#Not sure when the second chapter will be up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

azzibueckers5 · 2 days ago

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i wanna know peace again (wanna sing a different song) (ao3 link) (chapter 1 link)

chapter 2: in which azzi is a drama queen and mentally calls herself the word stupid so many times that it loses its meaning (wc: ~8.5k) (gasp)

AN: ummmm hiiiiii i'm back. please enjoy! i wanted to make it angstier but i didn't want to actually write that? so here you go. umm. any and all mistakes re: basketball and the wnba (and anything else) are mine and mine only! i'm learning slowly and I googled a lot of things but who knows. i think that's it? idk have fun freaks <3

azzi wakes to a pounding headache, a crick in her neck from sleeping on the couch, and an overwhelming sense of dread at everything in the world ever.

hanxiety doesn’t even begin to capture the feeling that curdles in her stomach when she goes to confirm that last night wasn’t a hyper-realistic dream, the words outgoing call, 1:47 reflecting back at her bleary eyes underneath paige’s contact. she’d called her at two in the fucking morning. good god.

she’s not sure if the wine or the hours of crying is the cause of the absolute knife between her temples, but it doesn’t matter because she needs three advils, like, now, before she begins processing the nightmare that the previous night really was.

she drags herself off the couch, wincing at the ache in her muscles, and heads to her bedroom to change out of last night's pjs and try and dig up the pain killers that she knows are somewhere in her bedside table.

briefly, humorously, she contemplates the tub of miscellaneous, much stronger drugs that she’s accumulated over her years of surgeries and injuries. maybe if she overdoses on the opioids she’d been given but never taken after her acl tear she won’t have to deal with this whole L-word realization that is sure to ruin the current stability of her life.

as she mentally picks through the haze of wine over her memories from the night before, the pit in her stomach grows. she had been a lot of things the prior night- stupid, emotional, drunk, but wrong about the truth of her complex web of emotion surrounding paige?

she wasn’t so sure. (she was actually kind of sure she hadn’t been wrong. which. fuck.)

after swallowing her pills (advil, not the oxycodone), she picks up her phone and fires off three texts to aaliyah in quick succession, needing her to know how much her line of questioning had caused azzi to spiral.

azzi: u suck btw.

azzi: the all-star break isn't the time to make me over analyze my friendships

azzi: or my sexuality for that matter

the older girl responds in a matter of seconds.

lili: BRUH I THOUGHT U KNEW

lili: come shoot before practice w me and we can talk it out

lili: but jsyk uve been moping for A YEAR my bad for thinking it was cause yall broke up

azzi: brooooo everyone always says friendship breakups r worse anyways

she releases a long suffering sigh to the mirror above her dresser. she looks a little bit like shit, eyes puffy and cheek creased, posture slumped over looking at her phone. the picture of i don’t want to have this crisis right now but i fear it’s too late.

screw everything. she looks back down at the buzz of her phone in her palm:

aaliyah: that’s only for straight girls dumbass

azzi: ok well i thought i WAS a straight girl

lili: [screenshotted image of her profile photo for azzi: her, sitting on the ground in the uconn facilities, propped up against the base of her locker, legs spread comfortably. her head is tilted up at the camera, a smirk lopsided on her face, and one hand is throwing up a four, the other splayed out across the top of her trucker hat. she’s wearing a huskies sports bra and sweatpants, slung low enough on her hips to exhibit the the thick band of her basketball shorts and the v of her lower abs]

lili: does this look like a straight girl to u

it's almost funny how obvious the answer is. azzi types out a succinct kill youself and throws her phone across her bed.

she feels like she should be concerned with how easily the knowledge that she’s into women (or at least one specific woman) settles into her skin. but somehow it feels more like something she’d known about herself and simply buried, waiting for the right time to fully process. and this doesn’t necessarily feel like the right time, but it's happening whether azzi likes it or not, and she supposes that accepting that you’re gay is a lot easier when every single person in your life already knew and thought you knew before you actually did.

the only person she really has to solidly come out to is herself (she ignores the voice in her head telling her that she will also maybe have to come out to paige at some point. if they talk and y’know. things go the way azzi is somehow already desperately hoping they will), and she’d always kind of known, in an abstract sense anyway, that she was attracted to women, but she’d never really had a crush on one or had the inclination to actually do anything about that thought so it had sat on the backburner, something she only really thought about when she was drunk, or lonely, or some combination of the two.

she figures she can work out whether she’s ever even been into men at all at a later date. all she can think about right now is paige anyways, and it's childish, but she’s almost annoyed at how cliche she feels for having her gay realization be the blonde, like she’s just another fangirl in paige’s tik tok comment section writing some variation of ‘i'm straight, but its paige bueckers!’

and it’s stupid, but it feels like she’s feeding into paige's ego by just acknowledging this space that’s been carved out in her chest. paige had always been droning on and on about how much rizz she had, how everybody wanted her, and azzi had loved nothing more than humbling her, calling her conceited and egotistical and stupid, and well. it seems azzi had been the stupid one all along.

she knows, though, that this feeling, this thing in her chest that has somehow ballooned inside of her overnight, runs much, much deeper than the silly, surface level attraction that most people attributed to paige. and she also reasons that she knows paige, both her flaws and her insecurities and the parts that make her so wonderful, in a way that none of the teenage girls on tiktok could ever begin to even dream of.

being in love with paige (and she guesses she’s really acknowledging it now, so that's. cool.) didn’t feel like a fluke, but rather something that was simply innate inside of her, ever humming under her skin.

she curses the universe for giving her this mid-life crisis eight days before she has to hop on the flight that will take her directly to paige’s city, but there's an underlying feeling of hope, too, that she tries to squash. she firmly ignores the thought that it feels a little bit like a cosmic sign.

paige having a woman she was almost certainly sleeping with, minimum, in the background of her phone at 1am also kinda felt like a cosmic sign. a sign that meant it's too late.

and. oh god. she needs to text paige about dallas.

and what the fuck to you say to your ex best friend who you hypothetically were (are?) in love with and drunkenly called crying after a year of not speaking one-on-one to try and plan a hangout? your ex best homoerotic friend who maybe has a new girl?

but paige had insinuated that she wasn’t expecting azzi to actually reach out, which, aside from the fact that azzi did want to, also made it somewhat of a competition, and azzi didn’t lose competitions. especially against paige.

it's already nearing 10 am, and even though paige is an hour behind, she wants to make it clear that she’s true to her word. paige had seemed like she’d wanted her to text, too, and. she’d said she missed her. a lot.

she types out the first thing she thinks of, u gonna show me your cowboy boots collection or what, and sends it before she can talk herself out of it.

the anger at paige from the night before is still simmering in her blood, a little bit, because what the fuck? they haven't talked in a year and it was paige’s fault. but also. azzi knows paige, even after all this time, and. she has a growing hunch that instead of the callous disregard for azzi and their friendship that paige had tried so hard to portray, azzi is starting to think that it had been hurt, not indifference, that had caused paige to distance them.

when paige doesn’t immediately respond to azzi’s text and profess her undying love for azzi and azzi only, she tries to convince her immune system that she did not, in fact, just drink poison and she was not, in fact, having a heart attack.

and god, was it normal to feel like she was dying after sending a text? yesterday-azzi was lucky as fuck that she thought she hadn’t been in love because this fucking sucked.

she makes breakfast with her anxiety at an all time high, checking her phone every sixty seconds and nearly burning her omelette. as the minutes tick by, azzi tries to resign herself to the reality that maybe paige had told her to text because she didn’t believe azzi would, not in spite of it.

but then, as azzi is throwing things in her bag to leave for the facilities and bombard aaliyah with questions and a borderline mental breakdown, she feels her phone buzz in her pocket. she drops her water bottle on her foot in her haste to check what it says, and it hurts like a bitch, but paige responds with ‘unfortunately only one pair of boots. but im sure my hat collection will impress u’ and well.

azzi’s foot could be broken for all she cares, because paige responded and she’s texting like old paige, and maybe it's flirting, maybe it's not, azzi clearly has no idea, but it's a million times better than the one-word messages she received throughout last year, and.

hope blooms, slow and steady, in azzi’s heart, despite her attempts to squash it.

…

azzi: please tell me you don’t actually wear any of them outside the house

paige: u have to wear one here at all times or they’ll kill u

paige: texas is no joke

azzi: so i guess i’ll need to borrow one when im down there then

paige: when do u fly in

paige: ill give u the pick of the litter

…

(azzi does not shriek when she sees that text after practice. she does not.)

…

three days before azzi flies to dallas (and potentially lights herself on fire), she has a moment of weakness. after a particularly tiring lift and a day without more than a few new texts from paige, she settles into bed freshly showered with her laptop propped open on a pillow. she means to put on the rest of the abbot elementary episode she’d been watching earlier, but her fingers apparently aren’t connected to the rest of her body because they type in “paige bueckers and azzi fudd” into the youtube search bar instead.

a couple nonsense videos pop up before her eyes catch on to the SLAM interview they’d done together right before azzi’s freshman year season. she clicks the link before she can chicken out.

it's a behind the scenes, with interview anecdotes thrown in between clips of them messing around, and they look so young. and jesus the way paige is looking at her. like she hangs the moon in the sky. and eighteen year old azzi isn’t much better, and she can’t keep her eyes off the blonde for more than five milliseconds, and they’re, well, they’re flirting right in front of current azzi’s face, and good god. no wonder everyone had thought something was going on.

if azzi hadn’t lived through it, known the way they’d only ever tiptoed the line, never crossing, she would’ve thought so too.

she makes it six minutes into the video before she slams her laptop shut, rolls over, and screams bloody murder into her pillowcase.

…

the mystics don’t fly down until the night before, and their game is in the afternoon, so she and paige make tentative plans to hang out after azzi ‘find[s] out what happens when you mess with texas.’

paige is a dork, and an unfunny one at that. she hearts the message when azzi tells her as much, and azzi has to hide her smile in the hood of her sweatshirt so georgia doesn’t ask any pestering questions when paige adds ‘unfunny maybe but a loser? never.’

azzi really, really hopes that this text-flirting or whatever they’re doing means that paige doesn’t have a girlfriend. she doesn’t think her heart could take it if she did, and she doesn’t understand how paige (maybe? she’s being optimistic. sue her.) lived with these feelings for so long and didn’t act on them because it's been a singular week of occasional texting and only that has azzi feeling like she’s going to tear her hair out.

the flight to dallas and subsequent restless night of sleep in a mediocre hotel room crawls by so slowly that azzi feels like she’s been physically transported to a planet in which every minute that goes by is actually an hour. or something. she doesn’t remember the plot of interstellar but she feels like messy time travel and space stuff like that was part of it. maybe it's happening to her. stranger things have occurred.

(like not knowing you were in love with your best friend for eight years)

(she doesn’t remember the plot of interstellar because the uconn team had watched it one slow off-season afternoon, and azzi had let paige coax her into taking an edible, gotten ridiculously high and scared, and had spent the entire movie with her face tucked into paige’s shoulder, letting the hands rubbing her back and stupid commentary in her ear lull her into safety)

(fuck everything)

…

and then the most dreaded and anticipated day of azzi’s short, miserable life so far is upon her. thank god it’s a saturday game, so tipoff is at 2:00, and she doesn’t have to drown in anxiety for a whole day beforehand, because breakfast and the pregame meeting in the hotel is tortuous enough as is.

kiki has to forcefully put her hand on azzi’s leg on the bus to get it to stop jumping up and down, and everyone knows not to bring up anything related to paige in front azzi, and she hasn’t said anything to anyone other the aaliyah about how they’re speaking again, but she can feel the sideways glances her teammates are sharing behind her back and her brain itches.

they warm up on the court after the wings are done with their shooting drills, meaning azzi only gets a glance of paige disappearing back into the tunnel when they head out to stretch, but it's enough to transform her anxiety from a level 6 on the richter scale to a solid, nauseating 8.

there’s signs of paige everywhere: posters with her face all over the walls, her number plastered on the sides of the hallway they have to walk down to get to the arena, and, worst of all, fans milling about, decked out completely in #5 jerseys and paige paraphernalia. several have carefully drawn out posters and clever slogans, clamoring in the stands to get as close as possible in an attempt to gain the one and only paige bueckers’ attention. and azzi can’t even fucking blame them, as pitiful as it is, because she wants paige’s attention on her, too. probably more than any of these fans combined.

a twisted, irrational seed of jealousy takes root in her heart when she thinks about how these fans have gotten to see paige grow and blossom over the last year and a half, how paige had left connecticut and the team and azzi and come here and immediately charmed the hearts of this entire stupid city, not caring what, or rather, who she left behind.

and fuck texas and their stupid cowboy boots and hot weather and their ability to win over really pretty blonde girls and entrap them in their clutches.

her shots are off during warmups, and it takes everything in her not to turn around and look for a familiar blonde head when they announce the starting lineup and paige’s name is called, but then that effort is entirely futile because paige’s face is suddenly plastered on every single god-forsaken screen in the entire arena as she runs back out through tunnel. and she looks so cool and confident and definitely not like she’s having a tweak-fest about her ex best friend being in such close proximity. and life isn’t fair.

and azzi loses her breath for a second at how stunningly beautiful paige is. she’s always been gorgeous, even self-proclaimed-straight-azzi had known that, but something about paige in the center of the basketball court, completely in her element, has always made her look more magnetic than usual.

paige’s eyes flit across the visiting team’s bench for a second, like she’s looking for someone, looking for azzi, and she wants to jump up and wave her arms or do something equally as ridiculous to get her attention, but it turns out she doesn’t need to because then blue eyes find azzi’s without any help, like a magnet, and, wow, azzi had thought that she’d mentally prepared herself for this as much as possible, but she’d been horribly, terribly wrong.

paige seems almost bashful when her face tilts into a lopsided grin, and azzi’s heart is doing this weird little flipping thing inside of her chest, which, it's never done that before, or maybe it had and she’d just never noticed because she’s an idiot, but regardless, azzi grins back, eyes probably all squinty and everything, and she really hopes no one is paying attention to them right now because she knows she looks absolutely sick in the head.

she feels bolder than usual all of a sudden, adrenaline coursing through her and the high of having paige’s attention on her after all these months must be messing with her brain to mouth filter, because then she’s mouthing “you ready to lose?” to the blonde girl across the arena.

paige’s smile drops in exaggerated offense and she’s getting nudged by her teammates to pay attention to something else but she smirks lazily, and flips azzi off before her attention is dragged into their huddle.

and azzi feels woozy- like a fucking cartoon character with little birds circling her head. lord give her strength. paige flips her off and suddenly she’s acting like the blonde girl came over and proposed or something. this whole thing is so. stupid.

the anthem and pre-game huddle is a blur of nerves and trying not to get caught staring at the back of paige’s head. and then it’s tip off, and blessedly, graciously, they’re not guarding each other, and azzi tries valiantly to focus on the ball and her teammates’ positioning and not on the blonde in her peripheral vision.

she’s off balance though, only making one of her first four shots, and she knows exactly why that is and it's so frustrating because paige already has seven points and seems entirely unaffected.

and then, six minutes into the game, paige knocks the ball away from kiki in a breakaway, and azzi is the only one who has a chance at stopping her from a simple, uncontested layup. they run up the court together, paige just out of azzi’s reach until they get to the paint. and azzi knows exactly the move paige is going to pull, could draw it up in her sleep, and the only real way to stop it is to throw her hip out and jump up at the exact second she knows paige will release the ball and pray that her hand makes contact with rubber and not skin.

and she does knock the ball away, fuck you, paige blockers, but her hip also makes contact with paige’s side and she goes sprawling, sliding across the linoleum. azzi has a split second of panic that she’s actually hurt paige, but paige is grinning up at her, the drama queen, and azzi groans when she hears the familiar whistle of a foul call somewhere behind her.

azzi’s hand grips paige’s to pull her up, other hand going out to steady her hip, and the first real skin on skin contact in a year shocks her to her core. her fingers are tingling, and how on earth was she able to ignore the feeling that arises in her whenever paige is close to her for so long because it feels like the world has stopped spinning on its axis for a second.

nothing had ever been able to pry azzi’s attention away from basketball before, except for paige, (which. add that to the list of things that probably should have clued her in years ago) and it’s even worse now that azzi understands why that was the case.

and they are in the middle of a basketball court on live television with thousands of people watching their every move and azzi is still gripping paige’s hand. and someone needs to put her in a psychiatric hospital or something.

she regrettably pulls her fingers away from the taller girl’s grasp and immediately misses the contact.

“you playin’ dirty cause you don’t think you can win?” paige taunts, but she’s grinning at azzi like she knows it was an accident, and her face is flushed from the first few minutes of running and she looks positively edible and. how azzi thought of herself as immune to paige’s charm for so long is well beyond her now because she wants to do. a lot of things, actually, but she needs to focus on basketball right now. because again. middle of the basketball court.

“shut up, cheater. you’re the one flopping around trying to get a call,” is her very mature and reasonable retort.

and oh. azzi realizes again, in real time, what everyone was talking about when they used to say that her and paige were constantly flirting. because her hand is still on the taller girl's hip (just to steady her. yeah right.) and paige is smirking down at her and azzi is teasing her and- oh my god she’s been so stupid.

the familiar spark of competition (and probably some other things. like attraction. whatever.) lights up between them like no time has passed since they were staying late after practices and running shooting drills just the two of them, and azzi feels herself settle for the first time since she caught sight of paige warming up.

she’d been worried that she’d be too distracted by paige’s presence to play well, but the feeling of blue eyes on the back of her neck whenever she has the ball, and even when she doesn’t, fuels her like nothing else.

by halftime, she has 19 points.

and when the mystics finally edge out an unexpected, much needed win, there’s a 34 next to azzi’s name in the box score. she only misses two shots after her exchange with paige in the first quarter.

and it's merely an out of conference win, but it's a close one because paige had played well too, and she can feel the satisfaction of a well-fought game settling in her bones, and the added bonus of beating paige, specifically, is making her feel like she's on cloud nine.

they keep their post game hug short and cordial (or. as cordial as a paige burying her face in azzi’s neck and azzi gripping her shoulders as tight as possible can be) (azzi might be delusional but she swears the crowd gets louder when they hug)

she kind of never wants it to end, and misses her instantly when paige pulls away, but then paige stays close when they separate, and looks nothing but proud when she congratulates azzi, asking “you tryna outdo my rookie of the year performance?”

azzi is grateful for the flush on her cheeks from the game, so it masks how hot her blood gets at the question. “maybe, we’ll see,” is the only thing she can come up with in response, and it sounds coy even to her own ears.

“i know we will” is paige’s fond response, and there’s cameras surrounding them and azzi’s not stupid enough to bring up their post-game plans right now but she wants to so she just hums and stands there, probably looking like a fucking adoring idiot.

paige smiles, big this time, despite their loss, and tugs azzi back into a much briefer hug. it’s friendly for the cameras, and quick, but paige manages to tuck an “i'll text you” into azzi's shoulder before she’s pulling away and leaving azzi to watch helplessly after her as she’s immediately swarmed by teammates and media.

and winning the game was fun and great and awesome or whatever, but the mile-wide smile on azzi’s face has a lot more to do with residual tingling of paige’s hugs than anything else. she is so stupendously screwed.

…

the press conference goes by torturously slow because azzi doesn’t have time to check her phone beforehand, but they only ask her one question about paige so she counts it as another win.

(they ask azzi if this victory is sweeter because paige is on the other team and azzi answers with a really eloquent “yes,” and doesn’t elaborate when asked. her teammates nearly wet themselves with laughter)

azzi almost falls out of her chair in her attempt to get up as fast as possible when they’re released from press, and it takes everything in her not to sprint back to the locker room to check her phone. aaliyah doesn’t even try to hide her laughter.

three texts from paige from 10 minutes prior are waiting for her when she finally gets back to her locker.

paige: about to hop in shower

paige: wanna j do something straight from here

paige: or we can do something later if u wanna go back to hotel first idc

the three separate texts means that paige is nervous, and some satisfaction settles in azzi’s stomach, but it’s overshadowed by the fact that she’s left the decision making to azzi.

she debates it for two seconds before deciding she might run into oncoming traffic or something equally as gruesome if left to her own thoughts for more than 5 minutes. she hearts the second text.

azzi: if u wait for me to shower i can be ready in 20

and then she’s only 20 minutes away from being one-on-one with paige for the first time in a year. her shower goes by in a haze and she hopes she remembered to like. use body wash but she can’t really recall because her mind is an abyss of nausea and stress and the little glimmer of hope that she keeps trying to make shut up.

paige’s ‘kk call me when ur ready and ill tell u where to go’ is waiting for her when she gets out, and she curses herself for only packing a pair of old sweats and a tank top. whatever. it’s not like she needs to impress paige anyway- she’d seen her in every state of dress from black tie evening gowns to pajamas- but still. she’s stressed.

and then she’s slipping out of the locker room (she’s not doing anything wrong, but she still feels a little bit like she’s sneaking around, trying to avoid questions on where she’s going from her teammates), and calling paige, and letting her voice guide through a hallway and out a couple doors and into the parking lot.

she hangs up when she sees paige’s recognizable grey jeep ahead of her, and something settles in her stomach at the familiar sight. she’d been in the passenger seat of this car a million and one times.

but then she’s opening the door and, wow, she feels the furthest thing from settled because there is paige, sitting in the driver's seat and looking clean and nervous and adorably small in an oversized hoodie and shorts. her hair is down and still damp, and she’s wearing glasses, and her hands are fidgeting with her phone in her lap, partially covered by the cuffs of her sweatshirt, and azzi feels something crack in her chest. because how had she not realized that this was exactly what she’d wanted all along?

“hi” paige greets her, voice small and a little shy.

azzi’s answering “hey, loser” sounds just as bashful and wow, what have they become?

but then azzi climbs into the passenger seat as paige groans and says “i knew that would be the first thing you’d bring up” and they fall into the ease of bickering about the game and the music paige is playing, and as they pull out of the garage and into the bright afternoon dallas sun, azzi relaxes a bit into her seat.

they decide to drop their stuff off at paige’s apartment before potentially heading out to find some dinner, and it’s weird- how normal it feels, even though they haven’t done this in forever. azzi still has an undercurrent of panic coursing through her, and she knows she’s looking at paige a little weirdly because the blonde keeps glancing at her funny, like she’s trying to figure something out and can’t quite place what’s changed, but despite that, they fall right back into the simplicity and comfort that each others company has always held.

until paige decides to ruin the ease of their conversation by glancing across the car at a red light and asking “you gonna tell me why you’re looking at me funny?”

azzi squirms. debates jumping out, ladybird style. decides against it only because the risk/reward ratio is particularly low. she could deny it, call paige crazy, but that seems useless when she plans on bringing it up when they get inside in 10 minutes anyways. she was planning on waiting until after dinner, but the thrill of having paige within arms reach is making her antsy and she knows she won’t be able to wait that long.

“no,” she replies. at paige’s sideways glare, she relents, “when we get inside.”

paige hums, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, and the relaxed environment turns tense in seconds. the remainder of the drive is silent, and it's not awkward, necessarily, but anticipatory, tension clogging azzi’s lungs.

she fiddles with the ac vents and tries to stop herself from thinking at all. she fails, obviously, and her mind is a mess of paige and random moments from their time at uconn and, the girl in the back of the phone call, and. somehow her hands are shaking. perfect.

she is somehow both thankful and miserable they’re almost there.

they finally pull into paige’s complex, and the mostly silent walk through the garage and elevator ride only further serves to heighten her anxiety. and then paige is pulling out her keys and opening the door and.

they barely get inside before azzi is rounding on her, dropping her bag on the floor and backing up to lean against the opposing wall. she’d planned this part out in her mind a hundred times, dissecting all the possible pros and cons of asking in different ways, figuring out how to slowly work up to the question that’s been eating her alive since the the all star break, but one look at paige’s confused face and the adrenaline that's been coursing through her veins throughout the whole car ride has her sidestepping logic and reason entirely and blurting out a strangled “were we in love?”

she’s pretty confident she knows the answer, but the ensuing silence is agonizing anyway.

azzi can see the second paige processes her question, her face dropping in utter disbelief, and something like heartbreak splinters in her eyes at azzi’s words. paige’s arms go limp at her sides, her keys slipping to the ground beside her, and the jangle of metal against the hardwood floor is deafening in the silence of her entryway.

“azzi,” paige chokes on her name, like it causes her physical pain. she looks shell-shocked, like she can’t breathe, and azzi can’t breathe either, but she needs to know anyway.

“were we in love, paige? were you in love with me?” she asks again, more desperate this time, the words ripping out of her chest almost without her permission. she feels out of control. between the two of them, paige was always the one to push things too far, press and press until azzi was forced to answer her questions or shut down, and the whip-lash of that role reversal is clear on the older girl’s face.

still, paige is silent, gaping at her in shock.

just as azzi opens her mouth to ask a third time, paige closes the gap between them with two steps and seals their mouths together in a desperate, searing kiss.

azzi’s hands fly to paige's chest immediately, and the blonde’s hands find their place on the sides of her face, cupping her cheeks. azzi opens for her in seconds, and paige makes a wretched, helpless sound in the back of her throat as their tongues meet. she drags one hand down to azzi’s waist and pulls her closer, fingering the gap between her sweats and tank top, and azzi’s hands grip her shirt in return, needing her as close as possible.

and wow. okay. if there was any lingering doubt in azzi’s mind about whether or not she was into women, into paige, it evaporates into thin air, heat pooling immediately in her stomach.

and also. paige probably doesn’t have a girlfriend if she’s kissing azzi senseless in her foyer. the relief of that makes her needy, desperate.

she feels wild with it, with the sudden release of this desire for paige that's been hibernating just under her skin for years, and as paige presses her back into the wall, all azzi can think to do is tug her as close as possible. her hands move again, this time sliding up to the back of paige’s neck, everywhere they can reach, and when they separate from each other for a second to breathe, foreheads pressed together, azzi’s eyes flutter open to probably the prettiest version of paige she’s ever seen.

she looks absolutely ruined, cheeks flushed and mouth swollen, and azzi feels drunk on the look in her eyes, gazing at her like azzi is the sun and the moon and the whole fucking solar system too. and she’s struck with the thought that they probably could have been doing this for years, probably should have been doing this for years.

“did you- azzi- did you not know?” is the first thing paige gets out, voice sounding wrecked with emotion and something else, and if azzi had a nickel for every time someone had seemed incredulous that she hadn’t known about paige and her being in love, she’d have five fucking nickels. five nickels to place on the shelf next to her #1 stupidest person on earth trophy.

azzi can’t help but sound indignant when she sputters out “well no one told me!”

paige just looks at her for a second, like she’s trying to cement this as real, and then she smiles, small and beautiful and just for azzi.

“you’re stupid” is her only retort. and, well. yeah.

and she looks like she’s about to cry but in a good way azzi thinks, and then azzi can’t see her face anymore because they’re kissing again. she makes a sound in the back of her throat that she will not be recounting when paige slips a hand underneath her tank top, pressing her fingers to her ribs, and jesus, they’ve been making out for maybe a total of two minutes max and she already feels like she’s going to melt into a puddle on the floor.

paige kisses her like she means it, like she’s starving for it, and azzi didn’t know it until right now but it's exactly the way she likes to be kissed.

paige wedges a leg between azzi’s, somehow pressing closer, and this is really nice and azzi really doesn’t want to stop but also. they need to actually discuss this before she lets paige do something stupid like finger her in the hallway or drag her off to her bedroom. she might be jumping the gun but also. one of paige’s hands is sliding underneath the waistband of her sweats to caress the smooth skin of her hip, teasing. and, and. she really needs to stop this before her fingers dip any lower because she knows any coherent thought she has will crumble into nothingness.

she tugs her mouth away for a second, and murmurs out a breathless “paige” in between kisses. she receives a contented grunt in response.

“paige-” she tries again, except the older girl simply hums and moves lower, pressing open-mouthed kissed down her neck instead. azzi’s brain goes blank for a second, nothing but thoughts of paige’s mouth on her neck and her hands on her waist. but.

they do need to talk about this. regretfully.

“paige, we need to- to talk about this,” she stutters out, and when paige still seems undeterred, having moved down to attempt to suck a mark into azzi’s collarbone, she adds, “before we have sex.”

she tries to look away, so she doesn’t have to see the smug grin that she knows will spread across paige’s face at her words, but a consequence of furiously making out with the blonde is that their faces are still inches apart, so she still sees the sly smirk on paige’s stupid, self-satisfied face.

“who said anything about sex, hmm?” she crows, and azzi blushes, and then looks down pointedly at paige’s hand that is currently slipping under the waistband of her sweats.

“oh i’m sorry, was that not on your agenda?” she asks, teasing, and pushes herself out from underneath paige, walking down the hallway towards the living room, smiling to herself at the immediate feeling of paige’s hands back on her hips, grasping at her to keep her close.

“no, no, azzi, c’mon, i’m jus’ playing, come back here,” and she actually sounds a little bit worried, as if azzi will somehow change her mind or something ridiculous.

she spins back to face paige when she gets to the couch, and laughs at the look on her face, hopeful and kind of like a puppy dog. it's definitely a diversion tactic and it almost works, she almost says fuck it and drags paige further into the apartment in search of the bedroom, but she stays strong.

“talk first, and then you can give me a very thorough tour of the rest of your apartment,” she assures, and paige relents, but not before pressing a short, close-mouthed kiss to azzi’s lips, as if sealing the deal.

“‘kay. i’m holding you to that,” she adds, but she looks unsure of herself, and then they’re just standing there like idiots in the evening light of paige’s apartment, looking at each other.

azzi decides she wants to be sitting for this, so she kicks off her slides and drops onto the couch behind her.

for a second, paige looks like she doesn’t know what to do or where to sit, and she’s never been unsure of invading azzi’s personal space before, so azzi just rolls her eyes and tugs her down onto the couch next to her. paige flops down, sprawled out next to azzi, and they settle into the cushions, azzi curled underneath paige’s arm, facing her, legs crossed and socked feet tucking under paige’s thigh.

paige is quiet, waiting for azzi to formulate how she wants to start this, and she’s grateful for the silence as she mentally grapples with how to open this particular can of worms.

she settles on “can you tell me what happened the night of the championship?”

might as well start out with the big guns.

paige inhales sharply, and she looks like she really doesn’t want to recount that night, so azzi gently takes one of her hands in her own and tangles their fingers.

“you don’t remember?” she mumbles, and her voice sounds so small, not at all like the confident paige that had just been giving azzi shit and kissing the living daylights out of her.

“no, only. only that we kissed, but even that’s hazy. and i had a mark,” she reaches up with paige's hand still tangled in hers and presses at her collarbone, “right here.”

“yeah.” paige’s voice breaks on the acknowledgement, and she looks like she’s gonna cry at the reminder, eyes watery where they gaze at the spot that her fingers are pressing into. azzi’s heart squeezes in her chest. she looks a little relieved, though, that azzi can’t recall what happened.

“if i’d known you were that drunk i wouldn’t have…” she trails off, voice shaky, and azzi cuts in.

“you were drunk too paige, s’not your fault.”

paige hums. when azzi squeezes her fingers, she continues. “it was such a good night until then. we were so drunk, and you were so happy, and you were clinging onto me like it-” her voice breaks, and azzi leans further into her side to try and comfort her. they’re both already crying a little bit, and her heart squeezes, again, but she needs to hear this before they go any further.

“like it meant something. something more than usual. and then you wanted to go upstairs and i kept thinking finally. and. and i kissed you when we got to my room and you seemed so into it. and then i said-” she cuts off again, and azzi feels dread pool in her gut. she isn’t sure she actually wants to hear this story but she can’t stop listening.

“i told you i was in love with you, like an idiot, and you-” she inhales, through her tears, like she’s steeling herself, and azzi squeezes her eyes shut in preparation, gripping paige’s hand tighter.

“you asked me why i had to ruin it, why we couldn’t just kiss without it meaning anything.”

azzi makes a wounded sound, curling closer, and paige is sobbing now, and this is so, so much worse than she’d thought.

“paige.” is the only thing she can get out as comfort, and now she's sobbing too. god she’d been so, so stupid. “i didn’t know.” she shifts, and then climbs all the way into paige’s lap, trying to ease the hurt that her unconscious drunk mind had caused and pressing a messy kiss to her hairline. she tries to get as close as possible as a reminder that they're here now, not in a shitty hotel room in tampa.

god. no wonder paige had distanced herself. azzi doesn’t even know what she’d have done. probably run straight out of that hotel and thrown herself off a cliff

paige isn’t done, though, and azzi briefly wonders how it could possibly get worse, before regretting her curiosity instantly.

“and then you got mad when i wouldn’t. wouldn’t just keep going. and i asked if we could jus’ talk about it in the morning and you promised that we would.” paige presses the words into azzi shoulder, bring her arms up to wrap around the younger girl’s back. her tank top is wet from paige’s tears and. this whole thing has azzi sick to her stomach.

she presses a sob into paige’s hair, and she knows the next part but she lets her finish anyway.

“and then you didn’t say anything the next morning and i didn’t know if you didn’t remember or if you just didn’t want to talk about it, but either way i just. couldn’t do it anymore.” her voice is shot, and she’s still crying, but she looks relieved to have finished.

azzi lets the silence sit for a minute before responding. “i thought you regretted kissing me. or whatever happened, i couldn’t remember. and then you just. stopped, like, wanting to be friends, and i thought you’d decided you didn’t need me anymore,” azzi releases through tears, and her heart breaks for both of them at the stupidity of the last year.

a “no!” rips from paige’s chest, insulted, and she laughs humorlessly. “az, i’ll always need you. for god sake, i pretty much just moped for the entire year plus. arike banned your name ‘cause she got tired of listening to me whine about how much i missed you.” she looks up at azzi through her eyelashes, tears clumped together, and she looks so beautiful, despite them, that azzi’s heart breaks all over again.

“if it makes you feel better, i missed you just as bad, except i wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. the whole team knew not to bring you up around me cause i would just shut down.”

she knocks their foreheads together, gently, in affection before continuing, “one of the freshmen got your old room and i wouldn’t go anywhere near it.”

paige smiles, brokenly, at that. “bet she didn’t decorate it as well as me.”

it's not really funny, but azzi lets out a watery giggle anyways, pressing it into the curve of paige’s brow. “she probably didn’t have a blanket over the blinds though.”

paige hums in agreement, and motions for azzi to continue before starting to trace lines on azzi’s back.

azzi takes a deep breath before speaking. “over the break we went to dinner, me ‘n lili and a couple others. and somehow like dating and stuff got brought up and she asked me if i’d ever been in love. and i said no.”

paige tenses under her, but azzi squeezes their hands that are still tangled together and waits until she relaxes again to continue.

“and none of them believed me. they all thought we’d been dating in secret or whatever. and i couldn’t believe it but then i started thinking about it and. and then i got home and called my mom, and asked her if i’d been in love with you,” she pauses for a second, trying to get her words straight. paige’s hand on her back falters for a second, before continuing, slow and steady, and it grounds her.

“and she said if i was asking her than i already knew.”

paige laughs a little bit, commenting “‘course she did.”

“i know,” she agrees, “and then. well. i got really drunk and somehow thought it was a good idea to call you.”

paige smiles, a little crookedly. “wasn’t your worst idea, though.”

azzi hums in agreement. “no, it wasn’t”

paige opens her mouth to say something and then stops, reconsidering.

azzi narrows her eyes. “what,” she prods, needing to know everything.

paige hesitates again before continuing. “i thought god was punishing me when i saw who was calling. i’d just made the first step in so long to try and get over you, finally relented to all my teammates telling me to get laid for the first time in over a year and. here you were calling me for the first time in forever like you knew i’d just spent half an hour pretending the girl on top of me was you.” she shakes her head, laughing a little. “i left as soon as i hung up. cried all the way home.”

and azzi knows it’s fucked up, but satisfaction settels in her bones at the knowledge that paige hadn’t been sleeping her way through texas in azzi’s absence like she’d thought, even if the reminder of the girl on the phone kills her a little.

“i wanted to die when i heard her voice. almost hung up you,” she gets out, and paige presses a kiss to her shoulder in response.

“baby, i haven’t wanted anyone but you since i was like, sixteen.”

the word baby echoes inside azzi’s head and she smiles, ducking her head.

“maybe if you’d ever told me that-”

“-i did tell you-” paige protests, but azzi’s having none of it.

“sober- if you’d told me sober i probably would’ve figured out i was in love you a lot quicker.”

paige huffs. “azzi, the entire world knew i was in love with you. obviously i thought you knew, too, ” and then, when azzi’s words sink in a bit more, and she adds, a little in awe, “you’re in love with me? like, forreal?”

azzi doesn’t bother correcting her verb tense. it might seem stupid to already be saying i love you when they haven’t actually had a conversation in a year, but she knows with more certainty than anything ever that this is a past and a present and a future kind of thing.

“obviously.” is her only response, gesturing to where she’s sitting on paige’s lap, their fingers still curled together.

and paige’s smile is positively blinding as she leans up to press their mouths together, murmuring “s’ fire.”

honestly. you’d think she’d be a little more romantic.

and their faces are both damp from tears, but it doesn’t matter because paige is kissing her like her laugh is the best thing she’s ever tasted, and maybe it is.

and paige flips them somehow (azzi isn’t really paying attention to the logistics, too focused on the patch of skin she finds below paige’s ear that makes her keen) and they end up pressed into the couch, paige laying on top of her.

azzi finds paige’s mouth again, fingers tangling in her hair, and paige presses their hips together, swallowing the brunettes' moan at the contact.

and then paige pulls back above her and grins.

“so can we have sex now,” she questions, and azzi rolls her eyes, shoving at her shoulder.

“way to be a romantic, p,” she responds, but it just sounds fond instead of annoyed.

“excuse you, i am such a romantic,” she retorts, and at azzi’s unimpressed look, she tries again. “azzi jazlyn, i am very much in love with you, can i please make sweet, sweet love to you?”

azzi groans, but it’s kind of a futile attempt to seem like she’s not utterly charmed, because she lets paige tug her up off the couch anyways.

and there are still residual tear tracks on their faces, and more conversations to be had, but as she chases paige down the hallway to her bedroom, laughter flowing freely from them both, she figures they can figure that out later. right now, this is enough.

AN: ummmm thank you for reading? pleaseeee comment/send me asks it literally makes my whole entire day and I need all the love I can get over the next week of hell (finals). i know i said i was writing smut and i ammmm it just is taking me. a while. so i cut it off here. but maybe keep your eye out for more of these two being freaky? idk. also if you wanna like see any more from them pls let me know what that would be! i have a couple ideas for a paige pov but it would be really angsty. and also a few about like their friends and fam finding out and being like THANK FUCK. took u long enough. idk. again, only time will tell but I can confirm that comments and asks do wonders for my creativity soooo. please do that! ok bye now <3

#iwkpa #pazzi #pazzi fics #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige x azzi #like again do i need more tags? idfk #please tell me how you like this im BEGGING #ok back to my homework

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internetdaddy98 · 2 days ago

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The Anatomy of Want

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Robby reflects on the aftermath of his explosive encounter in the car with Y/N, and how it didn’t quiet their need, but intensified it. Despite his guilt, despite knowing it’s wrong, he’s addicted. To your voice. Your body. Your submission. Your trust.

Word Count: 1.4 K Content Warning: 18+ MDNI, Explicit Content, Explicit Language, Unresolved tension. Warning: The next 3 chapters or so are 18+

He hadn’t meant to fuck you in the car.

Not like that. Not so unhinged, so fast, so goddamn desperate he couldn’t wait to even get you home. But there’d been something about your voice when you said don’t stop. Something about the way your eyes looked when you stopped being his resident and just became his.

He thought it would end there, the need, the ache. He thought giving in once would burn it out of his system. A single, catastrophic mistake. But it hadn’t burned anything out.

It lit a fuse.

And now, it wouldn’t stop.

He was a man made of fire and tension and shame, walking the ER halls with a permanent bruise behind his ribs. Not because they’d crossed a line, but because he was still standing on it. Wanting to leap again. Needing to.

It was the noises you made.

Christ, the noises.

That soft whimper when you're trying not to beg. The little gasp you let out when he touches you like he knows your body better than you do. The desperate please when you're on the edge. The ragged sound you made when you came around him in the car, like a prayer and a curse all at once.

It haunted him.

He thought about them at inopportune moments, in trauma rounds, while charting. Walking past you in the hall. Teaching students. He’d glance up from a tablet and see you across the nurses’ station and remember the exact way your voice broke when you said his name mid-climax, and it would destroy him.

He wanted you again. Wanted to hear those sounds again. Only for him.

Not just once. Not just when it boiled over.

All the time.

In his bed. Against his door. Bent over the couch in his apartment, moaning into his neck because you couldn’t stay quiet.

In the ER, when they’re on night shift and no one’s around, his hand under your scrubs, your mouth against his shoulder to muffle every soft, broken sound you made while he touched you.

At a restaurant, his fingers under the table, your thighs trembling. Your jaw tight as you tried not to make a sound, and him waiting for the moment you failed.

He wanted to corrupt you.

He wanted your mouth open and gasping. He wanted you unraveled and aching, for him and no one else. He knew it was wrong. Every ethical part of his brain screamed at him, she’s your resident, she’s half your age, she trusts you.

But you wanted this.

You looked at him like he was gravity. And when you came apart for him, you gave him everything, your voice, your body, your trust and he wanted to keep it. Covet it.

Own it.

He’d lie in bed and hear you in his mind, every sound you’d made. The sound you made when you came, and again when he didn’t stop. The hitch in your breath when he kissed the underside of your jaw. The way you said Michael when you were about to come.

He used to think he was a good man. A restrained one, and now he wasn’t so sure.

The next time he saw you, you were sitting at a workstation, typing away at notes, lip between your teeth. Your hair was falling loose from its tie, your scrub top rumpled.

He didn’t speak. Just watched you. Imagined what your voice would sound like if he kissed the back of your neck right then and pressed you into the table.

You looked up suddenly, sensing him.

Your eyes locked. Your lips parted, just slightly.

And in that fraction of a second, he knew.

You were remembering the same things.

You looked away first, cheeks pink. “Hi.”

He swallowed. “Hey.”

His voice was rougher than it should’ve been. You caught it. Your eyes flicked to his mouth. He stood there, hands clenched, arousal and frustration bleeding into every nerve.

Jesus Christ.

Yeah. He was fucked. --------------------------------------------------------------

It was late, past midnight, his apartment was still, low-lit. He’d barely gotten out of the shower when there was a knock at the door. He knew it was you before he even checked.

When he opened it, you were standing in the hallway in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, your hair loose and messy, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said softly, no apology in your voice. Just honesty.

He didn't ask you what you needed. He already knew.

Because he needed the same.

He stepped back. Held the door. Watched you move past him and into the warmth of his apartment like you’d done it a hundred times.

You hadn’t. You never had.

Their silence filled the room more than any conversation could. And then you said it.

“I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

He yanked you forward and kissed you like a man starved. Your hands clutched his shirt, nails dragging over skin as he forced your mouth open and swallowed the sound you made. A gasp. A whimper. That same sweet little noise he hadn’t stopped thinking about since the last time he had you cornered and breathless.

He pushed you back against the wall, lips trailing down your neck.

“You’re too fucking quiet, Little Sheri,” he murmured, teeth grazing the skin under your jaw. “You come in here all shy and sweet, but I know what you sound like when I fuck you right.”

You whimpered, again, and that sound nearly made him snap.

“I think about it,” he growled into your neck. “All day. Every goddamn shift. What it takes to make you break. What it takes to make you loud.”

You clung to him now, legs wrapping around his waist as he lifted you off the ground, carried you down the hallway like you weighed nothing. Like he’d waited his whole life to do it again.

They didn’t make it to the bed.

He dropped you onto the couch, dragged your pants down roughly, and stripped you bare with hands that knew exactly what they wanted. There was no finesse. No soft pacing. This wasn’t tenderness.

This was him undoing you.

He knelt between your thighs and held you open.

“You want to be good,” he rasped, licking slowly, “but you love being ruined.”

And you did. He felt it in every tremble. Every moan.

When he finally pushed into you, you arched up with a broken cry, your fingers digging into his biceps, and he lost whatever control he had left. His rhythm was brutal, unforgiving, his hips snapping hard against yours as your body gave in to him over and over, each movement pulling another sound from your mouth that was just for him.

“God, listen to you,” he groaned. “You like it like this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer, you were too busy falling apart.

And he wanted more.

He flipped you over, dragged you to the edge of the couch, one hand wrapped in your hair as he drove into you from behind. You gasp, loud, and his hands grips your lower back, pinning you to the couch.

“Stay still while I fuck you sweetheart,” The rhythm is relentless. Fast. Deep. Your hands tucked into you. Your forehead pressed into the couch. You’re so full of him, all you can do is sob as your orgasm crashes over you. He fucks you through it. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just grits out

“Say my name,” he demanded. “Let me hear you.”

“Robby. Fuck. Michael please—”

That did it.

He came hard, with a low, guttural groan that vibrated through his chest as he collapsed against you, mouth at your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.

Just hard enough to say mine.

They lay there in silence after, sweaty and panting.

He was draped over you like a blanket, temple to your back.

But something had changed.

He'd taken you apart and you’d let him.

No fear. No hesitation. Only want.

And now, he couldn’t stop wanting you.

He wanted to hear you beg in his office. Moan into his palm in the ER supply closet. Whimper with your mouth pressed to his throat while he fucked you in the backseat of his car after a long shift. He wanted to hear you break every time. Just for him. ------------------------------------------------------- Want to join the taglist? shoot me a comment! @rosiepoise88 @nosebeers @andabuttonnose @luvr4miya @cannonindeez @hagarsays @captainoates @lemonlime09 @delicateflorencia @iceb1ink1uck @moonshooter

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wbbobsesser · 2 days ago

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ᯓ sweet spot — chapter four

pairing: paige bueckers & azzi fudd

notes: i honestly had so much fun with this chapter, i loved writing drunk paige lol she’s so messy. again, thank you guys so much for all the sweet comments, i love each and every one of you. i’ll keep trying to write and post new chapters quickly, but ima be in the absolute trenches the next couple of weeks with school. chapter five should be out soon! love you.

wc: 3.4k

it was raining the next night— soft and steady, tapping against the windows of azzi’s dorm like a heartbeat.

paige was squished on aubrey’s tiny twin bed, a hoodie half-over her face, scrolling mindlessly while aubrey and nika argued about some stupid tiktok challenge. she was laughing at them— at least, pretending to— until her phone buzzed.

new text. from azzi.

a: hey, are u busy? no big deal if u are

paige sat up so fast she almost fell off the bed.

“chill,” aubrey laughed, caught off guard by her sudden movement. “where’s the fire?”

“nowhere,” paige muttered, already typing back.

p: no what’s up

the reply came a second later.

a: i just don’t really wanna be alone rn a: if u wanna come over. if not it’s okay!

paige’s heart hitched. she could almost see azzi typing it, all shy thumbs and worried expressions.

without even thinking, she sent:

p: omw

“where you going?” nika called as paige slipped on a pair of nike slides.

“important business,” paige answered, and bolted.

paige barely remembered getting there.

one second she was running through the hallways, hoodie clutched over her head, slides squeaking against the floor, and the next she was standing outside azzi’s door, heart punching at her ribs.

she knocked, fidgeting with her sleeves, trying to look chill and casual and not like she was about to throw up.

azzi opened the door and smiled— soft and sleepy, wearing a giant t-shirt and fuzzy socks— and paige immediately forgot how words worked.

“hi,” azzi said, stepping aside to let her in.

“hey,” paige croaked, her voice two octaves too high.

the dorm was cozy and warm and smelled like coconut lotion and takeout. azzi had a candle burning on her desk— something vanilla— and paige almost died right there.

she stood awkwardly by the door, hands jammed into her hoodie pocket, trying not to stare stare stare.

azzi gave her a look, amused. “you don't have to hover. come sit.”

“oh, right. sorry,” paige stumbled over to the bean bag, flopping down too hard, almost tipping it over.

azzi giggled, the sound light and soft, and paige was pretty sure she blacked out for a second.

“i heated up some thai food,” azzi said, crossing the room with a container and two forks. “hope you’re hungry.”

paige’s brain short-circuited when azzi sat down next to her.

 right next to her.

 close enough that paige could feel the warmth radiating off her skin.

“thanks,” paige mumbled, taking a fork and immediately dropping it. it clattered to the floor.

the blonde took a deep breath, trying her best to not want to die.

“oops,” azzi said, laughing gently. she bent to grab it at the same time paige did, their heads almost bumping.

“sorry,” paige managed to say, cheeks flaming.

“you’re fine,” azzi said, nudging her playfully. she adjusted her head to look directly at her, “are you blushing?”

paige made a dying noise in the back of her throat. “what— no! no, i�� why would— i’m not.”

“your cheeks are red.”

paige’s hands flew to cover her face instinctively, palms warm against warmer skin. “it’s just hot,” she stammered, then immediately started fanning the front of her shirt, pulling it away and towards her chest in little tugs. “your dorm is— it’s warm in here. really warm. like… oven levels. i think the heat’s on. is the heat on?”

azzi blinked at her, clearly holding back a grin. “the heat isn’t on, paige.”

“oh,” paige said, voice small, like the single syllable had betrayed her. “then maybe it’s— i don’t know. internal heat.”

azzi leaned back slightly, just enough to get a better look at her, eyes glinting. “righhttt.”

paige looked up at the ceiling, hoping and praying god would finally put her out of her mercy. once and for all.

after that catastrophic failure at pretending to appear calm, they ate— kind of. mostly they picked at the noodles, stealing glances at each other and pretending not to.

“so,” azzi said after a while, poking her fork into the container. “thanks for coming over.”

“of course,” paige said too fast. “like, anytime. literally. whenever.”

azzi hugged her knees to her chest, turning to look at her fully. she went silent for a moment before whispering: “noah texted me today. said he booked a flight.”

paige’s heart stopped beating altogether.

she tried to say something smooth— something cool— but all that came out was a choked little, “oh.”

“i told him not. didn’t want him spending the money.”

paige looked away for a split second, “but he didn’t listen?”

azzi bit the inside of her cheek, glancing down. she shook her head, just once.

paige lowered her gaze, throat tight. he never listens to you. but i would. i always would.

paige scrambled for something to say— anything— but her brain was mush. every part of her wanted to fix it, to fix everything, but all she managed was a weak, “maybe he just wanted to see you.”

azzi gave a small, tired smile. “yeah. maybe.”

for a few beats, the only sound was the rain and the soft clinking of plastic forks.

“you’re really easy to be around, you know that?” azzi randomly stated, her voice light. “like... you don’t make it complicated.”

paige swallowed hard. “i try not to be complicated.”

“you’re not,” azzi said simply. “you’re just... you.”

paige blinked at her, completely knocked sideways. her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

azzi smiled at her, so soft, so real it almost hurt.

a second later, azzi scooted closer and rested her head gently against paige’s shoulder, just a soft, trusting weight.

paige didn’t move. didn’t even breathe.

 she just sat there, heart slamming against her ribs, praying that whatever this was— whatever they were— would never end.

because azzi wasn’t just under her skin anymore.

 she was inside her.

it was a saturday.

game day.

paige had been locked in all morning—music loud in her headphones, tied-up shoes, tunnel vision. she was laser-focused, until she walked out of the locker room and saw him.

noah.

tall. broad. pretty smile. usc hoodie. arm around azzi’s shoulders like he belonged there.

and azzi?

she looked up at him with that soft, open expression paige had only seen in rare moments. she was laughing, leaning into him, hands tucked into her sleeves like she was nervous. like she was seventeen again and in love with the boy she thought she’d marry.

paige froze mid-step.

nika, walking beside her, paused too. “is that…?”

“yeah,” paige muttered.

“you okay?”

paige nodded, but it was the worst lie she’d told all week.

azzi saw her then. her face lit up— like it actually lit up— and she waved, eyes warm.

paige waved back, small and tight.

and noah?

he leaned down and kissed azzi’s cheek. right there. in the middle of the arena tunnel. like he had the right.

something in paige’s chest went quiet.

not broken. not torn. just… quiet.

she didn’t say anything until they were halfway through warmups. she didn’t have to. nika came up beside her while they were stretching and whispered, “you don’t have to pretend, y’know.”

paige blinked. “pretend what?”

nika gave her a look. “that seeing noah and azzi together didn’t hurt.”

paige swallowed. “i’m fine.”

“you were literally vibrating yesterday when azzi texted you ‘wanna come over.’ giddy as hell. you are not fine.”

paige didn’t respond. couldn’t.

instead, she stared across the court.

azzi was tying her shoes, noah crouched beside her, saying something in her ear. she laughed again. not fake. not forced.

and paige hated how jealous she felt. how helpless. how small.

because she couldn’t say anything.

she couldn’t tell azzi she was falling so fast she couldn’t sleep. couldn’t tell her she had memorized the shape of her dimple when she smiled and the way her voice softened when she was tired.

she couldn’t say: i love you. and i wish it was me you looked at like that.

but what really hurt— what really dug in—was knowing that for one quiet moment last night, it had been her. azzi’s head on her shoulder. her words soft. her hand brushing paige’s.

and now it was like none of that had ever happened.

paige made every three she took in warmups.

but none of it felt good.

not tonight.

the game was a blur.

uconn won, but paige barely noticed.

she had 27 points, 6 assists, 4 steals. and still, all she remembered was the image of noah’s hand on azzi’s waist.

in the locker room afterward, people were celebrating, music loud, towels snapping, energy buzzing— and paige was quiet.

too quiet.

almost on autopilot, paige packed up, pulling on her hoodie, when azzi jogged over, all bright-eyed and sweet.

“hey! before you head out— wait a sec.”

paige paused, tired but loyal. “yeah?”

azzi beamed. “someone wants to meet you.”

and then he walked up.

noah.

big smile. fresh fade. still wearing his usc sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up. paige saw the way azzi leaned toward him and felt a thud in her chest. not pain. not quite. just that sick feeling like something was slowly twisting inside her.

“paige, this is noah. noah, this is paige— my teammate and close friend,” she added, grinning.

paige blinked. close friend? that would've felt nice if her whole stomach didn’t drop when azzi said it while holding her boyfriend’s hand.

noah reached out. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”

“yeah?” paige forced a smile so plastic it could’ve cracked. “hope she didn’t lie too much.”

“she didn’t have to. i saw the highlights.”

azzi bumped his arm. “he was impressed.”

“oh wow.” paige’s fake grin widened. “the boyfriend’s impressed. must be my lucky day.”

there was an awkward beat of silence. noah didn’t catch it. azzi kind of did.

“you okay?” azzi asked after a second, soft.

“totally,” paige chirped.

she said it like she’d rather eat glass.

“cool, well, i’ll see you later,” paige added quickly, turning and walking out before she could throw up or cry or do something embarrassing like confess her undying love in a hallway.

later that night, the team went out. nothing wild, just an off-campus bar with loud music, red solo cups, and too many people in a too small area.

paige was already four shots deep when nika found her on the couch, hoodie off, bra strap showing, legs folded like a pretzel.

“jesus,” nika muttered. “you okay?”

“living,” paige replied, voice hoarse. she took another swig of whatever was in her cup.

azzi walked in fifteen minutes later, noah trailing behind. paige clocked it. of course she did. and then immediately poured herself another shot.

it wasn’t even about impressing anyone. she just needed to forget.

nika tried to cut her off. “paige, maybe slow down a bit—”

“i’m fine, nika,” paige said, way too loud. she was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

and then azzi was beside her.

“hey, hey, you doing alright?” azzi crouched down, concern all over her face. she touched paige’s arm, warm and gentle.

paige looked at her, eyes watery. “m’good. just celebrating.”

azzi laughed, nervous. “celebrating what?”

“you,” paige said, way too fast.

azzi blinked. “what?”

“uconn. teammates. close friends.” paige’s voice dipped on that last part. “you’re like… so cool.”

azzi tilted her head. “are you drunk?”

“drunk on life,” paige slurred, dramatically slumping against the couch.

nika shook her head. “she’s gone.”

paige blinked up at azzi, eyes glassy. “you’re so pretty. like it’s actually unfair. did you know that?”

azzi flushed. “paige…”

“i’m not hitting on you,” paige whispered. “no— you’re taken.”

azzi didn’t respond.

“you make it hard to breathe sometimes,” paige added, voice suddenly quiet.

azzi’s brows pulled together. “what?”

paige shook her head fast, like she was trying to erase the words. “nothing. i’m drunk and rambling. ignore me.”

but azzi wasn’t ignoring her. she was staring. right into her.

and paige hated how much she loved it.

nika appeared by her side, trying to save paige from herself and drag her away from azzi. but paige gently pushed her away, insisting on staying put.

because paige was already unraveling.

azzi didn’t leave. she sat down next to her instead, folding her legs neatly, like she didn’t even notice how paige was slowly coming apart at the seams.

“you’re so good,” paige mumbled suddenly, voice cracking halfway through. she leaned her head against the back of the couch, eyes fluttering closed. “like, not just basketball. you’re good... like in here.” she pressed a clumsy hand against her own chest, right over her heart.

azzi blinked, caught somewhere between amusement and heartbreak. “paige…”

“i mean it.” paige forced her eyes open, blinking hard. “you’re... you’re like the best thing that’s happened to uconn since— since ever. since... the dinosaurs.”

azzi let out a tiny laugh despite herself. “the dinosaurs?”

paige nodded solemnly. “prehistoric times.”

azzi shifted closer, just enough that their knees brushed. paige looked down at the contact like it was holy.

“i’m glad you came here,” paige slurred, her voice dropping to something softer, almost reverent. “i don’t know how we got so lucky. how i got so lucky.”

azzi’s cheeks pinked. “paige—“

but she wasn’t finished. far from it.

“you make everything better,” paige barreled on, like if she didn’t get it out now, it’d eat her alive. “practices. games. just... walking into a room. it’s like...” she struggled, words slippery on her tongue. “it’s like the whole place shifts— brighter, easier, just— better.”

azzi looked at her, this soft, stunned kind of way, and paige felt herself getting hot even though the room was freezing.

“and you're so nice,” paige continued, hiccuping slightly. “like stupid nice. like, makes-me-wanna-cry kinda nice.”

azzi bit her lip, her smile trembling at the edges.

“and you're pretty. like, duh, everyone knows that. but it's not even just that,” paige rambled. “you're pretty in your soul. like your soul is wearing a dress.”

azzi let out a soft, helpless laugh.

paige smiled dreamily. “if there was a beauty contest... you’d win. every time. landslide victory. no recounts.”

azzi opened her mouth to respond, but paige wasn’t quite done.

“and you smell good,” paige said, dead serious. “like heaven. if heaven had a scent, it'd smell like you.”

azzi was turning pink from her ears down.

“and your laugh,” paige continued, stubbornly, like she had a checklist to complete. “your laugh could end wars. i swear. they should record it and play it at the UN or something.”

nika reappeared at that moment, looming behind paige, clearly having heard at least part of that disastrous speech.

“we gotta go,” nika told her, grabbing paige under the arms like she was a misbehaving toddler.

paige clutched the couch dramatically. “nooo. i’m talking to azzi.”

“you’re drunk-talking to azzi,” nika corrected.

azzi just smiled, soft and bewildered, and stood up with them. “it’s okay. she’s not bothering me.”

paige looked up at her, eyes glassy. “you’re an angel. did you know that? you fell straight from the clouds, huh?”

azzi's heart squeezed painfully in her chest.

“c’mon,” nika said gently. “let’s get you home.”

as they started toward the door, paige swayed dangerously, and azzi caught her with both hands, steadying her. for a second, they were close— closer than they’d ever been— and paige’s breath hitched.

“you’re so good,” paige whispered again, voice cracking, eyes swimming with more than just alcohol. “i’d protect you forever, if you asked.”

azzi blinked at her, frozen.

but paige just grinned— this goofy, soft, drunken grin— and leaned heavily against nika, letting herself be dragged away into the night.

azzi stood there for a long time after they disappeared, hand still tingling where she’d touched paige.

 feeling like something massive and irreversible had just shifted between them.

 even if she didn’t have the words for it yet.

mornings after used to be easy.

paige had a system: advil, iced coffee, sunglasses, pretend nothing happened.

worked every time.

except this time.

because when she opened her eyes, her phone had three missed calls from nika, a blurry selfie with a bottle of tito’s, and one unread text from azzi that said:

a: hey, just making sure ur okay. i was kinda worried last night. lmk if u need anything

paige groaned into her pillow like she was dying.

 her head throbbed. her stomach felt like a dumpster fire.

 but worst of all—

 she remembered.

 god, she remembered.

she remembered azzi’s hand on her arm. her big brown eyes. the way she smelled like coconut shampoo and concern.

you make it hard to breathe sometimes.

she wanted to die. just collapse and rot in peace.

at breakfast, paige wore her hoodie with the strings pulled tight around her face like she was in mourning. because honestly? she was. mourning her dignity. her pride. her entire chance with azzi fudd.

azzi slid into the seat across from her, looking stupidly perfect with a smoothie in hand and a soft little smile.

“hi.”

paige mumbled something that could’ve been “hey” or “end my suffering.”

azzi pushed the smoothie toward her. “strawberry banana. figured it might help.”

“you’re too nice,” paige muttered.

azzi smiled softly. “you were pretty out of it yesterday.”

paige closed her eyes. “please don’t tell me what i said.”

azzi laughed— this light, sparkly sound that made paige want to slam her forehead into the table. “i won’t. you already looked like you died once.”

there was a pause. not tense. just… quiet.

azzi tapped her nails against the table. “you really don’t remember anything?”

paige looked up at her, eyes bloodshot. “nope. not a thing. total blackout. who are you again?”

azzi raised a brow. “paige.”

“i’m serious.”

“no you’re not.”

paige sighed, defeated. “okay, fine. i remember some things.”

azzi leaned in, interested. “like?”

“i remember nika trying to drag me away. and me throwing up all over my bathroom.”

azzi snorted. “anything else?”

“nope.” paige sipped the smoothie dramatically. “blacked out immediately after that”

azzi gave her a look.

azzi didn’t push. but her face said she didn’t believe her.

which was fair. because ten minutes later, noah showed up at the table. he plopped down next to azzi, still riding the high of whatever fratty, sweaty party energy he carried with him like a curse.

“good morning, babe,” he whispered to azzi, kissing her cheek. “morning,” he said to paige, clapping her on the shoulder a little too hard.

paige grunted. didn't look at him. “morning.”

“you were hilarious last night,” he said, grinning.

azzi laughed softly. “she was something.”

“she kept calling you pretty,” noah chuckled, nudging azzi.

paige coughed on her smoothie. “oh my god,” she muttered.

azzi’s face flushed pink. “she was drunk.”

“yeah, but like… extra sweet drunk. real touchy, too.”

paige stared at the table so hard she thought she might burn a hole through it.

“guess that’s the bestie bond, huh?” noah joked, shoving azzi’s shoulder again.

azzi smiled— barely.

 he didn’t notice. paige did.

 she saw the tiny shift in azzi’s mouth. The way her eyes flicked to paige, unsure.

 like she was thinking something she shouldn’t say out loud.

paige’s chest ached.

when noah left to grab food, it was like a fog lifted. azzi stayed quiet for a second, just watching her.

“you okay?” she asked softly.

paige nodded, barely. “yeah— yeah, fine.” voice too high. hands too still.

azzi smiled a little. sad and sweet at the same time. “you don't have to be weird around me, you know.”

“i’m not being weird,” paige said immediately.

azzi tilted her head, “kind of.”

paige bit her tongue. hard.

 because if she opened her mouth again, it would all come spilling out.

 i’m obsessed with you. i think about you every second. i hate him. i love you.

so instead, she grabbed her smoothie and slurped aggressively to fill the silence.

azzi giggled under her breath. then she said, almost shy, “hey, um… if you’re feeling better later, you wanna maybe hang out? just us?” then quickly added, “noah’s going out.”

paige almost choked again.

 she nodded frantically. “yeah— yes. totally.”

 too fast. too eager. dammit.

azzi grinned. “cool.”

and for the first time all morning, paige forgot about the headache, the nausea, the regret.

 all she could think about was her. 

and the way her heart felt like it might actually, literally, physically explode out of her chest.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi #paige x azzi #uconn wbb #pazzi fics

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aninipanin1 · 2 days ago

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ZOOOO CUTE

Notes: I got inspired by @neeeooon work about the blue lock boys as the zodiac's from Fruits Basket. Shoutout to them hehe. I also wanted to write something for Reo and Nagi after that traumatic chapter huhu. Enjoy!

"Hmm...it's really cold today. Maybe some hot chocolate drink would be good."

You muttered to yourself, looking down at your grumbling belly. It had been a few hours since you had your breakfast, so you decided to head to the cafeteria to get atleast some snacks and beverages.

The moment you entered the kitchen, you were bombarded with a shocking image.

There was a sloth hanging itself on one of the chairs, snoring away and under said chair was a lion cub, also slumbering away, laying on his back, exposing his tummy.

"What the..."

What the hell? Were you high or something? This must be a dream right?

Rubbing your eyes, you were proven to be wrong as the sloth and lion cub were still there.

And then you were panicking. Where did these two come from?! From your knowledge, lion cubs are never separated from their pride since it is dangerous for them. Meanwhile, sloths are usually in the trees.

Well, there were trees surrounding the facility, but you are sure that there are no lions or sloths living in them. In fact, the two animals are not even native to Japan!

So why are there two wild animals just chilling in the Blue Lock Cafeteria?!

Looking closely, you notice that the sloth has fluffy white fur that was pretty long and was dragging itself on the chair, causing wild hair to fly.

Thats gotta be a hassle to clean.

The lion, meanwhile, has a pretty purple coat. One that made you side eye. Lions are NOT purple as far as you knew.

'Did they escape from a zoo somewhere? That's the only explanation...Aww, the poor cub, maybe it was forced to die its fur for the sake of people's entertainment. How cruel!'

You found yourself slowly approaching the two animals. A little wary, knowing that even if you are larger than them, they are still wide animals that can possibly hurt you.

Seeing as the sloth is starting to wake up, you backed off from the animal. You knew that their sharp claws are their main weapon and if not handled well, can dig deep in your skin and injure you.

"Hey, little buddy... sorry to interrupt your sleep. But I think you and your friend got lost your way in here."

"Y/n-chan...? Help us..."

The sloth spoke or rather whined, raising its arms as if asking you to pick it up.

Wait...spoke?

'Haha right...spoke. I'm definitely dreaming...This isn't some Disney movie...right?'

"Y/n-chan...! Me and Nagi can explain-"

The purple lion cub woke up, and trudged its way to your legs, standing on its hind legs before grabbing your own, nails gently clawing at your pants.

"Oh my god! WHAT THE HELL?!"

"So let me get this straight...the reason Hakuho is a private school is because...their students are cursed to turn into random animals?!"

You felt like the world just lied to you, as you looked at the sloth and lion or rather - Nagi and Reo, respectively. They just explained to you the reason as to why they became talking animals.

Supposedly, there are some people who are cursed to turn into animals whenever they feel certain emotions. With Nagi, it was hunger, and Reo's was nervousness.

"Yeah...it can get pretty wild."

"Right...so when Nagi gets too hungry and you get too nervous, you turn into animals..?"

"Yep...its a hassle...I was just about to eat too..."

Nagi sighed, looking down at the neatly folded clothes beside you. You found their clothes lying about in another part of the cafeteria, where they transformed.

"Wait...if Nagi was so hungry he turned into a sloth. What got you so nervohs to turn into one as well, Reo?"

The lion looked shy for a second, clearing his throat before speaking.

"I...well, it was the first time any of us transformed! So when Nagi turned into one and I heard your footsteps, I couldn't help it."

"Oh..."

Then a chuckle left your mouth as you started to scratch a spot beside Reo's ears, which amde the cub purr.

'So cute!'

"So, how do you guys turn back? You do know you both have a shared practice with the rest later with Ego-san, right?"

"..."

"AWW you both are so cute! Too bad you both can't play~"

Charles pat the two, his tone so condescending that it pissed of the Reo, who scratched at his hand, which of course made the French yelp in pain.

"Rude!"

"Get your filthy hands off the fur! We're not your pets."

Reo sassed, yet he nor Nagi would only just roll and purr when you run your hands through them. They had favouritism, and they know. But do they care? Nah.

"Just when I thought this lazy asshole could not get anymore useless."

Barou commented as he sneered at the sloth who was just plopped like a starfish on your lap, enjoying the attention you gave him.

"Shut up, king. Continue being jealous I get to rest while being with Y/n-chan..."

"HAH!? SAY THAT TO MY FACE YOU-"

"Barou-san...please don't fight and head off to the field before Ego-san gets mad."

You interfered, hugging sloth Nagi, who hugged you back with his long arms. Barou sighed at that, knowing that he can never say no to you.

"Bleh..."

Nagi stuck his tongue at the king wannabe before turning to you, with an innocent face, which translated well on his sloth form's face making you smile brighter, patting the sloth's head even more.

The players were definitely shocked to see two of their competitors incapacitated for the practice due to their...odd predicament. However, seeing as Ego seemed to already know of this, they were given an excuse to not participate the practice because according to his words:

"You two idiots will only destroy the balls with your claws. Blue Lock does not have enough budget for that bullshit."

Yeah...he could have said it more nicely.

But the only good side was that they got to spend their time with you! And they capitalized it hard. Nagi was clinging to you, arms and legs wrapped around your neck and waist. While Reo was on your lap, wagging his tail happily at the attention.

This, of course pissed off all the players who got to see the position those two were at.

"Bastards. They're enjoying this too much." Barou rolled his eyes.

"Pfft, Nagi got you good though earlier." Isagi chuckled, which only made the Ubers' player even more mad, cursing at the ravenette striker.

"They're kinda cute, though. Can't say the same when they're in their human form." Niko shrugged, which made a certain lion cub glare at him. Welp, not like he cared about a premature predator that can't even roar like a man.

"If I was an animal, I'd probably be a phoenix." Otoya smirked mischievously, to which Karasu only rolled his eyes.

"Nah, you'd fit being a rat better, asshole."

"Hey!"

"Pfft, that is so mean! The rats don't deserve such comparison." Bachira laughed to which made the albino haired striker even more mad.

"Hah?! Oi blondie-"

"The rat has to be Kaiser. His hair alone says it all." Lorenzo mocked, which made the New Gen 11 Striker walk up to him.

"Say it to my face, you creep."

The chaos continued until you did something that made everyone's jaw dropped simultaneously, like they practiced it.

"You both are so cute...!" You squealed at the two players turned animals, who unintentionally made cute faces at you.

Not finding the strength to hold back anymore, you leaned down and gave the both of them kisses on the forehead and cheeks. You are not the most affectionate person there is, but when it comes to animals, you most certainly melt for their cuteness.

Lion Reo and Sloth Nagi were no exception to this.

And needless to say, no one was happy about this other than you.

"This is going to give me a heart attack." Yukimiya fixed his cracked glasses.

"Hello, darkness, my old friend... I come to talk with you again." Otoya started singing like some cringe emo edgelord.

"Ugh, you're so annoying, Otoya. Shut your mouth for once." Chigiri rolled his eyes and pushed the boy's head away.

"Google, How do you turn into an animal?" Bachira asked seriously on his phone.

"If there is a god out there, please turn those two back to normal as soon as possible." Shidou muttered on his knees on the field to which Rin just blinked at before kicking his side, making the blonde fall face first on the grass.

"This is just chaos... I wish I was in their position. Maybe I'd finally have peace on my life." Hiori said, looking at the content Reo and Nagi, who was blushing and enjoying the attention you gave them.

What an interesting Monday after all.

ADDITIONAL TIME:

"You guys are so damn immature." Rin rolled his eyes at the explosion that happened on Twitter because of the chains of post from the others.

"Its called being truthful, Rin-rin." Shidou laughed, typing his own response.

"You guys couldn't even do it on a private account?" Yukimiya asked, to which Otoya just pat his back.

"We're men! When you say something, you have to own up to it!"

"Don't hate me cause you ain't me, losers." Reo, who already turned back into his human form stuck his tongue out.

We are so back gais AHHHH Fun fact: I chose sloth and lion because theyre Nagi and Reo's fav animals respectively.

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

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zenithsturniolo · 2 days ago

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SCREAM, BITCH - ghostface!chris x blogger!reader

♬ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ series intro | 1 | 2 |

chapter two: cry in the arms of a killer

this chapter will contain.. details(ish) of murder, masturbation (male), non-consensual watching, manipulative comfort, themes of isolation and fixation, emotional deception, dark psychological themes, and strong language. wc: 1.4k series summary: a dark, twisted slowburn where obsession bleeds into desire. you're a true crime blogger. he's the masked stranger recreating your cases. dual povs, filthy tension, and cliffhangers sharp enough to scar. it’s not just stalking - it’s seduction. not just fear - it’s fascination. you wanted a story. he wanted you. now you’re both in far too deep.

♯ chris pov

and I watched you move and breathe and cry and it felt so wrong

chris pockets his knife, the blade still sticky, the metal still singing with the memory of flesh.

he’s always kept it close — a black-handled thing with crude carvings down the grip, each one a secret. his thumb ghosts over the worn markings as he tucks it into the inside of his cloak, where it belongs. it fits into his hand like it was born there, like it’s an extension of him.

he stands still, bathed in the low buzz of streetlamps and the coppery stink of blood, and lets himself admire the scene he’s created.

every detail exact.

he steps around it cleanly, eyes never leaving her, a craftsman inspecting his work.

perfect.

he pulls out his phone, fingers moving quick, practiced. your blog is already open. your post — your brilliant, reckless post — went up twenty minutes ago, and he’s read it at least fifty times.

he scrolls, slow, deliberate.

your words describe this — this — exactly. the way the body should lie. the position of the hands. the loll of the head to the left. the blade used. every tiny, fucked-up detail you thought no one would ever mimic.

he made it real for you.

for you.

satisfaction swells hot in his chest, nearly dizzying. he tucks the phone away and turns, cloak whispering around his boots as he moves back up the dirt path.

his car — matt’s car — waits for him in a patch of darkness off the side of the road. battered, forgettable, the kind of thing no one looks twice at.

his ghostface mask catches the headlights for a second, gleaming white and grinning. then it’s swallowed again by shadow.

the air is thick with smoke from some distant fire, and it clings to his skin, his hair, mixes with the sharp tang of blood drying beneath his fingernails.

he drives.

the mask gets yanked off halfway down the road, tossed onto the passenger seat. sweat slicks his forehead, hair curling wildly at the edges. his heart is hammering, but not from fear. from exhilaration.

he doesn’t think about the girl he left cooling in the dark. doesn’t think about the empty eyes.

he thinks about you.

only you.

your voice, breathless when you ramble about your theories. the way your fingers twitch when you get too excited. the little smile you wear when you think you’ve figured something out — so sure. so fucking adorable.

he laughs — sharp, breathless, mean.

"you think you're so clever," he mutters to the windshield, grin stretching wide across his face. "wine glass in one hand, your shitty indie music in the background, playing detective like it’s a fucking game."

he turns up the volume of the aux.

the speakers rattle as the song blasts, the road blurring by under black tires and wild headlights. he screams along with it, a raw sound tearing out of him:

"i want to hold you close…"

his phone buzzes violently in the cupholder.

your name.

he glances at it. lets it ring.

"skin pressed against me tight…"

text after text.

chris, pick up. chris. where are you?

"lie still, close your eyes, girl…"

something's happening. i can’t ignore it anymore. i need you.

"so lovely, it feels so right…"

please, chris. you're the only one i can call.

"i want to fucking tear you apart."

his hand clenches the steering wheel so hard his knuckles pop.

god, you’re perfect.

he floors the gas.

—

you’re already crying when you open the door.

chris drinks it in — the mess of you, the wet shimmer in your eyes, the tremble in your hands — before stepping forward and gathering you against him.

he moves like he owns you. like he’s been doing this forever.

you clutch his hoodie, pressing your face into his chest. he smells like smoke, like sweat, like something metallic and dark under his skin.

his arms fold around you, big and steady and so warm, and you sob against him like you’ll fall apart if he lets go.

he hums low in his throat, stroking your back in slow, shushing circles. calculated. patient.

but his eyes?

his eyes are everywhere.

your walls. your cluttered desk. the nest of blankets on your bed. the scatter of case files and tangled red strings. the battered laptop with your blog open to the newest post.

and then — you.

his fixation sharpens.

your hands, clawing weakly at his hoodie. your mouth, wobbling into broken shapes. the glossy sheen of tears on your cheeks.

he adores you.

adores your mind — your recklessness, your brilliance, the way you pull apart unsolvable things like they’re puzzles meant for you alone.

he’s so fucking obsessed.

he's so fucking in love.

you hiccup, pulling back just enough to look at him.

"s-sorry," you whisper, voice cracked and raw.

he cups your face in one warm, steady palm, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. his thumb strokes your cheek, featherlight.

"don’t ever apologize," he murmurs. "i’m here. i got you."

the front door is still open, forgotten. you both end up sitting on the floor, right there in the entryway, knees bumping.

you look so small, wrapped in the oversized hoodie you tugged on in your panic. so vulnerable.

"i didn’t know who else to call," you mumble, shame bleeding into your voice. "pathetic, right?"

he frowns, genuine rage flickering through him at the thought of you feeling that way. "hey. no. we’re friends. i’m here for you. whatever you need."

your chin wobbles. you nod, swallowing hard.

then — "it’s gonna sound crazy, but…"

he leans closer, brows drawing together in a perfect mimicry of concern.

"i think… someone’s copying my blog posts."

you show him the evidence.

blank profile. every post liked, every one commented on with disturbing, intimate knowledge. details that the public shouldn't even know yet.

you scroll to a DM — a single voicenote — and play it.

the speaker crackles with distortion.

"what's your favorite scary movie?"

then, soft as a blade slipping under skin —

your full name.

you flinch so violently your phone almost tumbles from your hands.

chris’s heart soars, but his face contorts into horror, perfectly performed.

"fuck," he breathes, voice raw.

you nod, frantic. tears spilling again.

"i thought it was coincidence at first," you whisper. "but now…"

your whole body shakes.

he gathers you up again without hesitation, cradling your head against his shoulder.

"you’re safe," he promises, voice rough with fake emotion. "i’ve got you. i swear."

he scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing.

carries you to your bed.

the world blurs for you — exhaustion, fear, adrenaline crashing — but for him, every second is vivid, electric.

he tucks you in, pulls the covers to your chin. you reach for him instinctively, and he doesn't hesitate. he slides in beside you, letting you curl against his chest.

you sigh — deep, shaky — and finally, finally begin to relax.

he runs his fingers through your hair, slow and hypnotic.

your breathing evens out.

your body slackens against him.

he watches you.

watches the faint pulse flutter in your throat. the way your lips part slightly when you sleep. the way your shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of bare waist — soft, warm skin begging to be touched.

but he won’t. not without your consent.

so he touches himself instead.

he pulls back, staring, heart pounding. his cock throbs painfully in his jeans, the pressure almost unbearable.

he undoes his belt, quiet, methodical. shoves his jeans and boxers down.

his cock is already leaking, flushed an angry red, twitching with every beat of his heart.

he wraps a hand around it — tight, desperate — and jerks off right there, crouched at the edge of your bed like some kind of depraved animal.

the sounds he makes are feral.

wet, slick strokes. the rough rasp of breath tearing from his lungs. the faint creak of the mattress under his weight.

he fucks his fist faster, biting his knuckles to muffle the broken moans clawing up his throat.

your body shifts slightly under the covers. your thigh brushes his knee.

he nearly loses it.

he imagines you waking up, whimpering his name. imagines you crying because you need him so badly you can’t think straight. imagines pressing you down into the mattress and ruining you forever.

he comes with a vicious, muffled grunt, hot and thick across your sheets, your pillow, his hoodie.

he wipes it away messily.

pulls his jeans back up with shaking hands.

then he just stands there, breathing hard, staring at you like he’ll never get enough.

so sweet.

so soft.

so breakable.

and you trust him.

him.

the monster at your door.

he brushes a finger along your jaw, gentle as a prayer.

for the first time — the only time — he thinks:

this is what love feels like.

find parts of this series here !

a/n: chat i fear this is my type 🥀 also next chapter’s long w some fluff because i couldn’t resist

🏷: @drewswife @k4urltzx @courta13 @briizysturn @y2kstarr @chriscantwhisper @tezzzzzzzz @adorechris @cherryystemm @dolliraez @rriverscuomo @sturnsblogs @mattspillowprincess @mattsplaything @sturns-mermaid @auttysturnz @sonnyangelsweetiee @izzylovesmatt @ribbonlovergirl @k4urltzx @matts-girlfriend @pair-of-pantaloons @444sturns @weron1ka

divider by @anitalenia

this series is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only. all characters, events, and dialogue are entirely fictional and should not be interpreted as real. any similarities to real people or events are purely coincidental. credit and respect to all creators who’ve inspired similar works before me. I claim ownership only over my original writing, ideas, and interpretations. please do not repost, plagiarize, or steal. reblogs and love are always appreciated.

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intertwinedheartss · 2 days ago

Text

Love Written In Ink

ch I; New Scenery

“i’m not in love, so don’t forget it.”

pairing: librarian!nanami x f! reader

summary; nanami is known to be a man of a very few no words. he’s too busy working behind the front desk, rearranging and restocking the books, checking people in and out while giving a quick smile that wipes off just as quickly when they leave. that is until a certain someone skips (literally skips… what can you say? you were excited to check out the library your friend recommended to you) into the cozy library hidden in the corner of the small town, that makes his smile linger a little longer even after you’ve left. yet, he’s sure it’s just a phase, a chapter he isn’t interested in reading into…right?

chapter warnings: 18+ only!! grumpy x sunshine, stoic!nanami, bubbly!reader, nanami is rude at first (it won’t last too long…promise), slow burn, yearning

word count: 1.5k+

scrumptious nanami art by - @thatsallitchief

Quietness.

That’s the first thing you notice stepping into the small book-filled area. It’s something you should expect out of a place like this of course, but you can’t help but find it uncomfortable. Silent was never a word that was used to describe you, but hey… at least you were self aware.

The stale, sweet smell of yellowed pages fill your senses, as you fully enter the library. Shelves are against each wall, filled with books. No gaps are left in between as some books have resulted in being stacked on top of the lined up array. Worn down paper signs taped to certain sections of the shelves are used to tell which genre you’re looking at.

You make your way to the front desk, still taking in the new area. There’s not many people, which isn’t surprising considering it’s late afternoon on a Wednesday. There’s small 4-people tables scattered around the middle of the library, surrounded by shelves you have to walk around to even discover. Your fingers tangle with each other and fidget in front of you as you find yourself overly excited about the new scenery. You mentally check off the invisible task list in your head, “to locate a new spot”.

You had just finished rambling about a book you’ve recently finished to your friend, Lilly, surprised you were still capable of doing so, not having the time to even pick up a book since elementary. When mid-ramble Lilly cut you off, suggesting you visit the library. She claimed her new boyfriend took her on a date there and it seemed like your vibe.

You weren’t sure how true that was, considering you knew you could be a bit much at times and libraries were the last place you pictured yourself, but you decided to trust her judgment anyways.

You stand in front of the wooden desk, paper littering the top of it and a rolling chair occupies the other side. A chair you know for sure has to be super squeaky. Eventually you are greeted by an older man.

The first thing you notice is his height. He is fairly short, and a little hunched over probably due to age. The second thing you notice is his hair. The color scattered salt and pepper style, with one white strip to the side, in contrast to his darker complexion.

“Hi!” You greet, a little too enthusiastically, causing you to lightly clear your throat, as you hear a random “Sh” hidden among the maze of book shelves.

“hi..” You repeat, a lot quieter, paired with a small smile and slight wave of your hand.

The older man simply smiles at you, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes deepen. With a tilt of his head and a small quirk of his eyebrow, you can feel him analyze you.

“New here?” He simply asks after a beat of silence. You can feel yourself breathe again as the silence is broken, and you offer a genuine smile.

“To libraries, or here? Well I guess that doesn’t really matter since I’m new to both.” You cut yourself off, and immediately divert your attention towards the soft, carpeted floor. You realized that’s probably not what he meant and you don’t want to seem like an over enthusiastic fool, who’s never stepped foot in a library before. Well yea… It was true, but still.

The older man gives you a soft smile, and a slight wave of his hand. He turns towards the severely outdated computer sitting on the front desk, and begins to type something.

“Name, dear?” He asks, and you answer, slowly raising to your tippy-toes, trying to be nosy and peek at what he’s typing out. Before you could get even a glimpse he hits the enter button, and turns his back towards you, seemingly retrieving something.

You let out a small puff of air and take the time to glance around the library once more. You notice a small nook in the corner window, two bean bag chairs occupy it, and plants litter the windowsill. You smile to yourself already picturing you sitting there, you mentally claim the spot.

“Here you are” The older man hands you a plastic card. The library logo imprinted in bold on the front, with your name written shakingly in the middle.

“Thank you…” You take the card, and squint at his name tag to properly greet him.

“Daniel..Mr. Daniel” You finish your gratitude and slightly turn to your side to retrieve your wallet from your mini book bag, the front filled with pins and charms you’ve collected as souvenirs over the past couple years.

The older man calls out a name you’re too distracted to fully make out, as you put the card away and zip your bag back up.

You look up from your bag, having slung it back over your shoulders and are greeted with a much taller man. His blonde hair almost glistens under the dim, yellow lighting. He’s dressed in black slacks, and a white button up. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his fingers rest perched at each side of his hip.

You watch him interact with the older man, who you now know as Mr. Daniel. You want to always treat your elders with respect and given by his warm smile, you think he deserves the formal title.

You seem to have been lost in your mind again as the two men both turn to you. Mr. Daniel holds a small smile, while the Blonde simply gives you a bored, barely half-glanced look. He seems to be looking through you rather than at you, but you brush it off.

“I’m sorry?” You smile at the two men, and scrunch your eyebrows, hoping they would repeat what you seemed to have missed, too busy checking out assessing the Blonde man.

“What kind of books are you looking for today, my dear?” Mr.Daniel tilts his head towards you, waiting expectantly for your answer.

“Oh- right..uhm” You take a quick second, glancing around the various shelves.

“Maybe romance? or Sci-fi?…or both” You nod your head at yourself, happy with your own answer. You watch Mr. Daniel as he looks towards the Blonde man, tapping his shoulder.

“Show her around a little” He looks at the Blonde and nudges him towards you. “She’s new to our library, and we pride ourselves on being welcoming”

The Blonde simply glances at the older man, and nods. It comes out as more of a jerk of his head than anything. He doesn’t say a word, just brushes past you and begins to walk towards the intimidating bookshelf maze.

You take the hint to follow him, but as his tall legs expertly make their way around the endless shelves, you find yourself having to pick up your pace. It seems to not even make a difference as every step he takes, it takes you three.

You wonder if that’s why he chose to work at a library. His height giving him an automatic advantage to seeing over the shelves makes the job perfect.

He stops just as abruptly as he started, and you have to catch yourself from running into his stiff shoulders. “Here” He doesn’t even spare you a second glance, while vaguely gesturing to the shelf. “This is the romance section”

“Over there is the Sci-fi” He points over your shoulder, and your eyes follow his finger while nodding. “Thank you” You smile and tilt your head up at him.

You realize now that he’s not wearing a name tag, keeping up with his mysterious persona. “What’s your name?” His answer doesn’t come out in words, and the only thing he gives you is a slight step to the side, granting you more access to the books.

You walk to the front of the romance books and start to skim the spines. Despite the popular phrase “never judge a book by its cover” it’s really all you do. Well, to literal books anyway.

If the book cover is ugly you just can’t bring yourself to even pick it up, much less read it. You notice the Blonde hasn’t left yet, and you really aren’t looking for anything specific. So, ignoring your better judgment of the man wanting to be left alone at his job you speak up. “What do you recommend?”

He simply looks at you and for a second you consider that’s all he’ll do. “I’m kind of new to reading actual books, so really anything seems good but i don’t want just good. I need perfect” You explain to the man, hoping this time you’ll be met with an answer, but alas he gives you nothing other than a small twitch of the brow.

The silence lingers and all you do is try to smile through it. Have you done something wrong? Maybe he’s a top-secret underground singer and is saving his voice for his top-secret concert coming up. You giggle to yourself at the thought, which makes the man fully raise his eyebrow at you.

You realize now you have been staring at him, waiting for an answer then unexpectedly burst out into giggles. He probably thinks you’re a lunatic.

Getting the hint that you weren’t ever going to get an answer from him, you turn back to the shelf.

“Nanami” A gruff voice speaks up behind you. “Hm?” Turning your head towards him, you try your best to mask your shock as he’s the one who breaks the silence.

“My name is Nanami”

next chapter; …

a/n: ahhhh first chapter done!! enjoy, my beauties. i’ll try to post the next chapter later this week.

xoxo, ladybug

#jjk #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #jjk x you #nanami x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #x you #y/n #jjk x y/n

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lanadelspray02 · 23 hours ago

Text

HOLD ME ANYWAY: CHAPTER 1

paige x azzi

warning: none

Hi guys, this is the first fic I have ever posted. I hope you enjoy :)

I have also posted 6 chapters on ao3, as I pre-wrote. So if you'd like to read them all right now before I slowly post them here on tumblr, feel free to. Also, the chapters are a little short, but they'll get longer as the series progresses. Let me know what yall think!

crossposted ao3 here

materlist here

---------------------------

The overhead lights buzzed softly as the team filtered into the gym, sneakers squeaking against polished wood. Normally, first preseason meetings at UConn were loud — filled with half-hearted complaints, inside jokes, and players sneaking last sips of coffee before warmups.

Today was different. Today, the air felt thick. Expectant.

Word had spread over the past twenty-four hours like wildfire: Azzi Fudd — the once-crowned number one high school recruit — was officially joining the team. No warning. No build-up. Just a single email from Coach sent at 6:03 a.m.

Paige Bueckers leaned against the wall near the baseline, twirling a basketball lazily in one hand, her body language casual but her eyes sharp.

Across from her, Nika and KK leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.

“That’s her?” Nika muttered under her breath, eyeing the closed gym doors. “Thought she’d be taller.”

KK snickered. “Bet she’s still faster than you, slowpoke.”

“Bet you both still can’t guard her,” Paige said smoothly, lips curving into a lazy grin.

Nika bumped her with an elbow. “Don’t get any ideas, Bueckers.”

Paige lifted a shoulder, tossing the ball up again. “What? I can’t be curious?”

Before Nika could retort, the heavy gym doors creaked open.

A hush fell over the team.

Azzi Fudd stepped inside.

She wore a simple UConn hoodie, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, black leggings, and sneakers that looked scuffed from real life, not court drills. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, no earrings, no jewelry — just the smallest gold cross tucked under the collar of her hoodie.

She paused a second, like she wasn’t sure she belonged here, then squared her shoulders and crossed the gym floor. Her strides were measured, deliberate, almost too calm.

“Circle up!” Coach bellowed.

Paige pushed off the wall and fell into step with Nika and KK as the team formed a loose huddle at center court.

When Azzi joined the group, she didn’t jostle for space or offer a smile like the new kids usually did. She just stood slightly apart, hands tucked in her hoodie pocket, chin lifted like she didn’t need anyone’s approval.

“This is Azzi Fudd,” Coach said. “Joining us this season. She’s got catching up to do, but I don’t think I need to tell you the kind of talent standing here.”

A few polite nods rippled through the group.

When it was her turn, Azzi simply said, “Azzi. Hi.”

No extra words. No apology.

The awkwardness hung in the air for a beat too long before Coach clapped his hands and barked for warmups to start.

------------

The first few drills were rough.

Azzi’s footwork was messy. Her passes lacked crispness. She missed two free throws in a row — shots she could have made blindfolded two years ago.

Paige noticed it all. So did everyone else.

The younger players traded small glances, the kind that said this is the girl everyone freaked out about?

But then —

During a 3-on-3 drill, Azzi caught a pass, split a double-team with one quick step, and hit a midrange jumper so clean the net barely moved. Pure muscle memory.

The sideline fell silent for half a second.

Paige whistled low under her breath. “She’s still got it,” she murmured to Nika.

Nika shrugged, unimpressed. “When she feels like it.”

Paige smiled slightly. There was a fire buried under that quiet exterior. She could see it — even if Azzi was doing everything she could to hide it.

--------------------

Practice wrapped with tired high-fives and water bottle tosses.

Players clumped into familiar groups instinctively.

Paige, Nika, and KK lounged near the baseline, joking and replaying the funniest screw-ups of the day.

Across the gym, Ice, Aubrey, and Aaliyah sat on the bleachers, laughing softly among themselves.

Near the benches, Caroline, Bettencourt, and Amari swapped stories, tossing scrunchies and rolling their eyes in that effortless roommate shorthand.

Azzi stayed apart, crouched near the sidelines, retightening her shoelaces, methodical and silent.

Paige noticed — of course she did. The way Azzi moved — careful, almost invisible — was too deliberate to be natural.

“You think she’s allergic to fun?” KK asked, half-joking, wiping sweat from her forehead with her shirt.

Nika smirked. “Maybe she thinks she’s better than us.”

Paige shook her head. “Nah. She looks more like someone who’s been through it.”

Nika gave her a look. “You’re already writing poems about her?”

Paige laughed, shoving Nika lightly. But her eyes never left Azzi.

She watched carefully as Caroline knelt down next to Azzi, offering a hand with an easy smile. Ines hovered close by, chatting animatedly in accented English, trying to coax a real smile from the newcomer.

And — slowly, barely noticeably — Azzi relaxed. Not fully. Not enough. But enough to take the offered help without flinching.

Nika noticed too. “Looks like the new kid picked her favorites already.”

Paige’s mouth quirked. “She’s got good taste.”

-------------------

As everyone packed up, Paige spotted her chance.

She sauntered over to Azzi, tossing a ball lazily between her hands.

When she got close enough, she said, voice light, teasing, “You always this mysterious, or just trying to keep us guessing?”

Azzi finished tying her shoe, stood up smoothly — and didn’t answer. Instead, she caught Paige’s gaze for the first time all afternoon.

Those dark eyes held something sharp and unreadable.

And then — a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk.

No words. Just that one look — infuriatingly confident, impossibly calm — before Azzi grabbed her duffel bag and walked off toward the locker room without another glance back.

Paige blinked, caught somewhere between laughing and cursing.

She turned and jogged back toward Nika and KK, who were watching with obvious amusement.

“How’d it go, Romeo?” KK called.

Paige just grinned. “Game on,” she said under her breath.

-----------------

Later that night, the UConn campus had fallen into its usual off-season rhythm: dorm windows glowing soft yellow, lazy chatter drifting across the quad, the occasional slap of a basketball against pavement somewhere in the distance.

Inside the gym, the lights over Court 3 were still on.

Paige pulled the door open and stepped inside, tossing her duffel onto the bleachers with a thud.

She hadn’t meant to come back. Really. She could have stayed in the dorm with Nika and KK, trading jokes and trash talk about who would crash hardest at conditioning tomorrow.

But something about Azzi’s smirk — that effortless, unreadable challenge — stuck in her brain like a splinter.

Paige had always hated unfinished games.

She twirled a ball between her hands as she crossed the court — and froze.

Azzi was already there.

Alone.

Headphones in, hoodie sleeves shoved up, shooting free throws like she had something to prove.

The ball hit the backboard, dropped through the net with a soft swish, and bounced back into her hands automatically.

She hadn’t noticed Paige yet. Or if she had, she was pretending not to.

Paige grinned to herself. Figures.

She walked to the free throw line and waited until Azzi pulled up for another shot.

Just before Azzi released it, Paige called out casually, “You miss that one, you owe me a Gatorade.”

Azzi shot anyway — swish — and arched an unimpressed eyebrow as she lowered her arms.

Slowly, deliberately, she tugged one headphone out. “What if I don’t miss?”

Paige shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Then I owe you one.”

Azzi considered that for half a second, then tossed the ball lazily toward Paige. “Better start saving up,” she said, voice low and even.

Paige caught it and let out a short laugh. “Alright, alright. Big talk, mystery girl.”

Azzi just gave a ghost of a smile — barely there — and motioned toward the three-point line. Challenge issued. No words needed.

------------------

They played until their arms ached and their laughter echoed off the empty gym walls.

No scoreboard. No coaches barking orders.

Just sneakers squeaking, balls thudding against backboards, and two girls orbiting each other without quite touching.

Eventually, Paige flopped dramatically onto the court, arms spread wide.

“I concede,” she groaned. “You win. Queen of late-night shooting sessions.”

Azzi dropped the ball with a soft thud beside her, standing over her like a silent, unimpressed statue.

“Finally something you’re good at,” Paige added, shooting her a lazy grin.

For the first time all day, Azzi actually laughed — quiet, soft, real.

Paige closed her eyes for a second, soaking in the sound.

When she opened them again, Azzi was gathering her stuff, already slipping back into that careful, guarded calm.

Paige sat up slowly, watching her.

She told herself it was curiosity. Maybe respect. Nothing else. Definitely nothing else.

But when Azzi glanced over her shoulder and caught Paige staring — when her mouth quirked into that small, devastating half-smile again —

Paige knew she was lying to herself.

Big time.

#pazzi fics #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #paige x azzi #uconn wbb

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nanamineedstherapy · 2 days ago

Text

TikTok Warfare in the Polycule

F!Pregnant Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

A/N: Listen. Gojo would 100% weaponize TikTok algorithms to win an argument. Nanami would simply document the war crimes. Enjoy this descent into chaos. (No spoilers but someone does get pancake privileges revoked.)

Gojo was scrolling on his phone when the TikTok arrived. "If your baby daddy doesn’t instinctively protect your belly in public, you’re better off alone."

His eyes narrowed.

You walked by, adjusting a bag over your shoulder.

Gojo’s hand twitched.

Then: "Satoru."

He sat up. "Yeah, baby?"

"I need to go to the store."

Gojo’s pupils darkened. "You do?"

"Mm-hmm."

Five minutes later, he was pressed against your back in the middle of the grocery store, practically circling you like a guard dog.

His phone buzzed.

Group Chat: Dad Crimes 💀 (Anon)

Father Time: Did you just follow her to the store?

Daddy: Protecting the baby.

Father Time: Sure.

Daddy: She’s not mad anymore tho

Father Time: That’s what you think.

---

Operation: Keep the Pregnant Alive

Nanami knew something was wrong when Gojo smiled at him.

Not the usual lazy smirk. Not the smug, sunshine-drenched grin he used to get out of murder charges or speeding tickets. No. This one had teeth.

Gojo tossed his phone onto the coffee table, then sprawled across the couch, limbs wide open like a trap. His sunglasses had slipped halfway down his nose. His eyes glinted. “It’s time,” he said, voice too calm.

Nanami didn’t even look up from his newspaper. “For what?”

“Revenge.”

Nanami turned the page. “What did Haibara do now?”

“Ah! Not him. Baby.”

“What did our wife do now?”

“She fell asleep under the dining table.”

Nanami raised a brow in his direction, his grip tightening imperceptibly on the paper. “Again?”

“She took the video of me trying to wake her up from the home security footage, edited and posted it with an AI voiceover saying, ‘When your husband thinks you respect him but you’re actually a raccoon with a PLC.’”

Gojo’s eye twitched. “Ten million views and growing. I’m in a meme compilation.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s tired these days, Satoru.” The unspoken ‘She’s growing two whole humans with powers nothing like before, you idiot’ hung between them.

“She’s winning.” Gojo leaned forward. “We flip the script.”

Nanami stared. “You want to TikTok her back?”

“No.” Gojo grinned like the devil himself. “I want to psychologically dismantle her using excessive care until she implodes.”

Nanami sighed. “You’re stupid.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “So is she.”

Phase One: Comfort Is A Weapon

You were waiting for your coffee, scrolling on your phone, when your husband’s text came in:

Kento: Hope you're comfortable.

You: Why the hell would I not be?

Satoru: Because you’re not leaving that couch today.

You didn’t even have time to glare at your screen before Gojo waltzed in. Shirtless. Damp from a shower. Gray sweatpants. No shame.

He leaned on the doorway like he’d been cast in a thirst trap film.

Behind him, Nanami followed—sleeves rolled, jaw tense, that look he got when he was two seconds from calling Shoko for backup.

“What the hell is going on?” You asked, already suspicious.

“We’re taking care of you,” Gojo said sweetly.

Nanami unfolded a plush blanket with all the grace of a crime scene investigator. “Sit.”

You frowned. “No.”

Gojo tilted his head. “Do you want Shoko to get involved? Because I will FaceTime her right now.”

You narrowed your eyes, teeth gritted. “I will bite both of you.”

Gojo smirked. “Kinky.”

Nanami sighed. “Just sit.”

You plopped onto the couch like a petulant goblin, muttering the entire time. The warmth seeped into your aching back almost immediately. Traitors.

Phase Two: Pharmaceutical Warfare

Nanami brought over a vitamin packet like it was a weaponized dossier. “You’re iron-deficient,” he said flatly.

“I’m not,” you lied. “I had spinach.”

“When?” Nanami asked.

“...in college.”

Gojo appeared from behind with a smug look and a footstool. “Feet up.”

You resisted. He raised a brow. “Do you want to argue with a man in sweatpants?”

Reluctantly, you complied.

Gojo leaned in, dangerously close. “You’re sweating right now, aren’t you?”

You deadpanned. “No.”

He smiled. “You just twitched.”

You shoved his face away. “Shut up.”

Phase Three: TikTok Retaliation

The next day, a TikTok dropped, "If your girl isn’t drinking water, it’s your responsibility to hydrate her—by force if necessary."

You watched the video in horror. Nanami appeared in the kitchen doorway. Holding a glass. “Drink.”

“No.”

“Drink.”

“No.”

Gojo suddenly materialized behind you like a damn wraith. “Perhaps juice?”

“I want to be left alone.”

“Hydration first.” Then, with intense menace, Gojo whispered, “If you don’t drink this water, I will strap you to all the pregnancy pillows. Publicly.”

Nanami added, “We will post it.”

You grabbed the water and chugged it like it was vodka.

Gojo smirked, leaning dangerously close to your face. “Thirsty.”

You flipped him off.

Phase Four: The Food Trap

You woke up at 3AM to Nanami looming like a culinary ghost with a tray. “Breakfast,” he said. Toast. Yogurt. Fruit. Organized like he was seducing you via glycemic index.

“I didn’t ask—”

“You don’t ask. You survive.”

You reached for the toast while glaring.

Then chewed in righteous judgment. “When will you go back to work?”

Phase Five: Breakdown or Performance Art?

They cornered you in the kitchen.

Gojo grinned. “Admit it.”

“No.”

“You like it.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

You sniffed.

Nanami looked up.

Gojo panicked. “Oh no.”

“I hate you both!” You wailed. Tears streamed. Beautiful. Oscar-worthy.

Nanami’s tone softened. “What do you need?”

You hiccupped. “Pancakes. With the 85% dark chocolate-covered strawberries. And whipped cream.”

Silence.

Gojo blinked. “...You’re not even sad, are you.”

“I might be.”

“You’re faking this.”

“I’m hungry.”

Nanami sighed.

You leaned into Nanami. “I want him to make the pancakes, Kento. Make him.”

Gojo grinned. “You want me to cook shirtless?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I want you to not burn the strawberries this time.”

“If you let me touch your boobs, I won’t.”

You walked away from Nanami’s arm and returned with his old blade and raised it to Gojo’s pecs. “You were saying?”

Final Score

You—4 (for lies, drama, violence, and thirst)

Nanami and Gojo—2 (for effort, execution, and forearms)

New TikTok: 🎵 "My husbands think they’re in control… until I start crying about pancakes."

Cut to Gojo flipping them. Shirtless. Nanami plating them with surgical precision.

Caption: "Wife: unwell. Husbands: worse."

---

A/N: If you laughed, screamed, or now fear Nanami’s vitamin distribution system, tell me in the comments. (Gojo’s ego needs the engagement.)

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

Next Chapter likely tomorrow.

All Works Masterlist

Beta - @blackrimmedrose

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paxaz535 · 2 days ago

Text

Just for Now

chapter 5

synopsis : when a group of students go on a school field trip are suddenly forced into a deadly real-life game of Mafia at a retreat center. They receive a message that tells them the game has started, and the only way of survival is by eliminating classmates and identifying the Mafias.

——

note : and if i say this is probably the best thing i’ve written so far.. ?

(shorter chapter ONLY because im trying to spread this series)

——

As the murmurs started up again and people began whispering in pairs, Paige stood up and walked over to you.

“Can we talk?” she asked, quiet enough that only you could hear.

You glanced around. No one was paying attention yet.

You nodded, following her down the hall, away from the group.

She stopped just outside one of the smaller side rooms and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The hallway was dim, quiet, like the game couldn’t reach you here.

“You really think it’s me?” she asked, no smile, no flirt, just straight honesty.

You met her eyes. “I don’t want to think it’s you.”

“Then don’t.”

“That’s not how this works, Paige.”

Her jaw tightened. “You know me. You’ve seen me. If I was playing dirty, you think you wouldn’t know by now?”

“That’s the problem,” you said, voice lower. “I don’t know. Not anymore.”

She stepped closer. “Then trust what you feel. Not what they’re trying to make you see.”

And just like that, she was gone—back down the hallway, swallowed by the buzz of the lobby again.

You stood there a second longer, heart in your throat.

Then came Marcus’s voice from inside: “Are we doing this, or what?”

You decided to check someone.

Not because you thought they were Mafia—more like the opposite. You needed to start crossing people off your list. Narrowing it down. Giving yourself room to breathe.

Still, something inside you whispered not to check those four.

Paige. Azzi. Nika. Aaliyah.

Why?

Why did part of you not want to know the truth?

Was it fear? Was it trust? Or was it something worse—something like hope?

You pushed the thought down and clicked on Kk’s name.

Kk’s occupation is: Citizen.

Cool.

Relief. Slight, but real.

You returned to the circle just in time to see everyone with their phones out, the voting options on each screen.

One by one, everyone started to vote.

You hesitated with yours.

Marcus? Sarah? One of the four? Nora?

You looked up, eyes catching Azzi’s for just a second.

She winked.

Your hand shook a little as you hovered over the screen.

Then, you pressed the name.

It was time.

The votes rolled in:

Stormi — Marcus

Paige — Marcus

Nora — Azzi

Jamie — Paige

Sarah — Marcus

Marcus — Sarah

Amari & Ines — Marcus

Allie & Morgan — Nora

Aubrey — Marcus

Aaliyah — Marcus

Nika — Marcus

Azzi — Marcus

Ayanna — Marcus

Ice — Marcus

Jana — Nora

Caroline — Nora

Ashlynn — Marcus

Kk — Marcus

And finally—

Rose — Nora.

Your name.

Your vote.

The final one.

As soon as it landed, Nora looked at you.

Her face—tight, confused, hurt.

Like you’d pulled the floor out from under her.

You couldn’t hold her gaze. Not for long.

Your stomach twisted. But you went with your gut. You had to. That’s what this role was. That’s what this game was.

Still, the guilt sat in your chest like a weight.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even sure if you’d made the right call.

Majority, Marcus.

The intercom crackled to life.

“With the most votes, Marcus will be executed.”

No one moved.

Marcus exhaled slowly. No argument. No begging. Just a deep, worn-out sigh as he stood up.

He didn’t look at anyone as he walked toward the hallway—just kept his head down, footsteps heavy.

Then, just as he disappeared behind the corner—

A scream.

Raw. Terrified. Real.

You flinched. A few people gasped. The room held its breath.

And then, the intercom spoke again:

“Marcus was… a citizen.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Your stomach dropped.

Because now that you all know Marcus wasn’t Mafia…

Then the four specific ones who voted him out?

Might be the very people you’ve been trying not to suspect.

And worse?

You might’ve just helped them win.

“She needs to die,” Aaliyah said, her voice cold and certain. “And she needs to die tonight.”

The room fell quiet.

Azzi and Paige exchanged a glance, tension already thick. Nika leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unreadable.

“She’s getting too close,” Aaliyah continued. “If we don’t get rid of her now, she’s going to figure us out.”

“She already is,” Nika added. “She voted smart last round. She’s watching us.”

Azzi shifted. “We can’t do anything unless all four of us agree. You know the rule.”

Every Mafia vote had to be unanimous.

No vote, no kill.

“Then agree,” Aaliyah snapped, looking directly at Paige.

Paige’s jaw clenched. She didn’t move.

“I’m not agreeing,” Azzi said, arms crossed. “Not tonight.”

Nika looked between them, fuming. “You’re letting your feelings get in the way.”

Paige turned sharply to Nika. “And you’re not?”

Nika raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“If it were Stormi’s name on the table, you’d be the first one saying no,” Paige said, her voice suddenly sharper, more raw than they were used to. “Don’t act like you’re above this just because it’s me and Azzi.”

Nika went quiet.

Azzi looked between them, unsettled.

Aaliyah shook her head in disbelief. “So that’s it? No vote tonight? We’re just gonna let her live?”

“No vote,” Paige said, looking down. “We’re going to let her live.”

The room stilled.

No one spoke. No one moved.

They all knew what that meant.

No kill.

“So then who?” Nika asked, her voice growing impatient.

“Nora’s also off the table,” Aaliyah replied, cutting through the tension. “If we kill her, then you might as well consider one of us dead.”

She was right. Nora had already gotten too close to the truth.

“Aaliyah’s right,” Paige said, voice quiet but firm. “Nora’s off the table. If we kill her now, it’ll confirm everything.”

Aaliyah nodded, her tone cold. “Exactly. We can’t risk it.”

There was a heavy silence. They all knew they needed to make a choice—someone had to be eliminated, but the wrong decision could expose them all.

Then Azzi spoke, her voice calm and steady.

“Jana.”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to her. Was she seriously suggesting someone?

“Why?” Nika asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Azzi leaned back slightly. “She’s been quiet. A lot of people been quiet, yeah, but she’s… different. Keeps to herself. Doesn’t stand out. She’s blending in too well. If she’s not Mafia, she could be a threat to us. People like her always make it to the end.”

Paige frowned, clearly not convinced. “She’s been too quiet, yeah. But why her? She hasn’t done anything to make her seem dangerous.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “That’s exactly why. No one’s looking at her, and that makes her the perfect choice.”

The others stayed silent for a beat, processing her words.

“I also noticed something about her,” Azzi continued, her tone growing more deliberate. “Remember when Aubrey got voted out and everyone went all haywire?”

The group nodded, recalling the chaos that had followed Aubrey’s elimination. The tension was thick in the air that night, accusations flying left and right.

“Jana didn’t react. Didn’t hear a peep. Literally, everyone else said something but her.” Azzi’s gaze shifted between them, a challenge in her eyes. “Is that not weird?”

The room fell into silence as everyone turned this over in their minds.

Paige frowned, her mind working through the memory. Aubrey and Jana had been close. For Jana to say nothing when Aubrey had been voted out? It was unusual. Too calm, too detached.

“I think Azzi’s onto something,” Paige murmured after a long pause. “Jana usually reacts to everything. She should’ve reacted to Aubrey, but she didn’t.”

Aaliyah, who had been quietly listening, finally nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s strange, sure. Could be nothing… or it could be something.”

Azzi wasn’t finished, though. “And let’s not forget, she’s always observing. Never makes waves. But she’s quietly watching. That kind of behavior doesn’t sit right.”

Nika leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. “True. The quieter they are, the more dangerous they can be.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably as Azzi’s words hung in the air.

Paige’s gaze lingered on the others, her thoughts racing. They’d all agreed on the decision before, but now, something felt… heavier.

“Do we agree?” Aaliyah asked, breaking the silence. “Do we go for her?”

Paige looked at Azzi, then at the others. She nodded slowly. “I think we do.”

Another day, another person’s name to hear on the intercom.

“During the night, the mafia used their skill to execute Jana.”

Jana? That’s… weird.

You blinked, trying to process the news. It didn’t make sense. Jana had been… quiet. But why would the Mafia target her?

“Jana was the doctor.”

Oh. Oh.

Your stomach dropped as the full impact hit. Jana wasn’t just some quiet person in the background—she was the doctor. The very person who could’ve saved lives, who had been the key to keeping people alive. And now she was gone.

Holy shit.

You felt a mixture of confusion, shock, and a tinge of fear. The Mafia had killed the one person who could protect others. The game had just become a lot more dangerous.

You glanced around, watching the others’ reactions.

When the four—Paige, Azzi, Aaliyah, and Nika—heard that information, something shifted. A look of relief passed between them, barely noticeable but there. They’d been wanting to kill the doctor. Now that they had, it felt like a weight had been lifted, like they’d made a big move in the game.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

You were still here. You were still a problem.

The Mafia might have killed the doctor, but they’d left the cop alive. The one person who could potentially stop them. You weren’t stupid. They knew you were a threat, and you knew they were gunning for you next.

But for now, you were still here.

And you weren’t going down without a fight.

“This just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You were sitting with Stormi, Kk, Ice, and Sarah in the lounge, away from everyone else. You knew they were all citizens, so you felt comfortable talking openly.

“Why would the mafia kill the doctor and not the cop?” Ice asked, frowning.

You glanced at her. “In a way, they didn’t know Jana was the doctor. They probably killed her because she was quiet,” you reasoned.

“Hell, I didn’t even know,” you admitted. “I hadn’t had a chance to check her occupation.”

Everyone fell silent, the weight of the situation settling heavily over the room.

The longer you sat there, the more the silence grew suffocating. You could see it in everyone’s faces — confusion, fear, the creeping realization that none of you were truly safe.

Stormi was the first to speak. “If they’re just picking people off for being quiet, we’re screwed. Half of us aren’t even talking that much anymore.”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s not about roles anymore. They’re guessing.”

“Which makes it even more dangerous,” Kk added, her voice barely above a whisper. “It means none of us can predict who’s next.”

You leaned back against the couch, trying to think. If the mafia was killing at random… how were you supposed to protect anyone? Your role gave you information, sure — but if you didn’t act fast enough, it wouldn’t matter.

“I’m not saying I am— ’cause I’m not — but if I were mafia, I would’ve killed you by now, Rose,” Ice said bluntly.

Her words hit harder than you expected. That question had been sitting heavy in your mind for a while now.

Why haven’t they taken you out?

It didn’t make sense. You agreed with Ice. If you were mafia, you would’ve taken out the police officer the second you found out. Everyone knew you were the Police — so why hadn’t they taken their chance?

“We’ll be right back,” Stormi said as she grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the corner of the lounge.

The others barely reacted, slipping into a nervous conversation among themselves. Everyone was still on edge.

You stumbled a little, confused. “What—?”

“I’m gonna need you to be completely honest with me,” Stormi said, her voice low and serious. She stared you down, her hand still gripping the front of your shirt.

You furrowed your eyebrows but nodded slowly, glancing down at her tight grip before looking back up at her face.

“Have you checked Paige, Azzi, Nika, or Aaliyah?”

Your heart dropped.

Why so specific?

“No. I haven’t,” you said.

Stormi sighed.

“Any reason why you haven’t?”

You were silent.

Why hadn’t you checked?

Were you avoiding something?

“I—”

You cut yourself off.

“Wait, is this about—”

Stormi closed her eyes. She let go of your shirt, dropping her hands to her sides.

“Why haven’t you checked them, Rose?” she asked again.

You swallowed hard, feeling stuck.

Then finally, you said it:

“The same reason that if it were you, you wouldn’t check Nika.”

Stormi froze.

She knew you were right.

She knew you hadn’t checked Paige and Azzi because you didn’t want to find out something you couldn’t undo.

“I don’t wanna believe it,” you muttered.

“Then check Aaliyah,” Stormi said.

You looked at her, confused. “Stor—”

“You don’t want them to die, right?” she interrupted.

By them, she meant Paige and Azzi.

And she was right.

You didn’t want them to die — but deep down, you had a sinking feeling that hope wouldn’t last forever.

You nodded.

“And I… I don’t want Nika to go,” Stormi admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

She was really starting to fall for her, and the thought that Nika might be Mafia was already tearing her apart.

“I liked Aaliyah. She was cool. But it’s time.”

You knew she was right.

So you did what you had to do.

You pulled out your phone and tapped Aaliyah’s name.

Aaliyah’s occupation: Mafia.

Fuck.

taglist: @iowahawkeyes22 @evry1luvzzae @kalan1z @evanpeterstoe

#uconn huskies #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #paige bueckers x oc #azzi fudd x oc #azzi fudd fic #paige bueckers fic #pazzi fics #pazzi x reader #paige bueckers x reader #azzi fudd x reader

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jinjooha69 · 3 days ago

Text

TOJI X READER !!!

Pairing - Toji fushiguro x reader (dad's friend! AU)

Under His Roof

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Content Warnings (Please Read): Age gap, Power imbalance, Manipulation, Overstimulation , Corruption kink, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Degrading talk, Jealousy sex, First time sex, Size kink, Fingering, Grinding, Dry humping , Possessiveness/Obsession, Breeding kink, Spanking/Discipline, Biting / Marking, Angst & emotional manipulation, Soft/dom moments later on, Minors DO NOT INTERACT (18+ ONLY)

prev chapter | next chapter

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Chapter 5

The weeks that followed blurred together in quiet chaos. Toji still visited, but not like before. No overnight stays. No long conversations. Just brief appearances—an hour here, a drink there, a laugh with your dad before slipping out the door with a half-smirk in your direction.

But when no one was watching?

His hand would brush along the small of your back as he passed behind you in the kitchen.

Fingertips grazing under your shirt when he reached around you for the remote.

A full palm over your ass once, firm and unapologetic, when you leaned too far over the counter—your breath catching, body freezing, and him pretending like nothing happened.

You didn’t even realize how your thighs pressed together more often now. How your breath hitched every time he walked into the room. He never kissed you. Never took it further than a squeeze, a graze, a lean-in that lingered just a second too long.

And still, you craved it. Hated that you did. Hated how easy it was for him to slip under your skin.

He never said a word about what happened in the laundry room nor in the kitchen. Never brought it up, never teased—not with words. But his eyes… God, his eyes said everything.

That control, that heat, that hunger… it was all still there. Just simmering.

And then, it exploded.

---

You weren’t supposed to be out that night. Your friends had begged, guilt-tripped, even yanked you by the wrist out of the house. One drink, they said. Just something to lift your mood. You hadn’t been yourself lately.

So you went. A bar just outside town. Loud music. Dim lighting. The buzz of drinks loosening your tongue and your grip on common sense.

You didn’t drink often. One shot became two. Two became a fruity cocktail. Then you stopped counting.

Everything felt floaty. Warm. You weren’t even sure why you laughed so much, why your body felt too light for your skin. Someone offered another drink. You took it, giggling. Then someone’s hand touched your waist. You didn’t even see the face. Just smiled politely and turned.

That’s when you felt it.

A shadow. A presence.

A voice, low and furious.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You blinked, turned—

Toji.

His jaw was tight, eyes wild with a kind of fury you’d never seen before. He looked pissed. Not irritated. Not teasing.

Livid.

He shoved the guy’s hand off your waist without even looking at him. Didn’t yell. Didn’t cause a scene. He just grabbed your wrist—hard—and looked down at you with that voice that made your stomach drop.

“We’re leaving.”

Your mouth opened. “I—Toji, I—”

“Now.”

He didn’t let go of your wrist the whole walk to the car. Your friends didn’t even try to stop him. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. Maybe it was the sheer authority of him—towering, tense, silent.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, knuckles white, the other gripping your thigh.

Not high. Not low.

Just enough to own it.

You stayed quiet. Woozy. Nervous. Excited? Scared? You didn’t know.

When the car finally stopped, you realized you weren’t home.

You were at his place.

---

He slammed the car door shut and came around before you could even think to unbuckle.

“I didn’t say get out,” he snapped when you reached for the door.

You froze. He leaned in through the open window, eyes like dark fire.

“You don’t get to act like a fucking brat in public and pretend I’m not gonna do something about it.”

You blinked. Breath caught.

“I didn’t—”

“Shut up.”

He opened the door himself, grabbed you by the waist, and hauled you out effortlessly. Like you weighed nothing. Like you were nothing but a misbehaving little girl he had to teach a lesson to.

The moment the front door slammed behind you, the air shifted.

His hand was at your jaw, tilting your face up.

“You let men touch you like that?” he whispered, almost disgusted. “Let them get close when you’re drunk and alone?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you meant to do. You know what they see when they look at you like that?”

You stayed silent.

He pressed forward until your back hit the wall.

“They see a mouth to use. A tight cunt to ruin. A pretty, dumb thing who won’t even realize what’s happening until it’s too late.”

You gasped. “Toji…”

His mouth hovered just over yours. “They see what I see. But the difference is—I won’t let anyone else touch what’s mine.”

You froze.

“Yours?”

His eyes darkened. “You didn’t think all that touching was just fun, did you?”

You didn’t answer.

He grabbed your hand. Brought it down to his groin—hard.

“You feel that?” he growled, voice trembling with restraint. “That’s what you do to me. You walk around like you don’t have a clue. But I know you feel it too.”

Your lips parted.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

Silence.

“You can’t, can you?” he smirked. “You want me mad. You like it when I get like this.”

His hands found your waist, thumbs brushing under your top, eyes daring you to move.

And then, his voice dropped lower.

“Let me show you what happens when you act like a bad girl in front of other men.”

“You want to act like a grown-up, running around bars, letting strangers lay hands on you…” Toji’s voice was low and sharp, his breath brushing against your cheek, “...then maybe you’re ready to be treated like one.”

He leaned in close — lips almost touching, but never quite there — his palm sliding slowly up your waist. Not gentle. Not harsh. Just firm. Claiming.

“You know what I should do?” he murmured, eyes burning into yours. “I should put you over my knee for how you acted tonight.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He smiled — not kind, not amused. Knowing.

“That’s what I thought. No protests. No defense. You know you messed up.”

His fingers curled around your hip, dragging you gently away from the wall. “C’mon. Couch.”

“Toji—”

“Don’t talk. Walk.”

You did.

He sat down first — legs spread, chest rising and falling slow, deliberate — and patted his thigh.

“Bend.”

You hesitated. Just a second too long.

His voice dropped. “You really wanna find out what happens when I lose my patience?”

You moved.

The moment you were over his lap, his hands pulled your dress up, your underwear tugged aside like it was barely worth the effort. His palm smoothed over your bare skin, slow, deliberate strokes that sent shivers crawling up your spine.

“I should’ve known you’d wear something this tiny out,” he muttered, voice sharp with judgment and something darker. “You wanted attention, huh? Wanted those losers at the bar to look at you?”

You shook your head quickly. “No—”

Smack.

The sound echoed — not loud, but sharp. Just one strike. Enough to make your breath hitch.

“You think I’m asking?” he said, rubbing the same spot with his palm. “I saw how they looked at you. How they stared.”

Another smack — higher, this time.

“But you know what’s worse?”

His fingers dipped lower, brushing between your thighs — not touching where you ached, just close enough to make your legs twitch.

“You liked it. Didn't you?”

You whimpered, hiding your face in the couch cushion.

Smack.

This one lingered. His hand stayed on your skin longer than before, warm, heavy.

“You don’t get to play dumb anymore, sweetheart,” he muttered.

His fingers teased closer, brushing up along your inner thigh, knuckles dragging slow.

“But first... since you acted like such a filthy little tease tonight… I’m gonna take my time putting this mouth to use.”

He leaned in, eyes locked with yours — a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“And you don’t get to finish until I say so.”

Toji didn’t rush.

He just knelt there, staring at you — legs spread open, chest heaving, your dress bunched up high around your hips. His hands were firm on your thighs, holding them apart .

“So easy to get worked up,” he murmured, lowering his head slowly, lips brushing the inside of your thigh. “And so easy to break.”

His tongue dragged a line up your skin — not where you wanted it, not even close — but enough to make your stomach clench and your back twitch against the couch.

One hand slipped away from your thigh and gripped your wrist, pressing it down against the cushion above your head. A silent reminder: stay there. The other slid slowly between your legs, just enough to spread you further. Just enough to make your head spin.

And then — finally — his mouth found you.

Hot. Slow. Deliberate.

He licked once, long and deep, the base of his tongue flat against your skin. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t tender. It was filthy — the way he moaned into it like he was the one getting off. The way he stopped just when your hips twitched up, holding you down when you tried to chase more.

“Already this wet?” he muttered, mouth slick, voice ragged with control. “From just a few touches? You really are easy, huh?”

You whimpered.

He smiled.

And then his mouth was back on you — tongue working in slow, rhythmic strokes, building pressure but never quite letting you have it. Not fully. His thumb grazed over your clit with the lightest pressure, just enough to tease.

“Don’t you dare finish,” he growled, tongue curling against you, “until I say.”

He edged you there — over and over — each time pulling away the second your breath got high, the moment your back arched too hard. He’d hold you down, lick your inner thigh, whisper something cruel and low:

“Not yet.”

Again.

And again.

Until your legs were shaking, eyes glassy, your body begging for release he wouldn’t give. His grip never softened. His mouth never lost rhythm. He made it hurt — in the most maddening, aching way possible.

And the real thing was yet to come.

----

The room is bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows over the plush velvet bedspread. The air is heavy with the scent of sandalwood and your own nervous anticipation. Toji towers over you, his chiseled frame a stark contrast to your trembling form.

“Such a sweet little slut,” Toji murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly purr that makes your core clench. He kneels before you, his rough hand cupping your cheek tenderly, thumb tracing your quivering lips.

“So fucking pure, yet you’re dripping for me. My perfect girl.” His praise washes over you, but his next words cut sharp. "Knowing this virgin cunt’s never felt a real man.”

You whimper, eyes wide, stuttering, “I-I… don’t know… w-what to…” Your voice falters, fear and confusion tangling your words as he chuckles, dark and warm. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his hungry gaze, and presses a slow kiss to your lips, his tongue teasing the seam until you part for him, naive and pliant.

Toji pulls back, his hands sliding to your bra, unhooking it with deliberate care, letting it fall to reveal your breasts—soft, untouched, the pink nipples puckering in the cool air.

. “Goddamn, these tits are perfect,” he growls, palming them gently, his thumbs circling your nipples until you gasp, your back arching despite your nerves. “T-Toji… it’s… t-too much…” you mumble, voice barely a whisper, your innocence making his cock twitch in his jeans.

“You’re doing so good, baby, my little whore.” he groaned making your cunt throbbing with need you don’t understand.

He eases you onto the bed, laying you on your back. Your legs tremble as he spreads them and Toji groans, his fingers brushing your inner thighs.

“Look at this pretty cunt, begging to be bred,” he says, voice thick with lust. “Gonna fill you up, make you mine forever.”

You blink up at him, confused, stammering, “B-bred? I…that's.... that's too...” He smirks, leaning down to kiss your thigh. “Means I’m gonna pump you full of my cum, sweetheart. You’ll be so fucking good carrying my kid.”

He spreads your folds gently, his thumb grazing your clit, making you jolt with a soft cry. “Tch, so sensitive, This hole’s too tight for my cock yet.” He slides one finger into your entrance, slow and deliberate, stretching your untouched walls.

You gasp, “T-Toji… it’s… s-strange…” your voice trembling as he curls his finger, grazing a spot that makes your hips buck. “Shh, my good girl, just take it,” he coos, adding a second finger, scissoring them gently to prepare you. The wet squelch of your cunt fills the room. “Fuck, you’re soaking me. My perfect little virgin.”

Toji undoes his belt, his cock springing free—thick, veined, the head slick with precum. It’s intimidating, and your eyes widen, fear creeping in. “I-I… it’s too b-big…won't fit...” you whimper, but he shushes you, kissing your forehead.

“You’ll take it, baby. You were made for me.” He rubs his cock along your slit, coating it in your slick, the head nudging your clit until you’re whimpering.

He pushes in slowly, just the tip, stretching your tight entrance. Pain and pleasure mix, and you cry out, “T-Toji… h-hurts…” He pauses, stroking your hair. “You’re so fucking good for me, taking my cock like this.” He inches deeper, your walls fluttering around him, the slow burn making you dizzy.

He moves with agonizing slowness, each thrust deliberate, letting you feel every inch of his cock dragging against your sensitive walls. “Gonna breed this tight cunt,” he growls, his hand cupping your breast, squeezing as he thrusts deeper, hitting your cervix gently.

“P-please… I-its… too much... nghh…” Your moans fuels him, his pace still torturously slow, driving you insane as your body learns to crave him. He rubs your clit in slow circles, making you moan, your cunt clenching tighter around him.

Toji’s control frays as he nears his climax, his thrusts growing faster, harder, his cock slamming into you. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, you perfect slut,” he snarls, pinching your nipple hard.

You whimper , “T-Toji… s-something’s… c-coming…” He grins, feral, and fucks you faster.

“Cum for me, baby. Let me breed you.” Your orgasm hits like a wave, your insides convulsing, squirting weakly, soaking his abs. Toji groans, his cock twitching as he cums, thick ropes flooding into you, spilling out around his shaft, sticky and warm.

He stays inside you, letting you milk him, his cum dripping from your swollen folds. “Look at that bred cunt,” he murmurs, spreading your lips to admire the mess. “So fucking beautiful, full of my cum.”

You’re limp, trembling, too naive to process it all, but he kisses your forehead, whispering, “My perfect girl.”

He pulls out slowly, more cum leaking onto the sheets, and lights a cigarette, watching you with dark, satisfied eyes.

To be continued....

next chapter

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blueberrybirdsworld · 19 hours ago

Text

Collision 5/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 5 :

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COMMENT AND REPOST TO MAKE THIS STORIE LIVE :)

Max’s apartment was glowing with the warmth of soft light and low music. The table was crowded with half-open pizza boxes and Pietra’s expertly-arranged charcuterie board. Someone was already arguing about whether to rewatch The Grand Budapest Hotel for the fourth time. Lando was pacing.

When the buzzer rang, Pietra swirled her wine and sauntered to the intercom.

She opened the door and blinked. “Oh my god.”

Ariana stood in the hallway, the December air still clinging to her cheeks, which were tinged pink with cold. Her long chestnut hair had been swept half-up, tied with a bold red ribbon that fell in elegant tails down her back. She wore a slouchy grey knit sweater that slipped just slightly off one shoulder, paired with a white pleated mini skirt. Tall, deep red leather boots climbed her legs with polished confidence.

“You again,” Pietra said, smiling wide.

“Me again,” Ariana echoed, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

The two of them laughed, the awkwardness melting before it even formed.

“You look…” Pietra gestured vaguely. “Like you walked out of a winter-themed fashion editorial.”

“I wasn’t sure how casual really meant,” Ariana said, stepping inside.

“It means you win,” Pietra said, already linking arms with her. “God, you know how to dress.”

Ariana felt a flush of surprise and something else—a sense of ease. She liked Pietra, she realized. The loud, confident girl had a calmness underneath, the kind that drew people in without overwhelming them.

Then, across the room—he saw her.

Lando had been leaning against the kitchen counter, half a beer in his hand, when his eyes lifted—and everything else seemed to vanish.

He looked like someone who’d forgotten how to speak.

He set the bottle down, a little too fast, and walked over.

“Ariana,” he said, voice low, a little husky. “Wow.”

She tilted her head. “Hi.”

“You look…” His gaze traveled from her ribbon to her boots and back to her eyes. “Very good.”

She laughed—genuinely. He smiled wider.

“You clean up well too,” she added, her voice soft.

He offered her his hand without thinking. “Come meet everyone.”

Introductions blurred into conversation. She met Max, who had the kind of dry sarcasm that made her laugh within ten seconds. The rest of the crew was warm and welcoming, filling the room with a comfort that was noisy but kind.

And the questions came quickly.

About ballet. About her life. About how long she could stand on her toes without crying.

Ariana fielded them all gracefully.

“Six days a week, usually,” she said when someone asked about training. “Some days we rehearse until our feet go numb.”

“Wait, but isn’t that… bad?” Max asked.

“We’re trained to work through pain. It’s not ideal, but it’s part of the life. You just learn to listen to your body better. I’ve dislocated a toe mid-performance and kept going.”

The room fell silent for a beat.

“Okay, that’s badass,” someone said.

Ariana laughed.

Lando hadn’t stopped watching her. He hovered nearby, offering her a fresh drink before she could even ask, nudging a pillow closer when she tucked her legs beneath her. His compliments came in casual brushstrokes.

It wasn’t just flirtation. It was attention. And Ariana noticed.

She’d never had someone make her feel seen without being put on a pedestal. Not until now.

When the food was brought out—an unapologetic lineup of pizza boxes stacked in glory—Ariana picked a slice with mozzarella and roasted tomatoes, settling comfortably on the couch again.

And then came the question.

“Wait,” one of the guys said, brow raised, “do ballerinas even eat pizza?”

Ariana blinked, confused. She glanced at Lando.

“I mean… of course I do,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Another voice chimed in: “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, on a super strict diet? I always heard ballet girls don’t eat carbs.”

She blinked. Then laughed. Really laughed.

“Maybe in the nineties,” she said. “But not anymore.”

Everyone leaned in, suddenly fascinated.

“Being a ballerina is being an athlete. A professional one. We train nonstop, and we burn thousands of calories. If we didn’t eat, we’d collapse.”

“Wait, thousands?” someone asked.

“Yes,” she said with a grin. “And no, I don’t live off lettuce and lemon water. I love food. I need food. I try to eat healthy, yes, because I care about my body—but salad three times a day is not healthy. I eat protein. Good carbs. Chocolate when I want it.”

Lando, beside her, smiled. Proud.

“There are dancers who still have toxic relationships with food,” she added, quieter now. “Because the pressure’s real. The ‘stay small’ stigma still exists. But it’s changing. We’re stronger now. We’re allowed to be strong.”

Then everyone toasted.

Ariana caught Lando’s eye. He raised his glass softly in her direction, that signature grin melting into something gentler.

And she couldn’t stop herself from smiling back.

Later, as the lights dimmed and the movie flickered across the TV, Ariana curled deeper into the couch cushions. Lando was next to her now, their shoulders just barely touching.

Ariana had always been good at reading rooms.

The longer she stayed in one, the more she could feel it—when it pulsed with too much laughter, or when it begged for a lull. She loved people. Loved stories. But there came a point where the noise curled in around her too tightly, and she needed to step back, to breathe again in her own rhythm.

Tonight, in Max’s flat, that moment came just after the movie ended.

The screen faded to black. Someone turned the lights back up. Jokes were traded over dessert and drinks, louder again now, but Ariana’s smile had softened into something quieter. Her energy was fading gently. Not in a bad way—just in the way things always faded with her: delicately, without complaint.

Lando noticed it right away.

She’d tucked herself further into the armrest, her hand holding the edge of her empty glass, legs crossed neatly beneath her. Her eyes still followed the conversation, but less actively now, like someone sitting at the edge of a waltz, watching instead of dancing.

She looked at him, and there was a subtle flick of her eyes toward the hallway.

He understood instantly.

The balcony was cold.

But the kind of cold that sharpened the air and quieted the noise.

It stretched just outside the kitchen window, wrapped in a string of forgotten fairy lights from someone’s old birthday. Two metal chairs. A weathered table. A view of the neighboring rooftops, lit by the city’s amber glow. Not glamorous—but honest. A pocket of peace above the world.

Ariana stepped outside first; arms folded lightly over herself. Lando followed behind, closing the door with the softest click.

He didn’t say anything.

He just stood beside her, close but not touching, leaning his forearms on the rail. She was in profile beside him, face turned to the sky, breath blooming faintly in the cold air. Her red ribbon fluttered once in the breeze, delicate against the oversized grey knit that swallowed her shoulders.

They stood in silence.

It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t empty.

It was gentle.

Like two people breathing in the same rhythm without needing to prove they were there.

After a long stretch of quiet, she finally spoke.

“You’re very good at that.”

“At what?”

“Letting silence be what it is.”

He smiled. “Not scared of quiet?”

“I prefer it,” she said. “Sometimes, I think silence says the things I don’t know how to say.”

He nodded. “Same.”

They were quiet again after that.

He looked at her when she wasn’t looking—admired her, really. Not just her face, which caught the soft city light like something out of a dream, but the calm she carried. The restraint. The kind of poise he’d never had in his life, and yet… he felt safe around it.

Like maybe he didn’t have to fill every space with jokes or movement.

He could just be.

“You always sneak away like this?” he asked eventually, voice low.

A small smile touched her lips. “When I can.”

“Because of people?”

“Because of noise. Expectations. I love people, I do… but after a while, it gets heavy.”

He nodded. “I get that.”

“Do you?” she asked softly, almost like a challenge.

He looked down at the streetlights below. “My life’s never quiet. Track days. Interviews. Fans. Press. Team meetings. Flights. Even when I’m alone, I’m on. It’s like the noise keeps following me around.”

“And yet here you are,” she said, turning toward him now, her face close. “With me. Quiet.”

“I like it better like this.”

She smiled again, slower this time. More real.

Their eyes met—and stayed.

The moment stretched.

She was looking at him with that wide, curious gaze again, like she was figuring something out she hadn’t expected to discover. The wind picked up slightly, brushing her hair into her face, and Lando, without thinking, reached up and gently tucked it behind her ear.

Her breath caught—just enough for him to hear it.

His hand lingered. Not on her skin. Just near.

The tension changed.

It wasn’t quiet anymore. Not really. It buzzed. It ached.

Ariana’s eyes flicked to his mouth.

Just once.

Then back to his eyes.

Neither of them moved.

But the space between them seemed to close without help. His hand dropped slowly to her jaw, hesitant, like a prayer in motion. Their foreheads were close now. Too close. Her lips parted just slightly.

Then—

“Oi! Anyone seen the wine opener?”

The balcony door creaked open with a clatter.

Ariana stepped back so fast she nearly bumped into the chair behind her. Lando turned toward the voice, blinking like someone pulled out of a dream.

It was Max.

In socks and holding a corkscrew.

“Ah. Found it. Never mind,” he said, oblivious, disappearing back inside.

The door closed.

Silence fell again—but it was different now.

Charged. Unfinished.

Ariana was looking down, one hand nervously adjusting the sleeve of her sweater.

Lando cleared his throat, voice rough. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

They stood there for a second longer, the almost-moment still hanging between them, breathless and fragile.

Then she looked up at him and whispered, “Next time, maybe.”

His eyes met hers.

Soft. Certain.

“Yeah,” he said. “Next time.”

@landonorris

Quiet nights with loud friends🍕✨

Liked by @arianariverria, @maxfewtrell and @pietra

@maxfewtrell

I wonder what you were doing on that balcony...

@pietra

you’re welcome for the candlelight and the entire concept of ambiance

@carlossainz55

I can’t believe you didn’t burn the pizza this time. proud.

@softlapclub

this is such a vibe, what even is this new aesthetic era??

@filmfoodandformula

slide 4 is the most intentional accidental aesthetic I’ve ever seen

@gridandgrace

Ariana liked… interesting 👀 just sayin

@pietra Pizza night supremacy

Liked by @maxfewtrell and @arianariverria

@filmfeedgirls

Any party that includes a movie and pizza is a success

@f1andchill

petition for Pietra to host every hangout from now on

@maxfewtrell

not even a picture of me. terrifying.

@dancecorecollective

Who is that girl with the red rubbon ??

@curatedchaosx

Ariana liking this post, are they friends now ?

Instagram Story – @arianariverria

@vibesinballet

Ariana liking Lando’s and Pietra’s posts? 👀 hmm. Interesting.

@gridsofts

Her story feels like it’s from the same night as Pietra’s post… cozy crossover content???

@justalittleslowburn

no one’s saying anything but the vibes are vibing…

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @esw1012, @lilyofthevalley-09

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

119 notes · View notes

salmonballsss · 1 day ago

Text

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 11)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: Blood, Drinking.

You pushed yourself off the couch and followed after her, finding Agatha already halfway through pulling things out for dinner. A loaf of bread thudded onto the counter, a block of cheese, a can of tomato soup spinning once before she caught it lazily with one hand.

You hovered awkwardly in the doorway for a second. Watching her. It wasn’t fair, the way she made even rummaging through a pantry look good. “What?” she said without looking up. “Afraid you’ll catch something if you step into the kitchen?"

You scoffed and crossed your arms. "Just wondering when you became so domestic. Should I be expecting a pie next?"

Agatha finally glanced over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You’re lucky you’re injured," she said dryly, "or I’d make you churn the butter by hand."

You snorted and stepped into the kitchen fully, leaning your hip against the counter. "Churn the butter? What are you, ninety?"

Agatha gave a small, mock gasp and clutched the can of soup to her chest dramatically. "You wound me," she said, flashing you a look over the rim of her glasses. The worst part was—she almost pulled it off. She almost made you feel bad.

Almost.

You tilted your head, giving her your best unimpressed stare. "Oh, please. You’re fine. Besides..." you added, grinning a little, "if you can survive my ‘stupid old ghost towns and witch obsession,’ I think you can survive a little sass."

Agatha quirked an eyebrow at you, setting the can down with a soft thunk . "You know," she said, voice lilting just enough to be dangerous, "you were smiling pretty hard when you were talking to Billy."

You froze for half a second. She noticed. Of course she noticed.

"And yet," Agatha continued, casually pulling a knife from the drawer and starting to slice the bread, "you never smile like that for me."

You blinked. Actually blinked. Did she just—? "You’re pouting," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Agatha’s slicing slowed for a fraction of a second. She glanced sideways at you, her mouth pressed into a line that might, maybe, almost have been a tiny little pout.

"I am not pouting," she said flatly.

You grinned, chest warming in a way that had nothing to do with the fact the stove was now on. "You totally are. Don’t worry. It's cute."

Agatha scoffed, tossing a slice of bread onto the pan with a little more force than necessary. "Cute," she muttered. "If I’d known surviving a hellbeast just meant getting mocked in my own house, I would’ve left you to bleed out."

You just shrugged, the sass coming easier now than it ever had before. "Well," you said, lifting a brow, "maybe if you were actually funny, I’d smile more."

Agatha set the knife down slowly, then turned to face you fully, leaning back against the counter with her arms folded. She gave you a long, slow once over—head to toe—like she was deciding exactly how much she was going to make you pay for that.

You stared right back, refusing to be the first one to break.

For a second, you were sure she was about to launch some scathing, perfectly delivered comeback that would make you regret ever opening your mouth.

Instead Her lips twitched. And she smiled.

Not a smirk. Not a grin.

A smile.

Soft. Real.

And way, way worse. Your stomach flipped traitorously. "You’re getting cocky," Agatha said, pushing herself off the counter and turning back to the stove.

You shrugged again, heart hammering a little too hard. "Someone’s gotta keep you humble."

Agatha chuckled low under her breath, flipping the sandwich expertly in the pan. "Careful, sweetheart," she said. "You keep talking like that, I might actually start to like you."

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was a strangled sort of ha, which only made her laugh harder.

You turned your attention to the soup simmering quietly on the stove, trying very hard not to combust on the spot.

Maybe you were injured. Maybe you had black veins crawling across your side. Maybe you were stuck in a house with a woman who made your stomach do backflips with a single look.

But at least, for tonight, it felt like you might survive it. Maybe. If you were lucky.

You tried to ignore the fluttering in your chest, instead focusing on the pot of soup that had been bubbling away for far too long. You couldn’t let her get under your skin—not now, not when she was standing there looking like she was plotting some devilish move, a smirk playing on her lips as she turned the sandwich once more.

"What's the matter?" Agatha’s voice cut through the air again, a teasing lilt that made you tense up. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you just enjoying the view?" She gave you a sidelong glance, her eyes twinkling with the mischievous glint that had become all too familiar.

You couldn’t help it—you smirked, folding your arms across your chest as you leaned against the counter. "You really think you’re that charming, huh?"

Agatha’s eyebrow arched in an exaggerated fashion, her gaze sweeping over you. "I don't think it, darling. I know it."

You rolled your eyes, playing it off like it didn’t affect you. "Please. The last time I checked, you were just making sandwiches."

“Making sandwiches?” Agatha's voice went all offended as she flipped the sandwich once again, the crispy edges beginning to darken to perfection. "Excuse me, but I do believe this is more than a sandwich. This is a masterpiece."

You raised an eyebrow. "A masterpiece? It’s bread and some cheese."

She smirked, spinning around to face you fully now, her hands resting on the edge of the counter. "Don’t knock my culinary skills."

"Oh, I’m sure it’s delicious, " you teased, the corner of your lips twitching upward. "But are you sure you’re the one who’s cooking it? I’m starting to think you summoned a demon for this meal. Maybe that’s why it’s so… perfect ."

Agatha’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the smile never left her face. "You really are something else, aren’t you?" Her voice was low now, like she was both amused and intrigued. "Maybe you should be careful. I don’t like it when people test my patience."

You leaned in, lowering your voice to match hers, though there was a playful spark in your eye. "What are you going to do? Cast a spell on me?"

"Is that a challenge?" Agatha's lips curled in that dangerous little smirk, the one that made your stomach flip every time she did it.

You held her gaze for a beat longer than you intended, the words on your tongue slipping out before you could stop them. "Maybe I’d like to see what kind of spell you’d cast."

Her eyes darkened, just the slightest flicker of something dangerous dancing behind them. For a second, the tension between the two of you thickened, as if the air was electric with unsaid words. But then, in a blink, it was gone. Agatha broke the stare with a chuckle, turning back to the stove.

"Perhaps another time," she said, not missing a beat. "Now, go sit down. You’re distracting me."

You fought the urge to grin like an idiot, instead choosing to play it cool, even if every nerve in your body was buzzing. "Fine," you muttered, crossing the kitchen to the dining room table. It was hard to ignore how her gaze followed you for a fraction of a second, but you did your best.

You took a seat, eyes flicking between Agatha and the food, your thoughts still swirling with that last moment of tension.

Agatha joined you moments later, placing the perfectly grilled sandwiches on the table along with a steaming bowl of soup. The scent hit your senses like a wall—earthy, warm, and, for some reason, comforting. She sat across from you with a satisfied look on her face as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Go ahead," she said, her tone nonchalant. "You were so eager to test my culinary prowess. It’s only fair you get to taste it first."

You didn’t need to be told twice. The smell was too enticing, and your stomach growled as you picked up your sandwich, taking a cautious bite.

The crunch was perfect. The cheese—melty and sharp. The bread—golden and crispy. You could feel your eyes close in pleasure at the first taste, and you couldn’t stop the hum of approval that slipped from your lips.

"Okay," you admitted, grinning despite yourself. "I’ll give it to you. This is actually really good."

Agatha leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest, her smug expression returning. "I told you." Her gaze dropped to your half finished sandwich as you continued eating, and her voice dropped, becoming teasing once more. "Now, do I have to convince you to keep complimenting me, or is that the last one you’re getting for tonight?"

You swallowed your bite, raising your eyebrows. "I’m not that easy."

"Oh, I know," she replied with a wink, her tone low and knowing. "That’s what makes it all the more fun."

The banter between you both continued, light and easy, as the meal stretched on. Agatha had a way of drawing you in, her dry wit and sharp tongue making it hard to tell where playful teasing ended and something deeper, more dangerous, began. The quiet between you wasn’t awkward; it was charged, like the kind of tension you could cut with a knife if you wanted to. But neither of you said anything more about it. Instead, the evening drifted on, filled with laughter and that soft, familiar spark of something unspoken.

And for once, it felt normal. A brief escape from the whirlwind of supernatural chaos that seemed to always follow you around lately. Just two people—sharing a meal, teasing each other over sandwiches and soup, sitting side by side in a comfortable rhythm that made you forget about everything else.

Well, almost everything. The back of your mind still couldn't shake the feeling that you were being played, that something was happening beneath the surface that you couldn't fully understand. And yet, despite it all, you couldn't stop the small part of you that wanted to stay.

That wanted to see just how far Agatha would take this.

"Don’t look at me like that," Agatha said suddenly, her voice soft but sharp all the same, pulling you out of your thoughts. "You’re looking at me like you’re trying to figure me out."

You blinked, feigning innocence. "I’m not looking at you like anything."

Her gaze didn’t falter. "Oh, but you are. Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll figure me out in time."

There it was again—the mystery, the teasing, the promise of something more.

And just like that, the playful bickering resumed, with Agatha throwing another small comment in your direction, and you tossing it right back.

The evening would end. But for now, this moment—this quiet, complicated, messy, delicious moment—was enough to let you forget that you were tangled in a web you couldn’t yet see the edges of.

---

Dinner had passed in a blur of soft clinking, low murmured insults, and the occasional dramatic sigh from you whenever Agatha corrected how you cut your grilled cheese. It had been easy. Too easy. Almost normal. Agatha had smirked through half the meal, rolled her eyes at you the other half. You’d bickered lightly. She’d teased you about your terrible posture at the table. You’d called her a tyrant for insisting you eat the crusts.

And somehow… the world outside didn’t seem to matter for a little while.

But that was hours ago.

The clock on the guest room nightstand blinked 12:13 AM in soft, unbothered red light. You rolled over under the covers, staring at the dark ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come. Your side ached dully, but it wasn’t just that.

It was the feeling. The buzzing. The wrongness under your skin. Something was off, you could feel it like an electric charge crawling up your spine. The air in the room seemed too thick, as if it were pressing in on you from all sides. The quiet, which you once found comforting, now felt suffocating. There was a tightness in your chest, and the shadows in the room seemed darker, denser, almost as if they were breathing.

You closed your eyes tighter, forcing your breathing to even out. Maybe it was just nerves. Maybe it was the strain of the last few days catching up to you. But that was when you heard it.

A tap.

Sharp. Deliberate. A sound that sliced through the suffocating quiet.

You froze, heart thudding painfully against your ribs. You listened, straining to hear anything else, but there was nothing.

Another tap.

The sound was louder now. Thicker. It almost felt like it was coming from inside the walls.

And then, there was a third tap. No, a scrape .

Your breath caught in your throat. No. No, no—you were imagining it. You were overtired. Stressed. It was nothing. You pressed your palm flat against your chest, trying to calm your racing heartbeat.

But then— A whisper. Not outside. Inside.

It was low, crawling under the door, slipping around the edges of the walls like some dark fog. A coldness swept over you, the kind of cold that felt like it was burrowing deep into your bones.

Your heart pounded in your chest. The feeling of being watched. The sensation of eyes on you, unseen.

You bolted upright, gasping for air, the breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. The tapping grew louder, faster. Scraping now. Something— dragging —across the glass. It wasn’t the wind. It wasn’t an animal. It was something else. Something deliberate.

You twisted in bed, eyes wide, scanning the window in the dark. And then your blood ran cold.

The vines were There. Thick, dark tendrils slowly crawled up the outside of the house, their shapes twisted and unnatural against the pale moonlight. They were visible, creeping up the sides of the house with a sinister deliberation, like they were searching for something—or someone.

No. Not the vines. Not now.

You clutched your side, feeling the black veins pulse beneath your skin, each beat like an echo of something darker, older. A tremor ran through you. The ache was getting worse, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts, but it was the vines—the whisper—that tore your focus away.

They twitched, sliding closer to the window. You could almost hear them, feel their scraping against the glass, inching toward you with a low, unnatural hiss.

Get out of here, you thought, but you couldn’t move.

Fuck this.

You couldn’t stay in this room. Not with those things outside, not with that whisper slithering around the walls.

You forced yourself to stand, your side burning with each movement. You stumbled, unsteady on your feet, and ripped open the door, slamming it behind you with more force than you intended. The hallway stretched out before you, dark and quiet as always.

You half ran, half limped across the creaky floorboards, desperate to find something, someone . You reached Agatha’s door, a wave of dread crashing over you. Your knuckles trembled as you raised your hand to knock. But then you paused.

The door was slightly ajar.

A cold shiver ran up your spine.

You nudged it open with your fingertips, stepping into the room slowly, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling.

Empty.

The bed was neatly made, untouched since the afternoon. No sign of her. No sign of anything. Just the emptiness of the room, the oppressive quiet.

Panic clenched around your chest, a tightness that made it hard to breathe. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for any hint of Agatha, anything that could explain this. But there was nothing.

And then, from somewhere deeper in the house, you heard it. The scraping sound again. Faint but distinct. Coming from the guest room. The vines.

The whispering.

Something was in the house. You could feel it, the malevolent presence of it. Your heart hammered against your ribs as your breathing quickened.

You spun around, your feet carrying you down the hall with a frantic desperation, each step echoing too loudly in the silence. Your thoughts spun in a panic as you reached the guest room door again. The whisper was louder now, rising from behind the door. It sounded like a voice— no, multiple voices , murmuring in a language you couldn’t understand.

You slowly, carefully, pushed the door open, every muscle in your body screaming at you to turn back. But you couldn’t. Not now. Not with that scraping sound dragging against your nerves.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the sliver of moon outside. And that’s when you saw it.

The vines, slick and black, crawled with deliberate malice across the walls. They twisted like living things, slow but certain in their approach, wrapping themselves around the furniture, the bedposts, the corners of the room. They weren’t just creeping —they were searching . As if they were alive and they knew exactly what they were looking for.

And the blood.

It wasn’t just leaking anymore. It was pouring .

The slow, rhythmic drip-drip-drip from the ceiling had become a cacophony, the drops thick and slow like a countdown to something awful. The blood pooled beneath you, dark and viscous, swallowing the floor, turning the wood into something unrecognizable.

You could feel it now. The air was alive with tension . You could feel something creeping up your spine, a presence—no, a force —gathering in the room. You weren’t alone. You never had been.

The whispers had stopped for a moment, but their presence lingered like a terrible weight in the room. You could hear them even though they were silent now. You could feel them. A soft brush against your mind, slithering, twisting into your thoughts, pulling at the edges of your sanity.

Come closer…

The voice called your name, but it wasn’t just one voice anymore. It was hundreds—thousands—murmuring, a choir of darkness whispering through your skin. Their breath was like ice against your ear. You could feel them— feel them —everywhere, crawling up the walls, pressing in on you.

It wasn’t just the vines. It was something in the house. Something inside you. The house knew you. And it was calling you.

A sudden, sharp screeching sound made you flinch—like the sound of nails dragged across glass, jagged and grating. You twisted around, your heart leaping into your throat.

Outside, through the window, you saw it.

A figure.

A shadow, barely visible at the edge of your vision, but it was there . You could see the outline—tall, thin, blacker than the night, standing motionless, staring through the glass at you. You couldn’t make out any details, but you felt its gaze. Like it was watching you.

It was a figure you knew, but it couldn’t be. It was just a shadow, a flickering silhouette against the dark wilderness outside. It wasn’t human.

It wasn’t human.

The wilderness beyond the window seemed to come alive, pulsing with a life of its own, reaching toward the house. The trees in the distance moved , their twisted limbs stretching, almost pointing , as if the earth itself was calling to the figure. The trees whispered with voices—low, guttural murmurs—and the wind carried their words like a song sung backward.

Your breath caught in your throat. The forest —it wasn’t just the house. It was the land. It was all part of it. The figure outside wasn’t just some person. It was a part of this place, something ancient, something that had always been here.

The trees groaned under the weight of something far darker than any storm. The shadows in the woods flickered and swayed like they were alive, their movements too quick, too unnatural. The whispering grew louder, more insistent.

Come closer…

You couldn’t take it anymore. The blood on the floor, the vines wrapping tighter, the black figure outside. Your heart raced, pounding so hard in your chest you thought it would crack your ribs. You turned toward the door, hands trembling as you reached for the handle, but the vines moved faster now— too fast —wrapping around the doorframe, pulling it shut with a force you couldn’t hope to fight.

The door slammed shut in your face, sending a shock through your body that rattled your bones.

No.

No!

Your heart pounded, panic surging through you. You pushed at the door, your hands slick with cold sweat, but it wouldn’t budge. The vines hissed, their tendrils slithering across the wood like snakes, twisting and gnashing. And then, from behind you, the blood— it was moving —as though the room was alive. The dark liquid seemed to swirl, pulling toward the center, forming shapes. Distorted, twitching shapes.

And then, just as you thought you might drown in it, the shape of a hand emerged from the blood. Thin, skeletal fingers reaching toward you.

The whispering came again, and this time it wasn’t soft.

It was loud , suffocating, tearing through your mind. They were everywhere now , inside you, filling your ears, crawling through your skin, making you feel them in your very bones.

Come closer. Join us.

The shadows outside the window grew darker, their shapes stretching toward you, thick and hungry, clawing at the glass, trying to get inside. The figure in the wilderness moved, a sharp motion like a predator.

It’s waiting for you.

It wasn’t just a voice now. The earth was speaking, too. The trees outside, the floor beneath your feet—they were all alive , murmuring in a language you didn’t understand, pulling at the threads of your sanity, urging you to listen.

The blood was growing, spilling over the sides of the bed now, rushing across the floor in a thick, pulsing wave. You stumbled backward, slipping on the slick surface, barely catching yourself before you hit the wall. The whispers pressed in on you, suffocating, and the darkness in the room deepened.

A scream built in your throat, but it wouldn’t come. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Your eyes were wide, locked on the bloody shape moving toward you on the floor.

And then—the door behind you creaked. Slowly, agonizingly slow, as though it had been waiting for you to turn.

No… Your brain screamed at you to move, to run, but you couldn’t.

It was already too late.

The shadow outside the window— it moved toward you .

You felt a sudden chill, the kind that went all the way down to your soul. The thing outside wasn’t waiting anymore. It was coming. It was going to get you .

They had you.

The blood seemed to pulse, the shadows seemed to twist with a life of their own, and every inch of you screamed to flee. Agatha . You had to get to her. She was the only thing between you and this madness, the only thing that might save you from whatever was happening in this house.

Your legs trembled, barely able to support you, but you didn’t care. You slammed your hands against the door, pushing against the vines that had wrapped around it, pulling them back with more force than you thought you could muster. They hissed and screeched like living things, fighting against your grip. Your fingers burned with cold, the feeling of them crawling under your skin, but you didn’t stop. You yanked, pulled, slammed the door until the vines snapped under your strength.

You burst into the hallway, gasping for air, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you staggered down the hall. The walls felt like they were closing in, the floor beneath your feet like it was shifting, trying to pull you into the darkness below. The temperature in the house had dropped, an icy chill seeping into your bones. You could almost feel the breath of something cold on the back of your neck, but you didn’t dare look behind you.

You couldn’t.

Agatha’s voice echoed in your mind. Get to Agatha . It was the only thing that mattered now.

The stairs were a blur beneath you as you stumbled and sprinted down them, barely avoiding tripping over the wooden steps. Every corner of the house seemed to be alive now, groaning, whispering—like the house itself was waiting, watching, hunting you.

You hit the bottom of the stairs, breathing in sharp gasps, your eyes darting around the darkened living room. The fire that had been burning earlier was now reduced to dying embers, casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to stretch and twist unnaturally. Every shadow seemed to stretch too long. Every corner of the house seemed darker than it should be. You rounded the corner into the living room— And stumbled to a halt.

There, sprawled casually across the green couch, laptop balanced on her knees, was Agatha. She had one hand curled lazily around a glass of wine, her glasses sliding slightly down her nose as she scrolled through something on the screen. She looked up at you slowly. Raised an eyebrow.

"Midnight jog?" she asked dryly.

You stood there, panting, trembling, still half expecting something monstrous to come tearing through the windows after you. Agatha clicked her laptop shut and set it aside, studying you more closely now.

Your shaking hands. Your wild eyes. Your heaving chest.

Her amusement slipped a little. Not gone. But... muted. "Hey," she said, voice softer now. She set the wine glass down carefully on the coffee table. "Come here."

You hesitated.

Another whisper curled through your mind. Something tugging at your ribs, pulling wrong. You stumbled forward anyway, unable to stop yourself.

Agatha caught your wrist gently when you got close enough, tugging you down onto the couch beside her. You collapsed more than sat. "Talk," she ordered.

You opened your mouth—but nothing came out except a broken breath. Agatha shifted closer, her hands surprisingly warm against your wrist and the small of your back, grounding you.

You clenched your fists. "The window," you rasped finally. "There was... tapping. And vines. And whispers."

Agatha’s face darkened immediately. She didn’t scoff this time. Didn’t mock. "Where?" she asked, already standing. You pointed vaguely upstairs, the muscles in your arm trembling.

"Guest room window," you whispered.

Agatha didn’t hesitate. She moved across the room in two strides, grabbed something off the mantle—something small and silver—and tucked it into her sleeve.

You didn’t ask. You weren’t sure you wanted to know.

"Stay here," she said, her voice edged with something unfamiliar. Not anger. Not fear.

Resolve.

You stayed rooted to the couch as she disappeared up the stairs, your heart pounding painfully. You heard her footsteps. The creak of the guest room door. Silence.

And then—

A low, thudding noise against the walls. Something heavy dragging. You flinched back instinctively, curling tighter into yourself. Another thud.

Then a hiss—like steam escaping, only wetter. Thicker.

Agatha's voice, low and sharp, barking something you couldn't understand. The air vibrated. The floor under your feet hummed. You squeezed your eyes shut.

The memory of the vines snaking up the window, the feeling of the black veins in your side pulsing, the voice whispering your name in a dozen wrong languages at once—

It all slammed into you. You pressed your hands over your ears, trying to block it out.

You didn't know how long you stayed there. Minutes? Hours? The clock on the wall ticked steadily, oblivious to your spiraling panic.

When you finally heard footsteps coming back down the stairs, you nearly cried in relief. Agatha appeared, looking slightly... rumpled.

Her sleeves were rolled up now. Her hair was a little messier. And there was a faint streak of something—dust? ash?—on her forearm. She crossed the room and crouched in front of you. "You okay?" she asked, and for once, there was no sarcasm. No teasing. Just concern.

You nodded shakily, though you didn’t feel okay at all. Agatha studied you for a moment longer, then sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face. "It wasn’t real," she said finally. "The vines. The whispers. Whatever you saw."

You blinked at her, confused. "What?"

Agatha tapped your side lightly—right over where the black veins were etched under your skin. "It’s your wound," she said. "It’s... leaking. For lack of a better word." You stared at her blankly. Agatha pressed her lips into a thin line, clearly trying to choose her words carefully.

"The creature you summoned," she said slowly, "its mark is still inside you. It left of piece of itself in you… and the piece that's left is feeding you fear. Making you see things."

Your stomach twisted painfully. "So... I'm going crazy?"

Agatha gave a small, tired laugh. "No, sweetheart," she said. "You’re just... haunted."

Haunted.

Like that was somehow supposed to be better. You let your head drop into your hands, breathing hard.

Agatha sat beside you again, close enough that her thigh brushed yours, her body warm and steady against your side. "You’re not alone," she said quietly. You didn’t know if she meant here, in the house—or in the fight still ahead. Maybe both.

You let yourself lean into her just a little. Just enough to feel the solidness of her against you. For tonight, at least, you could pretend that was enough. You stayed curled against the arm of the couch for a while, breathing slowly, letting the tremor in your chest settle.

Agatha didn’t hover, which somehow made it easier. She stayed seated at the other end, her wine glass dangling between two fingers, half-watching you, half-watching the windows. The storm outside—or whatever you wanted to call it—had calmed. No vines. No tapping. Just a chilly, restless night.

After a minute, you pushed yourself upright, heart still pounding but not wild anymore, and crossed to the nearest window. You stood there for a second, arms crossed, staring out into the garden.

Nothing but darkness and the faint outline of trees. "You expecting to see something?" Agatha’s voice was dry behind you, but there was a warmth to it too. Something lighter.

You shrugged. "Just making sure the house isn’t about to get... eaten, or something." You heard the faint clink of glass as she tipped her wine to her lips again. "You’re very dramatic, you know that?"

You huffed a little, giving the garden one last suspicious glance before turning back to her. "Forgive me for not being totally chill after hallucinating demon vines."

Agatha made a tsk sound under her breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. You flopped back onto the couch, breathing out hard. She sipped from her glass again, lazy, slow, like she had all the time in the world.

You watched her for a moment. Then—without thinking—you blurted "Can I have some?"

Agatha arched a brow, swirling the wine in her glass. "I don’t think mixing whatever black plague you’ve got with alcohol is a doctor approved plan," she said dryly.

You rolled your eyes. "I’m fine. It's one glass."

She kept swirling the wine. The corners of her mouth curved upward. "And," she added, "are you even old enough, pet?"

You sputtered, sitting up straighter. "I’m twenty four!" Agatha laughed— actually laughed—a low, throaty sound that warmed your skin faster than the fire in the hearth.

"Alright, alright," she said, pushing herself off the couch. She moved a little slower than usual, which was the first real sign that the wine was hitting her harder than she was letting on.

You watched her go to the kitchen, grab another glass—something smaller, less fancy—and pour you a careful half glass of wine. She brought it back and handed it to you with a little flourish.

"There. One scandalous drink," she said. "Try not to die on my couch." You stuck your tongue out at her and took a sip. It was better than you expected—warm and rich, the taste blooming across your tongue. Agatha reclaimed her spot next to you, sitting sideways on the couch, one leg bent up, glass cradled loosely in her hand.

The room felt softer now. Dimmer. Like the night had shrunk down to just the two of you. You took another sip, feeling the tension in your chest ease a little more.

"So," you said, trying for casual and probably failing miserably, "what do you do all day? Besides feed injured historians and critique their posture?"

Agatha tilted her head, considering. "Would you believe me if I said gardening?"

You blinked. "...Honestly? No."

Agatha laughed again, leaning her head against the back of the couch. "Smart girl," she murmured. "Gardening’s more of a side hobby."

You sipped your wine, emboldened by the warmth spreading through your veins. "Okay, then. What’s your main hobby? Mysterious woman of Hollow Wood?"

Agatha smiled slowly, lazily, like she was weighing how much she wanted to say. "I collect things," she said finally. You raised an eyebrow. "Books?" you guessed, thinking of the study.

She nodded, taking another long drink. "And artifacts," she added. "Oddities. Stories people forget about."

You tilted your head. "That’s... actually kind of cool."

Agatha chuckled under her breath, looking at you over the rim of her glass. "I thought you’d approve. Little miss history major." You blushed, fiddling with the stem of your glass.

"I’m writing about the witch trials," you muttered, like she didn’t already know. Agatha’s eyes gleamed in the low light. "I know." You grumbled. Of course she knew she just help you with it earlier today! You about faceplamed but you fear that would've just been worse.

There was a beat of silence, and for a moment, you just watched each other. Then you cleared your throat, desperate for something— anything —to break the tension curling between you.

"Alright," you said, sitting up a little straighter. "What else do you do? Any hobbies that don’t make you sound like a haunted museum curator?"

Agatha grinned, lazy and slow. "I can cook."

You gave her a look. "Grilled cheese doesn’t count."

"It does if you make it right," she shot back, mock offended. You laughed into your glass, warmth blooming in your chest. God, this was... nice. Weird. But nice.

"You’re not what I expected," you said before you could stop yourself. Agatha tilted her head. "Oh? And what exactly were you expecting?"

You shrugged, cheeks burning. "I don’t know… some recluse scary writer, I guess."

Agatha smiled, slow and sharp. "You think I’m not scary?" You opened your mouth. Closed it. Took another drink. She laughed, low and smug, and set her glass down on the coffee table. You stared at her for a second, the words slipping out before you could catch them. "I think you’re... complicated."

Agatha’s smile faltered for just a second. Not gone. Just... softer. She leaned back, studying you like you were a puzzle she hadn’t decided whether to solve or leave broken. "You’re not wrong," she said finally, voice quieter now.

You sipped your wine, heart pounding a little harder than before. "You’re complicated too," Agatha added after a beat, and somehow it sounded like a compliment.

You smiled, tucking your knees up against your chest. Another minute of silence stretched between you—comfortable now, somehow. The wine was buzzing pleasantly under your skin, loosening the stiffness from your muscles, from your tongue.

You fiddled with the rim of your glass, feeling the warmth spread lower, sinking into your chest, your thighs. The edges of the room went soft and golden, like a painting you couldn't quite look at directly.

"You’re staring," Agatha said lazily.

You blinked, realizing you were, in fact, staring at her—at the slope of her neck, the careless way her sweater slipped off one shoulder, the slow, languid twirl of wine in her glass.

You coughed into your hand, mortified.

"I think you’re a bit drunk, Ms. Harkness," you muttered, trying to sound braver than you felt.

Agatha tilted her head, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Don't call me that," she said, voice dropping into something low and dangerous.

Your breath caught.

"It makes me feel old," she added, sipping her wine like she wasn’t slowly skinning you alive with her words. You tucked your knees closer, trying to hide the way your thighs pressed together, the way a sudden throb deep in your core made your breath stutter. There it was again—that pull. The heat. The ache.

You looked at her through your lashes, your voice a little smaller now.

"...Should I call you Agatha, then?" You joke softly.

The way she smiled made your skin prickle. "Agatha's fine," she said, swirling her wine lazily. "Unless you want to call me something else." You choked on your drink, coughing violently into your sleeve. Agatha just laughed, the sound low and teasing. God, she was dangerous. Absolutely, mind numbingly dangerous.

"You’re evil," you said hoarsely, setting your glass down before you could embarrass yourself further.

She just smiled wider, looking so goddamn smug. "You’re not the first to accuse me of that," she said, voice syrupy.

You pressed your hand to your forehead, groaning dramatically. "I’m too drunk for this."

"You’re barely tipsy," Agatha teased. She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees, glass dangling from her fingers.

Her eyes found yours again. Caught. Held. "You’re cute when you’re flustered," she said, almost conversationally, like it was just a fact. Heat flooded your face—and lower. Your cunt clenched again, desperate and aching, as if your body wanted to betray you completely.

You hated it.

You loved it.

You looked away, trying to pretend you weren’t seconds from losing your mind. "You’re mean," you muttered.

"I’m honest," Agatha corrected, sitting back against the couch, looking terribly pleased with herself. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your racing heart.

"Seriously though," you said after a moment, voice still a little shaky. "How old are you?"

Agatha tilted her head again, considering you like she might eat you whole. "Older than you’d think," she said finally, voice smooth as silk.

You narrowed your eyes, pushing back, emboldened by the wine. "That’s not an answer."

Agatha’s smile grew wider, almost fond. Almost dangerous.

"It’s the only answer you’re getting," she said, taking a slow sip from her glass, eyes never leaving yours.

You stared at her.

You weren't imagining it.The way she spoke. The way she moved. The way she always seemed slightly out of time, like she belonged to another era entirely.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly hyperaware of the wet heat pooling in your underwear. Agatha’s gaze flickered down—barely noticeable—then back up. You swallowed hard. The tension crackled between you, thin and sharp and so damn close to snapping.

"You’re not... like, a hundred, are you?" you asked, voice lighter than you felt.

Agatha laughed, low and dark. "Would it bother you if I was?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, eyes gleaming.

Your mouth opened. Closed. You had no idea what to say. She laughed again, softer this time, and reached for the bottle, topping off both your glasses without asking. You took yours with shaking fingers. Agatha clinked her glass lightly against yours, the touch lingering for half a second too long.

"To curiosity," she said, voice dipped in velvet.

You swallowed and echoed her.

"To curiosity."

You both drank. The air between you buzzing now— live wire tight. Agatha leaned back again, stretching like a cat, sweater riding up just enough to flash a strip of bare stomach.

You swallowed so hard it hurt.

"So," Agatha said, studying you with that lazy, predatory amusement. "You’re staying for three more days, hm?"

You nodded, trying not to look directly at the bare skin she wasn't even trying to hide. "That was the plan."

Agatha hummed, tapping her glass against her knee. "Shame," she said, almost idly. "You’re just starting to get interesting."

You blinked, your brain short-circuiting.

"I've been interesting," you said, too quickly, too defensively.

Agatha laughed, eyes sparkling. "Mm. Debatable," she said, but there was no bite in it.

Only... fondness.

You stared at her, your chest tightening, your thighs clenching together again. Your whole body screamed for her—wanted her—so badly it hurt.And Agatha...

She knew.

She had to know. She watched you like she could read every secret, every pulse under your skin. Her smile softened a fraction, and for a second, you saw it. The loneliness. The weight she carried beneath all the smirks and sarcasm. You wanted to touch her. You ached to.

But you stayed where you were, hands clutched around your wine glass like a lifeline. Agatha shifted forward, setting her empty glass down. She was closer now. Close enough to touch. Close enough to ruin you.

She held your gaze, steady and unblinking, the firelight dancing in her dark hair. And when she spoke, it was barely a whisper "Careful, little historian."

You shivered, the words skating down your spine.

"You keep looking at me like that," Agatha murmured, her voice rich and low, "and I might get ideas." You opened your mouth—to say what, you didn’t know. But nothing came out.

Nothing but the rapid, shallow sound of your breathing. You were one wrong move away from falling headfirst into something you couldn't undo. And god help you— You wanted to. You swallowed hard, the heat in your body climbing higher, pooling low in your belly.

You couldn’t look away from her. You didn’t want to. You gripped your wine glass tighter, heart pounding against your ribs, and before you could chicken out, before you could think better of it, you heard yourself say— "Maybe I like some of your ideas." Your voice was soft, a little shaky, but you didn’t take it back.

Agatha’s eyes darkened immediately. That slow, almost lazy amusement on her face tightened into something sharper. Hungrier.

You watched her carefully set her glass down on the coffee table. Deliberate. Smooth. You could barely breathe. For a long second, neither of you moved. You just watched each other. The fire crackled in the hearth. The air between you throbbed, heavy, electric.

Then—

Slowly, carefully, Agatha shifted closer. The couch dipped under her weight. Your thighs brushed. You sucked in a shaky breath, feeling the heat of her even through your clothes. Agatha’s hand came up, fingers ghosting lightly along the side of your face—so soft it made you tremble. She paused there.

Waiting.

Giving you the chance to pull away. To change your mind.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You tilted your face up to her, just slightly—enough. That was all she needed.

Her mouth met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. Tasting. Her lips were warm, plush, and you could taste the wine on her tongue—sweet and sharp and intoxicating. You whimpered into her mouth, and that was it.

The dam broke.

Agatha’s hand slid into your hair, tugging you closer, deepening the kiss. You gasped against her lips, and she swallowed it down, kissed you harder—hungrier—like she was starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy her.

You clutched at her sweater, desperate, needy, pulling her against you. You could feel her smile against your mouth, wicked and greedy, and god—you wanted more. You needed more.

The heat between your legs throbbed violently, your cunt clenching with every messy brush of her tongue against yours. You moaned into her mouth, your thighs pressing together helplessly.

Agatha groaned low in her throat, like the sound of you was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Her hands slid lower, gripping your hips, tugging you closer until you were half in her lap. You gasped again, dizzy, drunk on her, drunk on the wine, drunk on the way she kissed you like she owned you—like you’d belonged to her long before this moment.

Her mouth slanted over yours again and again, deeper each time, her teeth nipping lightly at your bottom lip, making you whine. You arched into her without thinking, hands sliding up her chest, fingers tangling in the soft fabric of her sweater.

You could feel her heartbeat hammering just as fast as yours. Could feel her body tense and trembling under your hands.

She wanted you. You could feel it.

And god—

You wanted her, too.

You kissed her harder, mouth opening wider, letting her in, letting her have you, your hands clawing at her, trying to pull her closer, closer, closer. Agatha’s hands roamed your body—your waist, your ribs, the curve of your ass—until you were shivering under her touch, helpless, completely undone. When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, her forehead rested against yours.

Her breath was ragged.

Her lips were swollen and red.

Her hand was still tangled in your hair. You stayed there for a long second, breathing each other in. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The world had shrunk down to just this.

Just her.

Just you.

And the taste of wine still lingering between your teeth. You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was her.

But one second you were catching your breath— and the next you were crashing back together, mouths colliding, teeth knocking clumsily. A desperate, needy kind of kiss.

Messy.

Hot.

Your fingers found the hem of her sweater, curling into it, dragging her closer until your chest pressed against hers, until you could feel every frantic beat of her heart against your ribs. Agatha groaned into your mouth, her hands slipping under your thighs, pulling you fully into her lap without a hint of effort. You gasped at the sudden closeness, at the way your body molded against hers, perfectly, like you'd been made to fit.

Her hands ran up your sides, slow at first, almost taunting, and you whimpered into her mouth, your hips shifting helplessly against her. You couldn’t help it. You needed more. Your hands slid up—over her ribs, across her shoulders—until they tangled into her dark, messy hair, tugging gently, and she moaned low into your mouth, deep and rough and absolutely devastating.

You felt it all the way to your toes. You kissed her harder, letting your wine fogged bravery push you further. You tore your mouth from hers and kissed along her jaw, trailing sloppy, open mouthed kisses down the elegant line of her neck.

Agatha’s breath hitched— and then, to your utter, drunk delight—

A sound slipped out of her. Small. Ragged.

Choked.

Barely there.

But enough.

Enough to make your core clench painfully, enough to make heat flood between your thighs until you were practically trembling in her lap. You kissed her neck again— harder this time—sucking lightly just under her jaw. Agatha’s hands tightened on your hips, dragging you even closer, grinding you down against the firm, strong line of her thigh.

You moaned helplessly, gasping against her skin, desperate to get closer, to be closer, to disappear into her entirely. "Fuck," you breathed against her throat.

Agatha laughed low and breathless, one hand sliding up your back, fingers digging into the curve of your spine. "You're trouble," she murmured, voice wrecked and thick with wine and heat.

You kissed along her throat again, more shameless now, your body rocking against hers without even thinking. "You're worse," you muttered back, dragging your teeth lightly over her pulse point.

Agatha’s hand slid up into your hair, tugging your head back just slightly, just enough to make your lips part with a soft gasp. Her eyes locked onto yours—dark, glazed, starving. "You have no idea," she whispered.

And then she was kissing you again— harder, deeper, teeth scraping against your bottom lip, her tongue pushing into your mouth like she needed to own every inch of you.

You melted against her, your whole body on fire, your thighs shaking with need. You could feel the dampness soaking through your underwear, could feel your cunt throbbing for her, desperate and aching.

Her hands roamed everywhere now—your back, your hips, the underside of your thighs—pressing you down harder against her lap, grinding you against her until you were whimpering into her mouth, clutching at her like you’d fall apart if you let go.

You didn’t know where you ended and she began. Didn’t care. You only wanted more. More of her mouth. More of her hands. More of her. Always more. And when you pulled back just enough to breathe, panting against her lips, her forehead resting against yours, her hands still locked around your waist— Agatha smiled. A slow, wicked, possessive kind of smile. And you realized with a shiver—

You were already hers.

You just hadn’t said it out loud yet.

your nails dug into her shoulders, dragging her closer, desperate to keep your mouth on hers, to keep feeling her—tasting her. You were dizzy with it, drunk on her— on the wine— on the heat and hunger simmering between you.

But then— Something shifted. It was like falling through ice.

Your body jerked against hers— and then you were elsewhere.

FLASH.

The forest.

But not just any forest.

This one knew you.

The trees stretched up like twisted hands clawing the sky, gnarled and black, draped in heavy curtains of moss.

The air was thick with smoke.

The mist clung to your skin like a second layer.

Antlers gleamed through the fog— towering, grotesque shapes worn by figures in dark robes.

Their faces hidden behind bone masks.

Their chants low, guttural, old.

"Venite ad nos..."

The words rippled through the trees, vibrating the ground beneath your bare feet.

You stood barefoot in a circle scorched into the earth.

Symbols carved deep, pulsing with faint purple light.

You could feel the magic in your bones.

It throbbed under your skin, ancient and aching.

Latin spilled from your mouth without thinking— words you didn’t understand but spoke as if you'd known them forever.

"Dominus noctis, audi me."

The robed figures bowed lower, their antlers dipping toward the earth.

And across the clearing—

Agatha.

Not dressed like now.

She wore no modern clothes.

Just a long black cloak thrown over simple linens, her hair loose and wild around her shoulders.

And her eyes— God, her eyes—

Violet.

Unholy.

Beautiful.

They locked onto yours, and something inside you remembered.

You loved her.

You belonged to her.

In that life.

In this one.

Forever.

She stepped forward, the mist parting around her like it feared to touch her. She reached for you— and you met her halfway, falling into her arms without hesitation. The chanting rose louder, frenzied now, a fever pitch that rattled your teeth.

Above you, something vast and ancient stirred in the darkness—something watching.

Agatha pressed her forehead to yours. "You were always meant for more," she whispered, voice breaking like she was trying to save you— or maybe damn you.

The world burned purple around you.

FLASH.

Back to the present— but you weren’t fully back yet.

Your fingers were still clutching Agatha’s sweater, your lips still pressed to hers— but your body seized, convulsing once, twice.

Pain ripped through your skull. And then— you felt it—

Warm and wet against your upper lip. Agatha pulled back instantly, hands clamping your wrists, forcing you still. "Hey," she rasped, voice rough and terrified for once. "Hey, look at me—"

You blinked, disoriented. Your vision swam— the firelight spun around the room in dizzy gold streaks.

Agatha’s hand cupped your jaw, firm but trembling. Your breath hitched when you saw her thumb brush your upper lip— coming away slick with thick, black blood.

The same tar dark gunk you'd thrown up days ago. "No, no—" you whimpered, trying to pull back, heart hammering wildly in your ribs, but Agatha held you steady.

"Shh," she whispered, voice low and almost fierce. "You're alright. Just breathe. You're alright." You gasped against her palm, your chest heaving, your mind still reeling from the vision. The black blood dripped slow and viscous down your chin, staining your shirt, smearing her hand.

Agatha's eyes were huge, dark pools, scanning your face like she could will you back into your body. You tried to say something—tried to apologize, to explain— but all that came out was a broken, shuddering sob. Your nails were still dug into her shoulders—hard enough to bruise—but she didn’t pull away.

She didn’t even flinch. She just gathered you against her, pressing your forehead to hers, breathing with you.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

"You’re alright," she murmured again. "I've got you. I've got you." You clutched at her sweater, gasping, trembling, the black blood still weeping from your nose. And behind your eyes— Still there, burning — the image of the woods. The antlers. The chanting. Agatha’s violet eyes across the mist.

The raw, undeniable certainty— You hadn’t just studied witches.

You had been one.

You had loved her once. And somehow, impossibly— some part of you still did. You shuddered violently, your face pressing harder into Agatha’s neck. She rocked you gently, one hand cradling the back of your head. Neither of you spoke.

Not yet.

The only sound was your ragged breathing— the faint crackle of the fire behind you— and the slow, steady thud of Agatha’s heart against your chest.

Holding you here. Holding you together. For now.

You were trembling in her arms. Still tasting blood. Still feeling the ghost of the woods pressing into your skin. Still dizzy with the memory of a life you couldn't possibly have lived. Agatha held you tighter, the rough knit of her sweater scratching your cheek.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Just breathing. Just surviving.

But the longer you sat there, the hotter it burned. Confusion. Fear.

The ache.

You jerked back finally, tearing yourself out of her hold. Agatha let you go instantly, her hands falling away like you’d burned her. You stumbled a step back, wiping at your mouth, at the black sludge still oozing sluggishly down your chin. "What the hell is happening to me?" you whispered.

Agatha didn’t answer. Her hands clenched at her sides. You shook your head, your heart hammering painfully against your ribs. Your throat clogged with grief. With fear you couldn’t name.

You pointed a shaky finger at her, voice cracking. "Is this you?" you demanded. "Are you—" Your breath hitched. "Are you doing this to me?"

Agatha flinched. Actually flinched. And something in your chest twisted at the sight. She looked— not angry. Not defensive.

Just... stricken.

"I’m not—" she started, voice rough, but she stopped herself. You laughed, a broken, bitter sound. The wine still buzzed under your skin, making everything feel too close, too bright, too raw .

"I don't know anything anymore," you said, voice shaking. "I don’t know what's real. I don’t know who the hell I am. I see things—feel things—every time I get near you. And now I'm puking up black tar and speaking Latin and—" Your breath stuttered. "—and I don't even know if I'm losing my mind or if you’ve been lying to me this whole time."

Agatha was silent. Watching you. Still. Too still.

It made you want to scream.

"Say something!" you snapped, voice breaking completely now. Agatha’s mouth twitched like she was about to— but then she just shook her head.

Like it wasn’t that simple. Like no answer she could give would fix what was breaking open between you. "You're not crazy," she said finally, her voice barely a whisper. "And I'm not hurting you."

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. Tears stung the corners of your eyes—hot and fast and unwanted. "But you're not telling me everything either," you said, voice trembling. "You know something. You know why this is happening to me."

Agatha's jaw worked—tightening, relaxing, tightening again. She looked away first. Looked at the fire instead of you. "I know enough," she said quietly. "To be scared for you."

The words gut punched you harder than anything else she could have said. You wiped your mouth again with the back of your hand, feeling the sting of embarrassment, anger, grief swirl under your skin.

Agatha said nothing. And that silence— that infuriating, suffocating silence— was somehow worse than any lie she could have told.

Your chest heaved. Your side ached with every breath. The black veins pulsed painfully under your skin, screaming that something inside you was wrong, broken, unraveling.

And she was just— standing there. Silent. Stone faced.

Safe.

While you felt like you were falling apart piece by piece. "Of course you won’t say anything," you choked out, taking a staggering step backward. "Because that’s what you do, isn’t it?"

Agatha’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t move. "You lie," you hissed, your voice rising. "You dodge. You deflect. You hide in this stupid house like the world’s already ended!"

"Stop," Agatha said quietly. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

"You act like you’re so above it all—so clever, so fucking untouchable—but you’re just scared," you spat. "Too scared to tell the truth. Too scared to even face it!"

The words were pouring out now, too fast, too raw to stop. "And you know me," you shouted, your voice cracking apart at the edges. "I know you do. Because I’m having these—" You clawed a hand through your hair, trembling so hard you could barely breathe. "These visions ! And you’re in every single one of them!"

Your voice broke on the last word. "You’re always there," you whispered hoarsely. "Staring back at me. Like you remember." Agatha didn’t deny it. She didn’t even flinch. She just stood there, her face carved in stone, her hands curled into fists at her sides.

The fire cracked sharply in the hearth, the only sound between you. "I can’t do this," you muttered, backing up another step toward the hallway. "I can’t stay here."

"You’re not leaving," Agatha said immediately—too fast, too sharp. You barked out a humorless laugh, swallowing down the bitter taste of bile and wine and rage.

"You don’t get to tell me what to do," you snapped, shoving past the couch. Agatha moved to block you without hesitation, her body between you and the door like a wall.

"You don’t understand," she said, voice low, nearly shaking with something you couldn't name. "It’s not safe for you out there."

"I don't care!" you shouted, the words ripping out of you like claws. "I don't care if it's not safe! I can't breathe in here! I can't think—"

"You think the beast is gone?" she cut you off sharply, stepping closer.

You stumbled a step back but kept your chin high, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt.

"You think it isn't waiting for you?" Agatha said, her voice cold and cutting now. "You summoned it. It's tied to you. You walk out that door, it’ll rip you apart before you even make it to the street."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Because you didn’t have an answer for that. Your body shook with exhaustion, your side throbbed in time with your heartbeat, but the anger was still burning too bright to stop. "You think I don’t know fear?" you whispered, your voice ragged. "You think you get to be the only one who's scared?"

Agatha said nothing. The silence stretched again, taut as wire. "I trusted you," you said, voice breaking. "I don't even know why. I don’t even know you."

Agatha’s mouth opened. Closed. Like the words were too big, too dangerous, to say aloud. And maybe they were. But you didn’t wait around to hear them. You shoved past her again, your shoulder slamming into hers harder than you meant, sending a sharp ache jolting through your wounded side.

You didn’t care.

You stormed down the hall, your bare feet slapping against the hardwood, the whole house seeming to shrink and twist around you with every step. Behind you— "Don’t," Agatha said, voice low, dangerous.

You ignored her. Reached for the front door. Fumbled with the lock. Your fingers were shaking so hard you could barely turn it.

The door creaked open— And then you were yanked back, spun around so fast the world blurred. Your back hit the wall with a dull thud, the breath punched out of your lungs. Agatha pinned you there, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your wrist so tightly it made your whole arm throb.

You gasped, heart crashing against your ribs, blinking up at her— And froze. Because her face was inches from yours. Her eyes boring into you. And for a second— just a second— you saw it. A flicker. A flash of something not quite blue. Not quite human.

Violet.

Burning.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your pulse hammering wildly. But when you blinked again, it was gone. Trick of the light. Wine. Fear. You didn’t know. You couldn’t know. "You can’t leave," Agatha hissed, her voice raw, like it was being torn from somewhere deep inside her. "I won’t let you."

You struggled, half hearrted, more out of instinct than any real intent to fight her off. "Let go," you rasped, chest heaving.

"No," she snarled. The hand by your head slammed flat against the wall, the sound echoing through the foyer like a gunshot.

You flinched. "You don’t understand," Agatha said, low and feral. "You walk out that door, and it’ll tear you apart. I can’t —" Her voice broke. She leaned in closer. So close you could feel the heat rolling off her skin. So close you could taste the wine on her breath.

"I can't lose you again," she whispered. You stared at her, your heart thundering in your ears. Again.

Again?

The word rattled around in your skull like a bullet, leaving everything else in its wake shattered and senseless. You swallowed hard, the fight bleeding out of your limbs, leaving you shaking with something else now. Something hotter.

Something hungrier .

Agatha’s hand loosened on your wrist—but didn’t let go. Her eyes searched your face— wild, desperate, furious. Waiting. Daring.

Your breathing was a mess. So was hers. Your bodies, still pressed too close, radiated heat. The kind that crackled. The kind that burned.

For one terrifying, electric moment— you thought she was going to kiss you again. Right there. Right against the goddamn door.

You wanted her to.

You hated yourself for it.

You loved yourself for it.

Your hand twitched against her chest, caught between shoving her away and pulling her closer.

She saw it. You knew she did. Because her lips parted—just slightly—like she was about to say something. Something that would wreck you. But she didn’t. She just stood there, pinning you to the wall, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping her alive. And you— You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare blink. Didn’t dare do anything except feel your whole body thrum with the knowledge that whatever existed between you was bigger than both of you.

Older. Hungrier. And it wasn’t finished yet. Not even close. You hated her. You hated her for lying. You hated her for knowing things you didn’t. You hated her for looking at you like that— for standing so close—

for daring to care .

Your body was trembling, your side ached, your lip was still wet with the aftermath of that cursed black blood— And you still wanted her. Maybe that was what broke you.

Maybe it was the fear. The confusion. The anger twisting hot and wild through your veins. Or maybe it was just her. Standing there, breathing just as raggedly as you. Not moving.

Waiting.

You surged up before you could think about it—before you could stop yourself—and slammed your mouth onto hers. Agatha jerked back half a step, stunned. Her hand slid from your wrist to your hip, gripping hard. You kissed her like you were drowning. Like you hated her for every secret she kept. Like you wanted to devour her just to finally get to the truth. Agatha made a soft, startled sound against your mouth—half gasp, half growl.

You felt her hesitate. Felt the split second war inside her. Then she snapped. Her hand fisted into your shirt, yanking you closer, and she kissed you back like she could burn the fight out of you. You groaned against her lips—frustrated, furious, needing more—and she swallowed it down like it was something precious.

Your fingers tangled into her hair, tugging hard enough to make her gasp against your teeth. And still— even as her hands slid hungrily down your back, even as her mouth moved over yours like a woman starved— you were muttering against her skin.

"I hate—" You gasped as her teeth grazed your lower lip. "I hate that you never explain anything—"

Another kiss, harder now, bruising.

"I hate that you always just look at me like—like you know —" Her mouth was on your jaw, your throat, her breath hot and desperate. "And you never—" You gasped when her fingers dug into your hips. "Never fucking tell me—"

She growled low in her throat, dragging you flush against her body, and the feel of her—solid, wild, real —made your head spin. Your nails scraped across her shoulders, clutching, grounding yourself against her.

Agatha’s left, veiny hand slid up under your shirt, not quite touching skin yet, but close—so close you could feel the heat of her palm burning through the thin fabric. You shuddered under her touch.

You hated her.

You needed her.

You hated needing her.

You moaned softly, biting down hard on your lip to keep from saying more, but she caught your chin, tilting your face up to hers, forcing you to look at her. Her pupils were blown wide, her cheeks flushed, strands of dark hair falling loose around her face.

"You think you’re the only one who hates it?" she rasped, voice wrecked and low. You stared at her, chest heaving. Her hand trembled slightly against your jaw.

"You think this is easy for me?" she whispered, her thumb brushing your cheekbone, almost tenderly. You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to breathe around it. So you kissed her again.

Harder.

Messier.

Drunker on her than you were on the wine. She met you halfway, groaning low in her throat as she pushed you back against the wall, her body caging yours in completely. Detaching Herself from your lips, her head moving down as her mouth was on your throat now, teeth scraping lightly at the sensitive skin there, and you gasped, your hands flying up to clutch at her shoulders again.

You could still taste the wine on her tongue when her mouth claimed yours again. Bitter and sweet and dizzying. You didn’t care. You wanted more. You raked your fingers through her hair, tugging, desperate. Agatha’s hands slid down to your thighs, gripping tight, dragging you up so you could wrap your legs around her waist—and you did, clinging to her like she was the only solid thing in a world made of shifting, lying shadows.

You could feel the vibration of her moan against your chest when you sucked lightly at the corner of her mouth. And she— She kissed you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Like you were a promise she was too broken to keep but couldn’t bear to let go of. And even through the haze of it— even through the anger and the hurt and the raw aching want— you knew:

This wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Not until she told you everything. Not until the lies were burned down to ash between you.

But for now— You clung to her. You clawed at her sweater, desperate for more skin, more heat, more proof she was real. Agatha’s mouth never left yours—not for a second—as she fumbled the hem of her sweater, ripping it over her head in one swift, impatient motion.

You pulled from the kiss, your hands flying up to touch her—bare skin, warm and flushed, the faintest marks of age and strength under your fingertips. Your nails scraped across her ribs and she growled , low and dangerous, pinning you harder against the door, grinding into you like she wanted to leave bruises, reminders, warnings.

You kissed her back just as feral, just as desperate. "I hope you choke on all your fucking lies," you gasped against her mouth, the words ripping free before you could think better of it.

Agatha froze. For one heartbeat—one crackling, unbearable heartbeat—her whole body went rigid. And then— You felt her smile against your lips, slow and razor sharp.

"You," she rasped, voice rough with the threat of breaking, "have a smart fucking mouth." You were panting, glaring up at her, your thighs tightening around her waist like you were daring her to do something about it.

"And enough of that—" She ducked lower, her mouth grazing the edge of your jaw, the thudding pulse in your throat, the tender slope of your collarbone, hot breath making you tremble. " For now. " You shuddered when she said it, her voice wrecked with restraint she was seconds from losing.

Her mouth dragged lower, teeth grazing your skin, leaving ghost bites down your neck. Your head hit the door with a soft thud, fingers twisted tight in her hair. You felt her exhale against your collarbone. Felt her lips barely brush the hollow of your throat. And then—hot, guttural, like it cost her something to say "I know you."

Your breath hitched. Her mouth moved lower, dragging down your chest, across your sternum. "Just not this body."

It punched the air from your lungs. A broken noise slipped out of you—somewhere between a sob and a moan—as you clutched her tighter, feeling like you might drown in her, in the wine and the heat and the impossible weight of her words.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because deep down—you knew it was true.

You knew it in your marrow. You knew it from the way your body answered hers like a prayer half remembered. You knew it from the way she kissed you like she was trying to put centuries of grief back inside your mouth. You gasped her name, raw and aching, and Agatha’s hands slid up under your shirt, mapping your ribs, memorizing you like she hadn't done it a hundred times before in other lives, other centuries.

You were dizzy.

Drunk.

Devastated.

And then—

You saw it again Just for a second. Her eyes flashed— violet —deep and blinding like the visions that haunted your sleep. You gasped, clutching at her bare shoulders. Agatha’s hand slid up—fast—catching your face in a rough, almost tender grip.

You barely had time to see her fingers coming—pressing two of them against your temple— Before the world tilted sideways. A shudder racked your body, your limbs going boneless, slumping against the doorframe. The last thing you saw before the darkness dragged you under was Agatha’s face— her flushed cheeks, wild hair, bitten lips— and something like regret burning behind her storm cloud eyes.

"Shh," she whispered, almost broken. "I'll fix it." Then— Nothing.

Black.

Weightless.

Silent.

Like sinking to the bottom of a lake you’d never surface from.

And Agatha’s voice—the memory of it—following you down into the dark.

Authors note- How do you guys like the longer chapters compared to the usual 4-6k?

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mediocre-shark-tales · 2 days ago

Text

Mental Healing with the Race

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Hey Guys, I just wanted to say I am still super sorry with every chapter that takes longer than I used to be to get them out. I asm currently in the middle of the last 2 weeks of college, so lots of studying and prep for our huge Final Projects or Tests. On top of that my FSAE team and I are prepping to leave for the Big Competition three weeks from now. However, I do not want any of my chapters to lack in the love and work that I put in to writing them. So I will do my best to try and get them out more regularly, but I will not post anything early or with any less love than the last one. So should they continue to take longer please remember this. No one has said anything about this but I still want to make sure that everyone knows I am not done with this story, just a little busy right now. With that said please enjoy...

The gym lights flicker on just before sunrise, humming low above my head like they’re still waking up, too. My hoodie is heavy with sleep and my shoulder twinges the second I shrug it off, revealing the newer, thinner brace beneath. It’s progress — less restrictive, easier to hide under my clothes — but it also means I’m out of excuses. The world thinks I’m still resting. But rest never made me stronger.

I roll out my mat in the same corner of the performance room as always. Familiar. Quiet. Grounded. Axel lays just a few feet away, head on his paws, eyes tracking my every move like he knows this day is going to be rough.

Because it is.

Today is cardio and strength. And no cast means full-arm weight again. It’s the first real milestone — a make-or-break kind of day.

I sit on the mat for a moment, my back pressed against the cool wall. My fingers find the scar on my forearm, tracing it absentmindedly. A reminder.

The crash didn’t defeat me.

"Alright, warrior,” Diego calls, stepping into the room and clapping his hands once. He’s grinning, but there’s a crease between his brows — the one that always shows up when he’s worried about me. “Scale of 1 to 10. Pain?”

I crack a tired smirk. “About a 4. Maybe a 5 when I raise my arm too fast.”

He raises a brow. “And how much of that are you downplaying to look cool in front of us?” Slightly nodding towards Axel.

I glance over at my dog, who immediately perks up like he knows he’s being talked about. “A solid 60 percent.”

Diego laughs, but he kneels down next to me, softer now. “Y/N, you’ve made insane progress. But we’re still building up. You don’t have to prove anything today.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” I say, even though it’s a lie. “I’m just trying to… feel strong again.”

He doesn’t challenge me. Just gives a nod and offers his hand to help me up. “Okay. Let’s do this. But the moment I see that shoulder falter or your breath get shaky, we��re pausing. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The warm-up is fine. Easy even. Jogging laps around the indoor track with Axel trailing behind me like a shadow. My lungs are steadier than they’ve been in weeks. I feel… almost like myself.

Then we shift to shoulder presses.

“Let’s start light,” Diego says, passing me the small dumbbells — the baby ones, I tease in my head. I hate how small they feel in my hands.

“Come on,” I mutter to myself, planting my feet. “You’ve done this a thousand times before. Hell, you used to double this weight for warm-ups.”

“That was before your bones tried to throw a party and forgot to invite safety,” Nico pipes in from the corner where he’s leaning against a table, flipping through my training notes. “Let’s not reenact the crash scene here, yeah?”

I shoot him a look but secretly, I’m glad he’s here. He grounds me. Keeps me from letting the fire inside burn too hot, too fast.

I managed the first set. My form is shaky on the second. By the third, my shoulder screams. My breath catches.

Diego notices before I say anything. “Stop. Drop ‘em. Right now.”

I obey, lips pressed tight. My pride stings more than my shoulder.

“Sit,” he says, nodding to the bench. “Now tell me what your body’s saying.”

I slump onto the bench, sweat trickling down my spine. “It’s saying I’m not ready.”

He kneels again in front of me, tone low and honest. “No. It’s saying you need time. Which isn’t the same thing.”

Nico steps closer now too, crossing his arms. “You’re not failing by resting, Y/N. That’s the bravest thing you could do right now — listen.”

I exhale shakily, brushing my sleeve across my face. “I just… I don’t want them to worry. The boys. They were scared enough. If they knew I was training again, they’d—”

“—They’d be proud,” Diego finishes for me. “Because you're doing this smart. You're building up again. You’re not throwing yourself into a cockpit half-healed. You’re working for it. Quietly. Strongly.”

I don’t respond right away. Just nod and lean forward, elbows on my knees, eyes on Axel who’s still watching me with that serious, almost human stare.

“Just… don’t tell them yet,” I finally whisper. “Let this be mine a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico says, his voice softer now. “Your story. Your pace.”

“Besides,” Diego adds, grinning again as he hands me a bottle of water, “when you finally show up at the garage again and toss your helmet on like nothing happened, they’re gonna lose their damn minds.”

I chuckle. “I can’t wait to see their faces.”

I pick the dumbbells back up before they can stop me. Not for another full set — just one more press. One more reminder that I can. I lift them once, clean and steady, before lowering them again.

“That’s enough,” Diego says gently. “Today, that’s enough.”

And for once… I believe him. Because I know I’ll be back again tomorrow. And the day after that. I’m not chasing the old me anymore. I’m building someone stronger.

—

I hadn’t realized how much I missed the scent of race fuel and burnt rubber until I stepped through the paddock gates again.

The buzz. The noise. The heartbeat of a track that never really goes quiet.

The second my shoe hit the pavement inside the circuit, it all came rushing back — that itch in my fingers to feel the steering wheel again, the thrum in my chest that didn’t hurt anymore but still pulsed with memory. I wasn't driving today — still under the "you're technically held together with sports tape and medical optimism" clause — but I was here.

That counted for something.

Nico was walking just to my left, sunglasses on, hands in the pockets of his black team jacket, looking every bit like my silent, slightly too-calm bodyguard. Meanwhile, Paul practically bounced beside me on the right, grinning like a rookie who’d been handed keys to a spaceship.

“I swear, I thought you were just a myth,” Paul said, shifting the duffel bag on his shoulder. “They said ‘Ghost will meet with you before FP1’ and I was like, cool, should I also expect a unicorn and a sentient AI?”

My voice changer cracked slightly as I tilted my helmet toward him. “Sentient AI would be less chaotic than most of this team.”

Paul snorted. “And here I thought you were gonna be mysterious and intimidating. You’re… kind of hilarious.” I shrugged beneath my oversized hoodie. “Don’t get comfortable. I bite.”

“That would explain never taking that helmet off.” he said with an exaggerated look of fear. “Let me just go prep for my debut with the racetrack cryptid watching me from the pit wall.”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Your job today is to not crash my car, Aron. It likes being pampered.”

“Anything else I should know?” he asked, just as we turned down the garage hallway.

I smirked under the helmet, then nudged him with my elbow. “Lots. Don’t downshift too hard into turn six — it’ll get twitchy. There’s a subtle bump on the exit of nine, trust your rear to hold but don’t overcorrect. And if you talk back to Diego during the debriefs, I’ll personally short-sheet your bed for the rest of the season.”

Paul stared at me, eyes wide. I tilted my head playfully. “What?” “That was… disturbingly specific. How do you even know about short-sheeting beds?”

“Because I’m creative and mildly vindictive.” Nico coughed — poorly disguised laughter — and muttered, “He learned it from Oscar.”

I pretended not to hear him and turned my attention back to Paul. “You’re gonna be fine. I’ll be on the pit wall the whole time, headset on, translating Diego’s feedback into ‘Paul Speech.’ He’s been dying to lecture someone other than me.”

“Oh great, I’m the replacement victim,” Paul said, mock sighing. “But really, thanks. This means a lot, Ghost. Being the reserve is weird — you never know when you’ll actually be used. I thought I’d be invisible.”

I reached up and tapped the visor of my helmet, voice softening through the modulator. “Invisibility doesn’t mean unimportant. You’ve got this.” He smiled then, really smiled. That bright, pure grin that reminded me so much of Jack it almost stung.

“Alright, cool,” he said, straightening his posture like he was trying to match the height of his moment. “Let’s go make you proud.”

“Oh, you’re already halfway there,” I replied. “You didn’t trip coming off the shuttle. That’s one more point than I had on my first day.”

“I knew you were a disaster once,” he laughed.

“Once?” Nico muttered beside us. “That implies improvement.”

“Rude,” I said flatly through the voice changer, flipping him off.

We turned into the garage then, the loud hum of tools and chatter dimming the second we stepped through the threshold. The mechanics looked up, a few nodding in recognition as I passed, others just giving me that respectful kind of glance — Ghost’s back. Even if I wasn’t driving, I was here.

Paul peeled off to go suit up. I took a breath, looking over at my car — technically still mine, even if someone else would be behind the wheel for FP1. It gleamed under the overhead lights, waiting.

My fingers twitched. Soon.

Nico said something, but I didn’t hear him — not really. Because just then, the gravity of being back settled in my chest. Not pain. Not fear. Just this warm, solid weight of home.

And I didn’t even realize how tightly I’d been holding onto that until I let myself feel it again.

—

The hum of the garage had dulled to a low buzz after FP1 wrapped. Tools were put back in drawers, pit boards were stacked, and Paul was somewhere in the back being debriefed, grinning like a kid who’d just aced his first big test.

I stayed where I was on the pit wall, not wanting to really speak to the media or answer questions. I didn’t need to hide here. But, it still gave me that edge of comfort… a thin line between me and the rest of the world. Especially when emotions threatened to press a little too close to the surface.

“You looked good out there,” a voice said behind me — calm, familiar, warm.

I turned slightly, already recognizing Franco’s tone before my eyes landed on him. He gave me a soft nod, leaning his elbows against the barrier beside me, helmet tucked under one arm.

“I wasn’t out there,” I said, the voice changer wrapping my words in static.

He tilted his head, blue eyes sharp and quiet. “Didn’t say you were driving. I said you looked good out there.”

I paused. Then exhaled through my nose and pulled out the mic cord completely, letting it hang from the railing as I leaned forward a bit, matching his posture.

There was a moment of silence before I added, softer, “You know it hurt… at first”

He didn’t interrupt. Just waited.

“It hurt a lot to sit here and not be the one buckling in. To know that the car — my car — was about to be driven without me. And that I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fight it.”

My hands clenched slightly at the memory — the ache in my ribs still faint under the surface, the scar on my arm pulling a little under the hoodie.

“I kept thinking about how many races I might miss… how slow recovery’s felt. How I used to fly in that thing. And now I’m grounded. Watching. Coaching. Like I’m some kind of whisper in the background of my own team. Truly a ghost by name. ”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just reached out and tapped his knuckles lightly against mine — an anchor.

“But…” I said, slowly, breathing in deep. “Then Paul started talking. Asking me questions. Getting excited. Like… full-on spark-in-his-eyes excited. And I realized I could still be part of it. Just from here. From the wall. From the headset.”

I looked down at my gloves, flexing my fingers. “He listens. Like really listens. And seeing him figure things out… watching him light up after his first laps? I don’t know. It felt… right. Not perfect. Not the way I wanted to be here. But right… okay.”

Franco nodded once, voice soft. “You’re still racing. You never stopped.”

I looked at him.

He smiled faintly. “Just because you’re not in the seat doesn’t mean you’re not driving this thing forward. He wouldn’t be out there doing so well without your help. You’re shaping him. You’re shaping this whole team.”

The words hit me harder than I expected.

My throat tightened a little behind the helmet. “I think… for the first time since the crash… I don’t feel broken being here. I feel like I still have a purpose. I want Paul to do well. I want him to prove himself. I want him to have the chances I had. And if I can help him get those… then maybe this isn’t all just pain and waiting.”

Franco reached up then and gently knocked on the side of my helmet. “That’s the champion mindset. And the good teammate mindset.”

He grinned. “Even with the scary voice mod.”

I huffed a laugh. “It’s for dramatic effect.”

“You’re terrifying,” he deadpanned. “Inspiring, but terrifying.”

We both chuckled, the kind of laughter that eases tension like a pressure valve finally letting go.

Then Franco leaned back and said quietly, “It’s okay to feel both, you know. The pain and the pride. You’re allowed to miss it. And you’re allowed to find joy in what you can do right now.”

I swallowed hard, but nodded.

“Thanks,” I said. “For saying that.”

“Always,” he replied, and for the first time that day, I let myself take my helmet off — slowly — and just breathe.

He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t stare. He just offered a genuine smile, no different than the one he gave me when I was Ghost.

“You’ll be back in the car soon,” he said. “But until then? This version of you — the strategist, the leader, the teammate — is just as badass.”

I blinked at him, then smiled.

“Don’t tell Diego or Nico that. It’ll go to their heads, like some mother duckling they might pull me from my seat.”

Franco smirked. “My lips are sealed.” I smiled back before following him back across the pit towards the garage.

—

It was race day when the others finally found me.

Sure, they knew I was here. The media had caught glimpses of "Ghost" in the paddock all weekend, whispers and blurry photos circling online. But catching me for a real conversation? Actually pinning me down? That was a whole different challenge to them.

Until a very familiar flash of papaya orange caught me out.

I was tucked away in a quiet corner behind one of the hospitality buildings, sitting on a crate, sipping from a water bottle, my legs stretched out in front of me.

A shadow fell over me, and I looked up — only to see a smirking Oscar Piastri standing there, arms crossed.

“Well, look who I finally found," he said, tilting his head at me with a grin. "Thought you were supposed to be taking it easy during your injury. Yet here you are. Hiding like a delinquent.”

I didn’t get a word in before he stepped closer, peering dramatically at me.

“I hope you at least have your brace on under that hoodie," he teased, tugging playfully at the sleeve. "Would hate to have to carry you back to the medical center and explain to the physios why you’re broken again."

I scoffed behind the voice modulator, batting his hand away. "Relax, Mum," I said dryly. "Brace is on. Doctor's orders. I’m being good."

Oscar chuckled, dropping down onto the crate beside me with a quiet oof, bumping his shoulder lightly against mine.

"I dunno if sitting here in your emo corner counts as being good," he quipped. "But it’s good to see you. Missed you, you know."

I smiled — small, hidden — but it was there.

"Missed you too, mate."

We sat there for a beat, the sounds of the paddock — tools clanging, fans yelling, engines roaring in the distance — fading into a quieter hum around us.

"You look good," Oscar said suddenly, voice softer now. "Healthier. Stronger."

"Feel stronger," I admitted, fiddling with the hem of my hoodie. "Still a long way to go. Still can’t race yet. But it’s... better being here. Even if I’m not in the car."

Oscar nodded, watching me with that patient, careful look he only ever used when he dropped the sarcasm.

"I’m proud of you," he said simply.

Before I could say anything back — feeling dangerously close to getting a lump in my throat — another familiar voice floated over to us.

"There you are!"

I turned just in time to see Charles approaching, helmet in one hand, hair a little messy from pulling it off, suit half-zipped down. His face was lit up with relief, though there was a thin line of worry etched between his brows too.

"I have been looking everywhere," Charles said, crouching in front of us, resting his elbows on his knees so we were eye-level. "You are impossible to find sometimes, you know that?"

"Occupational hazard," I joked lightly, voice still crackling with the modulator.

Charles huffed a laugh, but then his gaze softened as he studied me.

"You are really here," he said, almost to himself. "And you are doing well."

"Trying," I said honestly. "It... wasn’t easy at first."

Oscar nodded beside me, nudging my arm. "But she's kicking ass. You should've seen her, Charles. Advising Paul like a damn pro. Ghost engineer era unlocked, I can’t wait to see what they can do during the race together."

Charles smiled — a real, warm smile — and reached out to squeeze my hand where it rested on my knee.

"I am proud of you, mon amie," he said. "More than you know. It takes a lot of strength to be here. To stay when it hurts."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing gently into my chest — not painful, not overwhelming. Just... steadying.

"I needed to be here," I whispered. "For the team. For myself. Even if it’s just helping from the wall. It feels like... I'm still part of it."

"You never stopped being part of it," Oscar said quietly.

Charles nodded, squeezing my hand once more before letting go. "And you never will."

For a moment, the three of us just sat there in the shade, the chaos of race day spinning on without us. It didn’t matter. It could wait.

Because here, hidden behind the noise, tucked into a small, forgotten corner of the paddock, I was reminded that even when I couldn’t drive, even when my body wasn’t at a hundred percent — I wasn’t alone. And that was enough. For now at least.

—

The race was chaotic.

From the second the lights went out, my heart thundered in my chest, the noise of the engines vibrating through the pit wall. I sat perched on a high stool right beside Diego, headset snug over my helmet, live feed on the monitors in front of me.

Paul's voice crackled through the radio — tight, a little anxious. His first F1 race. His first real chance. He'd qualified P14, and while it was a hell of a debut, he wanted more. We all did.

"Focus up, rookie," I murmured into the radio, voice softened by the modulator but still carrying the firmness I knew he'd hear. "Eyes forward. Breathe. You’re better than half the grid out there."

"Copy," Paul answered, clipped but trying to sound calm. I could hear the nerves anyway, layered under every word.

The first few laps were brutal — midfield battles that could turn ugly fast. Paul held steady, sharp and clean even under pressure. But he hesitated at key moments — lifting just a fraction when he could’ve pressed the attack.

"Car ahead is struggling with rears," I said, low and steady in his ear as Diego fed me data. "Watch him out of Turn 7. You’ll have him on exit."

A beat.

"Okay," Paul breathed. "Okay, Ghost. I trust you."

I smiled behind the visor, chest tight with pride.

And sure enough, two laps later, Paul slipped past in a beautifully patient move, climbing to P13.

The race ebbed and flowed, the pit stop cycle throwing chaos into the midfield. Every time Paul's focus wavered, I was there — guiding without overwhelming, steering him without grabbing the wheel.

"Car in front weaving under braking. He’s nervous. You stay clean. He’ll crack first."

"Brake balance forward two clicks. Save your fronts, we’re gonna need 'em later."

"Trust your exit speed. You’re faster in S2. He can’t stop you if you set it up early."

It was like music, almost — this silent, invisible dance we did together, woven between the roar of the engines and the crackle of the radios.

Lap by lap, Paul clawed his way forward. P12. Then P11.

When we hit the final stint, fresher tires on and the car lighter on fuel, Diego leaned toward me, excitement flashing in his eyes.

"One more position," he said into my private channel. "We get points."

I keyed my mic again, calm even though my heart raced like mad.

"Paul. Eyes up. P10 ahead. You are faster. You are faster. Stay close. Pressure him."

Paul’s breathing was heavier now, the strain of the race wearing on him, but he responded instantly. "Copy, Ghost. I’m on it."

I watched, fists clenched, as he chipped away at the gap — lap after lap, tenth by tenth.

Finally, into Turn 4, he made the move — bold, late on the brakes, perfect.

P9.

Inside the points.

The final few laps were a blur of adrenaline, shouting, encouragement.

When the chequered flag waved, Diego practically threw his headset into the air beside me, and I couldn't hold back the yell that ripped from my throat over the radio.

"YES, PAUL! YES! THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT!" I screamed, voice cracking with pride and joy.

Over the team radio, Paul whooped, the pure exhilaration pouring out of him.

"OH MY GOD, THANK YOU, GHOST! THANK YOU!" he shouted, breathless. "I COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU!"

"You did that," I said, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt under the helmet. "You kept your head, you fought smart — you earned this, Paul. You earned every bit of it."

He was still yelling and laughing as he pulled the car into parc fermé, tires screeching slightly. The mechanics and engineers around us were clapping, cheering, and I stood frozen for a moment, overwhelmed.

He did it. We did it.

I pushed through the crowd toward the car, heart hammering.

Paul barely waited for the car to cool down. As soon as he wrestled himself out of the cockpit, he tore off his steering wheel, slammed it into its mount, and sprinted toward me.

"Ghost!" he shouted, voice hoarse with emotion.

I didn't even have time to react before he threw his arms around me, nearly knocking us both off balance.

Our helmets clashed with a loud crack, making both of us stumble a little, but neither of us cared. Paul clung to me like a lifeline, arms tight around my back, helmet pressed to mine.

I wrapped my arms around him in return, gripping him just as hard, laughing breathlessly even as something in my chest squeezed and ached with pride.

"You absolute legend," I said, voice trembling. "I'm so proud of you, Paul. So, so proud."

He pulled back just a little, enough that our visors almost touched.

"Couldn't have done it without you, Ghost," he said again, voice thick. "You believed in me when I wasn’t sure I could do it."

"I knew it from the start," I said quietly. "You just had to see it for yourself."

For a moment, the noise of the world faded away — the shouting, the music, the celebration. It was just the two of us, standing there in the middle of it all, holding onto each other like it mattered.

And maybe it did.

Maybe it mattered more than either of us could say.

Masterlist

Taglist @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @littlesimps-world @dozyisdead @mizzy-pop @lost4lyrics @anunstablefangirl @nikfigueiredo @reiluvr @mymmyrym @ferrarisstrategy

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #f1 imagine #f1 driver!reader

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moody-alcoholic · 20 hours ago

Text

These Violent Delights

Chapter 30 - Clear Blue Sky

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 12k words.

CW: +18 content MDNI. a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes, panic attack, mental health, flashback, PTSD, sex, PiV sex, oral (M&F receiving), fivesome MMMMF, threesome MMF, cum play (kinda but not really), hurt/comfort, angst, mild self harm (scolding). AN: I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, I might come back and edit it a bit at a later date.

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Enjoy <3

Price walks into the room, Ghost has his back to the door. He doesn’t move though, John can hear a tap running.

“He talked?” John asks, closing the door behind him.

“He talked.” Simon says, the tap turns off.

“What did he say?” John asks, he watches as Simon braces himself on the sink.

“It doesn’t matter what he said.” John clenches his jaw, he looks down at the papers on the table. It’s all the intel they managed to gather, no one expected them to talk. John was already running out of time, MI6 were desperate to send them back to America, back to Graves.

“You think he’s lying?” John asks, steping up to the table.

“Intel’s solid, Laswell’s already checked it out.” Ghost sighs, turning around to look at John.

“You think it’s a trap?” John asks, Ghost looks away for a second before crossing his arms and leaning back up against the sink.

“Awfully conveniently. Gets caught breaks in less than an hour.” Ghost says, raising an eyebrow.

“Some people are not built for interrogation.” John reminds him, especially not Ghost’s type of interrogation. There’s silence in the room, John's mind goes back to when they caught the second guy. Graves' men are smart, he trains them well. A mole deep in a military base that's a valuable asset to just give up.

“We still go, follow the lead. We’re only planning on doing reconnaissance anyway, we’re gathering intel, following leads.” John says crossing his arms, Ghost stands up off the sink and walks over to the table.

“And if it is a trap?” Ghost asks.

“Worst case scenario we go in alone. That's why I need you with me.” John says, it's the worst case scenario, if they’re forced to go against Shadow Company, Graves and Hale alone before Soap and Gaz can get to them.

“She’ll be safe in Scotland.” John says trying to keep his voice level, Ghost is staring down into his eyes.

“No. No she won’t. She won’t be safe anywhere until Hale is dead.”

You’re leaving today.

For once you’re happy you’re leaving. You hate this place, nothing good has happened here. You slept in Johnny's room last night, you’re not sure why it just felt right and he was more than happy to have you with him. He's barely taken his hands off you as you slowly made your way down for breakfast. You look outside and only see 2 random soldiers at the gate entrance.

You’re not going to miss the strangers, you’re looking forward to spending some time alone with your pack. You can’t wait to go to the loch, you can’t wait to get back to the countryside with the rolling fields and the dense trees. After breakfast when you walk out of the dining room with Johnny, Kyle and Simon are starting to pile bags up in the lobby.

“Johnny.” Simon calls walking over to you both. “Car’s going to be here in a bit, where's all your stuff?”

“Chill LT. It’ll be ready.” Johnny says, patting his shoulder.

“Should have been ready this morning.” Simon says before turning to look at you. “What about you? Need a hand?”

“No, I’m almost finished, I just have to pack up my nest.” You say smiling. It’s the last thing you’ll pack, things always feel so weird when you don’t have one. You can’t wait to get back to the one in Scotland, you knew leaving it there instead of packing it up was a good idea. He nods going back over to the pile of bags.

“Have you really not packed yet?” You say looking at him. He sighs, squeezing your hip.

“We’re not leaving for another 2 hours, I’ve got plenty of time.” He says smiling. It makes you chuckle, you see John step out of his office he smiles at you while Johnny calls Kyle over.

“I’m going to finish packing, have a shower.” You say.

“Okay, love.” Johnny says and kisses your head before you turn and head upstairs. You grab a pair of comfy clothes from your bag, you’re going to have a long car journey and you want to be comfortable and hopefully sleep most of the way.

You look down at your nest. You should really pack that up first. You take out the important things, the tokens you have from each of them including Piper's scarf. You pack them up on the top of your bag and start to fold the blankets. When you’re done you look at the now barren spot. It feels wrong, it feels weird. You don’t have a nest here anymore, honestly you don’t mind.

You miss your nest in Scotland, you smile thinking about going back there. Apparently it’ll be warmer this time you might get to spend even more time outside. You pick up your bag and drop it outside your door with your fresh change of clothes and a towel tucked under your arm.

You can hear Johnny and Kyle laughing in the lobby, you peek over the railing and see them moving bags around. It makes you happy, it makes you smile seeing them smile and joke with each other. Simon is standing next to John with his arms crossed, you can’t hear what they’re talking about.

You head into John’s room, he has already packed and stripped the bed. You throw your clothes down and head into the en-suite. You don’t have time for a bath besides you’ll have plenty of time when you get to Scotland.

You leave the doors open so you can hear the laughter and the voices traveling through the building. You strip, turning the shower on and holding your hand under it until it gets warm. When you step in you see there's only a bottle of body wash, you’ll have to wait until you get to the house to wash your hair. You reach picking it up to squirt some into your hand.

You freeze when you see the scars. They’re taking longer to heal. You remember the man who attacked Piper, you remember the look in his eyes, he had one job and that was to kill. Before you can stop yourself you drop the bottle reaching to turn the heat up on the water. You let the heat pound on your back until your skin stings.

You remember the pain, the hot fiery drag of the blade against your skin, the adrenaline pumping through your system. You remember your only thought being to protect her, he would have had to go through you before he laid a finger on her. Your stomach feels like it’s doing flips and your heart feels like it’s going to jump out your chest.

Your legs feel like jelly and you slide down the side of the shower to the floor. You bring your knees to your chest and look down at your hands. You kept forgetting to talk to Piper about why they’re taking so long to heal. Maybe it’s because the sink is so soft. Maybe they will never fully heal and you’ll have a reminder for the rest of your life. You squeeze your eyes closed trying to ignore the pain rushing through your body.

The hot water burns your skin but you don’t want to move.

'You saved a liar.’ Hale's voice rings in your head. It’s been a while since you’ve heard him.

“Go away!” You call. You know he’s not there, you know he’s in your head but it helps anyway. You hear him laughing and you slap your hands up to your ears. You can hear the rapid thumping of your heart, your head starts spinning and you squeeze your eyes closed trying to ignore the laughing and focus on the sound of the shower.

Suddenly someone grabs you, they grab your wrists, taking your hands off your ears. You cry out trying to fight them as they pull you out of the shower.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” It’s Simon, you open your eyes choking on a sob. He pulls you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you while you try to control your breathing. “You’re okay, you’re okay.” You can smell the scent of alpha filling your nose, you start to relax against him as silent tears fall down your face.

You can still hear the shower running, Hale’s laughing has gone, leaving you with just the pounding of your heart and Simon’s gentle voice. You grip his shirt, pressing your hands on his chest, you can feel his steady heartbeat under your hand, you shiver as the water turns cold and the cool air hits your skin.

“What happened?” He asks after a few more seconds of silence.

“I was thinking about Piper. About the time she got attacked.” You say, looking down at your palm, you can’t tell if the scars look worse or if it’s just your imagination. He lets out a sign moving a hand down your arm, he picks up your hand pressing his thumb into your palm, you wrap your fingers around it. It’s good, it helps ground you.

“You were very brave.” He says, you sniffle.

“I didn’t feel brave. I just couldn’t let her get hurt.” You sigh. Simon just holds you in his arms rubbing your palm with his thumb until you start to shiver. Then he helps you to your feet and warps you in a towel leading you back into John’s room

“Do you want me to stay?” Simon asks as you go over to the clean clothes laid out on the bed.

“No. I’m okay.” You say looking up at him, he smiles and bends down to kiss you on the forehead.

“I’ll send Johnny up to help you with the bags.” He says, you nod watching him leave and close the door behind. You look down at the stripped bed, you remember laying in there with him, now the whole room feels empty.

You dry yourself changing into your fresh comfy clothes before Johnny comes into the room beaming at you. He doesn't ask questions, he just picks up the rest of John’s bags and yours and you help him take them down into the lobby. The car is already here even though you’re not leaving for another hour at least.

While Johnny goes to help Simon and Kyle load the car, you walk over to John's office. He has his back to the door boxing paperwork up on his desk. You knock on the door and he turns to see you, he frowns coming over to you holding your face in his hands.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yeah. I- I don’t know, I was in the shower.” You choke on the words suddenly feeling a chill in the air. He drops his hands walking past you to close the door to his office. You wait until he’s back in your view, his hands land on the top of your arms.

“Can I call Piper?” You ask.

“Of course,” he says, moving around to the phone on his desk. He picks it up, you rub your thumb over the scars on your palm. You don’t know why you’re nervous, everything feels like it’s changed. You haven’t spoken to her since she left, you’ve been too busy distracted with packing and getting ready to move.

“I need a secure outside line please.” John asks, secure , she’s somewhere safe. John promised you she was somewhere safe, no one will be able to find her, not even Hale or Shadow Company. He offers you the phone, you step up, taking it out his hand and bringing it to your ear.

You hear the line ringing. “Hello?” The voice is so familiar to you it puts you at ease immediately.

“Piper.” You say.

“Hey hun, what’s wrong?” She asks, suddenly sounding concerned.

“Nothing. I think I just needed to hear your voice.” You say suddenly feeling silly.

“I’ve only been gone two days.” She chuckles.

“I know. I just miss you.”

“Well, things have been going well over here. Are you still on the base?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving today actually.” You look up at John who smiles.

“Yeah? I bet you can’t wait.” You can hear the smile in her voice, you smile too.

“I’m looking forward to seeing the loch.”

“Good, you need a good rest, you deserve a good rest.” You smile, tangling your finger around the phone wire. You’re not sure what to say, you just want to keep listening to her talk.

“Are you sure there’s not anything else you need?” She asks after a few more moments of silence.

“No. I’m okay.” You say, you are, you are okay.

“Oh actually before I go, is John around?”

“Yeah, he’s here.” You say, you hold the phone out for John who steps forward and takes it.

“Piper.” He says, you let go of the wire and reach out to grip his hand.

“She’s okay.” He says his hand coming up to your face. You smile.

“I’ll talk to them about it.” He says. “We’ll call you when we’re in Scotland. Of course. Bye.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and suddenly you’re upset you didn’t get to say goodbye.

“She had a delivery show up, we’ll call her when we get to Scotland.” He says reaching over to put the phone down. His hand drops from your face to rest on your shoulder. There's a knock on the door, he turns calling whoever it is in.

“Williams is at the gate.” Johnny says. John nods.

“Why don’t you go help Johnny finish packing. Then we’ll be on our way.” You nod heading over to the door for Johnny to throw his arm around you.

“If we’re lucky we’ll make it there before dark and we can stop off at the loch.” He says.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” You reply smiling.

You don’t make it to the house until the sun has well and truly set beyond the horizon. When you do get there you can’t wait to get out and stretch your legs. Johnny and Kyle drove this time so you were squished in the back between Simon and John. You didn’t mind too much, it just meant you had less room.

Johnny and Kyle spend most of the drive talking about music and singing along to songs Johnny plays through his phone, fighting about others and comparing musicians they like. You don’t mind, you get to listen to so many music genres you didn’t even know existed. When you make it over the Scottish border John complains of a headache which is met by tuts of disappointment from Johnny and Kyle and the music is switched off in favour of the radio.

You lean up against him hugging his arm and manage to take a nap for the second half of the journey. When you get to the house you’re almost pushing them out of the car. Simon opens the boot and takes out one of the bags before closing it.

“Hey, why don’t you pop into town with Johnny?” John asks. You frown at him and look back in the car to see Johnny still in the driver's seat. You don’t really want to but you nod anyway.

“Good.” John says kissing you on the forehead. You stretch before getting in the front seat.

“We won’t be long, love. Just got to pick up a few things so we don’t starve.” He says, you nod watching as the others go into the house.

Johnny’s right the shopping doesn’t take long, it’s only an hour before the place is going to close so you’re only picking up essentials; tea, milk, eggs and bacon for breakfast tomorrow, bread, cheese and some stuff to throw in the oven for dinner later.

The town looks different now the Christmas decorations have been taken down, it’s still pretty, it's so warm and inviting, especially the main street with the orange street lights beaming down.

“Do you think we could go back to the pub?” You ask as you stop at the top of the street, you see it on the corner there are a few people sat outside in the cold smoking.

“Yeah don’t see why not.” Johnny says as he turns down the road back out of the town. The drive home feels longer for some reason and Johnny seems distracted checking his phone every few minutes or so. He seems nervous about something, it’s starting to make you nervous.

“Is everything okay?” You ask as he pulls off the main road and down the private drive.

“Yeah.” He smiles pulling right up to the house. You nod and go around to the back of the car to take the shopping out. When you make it in the house it’s warm, the living room door is closed so you head into the kitchen. No one is around, they must all be in the living room.

Johnny helps you put the shopping away.

“What about the rest of the bags?” You ask, remembering Simon only took one of them out.

“We’ll get them later.” He says closing the fridge. You nod and go to head towards the living room.

“Wait!” Johnny calls. It makes you jump. He walks over to you grabbing your arm. “Sorry, we have a surprise for you.” You frown at him, he just smiles but you still feel nerves rising in you.

“C’mon.” He says, leading you down the hallway to the living room door. Before you go in you both kick your shoes off. When you’re done Johnny covers your eyes with his hand and you hear him open the door.

“What is going on?” You ask, trying not to show how nervous you feel. You trust him, all of them. He would never do anything to hurt you, none of them would.

“It’s a surprise.” Johnny repeats, as you struggle to walk straight. Suddenly he removes his hands but you keep your eyes closed. “Open your eyes, love.” When you do, you see the living room has been transformed into what looks like a massive bed. The sofa is still there but the coffee table and other furniture has been moved. The floor is covered from wall to wall with mattresses covered in blankets and quilts, with pillows spread everywhere.

John, Simon and Kyle are already sat around, you smile and step onto the mattress before falling to your knees. The bedding is soft and you can see the fire roaring away, other than a floor lamp it’s the only other light source in the room. The low light and the warm room immediately makes you relax, Kyle crawls over to you and he leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back, reaching out for his arm, running your hand down to his.

You feel Johnny coming behind you, his hands land on your shoulders and he presses his chest against your back. Kyle pulls from the kiss and you look up at the twinkle in his eyes. John comes over picking your hand up and lacing his fingers with yours, you realise there’s even soft music playing you almost missed, they really have gone all out.

“We’re not needed anywhere, no one knows where we are, we’re safe.” John says, kissing the back of your hand. “Tonight is all about you. Whatever you want.” You’re not sure what you want. You’d be happy to just lay here with them all together like it’s one big nest.

You lean over and kiss John, your hands press on his chest and he lays back on the pillows. You just don’t want them to stop touching you and they don't. Johnny's hands run up the back of your top, Kyle’s fingers dig into the soft skin of your arse and hips.

They move without bumping into each other. You’re so busy sloppy making out with John when lips press on your shoulder you shiver, they move up to your neck pressing gentle kisses. You hear movement and look over and see Simon coming over to you, you sit back on your knees and wait, he reaches out with one of his hands to rub your cheek.

“How about we just take care of you. You need it.” Simon says before kissing you. Holy shit this is actually happening. You don’t have time to panic or overthink them all being with you at once. Your mind is racing, you can feel your cheeks burning. The scent of vanilla fills the room, you watch as they react to it while you just sit there and let them run their hands and lips all over you. John sits up a little running his hand up your thigh while Simon attacks your mouth, playing with your tongue, his hands pressed around your face, it's needy and breathless.

Johnny moans in your neck sending vibrations down your spine. Kyle’s hands start running up your top you don’t stop him, Johnny’s hand on your back stops at the bottom. A finger teases below your waistband, you lift your arms in the air and Johnny’s hands glady pull up the hem of the top.

You break from the kiss and look down at John who smiles at you as Johnny pulls the top off over your head. Kyle’s thumb brushes over one of your nipples and you let out a long breath. John chuckles, squeezing your thigh before propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes wash over you like he’s looking at you for the first time.

Johnny’s chest is pressed up against your back, his hands running up and down your thighs. “Stunnin’ sweetheart.” Johnny says gripping your hips, his thumbs slipping below your waistband. It’s almost like he wants to claw the rest of your clothes off.

“Calm down Johnny, let's give her a second to breathe.” Simon says, his hand running up to the back of Johnny’s neck causing him to sit back. John moves, gesturing for you to lay next to him. You smile and crawl over to him laying back against the pillows.

He turns on his side, his hand rests on your stomach before moving up to your chest. His eyes look dark in the low light but you can still see the shine of deep blue, you reach over to touch his face running your fingers through his beard tracing his jaw line.

“Our omega. You’ve been through so much.” He turns his head kissing your palm. “Let us make you feel good.” You smile and he leans in to kiss you.

Johnny moaning breaks you from the kiss and you both look down at him, his mouth locked around Simon’s pushing him down onto the bed. Kyle chuckles next to you and you turn to look at him. He smiles, his hand coming to stroke your face. John hums next to you his hand travels down your body to your stomach, then to the front of your pants.

Kyle kisses you, it’s long and slow, his thumb brushes your cheek as he plays with your tongue. You moan in his mouth as his other hand comes to squeeze your breast. He breaks from the kiss for a second pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says before pressing his lips back on yours. John’s hand slips down into your pants, you spread your legs as much as you can, letting out a breath. You’re trying to focus on Kyle, your hands running up his top as John’s fingers press through your folds and land on your clit.

“John.” You breathe as he presses down hard before rubbing tight circles. You moan and Johnny and Simon’s attention turns to you. Johnny chuckles climbing off Simon and coming over, his hands grip your waistband pulling your pants off in one quick motion. You spread your legs fully for John and he presses his fingers inside you.

“Fuck.” You call balling Kyle’s top up in your hands. Johnny moves up to sit behind him pulling it off over his head. Kyle’s mouth comes down to one of your breasts and you lean back on the pillows. Simon moves to lay down between your legs running his hands up them. There’s so much going on you’re not sure who to focus on.

John’s fingers curl up inside you making you moan out, Kyle’s tongue flicks your nipple and you reach out to touch him. John’s hand presses down on your stomach as you start to squirm. Simon’s hands and mouth don’t stop either, pressing kisses up your legs and running his hands over your thighs. There’s so much going on it’s almost overstimulating, not to mention the overwhelming scents in the room making your head spin. You reach out and grab John’s free hand to warn him you’re about to come.

“That’s it, love.” John says, his voice is low, sending shivers down your spine. You clench around his fingers as you cum crying out as you try not to dig your nails into Kyle’s chest. John rides you through the orgasm, Kyle's mouth comes off your nipple and you look up at Johnny’s face buried in his neck, he smiles at you as you pant through the overstimulation.

John takes his hand out of you and you look up at him. He leans over to press a kiss on your lips.

“Good girl.” He says, it makes you blush, your head pounds, it’s like you can smell the pleasure in the room, you see his pupils dilate. “Who do you want first?” You frown for a second, you didn’t think you would get a choice, you’re not sure what to say.

“Kyle.” You say before you overthink it. Johnny groans which makes Kyle chuckle as he prys himself from Johnny’s arms.

“Quit complaining Johnny.” Simon says kneeling at your feet pulling his shirt off over his head. “Come over here, make yourself useful.”

John chuckles, you look over at him and push your hand up his chest under his shirt. He gets the idea pulling it off, your hand runs up his stomach. You like how John feels under your hand, it’s soft and safe, you know where each scar is, where he likes to be touched. Where he doesn’t like to be touched, you run your fingers through his hair resting your hand over his heart.

“My turn next.” He says smiling as he leans down to kiss you. You just nod in response as you hear belt buckles clicking. Johnny and Kyle are already naked Simon’s laid back against the opposite wall to you, one leg bent watching Johnny throw his clothes to the side. Kyle shuffles around kneeling between your legs, your mouth fills with saliva as his hands run up your thighs.

He hooks his hands under your knees pulling you close to him, his cock is already hard resting on your stomach. John hums, reaching down to run his hand over Kyle's cock and you watch it twitch. John takes the opportunity to move, resting you against his chest, his arms wrapping around your stomach.

John removes his hand and Kyle reaches down to your pussy, his fingers are against your entrance before leaning back and replacing them with his cock. You feel nervous all of a sudden you’re not sure why, you don’t think about it for long though before he presses into you.

It feels like he’s pushing all the air out your lungs, John moves so he can support your back better and you lean against him. He whispers in your ear, rubbing your nipples with his fingers and running his tongue up the back of your neck over his mark.

Kyle is gentle, slow, he takes his time rewarding you with nice long thrusts that make your toes curl. You’re glad you picked Kyle first, you need this, something soft and slow, sensual with gentle touches and praises being whispered in your ears.

Kyle moans, changing his pace a little and you see Johnny’s head pop up behind Kyle, then Simon a second later. You’re not sure what they're doing but whatever it is it makes Kyle speed up and moan, tipping his head to the side and resting it against Johnny who kisses him.

“Don’t get distracted.” Simon says in a low voice running his hand down Kyle's arm. It makes you shiver, Kyle moves, angling himself better against your hips hitting deeper and deeper inside you.

“Fuck.” you breath clenching around him, you’re getting close already. Johnny smiles reaching over to rub your clit which causes you to cry out and arch your back. Simon presses a hand on your stomach and both you and Kyle moan at the same time. His thrusts are desperate now, he’s close too, his fingers digging into your hips.

You can barely call his name when you cum, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes closed. Kyle mumbles as he cums throbbing inside you while Johnny’s still assaulting your clit. When you open your eyes you see Kyle leaning over to kiss you.

All you can smell is leather, it’s so strong in the air it’s making you dizzy. When you break from the kiss you look over at Johnny who practically shoves Kyle out the way so he can get between your legs. It makes you chuckle as Kyle flops down beside you, his hand resting on your stomach. You turn to look at him and he smiles, his hand moves up between your breasts before making its way over to one of your nipples.

“You okay?” He asks, you nod as you feel the tip of Johnny’s cock tease your entrance. You turn slightly to address John.

“I thought you wanted to go next?” You say, he chuckles kissing the top of your head.

“I’ve got all the time in the world.” He says. It makes you blush for some reason and before you know it Johnny is inside you with one slick thrust. He’s eager, imminently grunting and slamming his hips against you.

“Christ, love. So fucking perfect aint you?” He says, you’ve come to learn Johnny is pretty vocal when it comes to sex. If he’s not throwing a string of praises at you he’s moaning and grunting as he drives his cock into you, the sound of skin on skin drowns out the soft music.

Kyle’s hands don’t stop running over your body, his hand squeezing your breasts or stroking your face. John keeps whispering sweet things in your ears, his thumb brushing his mark sending vibrations down your spine. It’s a strange feeling but you don’t mind it.

“Love you so much. Our perfect omega.” John breathes before pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“Anything for you.” You reply back breathlessly. Johnny picks up his speed and you look down to see Simon naked on his knees, his arms are around Johnny as he nips at his earlobe. One of his hands is on his nipple.

“Si-” Johnny chokes on his words. You watch as Simon’s hand runs up to wrap around his neck. Johnny arches his back. Christ , that's hot.

“Better make her feel good Johnny.” Simon’s growling in his ears, Johnny wimpers you feel his cock twitching in you. You’re going to cum again quicker then before, Kyle seems to pick up on it and his hand moves from your breast to your clit. As soon as his fingers brush it you squeeze around Johnny's cock as he bucks his hips into you.

“Johnny.” You call, you can’t hold it back anymore, not now Kyle is rubbing tight circles.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Johnny calls breathlessly, Simon holds him up as you cum, seconds later you feel Johnny spill inside you, his cock throbs his hips slow as he pumps into you. Kyle moves his hand as you start to shake from overstimulation.

“Fuck, love. I don’t think I’ll ever have enough of you.” Johnny says, Simon is running his hands over Johnny's body. Johnny pulls out then presses his fingers inside you, coating them in cum and your slick before bringing his fingers up to Simon’s lips.

You watch as Johnny pushes them into his mouth and Simon sucks them clean. You feel your body getting warm again, there's a pulsing between your legs as you watch Simon’s tongue lapping at Johnny’s fingers.

You want Simon. You want your alpha. You prop yourself up off John and sit up on your knees. Johnny sees you and moves out the way taking his fingers with him as you reach out to touch Simon. You kneel up and kiss him, you can taste salt and sweet, you can smell his alpha and vanilla. His hands run up your body, your hands run down to his cock.

He hums in your mouth, pressing his tongue against yours. You pump his cock with your hand feeling it twitch, his hands land on your shoulders and he gently pushes you back. John’s hand lands on the top of your back, he kisses your shoulder before looking up at Simon.

You look down at Simon’s cock in your hands, You’ve only ever been with Simon when you’ve been in heat. He’s definitely the biggest out of all of them. You thrust down it with 2 hands rubbing your thumb over the tip smothering the bead of precum around. Your mouth fills with saliva, you bend down wrapping your mouth around the tip.

He moans out instantly, one of his hands comes to run through your hair while he sits back on his legs. You can’t take him all the way so you use your hand around the base of his cock to make up for it. You like the fact he makes your eyes water, you like his moans and the way his fingers press on your head.

You get better position propping yourself up on your knees and your other hand flat on the bed to stabilise yourself. John’s hands start to run up the inside of your thighs and you hear him pulling the last of his clothes off. His fingers brush your clit, before he presses one of his fingers inside you causing you to moan around Simon’s cock.

“Fuck, love. So this is what Johnny’s been teaching you.” Simon says. You smile but you can’t answer.

“Didn’t teach her anything. She’s a natural.” Johnny says, you hear Kyle tut. You wonder what they’re doing, you can hear lips smacking with each other sometimes. You feel John’s hand run up your back all the way to your neck. It makes you shudder and you slow your mouth squeezing the base of Simon's cock.

He twitches in your mouth causing it to fill with saliva. John’s hand runs back down and he spreads your legs slightly. You feel his cock brush between your thighs, he nudges your clit, you arch your back trying to press closer to him. One of his hands lands on the small of your back, his other guides his cock to your entrance pressing it in.

You squeeze Simon’s cock again and he scrunches your hair. It makes your eyes water but you don’t stop, your body throbs as John starts to thrust in and out of you. Your head pulses along with your pussy, you focus on keeping Simon satisfied. The smell of alpha and vanilla is so strong all you can think about is satisfying them, making your alphas feel good.

You wish you could talk, tell them how good they're making you feel, how good Simon tastes in your mouth and how his moans make goosebumps rise across your body. John’s fingers dig into your hips, the room is filled with the sound of skin hitting skin and moans from them both.

“Such a good omega for us.” John says, you hum pushing your mouth down Simon’s cock as far as you can.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Simon breathes, his breathing picks up and he gently presses on the back of your head encouraging you to take him deeper each time. John’s hand reaches down to rub your clit, you feel Simon’s cock hitting the back of your throat as he starts to buck his hips in time with your mouth.

Your body starts to shake, you’re not going to be able to last long, your breathing picks up, your heart is racing in your chest. You clench around John trying to warn him you’re close.

“You close love?” He asks, you hum loudy around Simon’s cock trying to keep up with his hips. “Simon?”

“Yeah, christ , yeah.” Simon pants, his other hand comes down to rest on your cheek. “C’mon, love, let go, let yourself feel good.” You want to nod but you can't, you come at the same time as John, he stops inside you. You feel his knot swell, you’re not in heat but you don’t mind if he knots you, either way you shake through the orgasm feeling John’s cock throb deep inside you.

“Fuck-” The words catch in Simon’s throat as he cums in your mouth. His hot seed hits the back of your throat and you gag squeezing around the base of his cock, you swallow it down. He immediately pulls out of your mouth bending down and cupping your face in his hands.

“You good.” He asks, you feel John pull out of you, it’s strangely disappointing. You wouldn’t have minded the rest. Your knees tremble and you relax into Simon’s arms.

“Yeah.” You say choking on the word. John comes over brushing the hair stuck to your face.

“You did so well for us.” He says, you smile blinking up at him. He leans in to kiss you, your mouth tastes of salt but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Towels and start a bath.” You hear Simon say as John breaks from the kiss. You can smell their alpha filling the room overwhelming the scent of vanilla and leather. You hear Johnny and Kyle leave and John turns, reaching over the sofa to crack open one of the windows.

“So perfect for us, love.” Simon says, you look up at him, one of his arms supports your back the other comes down to brush your cheek. “ Our perfect omega.” You smile up at him, your throat is suddenly dry. John pulls one of the blankets off the couch, throwing it over you and Simon.

You let out a long breath even though your heart is still hammering in your chest. John pulls his boxers back on before standing up. He rests his hand on your head, you yawn feeling the deep throbbing in your body fade. Your thighs feel sticky, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“I’ll get you some water then you can go for a nice long bath.” John says, you nod as he moves his hand and you hear someone walk back into the room. You don’t turn to see who it is but Simon does. A second later Johnny bends down by your side, he’s dressed now. He pulls the blanket back slightly bringing a towel over to wipe between your legs.

“There you go, did so well for us.” He says pressing kisses on your cheek and neck while he cleans you. When you start to shiver he stops pulling the blanket back around you. John comes back with a glass of water you gladly accept and gulp down.

“Baths ready.” You hear Kyle say from behind you. Simon moves like he’s about to transfer you to someone else’s arms.

“Will you come?” You say looking up at Simon. He nods, smiling and helps you to your feet. You both walk up to the bathroom, the place is warm, the tap is still running and the whole room smells of something floral and sweet. Simon walks over and turns off the tap before climbing into the bath.

You climb in with him leaning back against his chest, you relax as he wraps his arms around you.

“I love you, Simon.” You say, closing your eyes. He kisses the top of your head.

“I love you too.”

“I used to think you hated me.” You say opening your eyes back up and watching the bubbles swirl in the bath.

“I never hated you.” He says, you’re not sure if you believe him or not.

“It’s okay if you did. I understand, it was a new world for you.” You say, he sighs.

“I never hated you.” He repeats. “I was worried you were going to hate me.” You turn to look up at him, you frown at him, you’re not sure what to say.

“Why would I ever hate you? You saved me.”

Simon smiles down at you. “I’m so glad we did.” His hand comes out of the water pulling your hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead.

“I’m so glad I found you. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.” You say resting on his chest as his thumbs come to brush over his mark.

“We almost didn’t take the job. It was a spur of the moment plan, we were about to fly back to the UK.” He sighs, you watch his fingers trace his mark. “Finding you was a shock to us all. All I can think about is what would have happened if we didn’t take it.”

“It’s okay, it’s over now.” You say reaching up to rest your hand on his and squeeze it.

“It’s not over yet, but it will be, when we get Hale. Then it will be over.” He says. You don’t want to think about him right now, you had such a good time with them you’re not going to ruin it by thinking about him.

You lean against his chest, you project your scent for him, it’s still filled with vanilla making your head swim. After a few more minutes of laying in his arms he moves to help you scrub your body. He uses something floral before offering to braid your hair.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

“I didn’t, Johnny taught me.” He says. It makes you smile, he learnt that for you, he didn’t need to do that. When he’s done you both get out of the bath and go to get changed into some fresh pyjamas. He’s waiting for you in the hall, you yawn when you see him suddenly feeling tired. Your body feels heavy and satisfied.

When you make it back down to the living room the sheets have been changed, the lamp has been turned off the only light now comes from the fire Kyle is stoking and the TV. Johnny smiles at you when he sees you shuffling and patting the spot next to him. You smile and go over sitting down and leaning against him.

“You smell good.” He says kissing your forehead. You go to smile but yawn instead. “Tired?” You nod and he shuffles down the bed a little so you’re laying flat with one hand under a pillow. You turn letting Johnny hug you from behind you feel his chest against your back. You look up at John who reaches over pulling a blanket over you both.

You reach over your hand lands on his thigh, he rests his hand on yours and smiles down at you.

“Thank you.” You say yawning again and closing your eyes. The sound of soft music has been replaced by the low drone of the TV and noise from the kitchen. Johnny squeezes you tight, pressing a kiss on your neck. You let out a long breath and relax into the nest surrounded by your pack, the way it should be.

…

You’re cuddled up sleeping between Simon and Johnny, John is laid up against the sofa with Kyle’s head resting on his thighs. He looks over at you watching your chest rise and fall. You look so peaceful, you’re warm and safe. Surrounded by your pack - the people you love and who love you back.

It’s how it should be, for a few minutes he lets himself be sad. He doesn’t want to leave, he wants nothing more than to forget about all of this, Hale and Shadow company, the cure and Graves. But Simon is right, Piper is right; they’ll never be truly safe until Hale’s dead.

“Not tired?” Kyle asks quietly. John looks down at him, his hand comes to stroke his cheek.

“A lot on my mind.” He sighs.

“Wanna talk about it?” Kyle asks, John shakes his head sighing. Maybe he could but not right now, he wants to enjoy this time while he can before he has to leave for at least a month, maybe longer.

“Are you really going to leave?” Kyle asks, looking up at him.

“I don’t have a choice. Hale needs to die.”

“She’s not going to be happy about it.” Kyle says. John looks down at him running his hand over his head. It reminds him of you, when you lay in his lap. This time it's different though, it doesn’t feel the same. There’s no scent to help him relax, it’s just Kyle.

“Simon.” You call out, Kyle sits up as John’s eyes flick over to you. You’re still asleep, your eyes closed as you reach out to the person in front of you. It’s Simon and he wakes wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m here love, I got you.” You murmur in response it wakes Johnny who presses closer against your back reaching over to touch Simon. Johnny kisses the back of your head as you nuzzle your face into Simon’s chest, still mumbling.

He shushes you, his hand running over your head. Even here safe and surrounded by your pack you can’t rest. John sighs as Kyle goes back to lay on his lap. Piper said things would get worse before they got better. He knew that already, he hopes it helps you, opening up to Piper about the past. Or maybe it will make things worse and both the alphas are about to leave.

“I’ll tell her tomorrow. Then at least she has a few days before we have to leave.” John says.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come instead of Simon?” Kyle asks.

“No.” John sighs. “It’s only for a month, follow up on some leads, maybe try and track him down at least, then we’ll go from there.”

Kyle nods yawning and John looks back over at you scrunched up between Johnny and Simon. He pushes the thought of Hale and the cure out his head, this week is for you, to help ground you. You need this after everything that's happened. You need a break, and you’re going to get it.

You wake in the nest, you look around the room, everyone is here and everyone is still sleeping. You can hear gentle snoring, you’re wrapped up in Johnny and Simon's arms. Kyle is behind Johnny, his hand reaching over to rest on your hip. You smile looking for Price who’s back-to-back behind Simon.

You don’t want to move, you don’t want to break this perfect image, you are safe, surrounded by your pack - people who love you. It’s perfect, it’s all you ever imagined it would be. Johnny shuffles behind you and you hear Kyle grumble squeezing your hip before opening his eyes and propping himself up.

“Morning.” He says, his voice heavy with sleep. Johnny wakes next, reaching over to push Simon's shoulder. Simon moves, squeezing you tight before opening his eyes and looking down at you.

“Morning,” he says, his voice even rougher than Kyle who’s now on his feet walking across the room to the kitchen.

“I’ll get the kettle going. We should go to the loch later.” He says smiling. You prop yourself up excitedly smiling back at him. You’ve been waiting to go to the loch since you found out you were coming back. Johnny chuckles running his hand up your back and you look over to see John sitting up itching his beard. He smiles back at you when he sees you before getting up and heading into the kitchen.

“You look so pretty when you smile like that.” Simon says his hand comes up to brush your cheek. You over at him, you lean in and kiss him. His lips are soft and warm, you’re drinking him up kissing him deep as you run your hand up his body.

You hear the kettle click and break from the kiss. Johnny gets up and offers you his hand. You smile and take it getting up and following him into the kitchen.

…

The sun is out and high in the sky. You remember the way to the loch and you're practically draging them there holding Johnny’s hand as he tries to get you to slow down. You can’t help it though you’re too excited.

When you make it to the loch, you drop his hand jogging down to the edge of the water. It’s lapping on the stones, you can smell the damp wood in the air. The breeze hits you. It's cold on your face coming off the water. It carries the scents of the forest with it.

You hear the crunching of the stones as everyone comes up behind you. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in as a hand comes to rub the top of your back. You lean on Kyle opening your eyes to look back over the water.

“I really love it here.” You say. Johnny chuckles next to you reaching down to pick up a stone.

“It’s very beautiful.” Kyle says as his hand drops down to your waist.

“I wish I could stay here forever with you, all of you.” You say smiling.

“We’re not going anywhere.” Johnny says, skipping the stone along the water. You let out a sigh, you know that's not true even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. Eventually John will leave, or at least you expect him to. You know he wants to kill Hale, he can’t do that from here.

You turn to look back at John and Simon stood a little further behind you talking. John smiles at you with a cigar between his lips. The professor smokes cigars, you swallow the lump in your throat turning away. You don’t want to think about him right now. This is a beautiful place and you’re with the people you love.

“Can you show me how to do that again?” You say pushing the thought away and bending down to pick up a stone.

…

When you make it back to the house it feels like something has changed. Maybe you’re just tired from the walk but when you make it through the door everyone's attitude seems to go quiet. It lingers all the way through lunch, it’s uncomfortable but you can’t put your finger on it.

It’s early evening and you’re sat in the living room with Johnny and Kyle when John appears in the doorway. Something about the way he looks makes your stomach sink, you feel sick, nerves bubble in you as you sit up.

“Can I have a word?” He asks you. You swallow the lump in your throat nodding and getting up to follow him out the room. He offers you his hand before leading you upstairs to the master bedroom. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe he just wants to tell you something he can’t tell the others. Maybe he just wants to have you all to himself for a few hours.

It doesn’t seem like that's the case though, he sighs as you enter the room closing the door behind him. He turns to look at you, his expression has softened, that makes you feel a little bit better. His hands run up your arms landing on your shoulders. He lets out another sigh, fuck , this is going to be bad.

“I told you that we wouldn’t keep secrets. That we - more importantly I would tell you everything we knew as soon as possible. No more secrets.” He says, you nod letting him continue.

“Our job is to protect innocent people, to stop the people who hurt others. Hale is one of them. You will never be safe until we’ve stopped him.” He says, raising an eyebrow to see if you’re listening. You nod again, you’re holding your breath, you don’t like where this is going.

“Kate has a lead for us in America. Me and Simon, we're going to go check it out.” He says. It’s like a stab to the heart. You clench your jaw trying not to let the tears welling behind your eyes escape. His hands squeeze your shoulders, it doesn’t bring you comfort though. You knew this was going to happen, you thought about what you would say to him to try and get him to stay but now you’re hearing it your mind is drawing a blank.

“Why?” It’s such a raw question, it makes you feel guilty for even asking.

"We all want you to be safe, to be able to live a long and happy life. You deserve that, and to get that Hale needs to be gone."

“You don't have to do this John. I would rather spend my life on the run or in hiding then risk losing you. You could die then I would never see you again.” You sob reaching out for his arm. “I could lose you both, it's not worth it I can't- please John please just say you’ll stay.”

He looks sad, you feel your bottom lip quiver, he sighs rubbing his hands down your arms. “I’m sorry. We have to go.” You don’t want them to leave. You can’t hold back the sob rising in your throat, it comes out with tears rolling down your face.

John’s hands move to your face. His thumbs brush your tears away.

“I love you.” You sob. He nods, cupping your face in his hands. He looks like he might be about to cry too his eyes are glossy as he looks down at you.

“I know, I’m doing this because I love you, we all are.” He says. You choke on another sob and turn away from him, you can’t look at him right now. He’s going to leave you alone. You’ve only been back in Scotland for 2 days and now he wants to leave again. Him and Simon. You want to leave crawl up in your nest where its safe. Nothing he says to you will comfort you right now, you push past him heading for the door.

When you open it you look out to see everyone standing around in the hall. They look just as upset, you look over at Simon who’s leaning on the stair railing. He stands up straight when he sees you. Your vision blurs as more tears come, you rush past them Johnny reaches out and grabs your arm. You look up at him feeling guilty all of a sudden, you should be happy they want to go out and kill Hale. Then you’ll all be safe. You pull your arm out his hand ignoring his calls and rush down the stairs.

“Leave her mate. Let's give her some space.” You hear Kyle say before slamming the living room door closed behind you. You climb over the bedding, the space you all spent the last two days lounging in. Between the cuddling and the sex, the whole place was starting to feel like an extension of your nest.

Now it feels empty, lonely, there's nothing more depressing than an empty nest. You crawl over to your nest in the corner laying down and pulling the duvet over your head. You sob until you’re exhausted and drift off to sleep.

…

When you wake your muscles feel stiff. Your body is hot and there's an uncomfortable layer of sweat built up. You open your eyes, you’re facing the wall but you can see the orange and pink hues. You let out a sigh, a second later a hand lands on your arm.

You turn in your nest, you hope it’s anyone but John. You’re not so lucky, he’s there sitting against the wall. You wouldn’t have expected anything less honestly. You start feeling tears again, the pain of knowing he’s going away and Simon too. Going to do something that could get them killed.

“Piper told me that you’re soldiers. That being worried about you getting hurt should be the last thing on my mind.” You say, despite your body feeling like it’s overheating, your throat is raw and dry. “Doesn’t make you invincible.”

“No.” He says. “But it gives us a better chance than most.”

“You could die.” You say choking on the sob. He lets out a long breath, he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you instead he turns and lays down parallel to you. You look behind him, the room is empty. Maybe he sent everyone away so he could be alone with you.

“It’s only surveillance. We need to watch them, make sure the information we have is good.” He says.

“Can’t Kate do that?”

“She’s not working for us. She has other jobs to do, we don’t know how deep Hale’s presence is. If Kate stops what she’s doing it could alert him.” He explains, you nod. He’s right, you know it has to be him. Who else would it be, even if he does agree to stay he would always be watching over his shoulder.

Honestly you would be too. You’re never going to be able to fully relax knowing he is still out there looking for you. You sigh, squeezing your sore eyes closed feeling fresh tears come. You shuffle back in your nest until your back hits the wall. You pull the duvet back nodding at him to get into your nest with you.

He hesitates for a second before slowly shuffling in and wrapping his arms around you. You close your eyes, breathing him in as he kisses you on your forehead.

“I love you, you and Simon. I’m so scared about losing you both.” You say. He hums squeezing you tighter.

“I love you too. We’ll be safe, it’s just surveillance. There’s a good chance Hale won’t even know we’re there.” He says, you pull your head off his chest and look up at him. He smiles at you, his hand comes from your waist to hold your face. His thumb gently brushes away the tears still escaping from your raw face.

“Thank you for doing this. Making the room like one big nest.” You smile, he leans in to kiss you. You press yourself up against him running your hands up his chest. He feels familiar under your hands, solid and safe. You can’t imagine him getting hurt, getting shot.

Piper’s right you shouldn’t be worried, even if they were to get shot chances are they’ll be fine. They’re alphas, they’re stronger, they heal quicker and they have each other. That's the most important thing, they have each other. Your hand stops on a scar on his chest and you break from the kiss.

“What happened?” You ask, running your fingers over it.

“Shrapnel, Iraq.” He says you look down at your hand under his shirt moving your hand past the scar until you land on another one. You look back up at him.

“Bullet, Urzikstan.” For some reason that makes you feel better. You’ve been shot, he’s been shot probably more than once. You reach up to kiss him, moving your hand over to rest on the center of his chest so you can feel his heartbeat. The door to the room opens and you break from the kiss, you look over seeing Johnny smiling at you with a mug in his hands.

“Tea?” He asks, holding it up. John turns to see him and you nod. You sit up and John follows. You look around the room, this is how you always imagined pack nests would be. A room of comfort with space for you to all be together.

You crawl over John meeting Johnny half way before he kneels down passing you the mug. John comes up next to you wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back to lean against him. You hum sipping the warm sweet tea. Johnny sits next to you rubbing your thigh.

For a few seconds no one says anything. You enjoy the warm tea and their hands on you.

“Where are Simon and Kyle?” You ask.

“Shopping.” Johnny says as he reaches over to grab the remote and turn the TV on. It’s not long before you find yourself switching to lean up against Johnny as you sip on your tea. He wraps his arm around your shoulders reaching over to run his hand up the back of John's head.

His other hand starts to run up your thigh. You’re only wearing John’s oversized shirt and underwear. He looks like he’s still invested in what’s happening on the TV. John sees what's happening though, his mouth kissing your temple and pressing one of hands on your stomach.

You can’t pay attention to the TV while they touch you like this, Johnny's hand is still lazily rubbing your thigh, his hand brushing closer and closer to your pussy. Your eyes are fixed on his hand, you part your legs slightly letting out a breath as John’s hand travels up your top. John takes the mug out your hand, placing it on the end table.

He kisses your neck and you relax back against him, his hand makes it to your breast and he brushes his thumb over your nipple. You moan and Johnny turns to look at you with John’s mouth in your neck and his hand up your top playing with your breasts. His eyes light up and you smile at him spreading your legs.

He smiles back, turning to slip between your legs, he hooks his arms under your knees throwing them over his shoulders. You squirm as he runs his tongue up your thigh, pressing little kisses until he gets to your underwear. You can’t move to shuffle them off; he has your legs thrown over his shoulders, picking your ass slightly pulled off the ground.

It doesn’t matter though because a second later his hands rip the fabric exposing your dripping cunt to the warm air in the room.

“Johnny!” You call, John tuts before his hands go back to your tits. Johnny doesn’t take his eyes off your pussy, wetting his lips.

“Sorry.” He says before pressing his tongue on your clit. Fuck, he’s eating you out like a man starved. His fingers dig into your hips as his tongue circles your clit pressing down hard and making you shudder with each drag. You moan out reaching down with one of your hands to grip his hair. John hums in your neck, his thumbs are still brushing your nipples sending vibrations down your body.

“Hum. Is he making you feel good?” John asks in your ear. His voice rumbles as he plays with your breasts, running his hands over your nipples.

“Yes.” You breathe, squirming in Johnny’s grip, his hands grip your waist, his tongue doesn’t stop rubbing tight circles moaning around you making you shiver. John’s tongue runs up your neck, he sucks on the sensitive parts as he pinches your nipples. Johnny’s tongue is relentless, he hasn’t slowed down for a second. You’re not sure where he gets all the energy from, it feels like he can and will go for hours if he was left to his own devices.

“Johnny.” You call trying not to squeeze your thighs around his head. John’s lips leave your neck and you pull on Johnny’s hair as you cum. He doesn’t stop though, riding you through the orgasm, you pant crying out until your legs start to shake.

Then his head comes up from between your legs, he smiles at you with a cheeky look in his eyes dropping your legs from his shoulders. He props himself up leaning in like he’s about to kiss you but instead he reaches up to John kissing him instead. John moans as their lips smack together, Johnny breaks from the kiss looking over at you licking his lips.

“Tastes better from the source.” Johnny says, John tuts and shakes his head. Johnny's hand works its way back down to your clit. “C’mon Cap, she’s so fuckin’ sweet.” John sighs and shuffles, you turn to look up at him and he smiles. You lean forward letting Johnny scoot up next to you and you lean against him as John takes his place between your legs.

John feels familiar between your legs, he’s slow unlike Johnny, taking his time to kiss up your thighs. His beard tickles your skin, it makes vibrations travel up your legs. You feel his hot breath on your already soaked pussy. He lets out a long breath, getting comfortable before pressing his tongue through your folds.

You moan and Johnny's hand hikes your top up to reveal one of your breasts locking his mouth around the nipple. You’re so sensitive, you have to clench your thighs around John’s head. It makes him moan and you tip your head back running your hand through John's hair.

You pant John’s name as you cum again throbbing in his mouth. Johnny’s mouth comes off your nipple and he lets your top fall back down.

“Perfect, love.” Johnny says before he kisses you. You feel John coming up from your legs his fingers brushing over your sensitive clit causing you to twitch, you break away from the kiss as John comes back up to sit next to you pulling you into his arms against his chest.

“Our perfect omega.” John says squeezing you tight and pressing a kiss on your neck. You blush sucking in deep breaths as your heart hammers in your chest.

“Johnny, go get her some new underwear.” John says, nudging him with his foot. Johnny nods, standing up and adjusting himself in shorts before leaving the room. You relax against John looking over at the TV as John hums into your neck, running his hands over your body.

“I’m going to miss you.” You say.

“I’m right here, love.” He sighs. “I know, I’m going to miss you too, so much.”

“Promise me you won’t go after him. You said you’re just observing him right?” You turn in his arms so you can look in his eyes. “Promise me John, you and Simon will stay safe.”

He hesitates pressing his lips together.

“I promise.” he says. You believe him, you reach up and kiss him.

It’s raining. The weather fits the mood. You've been here just over a week and it's the first time it's rained.

They took the bedding and mattresses out of the living room yesterday and put them all back on the beds. You ended up crawling into the masterbed with John and Simon joined you halfway through the night. Even then it felt like it wasn’t enough time.

You can see the sun coming through the curtains, John is gone so you turn over in the bed. You expect Simon to be gone too but he’s not, he's there and he’s awake staring at you. He’s smiling but all you can think about is the fact that they’re leaving today. You shuffle over to him, wrapping your arms around him.

He kisses the top of your head and you try really hard to not get upset. He hums, breathing you in as you listen to the rain outside and the sound of his heartbeat.

“I’m going to miss you.” You say after a few minutes of silence.

“I know. I’m going to miss you too.” He says. It doesn’t help, it's not enough.

“You could always stay.” You say, you're half joking but you feel him react to it and you turn to look up at him. He sighs before leaning down to kiss you. You kiss him back, long and needy, you never want his lips to leave you.

“We will be back. We’ll only be gone a month at least.” He says.

“A month is a long time.” You say. He smiles rubbing your cheek.

“It’ll feel like no time at all I promise.” He says, you smile.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I know.” He says. He swings his legs out the bed and starts to get up. You follow him, you want to be close to them, you want to spend as much of the day with him and John as you can. You follow Simon down to the kitchen where everyone else is waiting, John is sat on the island with his back to the door. You walk over to him and throw your arms around him.

“Hey.” He says putting his mug down, his hands coming to land on yours. You press your nose into his neck breathing him in.

“What do you want to do today?” Kyle asks sipping on his mug.

“Take it easy. Enjoy the last few hours of peace.” John says. He squeezes your hand. “Is there anything you want to do?” You're not sure if he’s asking you but no one answers so you shake your head.

“Taking it easy sounds good.” You agree, smiling.

...

Kate arrives just after midday.

You know it’s time when the doorbell rings but no one moves. It’s just like a weird silence falls over the room. Johnny who’s sat between Simon’s legs is the first to move, getting up and heading out the room. John sighs and you take it as your cue to sit up. He stands up and offers you his hand, you reluctantly take it.

When you make it out into the hall, Simon is zipping his coat talking with Johnny and Kyle is outside with Kate. At least it’s stopped raining, you look out and Kate catches your eyes smiling at you. She reminds you of Piper, maybe it’s the blonde hair. Maybe it’s the way they both carry themselves, like they know what they're doing and they can command a room, even with big burly men.

John drops your hand reaching over for his coat and shrugs it on while Johnny helps Simon with the bags. The bags are small for them only going a way for a month, maybe they’ll be back sooner than you think

John’s hand comes to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. You can’t stop the tears, you don’t even try.

“It’s going to be okay, we’ll keep in touch.” John says, you look up at him and nod. You wanted to stay strong for them but you can’t. You let out a sob before throwing your arms around him, he hugs you back running his hands up your back.

“I’m going to miss you.” You say, your voice muffled pressed into his chest. You project your scent for him, he breathes it in and kisses the top of your head. He presses your shoulders back so you can look up at him.

“I love you.” He pauses, tipping his head slightly and brushing a tear away. “I love you so much.” You nod at him and he leans down to kiss you. You press your lips to him as hard as you can, you never want it to end. Then you feel a hand on your shoulder and you break from the kiss.

You turn to see Simon standing behind you, before he can say anything your lip quivers and you throw your arms around him. He strokes your head as you let out a sob on his chest.

“We’ll be back before you know it. A month isn’t that long.” You break from the hug. He smiles at you and it just makes you want to cry again. He reaches down to kiss you, this time he kisses you slowly, making sure his lips and tongue linger for as long as possible. There's another hand on the top of your back.

“I love you.” You say to him, he smiles and it hurts. It feels like there’s a pain in your chest, it hurts that they’re leaving you. It’s only for a month - 30 days then they’ll be back, but they could get hurt. Johnny and Kyle come up behind you, Kyle grabs your arm gently pulling you back. Johnny’s hand rubs your back.

“Call us when you land?” Kyle asks. John nods and gets into the front seat of the car.

“You better not have all the fun without us.” Johnny says as you all step back from the car.

“It’s not a holiday Johnny.” Simon says as he gets into the back of the car. The engine starts and you all keep stepping back, you look in the wing mirror to see John looking back at you. You smile at him and watch as they drive off. You stay there until the car turns out of view at the top of the drive.

“C’mon, it’s nice and warm inside. I’ll make you a hot chocolate.” Johnny says. You sniff, clearing your nose and turn to look at them. Kyle reaches down and takes your hand lacing his fingers with yours.

“I’ve never had hot chocolate before.” You say forcing a smile. Johnny smiles excitedly, patting your shoulder and walking ahead to the front door. Kyle squeezes your hand.

“Don’t worry, we’ll speak to them in a few hours.” Kyle says, you nod walking back into the house with him.

Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui

62 notes · View notes

mintyys-blog · 3 days ago

Text

SPOILED | darkish! tim drake x spoiled brat! reader

DC COMICS MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: sexual themes, spanking, fingering, bratty behaviour, swearing, implied sex, dark themes, tim was getting stressed, lot of business talk.

MINORS DNI: this contains content and themes that wont be suitable for all readers, people read any warnings before continuing.

You sprawled out on the couch in your dorm room, your phone in hand, completely ignoring the study guide on the coffee table in front of you. You came from a wealthy family, and to be honest, school felt like a formality. You were way too used to getting by on your charm, looks, and a few well-timed answers during tests. Who needed to actually study when you could coast through life, right?

Tim Drake, the tutor your parents hired, sat across from you, trying to keep his patience in check as he glanced from the study guide to you. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here either, but he was determined to get through to you—whether you liked it or not. As Tim reached for the study guide, you leaned back in your chair, giving him an exaggerated once-over. Your eyes flicked to his hands as he picked up the papers. “You know,” you said with a smirk, “those hands could be doing something a lot more… interesting than holding a pencil.”

Tim recoiled slightly, his face hardening. “Focus on the work, please,” he muttered, clearly annoyed. Tim cleared his throat, trying to push past the awkwardness. He set the study guide in front of you with a resigned sigh. “Alright, let’s focus. This chapter is all about business strategies and financial models. You’ll need to know how companies balance short-term gains with long-term growth. It’s crucial for your course.”

You barely looked up from your phone as he spoke, your fingers still tapping absentmindedly. “Uh-huh, yeah. That sounds… really thrilling,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

Tim tried to ignore the snarky undertone in your voice. “Okay, so imagine you’re a CEO of a company. You need to decide whether to reinvest profits into research and development or take the money and run, rewarding shareholders. What would you choose?”

You didn’t respond immediately, instead flicking through Snapchat. A few seconds later, you absentmindedly mumbled, “I’d… just take the money. Who needs all that extra work?” Tim’s patience was starting to wear thin, but he kept his cool. “Well, that’s the short-term gain approach. But the long-term strategy would be to invest back into the company. Without innovation, you’re stuck in the same place. Think of it like playing the long game in business. It’s the same as planning ahead in life.”

You rolled your eyes, finally putting your phone down with an exaggerated sigh. “Yeah, sure, Tim. Long-term strategy… Got it,” you said, still sounding unconvinced. He leaned in a bit, his voice a little firmer now. “It’s not just about the theory. If you don’t grasp this, your grades will keep slipping. This is how the real world works, whether you like it or not. You can’t just coast by, hoping it’ll all work out.”

Your eyes flickered to him, a mix of defiance and reluctance. “So, what? I have to become a robot now? Learn all this boring stuff and turn into some… business genius?” Tim gave a slight shake of his head. “No, you don’t have to be a genius. But you do need to take this seriously if you want any future in it. The real world isn’t as easy as you think. This stuff matters.”

You tilted your head back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Well, guess I’m not cut out for it. Maybe I’ll just stick to partying and looking cute.”

Tim set his jaw, holding back a sigh. “You can’t hide behind that forever. The world doesn’t care about how cute you are, and it definitely doesn’t care about how many parties you’ve been to.”

There was a long pause, and for the first time, you felt the weight of what he was saying. But of course, you wouldn’t admit it right away. Instead, you muttered under your breath, “Yeah, yeah… whatever. Just keep going with your lesson, Tim.” Tim shifted in his seat, straightening his posture. “Alright, let’s start with marketing. It’s one of the most important aspects of business, and it’s something that affects almost everything—whether you’re selling a product or even just selling yourself.” He glanced at you pointedly, emphasizing the last part.

You barely glanced at him, still focused on your phone. “Uh-huh. Selling myself, right. That sounds… exciting.” You didn’t even look up as you continued to scroll.

Tim sighed, clearly trying to keep his patience. “Marketing isn’t just about advertising or social media. It’s about how you present yourself, how you manage your reputation, and how you connect with people. How you market yourself can affect your career, your relationships, and your success in life.”

You didn’t even bother to pretend to be interested, barely lifting your eyes from the screen. “Okay, sure. Whatever. It’s about making people like me, right?”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stay calm. “Not about making people like you—about presenting yourself in a way that people trust you. It’s about showing your value, your skills, and what you can bring to the table.”

You gave him a half-hearted shrug. “Uh-huh. So, I just gotta act like I’m worth it and people will notice. Got it. I’m sure that’s how it works.”

Tim leaned forward, trying to engage. “It’s more than just acting. It’s about authenticity. People can see right through fake marketing. You have to be genuine about what you’re offering—whether it’s a product or your own personal brand. If you market yourself right, you’ll attract the right opportunities.”

You barely responded, flicking through Snapchat. “Yeah, sounds like a lot of effort. But sure, I’ll just… be ‘genuine.’”

Tim’s patience was starting to fray, but he kept his voice steady. “It’s not about effort for the sake of effort. It’s about being strategic. You want people to take you seriously, right? The way you present yourself is how you get those opportunities.”

You yawned loudly, clearly uninterested. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Make myself look like I know what I’m doing, and people will trust me. Not exactly rocket science.”

Tim’s expression softened with a bit of frustration. “It’s not about looking like you know what you’re doing. It’s about showing that you do. That’s how successful people build trust.”

You gave a dismissive wave of your hand, barely acknowledging him. “Yeah, okay. I’ll ‘show trust’ somehow. Moving on, please?”

Tim took a deep breath, resisting the urge to call you out for your complete lack of effort. “Alright, let’s move to the next section then. But remember—this matters. You can’t just breeze through this class and expect everything to fall into place.”

You shrugged again, not caring. “Sure, Tim. Keep telling me how important this is.”

Tim flipped to the next section of the study guide. “Alright, let’s move on to economics. This is another critical part of the course, especially understanding supply and demand.” He glanced at you, who was still scrolling through your phone. “Okay, first question: What happens when supply exceeds demand?”

You looked up for a brief second, still uninterested. “Uh… prices go up?”

Tim exhaled through his nose, trying not to show his frustration. “No, it’s actually the opposite. When supply exceeds demand, prices drop to get rid of the surplus. This is basic economics.”

You just shrugged, going back to your phone. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll remember that.”

He continued, trying to remain patient. “Alright, next question. What’s the law of demand?”

You didn’t even look up this time, responding flatly, “People want more stuff, right?”

Tim rubbed his temples, but his tone remained calm. “No. The law of demand says that as prices go up, the quantity demanded goes down. In other words, when something gets more expensive, people usually buy less of it. You have to understand the relationship between price and demand.”

You didn’t even seem to hear him, still absorbed in your phone. “Mhm. Sure. Got it.”

Tim’s patience was beginning to thin, but he kept his composure. He asked the next question, hoping for at least some engagement. “Alright, what’s the difference between microeconomics and macroeconomics?”

You didn’t look up, keeping your attention focused on your screen. “Uh… one’s about small stuff, and the other is about big stuff?”

He let out a slow breath, attempting to explain again without losing his cool. “Microeconomics focuses on individual markets and consumer behavior, while macroeconomics looks at the overall economy—things like inflation, unemployment, and national economic growth. It’s a difference in scale.”

You gave him a disinterested glance, barely processing what he said. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll figure it out eventually.”

Tim fought the urge to let his frustration show. Instead, he moved on. “Okay, next one: What’s the difference between a positive and a normative statement in economics?”

You didn’t even bother to answer this time, too focused on adjusting your lip gloss in the reflection of your phone screen. “Ugh, I’m not really in the mood for all this.”

Tim’s grip tightened on the study guide, but he forced himself to stay composed. “Positive statements are based on facts and can be tested, like ‘the unemployment rate is 5%.’ Normative statements are based on opinions, like ‘the unemployment rate should be lower.’ Got it?”

You didn’t respond, your attention still on your phone as you pursed your lips in front of the camera. Tim sighed, flipping the page. He wasn’t giving up just yet, though he knew it was going to be a long session. “Alright, last question for today: What’s opportunity cost?”

You looked up briefly, offering the most uninterested response you could muster. “Something about… giving up one thing for another?” Tim nodded, taking a deep breath. “Exactly. Opportunity cost is the cost of choosing one thing over another. It’s not just about money—it could be time, effort, or resources.”

You didn’t acknowledge him, still glued to your phone. Tim felt the sting of your disinterest but didn’t snap at you. He simply turned the page and asked, “Ready for the next question?” Tim turned the page, looking at the next question. “Alright, here’s an important one. Why should the unemployment rate never be at 0%?”

You didn’t even look up, still absorbed in your phone. “I don’t know, maybe because that’s like… unrealistic or something?”

Tim tried to keep the edge out of his voice. “Kind of, but it’s more about the natural unemployment rate. Even in a healthy economy, there will always be some level of unemployment. People change jobs, enter the workforce, or leave it, and that creates temporary unemployment.”

You shrugged, still not paying much attention. “So, like, people are always gonna be lazy or something? I don’t know.” Tim gritted his teeth, but he didn’t let his frustration show. “It’s not about laziness. It’s about transitions. People might be switching jobs, moving to new cities, or retraining for different skills. A small amount of unemployment is actually good—it allows for job mobility and flexibility in the economy.”

You rolled your eyes, uninterested. “Sounds complicated. So, like, it’s okay for people to be unemployed then?” Tim resisted the urge to snap, his patience hanging by a thread. “It’s not about it being ‘okay’—it’s about balance. If unemployment is at 0%, it can mean the economy is too tight. It could lead to inflation because there’s too much demand for workers, and businesses have to pay higher wages to attract employees. That creates a cycle of rising prices.”

You let out a bored sigh, still focusing on your phone. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I get it now. Unemployment should just never be at zero.”

Tim paused, taking a deep breath, doing his best to keep calm. “Not exactly, but I’ll take it. You can think of it as a ‘healthy amount of unemployment.’ It’s just part of how the economy works.”

You barely responded, your eyes still glued to your phone. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” Tim shook his head slightly, moving on to the next topic, hoping for at least a bit more attention this time.

Tim flipped to the next question, trying to stay calm despite the lack of engagement. “Alright, next one. What is the business cycle?”

You looked up, blinking slowly. “Uhh… Is that like… when businesses, uh, get really popular and then just disappear? Like… they’re on a cycle of… failure or something?”

Tim sighed but kept his voice even. “Not quite. The business cycle refers to the fluctuations in the economy—expansions, peaks, recessions, and recoveries. It’s how the overall economy grows and shrinks over time, not just individual businesses.”

You frowned, clearly confused. “Oh… right. Whatever.”

Tim wasn’t going to let this slide. “Next question. What are the four P’s of marketing?”

You grabbed your phone to quickly search it up, but Tim was quick to stop you. “Put your phone down. I’m not letting you just Google the answers. You need to actually learn this.”

You huffed but reluctantly put the phone aside. “Fine. I think it’s… uh… product, people, place, and, uh… profits? Yeah?”

Tim shook his head slightly. “Not quite. It’s Product, Price, Place, and Promotion. These are the core elements of a marketing strategy.”

You crossed your arms, clearly bored. “That’s the same thing, right?”

“No, it’s not. You really need to pay attention.” He pressed on, flipping to the next section. “Okay, next one: Explain the concept of a SWOT analysis.”

You squinted at the page, looking like you were trying to recall something you didn’t understand. “SWOT… Is that… some kind of test? Like, a business test?”

Tim’s patience was wearing thin. “SWOT stands for Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, and Threats. It’s a tool used to analyze a business’s position and plan strategically. You need to know how to evaluate a company’s strengths and weaknesses.”

You looked lost. “Right… Strengths, weaknesses… whatever.”

Tim continued, now feeling the frustration creeping in but maintaining his calm. “Next question—what’s the difference between a sole proprietorship, partnership, and corporation?”

You tapped your chin, clearly thinking hard but unable to grasp the concepts. “Uh, one’s like, a single person who owns everything? And… a partnership is two people… maybe? And a corporation’s like… a company? A big company?”

Tim gave a small nod, his tone more firm now. “You’re close, but not quite. A sole proprietorship is owned by one person, a partnership is owned by two or more, and a corporation is a separate legal entity with shareholders.”

You squinted at the page, clearly trying to piece it together. “Okay… I think I get it now.” Tim tried to keep his focus. “What’s the importance of a business plan?”

You immediately grabbed your phone again, but Tim sharply stopped you. “Nope, not this time. We’re not Googling the answers.” You sighed loudly, clearly annoyed. “Fine. It’s like… something you need to, uh, make your business official or… maybe for loans or something?”

Tim exhaled, nodding in agreement but still a bit frustrated with how little you grasped. “Yes, that’s part of it. A business plan outlines your goals, strategies, and financial forecasts. It’s essential for guiding your business and securing funding or investment.”

You groaned and flopped back on the chair, your attention wandering to something else. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll figure it out.”

Tim glanced at you, his frustration bubbling but still under control. “You really need to start taking this more seriously. I’m trying to help you, but you’re not putting in any effort.”

Tim sighed, rubbing his temples as he looked at you, who was still half-heartedly glancing at your phone. “Alright, you know what? Let’s take a break. Just five minutes. I need to clear my head.”

You barely acknowledged him, still preoccupied with whatever was on your screen. “Sure, whatever.”

Tim stood up, frustrated but trying to stay composed. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked toward the washroom, the tension in his shoulders palpable. Once the door clicked shut behind him, he leaned against the sink and exhaled deeply, staring at his reflection.

“Why is she so difficult?” he muttered to himself. “I’m literally trying to help her, and she just—” He gripped the edge of the sink, his fingers digging into the cool porcelain. “How am I supposed to get through to her if she’s not even trying?”

He closed his eyes, trying to calm the knot in his chest. “This is what I get for agreeing to tutor someone who clearly doesn’t care.”

He splashed water on his face, trying to reset his mind. He couldn’t afford to lose his patience—not if he was going to make any progress with you. He only hoped the five minutes of silence would give him some clarity.

When he returned to the living room, you were still on your phone, seemingly unconcerned. Tim took a deep breath, pushing his frustration down for now. “Alright, let’s get back to it. Just… focus, okay?”

“Hey, are you even listening?” Tim’s voice was polite, but there was an edge to it, like he was trying to suppress the frustration bubbling underneath.

You didn’t look up from your phone. “Hmm? Oh yeah, totally. I’m just… getting some important notifications,” you said without missing a beat, tapping away on the screen.

Tim frowned. “This is why you’re failing. You’re not taking any of this seriously.”

You tilted your head to look at him for a moment, letting your gaze linger on him. He was cute in that serious, nerdy way, but he wasn’t exactly your type. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Just tell my parents I’m learning, and you’ll get your money, right?” you said with a shrug, your attention already back on your phone.

Tim didn’t budge. “I’m not here for the money. I’m here to make sure you actually pass your classes.”

You groaned, leaning back in your seat and stretching dramatically. “Ugh, this is such a waste of time. I’m gonna pass. I always do.”

Tim’s patience was beginning to run thin, but he didn’t want to get too worked up. “If you don’t start working with me, you won’t. Now, let’s just go over a few of these questions.”

You rolled your eyes, barely glancing at the study guide. “I’m not doing any of this. It’s not like I need it anyway.” You tossed the study guide aside and grabbed your lip gloss from your bag, flicking it open and starting to apply it slowly.

Tim didn’t even flinch, though he was getting annoyed. “I’m not leaving until we make some progress. Your parents hired me to help you.”

You gave a small, sarcastic smile, still focused on your reflection in the phone screen. “Oh, so you’re gonna be the hardass tutor, huh? I’ve seen this act before.” You crossed your legs, looking back at him, a playful smirk on your lips. “Tell you what: just tell them I’ve learned whatever, and I’ll make sure you get your paycheck. Deal?”

Tim stood up, his patience now worn thin. “No. I’m not leaving. You can act like this all you want, but you’re going to regret it when you’re stuck trying to explain to your parents why you’re failing.”

You looked at him, genuinely unbothered. “Whatever. I’m still not studying.” You went back to applying your lip gloss, trying a few different angles to see if it looked better in the light. Tim exhaled sharply, frustration evident in his tone now. “You’re really not gonna make this easy, are you?”

You shot him a playful glance. “Not if I can help it.”

Tim stood up, walking over to the desk and placing the study guide in front of you again. “You think this is a game?” he asked, voice low and a little intense. “You wanna misbehave so bad?”

Your eyes widened slightly at the sudden change in his tone, and for a split second, you considered responding—but you didn’t want to show him that he’d gotten to you. Instead, you just shrugged, acting nonchalant. “If you want to call it that, sure.”

“Behaving like a brat isn’t going to get you anywhere,” Tim said, his voice growing more serious. “You’re wasting your potential.”

You crossed your arms defiantly. “I’m not wasting anything. I’m fine. You’re just wasting your time here.”

Tim stared at you, his gaze intense. There was a long pause as he let your words sink in. Finally, he spoke, voice calm but full of authority. “Alright. If that’s how you want to play this, fine. But you’re not leaving until you’ve at least tried to do something productive.” You roll your eyes, “yeah whatever, keep telling yourse—“ you gasped when Tim pulled you down, right over his legs, “what the fu—“

“Language!” His hand came down, smacking your ass harshly. You gasped, and squirmed to get away, “stop that! I’m not some child—“ his other hand was pressing you down, making it impossible to escape him. For some nerd he sure was strong. You squirmed once more, trying to use your arms to push off, but this just seemed to piss him off more. His hand was removed and you used this to push off him, falling on the ground. You scrambled to your feet— rushing to the door. That’s when you heard the familiar sound of a belt buckle. You screamed, and he covered your mouth with his hand. You kicked and punched, but it didn’t affected him one bit.

You felt him grab your wrists pinning them to your back, then he wrapped a thick leather belt around them. You blinked away the tears and he pulled you back to the couch, resuming his position with you laying on his thighs— this time your hands tied behind your back. “You fucking psycho!” He ignored you pulling your already short skirt to bundle up at your waist. “Lace, of course you’d wear lace.” He muttered, “now, let’s see how much information you retained from our little study session.” He gently rubbed your ass, fondling, and dipping his hand dangerously low to your warmth.

“This is how it’s gonna work, you answer right, you get fingered and maybe I’ll let you cum— you answer wrong, you get spanked.” Your eyes widen, speechless. “Are you insane—“ he cut you off with a light spank, “I’m asking the questions now, brat.” You bite your lip, feeling utterly hopeless.

Your face burned with outrage, but something about his tone — the complete lack of patience — made you freeze.

Tim picked up the study guide with one hand, the other steady on your lower back. “First question: what is the importance of branding?”

You pouted, trying to wriggle away, but his grip tightened just slightly. “Branding is, like… logos and stuff? So people recognize you?”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Half-right. Branding is about creating a distinct identity for a business, yes, but it’s also about reputation, emotion, and loyalty. It’s much deeper than just a logo.”

You rolled your eyes, and Tim gave a firm, warning pat to your backside, not enough to hurt — just enough to remind you he wasn’t playing around.

He continued, voice calm but unrelenting. “Next question: How does social media marketing work?”

You huffed, but muttered, “You use apps to… advertise stuff and… get people to buy it?”

Tim actually looked mildly impressed. “That’s the basic idea. You promote products or services through social media platforms to reach wider audiences, build relationships, and drive sales.”

You smiled smugly to yourself — until he tapped the next question against your thigh. He dips in his fingers in your wet cunt, you gasp softly at the intrusion, moaning when his fingers curled inside you.

“What’s the difference between advertising and public relations?”

You squirmed, struggling to think. “Uh… advertising is, like, paid stuff? And PR is… free news?”

Tim gave a slight nod. “Pretty much. Advertising is paid promotion you control. Public relations is earned media — publicity you don’t directly pay for, like news articles or interviews.” He continued to thrust his fingers inside, and you clenched down on his hand— if he kept this up, you weren’t sure how much longer you would last. You shifted a little, trying to hide how relieved you felt at not being scolded. Tim didn’t give you long to bask in it. “How do you identify a target market?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “You… throw ads at people and see who buys?” He pulled his fingers out immediately, and you pouted at the loss of pleasure. Without hesitating, Tim gave you a firm smack — still controlled, still appropriate, but definitely enough to make you yelp.

“Wrong. You identify a target market by analyzing demographics, behaviors, needs, and interests to determine who is most likely to buy your product. You don’t just guess.” His voice was a little sharper now.

You muttered under your breath, embarrassed but secretly paying way more attention now. Tim didn’t even pause. “Last one. What is the sales process?” You groaned dramatically. “Ugh. Selling stuff?” Another firm smack.

“Wrong again,” Tim said calmly. “The sales process is a series of steps — prospecting, approach, presentation, handling objections, closing the sale, and following up.”

“What is a competitive advantage?”

You opened your mouth, then paused, frowning. “It’s, uh… when your company’s better… at stuff… than other companies?”

Tim didn’t say anything for a second — then gave a small, firm smack to your backside, enough to make you yelp.

“Close, but no,” he said coolly. “A competitive advantage is what sets a company apart from its competitors and gives it an edge—whether it’s lower cost, better quality, innovation, or customer service.”

You bit your lip, frustrated.

“Next,” Tim said, tapping the paper against your leg. “How do you develop a marketing strategy?”

You hesitated longer this time. “You… plan things? Like, where to put ads and junk?”

Another controlled, disciplinary smack.

“You define your goals, analyze your market, choose your tactics, set a budget, and constantly adjust based on performance,” Tim said, voice steady but strict. “Not just ‘junk.’”

You muttered something under your breath, earning a sharp glance.

“How do you analyze the market?” he continued without missing a beat.

You scrunched your face. “Look at… stuff? Like, what people are buying?” Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose — and another light swat landed on you. “Analyzing the market means studying customer needs, competition, market trends, and economic conditions. It’s about data, not guessing.”

You smiled faintly, relieved to get one right — but Tim wasn’t about to let you relax. He pushed his fingers inside once more, and you let out a quiet moan. “Last one,” he said. “How do you make a strategic decision?”

You stiffened. “You… pick what feels right?” Another sharp smack. Once again, that bittersweet pleasure gone.

“No. You gather information, weigh options, predict outcomes, and align the decision with long-term goals. Strategy isn’t about feelings.” You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment and something else you didn’t want to name. It was like the harder he pushed you, the more seriously your brain started to take the material — even if you didn’t want to admit it.

You swallowed hard, your earlier cocky attitude cracking. He adjusted his hold slightly, voice low. “What is a business model?” You squirmed. “It’s, like… how you make money?” He pulls your thong to the side once more, spreading your lower lips apart before diving in. Tim paused, then nodded slightly. “Correct. It’s the plan for how a business creates, delivers, and captures value. Income streams, cost structure, resources — all of it.” His fingers pump faster, your cunt dripping down his hand. Still, he didn’t care. “Think you deserve to cum, baby?” He asked teasingly— you moaned, biting your lip. “Please— tim— more—“ he added a third finger, your back arched and your legs shook. You tried to silence your moans, but it was useless— you quickly came on his fingers and he slowly pulled them out. Watching as strings of cum connected the two. He fixed your thong, slapping it back into place and pulled down your skirt. He rubbed your sore bottom, “good girls get to cum, remember that for next time.”

He finally put the study guide down and looked at you sternly. “To be fair… you did better than earlier,” he said. “But you’ve got a long way to go.” He untied his belt from your hands. You slowly sat up, rubbing the spot he’d disciplined, cheeks hot from more than just embarrassment. Your inner thighs soaked in your arousal. You wanted to snap back at him, but deep down, you knew he wasn’t wrong.

Tim stood, adjusting his sleeves with military precision. “You have potential. You’re just lazy.” He said putting back on his belt. He packed up the materials but shot you a glance as he moved toward the door. “Next session — I expect actual effort. Or we’ll continue exactly like this.” And with that, he left you there — frustrated, humiliated, but weirdly motivated for the first time.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you stayed frozen in place, heart still thudding in your chest.

You hated this. Hated how he managed to get under your skin. Hated the way your face burned with embarrassment—and worst of all, how your brain kept involuntarily repeating every stupid business term he’d quizzed you on.

“Identify a target market based on demographics, behaviors, and needs.”

“Branding is reputation, loyalty, and emotion—not just logos.”

“Sales process: prospecting, approach, presentation, objections, close, follow-up.”

You groaned into your hands, wanting to physically shake the thoughts out of your head. Why did you remember all of it now? When before, you couldn’t have cared less?

You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, rubbing at the sore spot on your bottom from where he’d disciplined you. A scowl pulled at your lips. He had no right being so… annoyingly effective.

Your eyes drifted over to the abandoned study guide still lying open on the coffee table. You glared at it for a long moment, like it had personally offended you.

Then you muttered under your breath, bitter and defiant, “It wouldn’t hurt to flip through some pages…”

Crossing your arms and huffing dramatically, you snatched up the guide, flipping past the first few boring paragraphs. You told yourself it was just because you didn’t want to look completely dumb at the next session. That was all. Definitely not because of anything else.

As you scanned a section on branding strategies, you caught yourself mouthing the definitions—completely involuntarily. You scowled even harder.

Stupid Tim Drake.

The next day crawled by slower than you ever thought possible.

Every time you picked up your phone to distract yourself, your mind annoyingly wandered back to the study guide… and the memory of being scolded, questioned, corrected. You couldn’t even look at the couch without your face heating up.

By the time evening rolled around, you found yourself weirdly prepared — the study guide sitting neatly on the coffee table again, a fresh gloss of lip gloss on your mouth (just in case), and your phone strategically placed out of reach.

Not because you cared.

Just because you didn’t want him yanking it away again.

When you heard the knock at the door, your stomach twisted.

You crossed the room with forced casualness and opened it.

Tim stood there, backpack slung over his shoulder, his usual no-nonsense expression firmly in place. His dark hair was a little messy like he’d been running his hands through it, and his sharp eyes immediately flicked to yours, scanning — calculating.

“Ready?” he asked simply.

You shrugged dramatically, leaning against the doorframe. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Teach.”

He gave a short, unimpressed hum and walked past you without ceremony, setting his bag down by the table.

You watched him for a second, biting your lip without realizing it. He wasn’t exactly warm — if anything, he was kind of an arrogant know-it-all — but there was something steady about him. Solid. Like he was the only real thing in a world you could usually manipulate to your whim.

Tim pulled out a few papers and books, setting them up with practiced precision. Then he turned and pinned you with a look.

“Let’s see what you actually remember,” he said, crossing his arms.

You huffed, dragging your feet to the couch before flopping down — back straight, legs crossed lazily. You still wore the same bratty mask on your face, but inside? You were almost eager.

“Fine. Quiz me.”

Tim didn’t waste time. “What is branding?”

You opened your mouth, about to mess with him — but the answer popped out almost automatically. “Creating a distinct identity for a business. Like its reputation and emotional connection with customers.”

Tim blinked, clearly surprised — but he recovered fast. He jotted something down on his notepad without a word.

He looked back up. “Difference between advertising and PR?”

You smirked a little. “Advertising’s paid, PR’s earned,” you said, tossing your hair. “Duh.”

Tim’s mouth twitched at the corners — not quite a smile — but he quickly hid it, moving on.

And just like that, the session began.

You got some wrong — and when you did, he was quick to correct you — but for the first time, it didn’t feel like a battle. He didn’t have to chase you down or physically wrangle your attention.

You still rolled your eyes, still sighed dramatically, but somewhere deep inside, you wanted to impress him.

Even if you’d rather die than admit it.

About halfway through, Tim set his pen down and studied you for a long moment.

“You’re not so hopeless,” he said finally, tone dry. You gave him a mock gasp, pressing your hand to your chest. “Wow. High praise coming from you.”

He shook his head slightly, a small, real smile pulling at his mouth before he caught it and wiped it away. “Don’t get cocky.”

You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, feeling strangely victorious. Maybe… just maybe… this wouldn’t be the worst way to spend your time after all.

The minutes ticked by, filled with the quiet scratch of Tim’s pen and the occasional hum of thought as you worked through another round of questions. You weren’t acing everything — not by a long shot — but you weren’t bombing either.

And Tim noticed.

When you finished a decently complicated explanation about the sales process, he set his notepad down with a soft thunk and leaned back in his chair, studying you carefully.

“You’ve improved,” he said, voice even. “A lot, actually.”

You blinked, caught off-guard. Compliments weren’t rare in your life — people threw them at you constantly, usually because they wanted something. But coming from him? Mr. Robotic, Mr. Too-Good-For-Your-Nonsense?

It felt… different.

Your cheeks warmed before you could stop them. You quickly masked it with a roll of your eyes and a sarcastic drawl. “Well, don’t throw me a parade or anything.”

But the way you shifted in your seat — the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sweater — betrayed you. You hated how easy it was for him to get under your skin when he wasn’t even trying.

Tim didn’t seem fooled by your attitude. He just gave a small, almost imperceptible smile and reached for another sheet of notes. “You should be proud of yourself,” he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, feeling something coil tightly in your chest. It was annoying how much you wanted to hear that again. It was worse how much you believed it coming from him. “Whatever,” you muttered, trying to sound bored. But your hands betrayed you again — reaching for the study guide and flipping through the next section with more focus than you even realized.

Tim tapped the table lightly to get your attention again. “Same time tomorrow?” You hesitated — just for a second — before shrugging one shoulder in exaggerated indifference. “Sure. Guess you’re stuck with me, Drake.”

He gave a soft chuckle under his breath — barely there — as he started packing up. You watched him go, tapping your nails against the edge of the couch, pretending not to care. But deep down, you already knew you’d be counting the hours until he walked back through your door.

ONE MONTH LATER

You sat at your desk, your leg bouncing uncontrollably under the exam table, heart hammering in your chest. For once, your phone was shoved deep into your bag, untouched. Your lip gloss sat forgotten. All you could focus on was the thick packet of papers in front of you — your business course final exam.

You could feel the weight of the room pressing in: the sound of pencils scratching, the occasional cough, the invigilator’s footsteps pacing slowly up and down the aisles. You closed your eyes for a second, exhaling shakily. “Come on,” you muttered under your breath. “You studied. You know this. Tim made sure you did.”

You opened your eyes and started. The questions came at you fast — what is a SWOT analysis? What is the importance of branding? Define the sales process. Your hands moved almost on instinct. The answers weren’t perfect, but they were there, clear and real, buried in your mind from hours of grueling sessions with Tim. His voice echoed in your head, calm and certain: “Focus. Think it through. You’re smarter than you act.”

By the time you flipped the last page and scribbled your final answer, your hand was cramping and you felt like you might pass out. But you finished. You didn’t feel like you’d completely bombed.

A few days later, the grades were posted. You sauntered up to the announcement board with your usual overconfident air, sunglasses perched on your head, your bag slung lazily over one shoulder. A few classmates were already gathered around, whispering.

You weren’t nervous. Not really …Okay, maybe a little. You skimmed down the list, finger trailing along the names — and froze. There it was. Third highest score in the entire class. Your name. You blinked at it, stunned.

Someone nearby nudged your side. “Damn, didn’t think you were the studying type.” You flipped your hair and smirked. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

But inside? Inside you were practically vibrating with pride. You immediately fished your phone out of your bag and, without even thinking about it, texted the one person who deserved to hear it first:

[You]:

Guess who got third highest on the final?

You’re officially stuck with me, genius.

You stared at the screen, heart thudding, before it buzzed a second later.

[Tim]:

Proud of you.

Guess all that “wasted time” paid off, huh?

You grinned down at your phone, cheeks burning with a warmth you hated how much you liked.

[You]:

Ugh whatever shut up lol.

You coming over later or what?

There was a small pause — then another buzz.

[Tim]:

Wouldn’t miss it. And bring the study guide. You’re not done learning yet.

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. But you were already heading home, giddy despite yourself, your study guide clutched in one hand like it actually meant something now.

You barely made it through the door before kicking off your shoes and tossing your bag onto the couch. The study guide, which had become a permanent fixture in your life, landed right beside it. You flopped down dramatically, your phone already in hand to text Tim some more sarcastic gloating while you waited for him.

Before you could hit send, a knock rattled the front door. You blinked. He was early. Dragging yourself up with an exaggerated sigh (even though you secretly scrambled like a crazy person to smooth your hair), you opened the door.

There he was — in his usual hoodie and jeans, hands tucked in his pockets like he hadn’t just completely changed your entire academic fate. You leaned on the doorframe with a lazy smirk. “You stalking me now, Drake?” He gave you that tiny, almost-smile you were starting to know way too well. “Couldn’t resist seeing if you were still bragging.”

You opened your mouth to say something smart, but then you noticed — he was holding something. A small box, neatly tied with a silver ribbon. Your teasing faltered. “…What’s that?”

He shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Just something. You actually worked hard. Figured you deserved it.”

You stared at him, suspicious, before snatching it out of his hands. “Well, duh, I deserve it,” you said breezily, even as your fingers trembled slightly, undoing the ribbon.

Inside the box, nestled against black velvet, was a delicate bracelet — thin and simple, a silver chain with a tiny charm shaped like a star. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t gaudy. It was… thoughtful. Something you’d actually wear. You swallowed hard, the snark dying in your throat for once.

“You bought me jewelry?” you asked slowly, blinking up at him. Tim shrugged like it was no big deal, but the tips of his ears were a little pink. “Consider it… encouragement to keep doing well.”

You rolled your eyes again — your default defense — but it was so half-hearted, it might as well have been a thank you. You slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, admiring how it caught the light, and tried (and failed) to stop smiling. “God, you’re so weird,” you muttered, fiddling with the charm. “Buying me gifts like we’re friends or something.”

Tim chuckled, brushing past you into the living room. “We’re definitely not friends.” You shut the door and followed him, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with grades or exams anymore.

Maybe you weren’t friends. Maybe you were something worse. Something you couldn’t just roll your eyes at and pretend not to feel. And as you sat down beside him, your bracelet glinting in the light, you realized something even more terrifying: You didn’t mind at all.

You sank down onto the couch beside him, pretending to listen as Tim flipped through a few notes for next semester’s courses. You tried to pay attention — you really did — but your focus kept drifting.

Specifically, to his lips.

The way they moved as he spoke, the way they curved slightly when he got that rare, amused smile— Gosh, he looked so kissable. You barely heard a word he was saying. “Y/N?” Tim said, glancing over at you, catching the way you were just staring.

You blinked up at him, heart pounding, throwing caution to the wind. “Tim,” you said, voice low and serious, “can I kiss you?”

He froze, blinking a few times, stunned. You could practically see the moment his brain short-circuited. Then — slowly — a small, real smile spread across his face. Without answering, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, feather-light.

It was gentle at first — tentative, almost careful. But something inside you snapped the moment you felt how soft he was, how warm, and you leaned in harder, deepening the kiss. His hands found your waist as you slid one knee over, straddling his lap without even thinking about it, pulling yourself closer.

You finally pulled away, panting slightly, your forehead resting against his. “You…” you whispered, laughing breathlessly, “you really changed me a lot. I know I was a brat before — and I’m glad I’m not that person anymore.”

Tim chuckled quietly, brushing a piece of hair out of your face, his touch soft and reverent. “Guess I can officially call myself a brat tamer now,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You gasped and smacked his arm — lightly, but enough to make him laugh harder. “Shut up and kiss me, you dork!” you ordered, grinning despite yourself.

He didn’t hesitate this time — his mouth was on yours in an instant, kissing you like he’d been waiting forever to do it. And for once, you weren’t fighting him, weren’t playing games, weren’t hiding behind a bratty mask. You were just you. And it felt amazing.

Tim’s hands found your hips as he deepened the kiss, the heat between you both rising in intensity.

You could feel his heart racing, just as yours was, and there was something thrilling about knowing you weren’t the only one struggling to keep your composure.

You slowly pulled back, your breaths coming in uneven gasps.

“Tim…” you murmured, your voice a little shakier than usual. You could see the way his chest rose and fell with every breath — his lips red from kissing you so deeply.

He was just as caught up in the moment, his hands still resting on your waist.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, a little out of breath.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were getting lost in the way he made you feel — like you couldn’t get close enough, like every touch sent shivers through your skin. The playful banter was gone, replaced by something far more vulnerable. You were still trying to act confident, but it was getting harder the longer he looked at you like that.

You leaned in again, this time letting your lips brush against his ear as you whispered, “You’re really good at this, you know that?”

Tim’s breath hitched, and his fingers tightened on your hips.

“I think you’re the one making this harder, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice low and raspier than before.

You grinned, pulling back just enough to look at him.

“I can be very hard to resist,” you teased, but your words faltered when you saw the way he was watching you. The fire in his eyes was undeniable, and it sent a thrill down your spine. You suddenly felt both bold and nervous in a way that made your stomach flip.

He smirked, inching closer, his lips grazing your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “I think you’re already proving that.”

You shivered, eyes closing for a moment as you tilted your head slightly, giving him better access. The soft kiss he pressed to your neck turned into something deeper, more possessive. You could feel the heat of him, his breath, and the way his hands seemed to grow more eager as the minutes passed.

The kiss lingered, electric and consuming, as Tim’s hands roamed, each touch sending a wave of heat across your skin. You felt like you couldn’t get close enough to him, your body pressing against his in a way that felt both urgent and tender. When he gently lowered you onto your back, his lips never left yours, the intensity of the moment wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

“You’re perfect like this,” Tim murmured against your lips, his breath hot, his voice hushed with admiration. He looked down at you, his gaze soft but filled with longing, as if he couldn’t quite believe that this moment was real.

You smiled, your heart racing, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him back down to you. “I think we’re both perfect like this,” you whispered, your voice breathless but full of something deeper — a connection that had only grown stronger over time.

His lips met yours again, slower this time, as if savoring the moment, tasting the sweetness of the kiss that had become something far more than just physical. It was a promise, an unspoken understanding that what you shared went beyond the teasing, beyond the games. It was real.

Tim’s hands gently cradled your face, his thumbs brushing along your jawline as he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. You could feel his heart still racing, just like yours.

“You’ve really changed,” he murmured, the words slipping out without thinking. He sounded almost amazed, as if he couldn’t believe the difference in you — in both of you, maybe.

You smiled, a little shy now, though your fingers still brushed along the back of his neck. “I guess you had a lot to do with that,” you admitted softly, your voice full of quiet gratitude.

He laughed softly, the sound warm and sincere, before pressing another gentle kiss to your lips. It was a promise that things weren’t just physical — there was more here, something that neither of you had expected when this all started.

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