to disturb the delicate thread of calm between them.

"Thank you for calming my mind," she said simply.

Azzi gave her the faintest nod in return, and they both turned forward again, stepping up as the line moved.

By the time they made it back to the seats, Paige was mainly focused on balancing the drinks in her hands. But her heart hadn’t settled, it was still pounding like it was trying to remind her that something had changed.

That Azzi's word had opened something.

She moved down the row carefully, handing out drinks one by one, iced teas, a couple sodas, and the ridiculous neon slushy Dearica had insisted on.

Everyone offered casual thank yous, distracted by the game, still caught in the tail-end of the earlier teasing, but Paige barely registered the words.

Her hands felt clumsy, like they didn’t belong to her, like any sudden movement might betray the storm still churning inside her.

She was just stepping toward her seat again, mentally reciting a script of act normal, sit down, do not make a thing out of this, when Azzi’s voice cut through the hum around them.

"Hey, Rae? Mind if we switch?"

Rae looked up mid-sip, blinking like she hadn’t fully registered the question. "Wait, what? Oh. Yeah, yeah, sure."

A few eyebrows lifted, Rickea let out a tiny "hmm," like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Cam gave a not-so-subtle smirk. But no one really pushed it.

It all happened quickly, Rae shifting over, Rickea leaning sideways to make space, a rustle of jackets and drinks and shared glances, and then suddenly, Azzi was there.

Right next to Paige.

No further explanation, just quiet intention and the unmistakable closeness of someone who had made a decision.

Azzi was choosing her.

Paige froze for a half-second, her knees stiff, her breath shallow in that way it got when she was trying to suppress a feeling too big to handle in public.

She nodded, too tightly, and sank down into her seat beside Azzi, suddenly very aware of the inch between their arms. 

Azzi didn’t say anything, she just sat casually, sipping her drink, eyes on the court like she was actually watching the game, like a shift wasn't happening between them. But then her leg brushed Paige’s lightly,  and then it happened again, just enough pressure, just enough repetition to feel intentional.

Paige felt her entire spine go taut with electricity.

Her fingers twitched where they rested on her jeans, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Or reaching for something she wasn’t allowed to reach for yet.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t really want to. The silence between them was soft and careful. It didn’t feel fragile like it might break, it felt fragile like it might bloom, if she let it.

Azzi shifted slightly in her seat, just enough for Paige to catch the scent of her, vanilla and citrus, the same lotion she’d always used, the one that still clung to the collar of Paige’s old hoodie buried deep in a drawer back home.

Without thinking, Paige turned her head, just enough to catch Azzi’s profile in the dim arena light. Her eyes were still locked on the court, focused.

When a foul was called on a weak reach-in, a faint twitch appeared at the corner of Azzi’s mouth. A half-smirk, and just like that, Paige was smiling too.

Because she knew that twitch. Knew the little lift of her lip that came when she thought something was ridiculous but didn’t want to say it out loud. Knew the rhythm of her silences, the way her body spoke before her mouth ever did.

Paige knew Azzi, even after everything, even now, she still knew her.

"I am just saying," Paige murmured, voice low and teasing, pitched so only Azzi could hear, "if Jaxson Hayes wants to impress you, he should probably lose that weird smirk first. And also… my assist-to-turnover ratio is better."

Azzi turned to her sharply, her expression caught somewhere between amused and genuinely surprised. Her eyebrows raised in a way that made Paige want to keep talking just to see what else she could pull from her.

"Are we bragging about stats now?" Azzi asked, a chuckle already slipping into her voice.

"Only when I have something to prove," Paige replied, leaning back just slightly, letting the grin tug at her mouth like she didn’t care how obvious it was.

Azzi laughed softly, the sound curling warm in the space between them, and Paige felt her stomach flip.

God, I missed you so much I forgot how it felt to be near you.

"You are still so cocky," Azzi said, nudging her elbow gently.

"But you missed it," Paige added, voice dropping lower, something softer woven into it now, something more vulnerable, just for her. "I am cocky with a higher basketball IQ."

Azzi gave her a sideways glance, equal parts sparkle and challenge, her smile tugging wider like she couldn’t help it. "You always were."

Their eyes met and for a moment it felt like everything else in the arena dissolved. The game, the lights, the crowd, the cameras, it all slipped away. It lwas just the two of them suspended in something private, something impossibly tender and unbearably loaded.

Azzi’s gaze dropped, just for a beat, lingering at Paige’s mouth before flicking away again so quickly it could’ve been imagined. But it wasn't, Paige felt it like electricity under skin. Her heart lurched so hard it almost made her dizzy.

A timeout was called. The lights dimmed slightly for a jumbotron segment, some fan cam nonsense flashing across the screen, but Paige wasn’t watching. She couldn’t have said what was happening on the court if someone paid her. Her eyes were still on Azzi.

Azzi glanced sideways, catching her.

"What?" she asked, a smirk curling at the edges of her lips.

"Nothing," Paige replied, way too fast. Then she paused, let herself breathe, and added, "Just… I missed being able to say something stupid and have you laugh at me."

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her cheeks went a shade pinker, soft and unmistakable even in the arena lights. She didn’t answer with words, but she didn’t need to. The way she smiled into her drink, her knee stayed pressed against Paige’s, her body tilted slightly in her direction like it always used to, said enough.

And Paige, who was sitting there with her chest full, her throat tight, and her mind spinning like it finally had something to hope for again, counted that as a win.

Azzi POV:

Azzi was a simp. 

There was no other way to spin it, she could try to dress it up, pretend she was "being mature" or "emotionally intelligent" or whatever therapy-speak Mack had picked up from Instagram, but no, at the end of the day, she was fully, hopelessly, irreversibly soft for Paige Bueckers.

She knew her brothers would roast her into the ground if they saw her now. If either of them were here, sitting a few seats away, watching her very openly start to fold for the same girl who had broken her heart nine months ago… she’d never hear the end of it. She could already hear the teasing in their voices saying "Damn, Az, you didn’t even last a full day!"

Because here she was, fifth row at a Lakers game, being very publicly flirted with by an actual NBA player mid-game, and she couldn’t even enjoy it. She couldn’t even look Jaxson Hayes in the eye without her attention drifting, helplessly and involuntarily, toward the one person who hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction since the flirting started. 

And it was funny at first, harmless. A little ego boost never hurt, she said to herself. The wink had caught her off guard, sure, but it was flattering. And Azzi could admit it, Hayes could be considered hot, tall, charming in that smug, boyish way a lot of guys were when they knew they were being watched.

So when her teammates started in on her, Rickea’s elbow jabs, Dearica’s wide-eyed whispers, Azzi played along. She smiled, shrugged, gave the kind of nonchalant smirk you give when you are pretending to take it all in stride.

But once her eyes shifted towards Paige, she saw the way she’d gone stiff in her seat, hands clenched on her knees. She was staring straight ahead with the kind of sharp, deliberate stillness that only came when Paige was trying not to feel something.

Azzi had seen that look before, on the bench after losses, in hotel hallways late at night. On the screen the day they ended things.

And just like that, the joke wasn’t funny anymore.

The teasing ramped up around her, but Azzi barely heard it. She still smiled and shrugged like she didn’t care. She played her part, but inside she was freaking out. Every time someone made a joke at her expense, she checked her reaction, not Hayes’, not the crowd’s.

Paige’s.

She’d spent too many nights curled up in bed missing the sound of Paige’s laugh to pretend she didn’t recognize the silence that had taken its place tonight again.

And now she was sitting two seats away, trying not to lose all their progress over a dumb wink from a guy who didn’t even know Azzi’s last name.

Azzi’s chest ached, she hadn’t come here tonight planning to cross any lines. She wasn’t trying to bait Paige or get a reaction or test boundaries they hadn’t even defined yet. She had meant it, every word, when she said she needed time. That she needed space to figure out what this new version of them looked like.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t want Paige. 

Azzi didn’t want to add to that weight tonight, didn’t want to be another twist in a day that was already asking too much from both of them. She didn’t want to turn this into a statement.

But as the third quarter ticked on and the teasing kept swirling, Paige stood up, muttering something about drinks. Her voice was tight and body stiff like she might actually lose it if she stayed seated a second longer. Azzi stood too.

She didn’t need to think about it, she just moved. 

Because maybe she wasn’t ready to give Paige everything back yet, not the trust, not the future, not the part of her heart that was still bruised from the last time, but she could give her this. 

Even if she didn’t know what they were yet, even if the road back to each other was still half-built, she could still choose her in ways that didn’t need labels.

So when Paige’s back turned and her shoulders tensed and she took two determined steps up the aisle, Azzi followed.

She reached out, fingers brushing Paige’s wrist. Not to stop her, just to say wait. And when Paige turned, eyes flicking back with a look that was too raw to hide, tight with something closer to pain than irritation, Azzi felt it like a punch straight to the chest.

She knew that look, she’d lived in it for months, seen it in mirrors, carried it in her own silence. She couldn’t sit through another quarter pretending it wasn’t there. She couldn’t let Paige walk off alone, spiraling, punishing herself for something Azzi hadn’t even thought twice about. Because none of that, none of the teasing, none of the attention, had mattered to her. Unless it was coming from Paige.

"I’ll come with you," she said quietly, meeting Paige’s eyes.

Just that and nothing else, because she didn’t need to say the rest. She didn’t need to say that she understood, that even though she hadn’t made her choice yet, hadn’t said the words Paige was probably aching to hear, her body was already leaning toward her.

Her stubborn, traitorous heart was already pulling in a direction it had never fully let go of.

The crowd was still buzzing as they spilled out of the arena, caught in that charged, glowy space between adrenaline and exhaustion, everyone riding the high of a Lakers win.

Around Azzi, the noise blurred into something soft, Cam joking about the halftime show, Dearica complaining about her slushy being mostly ice.  It was light and easy, the kind of night that felt good in her bones.

She hadn’t felt this type of easy in weeks, maybe months.

But under it all, her pulse was doing something entirely different. Thudding steady but fast, loud in her ears like it was trying to say something before she chickened out again.

They reached the curb, and the group started to naturally splinter off into their rides. Azzi had come with Rickea, and the plan was to go home with her too.

But now, she was standing between Rickea and Paige, waiting for a sign. Rickea with her car keys in hand and a playful eye on her phone, Paige beside her sipping from a crinkled plastic water bottle. Her face tilted toward the sky like she had all the time in the world.

Azzi felt like she was standing at a crossroads.

She didn’t want to leave, she wasn’t ready to say goodnight to her, not after everything.

Not after the way the last hour had unfolded so effortlessly. Her shoulder brushing Paige’s during free throws, their fingers grazing over the same scoop of popcorn.

Paige had looked over at her mid-laugh when the mascot face-planted and Azzi completely melted. It was impossible to miss how Paige’s eyes crinkled when she was relaxed, the way her whole face softened when Azzi laughed.

Azzi had made a quiet decision during that short walk to the drink stand. She was done pretending. She was done holding herself neutral like that would make it easier.

If she wanted to be close, she’d let herself be close. 

And Paige… Paige didn’t push, didn’t overdo it. She just met Azzi exactly where she was, smirking back, teasing gently, laughing like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like nothing had fractured between them. Like they was still them.

And it felt so heartbreakingly familiar. And way too short. Now Azzi was stalling. 

Shifting her weight back and forth, biting the inside of her cheek, glancing between Rickea and Paige like she was waiting for someone to make the choice for her.

She didn't know how to ask for more without sounding like she wanted everything. Didn’t know how to say don’t leave yet without handing over her whole heart again.

It wasn’t just nerves, it was that same internal tug of war she’d been fighting for days. She was still between caution and want, protecting herself and letting herself hope.

Rickea clicked the car unlocked with a soft beep and turned back with a brow raised. "Fudd, you coming?"

Azzi opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She glanced at Paige and that was all it took.

Because Paige understood it, of course she did. She always did.

There was the smallest shift in her posture, the tiniest softening around her mouth, and then she stepped forward with that perfectly casual confidence Azzi had always envied. Shoulders loose, voice light, but anchored with meaning.

"Actually," Paige said, like it had just occurred to her, "I asked Azzi earlier if I could take her home. Wanted to pick her brain about something UConn-related on the way." She tilted her head slightly, eyes on Azzi. "But if you are too tired, we can do it another time."

Azzi blinked and in that blink, it hit her.

God, she loved this Paige so much.

Because that was her Paige, reading her body language like it was a language only the two of them spoke. Giving her a way out and a way in without pressure.

Azzi found herself already stepping in Paige’s direction, the decision made somewhere below thought.

"No, I am good," she said, maybe a little too fast. "Not that tired yet."

Behind her, Cam coughed into her sleeve, way too pointedly. Azzi caught the smirk on Cam’s face and the wide-eyed amusement on Rickea’s. She rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. Didn’t even want to, she let it be what it was.

Rickea gave her a little smirk, but just shrugged. "Your loss if I stop for In'N'Out," she said before getting into her car.

When she turned back around, Paige was already walking slowly toward the car, keys twirling between her fingers, doing a terrible job of hiding the smile tugging at her mouth.

Just like the night before, they drove in silence.

But silence didn’t feel the same anymore. The quiet wasn’t charged or heavy. There wasn't something they had to tiptoe around. It had softened into something easier, something warm and unspoken.

It was the kind of silence that only existed between people who didn’t need words to make sense of each other. They just… were. Two people breathing the same air again, not fixing anything, not forcing anything, just being.

Azzi glanced at Paige a few times, her eyes drifting over without intention. She watched the way Paige’s fingers tapped the steering wheel at red lights, the way her jaw shifted slightly whenever she merged onto another street.

It was so easy to watch her. So easy to lean into her presence without realizing she was doing it. It seemed like her body had memorized the shape of Paige next to her, and the muscle memory just kicked in.

And when the car turned away from the direction of her apartment and toward the coast instead, Azzi noticed immediately. Her internal compass caught the shift. But she didn’t ask why, she didn’t care.

Because this was Paige. Paige who had always paid attention in the most specific, maddeningly gentle ways. Paige who didn’t always say the right thing, who sometimes said nothing at all, but still knew exactly when Azzi needed something sweet, something soft, something that didn’t ask anything from her. 

For all her chaos, Paige loved like this, quietly, through gestures, through little indulgences.

This had always been one of their things. Late-night detours, spur of the moment pit stops when Azzi was tired or wired or emotionally wrung out after a game. Paige never called it what it was. Never said let me take care of you. She just did.

And Azzi let her.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into a mostly empty lot tucked a few blocks off the beach, the glow from nearby cafes flickering. The air was cooler here with that salty-sweet blend of ocean breeze and waffle cones that made her shoulders loosen.

Paige parked, cut the engine and turned toward her.

That stupid, familiar, world-softening grin bloomed across her face, and Azzi felt it before she even looked at her. That slow, internal glow that started somewhere beneath her ribs and spread like light in every direction.

"Wanna grab ice cream?"

Azzi tried to keep her smile contained, but it cracked through anyway, uncontrollable and real, tugging at her cheeks as her fingers went to her seatbelt.

"Obviously," she said, already unbuckling.

And maybe that was what made it so good. Not the ice cream, but the fact that she didn’t have to ask for it, that Paige still knew. 

The little boardwalk shop was still open, the neon lights buzzing faintly above the window, casting soft pink and blue onto the sidewalk.

Azzi stepped in first, immediately hit by the sweet, creamy air and the indecision that always came with too many options. She hovered in front of the freezer case, arms crossed loosely over her chest, eyes scanning flavors with growing intensity.

Vanilla, birthday cake, tiramisu, lemon, cherry bourbon, she hated how they all looked good. How her brain couldn’t just pick one and move on.

She didn’t realize she was biting the inside of her cheek until Paige leaned over just slightly, voice low and easy beside her.

"Still the worst at picking, huh?"

Azzi shot her a look. "There are consequences to a bad flavor combo, Paige. This is serious."

Paige chuckled under her breath. "Alright, alright."

Then Paige smiled, that soft, barely-there smile she reserved for moments like this. "Get both," she said simply, like it was obvious. And then, after a beat, added: "I’ll get whichever other ones you are debating. So you get to try all. You don’t have to choose with me."

Azzi’s head turned fully this time.

It was such a simple thing, but it landed so deeply it made something flutter low in her stomach.

Paige used to do that all the time, without asking, just showing up at the table with a scoop of whatever Azzi almost picked. And now she was offering it as a choice. She’d looked at Azzi like she wanted her to know that the old softness was still there, still hers if she wanted it.

So she nodded, a little breathless, and turned back to the menu before her face gave too much away.

"I’ll do a double scoop, Cookies and Cream, and Cheesecake Dream," she said, then glanced briefly at Paige before continuing, "and another double, Chocolate Chip Cookie and Pistachio."

Paige didn’t react much, just smiled and let out a tiny, pleased exhale through her nose, like she was trying not to look too excited. But Azzi caught the way her shoulders dropped, just a bit.

Those were Paige’s favourites and not her secondary choices.

She reached into her pocket to pay, fingers already wrapped around her phone, but before she could step forward, Paige shifted and smoothly blocked her path with the most casual body-check in recorded history.

"Nope," Paige said, already tapping her phone against the reader before Azzi could blink. "Don’t even try it."

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the smile was already tugging at her lips. "I ordered for us."

"And I am paying for us," Paige said, like it was the simplest equation in the world. "Some things never change."

And it was so stupid, how something as small as that could still hit her so hard. But there it was again that quiet, familiar weight of being cared for in a way that didn’t need to be earned or justified. 

Azzi would always get the princess treatment. Paige wasn’t going to let her feel anything less than taken care of.

The door chimed behind them as they stepped back into the night. The city’s hum fading as they turned away from the buzz of late-night cafés and toward the quiet pull of the shore.

The beach was quieter than you'd expect for late April in LA, just a few scattered figures in the distance, shadows hunched on benches or wandering along the waterline. The breeze had picked up, cool but not cold, carrying the low, rhythmic sound of waves folding into themselves over and over again.

Azzi walked slowly, matching Paige’s pace without thinking. Their steps falling in that easy, synced-up rhythm they always seemed to find even after months apart.

She took another bite of her Cookies and Cream and tried not to feel too self-conscious about the way her heart was beating. 

But then Paige leaned in, her own cup balanced carefully in her hand, and with the most casual, quiet confidence, scooped a small bite from the top of Azzi’s with her spoon.

"I still don’t get why you chose Cheesecake Dream over the brownie," Paige said, teasing but fond.

"Because I am not a child," Azzi replied, deadpan, and without missing a beat, she returned the favor by nudging a spoonful of Paige’s chocolate chip cookie into her own mouth.

Then she held a piece of Cheesecake Dream out in offering. Paige leaned in without hesitation, eyes not leaving Azzi’s even as the bite landed. Her lips brushed the plastic just slightly before she hummed.

They didn’t speak much as they walked, letting the silence stretch between them comfortably. Paige pointed to a star she was pretty sure was actually a planet, Azzi argued that it was clearly just a plane, and then they both laughed quietly.

When they reached the end of the pavement, where the concrete turned into soft dunes and then to sand, Paige slowed to a stop.

"Do you want to keep going?" she asked, voice low but clear, like the question mattered more than the words let on. "Or head back?"

Azzi didn’t answer immediately. She looked out toward the water instead, at the dark line where the waves met the sky, the way it all shimmered under the low sun like something waiting.

The question hung in the air.

She knew what Paige meant. She could feel the weight of it in the air between them, the double meaning not hidden.

It was her chance to say, this is enough for now, or to say I am ready.

And then she looked back at Paige, at the way she was standing, steady but not pushing, open in a way that had once felt like home.

And Azzi felt it in her chest, quiet and sure.

"I want to keep going," she said softly.

Paige’s smile was small but unmistakable. Grateful, like Azzi had given her something she wasn’t sure she’d ever get again. She nodded once, then crouched slightly and untied her sneakers.

"Alright. Then you gotta take off your sneakers."

Azzi laughed under her breath. "Seriously?"

Paige looked up at her, grinning. "Trust me."

Azzi huffed a laugh but didn’t argue. She sat on the edge of the low concrete curb, slipped off her sneakers one by one, then tied the laces together. Paige stepped closer and reached out without a word.

"Here," she said, fingers curling around the shoes. "I’ll take them."

Azzi blinked. "What—no, Paige, I can carry my own shoes."

But Paige just raised an eyebrow, already easing them out of her grip with that calm, determined look that meant she’d already decided. "I know you can. That’s not the point."

Azzi narrowed her eyes, amused. "What is the point then?"

Paige held up both pairs of shoes now, her hand shifting so hers dangled by the laces and Azzi’s looped over her wrist. She gave Azzi a slow, smug kind of shrug. "The point is that when you are with me, you don’t carry things unless you have to."

Azzi opened her mouth to argue again but Paige beat her to it. With a grin, she dipped her spoon into what was left of her pistachio ice cream and held it up to Azzi’s mouth.

"Shh," she said playfully. "You are being difficult. Eat your dessert, Azz."

Azzi laughed, full and unfiltered, before leaning in and taking the bite. The cool sweetness melting on her tongue as Paige just watched her with that infuriatingly soft expression that made it so hard to keep pretending she was annoyed.

"Manipulative," Azzi muttered, licking a bit of ice cream from her lip.

"Effective," Paige countered, offering the very last bite without waiting for permission.

Azzi rolled her eyes but took that one too, then bumped her shoulder lightly against Paige’s as they finally stepped onto the sand.

Barefoot, carrying her shoes for her, giving her the best bites of her ice cream, Paige was doing everything exactly the way she used to.

And maybe it should’ve made Azzi feel nervous, like the past was creeping back in too quickly. But it didn’t. It just felt… easy. Familiar in the best possible way.

The sand was cool under their feet, the grains shifting with each step, and Azzi stayed close, letting their arms brush again and again as the beach opened up in front of them.

The waves rolled in slow and steady, and Paige walked beside her like there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

And Azzi finally believed it.

Paige POV:

Paige truly believed this was the best idea she’d had in a long, long time.

She’d made a thousand decisions in the past year, some huge, some microscopic, and most of them had blurred together like background noise.

But spotting that flicker of hesitation in Azzi’s body language outside the arena, the way her eyes darted to her pulled Paige back into her confident self. Something deep in her ribs whispered that Azzi didn’t want to say goodbye yet.

So Paige did what she always used to do.

She read the moment and stepped in gently. A throwaway line about UConn. A made-up excuse, just something to give Azzi an out if she wanted it. And when Azzi agreed, almost immediately, without second-guessing, Paige knew.

Azzi may have asked for space, but she didn’t want distance.

So Paige did what her Azzi-instinct told her to do.

She stayed close, but she didn’t reach across the console, didn’t fill the silence with promises she hadn’t earned yet. She just let the breeze drift in through the half-cracked windows as the city blurred by in gold and violet streaks, driving past Azzi’s street without a word, turning toward Venice.

Letting her instinct carry them somewhere softer.

And now, here they were, two scoops down, barefoot on cool sand. Shoes tied together, slung casually over Paige’s shoulder. The horizon glowing with the kind of watercolor sky that always made Azzi fall quiet. Purple bleeding into soft orange, the sun slow to leave.

They didn’t talk much, but their bodies did. In the way Paige steadied Azzi by the elbow when they rinsed their sticky fingers in the ocean, the way their shoulders bumped in every few steps.

Little things, the type of intimacy that doesn't leave, even after time tries to scrub it out. Paige could feel it humming between them, the almost, the not yet but so close.

And when Azzi’s fingers brushed hers as they walked, then slipped fully around them, tugging her gently toward an old bench perched just above the tide line, Paige went willingly.

They sat without a word, shoulders touching, legs stretched out in front of them, their feet still faintly damp from the water, their tied-together sneakers tucked under the bench.

For a few long, lovely minutes they just sat there staring at the sunset. Then, out of nowhere, Azzi said it.

"Okay."

Paige blinked, head turning just slightly. "Okay…?"

Azzi was already looking at her. God, those eyes, all warm light and guarded hope. They were soft in the way that cracked something open inside Paige.

Azzi's voice came steadier now, her thumb brushing lazily over Paige’s knuckles where their hands rested between them.

"You still have to work your ass off," Azzi murmured,  lips curving into the smallest smile. "But… the door is open."

It hit Paige all at once. Not loud, not sharp, but deep. It sank in like warmth.

Because that was everything she wanted.

She just looked at Azzi and let herself feel it. The quiet permission, the weight of being allowed back in. Not fully yet, but it was a hand on the door, cracked open just enough to say if you want in you are allowed to try.

Paige just blinked, trying to process it, her brain chasing her heart, which had already taken off at a sprint. And when the words really landed, when she felt them sink in, something in her face cracked open.

She smiled, wide and unfiltered, like her body didn’t know how else to contain the sudden, dizzy warmth rushing through her.

Azzi chuckled softly beside her amused, a little shy, but not pulling away. And that was it, that was all Paige needed.

She shifted on the bench without thinking, her body turning fully now, both arms wrapping around Azzi and tugging her in gently.

Her heart had decided there was no universe in which Azzi didn’t belong there. Azzi didn’t resist, she didn’t even hesitate. She just went, tucked herself in like she’d been waiting for the invitation. Her arms sliding around Paige’s waist, her cheek settling against Paige's chest.

Paige felt her heart slam behind her ribs.

Azzi must’ve felt it too, because one of her hands came up, fingers splaying lightly over the center of Paige’s chest like she was listening to it. And she didn’t pull back, didn’t call her out, she just melted right into her.

Paige didn’t care how revealing it was, she didn’t even try to hide it. Her heart could beat itself bloody, and she’d still hold Azzi like this.

She bent forward slightly, pressed a soft kiss to Azzi’s forehead, and lingered there a second longer than she probably should’ve. Her lips didn’t move, but her whole body exhaled.

"Thank you," she whispered finally, her voice low and hoarse. "For giving me a chance."

Azzi didn’t answer at first. She just tightened her grip, pulled herself even closer, until there was no space left between them. Paige could feel the words building in her chest before Azzi even said them.

"You can’t fuck it up this time," she murmured. "Okay?"

Paige nodded, eyes fluttering shut, her chin resting lightly atop Azzi’s head. A single tear slid down her cheek and disappeared into Azzi’s curls. She didn’t wipe it away, she let it fall, because she knew now what this was. 

Azzi wasn’t just giving her a second chance. She was letting her come home.

Feel free to leave a comment about the chapter:

Here

[snail-day]

Tw: Yandere Behaviors, Drugging, Implied Captivity, Suggestive, unedited, MDNI

I know I said no drabble today, but I gotta get this one little thought out of my noggin. Maybe I’m just tired, but I’m thinking: Yandere! Bruce Wayne is not above drugging you the first few times you stay over at his place.

Not maliciously, well, not in his head, anyway. No, in his head, it's just... precautionary.

Because once you start getting a little too curious for his liking - asking why his knuckles are always bruised, why he disappears in the middle of the night, why he keeps you at such a frustrating, arm’s-length distance - he panics. He lives a dangerous life. And he’s not quite sure how you’d handle knowing the truth. So instead, he plays it safe.

He slips a sedative into your water. Right after love-making, of course. Aftercare is always important to him especially when you’re with a monster like him.

Your skin’s still flushed, slick with sweat and thighs trembling from the amount of orgasms he dragged out of you. He’s so gentle in the aftermath. Obsessively so. Fingers combing through your hair, coaxing you into one of his shirts. His lips graze your shoulder, murmuring praise between each feather light kiss.

Then comes the glass of water.

He holds it to your lips with that same tenderness, thumb stroking along your jaw as he watches you drink. Condensation beads along the sides, catching the light, there’s a slight fizz at the bottom, a shimmer of something off, but you don’t notice. You’re too dazed or blissed out to care.

He offers you a ride home, one you agree to with a nod, lips parting for another sip, unaware that your legs are already growing heavy. That your body is already surrendering again, just not in the way you think.

You won’t make it to the front door. He knows that.

And when your eyes start to flutter, your head tilting against his chest, he just smiles, placing the glass on the nightstand.

He thinks it’s cute, the way you drool a little on his chest when it kicks in. When your words start slurring, and you try to apologize for being tired. When you mumble something about needing to get home, but you never really had that chance, not after he brought you here, silly.

And when he slips out of bed, hours later, to suit up and bleed for the city, he makes sure the dosage is just right. Strong enough that you won’t wake up and wander. Strong enough that when he slips back into bed before dawn, smelling like smoke and iron, you'll just blink up at him sleepily and think it was all a dream.

He curls beside you, lets you burrow into his side, and smiles when you sigh against his chest. You’re so sweet like this. So soft and safe.

And you have no idea what kind of man you’re really sleeping next to.

[scarsw1fe]

Mechanic

Natasha Romanoff x reader

The garage always smelled like oil and metal, but Natasha liked it that way. Grease under her nails, a wrench in her hand, rock playing through the radio; this was her element. Simple, no drama. Just cars and peace.

Natasha had been here since six that morning, sweat dampening her t-shirt, oil tattooing her skin in smudges. Her red hair in a braid, shining bright from the sun. Natasha had known who she was: quiet, skilled at what she does, capable. She kept to herself, found beauty in cars, and rarely let anyone in. Especially not customers. Most of them barely looked at her twice anyway.

So when the bell above the garage door rang and she glanced up, she expected the usual; an old guy with lots of questions or a commuter.

But instead, she saw her.

The woman stood out of place, in a white, business casual dress and heels that didn’t belong anywhere near the oil-stained floors of the garage. Her hair was slightly curled at the bottom, and she had a warmth in her eyes that made Natasha feel uneasy.

“Hi, sorry to just walk in like this. My car’s making this weird knocking sound. I figured it’d be smarter to stop somewhere before I end up on the side of the road.” The woman said, stepping further in.

Natasha grabbed the rag from her back pocket and wiped her hands, trying not to stare.

“What kind of car?” She asked, keeping her voice even.

“Honda. Civic. It’s not old, but not… new. Somewhere in the middle.”

“Aren’t we all,” Natasha smirked.

The woman laughed, and Natasha felt it in her chest. Not the sound, but the way it cracked the stillness inside her.

I’m Y/N, by the way,” the woman said. She offered a hand, hesitated when she realized how dirty Natasha’s hands were.

Natasha looked at her own stained fingers and shrugged.

“Natasha. Don’t worry, I’m better with engines than handshakes.”

“That’s a pretty good line.” Y/N smiled. Natasha bent slightly to take a look towards the parking lot.

“Let me take a look. I’ll have you back on the road in no time.”

But as she followed Y/N out to the Civic, a low anxiety tugged at her. Not because of the car, it would probably be nothing she hadn’t seen before. No, it was the way Y/N moved beside her that threw her off balance. Like someone who didn’t just walk into your garage, but your thoughts.

And Natasha has always been good at building things. What she didn’t know yet was how quickly Y/N would start tearing those things down.

Y/N walked with careful steps, heels clacking softly against the concrete as they reached the Civic. It was silver and a little dusty. Natasha crouched beside it, fingers grazing the tire like a doctor checking for a pulse.

“When does it make the sound?” She asked.

“Usually when I start it.”

Natasha nodded, already cataloguing the possibilities in her head. She popped the hood and propped it open. A puff of heat rose from the engine, and she leaned in, inspecting the joints, looking for the source.

“It’s not the worst I’ve seen,” She murmured.

“Could be the spark plugs or the timing belt.”

Y/N stood a little too close behind her, and Natasha was suddenly aware of how she probably smelled like metal and gas. But she didn’t step away.

“I don’t really know anything about cars,” Y/N admitted.

“My dad used to do all this stuff for me. I never learned, I guess.”

Natasha smiled without looking up.

“That’s what people like me are here for.”

“People like you?”

Natasha glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Y/N’s. There wasn’t judgment in the question, just curiosity.

“Yeah. People who live under hoods and engines.”

Y/N laughed again, and Natasha cursed herself for how much she liked it.

“You want to wait inside? I can check it out properly and let you know.” She asked, suddenly needing space from the closeness.

“Sure.” Y/N said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“But only if you promise to play more rock music. That sounded way better than the top 30 station I’ve been stuck with.”

“You know your genres?” Natasha tilted her head.

“I know enough.”

They traded a look that lingered for a moment before Y/N walked inside.

Back inside the garage, Natasha slid under the car with ease, tools in hand. The radio hummed in the background, AC/DC this time. Something so… comforting.

But the rhythm of her work felt disrupted now.

Because just a few feet away, a woman in white heels sat on a worn bench, legs crossed, watching the grease-stained world around her like it didn’t bother her one bit. Like she might belong there.

And for the first time in a long time, Natasha didn’t want to be left alone.

Natasha slid out from under the car after a few minutes, the smudges on her arms darker now, hair clinging to her forehead with sweat. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, then glanced towards the bench where Y/N was seated, legs still crossed and fingers playing with the bracelets on her wrist.

“You’re lucky.” Natasha rasped, standing up and tossing a wrench into her toolbox.

“It’s nothing major. The rattling was coming from a loose heat shield. I can tighten it in fifteen minutes, tops.”

“So I won’t die in a crash?” Y/N smiled.

“Not today,” Natasha smirked, eyes lingering for a beat too long.

“Unless you plan on testing me.”

“Is that a challenge?” Y/N’s eyes sparkled, amused.

“Could be.” Natasha took a step closer, slowly pulling her gloves off with ease.

“But you don’t strike me as the reckless type.”

Y/N tilted her head, almost like she was taking notes.

“You don’t know me.”

“No,” Natasha said, voice a little lower now.

“But I’m good at reading engines. People, too.”

She was standing closer than before, not too close, but enough. Close enough for Y/N to notice the smudged curve of Natasha’s collarbone beneath her shirt, the way her voice curled around words like she meant every syllable.

Y/N held her gaze, but there was a flicker of something. Awareness, maybe. Anticipation.

“Are you always this intense with your customers?” she asked lightly.

Natasha leaned one arm against the nearby pillar, her stance relaxed, her eyes anything but.

“Only the interesting ones.”

A pause stretched between them. The air was warm, but it wasn’t just the heat from the tools anymore.

“You’re not intimidated by much, are you?” Y/N asked, her voice softer now, curious. Maybe a little breathless.

Natasha chuckled, the sound low and confident.

“I work under pressure. Fix problems before they break down completely. I like control.”

That last word sat heavy between them.

Y/N blinked, her lips parting slightly, caught off guard in the best way.

And Natasha, seeing it, stepped back with a small smirk, like she was pulling the choke on purpose, just to hear the engine purr.

“Sit tight,” she said, grabbing her tools again.

“I’ll finish up the Civic. Then maybe…” she paused, glancing over her shoulder.

“You let me buy you a coffee. Since I saved you from that crash.”

Y/N laughed, but it wasn’t quite steady now.

“You’re sure that’s a good idea?”

Natasha didn’t say anything, just knelt back down beside the car.

And when she went back to work, the only sound louder than the ratchet clicking was the thrum of Y/N’s heartbeat.

Natasha finished tightening the last bolt and slid out from under the car again, this time slower, like she knew she was being watched, and she was.

Y/N sat forward slightly now, elbows resting on her knees, eyes trailing down Natasha’s figure. The sun coming through the garage door made the sheen of sweat on Natasha’s arms glint, her braid slightly frayed, her jaw smudged with oil.

Natasha stood and rolled her shoulders.

“All done. You’re safe to drive.”

“That fast?” Y/N asked, but there was no surprise in her voice. Just that same quiet interest. That same pull.

Natasha walked over to the sink near the wall and turned on the faucet, scrubbing her hands.

“Told you, nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to Natasha’s hands, the way her veins flexed under skin, the grit swirling down the drain. She didn’t respond, not right away.

“You’ve got a little grease right there.” She finally said, standing and pointing just under Natasha’s jaw.

Natasha looked at her, drying her hands on a towel.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N stepped closer, her heels careful on the concrete, but her gaze steady. She reached up slowly like she might brush it away, but stopped just short, her fingers hovering.

Natasha didn’t move.

Instead, she leaned just slightly into that space. Not enough to touch. Just enough to shift the gravity between them.

“Are you going to wipe it off…” she murmured, voice low.

“Or were you just looking for an excuse to touch me?”

Y/N didn’t answer. Not with words.

Her fingers closed that distance, slow and soft against Natasha’s skin, but Natasha caught her wrist before she could pull away. Just held it there, gently but firm. Her grip wasn’t rough, but it was unshakable.

“I don’t mind.” Natasha said, taking a step closer. Her body was heat and tension, all lean muscle.

“But if you touch, you better mean it.”

Y/N’s breath caught, just slightly.

“Is that a warning?”

Natasha tilted her head, smiling with just the edge of her mouth.

“No. That’s me being polite.”

And then, before Y/N could speak again, Natasha guided her back, slow, one step at a time, until her back met the wall beside the tool rack.

Not aggressive. Just intentional.

Natasha’s palm flattened against the wall beside her head, her other hand still loosely holding Y/N’s wrist. Her eyes never left hers.

“You don’t belong in a place like this.” Natasha said, her voice dropping to a rasp.

“Clean dress. Pretty curls.”

Y/N swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“And you?”

Natasha leaned in close, her lips ghosting near Y/N’s ear.

“I smell like sweat and gasoline. And I ruin clean things.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, the tension between them thick now, heavy enough to drown in. Her fingers curled lightly into the front of Natasha’s shirt.

“I didn’t say I wanted to stay clean.”

Natasha pulled back just enough to meet her eyes again, then smiled, like she’d been waiting to hear that.

“You sure?” She asked, voice low and close.

“Because once I start something, I don’t half-ass it.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. She just nodded.

And Natasha, grease-streaked, glowing, smirking, leaned in and kissed her, hot and unhurried. Like she had all the time in the world and every intention of undoing her.

Natasha's kiss was firm and insistent, tasting of sweat and metal, a heady combination that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. Y/N responded with equal passion, her hands gripping Natasha's shirt tighter, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, their breaths mingling, the world outside the garage fading away.

Natasha's hand that had been against the wall moved to Y/N's waist, pulling her flush against her body, her grip tight and rough. Y/N could feel the hard planes of Natasha's muscles, the heat radiating from her skin. It was a stark contrast to the cool concrete wall against her back, and she reveled in the sensation, her body pressing eagerly against Natasha's.

Natasha's lips trailed from Y/N's mouth to her jaw, then down her neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Y/N's head fell back, exposing more of her neck, and she let out a soft moan. Natasha's hands roamed, one gripping her hip, the other tangling in her hair, tilting her head to give better access.

"Is this what you wanted?" Natasha murmured against her skin, her voice a low growl.

“To be dirty and messed up?"

Y/N's response was a gasp as Natasha's teeth nipped at her collarbone.

"Yes." She managed to whisper.

"More."

A low chuckle vibrated against Y/N's chest as Natasha's hands moved to the straps of her dress, pushing them off her shoulders. The dress slipped down, pooling at her waist, leaving her in just her bra and heels. Natasha stepped back slightly, taking in the sight of her, a smirk playing on her lips.

"You're a vision.” She said, her voice husky.

"All clean and perfect. It's a shame to mess you up."

Y/N reached out, pulling Natasha back to her, her hands going to the hem of Natasha's shirt.

"Then mess me up." She demanded.

Natasha obliged, her lips crashing down on Y/N's once more. The garage, with its tools and grease and metal, became their world, a place of heat and passion and the clashing of their bodies. The radio played on, a backdrop to their dance, their breaths and moans the only words that mattered.

Natasha's hands roamed over Y/N's body, tracing the curves and dips with a hungry intensity. She gripped Y/N's hips, pulling her flush against her own, letting her feel the evidence of her arousal. Y/N gasped, her eyes fluttering open to meet Natasha's fierce gaze.

Natasha's hands tightened on Y/N's hips, and she spun her around, pressing her back against her chest. Y/N could feel the heat of her breath on her neck. Natasha's hands moved to Y/N's wrists, pinning them behind her back with one strong hand, while the other trailed down her stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of her panties.

Y/N let out a soft moan, arching her back, pressing herself more firmly against Natasha.

“I want you to take me right now.” Y/N breathed. Natasha's teeth grazed her earlobe, her voice a low rumble.

"I'm going to bend you over your car and show you what it means to be dirty."

Y/N's breath hitched in anticipation as Natasha guided her to the hood of the Civic, her hands never leaving Y/N's body. She bent her over the car, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat of their bodies. Natasha's hand pressed firmly between Y/N's shoulder blades, holding her in place as she trailed kisses down her spine.

Y/N's hands gripped the edge of the hood, knuckles white, as she pushed back against Natasha, urging her on. Natasha's hands roamed over her ass, squeezing and kneading, before lifting up her dress around her waist to the waistband of her panties and slowly pulling them down. Y/N stepped out of them, her body trembling with anticipation.

Natasha stood back for a moment, taking in the sight of Y/N bent over her car, her dress still around her waist, her bra still on, but her panties gone.

"Fuck, you're so sexy like this. All exposed and waiting for me.” She murmured, her voice thick with desire.

She leaned down, her body pressing against Y/N's as she reached around and unclasped Y/N's bra, letting it fall forward. Her hands cupped Y/N's breasts, her thumbs brushing over her nipples, eliciting a soft moan from Y/N.

“You like that?” Natasha rasped out. Y/N could only nod in response, too caught up on the feeling.

"I'm going to fuck you now. Hard and fast."

Y/N nodded, her body aching with need.

"Please." She whispered.

Natasha trailed her hands from Y/N’s tits to between her legs, feeling the wetness from her heat. She teased her clit in slow, deliberate circles.

“You’re so wet for me, Y/N.” Nat’s voice is a low purr. She positioned her now clean fingers at Y/N's entrance, her free hand gripping her hip tightly. With one swift thrust, she was inside her, both of them letting out a low moan of pleasure. Y/N from the feeling of Natasha’s long fingers inside of her, and Natasha from the warmth and tightness of Y/N’s pussy.

“Fuck, you feel so good. All tight and wet for me.” Natasha groaned, hand moving in a steady rhythm.

Natasha set a punishing pace, her hand slapping against Y/N’s pussy, the sound of skin meeting filled the garage. Y/N pushed back against her, meeting each thrust with equal fervor. The car rocked slightly with the force of their movements, the radio still playing in the background, a contrast to the raw, primal scene unfolding.

Natasha's hand roamed over Y/N's body, gripping her hips, her tits, her throat, leaving no doubt who was in control. Y/N's body trembled, her breaths coming in short gasps, her body coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.

"Natasha." she gasped, her body on the edge of an orgasm.

"I'm close."

Natasha's response was a low grunt, her pace quickening, her hand slamming into Y/N's with a ferocity that left them both breathless.

"Cum for me." She demanded, her voice a low rasp. She leaned over Y/N’s back, lips lingering next to her ear.

"Let me hear you." She whispered.

Y/N's body obeyed, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave, her body convulsing as she cried out Natasha's name.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, before Natasha pulled out. She helped Y/N up, pulling her into a tight embrace, their bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of their passion.

"Fuck, that was hot.” Natasha murmured, her voice a low rumble against Y/N's ear.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her body boneless in Natasha's arms.

"You can say that again." she whispered, a smug smile playing on her lips.

“You still up for that coffee?” Natasha asked, leading them both to chuckle lightly.

[sombrashe]

knives & keys ∿ nam-gyu x reader

smut

content dubcon, dark content, piv, no foreplay, knife "play", established relationship, blood, rough unprotected sex, sadistic namgyu, blue vest reader, standing backshots, use of cunt & cock, reader has a vagina, short smut section/mostly buildup, not edited, lowercase intended

note this kinda includes season 3 spoilers so don't read if you haven't watched yet :) | i decided for my 1k followers celebration i would write nasty mean sex with namgyu :3 | this ended up being a lot shorter than i originally thought so i apologize for that :(

you sprint down the hallway, taking a sharp right turn your shoulder slams painfully into the cream brick. you notice a pop of color to your left and rip the key over your head. your key is a perfect match for the square keyhole. clicking the door open you're shoved into the room. arms try to brace your fall but you land on the dirt floor with a huff.

all the air is ripped violently from your lungs but you manage a weak crawl. your vision blurs with tears. this is how you died, surrounded by neon drawings. the colors swirl in your vision as a foot keeps you on the floor. pressing your cheek into the dirt floor you feel gravel and rocks dig into your soft flesh. your killer stands angled so you're unable to make out who it is. solemn tears become full-blown sobs as you attempt to beg for your life.

"Please, don't kill me. My mom is really sick."

"Why would I do that? I promised to protect you, didn't I?"

you attempt to pull yourself up but his weight keeps you locked in place. blunt nails dig into the ground. dirt becomes mud as your tears and snot continue their free fall down your face. his foot is lifted off of you but is replaced with what you can only assume is his knee from the sharp bone digging into your spine. cold, sharp, metal is placed ever so gently against your cheek. shuddering, the knife slices into the meat of your cheek and leaves you dripping blood, darkening the ground. he giggles and licks the blood from your cheek with a deep inhale. exhaling, you can feel his breath ticking your ear canal. craning your neck you look around the darker room. the fluorescent light is dim but you can barely make out another red vest hovering by the door.

"Go on and find your girl, I have plans with this one."

the figure hesitates for a moment before sprinting off down the hallway, leaving you utterly alone. screaming out, the knife is plunged into the ground, slicing at the tip of your nose. fear fills the room with the sour scent of sweat and copper. your body shakes as you wiggle in the dirt like an injured animal. that's probably all you were to him, an animal needing to be put down. his earlier words do nothing to quell the sick empty feeling taking up your abdomen. he leans down, hair dipping into the pool of wetness inching its way from your head. your non-squished eye looks deep into his dark irises. he has this crazed look, adrenaline and something sinister blowing his pupils wide.

"You want protection, right? Wanna make sure you stay alive until the timer goes off."

you shake your head as best you can. nothing he offers could make you side with him. not after this. he scoffs and leans back, his weight lifting from your back. letting out a breath you scramble into a corner of the room. there was a 50/50 chance the door to your left was unlocked or you could try to shove past him, make it to the door that hangs wide open.

he follows your eyes, smiles wide at the open door. standing, he slinks backwards. his eyes never leave yours as he closes the door with a quiet click. the knife glitters as the single light in the middle of the starry ceiling catches the stained metal. you didn't even notice he picked it back up. slamming your head once against the painted wall you curse at yourself for not reaching for it when you had the chance. looking up at him, droplets stick to your bottom lashes.

"You look so pathetic. So weak."

you frown as you stare at him. any resemblance of him from before the games being completely transformed into something bloodthirsty. he's always been so mean but something about his words now hit harder, forms a deeper pit in your stomach. hugging yourself around the waist, your vest bunches up and strangles you which only adds to the discomfort of the whole ordeal. each breath wavers as your wet eyes threaten to overfill and break down your strained cheeks.

the taste of mud lingers on your tongue and you furiously rub at the muscle using your jacket sleeve. anything to keep your mind off your inevitable death. he takes a few steps towards you, each thud of his bloody slip-ons sending a shiver down the back if your neck. it only takes a few for him to be on top of you. the height difference staggering at your angle. wide eyes stare at him, the pain from the small cuts outweighed by the icy feeling in your veins. he points the tip of the knife at you, too far away to grab.

"Stand up."

you rise, your back pressed firmly against the wall and you feel every bump of paint as you move.

"Turn around."

you blank, that icy feeling moving down to your fingertips. he repeats himself, his octave lowering. slowly looking around you turn your body slightly, your prey brain fighting to keep your eyes on him. his eyes narrow and his posture straightens. the knife slices through your jacket and blood pools into the green fabric. yelping, you grab your forearm as he forces you around. tightening your grip on your arm you blink as black and neon purple blocks your vision.

half of a constellation becomes your best friend as you're forced still. with hands on your hips the knife taps against your belly, that sharp metal threatening to cut into your shirt at any movement. looking down you stare at silver and pale skin getting swallowed by green and white fabric. he leans in close, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. giving your earlobe a gentle kiss he breaths out with a sigh.

"You smell scared, like shea butter and blood."

his hands glide up until he's cupping you through your shirt. squeezing down at the flesh of your chest he steps closer. you can feel every ridge and curve of his body as he molds himself against you. pressing another kiss against your skin he moves further down to feel your jugular against tinted skin. your heart was already hammering in your ears, blood rushing up your brainstem, you can only imagine what your pulse point felt like against his cheek. nuzzling into you he grinds against your backside.

"Help me and I'll help you. Keep you safe from all these murderers."

"Who's going to keep me safe from you?"

"Safe from me? I'm the safest person here."

a bubble of laughter rips its way out of your throat and into the air. safest? you wonder if he truly thinks that. he hums out, the vibration sticking to your skin like molasses. slowly dripping down and pooling at your feet. another step and you're being pressed into the wall, your cheek smushed against paint. with one eye closed you let the other droop as he mumbles something about a good time. you were accustomed to this part, the spiked libido as drugs take over his system. more grinding and you know it won't be long until he wants more. he presses a few more soft kisses to your neck, sucking on the skin until an annoying ache forms.

huffing, he lets out an annoyed sound as he shifts. his prominent bulge digs into your ass and you know he's ready. walking you backwards, his hands press firmly into your hips. spreading his fingers out he places a hand between your shoulder blades and bends you over. your hands reach out to support yourself against the wall. you gasp out as he yanks your sweats and underwear down in one swipe. the fabric pools at your ankles and you absentmindedly spread your legs. he lets out a dark laugh, a mean sounds that echos between your ears. you huff and let your head drop down in shame. you can practically feel that sadistic grin widening on his face as he looks down at your pathetic display. your body involuntarily shivers as he slowly lifts the back of your many layers.

the tip of the knife gently slicing up your spine as he does so. keeping your shirt lifted he examines your pitted back with the utmost care in the world, like he's trying to find an answer in the constellation of pimples, freckles, and moles littering your back. he replaces his knife with his hand. long fingers curling around fabric to keep your shirt lifted and your skin exposed to the stifling air surrounding you. his other hand drags itself down your side, over the bump of your hip, and down to his cock that stays restricted within the confines of his sweats. he was probably already leaking at the sight of you.

awkwardly he shoves his pants down to stick on his thighs. his cock springs free and twitches against your ass as he shifts and makes himself comfortable behind you. shifting his cock, he taps it against your entrance as if he was asking for permission. the tip of his leaking cock presses against your slick hole before slipping it with a little resistance. he grunts alongside your uncomfortable rambling. he gives you no time to get accustomed as he bottoms out the best he can from his position. you whine and huff in pain at the sudden burning stretch between your legs. he responds by pulling out halfway before thrusting forward with a snap of his hips. bones dig into your plush ass with every rough thrust. you adjust your hands to better cover yourself as your forehead slams against the back of your palms.

your cunt squeezes down around him and he curses under his breath about you being too tight and to loosen up. you give out a short laugh and he grips the back of your neck, your shirt falling slightly irritating the angry red line down your spine. keeping you nice and still he gets lost in the feeling of you surrounding him. each thrust has something angry infecting it, soaking into your limbs like an angsty teen. the sounds of wet slaps fill the small room and your fear transfers from the thought of death to the thought of someone walking in on you two. maybe someone does, you're much too lost in the feeling of his tip bumping that spongey part in you to care.

soft moans are pulled from your rusty throat that match with his quiet grunts. the hand that isn't preoccupied with your neck stays free to readjust himself in you whenever he slips out. you feel yourself coming undone within minutes, adrenaline helping push you over the edge. a full body shake twists your stomach as you cum on his cock. it takes him a few extra minutes before he's spilling warmth into your core. the feeling skyrocketing into you and pressing against your cervix like a parasite rooting itself deep in you. he stays still as he finishes with a deep sigh. leaning down he presses a single chapped kiss to the long welt raised on your skin before pulling out with a slick pop. you slide down onto your knees, adrenaline leaving your body. you blink and rub at your eyes as your whole body is left throbbing in pain.

"Look at that, we even have some time to spare."

you're left bloody and dripping seed into your pants as he adjusts himself.

taglist @namgyucat

[bapeach]

My lucky charm

Enjoy! Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :) Pairing(s): Paige Bueckers x female!reader Word count: 1.7k+ Summary: When Paige doesn't get back up after hitting her head, you go into panic mode. ------------

You can feel your heart stop the moment she goes down and doesn’t get right back up.

You’re standing in the middle of your apartment, your hands cupping your mouth, the TV turned on to the Dallas Wings vs. Chicago Sky game. The camera is zoomed in on your favorite rookie, lying flat on her back, her hands gripping her head. You take a step closer to the screen, wishing you could step through it and be right beside the girl.

When you’d told Paige you wouldn’t be able to make it to her game but would definitely have it on at home, she’d playfully dropped to her knees. “Noooo, you have to be there, you’re my lucky charm!” She’d begged, giving you puppy eyes as she scooted closer on her knees, her hands clasped together like she was praying. You’d giggled, leaning down to kiss her, before pushing her over and walking away. “You’ll be fine for one game, just don’t go doing anything stupid like getting hurt.”

Now you were regretting not going, wanting nothing more than to hold the girl close and make sure she’s okay. 

You walk backwards, eyes glued to the blonde, as you bend down and blindly feel around for your phone. You quickly open it to Azzi’s contact, knowing the girl is at the game and will be able to give you a bit more information about what’s happening, but you don’t type anything. You can see Azzi’s worried face on TV as they carry your girlfriend off the court. You know she won’t look at her phone but instead be focusing on making sure her best friend is okay, so you put your phone back down as you bite your nails nervously. 

Once Paige disappears off screen, you sit back down with a long sigh as you rub your face in worry. You stop paying attention to the game, only keeping it on in hopes of hearing some news about your girl. When your phone dings, you immediately snatch it up. A small wave of disappointment goes through you as you see it’s a message from “Madam Secretary”. You open Nika’s text and smile a little as you read it.

Breathe babe. I’m sure she’s okay, she’s strong. Try not to think too negatively, it could just be a tiny bump on the head, but if not, you’re gonna have to be strong for her. You know how she gets when she can’t play. Is there anything I can do for you right now?

You take a few breaths as you try to do as she says. She’s right, there’s no point in imagining Paige with a concussion, or whiplash, or internal bleeding, or- No. You just have to believe she’s going to be fine. You type a quick reply before walking over to the kitchen and making yourself a cup of tea.

Thank you Niks, you always know what to say. I’ll be okay, just gotta wait and see what they say. I’ll text you when I know more. Love you!

As you wait for the water to heat up, you send Paige a quick “I love you, please be okay” before opening Google. You bite your lip as you look up all the different types of head injuries she could have. When you get to the more serious ones (that are highly unlikely but still freak you out), you slam your phone down. “Okay, stop, happy thoughts, happy thoughts.” 

You put a bag of chamomile tea in your mug and walk back over to the living room. You set your steaming cup down beside your laptop, your half-done essay long forgotten. Staring at the wall, you try not to imagine the worst-case scenarios until your phone dings again. The pit in your stomach slowly starts dissolving as you read Azzi’s message.

Paige is okay, she hit her head pretty hard, but she’s okay. She probably won’t be able to play the next few games, but she won’t miss much. She’s getting properly checked out now, once the game is over, I’ll drive her home. Try to relax a bit, yeah?

She’s okay.

You take a moment to let everything sink in, letting your stiff posture relax. You text Azzi back, thanking her for letting you know and being there for Paige, before sending Nika an update as well. Looking back at the TV, you see that the 3rd quarter has barely begun, so it’ll be a while before you get to hold your girl safely in your arms again. You bite the nail of your thumb as the gears in your brain start turning.

Quickly jumping up from the couch, you run over to grab your wallet and phone before running out of your apartment. Your steaming mug slowly grows cold, completely forgotten about as you leave. You stop a few doors down the hallway, rapidly knocking on the door as you wait for your neighbor, Benji, to open his door. Before he has the chance to say hello, you start rambling, “I need a ride, please. Paige got hurt, and I need to be home before she gets back here, but I wanna get her her favorite flowers from that cute shop we found.”

While you ramble, he’s already grabbing his jackets and car keys, steering you towards the stairs as he nods with a reassuring look. You let yourself be guided to the car as you explain what happened to your sweet girl. Once you arrive at the flower shop, you jump out of the car and run inside to grab the nicest bouquet you can find. You leave the store in record time, rushing to make another stop at Walmart for Paige’s favorite chocolate and the stuffed animal she always calls stupid, but can’t help lingering around when you both go shopping.

Checking your phone, you see that Paige texted a few minutes ago to say she’d be home soon, that she loves you too, and that she’s okay. You tell Benji to step on the gas, and he does as you say without hesitation. When you get back to your apartment, you give him a big hug, thanking him and telling him you’ll make it up to him. He tells you not to worry about it, ruffling your hair before walking back to his place.

You quickly put everything you bought on your coffee table, getting rid of your now freezing mug, before coming to a halt in the middle of the living room. You huff out a breath, taking a peek at the time, before pacing up and down the room, leaving a line of footprints on your carpet. You bite your nails nervously as you wait. Though Azzi reassured you Paige was fine, you still won’t fully relax until you can make sure she’s alright, yourself.

Too far into your head, you almost don’t hear the soft jingle of keys as the front door unlocks. Your head snaps to the door. Paige doesn’t get the chance to fully step into the room before you wrap your arms tightly around her. “God, you scared me so bad. Don’t ever do that again.” You mumble, your voice muffled against her hoodie. You breathe in the sweet smell of her shampoo lingering on her skin.

The blonde chuckles softly as she hugs you tightly. “I’m sorry, Ma, but I’m okay. I’m not allowed to play the next few games as a precaution, but I don’t have a full-blown concussion,” she replies before kissing your head and shuffling you backwards so she and Azzi can properly walk in.

You reluctantly let her go, but you don’t let her get far. Grabbing her face, you stare into her eyes to see if she’s speaking the truth. Her blue eyes shine in their usual mischievous way, making you finally relax. You lean up, giving her a soft kiss, before turning towards Azzi, who’s looking at you both with a soft smile. You quickly hug her too, thanking her for being there and taking care of your girl. “Of course,” she says, her velvety voice soothing you even more. She leaves not long after, knowing you and Paige have each other now.

Once the door closes behind her, you lead your girlfriend to the couch, showing her the things you bought her. Her eyes light up as she sees the chocolate, while a soft blush covers her cheeks at the flowers. When you hand her the stuffed animal, her mouth drops open before her lips curl into a small pout. “He’s so stupid,” she pouts, her eyes glistening a bit as she grabs its arms and rubs the soft fabric against her cheeks.

You grin at her, your eyes showing pure adoration. While she’s distracted, you take a quick picture of her, setting it as your new lock screen, before sending it to Nika to let her know Paige is home and okay. When you look up from your phone, the blonde is already looking at you with doe eyes. She motions you over, making you crawl into her lap as you rest your face in her neck. 

The taller girl rubs your back, making you sleepy after today’s scare. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t there,” you mumble as you draw shapes on her collarbones. “It’s okay, Ma, you’re here now, that’s all I need,” she rasps, her voice becoming husky at her sleepiness. “But… I told you so,” she says, a grin clear in her voice.

You lift your head up a bit to look at her. You tilt your head in confusion, making a strand of hair fall in front of your face. Paige carefully puts it back behind your ear. “Told you you’re my lucky charm, see what happened now that you weren’t there.” You roll your eyes as a smile forms on your lips. You lightly flick her forehead with a smile as you mutter, “Yeah, and I told you not to do anything stupid, idiot.”

You lean in to give her a kiss before settling back down against her chest. You continue drawing little shapes on Paige’s collarbones as she rubs your back. It doesn’t take either of you very long to fall into a comfortable nap, knowing that no matter what happens, you both have each other’s back.

[steveseddie]

you pick me up every time

written for the @steddiebingo splash into summer mini event and the round one main card | prompts: the hideout & road | rated: t | wc: 3,1 k | cw: alcohol | tags: steve pov, drunk eddie, pining, the corroded coffin guys being Done

read on ao3

When Steve’s phone rings in the middle of the night, he wakes up with a start. 

He’s out of the bed and running down the stairs in seconds, his brain going through countless nightmarish scenarios as he wonders who could be calling him so late, and more importantly, why.

Steve reaches the phone on the last ring, panting into the receiver, slightly out of breath. “Hello?”

He expects anyone from Robin to Dustin or one of the kids on the other side. Maybe Nancy or Eddie. He even entertains the thought of his parents being the ones calling, maybe to inform him that they’re staying away for another week–

“Harrington?”

He expects literally anyone except for the person he hears on the other end of the line. 

Eyebrows knitted together, Steve stares at the phone like it’s somehow playing a prank on him. “Gareth?”

It is, in fact, Gareth who sighs in relief and says, “Oh, thank fuck you’re awake.” 

So he was actually calling Steve, he didn’t accidentally dial his number– but why would Gareth want to reach him in the middle of the night? 

It’s true that in the last couple of months, Steve has spent plenty of time with Eddie’s friends– a direct consequence of him and Eddie growing close. He’s been to their shows at The Hideout and hung out with them during band rehearsals or Hellfire meetings. By now, they don’t act surprised when Steve shows up and they’ll even strike up a conversation with him, having finally accepted that Steve actually likes Eddie and isn’t trying to prank him. However, that acceptance hardly translates to being the kind of friends who call each other in the middle of the night or at any hour for that matter, not unless–

Unless something happened to Eddie. 

Steve’s stomach churns at the thought. “Why? What happened? Is everything okay? Is Eddie–” 

“Dude, calm down,” Gareth interrupts with a snort. “Eddie’s fine. Thought you jocks were supposed to be chill and laid back, man.”

“Fuck off, Emerson,” Steve snarks, pinching the bridge of his nose as he wills his heart to stop hammering, repeating Gareth’s words in his head– Eddie’s fine, Eddie’s fine, Eddie’s fine.

“Geez, remind me to never interrupt your beauty sleep again,” he says with a laugh, the sound almost muffled by the noise in the background. There’s actually a lot of noise coming from the other end of the line and Steve wonders where Gareth is calling him from. 

And why. 

“So if this isn’t about Eddie, then why are you calling me?” 

“I didn’t say this wasn’t about Eddie,” Gareth retorts, confusing Steve further.

“I thought you said he was fine–” 

“And he is, but he’s also a pain in the ass.”

Steve can’t help but snort. “You’re his best friend, you should know that by now. What makes you think I can do something about that?”

It’s Gareth’s turn to snort. “Please, man, you could bat your eyelashes and get Eddie to do whatever. Under normal circumstances, at least.”

Stomach fluttering at Gareth’s words, Steve feels himself blush. “Uh, what do you mean– ‘normal circumstances’?”

“Well, your boy is currently drunk off his ass,” he explains. More color creeps up on his cheeks when Gareth calls Eddie his boy. He’s infinitely grateful that they’re having this conversation on the phone. “And he’s asking for you.”

“Me?”

“Mhm, he says he’s not leaving until Steve– sorry, Stevie comes to pick him up.”

The nickname sounds weird coming from Gareth, who only ever refers to him as Harrington and it makes Steve scrunch up his nose. 

The noise in the background suddenly grows louder before it becomes slightly muffled again. Someone probably opened the door of whatever place Gareth is holed up in. “Where are you guys?”

“The Hideout. Had to talk Lenny into letting me use the phone in the back, now I owe him.” In the background, Steve hears a gagging sound, and then Gareth adds, “I’d like to not owe him a new couch if Eddie throws up on this one, so can you come get him?”

Steve checks the clock hanging from the wall. It’s twenty minutes past midnight. “Are you serious, man?”  

“Well, I didn’t call you just to chat, Harrington.”

Ignoring the remark, he says, “Can’t you just drag him out of there?” 

Eddie’s friends are all nerds not jocks, but Eddie is also built like a twig. If they set their minds to it, they probably can move him to one of their cars.

“And take him where? He might suffocate if we drop him off at the trailer.”

“Then take him back to yours.”

“Yeah, no. My parents are home. Can’t do that, man. ‘Sides, I told you. He refuses to go with us. Hear for yourself.”

He must hold the phone away from his ear because suddenly, Steve can hear Jeff trying to talk someone into getting in the car.

“No!” Another voice says. Eddie’s voice, a stubborn tilt to it that Steve has heard before, as well as a faint slur to his words.

“Eddie, come on,” Jeff insists with a sigh.

“No, Jeffrey, I’m not leaving without Stevie,” Eddie says, his voice becoming softer when he says Steve’s name.

“Eddie, Steve isn’t here,” Dougie says, probably not for the first time. “He didn’t come tonight.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, and even through the phone, Steve can hear his pout.

Eddie knows that Steve wanted to go to their show tonight. He’a not one to miss seeing him on stage. He told him as much before explaining that he had already promised to have dinner with Robin and her parents.

But that doesn’t stop Eddie from sounding miserable about Steve not being there. 

“I don’t know, dude,” Jeff says, fumbling for an answer. “But hey, he can come to the next one.”

Eddie sighs loudly. “I miss him.”

“You literally saw him yesterday at rehearsal, man,” Dougie says in a bored tone. 

“Well, I want to see him now!” Eddie snaps. “And I’m not leaving until he gets here!”

“He’s not coming–” Jeff starts, but he’s interrupted by Eddie yelling so loud Steve flinches away from the phone.

“I want Steeeeeve!”

He can’t hear what Jeff or Dougie say to him because Gareth presses the phone back against his ear. “See? He’s close to chaining himself to the door, man. Do us all a favor and come get him.”

Steve sighs, brushing his hair back. It does sound like Eddie isn’t changing his mind any time soon, and even if the guys manage to get him in a car, he doesn’t like the idea of a drunk Eddie being alone in his trailer. 

He’s also a weak man for Eddie, and hearing how much he misses him makes it impossible for him to say no.

“Okay, fine. Fine. I’m on my way.”

“Sweet! Thanks, Harrington,” Gareth says, then without hanging up the phone, he says, “Hear that, Eddie? Your Stevie is on his way!”

There’s the sound of clumsy footsteps followed by some swearing as the phone is wrestled out of Gareth’s hand, and then Eddie’s voice– “Stevie?” 

“Hey, Eds,” he says, his own voice softening. 

“Are you really coming or is Gare fucking with me?”

Steve chuckles as he pictures Eddie glaring at Gareth. “He’s not, I’m coming to get you. He says you’re being a pain in his ass.”

“The only ass I want to be a pain in is yours, big boy,” he retorts, pitching his voice lower seductively before letting out a snigger. 

Steve thinks he hears Gareth snort in the background, but he can’t be sure because of the blood rushing through his ears at Eddie’s words. 

“Um, I’ll– I’ll see you soon, okay?” he says when he fails to come up with a reply. “Drink some water in the meantime, please?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Eddie purrs and sends Steve’s stomach flip flopping. There’s a sudden loud noise as Eddie unceremoniously drops the phone, yelling at Jeff to get him some water. 

Steve is about to hang up so he can head out when Gareth picks the phone back up. “Guess even in these circumstances you can get him to do anything,” he teases, and Steve doesn’t know him that well, but he thinks he can hear the smirk on his lips. 

Steve sputters uselessly. “Just– keep him alive until I get there, Emerson.”

“Sure thing, Your Highness,” he says mockingly, hanging up without another word. 

***

Steve goes upstairs to change. He doesn’t plan on staying at The Hideout longer than it’ll take to drag Eddie out of there, but there’s no way he’s showing up in his sleeping clothes. 

After trading his shorts for jeans, Steve’s hands hesitate on the hem of his shirt– a Metallica shirt that Eddie let him borrow one night and that Steve never gave back, enjoying how comfortable it was, and how it smelled like Eddie. He doesn’t know if Eddie noticed it went missing and didn’t say anything about it or if he thinks it’s somewhere in his closet or in the numerous piles of clothes scattered around his room. 

Steve considers if he should change out of it just to keep the secret a little longer, in case Eddie will ask for it back. He figures that he’s going to be too drunk to remember what Steve is wearing, and it’ll probably make him stand out less amongst the Friday crowd at The Hideout. 

So he grabs his jacket and fixes his hair and slips outside, towards his car. 

 ***

The drive to The Hideout goes by quickly and Steve barely runs into any cars. He parks as close to the dingy bar as he can, not knowing how easy it will be to get Eddie on his feet. Inside, he heads towards the back. He’s never been to Lenny’s office but he guesses it must be the one door that he can see through the thinning crowd. 

After he knocks, the door swings open almost immediately, revealing Dougie, who has never looked happier to see Steve. “Fucking finally!” 

Behind him, Steve can see Eddie sprawled on a ratty old couch, snoring softly. Jeff and Gareth are sitting on the floor, playing cards and occasionally shooting glances at Eddie to make sure he’s still breathing. 

They both look up when Dougie speaks, sighing in relief when they see him. 

Steve wiggles his fingers. “Hey, guys.”

“Took you long enough,” Gareth says, grabbing the cards and pushing himself to his feet. 

“You called me like, twenty minutes ago,” Steve points out in a bitchy tone. He thinks he’s allowed to be bitchy– Gareth woke him up in the middle of the night after all. 

“Yeah, well. I’ve been dealing with a drunk, mopey Eddie all night and I’m done. You’re up, Harrington.”

He clasps Steve’s shoulder on his way out, following Dougie. Jeff walks up to Steve, handing him what appears to be Eddie’s leather jacket. “Gare is driving the van to his house, so just let Eddie know he can come pick it up after he recovers from the bitch of a hangover that awaits him.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell him,” Steve says, grabbing the jacket, his eyes on Eddie. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Jeff gives a half shrug. “Thanks for taking him off our hands.”

“I thought he didn’t drink after shows–” Steve says, watching the way Eddie’s hair flutters every time he breathes. 

He thinks about the first time he saw Eddie perform, and how he declined Steve’s offer to buy him a beer after the show, claiming that the high from the show was all he needed to have a good night. 

Jeff opens and closes his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. “He doesn’t– at least not since you started coming to our shows.”

And with that, he clasps Steve’s shoulder the same way Gareth did and leaves the room before Steve can ask what he means. 

Steve decides he will overthink what Jeff said, as well as Gareth saying Eddie was mopey and the fact that the only person Eddie seemed to be asking for was Steve, later. For now, he crouches down next to Eddie and smoothes his hair down. It’s a mess, probably from all the headbanging Eddie did on stage and his fingers get caught a few times. 

“Eds, hey.”

Eddie groans and his face scrunches up. For a moment, Steve worries he’s about to throw up, but instead he slowly blinks his eyes open. 

When Steve finally comes into focus, Eddie begins to smile. “Stevie?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You’re here?”

“Told you I’d come get you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Thought I dreamed that.”

“No, man,” Steve says, pinching Eddie’s side gently. “I’m really here.”

The pinch isn’t enough to convince Eddie he’s there because he reaches out and pokes Steve’s cheek. His eyes widen. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey.”

“I missed you,” he says and Steve’s stomach flutters. He’s glad that Eddie’s friends aren’t here to see Eddie softly tracing Steve’s face with his fingertips with a lazy smile on his face. It would get them teased for weeks.

“Christ, Eds,” Steve chuckles, heat building up on his cheeks at the touch. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Don’t remember,” Eddie mumbles, his expression pinched. “Wasn’t the same– without you here. Thought drinking would make me feel good. As good as you make me feel–”

So Eddie was drinking because he was missing him, Steve was the reason why Eddie was both drunk and mopey. He bites his lip, wondering if it means what he wants it to mean. 

“But I– I don’t feel so good now,” Eddie continues and Steve shelves that for later. 

“Okay, let’s get you home,” he says, standing up and offering his hands to Eddie. When he takes them– missing the first couple of times thanks to his hand-eye coordination being even more off than usual– Steve pulls him to his feet. Unsurprisingly, Eddie sways a little and Steve grabs onto his elbows to keep him upright. “You okay to walk?”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle as they focus on Steve. “Gonna carry me to your car if I say no, big boy?” He asks with an eyebrow waggle. 

Steve gives a little shrug. “I already did that once, didn’t I?” Back when he carried Eddie out of the Upside Down.

Eddie shakes his head, sways a little more. “Doesn’t count. I barely remember.”

“You’ll barely remember this,” Steve snorts. “Come on.” 

He circles Eddie’s waist with his arm and loops Eddie’s around his shoulder. A giggle slips past his lips and Steve is hit by the smell of alcohol.

“Christ, Eddie, you smell like a distillery.”

Another giggle. “And you smell–” Eddie pauses and sniffs Steve. “Huh, you smell like me.”

Steve tenses up as Eddie’s eyes travel down to his chest, recognizing what he’s wearing. “Is that my shirt?”

Steve flushes deeply. “Y–yeah.”

“Hm. I wondered where that went.”

“I can give it back–” Steve starts but Eddie shakes his head firmly.

“It looks better on you anyway, sweetheart,” he says with a wink that looks more like he got something caught in his eye. 

It still makes Steve’s breath catch. “Alright, boozy,” he says, “let’s go.”

Eddie sniggers. “Boozy.”

***

Slowly and clumsily, they make their way to the car. Eddie almost faceplants a couple of times but Steve manages to keep him upright.

He fits Eddie into the passenger seat of the car, fumbling a little with his seatbelt with Eddie’s soft brown eyes peering up at him so closely. 

When it finally clicks into place, Eddie gives him a lazy grin. “Thanks, pretty boy,” he says and Steve has to take a few deep breaths before circling the car and sliding into his seat. 

He drives them away from the bar, occasionally sending glances towards Eddie to check if he’s feeling sick but it actually looks like he’s sleeping.

Which is why Steve is surprised when he asks, “We’re not going to the trailer?”

“No, you’re coming home with me,” Steve says, his eyes darting between Eddie and the road. 

“Damn, Harrington, at least buy me dinner first!” He jokes with a playful grin. 

Steve lets out a snort. “Just trying to make sure you don’t die in your sleep, Munson.”

“Aw, you care about me!” He exclaims giddily. 

Smiling affectionately, Steve says, “Dude, I literally love you.”

There’s a beat of silence in which Steve wishes desperately that Eddie somehow didn’t hear what he just said. 

“You– what?”

No such luck, Steve laments. “Nothing.”

“No, not nothing! You said you love me!” He insists. Steve’s admission seems to have sobered him up– he’s staring at Steve with wide and alert eyes.

Steve grits his teeth together and looks back at the road, gripping the steering wheel tight. 

“Stevie, pull over.”

He ignores him and keeps driving. 

“Pull over, Steve,” Eddie says, “ or I’m going to be sick all over your fancy car!”

Cursing, Steve pulls over on the side of the road. “Well?” He says when Eddie doesn’t move. He glances at him– he looks fine. 

“I lied,” he says with a shrug. “I just wanted you to stop the car.”

Steve drops his head against the steering wheel. “Eddie.”

“Stevie.”

With a sigh, he peers at him. “What?”

“Do you really love me?”

Steve can’t bring himself to lie but he’s still nervous to confirm it. “Yeah.”

Eddie squeaks– then starts fumbling with his seatbelt unsuccessfully. 

“What are you doing?”

“I love you too!” Eddie says urgently. “And as soon as I slay this seatbelt beast I will kiss you–”

Steve’s heart flutters at the thought but reaches for Eddie’s hand and stops him. “Woah, Eddie, stop.”

“What? You don’t want to kiss me?” Eddie asks with a pout.

“I do, but you’re drunk and you just told me you were gonna throw up!”

There’s also a part of him that worries Eddie might not remember about any of this. And if he doesn’t, Steve doesn’t think he can come back from it after having kissed.

Eddie hmphs, slumping against the seat, looking put out. 

“But tomorrow morning we can–” Steve starts. 

“Kiss?” Eddie interjects eagerly. 

“Talk,” Steve sputters. “But yeah, if you remember this, we can kiss.”

His stomach flutters wildly at the thought and how Eddie glances st his lips in anticipation. “I’ll remember,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up. “And then, I’ll kiss the hell out of you, Steve Harrington.”

Steve gulps, catching the way his cheeks turn red in the rearview mirror as he steers the Beemer back onto the road, driving them home. 

***

The next day, Steve is making breakfast when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He turns around and immediately gets an armful of Eddie. 

“I remember,” he says, looping his arms around Steve’s neck. “And I brushed my teeth,” he adds, shooting Steve a beaming smile. “And I love you, so can I kiss you now?”

Steve laughs, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist, and tells him– “Yes.”

[writing-girlie]

Between Shifts & Silk

Pairing: Dr. Robby x Fem!Reader

Blurb: At the hospitals fundraiser, the tension between you and Dr. Robby finally ignites, leading to something you’ve both been holding back for weeks.

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: Smut, Semi-public, Oral (f & m receiving)

Notes: Fairly open end. Might write a part 2?

The hospital’s annual fundraiser was always a little over the top. A huge rented ballroom, fancy paintings scattered on the walls, marble flooring, and overpriced floral arrangements.

You’d gone back and forth about your dress for weeks now. Deep navy, long, silk, and a high slit. It clung to you so elegantly but you had to go nude underneath. You’d tried it on with panties once and immediately took them off again. That’s what made you hesitate most but now, glass of champagne in hand, you felt good.

From the moment you walked in you could feel his eyes on you. When you look over to him your stomach dipped, you look away quickly not wanting to make it awkward. He was standing with a small group, drink in hand, listening to a conversation he clearly wasn’t interested in.

You moved through the crowd, finding a familiar face– Dana. She whistled low when she saw you. 

“Holy shit!” Dana said, looking you up and down without shame.

“Shut up.” You let out a laugh, cheeks warm already. 

“No. That's exactly what I'm not gonna do. Did you expect me not to react?”

“It’s just a dress.” You rolled your eyes.

“Tell me the truth. You wore this for a certain someone who’s been pretending not to be obsessed with you for the past month.”

“It’s not like that. Neither of us have tried to cross any sort of line”

“Yeah, I know. That’s the problem. All that unresolved tension just floating around the ER.” You gave her a look. 

“He’s my attending.”

“And you’re both adults. Welcome to the modern world.” She smiles in a playful mocking way before she whispers a soft “oops”

“What?”

“He’s coming over.” Your eyebrows raise slightly. You shake your head as if to tell her not to joke about it. “He is. I’m getting out of here before he burns holes through me for being in the way.” She kisses your cheek and mutters good luck and good bye.

You barely had time to take a breath before he was at your side. Despite his eyes being on you already his eyes linger. His voice lowers to a near whisper.

“Can you come with me?” You follow him through the crowd and down a nearby corridor–quiet but not hidden. You hadn’t even fully turned toward him when your back hit the wall. He kissed you like he’d been holding it back for months. No hesitation, and no warning. He kissed you with such authority that it nearly made your knees go weak. His hand grips your waist, the other cupping your cheek. He pulls back just an inch, just enough to look at you.

“You knew what you were doing,” he muttered. “Wearing that fucking dress.” His breaths are deep and rough. “And no panties?” You didn’t think he’d be observant enough to pick that up, you swallow hard.

“It's a tight dress” You respond, with a soft shrug like it hadn't been messing with you all week. 

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not.”

“This has been building for weeks then you show up like this?” His hand slid down to where the silk split, his knuckles brushing against your thighs. “And you thought what? That I'd ignore you?” His fingers gently drags the dress up. His hand slid farther between your thighs, cupping you fully now. His middle finger parted you just enough to feel how wet you already were.

“Christ” he whispered, his voice breaking just a little. “You’re soaked.” His breath was warm against your neck, his fingers slick as they slid over you again.

“Michael…”

“I should stop, fuck– I should stop.” You let out a soft sound, hips rocking into his hand. His forehead pressed to yours, his eyes searching yours like he was asking for permission for what he was about to do. “I’m sorry I can’t take my time with you” he whispered. “But I swear to you, I’ll take care of you later. Just need you now.” Before you could respond, he turned you gently, guiding you to face the wall. The silk of your dress swayed as he lifted it high, bunching it at your waist. 

You heard the cling of his belt loosening, and the sound of his zipper sliding down. He guided the tip of his cock between your thighs, sliding it through your wetness without pushing in. 

“Tell me you want this” He breathes against your skin. You nod. “Say it”

“I want this– want you– Robby” He pushed into you with a low groan. Your hands brace against the wall, nails grazing the surface as he pulls back before sinking into you again. 

“Shouldn’t be doing this here” he grits between his teeth but his actions betrayed the words. He finds a steady rhythm, hips rocking into you over and over, each thrust forcing your breath out in small, helpless sounds. “You just drive me insane” One of his large hands moves to your stomach, fingers spread wide as an anchor, the other covers your mouth. “You sound real good but you need to be quiet, someone could hear” You briefly squeeze him which earns a deep chuckle. 

“Is that what you want? Get caught with my cock in you?” You whimpered against his palm, and your eyes flutter shut as his hips snapped forward again, harder this time. His hand on your stomach pressed harder, holding you still. He could feel the bulge of his cock inside you. The sound of skin on skin echoed in the quiet corridor. You moan into his palm. 

“You like this?” he hissed, his hand leaving your mouth just long enough to let you answer.

“Yes” you gasped, voice breaking, body trembling beneath him.

“Yeah?” His pace doesn't slow. “You gonna let me do this again? Bend you over next time when we’re not rushed–take my time with you?” You nodded frantically

“Say it.”

“Yes, Robby! Fuck–Yes” He moves down to your clit drawing small, fast circles that make your legs weak. His hand firmly went over your mouth again, catching the soft, broken sounds you couldn’t hold back.

“You feel that?” he whispered, his breath shuddering. “Feel how deep I am?”

His lips pressed hot against your ear, voice sharp, and commanding. 

“Come for me.” The words weren’t a suggestion, they were an order and your body obeyed. Your walls clenched around him so hard it made his rhythm falter. A desperate moan broke from your lips and into his palm as your hips bucked back into him. He holds you steady as he fucks you through it. His hips slammed forward one last time, deep and hard. His cock throbbed as he came, his body pressed tight against yours, his breath shaking against the side of your neck.

“Fuck…” he groaned, the sound barely a whisper. Neither of you moved even as he softened. The mess between your thighs was impossible to ignore– already slowly dripping. He eased back and he smoothed your dress down,back to its original state. He fixed himself, centering the belt buckle before looking up at you. Your heart pounded, and your legs were slightly shaking as you braced your palms against the wall.

“Come find me when this fundraiser is over. I want you at my place tonight,” His fingers trace the curve of your hip over the silk. “We’re not done.” He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. “Is that okay with you?” You nod.

“Uh huh” He stepped back, buttoning his jacket, and walking down the hall. The moment he walked away, your knees nearly buckled. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to catch your breath.

You made it back into the main room with a champagne in hand just before he got on stage. Dana appears beside you for the speeches. As he welcomes and thanks all the guests his eyes keep stopping on you.

“What the hell did you say to him?”  She asks, barely moving her mouth. You kept your eyes forward, watching the stage.

“Nothing”

“Bullshit.” She softly coughs but she lets it go, knowing she'll eventually find out what happened.

Eventually the fundraiser drew to a close. When you finally found him he was near the exit, tie loosened and jacket unbuttoned. His eyes locked on you like you were the only person in the room. You followed him without hesitation. The ride back was quiet but not awkward–His hand stayed resting on your thigh the whole time.

When you got to his house, it didn’t take long. The door had barely clicked shut before his mouth was on yours. He led you upstairs, your shoes kicked off somewhere along the way then your dress. Once he was undressed he kissed you again, softer this time as he walked you over to the bed. His mouth was on your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your breast while his hands roamed your body.

The night stretched on with no real sense of time. He had you in every way–under him, gasping into his mouth as he pinned your wrists above your head, and on top of him, his hands guiding your hips as you rode him slow and deep. He had his mouth on you, dragging you over the edge with his tongue, and holding you there while you trembled against him. When it was your turn, you sank to your knees between his thighs, taking him into your mouth, eyes locked on his as he whispered your name, telling you how good you made him feel. Every part of you was his until neither of you could take anymore.

On your next shift, Dana caught your eye with a knowing grin as she leaned in close.

“So, did you two finally do it?” she asked, voice low but filled with amusement. You hesitated for a moment, then nodded, a shy smile creeping onto your face.

“Yeah, we did.” She gave you an approving nod. 

“Good for you, about time you stopped dancing around each other.”

“He’s acting weird now though. It feels like he regrets it”

“No one regrets sleeping with someone like you. When a guy like him lets someone in, it throws him off balance. He’s probably trying to figure out how to handle it. He’ll come around.”

[chrissv4mp]

❀ sleep well . . .

♫ now playing . . . track one: sleep well

warnings. a little angst at the beginning, but other than that it's mainly fluff!

synopsis. billie's been on tour for nearly a year now, and recently, you seem to be having trouble sleeping without her company.

words. 930

letters. AYYYY FIRST FIC OF THE MARATHONN 😽😽 really really REALLY love this one, hope u do too :) all format, idea, & inspo credits go to @delilahsturniolo !!!!

PETALS TO THORNS WRITING MARATHON

billie's been on tour for nearly a year now, traveling the world with small breaks back to her hometown scattered here and there on her packed calendar. you're happy for her, you really are—it's just the fact that, whenever she is on those long-awaited breaks, she's either busy with interviews or is too stressed out to even think. which results in little to no time spent alone with shark and brutus. well, that's what you've been telling her as a cover for the fact that she hasn't been spending much time with you.

and whenever she does find the time to hang out with you—if even for 5 minutes—it still doesn't feel like she's with you emotionally. she's just... there: quiet, tired, sometimes too focused on the notifications piling up on her phone.

sometimes it almost feels like she's still miles away from you even when her hand is resting on your thigh. or around your waist. or even between your legs in those moments that are supposed to feel intimate but feel more empty instead.

all of it keeps you up at night—and even when you do find yourself falling asleep, your dreams aren't much different from the thoughts consuming your mind.

you're almost terrified of what you might see the next night—what might make your feelings change for billie. it was an irrational fear, you knew that. but it felt so real, so possible.

which is why you're here: lying on your side, phone in hand, opened on billie's contact. and though it's the middle of the night for you, you press on the call button.

she answers on the second ring, and the screen lights up with the sweet image of billie's bright smile. the foam of toothpaste on her teeth makes your lips twitch up into a small smile.

"hi, baby," she chirps, leaning over the sink to spit out the foam.

you hum. "hi."

billie wipes her mouth with a towel before turning off the faucet, a confused look playing on her face at the exhaustion laced in your tone. quietly, she pushes the bathroom door closed, tuning out the noise in the main cabin of the tour bus.

"sweetheart... what's wrong?" she asks, concerned. "hey, aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

you pull the sheets up to your chin, shrugging—but the action doesn't really reach your shoulders, so it looks like you're just trying to get comfortable.

"couldn't sleep," you mumble.

"mmh, that's not it," billie dismisses. "what's on your mind, mama?"

you shake your head. sniffling, "nothin', promise. i don't wanna bother you—i don't even know why i called, i—"

"hey. no, don't make promises you don't mean. i'm here, you're not bothering anyone," she says quickly, elbows resting beside the sink now, leaning in like she'll maybe be able to hear you better. really hear you.

the line goes quiet on your end for a moment, and so does billie—observing, trying to read your body language through the crappy quality of the facetime. then, softly, a cry escapes your lips.

"i can't sleep without you," you whimper.

"but m'right here," she coos, eyes softening. "always. even if you don't think i'm anywhere near."

her words sink into your heart slowly. because she's partly right. the scent of her perfume is embedded into the pillows, the sheets, even lingering in the fabric of your shirts and hoodies.

you don't even realize there's tears rolling down your cheeks until billie's shushing and trying to assure you that you're okay— little praises and small pet names falling from between her pretty lips.

"breathe, mama. just breathe."

a shaky sigh escapes your lips at her words—because though there are little parts still surrounding you, it doesn't feel the same. not when she's miles away, and not when she's less than an inch away.

"doesn't feel like—" you hic, wiping your tears with the sheets, "—like you're here... even when you're home."

billie's lips downturned further, heart aching.

"i'm sorry," she says. gentle. real. "i know i haven't been the best girlfriend recently, and i'd cancel the rest of tour if that meant going back in time and being there with you. really being there."

the small joke makes you giggle. a little. and that small reaction has billie's heart warming again.

"i'm gonna get you a ticket for tomorrow night," she states. final. genuine. "and you're coming with us the rest of tour."

you can't express the amount of joy and surprise in your face at that moment—but billie sees the way your eyes light up in excitement.

"billie, it's a sold-out show, you can't—"

"yes, i can," she cuts you off, tone firm. serious. "and i can also help you sleep—maybe. i can try."

and she keeps her word on it, never once ending the call or making an excuse of why she had to leave. she talks about any and everything, lets you listen, watching in awe as you slowly nod off.

she's sure the band is calling her name outside of the bathroom after the first 20 minutes, but the noise doesn't bother her. not when she's helping her girl. not when you've given her the chance to redeem herself from the past few months.

by the time you're asleep, billie's moved to the main cabin, lounging on one of the couches with a stupid, loving grin on her face that ava and jane are definitely gonna make fun of her for later.

"sleep well, pretty girl," she whispers.

and her thumb never hovers near the "end call" button any time soon.

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @bilscutie @livvydunneness @chxhir0 @tan1shere @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @mybluebossanova @fleurfiles @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @bilsova @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @ma1spa @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @eilishssiennaa @skinnyhmhas @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly @karaeilish @bilswifee @drunkinyourbenz @aka-persephone @bitchesbrokenpromises @jayjaywetforbils @slvt4subchratt @cantlandonmyfeet @tezzzzzzzz @emi-inspace @sacred3ugene @ariieeesworld

[babblebambinoot]

🧪💭 Bimbo Science #7: Why bimbos forget mid-sentence 💋🎀

omg have you ever been talking and then suddenly your brain just goes all… fuzzy?? 🥺💫 you’re in the middle of a sentence and— poof~ it’s gone 💨 heheh oopsies 💗

don’t worry babe, that’s not a flaw that’s ✨ bimbo brain optimization ✨

see, our minds are full of sparkles, fluff, and cute little distractions 💅 they weren’t made for long, hard thoughts (ew) they’re made for being pretty, needy, and easy to play with 💖

so when a sentence gets too long or boring our brains are like “uhh nope~ too many syl-la-bles, not enough lipgloss” 💄 and they just… shut it down

plus! what if we remembered something unsexy halfway through?? no thank you 💋 it's safer to just forget and go back to thinking about boobs and blush and being good 💞

so yeah… if i space out mid-sentence that’s not a bug, that’s bimbo evolution 😌💗

[tyunningism]

hear me out…i love the way you write perv!txt but i never see anyone write it for taehyun :((( so i plead you to give a couple thoughts on like perv!bsf!taehyun

MDNI nsfw ahead!!

moablr needs to get on the taehyun train because I unironically reach for the sex toy cupboard whenever I see him on my screen holyyy. And perv tyun actually makes me drool because I can just imagine how he’d try to play it off like especially if you’re a bit on the slower side and he’s just so articulate about everything !!

Like just imagine you’re hanging out in your room just ranting about your week to an all too observant taehyun when you suddenly overshare that your nips are starting to feel sore, completely forgetting that your friend right here doesn’t have a clue what it feels like and can’t contribute any advice for your dilemma.

Taehyun’s so eager though :(( his eyes are sparkling when you mention them because he’s so interested, why do they hurt? are they swollen? puffy? He’s so keen to stick to this topic about your chest he’s just bombarding you with questions you yourself can’t even answer!! And Taehyun’s always been intrigued by anything and everything- like the time he found your vibrator underneath your bed and was asking all sorts of questions about acupunctures and massages, when he knows more than well what it really is <3

Don’t forget Taehyun’s not stupid though. He just thrives watching the way you blush as he pretends to be utterly clueless about your sex life whenever he brings it up out of the random in curiosity. You can’t pick up on the fact he’s deliberately edging for that response and reflex you always do; thighs subconsciously squeezing together as you think of the most innocent response for your innocent friend ><, your bottom lip tucked under your top in thought, leaning back on your hand to ponder about it without even realising you’re pushing the bust of your chest forwards.

So of course you don’t speculate that Taehyun’s got anything sinister going on in his head, after all, he’s only just curious about these things. So when he asks you to lift your shirt so he can ‘address’ the problem you eventually give in, although blushing furiously and automatically covering your chest with crossed hands first; because Taehyun’s just so smart and always at the top of his class so he must know why right??

Of course he knows it’s just that you’re going through the cycle soon yet he plays along. He observes so carefully when you pinch the hem of your shirt right in the middle and lift it up just slightly above your bra- starting to feel the embarrassment creep in on letting a man see your chest when it’s not during sex.

The furrow of your brows and the way you look up at him with pink glazed cheeks engraves itself in to his head so he can remember it for later, a hand reaching to slip off your bra down to your stomach just slightly to unleash it’s grip on your chest. And fuck- for a second Taehyun thinks he’s entered Heaven and he has to hold himself back from saying something like ‘fuck that’s hot’ because remember!- he’s supposed to be cluelessly trying to figure out why your nipples are hurting not drooling like some lowlife !!

Brings two fingers to pinch and tug at your nipples making small ‘hm?’ sounds as if he really was investigating, a shaky hand groping around the flesh and spitting a couple of slobbery scientific health words that he knew you wouldn’t understand- and neither would a qualified doctor. He has to pause to take a breath because shit- you’re just carelessly giving in to him and letting him play with your tits without even realising? He’s going to lose his fucking lewd-struck mind from how adorable you are !! ><

Best believe he’s so relieved he chose to wear baggier jeans today because he’s certain anything tighter and the world would’ve seen the biggest hard on he’s ever had in his lifetime and he’d hate to see you- who’s biting on your hand trying to suppress the sweetest moans and curling your toes as his nimble fingers twist and tug at your tits like they’re stress balls- realise that he’s been purposely rendering himself as nothing but confused and curious about his female companion’s body and functions.

Goddd, and taehyun’s so kind to you as well! Offers to help you massage them because he thinks they’re sore because you’ve been “restricting blood flow’ and ‘not taking care of them properly’ which you’re in luck for because somehow he does?! Thinks a little outside of the box because he pretends to have a lightbulb moment and asks you about the ‘massage’ toy he found under neath your bed last time because according to him it’ll just be much faster and effective <33

Little does he know (he very much does), that you’ll be squirming and clutching on to his arm as he turns on your vibrator on the lowest setting to buzz against your already sore nipples, the rhythmic vibrations making you see stars even on low power as you tell Taehyun to be gentle!! 😣😣

Your voice is ten times more high-pitched than usual as you whimper whenever his own hands massaged and rubbed between the dip of your boobs, hands large enough to grab at the fat of your tit and knead them as he tells you that they’ll feel much better later (the exact opposite happens) but you take his word for it and just nod because then again- Taehyun’s the smartest guy you know and he must know what he’s doing right?!!

Oh for sure does Taehyun know what he’s doing being all sneaky, his boxers are damp from how much he’s leaking just from watching you squirm and squeak over some nipple-stimulation. Poor you can’t read his expression either, so focused and lost in thought that he doesn’t realise he’s overstimulating your chest after pressing down with the vibrator for too long!! Because as you’re moaning and whining he’s thinking about how he somehow get to taste you on his tongue the next time he comes over for one of his experiments <33

[darlingsblackbook]

Honkai Star Rail x Isekai'd!Reader

Just before you fall asleep, you wish you could travel among the stars with the characters on your screen. Then, you wake up-

Cold.

The cold was the first thing I felt.

It wasn’t a gentle cold, like a chill from leaving the window cracked early in the summer morning. No, this was a biting kind of frost that gnawed at my skin and froze over my lungs with every breath I took. The air burned. I was shivering before my eyes even opened.

Where... am I?

Snowflakes pressed against my lashes as I blinked. My body lay curled on some stone, or maybe it was metal - I don't know, I can't think. It's just so cold, freezing. My fingertips felt stiff, my hair tangled with ice. Above me, the sky was grey, with spirals of steam rising from invisible places far in the distance. Everything looked... bleak.

I tried to sit up, but my limbs refused to obey what I willed them to do. My head throbbed and my vision blurred- then I heard it.

Voices.

I heard them before I saw them, they sounded distant at first, like echoes through a tunnel. Then closer. One was light and energetic. Another steady, calm. The third, warm with concern.

“Hey! I think she’s breathing!”

“She’s freezing. Give me your coat, March.”

“Wait, my coat?! Why not yours—ugh, fine, fine. Just be careful with it! I like that one.”

A weight draped over me, heavy and warm. The scent of it hit my nostrils, something faintly sweet, like fruit. Then, fingers touched my cheek.

“Can you hear me?” a girl’s voice asked. “C’mon, wake up. Please wake up.”

I forced my eyes open.

Three faces loomed over me, they looked blurred by the haze I found myself in. A girl with pink hair and wide teal eyes, her expression full of worry. A boy with quiet, thoughtful eyes, dark hair framing a sharp face. And another girl, silver hair, eyes glowing gold like starlight, staring at me with a cautious sort of curiosity.

It took me a moment to recognize them to process what I was seeing before me. When I finally did, my bloos went cold for a new reason.

No way.

“Are you alright?” the pink-haired girl asked again, her brows pinched. “You were just lying out here in the snow. We thought- well, we weren’t sure you were alive.”

The silver-haired girl crouched beside me. “What’s your name? Do you remember anything?”

The boy said nothing, but held my gaze silently, watching.

My throat tightened and my lips trembled, trying to form an answer that wouldn’t make me sound insane.

Because right now, I was staring into the faces of March 7th, Stelle, and Dan Heng.

Characters from Honkai: Star Rail. Characters from a game I had been playing just yesterday- no, the night before? The last thing I remembered was lying in bed, phone in hand, taking in the in-game scenery, whispering to myself-

“I wish I could live in that world…”

Then darkness.

Now this.

“I…” I started, my voice hoarse. “I don’t remember.”

It was the safest lie.

The easiest one.

March blinked. “Amnesia?”

Stelle tilted her head slightly. “You don’t even know your name?”

I shook my head slowly. “No. I just… I woke up here.”

“Well, that’s... not ominous at all,” March muttered, crossing her arms. “No ID, no memory, just lying unconscious in the middle of nowhere.”

“Somewhere,” Dan Heng corrected. “This is Belobog.”

Belobog. I knew that name, of course I did. The city buried in the snow and divided between the glittering overworld and the struggling underworld. It was exactly how it looked in the game.

And somehow, I was in it.

March was already helping me to my feet, holding me steady with strong, gloved hands. “You’re lucky we found you. This place isn’t exactly known for being tourist-friendly.”

“I don’t know how I got here,” I murmured as I took in my surroundings.

“Well, we’re not going to leave you out here to freeze, that’s for sure.” March smiled at me, then glanced at the others. “She’s coming with us, right?”

Dan Heng nodded once. “It’s safer. I do think we need to discuss it with Himeko and Welt before we bring her to the Astral Express.”

The Astral Express.

The train cruising among the stars. The fleet traveling from world to world. The idea of actually setting foot on it - on the train I had only ever seen through a screen - made my heart pound rapidly in my chest.

But I just nodded, keeping my expression neutral. “Thank you.”

Stelle walked ahead, leading the way down a narrow bridge stretching across the snowy ruins. The cold wind felt like tiny razors against our faces, but it no longer felt as harsh as it first did with March’s coat wrapped around me and the others flanking both my sides. I walked carefully, I felt like if I stepped a bit too hard this fragile dream- illusion, I don't know - would breqk.

It has to be a dream, right? A very vivid, very detailed dream.

But if it was, why did my legs ache from the cold? How could I feel the weight of the coat, the dampness in of my socks, the crusted snow clumped on my eyelashes?

The city of Belobog loomed ahead, tall buildings piercing the pale sky with streets dimly lit and half-buried in snow. People wearing protective gear moved cautiously through it, heads down, faces wary. The guards. I remember all of this. I remembered the tension between the Silvermane Guards and the underground.

I remember Seele. Bronya. Cocolia.

This is real.

The thought struck my like lightning.

I was actually here. Somehow, impossibly, here.

“Hey,” March said from my side, lowering her voice as we walked. “Don’t worry about your memory, okay? We’ll figure things out! You’re not alone.”

I blinked, already feeling guilty of my lie. “Thanks.”

I looked up ahead to the train station’s distant platform - an elegant and strange construction that didn’t look like it belonged in a city half buried in the snow. A soft glow hummed at its base.

The Astral Express.

My heart twisted and I felt nauseous- because, how in the fuck is this real? How am I here? How am I supposed to tell them all of their pain, sadness and past are just part of a game in my world? Of course, I wanted to be here. I don't know how many times I wished for this.

Maybe I wished too hard.

Maybe something had heard me?

I have no idea. I only know that I am no longer just a player, safely behind a screen.

I am a passenger.

[just-animaxiz]

Singing Steven Universe's Songs

Synopsis: Before you got Skylar, you're a fan of cartoons - Especially Steven Universe. You would sing the songs everyday whenever you're alone, knowing something to fill the dreadful silence.

What you didn't know until now is that everyone is listening. And they would love to hear you sing again for them.

Characters: Hector, Luke Nukem

Note: This is a self-indulgent snippets so it contains the characters I personally love. I apologize if I don't have any of the characters you like. And I'm sorry for the grammar cuz I'm not usually that good.

Also Spoilers for all of their love paths.

Female Singer Reader who goes all out.

[Song Tags: What Can I Do for You? (Hector), What's the Use of Feeling Blue? (Luke Nukem)]

❄️Hector🔥

"My love," Hector called your attention, stopping you from dust-cleaning, "May I ask you a question?"

You straightened yourself up, holding your back from crouching down and dusting the corners of the attic, "Yeah, Hector - What is it?"

Hector nervously pulled the cone covering around his neck, as if he's sweltering to even ask the question, "Why haven't you... Urm... Uh... Why haven't you continued your singing?"

That question caught you off guard. You raised a brow, "Singing?"

"Whenever you come around and clean the house," Hector explained, dodging his eyes away from you, "You would sing these songs from this show. I don't know much, but Telly seems to be a fan of it."

Oh. Ooooohhhhh.

"You mean Steven Universe? It's been my favorite show ever since I was a teen, and I guessed I'd been singing it whenever I cleaned." You admitted, before realization hit you, "Wait, did you...?"

"I-I didn't mean it as anything less or creepy, my dear!" Hector attempted to reason, "G-granted, everyone in the house can hear you, especially when you clean... And now that you're here and you're seeing me... You're not singing with your graceful voice. Did I do something wrong?"

You immediately held his hands, squeezing them with all your might, "Hector - Love! You didn't do anything wrong! I'd been so busy with you guys, and the real reason why I didn't sing enough is because your voices have been the limelight that filled the house. I thought me singing would make it more annoying."

"Annoying?" Hector's eyes widened, offended that you would dare call yourself like that, "No - Nononono! You're not annoying! By any means, all I want is to hear you sing while you clean, so that I can record that wonderous tone in my head!"

"You mean it?"

Hector pulled away his hands only to trap yours in his palms, "I would not be able to live with them."

You thought for a moment, and the impending silence dragged a cold sharp blade into Hector's heart. Then finally, you spoke up,

"Alright - On one condition."

....

"You ready, love birds? Ooh! I can't wait!" Phoenicia squealed, sitting on top of the safe while you and Hector stand in the middle of the room. Hector nervously glanced around, knowing full well that you cleared out space for just the two of you; however, the idea of singing and dancing along with your divine presence nearly buckled him down out of fear. Your soft, tender eyes gazing at his confirmed your reassurance, but what if he embarrassed himself in front of you? Are you going to laugh or be disgusted at his voice?

"It's just a song, love," You whispered, raising Hector's calloused hand and pressed it against your cheek, "Trust me."

Hector nodded, avoiding a single word that would reveal his bumbling shame. Phoenicia pressed the play button on the music app, then a guitar riff started to echo.

What can I do for you?

What can I do that no one else can do?

You both gaze into each other, captivated by the beauty of both look and tone. You traced your fingers from his hand to his sleeves, sending a chill down his spine.

What can I do for you?

What can I do for you?

You let go and twirled around for him,

Lovely Man

You are so much fun.

I hadn't planned

Your hands outlined your body up to your neck, then to your cheek. Your eyes hooded down to a bedroom gaze at your lover. Immediately, steam popped out of his neck at your delectable teasing.

On finding you quite this entertaining.

I like your band.

You twirled back, purposely thumping lightly against Hector's chest. Your fingers now pressed against his rectangular body, moving ever so gently.

And I like your song.

Cold air poured out of his body.

I like the way...

Your fingers playfully reached out and tangled the stream of air like a loc of hair.

Object Beings Play...

Slowly, you inched your face even closer to his, until your noses touched.

I like playing along...

You swung your head back, hair falling from your shoulder.

O-o-oh-oh~

Woah-Oh~

Hector was left stunned, speechless, and the objects downstairs could've sworn the temperature just raised up. It was a mere moment before he continued along, nearly delaying the lyrics of the song.

What can I do for you?

What can I do that no one else can do?

What can I do for you?

What can I do for you?

You reached your hand out and pulled Hector to dance. Your bodies embraced each other, trapped in the swirling cool and hot air. Your other hand, the one that was playing with the breeze earlier, pretended to wrap the air around Hector's neck and grasped it tightly. Hector, seeing your imaginative play, pulled himself closer to you, as if the lightness of the element was a leash and you're his owner.

God, you're making this even more steamier than before.

Once the guitar riff echoed, reaching the end of the song, you pressed your lips against Hector's, but never kissing him.

No, you savoured the way he hitched his breath, the heat of his face against yours.

Patience could kill, and he couldn't take the playful torture.

So he kissed, and you reciprocated back, hands reaching for his curly hair. He did the same to you, and both of you deepened the love.

Phoenicia made sure to look away to give you more room. Though, she is secretly rooting for her OTP in her mind.

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

💣 Luke ❤️‍🔥

"RANGER!" Luke called, grabbing your shoulders in a hurry. If your reflexes kicked in, you would've kicked Luke for that surprise, but you know your guts better than to aimlessly kick every person you see. So alternatively, you turned to your red-haired man with a slightly annoyed glare, "Luke - Sweetie. I'm kinda busy cooking dinner."

"No time for cooking! This is an urgent emergency! Something so dire I cannot do it alone!" Luke panicked, eyes shrinking to dots, "Based on my limited resources, YOU are the only one who can fix this upcoming siege of death!"

Only You? What is he going on about? You recalled that he didn't have a literal death bomb strapped deep inside his cavity, and even after dating, he would never call you as the only person to handle something dangerous. Well, that last bit may be exaggerated and slightly untrue.

Well, it's better to humor him. You sighed and looked away from your stove, mentally apologizing to Stefan for distracting yourself, "Alright - I'll bite. What is it?"

Luke gazed back and forth, as if he didn't want anyone else to listen in or eavesdrop. When the coast is clear, he leaned a bit closer to you, "Intel says that the swarm is planning a whole goddamn invasion in the living room, and they're much more tougher than the ones we've faced before. Now, I'd been doing some scout research, and I found ONE key weakness into defeating those squirmy pests!"

You waited in silence, gazing with a semi-judgemental look. That's when Luke heartedly pointed at you, "I need you... To call your deathly harmonic vocals!"

"... Elaborate."

"To destroy their earlobes and make them surrender."

"Why?"

"Because the way you expressed your words through a dialect of symphonies can send them flying away from the battlegrounds and we can win the war! And you don't have to stop your duties too, so you can multi-task!"

....

...

....

...

"Luke." You piped the silence with a flat tone.

"Yes, Ranger?" Luke smiled.

"Is this your way of saying you wanted me to sing while I cook?"

Luke scoffed, crossing his arms and slightly nudging away, "Pfft! Whaaaaat? No! I-I mean the swarms are highly dangerous and my singing wouldn't dare destroy it on its own! I thought maybe you would kill them with your vocal chords and -"

"Yes - He wanted to hear you sing." Half of the objects in the kitchen interrupted, before returning back to their business. Luke annoyedly stomped his foot like a frustrated child, "YOU GUYS ARE MEAN, YOU KNOW THAT?!"

"Luke - I'm not upset. If you wanted me to sing, you could've asked!" You playfully shook your head and sighed. Who would get mad at that adorable face?

Luke huffed and looked away, "Well, I could - But saying that in duty talk is way better than just asking you to sing."

...

"Erm... Speaking of duty, I've heard the swarm hates the sacred lyrics of... "What's the Use of Feeling Blue?" if I'm correct?"

Chuckling, you pulled out your phone and opened your music app, and typed in the song. Luke leaned towards you to eye at your phone, and when he spotted the song's title, he pulled away and pretended like he didn't just look at your phone for a few seconds.

You placed the phone on the kitchen table and pressed play, then you returned back to your cooking.

Ah-ha-ha, ah-ha-ha

A-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha

Ah-ha-ha, ah-ha-ha

Ah-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha, ha-ha

You sang the lyrics word for word, at the right tone, and to Luke, he's taking it in deeper than his... You know what I mean!

Why would you want to be here?

What do you ever see here?

Whenever you sang, you tended to be immersed in the music. While the cuts of beef shimmered in the pan, you glanced at Luke and waved your spatula at him. He could see his reflection through your dateviators, and his cheeks are as red as his hair and beard.

That doesn't make you feel worse than you do?

And tell me, what's the use of feeling, Blue?

You pulled yourself away and waved the spatula in the air.

Why would you want to employ her

Subjects that destroyed her?

You rolled your eyes as if you're the character singing it, looking at the air and imagining bubbled gems floating above.

Why keep up her silly zoo?

Oh, tell me

What's the use of feeling, Blue?

You dramatically rose one hand up and clutched the spatula as if you're fisting your hand. Luke gazed at you with awe.

An army has a use

They can go and fight a war

You held up your hands to shape a triangle over your forehead.

A Sapphire has a use

She can tell you what it's for

You continued dramatically posing, pretending to be somewhat threatening as you loomed over the ground.

An Agate terrifies

A Lapis terraforms

Suddenly, you playfully lunged towards Luke, making him lean back from how you surprised him. Using your free hand, you grabbed onto his hand, the one holding his weapon, and raised it above his head. He blushed at your approach, and without saying anything, he loved the way your hand felt.

Where's their diamond

When they need her, Blue?

You've got to be a leader, Blue

You let go and twirled back to your spot, looking at your food. The well-cooked beef sizzled and smoked up the delicious aroma in the air.

Yes, of course, we still love her

And we're always thinking of her

But now there's nothing we can do

So tell me

You reached to the side and grabbed the seasoning, pattering it over the food.

What's the use of feeling?

What's the use of feeling?

What's the use of feeling, Blue?

You set your spatula down on the plate sitting on the counter, as your mind fully dragged itself into the song. You made your way towards Luke and cupped his cheeks in your hands. How long has he been watching you sing? How long has he been blushing?

Oh, how can you stand to be here with it all?

(Here with it all)

You dropped your upper half down to the ground, causing Luke to reach out and catch you by the small area on your back. You lay the wrist of your hand on your eyes, dramatically imitating a fainting look.

Drowning in all this regret?

Wouldn't you rather forget her? Oh

You raised yourself up, hands holding onto Luke's shoulders for support. He stared up and followed your powerful gaze, like you're burning the heatwaves inside of his machinery gears and what not.

Won't it be grand to get rid of it all?

You stretched your arm out and gazed off to the side, embracing a menacing aura of anticipation and idealistic conquering.

(Rid of it all)

Again, you gripped your hand into a fist and glared at nowhere, unaware of the love-struck gaze from your bomb soldier/cook boyfriend.

Let's make a plan of attack

Suddenly, you jerked your head towards him, a bright and manic look in your eyes as you continued singing.

Start looking forward and stop looking back, oh

At the near climax, you pulled yourself away, stumbling slightly before confidently going back to the stove. You reached out and turned it off, then looked down at your well-made dinner before taking the beef with the spatula and placing it on the plate.

Yes, of course, we still love her

And we're always thinking of her

Don't you know I miss her too?

Continuing on with your musical act, you gripped the counter to imitate despair, though a part of you could strongly feel the emotion from the character. As if she tried so hard to play a tough act, only to be broken down by the meaning behind it.

But tell me

What's the use of feeling?

What's the use of feeling?

What's the use of feeling

Finally, you hummed the final notes of the song, closing your eyes to feel the loss, the grief, and the mask that pretended to be strong.

Once the song's over, there was silence.

Until Luke clapped his hands, hooting joyfully. You couldn't help yourself but bow down, smiling at his appreciation.

"WELL DONE, RANGER!" Luke exclaimed, "I can hear those swarmers retreating back to their base! You did a great job! I knew I could count on you."

You giggled, making your way towards him before booping his nose. The blush never faded, it only darkened.

"Thank you, soldier - Now I'm gonna go eat, but call me next time when they come back~" You winked.

However, when you turned back, you heard a groan...

And a thump.

"Luke? LUKE! OH GOD YOU FAINTED!"

Guess he wasn't immune to your voice, either.

[necromancerbunny]

Hwang In-ho x reader

A small moment shows In-ho that maybe he really is in love after all.

It takes In-ho three months to realize that he doesn’t love you, not in the way he loved his late wife. This is different, something much darker, bordering a sick obsession, but he could only see it clearly when he truly understood the difference between your personalities.

Surviving one game and losing his family turned him into someone like this—a man who could shoot his own brother without hesitation, a man who couldn’t care less about the death of others, and a man who selfishly used you to get what he’s been badly missing.

Yet you remained the sweetest girl he has ever met despite growing up watching thousands die for the entertainment of the rich, and knowing it was your beloved grandfather who came up with the sickest and most twisted ideas for the games.

But somehow the darkness that always covers him and the sunshine that illuminates you every day perfectly complement each other. It works, it truly does, but the feeling of love is sadly one-sided. 

Sure, he wants to love you, he’s trying to love you, but how could he force himself to feel something that he can’t comprehend anymore? The concept of love is as far from him as it can be these days.

In-ho has a lot of fun in your company, which is a nice change to how things used to be. His days aren’t that lonely anymore, and he truly enjoys hearing your voice when you explain something mundane to him. A beautiful and delicious meal? A perfect latte art? A book you can’t put down? Whatever it is, he’s there to listen. 

His possessive self comes out to play every time another man spends a second too much talking to you. It fills him with rage, and strangely, it’s a new kind of feeling. Never before, not in a single relationship he was in, did he feel like this. 

So, every time he promises himself that he will corrupt you just enough to love only him, and to stick around even if he can’t truly love you, even making you join him in organizing and hosting the games. You’ll come up with splendid ideas, he knows that.

Now you’re traveling to the island together to see how the preparations are going. Sure, he could just check the camera feeds, but seeing it in person is always better as he can talk to those building in the arenas if something isn’t right. 

And today, he has a little surprise for you, waiting in his quarters. He hopes you will love it, because this is the first big step in his plan. You always loved your grandfather’s mask, but he knew you wouldn’t wear it. So, he got a new one made for you, a fox mask that was elegant and would surely suit you. 

“Are you ready?” In-ho asks with the hint of a smile as he leads you out of the elevator. 

You’re blindfolded under the temporary mask, and he can’t help but adore your excited giggles when he makes you stop. “I can’t imagine what kind of surprise requires such secrecy,” you say. 

“A nice one.”

“Oh, really?” you wonder teasingly. 

Naughty girl, he thinks as he takes off the mask and places a kiss on your temple. Just a few more steps take you to the dressing room where your grandfather’s suit and mask used to be. Now? Now there’s a rack of designer clothes and shoes, with the black and gold fox mask in the middle.

It would be a lie if he said he hasn’t had any naughty thoughts himself, but you’re not here for that today. No, he wants to make sure you understand that becoming the masked face of the Korean game is your duty as Mr. Oh’s granddaughter.

And maybe he needs you too. Not just for sex—which is great, he won’t object if you take the lead when he’s too lost inside his head—but for your support as well. There will be decisions made, regarding the games, the staff, even the VIPs, and he needs you to be his backup, he needs your advice if he ever gets stuck. 

In-ho stands behind you, arms sneaking around your waist as he pulls you against his chest, positioning you to face the main wall of the dressing room. “You can take off the blindfold,” he whispers into your ear before resting his chin on your shoulder.

Slowly, you raise your hands to pull it off, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen from the surprise, and how the corners of your lips lift off to form a big, happy smile. “Is this mine?” 

It truly amazes him how easy it is to please you. 

He hums in confirmation, then slowly lets his hands drop to his side as he takes a small step back. For a brief moment you look at him, as if you were waiting for his permission, and when he nods toward the mask, you finally move to the wall. 

“This is beautiful,” you say quietly in awe as you run your fingers over the small stones. 

And then he loses you, because your attention turns to the clothes, and the shoes, and you’re clearly overwhelmed, as if your wardrobe wasn’t full of such things back home. He knows that’s the case, because he’s been there several times in the past months. 

After clearing his throat, he speaks up to bring you back from the depths of your thoughts. “From now on, I’d like you to wear these when we’re here.”

This is his way of marking his territory. 

But maybe it’s more than that. Maybe the fact he wants you to be such an important part of his life means something else. Something he’s been trying to ignore for months. 

Something tells him that he might be in love after all. 

[rosie-posie1313]

George Clarke Fic Recs 2

07/12/2025

Part 01

⭒ Ethan’s sister dating george by @fiftyfiftyfinchy

⭒ Things George Clarke would do in a relationship <3 by @/fiftyfiftyfinchy

⭒ George Clarke Masterlist by @mrsclrakey

⭒ Against All Odds by @/mrsclrakey

⭒ My eyes shine up every time i look at you.  By @lovelynikol7

⭒ chat, is this real? part two by @pretendyoucantseeme

you met george when he popped up in your twitch chat a year ago. your roommate moved away, so you and george moved in together.

⭒ you fancy me  by @sweetfcwn

⭒ jealous george  by @authortelevision

you have been friends with george for a while and since moving in to his shared flat you’ve learnt that chris loves to tease and flirt with you, after playing truth or dare you’ve also learnt that george might have a truth he isn’t ready to tell you yet

⭒ Interruptions by @clarkevision

You and George are on a date when you are interrupted

⭒ Drunken Adventures  by @orchidniins

Just boyfriend George taking care of his drunk girlfriend

⭒ Risk by @sdmnpact

⭒ Everyone Thinks They’re Dating—They’re Not. (Yet) ch 2 by @livvymd

⭒ Everyone Thinks They’re Dating—They’re Not. (Yet) ch 3 by @/livvymd

⭒ Everyone Thinks They’re Dating—They’re Not. (Yet) ch 4 by @/livvymd

⭒ Streams by @clarkeysbedchem

coming home from work and finding your boyfriend drunk on stream

⭒ you got me nervous by @/clarkeysbedchem

you’re chris’ younger sister who has a crush on his best friend. you’ve spent the past two years hiding your feelings from him - until you all end up in a club for your brothers birthday.

⭒ slip ups by @/clarkeysbedchem

you and George have been hiding your relationship from the internet but there’s been a few slips along the way before George finally bites the bullet.

⭒ george coming home and caring for you when you’re sick by @raekensluver

⭒ something like home by @/raekensluver

you and george share a quiet moment on a balcony during a loud party.

⭒ walking in on him doing all the YouTube challenges by @/raekensluver

⭒ reader joins on a platform roulette  by @/raekensluver

⭒ Heartrates by @the-internets-girlfriend

Y/N invites friends to film a lie detector video - what starts as a fun collab quickly turns into an unexpected confession session.

⭒ The Gang Tried to Set Us Up by @/the-internets-girlfriend

Everyone in the group knows Y/N and George like each other – except them. From cozy nights to “totally random camping trips”, their friends try everything to get them together.

⭒ “Keep It Cute, Keep It Quiet” by @eldulcopatato

When George's lack of transparency about your relantionship and frustration by online rumors about him and Cinna finally pushes you over the edge, deciding you're done being his secret.

⭒ “We Don’t Talk Anymore” by @/eldulcopatato

after a painful breakup, you and george clarkey try to navigate the awkwardness of being around each other, pretending everything is fine, but the emotional tension between you both is undeniable. Was letting go really the right choice?

⭒ Breathe with me by @swizzlemynizzle

⭒ Playing Dangerous by @4ngelrealm

you and your boyfriend getting ready with matching costumes for the halloween party.

⭒ Caught in 4K by @slut-for-slutty-fictional-men

You join Arthur and George in a YouTube video, the last thing you thought would happen was fans going crazy over you and George.

⭒ Couple’s Content by @/slut-for-slutty-fictional-men

⭒ Stream Sweets by @whore4fanfics

George Clarkey is in the middle of a stream, trying to keep a straight face as he focuses on gameplay and banter. But when you walk in holding a tray of freshly baked brownies, all bets are off. The chat goes wild, George can’t stop blushing, and suddenly the only thing he can focus on is how lucky he is to have you.

⭒ Thunder by @a-sweeter-sin

George finds himself always wanting to be around the quiet, more reserved girl. But he just can’t let go of the way other people see him, not yet at least…

⭒ Fake a** Friends by @souredgrape

in a tight knit group of friends, there’s always one bad egg. However she just can’t seem to let her obsession with a certain man go. The same man you’ve liked for years.

⭒ tiktok trend series  by @georgeclarkeys

you make a tiktok saying all of your boyfriends fav things while on the phone

⭒ tiktok trend series  by @/georgeclarkeys

you test george with the "i'm a random girl" trend

⭒ blue eyed bet pt 2 by @/georgeclarkeys

you deal with the aftermath of finding out your boyfriend asked you out on a bet

⭒ Eyes on me by @luv-nikki

⭒ George Clarkey Dating a Law Student Headcannons by @c4hr4yz3e

⭒ TWITCH STREAMS by @headdinthewall

where george calls you mid stream due to his chats request, and then you show up