#and I just don’t feel comfortable with talking that way about people I really don’t know

[pbaz7]

ONE SHOT: IN HER ORBIT

paige x azzk

warnings: drinking, sexual content, cheating

word count: 14.9k

A/N: Alright this combined like a hundred prompts ngl 😭 so i’m so sorry if it’s a little all over the place but I think it’s pretty ok. It’s definitely not as toxic as some of you wanted but it’s still there 🫣. Let me know what you think and leave like reacts if you can! Happy game day!!

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Azzi hadn’t thought much about how far she and Amber had drifted until recently. They’d been together since her junior year of high school, the perfect couple that everyone envied. Amber was there for every game, every late-night phone call about college recruitment, and every post-game celebratory hug. When they both got into UConn, and Amber told Azzi she was going to go with her, Azzi thought it was a sign—proof that they were meant to keep building their lives together.

But somewhere along the way, things started to change. Amber was preoccupied with her own career goals, diving headfirst into internships, networking events, and her demanding course load. What used to be excitement about Azzi’s basketball career had faded into indifference and a lot of times, criticism.

“You’re stressing too much over practice,” Amber had said a few weeks ago when Azzi mentioned staying late to work on her shot. “It’s just basketball. A literal game. You’re already starting anyway, just come help me study.”

It was little comments like that, each one slicing a bit deeper than the last, that made Azzi feel like Amber didn’t really understand what this meant to her. What this meant for her career. Basketball wasn’t just a sport or a game, it was Azzi’s entire livelihood, her entire future.

That’s when Paige came into the picture.

Azzi didn’t expect to find comfort in Paige—at least not at first. Paige was composed in a way that made her seem untouchable, like she had the entire world figured out. As the face of the team, Paige carried herself with a quiet confidence that made her magnetic, always pulling people into her orbit naturally, whether she was in the locker room, on the court, or just walking across campus. People noticed her and they wanted to be noticed by her.

But Paige wasn’t just a star. She noticed things, little things, like how Azzi’s shooting percentages dipped slightly during stressful weeks or how her shoulders would slump after a particularly bad day. Paige stepped in without making a big show of it, offering help that felt more like a genuine friendship than obligation.

“You good, freshie?” Paige would always ask after practice, tossing a towel over her shoulder as she lingered by Azzi’s side. The question was always casual, but her tone portrayed something genuine—something that told Azzi she didn’t have to be fine if she wasn’t because Paige was genuinely asking about her well being.

It started with extra shooting sessions after practice. Paige would stay behind, helping Azzi find her rhythm again when her mechanics felt off.

“Don’t force it,” Paige would say, gently adjusting Azzi’s elbow. “You’re one of the best shooters in the world. You know the motion. Just let it flow naturally.”

Azzi felt like she could let her guard down around Paige. There was never any judgment, no criticism—just unwavering support. And when practice was over and the rest of the team had left, Paige didn’t rush off either.

“Wanna grab something to eat?” Paige asked one day after they’d spent an hour running through plays together.

Azzi hesitated, but Paige’s smile was disarming. “My treat. Call it payment for all the extra work I’ve been putting you through.”

They ended up at a nearby diner, talking about everything from basketball to their childhood and dreams. Paige was funny and unfiltered in a way that made Azzi laugh harder than she had in her entire life.

…

What started as casual basketball texts here and there quickly turned into long, rambling late-night conversations. Paige had a way of keeping Azzi on her phone for hours, their texts bouncing from lighthearted banter to deeply personal confessions every night.

11:34 PM

Freshie: I swear Geno’s trying to kill me with all these plays. My brain is mush

Paige: Mush isn’t good. Should I start bringing you flashcards?

Freshie: Flashcards? Really?

Paige: I’m trying to be supportive here Azzi. Don’t knock it till you try it

Freshie: Fine. But if I mess up this week, it’s on you

Paige: Deal. But you won’t

12:52 AM

Freshie: Okay, real question this time. Did you always know basketball would be your life?

Paige: I pretty much knew the moment I picked up a ball. Why?

Freshie: I don’t know. Lately, I feel like I’m just losing myself in it. Like… is this all I’m good for? Dribbling an orange ball lol.

Paige: You’re not just “good” for it. You’re great at it. But you know you’re more than that too. You just have too much going on to see it right now.

2:14 AM

Freshie: Do you ever feel like you’re failing at everything outside of basketball?

Paige: Lol every day.

Freshie: How do you deal with it?

Paige: I remind myself why I started. And then I text you and distract myself with your constant overthinking or rambling

Freshie: So I’m a distraction now?

Paige: Yeah, but a cute one so it’s ok

Azzi stared at the text longer than she should have, biting her lip before replying. Whenever Paige flirted it was always subtle, just enough to make Azzi’s heart pick up, but not so much that she couldn’t dismiss them as harmless jokes.

By the time Azzi finally fell asleep, her phone still clutched in her hand, Paige’s words about basketball echoing in her mind.

…

The first time Azzi showed up at Paige’s dorm late at night, it wasn’t planned. She and Amber had just had one of their worst arguments yet—Amber accusing Azzi of putting a “stupid game” above their relationship, and Azzi firing back that Amber didn’t even try to understand what she was going through before it ended in a shouting match and Azzi leaving her own room.

Paige opened the door in sweats and a hoodie, her hair still wet from the shower she just took.

“You okay?” Paige asked, stepping aside to let her in.

Azzi nodded, even though her red-rimmed eyes told a different story. She dropped onto Paige’s bed without waiting for an invitation, staring at the ceiling.

Paige didn’t press much. Just handed Azzi a bottle of water and laid beside her, their shoulders almost touching.

“Girl troubles?” Paige finally asked.

Azzi sighed, covering her face with her hands. “She just… doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get me anymore. It’s tiring”

Paige hesitated, then looked over at Azzi saying. “For what it’s worth, I get you. And there’s these ten other girls known as our teammates that get you. So I promise you’re not as alone as you think.”

The words hung in the air for some time, heavy with something Azzi couldn’t name but felt deep in her chest as she laid there with Paige.

After some time passed, Paige, wanting to cheer Azzi up, let out a dramatic grumble as she sat up. “Alright, fine. We can watch Frozen,” she said.

Azzi laughed instantly as she grabbed a nearby pillow and tossed it at Paige.

Paige caught the pillow midair with ease, narrowing her eyes playfully as she held it up. “Don’t be rude,” she deadpanned, throwing the pillow back on the bed before turning toward the dresser for the remote.

When she turned back around, she caught Azzi pouting, her bottom lip jutting out dramatically. Paige froze for a second before shaking her head, chuckling softly. “You’re annoying,” she muttered, though the fondness in her voice betrayed her words.

Azzi’s pout turned into a grin as Paige climbed back into bed, remote in hand. Their shoulders brushed as Paige settled beside her, pretending to scroll through the streaming options with exaggerated effort. “Happy now?” Paige asked.

“Very,” Azzi said, leaning slightly into Paige’s side, her smile lingering as she watched Paige pretend to grumble under her breath.

…

This became a pattern. The more drifted from Amber, the more they argued and Amber hurled insults at Azzi. The closer she found herself to Paige. They started spending more time together outside of practice whenever they could. Paige would go to Azzi’s room to watch movies, always teasing her about her terrible taste in romcoms. Azzi would show up at Paige’s room whenever she wanted, sinking into Paige’s beanbag chair as they talked endlessly.

There was a lightness to being with Paige that Azzi hadn’t felt in a long time. Amber always seemed to expect something from her—more time, more effort, more of herself. But Paige just… let her be.

…

For Paige, the shift came suddenly and without warning. She didn’t realize how deep her feelings ran until one night when Azzi showed up at her door after another fight with Amber.

Azzi’s eyes were puffy, her hair a mess, but Paige thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

“What happened?” Paige asked, ushering her in.

Azzi shook her head, collapsing onto the bed. “It’s the same thing. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get me.”

Paige sat beside her, not saying anything at first. She just listened as Azzi vented, her words tumbling out in frustration.

“You’re amazing, Azzi,” Paige said softly when she finished. “If Amber can’t see that… it’s her loss.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Paige could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the air between them heavy with something unspoken.

That night, as Azzi curled up in Paige’s bed and drifted off to sleep, Paige lay awake, staring at the ceiling and grappling with the truth: she was in love with Azzi.

…

For Azzi, the realization crept in slowly but hit her all at once. It wasn’t until she caught Paige looking at her during practice—really looking at her, with those dark, intent eyes—that she felt it.

Paige wanted her.

And the moment Azzi’s brain registered that, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting Paige too. It wasn’t just the way Paige made her feel seen, or the way her presence steadied Azzi in a way Amber never could. It was everything about her—the quiet strength, the soft encouragement, the way her lips curled into a knowing smile whenever Azzi said something sarcastic.

But she was still with Amber.

The guilt gnawed at her, but it didn’t stop her from staying up late to text Paige, or from seeking her out after practice, or from craving the way Paige made her feel. It was wrong, and messy, and complicated, but Azzi couldn’t help herself.

And the more Paige let her feelings slip—through lingering touches, teasing words, and the way her eyes softened whenever they were alone—the harder it was for Azzi to pull away.

The First Slip Up

It was supposed to be a fun, carefree night—a random house party off campus that some of the team decided to attend. Azzi hadn’t been in the mood to go, not really, but Amber insisted. She liked these kinds of things, the big crowds, the chance to “network” with people Azzi didn’t care to meet. And maybe Azzi would’ve said no, but Amber had a way of making her feel guilty for turning things down.

“Bruh come on, Azzi,” Amber said with a heavy sigh as they were getting ready. “You literally never wanna do anything I wanna do. You can’t just be about basketball all the time.”

So Azzi went, pulling on a long-sleeve shirt she hoped would keep her warm in the brisk Connecticut air as Amber rushed her out of the door.

By the time they approached the house, the coldness of the evening had already sunk into her bones. Azzi hugged her arms tightly against herself, glancing sideways at Amber who had on two sweaters.

“I’m freezing,” Azzi said, hoping Amber might offer a solution.

Amber glanced at her briefly, shrugging. “You should’ve brought a jacket.” Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t warm either. It was dismissive, like the problem was Azzi’s and not something Amber needed to worry about.

Azzi’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t push the issue, not wanting to argue anymore tonight. They stepped inside and the music was loud and the air was warmer than outside. Before Azzi could say anything, Amber spotted a group of girls she knew and disappeared into the crowd without so much as a glance.

Azzi exhaled and scanned the room looking for the team knowing at least one of them would stand out.

When she spotted Paige near the kitchen, surrounded by a few of their teammates, something in her chest loosened. Paige stood out in any room she was in, tall and composed, carrying herself with a natural ease that made people gravitate toward her. When Azzi made her way over, Paige looked up immediately, her eyes lighting up in a way that made Azzi feel like the only person in the room.

“Heyy, there’s the freshie,” Paige teased, her smile widening as Azzi came closer. But then her expression changed, her brows knitting together as she tilted her head. “You cold?”

Azzi blinked, startled. “What?”

“You’re shivering like crazy,” Paige said simply.

“No, I’ll be fine soon,” Azzi protested quickly, though her body betrayed her as another shiver ran through her.

Paige didn’t argue. She just pulled off her jacket—a soft, worn-in zip up that smelled like her soap and shampoo—and handed it to Azzi.

“Here,” Paige said, holding it out.

“Paige, you don’t have to—”

“Azzi,” Paige interrupted, “just take it.”

Azzi hesitated for a moment before reluctantly slipping it on. It was warm, the sleeves long enough to cover her hands that were still freezing, and she couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Paige grinned, satisfied.

But even with the jacket, the chill didn’t seem to fully leave Azzi’s body yet. Paige must’ve noticed, because before Azzi could protest, Paige stepped closer, wrapping her arms around her.

The hug was casual enough on the surface—just a friend warming up another friend—but it felt like more. Paige’s hands rubbed slow circles on Azzi’s back and Azzi felt herself relax against her. Her head tipped slightly, resting on Paige’s shoulder, and for a moment, the noise and chaos of the party faded into the background.

“You’re freezing. You need to put on a jacket next time,” Paige murmured, her breath warm against Azzi’s hair.

“Amber was rushing me so I couldn’t,” Azzi said quietly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Paige stiffened slightly but didn’t say anything. Her hands kept moving, rubbing against Azzi’s back to warm her up, and after a moment, she spoke.

“Well,” Paige said, her voice soft but edged with something Azzi couldn’t quite place, “you have mine now so you’ll be fine.”

Azzi pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Paige, and the way Paige was looking at her—it made Azzi’s breath catch. There was something unspoken in Paige’s gaze, something Azzi wasn’t sure she was ready to name.

“Thank you,” Azzi whispered

Paige smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course.”

The moment passed quickly—someone yelling Paige’s name from across the room, and she stepped away, though not before giving Azzi’s arm a quick squeeze and saying “I’ll find you later.”

Azzi wasn’t much of a drinker. She didn’t like how it dulled her mind or left her body sluggish, but tonight, after Amber’s repeated dismissals and her own growing frustration, she’d let herself indulge a little. Just enough to take the edge off.

Amber hadn’t noticed.

Azzi sighed again, watching as Amber laughed with a group of girls across the room. She had tried to hang around her girlfriend, to ease the tension that had settled between them for a while. Slipping her hand into Amber’s or leaning close during the conversation. But each time, Amber had pulled away or brushed her off.

“Azzi, not right now,” Amber said at one point with an edge of annoyance in her voice. “I’m trying to talk to them. You’re clingy when you’re drunk.”

The words stung more than Azzi cared to admit, and she found herself retreating, stepping back as Amber turned her attention fully to her friends.

She sighed again, deciding to walk away. But the house was packed, bodies pressed together in every corner, and Azzi quickly found herself a little stuck, barely able to navigate through the crowded room.

That’s when she felt a steady, warm hand resting lightly on her back.

“You good?” Paige’s familiar voice cut through the loud noise.

Azzi turned her head slightly, relief flooding through her as she saw Paige beside her. She nodded, not trusting her voice in the moment.

“Come on,” Paige said simply. As she guided Azzi with ease, her hand never left Azzi’s back as they weaved through the chaos. Paige moved like she was born to lead, her presence cutting through the crowd effortlessly, and Azzi found herself leaning into it, letting Paige take control.

When they finally emerged into a quieter corner of the house, Paige spotted an open spot on the couch and steered them toward it. They sank into the cushions together, and Azzi felt her shoulders relax for the first time all night.

“You good?” Paige asked again, her eyes scanning Azzi’s face.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for... that. It was getting a little overwhelming in there.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” Paige said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You looked like you were about to elbow somebody out of the way.”

Azzi laughed softly. “I was definitely close,” she admitted.

They settled into their usual rhythm easily, the conversation flowing like it always did. They talked about everything and nothing. Azzi found herself laughing more than she had all night, the tension in her chest easing with every word. Paige had a way of making her forget everything else going on in her head, of making her feel seen in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

At one point, someone came over to talk to Paige, pulling her attention away for a moment. Azzi instinctively shifted, as she was about to get up to give Paige space and go talk to the rest of the team, but Paige’s arm shot out, draping casually over the back of the couch, her hand resting near Azzi’s shoulder.

“Stay,” Paige said, glancing at her. The word wasn’t a command, but it held weight, a quiet reassurance that Paige didn’t want her to go anywhere.

Azzi froze for a moment, the warmth of Paige’s arm so close making her chest tighten. She nodded, staying right where she was, even as Paige turned to answer the person who’d approached.

When the conversation ended, Paige turned back to Azzi, a small grin on her face. “You need anything? Water? Soda? Something stronger?”

Azzi hesitated for a second before shrugging. “Water’s fine,” she said, grateful Paige even thought to ask.

“I’ll be right back,” Paige said, standing and weaving her way through the room towards the kitchen.

Azzi watched her go, the space beside her feeling oddly empty without Paige there. She fiddled with the hem of Paige’s sweater, her mind wandering back to Amber—wherever she was in this house—and the sharp contrast between her and Paige.

When Paige came back, she handed Azzi a bottle of water before settling back on the couch, her body angled slightly toward Azzi.

“Thanks,” Azzi said, cracking the bottle open and taking a sip.

“No problem.” Paige studied her for a moment before tilting her head slightly. “You look like you’re over this party.”

Azzi chuckled softly, leaning back into the couch. “It’s not really my scene honestly,” she admitted. “Too loud. Too crowded. I don’t know half the people here, and the one person I came with...” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Paige frowned slightly but didn’t press her for more. Instead, she just sat there as she thought for a moment. Then, as if deciding something, she turned back to Azzi and reached out her hand.

“Come on,” Paige said.

Azzi blinked, looking down at Paige’s outstretched hand. “What?”

“Let’s go,” Paige said simply, her fingers wiggling slightly as if to prompt Azzi to take her hand.

Azzi hesitated for a moment longer before setting the water bottle down on the floor and slipping her hand into Paige’s. Paige’s fingers interlaced with hers immediately, her grip warm as she tugged Azzi up from the couch.

“Where are we going?” Azzi asked.

Paige glanced at her with a small smile, her hand still holding Azzi’s tightly. “Somewhere better,” she said.

Azzi followed her without question, though her mind buzzed with curiosity. Paige led her through the crowded house, their intertwined hands drawing a few curious glances but nothing that lingered for two long. They climbed a narrow staircase, Azzi stumbling slightly on the last step, but Paige steadied her with a soft laugh, her hand tightening around Azzi’s.

When they reached the top, Paige guided her down a hallway and pushed open a door. Azzi blinked in surprise as the cool night air hit her face. They were on a small outdoor balcony, completely empty and tucked away from the noise and chaos of the party below. String lights hung lazily along the edge of the railing, casting a warm glow over the space.

Azzi let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The air was crisp but refreshing, and she was still warm from the drinks and the faint buzz of Paige’s presence. Paige’s jacket hung loosely around her shoulders, and though the cold nipped at her face, she didn’t mind.

Paige let go of her hand but didn’t step far, turning to lean her back against the railing and taking in the view. “Better, right?” she asked softly, her voice almost swallowed by the hum of the party below.

Azzi nodded, moving to the railing and resting her forearms on it. “Yeah. Way better,” she murmured, looking out at the dark yard below. She felt Paige’s eyes on her but didn’t turn, letting the comfortable silence settle between them for a moment.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Paige said after a beat.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You noticed?”

Paige scoffed softly, shifting to face her fully. “Of course I noticed, I’m me. Plus you’re not exactly the type to fade into the background but it feels like you kinda just been drifting tonight. Not as confident as usual.”

Azzi chuckled, her fingers playing with the hem of the jacket. “I don’t know. I guess... this just isn’t my scene,” she admitted. “I came because Amber wanted to….” She trailed off, shrugging slightly.

Paige’s gaze hardened a little, her jaw tightening at the mention of Amber, but she pushed the feeling aside. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here,” Paige said.

Azzi finally turned to look at her, her eyes searching Paige’s face. There was something about the way Paige was looking at her—intense but soft, like she was seeing every piece of her. It made Azzi’s stomach flip in a way she wasn’t ready to unpack.

“You are?” Azzi asked, her voice quiet but tinged with curiosity.

“Yeah,” Paige said, stepping closer now. Her voice dropped slightly.. “You’re the only one worth talking to here.”

Azzi’s heart stuttered in her chest, and she swallowed hard, glancing away briefly to compose herself. When she looked back, Paige had moved closer, so close that Azzi could feel the faint warmth radiating from her despite the cool night air.

Azzi leaned back against the railing, her hands gripping the edge lightly as she tilted her head to look at Paige. “You’re really sweet, you know that?” she teased, her tone light but her eyes giving away something deeper.

Paige arched a brow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Me? Sweet? Who would’ve guessed.”

Azzi smiled, her confidence sparking to life in the safety of their banter. “You make everything seem so effortless,” she said, her voice dipping slightly.

Paige let out a soft laugh, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s. “I could say the same about you,” she murmured, her tone quieter now..

The space between them felt incredibly small, and Azzi wasn’t sure if it was the drinks or the way Paige was looking at her, but she felt a pull, an ache between her legs that was as exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

Paige leaned in slightly, her hands coming to rest on the railing on both sides of Azzi, effectively boxing her in. She wasn’t touching her, not quite, but the proximity sent a shiver through Azzi’s body.

“You warm enough?” Paige asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi nodded, her breath catching slightly. “Yeah. Your jacket’s helping,” she said, her fingers brushing the fabric lightly.

Paige’s eyes flicked down to the movement, then back up to Azzi’s face. “Good,” she said, her voice a little rougher now, her gaze holding Azzi’s.

For a moment, the noise of the party below faded completely, and it was just them, the night air, and the soft glow of the lights. Azzi felt her resolve slipping, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn’t fully control.

Paige tilted her head slightly, her face inches from Azzi’s now. “You’ve got that look again,” Paige said softly, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

“What look?” Azzi asked, her voice barely audible.

“The one that says you’re overthinking,” Paige teased.

Azzi let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Maybe I am,” she admitted.

Paige’s smile softened, and she reached up, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from Azzi’s face. “Don’t,” she said simply.

Azzi didn’t know how to respond or how to react, so she didn’t. She just held Paige’s gaze, the space between them filled with an unspoken tension. For a moment, neither of them said anything, the soft hum of the night enveloping them.

Finally, Azzi broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

Paige’s brow furrowed slightly, and she smiled softly. “For what?”

Azzi hesitated for a second, her eyes flickering down to the jacket she was still wearing, then back to Paige’s face. “For everything,” she said simply, her tone almost vulnerable.

Paige’s expression softened even further, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “Don’t mention it.”

She raised her red cup to her lips, intending to finish off the rest of the drink, but before she could finish it completely, Azzi tilted her head slightly, her voice cutting through the stillness. “Can I have some?”

Paige blinked, then grinned, holding the cup out toward her. “You can kill the rest,” she said casually, her fingers brushing Azzi’s as she handed it over.

Azzi took the cup, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she tipped it back, finishing the drink in a few quick swallows. The warmth from the alcohol spread through her chest, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as the warmth radiating from Paige, who stood just inches away. Azzi set the empty cup down on the railing behind her.

Azzi set the empty cup down on the railing, her fingers brushing over the smooth surface before she turned back to face Paige. She hadn’t realized how close Paige had gotten, her arms still braced on either side of the railing.

“You look good in my jacket,” Paige said, the compliment coming out smoothly. Her eyes scanned Azzi, lingering for just a second longer than they probably should have as she took her in.

Azzi felt a blush creep up her neck, but she masked it with a soft laugh. “Yeah? Guess I’m doing you a favor, making it look better.”

Paige smirked, her hand sliding casually to rest on Azzi’s hip, her touch light but deliberate. “Exactly,” she murmured, tilting her head as her gaze locked on Azzi’s. “You make it look better.”

Azzi’s breath caught for a moment, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the warmth of Paige’s hand on her or the way Paige was looking at her, like she was undressing her with her eyes. “You’re bold tonight,” she managed, her voice softer than she intended.

Paige’s smirk deepened, her thumb brushing over the fabric of the jacket. “Just telling the truth,” she said. “You look... really pretty tonight, Az.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Paige’s tone. It wasn’t the first time someone had called her pretty, but the way Paige said it made her feel different. “You’ve had a few drinks,” Azzi said lightly, trying to deflect.

Paige leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. “Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it gorgeous.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. She should’ve stepped back, should’ve said something to lighten the moment, but instead, she stayed rooted to the spot, her body betraying her. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige chuckled softly, her hand still resting on Azzi’s hip as her gaze flickered down to Azzi’s lips for the briefest of moments before returning to her eyes. “Only if you want me to be,” she replied.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, shaking her head slightly. “You’re too good for that,” she said softly.

Paige leaned in just a little closer, her voice barely a whisper as she teased, “What do you mean?”

Azzi exhaled a quiet laugh, trying to brush it off, but the moment felt too heavy to laugh it off. “You’re a good person Paige,” Azzi said, her voice softening at the admission.

Paige smiled, a slow, satisfied grin pulling at her lips. “I am,” she said, a hint of pride in her tone.

Azzi didn’t respond immediately, her heart beating just a little faster as she glanced at Paige, the warmth from their closeness making her skin tingle. “So you’re not going to let me cheat tonight,” Azzi murmured, a little unsure why the words slipped out.

Paige didn’t pull away, though. Her hand remained on Azzi’s hip, her body still close enough that Azzi could feel the heat radiating between them. She just looked at Azzi for a beat too long, her eyes locked onto hers, saying nothing.

For a second, everything hung in the balance. Azzi felt herself holding her breath, her body unsure of what to do next. But before she could make up her mind, a voice interrupted the moment.

“Ahem.”

The sound was unmistakable—clear, direct, and too familiar. Azzi’s stomach dropped as she turned her head slightly, glancing over Paige’s shoulder.

Amber stood a few feet away, her eyes narrowed, her arms crossed over her chest. The discomfort was clear, but at that moment, Azzi didn’t jerk away. She didn’t pull back.

Instead, she stayed rooted to the spot, holding Paige’s gaze. For a heartbeat, she let herself savor the closeness, the pull of something real between her and Paige. Then, she finally glanced back at Amber—seeing the look on her face—and it hit Azzi with a quiet, unsettling clarity.

This was probably when Azzi should’ve ended things with Amber. The realization hit her harder than she expected, but it didn’t feel like a mistake—it felt like the truth.

Azzi didn’t break the moment quickly, though. Instead, she smiled softly at Paige, a small, genuine smile that conveyed more than words ever could. Paige’s expression softened in response, her eyes warm with something almost like understanding, even though she said nothing.

Azzi pushed gently against Paige’s waist, a quiet movement that separated them just enough to give her space to breathe. “I should go,” Azzi said, her voice soft but steady, as she stepped away from the railing.

Paige smiled at her, a gentle, almost wistful curve of her lips. “Get home safe, Azzi,” she said, her voice carrying an underlying warmth.

Azzi returned the smile. “I’ll text you,” she murmured, before turning toward the hallway. She couldn’t quite look back, not with that lingering tension between them.

As Azzi made her way down the stairs, she noticed Amber already ahead of her, walking with purpose, the distance between them increasing by the second. Azzi’s steps purposely slowed, her mind still racing with everything that had just happened—what she had almost let happen.

When they finally stepped outside, the crisp night air hit her, making her pull Paige’s jacket closer around herself. Amber, who had been silent up until now, suddenly stopped walking and turned sharply to face Azzi, her jaw set.

“What the hell was that?” Amber’s voice was low but heated, frustration clear in every word.

Azzi blinked at her, not breaking her stride as she pulled the zipper on the jacket higher, securing it snugly against the cold. “Nothing,” she said flatly, keeping her tone calm.

Amber’s eyes flicked down to the jacket, her brow furrowing as if noticing it for the first time. “Whose jacket is that?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Azzi replied, her eyes focused ahead as she kept walking.

“It does matter,” Amber shot back, quickening her steps to keep up with her. “You’ve got some random person’s jacket on like it’s normal or something.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath, the sound humorless. She finally glanced at Amber, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s literally a jacket, Amber. You’re being childish.”

Amber stopped in her tracks, her hands balling into fists at her sides as she stared after Azzi. “Childish?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly. “You’re walking around in someone else’s clothes, and I’m supposed to just ignore that?!”

Azzi sighed, exasperated, as she turned around to face her. “It’s really not that deep. I was cold and you wouldn’t give me yours so…”

Amber’s face twisted in disbelief, her frustration clear, but Azzi didn’t wait for her to say anything else. She turned back around, her hands burying themselves in the jacket’s pockets, and started walking toward the dorms again, leaving Amber standing there in silence.

The Second Slip Up

The night at Ted’s was supposed to be a break—a chance for everyone to unwind after a long stretch of games and practice. The team had been looking forward to it all week, and Azzi, too, had been excited to just let loose for a while. But everything had been sour before she even left. Her argument with Amber had been heated—one that nearly turned into a screaming match—but it was the same pattern as always. Amber had wanted Azzi to drop everything and come to the DMV for a week, something about an interview, but Azzi told her she couldn’t just throw her responsibilities aside. She had two games, practices, and meetings. Amber didn’t understand, once again insulting Azzi and it led to another fight.

Still, despite the tension, Azzi wanted to go out. Amber, always aggressive when she didn’t get her way, was all over Azzi the moment they walked into Ted’s even though Azzi wasn’t interested. She tried to pull Azzi into a dance, dragging her by the hand, her lips kissing at Azzi’s neck, whispering promises Azzi wasn’t sure she could still believe in.

Paige, on the other hand, was across the room, surrounded by a few of the girls from the team, laughing and “dancing” with a random girl who was at the bar. Azzi tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest when her eyes found Paige's across the crowded room. She couldn’t help herself—there was something magnetic about her, something that called to Azzi even from a distance.

The moment they locked eyes, Azzi felt everything inside her still. Amber’s hand was on her waist, pulling her into the chaotic rhythm of the music, but Azzi wasn’t moving, she couldn’t focus on anything except the way Paige was looking at her. Her usually bright blue eyes were darker than usual, her gaze intense as she sipped her drink, not blinking, as if she were daring Azzi to look away first. And for a moment, Azzi forgot how to breathe.

The world seemed to slow down. Amber was still murmuring into Azzi's ear, but Azzi couldn’t hear her. Her words were drowned out by the music and the rapid beat of her heart. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Paige. It felt like a secret shared between them, even though they hadn’t said a word.

Paige’s gaze never wavered, and Azzi could feel everything between them, like the entire room had been reduced to just the two of them. Amber, oblivious to the tension building, continued to cling to Azzi, her whispers falling on deaf ears. Azzi barely even registered what Amber was saying.

Azzi’s chest tightened as the girl dancing on Paige didn’t back off. Instead, she leaned in closer, her body grinding against Paige's as she ran her acrylics slowly down Paige's jaw, tracing the curve of her face and lips. Azzi watched the movement, her stomach twisting as Paige barely reacted. Her eyes were locked on Azzi, unmoving, unblinking, as if nothing else in the room mattered, not even the girl trying to press herself closer to Paige.

Azzi could feel the heat creeping up her neck, the possessiveness bubbling inside her, even though she had no right to feel it. Amber's hand was still on Azzi's waist, trying to pull her into the rhythm of the music, but Azzi couldn’t bring herself to care. Not while Paige’s gaze was still locked on her.

The girl on Paige’s body kept dancing, but Paige’s focus was unwavering. Paige smirked slightly as the girl's hands ran over her neck, as if she knew Azzi wouldn’t like it. Still, her eyes never leave Azzi’s.

It was like a silent challenge, a dare to Azzi to make a move, to step in and claim what could be hers, but Azzi was frozen. She was stuck, caught between the familiarity of Amber and the pull she felt toward Paige, the way Paige's eyes seemed to tug at her heart in ways she couldn’t explain.

Amber, noticing Azzi's lingering stare, tugged her closer, leaning into her ear. “Babyyy, you’re not even paying attention,” she said, but Azzi still barely heard her. All she could focus on was the way Paige’s gaze had deepened, how there was something raw and magnetic about the way she looked at her.

As Paige slowly took another sip from her drink, Azzi noticed how the girl's hand slid down Paige's side to her hips, and for a brief moment, Azzi wanted to rip her hand off. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She was still stuck in Amber’s grip, still trying to hold onto something that was slipping through her fingers.

"Who are you looking at like that?" Amber's voice cut through the haze, and Azzi blinked, tearing her eyes away from Paige to look at Amber, but the heat between her and Paige still lingered, like a flame Azzi couldn’t put out.

…

Azzi hadn’t planned on doing anything that night. She was determined to be respectful, to keep her distance from Paige and stay respectful to her relationship, like she always had. She’d made up her mind to stay out of the way, to avoid any of the tension that had been building between her and Paige. She thought if she could just make it through tonight without any issues, everything would be fine. But then after a few drinks Amber had to go and make everything complicated.

Amber wasn’t just rude that night. She was worse—she was dismissive, condescending, and cruel in a way Azzi hadn’t seen in a long time. It was though all the frustrations Amber had been bottling up for weeks finally exploded, and Azzi was the target. Amber fully snapped at Azzi when she pushed her off gently and tried to suggest they grab a drink instead of dancing. She accused Azzi of ignoring her all night, accused her of being self-absorbed, accusing her of not wasting her time playing a game rather than trying to better their relationship and so much more.. Each comment felt like a jab, cutting deeper than the last.

Azzi tried to brush it off at first, telling herself it was just the alcohol or a bad mood, but it didn’t stop. Amber’s insults, her passive-aggressive remarks, and the way she treated Azzi like she was nothing more than an accessory to her life—it all piled up.

The quiet argument had escalated quickly, spiraling out of control before Azzi even had a chance to process it. “Call me when you’re done being so fucking self-centered,” Amber spat. She didn’t wait for a response, turning on her heel and storming out of Ted’s.

Azzi stood there for a moment, watching the door swing shut behind Amber. A sigh left her lips, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it, she honestly didn’t feel bad about it. The tension in her chest loosened as she turned back to the team, who, like her, were already a few drinks in, their mood carefree and light. It was easy to slip back into their energy, letting the music and laughter fill the space Amber had left.

The drinks flowed freely, and with each one, Azzi felt herself relax more. She didn’t have to force anything; the team’s energy was infectious, and before long, she found herself genuinely enjoying everything. Paige was initially on the other side of the room, laughing with Evina and Olivia, but like a magnet, they naturally drifted toward each other. Neither of them said anything as their proximity closed; it was unspoken, almost instinctual, like gravity pulling them together.

Paige didn’t even realize how close she had gotten until Azzi reached out, her hand finding Paige’s wrist and gently tugging her closer. The tug wasn’t rushed or eager—it was simple and confident, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Paige felt her pulse quicken, but she didn’t hesitate. She let herself fall into the moment, her hands sliding around Azzi’s waist as the music guided them.

They started swaying to the beat, bodies pressed together as neither one of them said anything. Paige’s arms tightened slightly around Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer. Their movements grew more fluid as Azzi wrapped her arm around Paige’s shoulder, her hands coming together to rest on her head. Neither spoke a word, but their silence was filled with a quiet understanding, the tension between them growing.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to Paige’s lips, and Paige caught the movement, making her instinctually lick them. The air between them continues to grow heavier, their gazes dancing between each other’s lips and eyes, silently asking questions neither of them said out loud.

Azzi, trying her best to keep her composure, let her head dip down, resting lightly on Paige’s shoulder. Her breath fanning across Paige’s neck, the simple warmth of it making Paige clench her jaw. Azzi’s lips hovered tantalizingly close to Paige’s skin, not quite touching but close enough that Paige could feel the ghost of them. Paige’s fingers tightened slightly on Azzi’s waist, her own breaths shallow as she tried to steady herself.

Their dancing grew needier, the space between them nonexistent. It wasn’t just the physical closeness; it was the way they seemed to be silently communicating through every glance, every brush of skin. Paige closed her eyes for a brief moment, soaking in the sensation, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure Azzi could hear it.

Without warning, Azzi crossed the line between hovering and touching.

Her lips ghosted over Paige’s neck, softly. It wasn’t aggressive or rushed—just featherlight kisses that sent sparks racing through Paige’s veins. Paige sighed audibly, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep her composure. Her fingers dug into Azzi’s hips reflexively, grounding herself so she didn’t lose it entirely in the middle of the bar.

Azzi noticed the way Paige’s body tensed under her touch, and it only fueled her. As she let her lips linger a moment longer, the pressure slightly firmer now in a few spots, before pulling back just enough to murmur into Paige’s ear.

“Meet me in the bathroom.”

Paige’s eyes opened, her grip on Azzi’s waist faltering as her heart raced. Before she could respond, Azzi was already stepping back, her touch slipping away like sand through Paige’s fingers.

Azzi didn’t look back as she walked toward the bathroom. Paige stood there for a moment, frozen, the ghost of Azzi’s touch and the warmth of her lips still lingering on her skin.

The music continued around her, the chatter and laughter of the team and other patrons filling the space, but it all felt distant now. Paige’s focus was entirely on the retreating figure of Azzi, her heart pounding as she weighed her next move.

Her lips curved into a subtle, almost involuntary smirk as she exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. There was no real decision to make—her body had already made it for her. With one last glance around the bar, Paige slipped through the crowd, following the same path Azzi had taken moments earlier.

When Paige stepped into the dimly lit bathroom, her gaze locked onto Azzi, who was leaning casually against the sink. Azzi’s eyes flicked up to meet Paige’s, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

Paige didn’t say a word as she turned and locked the door behind her with a click, the sound echoing in the space. Her hand lingered on the lock for a second longer than necessary, steadying herself as she exhaled, before slowly facing Azzi again.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them thick. Azzi’s smirk faltered slightly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she studied Paige’s expression. It wasn’t playful or hesitant—Paige’s eyes burned with something Azzi couldn’t place, her chest rising and falling as though she was barely holding herself back.

The silence was broken when Azzi took two quick steps forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. Without warning, her hands gripped the front of Paige’s shirt, pushing her back until Paige’s shoulders hit the cool wall with a thud. Azzi’s lips were on hers immediately, the kiss urgent and messy, tongues battling one another as they fought for control.

Paige’s hands instinctively went to Azzi’s waist, her fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt as she pulled her even closer. Azzi pressed against her fully, her grip tightening on Paige’s shirt, but it was clear neither one of them was willing to give up control.

Then, in a quick movement that left Azzi momentarily stunned, Paige flipped their positions, slamming Azzi’s back against the wall with a force that made her gasp. Azzi’s head tilted back slightly from the impact, her lips parting in surprise, but her body instantly responded to the dominance radiating from Paige.

The heat coursed through Azzi, her breath hitching as she met Paige’s gaze. No one had ever handled her like this before—there was a certainty, a confidence in Paige’s actions that excited Azzi.

Paige didn’t give her much time to process, her lips crashing back onto Azzi’s with the same fervor as before. Her hands slid down Azzi’s sides, gripping her hips firmly as she pressed her body against Azzi’s, pinning her to the wall. Azzi let out a soft moan against Paige’s lips, her own hands tangling in Paige’s hair as she pulled her even closer, the world outside that bathroom disappearing entirely.

The two of them stayed locked in that rhythm, bodies pressed impossibly close, lips and hands moving with an urgency that neither seemed able—or willing—to control. Paige’s grip on Azzi’s hips remained firm, holding her in place every time Azzi tried to shift, a silent but undeniable reflection of her dominance.

As their kisses deepened, Paige’s lips began trailing down Azzi’s jaw. She kissed and sucked softly along the curve, her movements careful not to leave any marks. Azzi’s head tilted instinctively, giving Paige better access even as her mind began to catch up to her body.

The thought of Paige leaving marks on her skin—of something so visible, so undeniably real—triggered a sudden flicker of realization. Azzi’s heart pounded in her chest, her breathing shallow as she tried to fight the pull of Paige’s lips, her touch, her everything.

“Paige…” Azzi’s voice came out barely above a whisper, shaky and uncertain, her resolve faltering even as the word left her lips. Paige didn’t seem to hear her—or maybe she did and thought Azzi was whispering her name for other reasons—because she continued, her lips sucking against the sensitive spot just below Azzi’s ear, drawing a sharp inhale from her.

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut, pulling every ounce of willpower she could muster. This time, she took a deep, steadying breath and whispered more firmly, “Paige stop.” She gently pushed at Paige’s shoulders, just enough to create a space between them.

Paige stilled immediately, her hands falling away from Azzi’s hips, her hazy eyes snapping up to meet Azzi’s. The awe and unfiltered admiration written across Paige’s face made Azzi’s chest ache, her throat tightening painfully as she tried to find the right words.

“We can’t,” Azzi said softly, the words catching in her throat as her hands lingered on Paige’s shoulders, not wanting to completely let go yet.

Pain flickered in Paige’s eyes briefly but she quickly masked it as she reached out, her hand gently cupping Azzi’s cheek slowly. “It’s okay,” she said softly, forcing her voice to sound understanding.

“I…Um... I should go,” Azzi said quietly, her voice barely audible over the thundering in her chest. She turned to leave, but Paige’s voice stopped her.

“Get home safe Az,” Paige said softly.

Azzi didn’t turn back as she walked out, her mind a storm of emotions, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on her chest. She couldn’t look at Paige again. Not right now.

…

Later that night Azzi finally mustered the courage to go talk to Paige. She needed to explain, or at least some kind of resolution to everything swirling between them. The night’s events—especially the kiss in the bathroom—kept replaying in her mind, and she couldn't get rid of the knot in her stomach. She knew she couldn’t just let things sit unresolved between them. But she didn’t know what to expect when she knocked on Paige’s dorm door.

As she walked down the hall toward Paige’s room, Azzi felt her heart pound in her chest. Her hand hovered over the door, and for a moment, she paused, wondering if this was the right thing to do. But before she could knock, she heard something from inside Paige’s room—a sound that made her blood run cold.

“Paige! Oh my god, Fuck Paige.” A girl’s voice, excited and a little too loud for the quiet of the dorms.

Azzi’s stomach dropped. She froze, her hand still in the air. The sound of the girl calling Paige’s name echoed in her ears, and Azzi could feel a wave of nausea rise in her throat. Her pulse quickened, and her breath caught in her chest.

It hurt, even though Azzi couldn’t explain why. She wanted to shake it off, to remind herself that she wasn’t with Paige and that she had no claim on her, but the sting wouldn’t go away.

She stood there for a long moment, paralyzed by the sick feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t even bring herself to knock on the door anymore. Instead, she backed away, feeling like she couldn’t catch her breath. The feeling of walking into Paige’s room and finding that girl with her—that girl whose name she didn’t even know but who had already made Azzi feel small—was too much.

Azzi turned and walked quickly down the hallway, away from Paige’s room, her heart racing in her chest.

…

For the next few weeks, Paige and Azzi kept things friendly, almost as if that night at Ted's had never happened. They didn’t bring it up once—no awkward glances, no mention of the kiss. They were good at pretending. To anyone else, they were just two friends hanging out, enjoying the occasional late-night talk, laughing at inside jokes, and sharing glances across the room. And for a while, that worked. They kept it light and uncomplicated. But Azzi knew, deep down, that something had changed.

It wasn’t until they found themselves at another party that the cracks started to show again. Clearly alcohol was their biggest enemy. This time, it was more of a low-key kickback in someone’s suite—still loud and filled with the hum of music and chatter, but less crowded than a full on party. Azzi was grateful for that; she didn’t want to deal with the crowds of people that had made everything feel so messy the last time.

Amber hadn’t so much as glanced at her all night, spending the majority of her time with some girl from her law class who kept trailing after her, whispering in her ear, and laughing like they were in their own little world. Azzi didn’t mind. In fact, it was a relief. She didn’t want to deal with Amber tonight. She just wanted to get through the evening without any drama—something she knew she was starting to crave, especially when it came to Paige.

Paige was there too, of course, as she always was. She wasn’t exactly the life of the party, but she was still fun to be around. Her usual carefree energy, though, was tempered by something tonight. Azzi couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something in the way Paige held herself, the way she lingered a little too long in Azzi’s space when they shared a laugh, or the way their hands brushed as they passed each other in the small crowd.

For a while, Azzi managed to focus on other things—laughing at jokes, chatting with some of their teammates, and even dancing a little. But it wasn’t long before Paige’s presence became undeniable again. Every time she looked in Paige’s direction, there was something magnetic about her. She found herself gravitating back toward her, unable to resist the pull.

And then, of course, the alcohol kicked in. The drinks kept flowing, and just like the last time, the line between friendly and something more began to blur. Azzi caught herself looking at Paige longer than necessary, noticing the way the light hit her face or how her lips curled into a smile when she said something funny. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own, responding to the subtle cues, the closeness they shared.

The night seemed to slip into a haze after a few too many drinks. The music was louder, the air warmer with the scent of alcohol and bodies pressed together. Azzi, already feeling the effects of the alcohol, found herself near Paige again. Azzi tried to focus on something else—anything else—so her eyes flickered back to Amber, still deep in conversation with the same girl from her law class.

Azzi wasn’t even upset, she was just curious about the situation, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Paige followed her line of sight, eyes narrowing slightly as she saw the same thing Azzi did. Amber was leaning in, her lips too close to the other girl’s ear, her body language clearly more than friendly. For a moment, Paige didn’t know what came over her, but she felt a spark of something, something protective that pushed her forward. Before she had a chance to second-guess it, she stood from her spot and pulled Azzi gently but firmly onto her lap on the couch, wrapping her arms around her waist.

The sudden proximity caught Azzi off guard. She could feel Paige’s heartbeat against her back, the warmth of her body pressing against hers, and the weight of Paige’s arms as they tightened around her. Azzi tensed slightly, not sure how to react to the intensity of the moment. But then Paige’s voice, soft and soothing, brushed against her ear.

“Just relax,” Paige whispered, her breath warm on Azzi’s skin. It was as if the simple words unlocked something inside Azzi. She felt her body hum, a subtle tension easing as Paige’s words settled in her mind. She leaned back slightly, her head resting against Paige’s chest, the solid thump of her heartbeat grounding her.

Paige’s voice was soft against Azzi’s ear as she whispered, "You know you're much prettier than whoever she's talking to." Azzi couldn’t help the hum that escaped her lips, the sound almost a mixture of appreciation and something else.

Paige’s voice dipped lower. “I would never do you like that.”

Azzi stayed still for a moment, leaning comfortably against Paige’s chest, but her words came out without hesitation. “You did.”

Paige froze for a second, confused, her arms tightening around Azzi instinctively. "Whatchu mean?"

Azzi let out a breath, her heart racing with the weight of the conversation, and she turned her head just enough to rest her cheek against Paige’s chest. “That night after Ted’s… I came to talk to you.”

Paige stiffened, her jaw clenching slightly. She didn’t need to hear more. She already knew exactly what Azzi was talking about. The air between them shifted, the lightness of their previous banter now replaced by an unspoken tension.

She tightened her grip around Azzi, not out of force but to keep her close, to prevent the moment from slipping out of her control. "I was drunk," Paige said quietly, though her tone betrayed a hint of guilt.

Azzi didn’t say anything for a long moment. Her chest felt tight, not just from the closeness, but from Paige’s words. She didn’t know why it hurt more to hear that it had been a moment of drunken weakness than if Paige had just admitted it had been something more. But she swallowed hard, pushing the sting of it down.

“Yeah, well.” Azzi finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air between them, as cutting as the silence that followed.

Paige let out a frustrated breath, but instead of getting defensive, she spoke with more restraint. “You wanna know something?” Her voice was quieter now.

Azzi nodded her head gently against Paige’s chest, her heart pounding in anticipation. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at Paige just yet, not wanting to see what might be written on her face.

Paige’s lips brushed against Azzi’s ear as she spoke, lowering her voice even more, making Azzi shiver. “Your name slipped out.”

Azzi’s breath hitched at that, her body instinctively turning, as if the words had unlocked something inside her. She was trying to turn to face Paige, to process what had just been said, but Paige’s grip on her tightened, keeping her in place, pressing her body flush against hers.

“Don’t. Just listen,” Paige murmured. Azzi felt the heat of Paige’s breath against her neck, and despite the knot in her stomach, she couldn’t pull away. Paige’s arms were like anchors, steadying her in the midst of the storm inside her.

Amber’s gaze shifted across the room, her eyes narrowing when she spotted the two of them. She had been too distracted by the girl from her law class, but now that she was looking, it was impossible to ignore the way Azzi and Paige were practically wrapped around each other. Paige’s arm was snugly around Azzi’s waist, their heads tilted toward each other, too close. Amber felt a surge of anger rise within her as she watched Paige’s lips move near Azzi’s ear, whispering something she couldn’t hear but could certainly imagine as Azzi’s eyes fluttered closed and she crossed her legs.

Amber’s grip on her drink tightened, and her pulse quickened. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Azzi was lost in the moment, but then, out of the corner of her eye she felt Amber’s gaze. The air seemed to thicken, and Azzi could feel the tension spike instantly, even before Paige noticed.

Amber’s eyes were locked on her and Paige, and the fury in her gaze was clear. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her posture was rigid. Azzi knew Amber well enough to see the storm brewing in her eyes, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like it was directed solely at Azzi. It was as if Amber was furious with Paige too.

Paige, however, seemed to enjoy the spectacle once she noticed. Her smirk widening as she notices Amber staring at them. She didn’t break eye contact with Amber. Instead, she leaned in closer to Azzi, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper that sent an involuntary shiver through her.

"You want me to let go?"

Azzi’s eyes flickered toward Amber, still standing across the room, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. Azzi paused, her heart racing as she considered Paige’s question.

She knew Amber was watching. And yet, as her mind spun with uncertainty, her body couldn’t help but answer for her. She shook her head softly, her voice barely a whisper as she responded, "No."

Paige’s smile was slow and full of satisfaction, a gleam of triumph in her eyes as she tightened her hold on Azzi, pulling her impossibly closer. Azzi felt the pressure of Paige’s arms wrapping around her, keeping her in place as Paige’s lips descended on her neck, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss against the sensitive skin there.

Azzi's breath caught in her throat, her body trembling slightly from the gentle caress as she bit her lip. Paige made sure to angle her head just enough so that Amber could see every move, every touch. The kiss lingered for a moment longer than necessary, the intimacy of it undeniable.

Paige pulled away just slightly, her gaze flicking over to Amber, locking eyes with her again in an almost mocking way. She knew Amber was furious, but it seemed like the moment only fueled Paige’s smirk, her confidence growing as she deliberately pressed closer to Azzi, the whole scene laid out in front of Amber’s watchful eyes.

Azzi, still caught in the feeling of Paige’s touch, swallowed hard, trying to focus on the situation at hand. But Paige had effectively shifted the focus back to Amber, making sure that whatever was happening—whatever was about to happen—Amber couldn’t look away.

Paige kissed Azzi’s neck a few more times, each press of her lips making Azzi’s pulse quicken.

The soft, lingering touches felt like they were meant for no one but her, and for a moment, everything else faded. Azzi’s breath became shallow, her body leaning into Paige’s embrace, her mind clouded completely by the heat of the moment.

But then, the spell was broken.

Amber, whose eyes blazing with a mix of rage and intoxication, stormed across the room. Her movements were unsteady. Without hesitation, Amber yanked Azzi off of Paige, the movement more forceful than necessary.

Azzi stumbled slightly, the abruptness of the action catching her off guard, but before she could even regain her balance, Paige was standing up quickly, her posture stiff, her jaw clenching with anger. She stepped in front of Azzi, putting herself between them, her eyes flashing as she looked Amber up and down.

“Don’t fucking touch her like that,” Paige’s voice was low but still controlled enough.

Amber, still fuming, sneered at Paige.. “I can touch her however the fuck I want to,” she spat, her voice slurred just enough to reflect how drunk she was. She took a step toward Azzi, her hand reaching out again as if to make her point as she tried to grab Azzit.

Paige stepped between them before she could get any closer. “Yo, you needa chill,” Paige said.

Amber ignored her and reached for Azzi again, but Paige’s hand shot out, stopping her in her tracks. “Bro, she’s not going with you. You’re crashing out,” Paige said. Her eyes locked on Amber’s with a mix of warning and restraint.

Amber let out a bitter chuckle, her drunkenness masking the anger simmering beneath. “I promise you haven’t seen that yet,” she snapped.

Paige didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back. Instead, she moved closer, her jaw clenching even tighter. The air between them was thick and for a moment, it felt like the room had gone silent, everyone holding their breath to see what would happen next.

Just as the situation was about to tip over the edge, Evina appeared out of nowhere, throwing her arm around Paige’s shoulders casually.. “Yo, you good, P?” she asked, her voice light but carrying enough weight to cut through the tension.

Paige didn’t take her eyes off Amber, their gaze still locked. “Yeah, I’m good E.”

Evina, still sensing the storm brewing, gently started nudging Paige back, her arm firm around her shoulders. “Alright, then. Let’s keep it that way,” she said, her tone calm as she tried to defuse the situation before it exploded.

Paige let it happen, allowing Evina to put some space between her and Amber, though her eyes never left Amber’s face. The message was clear.

Amber’s voice cut through the heavy silence.. “Azzi this is bullshit, let’s go.”.

Azzi didn’t move from her position near Paige, her body tense, clearly caught in an internal battle. Her eyes flicked between Amber and Paige, knowing her answer but unsure of what to say. How to say it.

Amber’s frustration turned to disbelief as she took a step forward, her movements aggressive. “Azzi, are you fucking serious right now?” she snapped, her voice rising. She tried to get closer to Azzi, but Paige was there again, stepping in and blocking her path.

“She clearly doesn’t wanna go with you, just let it go,” Paige said.

Amber scoffed, glaring at Paige like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “She can speak for herself. She’s not a fucking toddler,” she shot back, her anger bubbling over.

The words seemed to snap Azzi out of her internal battle. She straightened her posture, inhaling deeply as she finally found her voice. “I’m just gonna stay with Paige tonight.”

Amber froze, her expression shifting from anger to shock as the weight of Azzi’s words sunk in. “What the fuck do you mean you’re staying with Paige tonight?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly, the disbelief clear.

Azzi’s gaze didn’t falter as she replied, her voice a little firmer this time. “You can go be with whoever you want from law class and I’m going to stay with Paige.”

The room seemed to still, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. Azzi didn’t need to elaborate further. The implication in her words was clear, and Amber understood exactly what she meant.

Amber let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief as she looked between Azzi and Paige. “Wow,” she muttered. “Almost three years of my life down the fucking drain.”

For a moment, Amber stood there, her chest rising and falling as if she wanted to say more, but no words came. With a sharp turn, she stormed toward the counter. Grabbing an empty glass, she poured herself a hefty drink, the sound of liquid hitting glass cutting through the tense silence.

Azzi exhaled shakily, her shoulders slumping as the weight of the moment settled over her. She stared at the floor, processing everything, her mind racing with emotions she couldn’t untangle.

Paige noticed. She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Azzi’s back to draw her attention. Azzi glanced at her, her watery eyes betraying the calm facade she was trying to keep.

“You good?” Paige asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Azzi gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine,” she murmured, but the slight tremor in her voice told another story.

Paige studied her carefully, reading every detail—the tenseness of her shoulders, the glossiness of her pretty brown eyes, the way her hands fidgeted. She saw it all: the hurt, the relief, and the overwhelming weight of the decision Azzi had just made.

After a moment, Paige leaned in slightly. “You wanna get outta here?”

Azzi blinked quickly, trying to chase away the tears that were trying to spill over. She looked at Paige, the question hanging in the air like an open door, a perfect escape that she desperately needed. With a small nod, she said.

“Yes. Please.”

Without another word, Paige slid her arm around Azzi’s shoulders and Azzi melted into her side, leaning her head slightly against Paige's as they made their way to the door.

Some people in the room seemed to register the moment. Heads turned the weight of their departure together a little more serious.

…

After that, it was like the universe conspired to give Azzi small, quiet signs the rest of the night, reassuring her that she’d made the right decision.

The first came in the form of Paige when they got back to the room. She didn’t push or pry for information or what this meant for them; she simply held Azzi, her arms wrapped securely around her while silent tears slipped down Azzi’s face. It wasn’t dramatic or loud—just a quiet release as Azzi processed the reality of what had happened. She wasn’t exactly sad, but the weight of ending a nearly three-year relationship pressed on her chest.

Paige didn’t say anything. She didn’t try to fill the silence with platitudes or ask if Azzi wanted to talk. She just stayed there, letting Azzi’s tears fall against her chest, dampening her chest.

That was the first sign—because Azzi didn’t know anyone else, besides sweet and gentle Paige, who would hold the girl they were in love with while she cried over her ex. It was a selfless love that Azzi hadn’t experienced before, the kind of quiet genuine love that didn’t demand gratitude or expect anything in return.

Eventually, the tears slowed, Azzi’s body growing heavier in Paige’s arms. Her breathing evened out, her exhaustion catching up to her.

Paige didn’t move, didn’t let go, even as Azzi drifted to sleep against her chest, her tears drying where they’d fallen.

The next moment the universe seemed to confirm Azzi had made the right choice came later that night. Paige hadn’t fully let herself fall asleep yet. She was hovering in that space between wakefulness and rest, a part of her instinctively still alert because she knew what might happen.

Hours later, Azzi began to stir, soft murmurs turning into restless movements as her breathing changed. The effects of a bad dream pulled her out of sleep, and she woke with a slight panic.

But Paige was there.

Within seconds, Paige tightened her arms around Azzi, pulling her back down to the mattress, whispering groggily, “It’s just a dream, Az.” Her voice was a little raspy from sleep, barely above a murmur, but it anchored Azzi.

Azzi stayed still, her breath shaky as she tried to gather herself. Paige, still half-asleep, spooned her tightly, her hold warm and reassuring, her presence a contrast for Azzi’s frayed nerves. They didn’t say anything for a while, letting the silence stretch out between them as Paige’s coconut-and-vanilla scent surrounded Azzi.

Azzi lay there, her mind racing as she processed everything—where she finally was, who she was with, and how different it felt. Finally, she whispered, “Are you awake?”

Paige squeezed her tighter, pulling her closer into the spooning position, and hummed in response, the sound low in Azzi’s ear.

After a moment, Paige’s voice, still thick with sleep, asked, “You wanna talk about your dream?”

Azzi hesitated before asking, “How’d you know it was a bad dream?”

Even in the dark, Paige smiled, though Azzi couldn’t see it. “I noticed on a few road games,” she said softly, “you tend to have nightmares when you’ve had a lot of sugar that day.” Her voice carried a teasing warmth as she continued, “Almost like your mind needs to burn off all the extra energy or something.”

Azzi couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh, her heart feeling lighter in a way she hadn’t expected. The way Paige noticed things like that—small, seemingly inconsequential details—made Azzi’s chest ache in the best way.

In that moment, Azzi allowed herself to fully confirm what she’d known for a while: Paige was the right one for her. She pressed herself further into Paige, her back snug against Paige’s chest, and interlaced their fingers, her palm pressing against the back of Paige’s hand.

Paige felt the shift and whispered, “You good?”

Azzi nodded, humming her confirmation, but Paige wasn’t fully convinced. “You can’t sleep anymore?” she asked gently, her thumb brushing over Azzi’s knuckles.

“No,” Azzi admitted quietly.

Paige tilted her head slightly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s hair as she murmured, “What do you need? I can make you some tea or something.”

Azzi hesitated, her mind swirling. The weight of the day, the relief of being held by Paige, and the pull of something deeper. Finally, after a long moment, she shifted closer to Paige—though there was hardly any space left between them—and guided Paige’s hand lower, resting over her waistband, silently telling her what she wanted.

Paige stilled for a moment, processing Azzi’s request. Then, her fingers tightened slightly around Azzi’s hand. “Are you sure?” Paige whispered, making sure Azzi was fully in control of what she wanted.

Azzi turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting Paige’s in the faint light spilling in through the blinds. “Yeah,” she whispered back, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her gaze.

Paige leaned forward, pressing a soft lingering kiss to Azzi’s lips. She then trailed a few more kisses down Azzi’s neck, her movements slow, giving Azzi time to change her mind if she wanted to. Paige’s breath brushed against Azzi’s ear as she murmured, “Are you sure, Azzi?”

She nodded softly against Paige, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “Yes I’m sure,” she whispered.

Paige searched her face for another moment, wanting to be absolutely certain. When she found nothing but certainty in Azzi’s expression, she smiled back, her features softening. Her free hand brushed a strand of hair from Azzi’s face as she murmured, “Okay.”

She leaned in again, her lips trailing along Azzi’s jawline, her lips filled with nothing but care. Paige moved slowly, wanting to savor every moment and make sure Azzi felt safe after everything from earlier that night. After her lips have traced every part of Azzis neck, Paige softly grabs her jaw pulling her towards into a soft kiss. Their lips and tongues dance with one another perfectly as Paige leads them.

The kiss grew more urgent, both of them succumbing to the warmth spreading through their bodies and the slight alcohol still in their system. It was the kind of heat that made the air feel heavier, the kind that drew them closer despite the impossibleness of closing the already nonexistent gap between them.

Paige let out a low groan when Azzi nipped at her bottom lip, sending a shiver down her spine that she felt all the way to her toes. Azzi smirked against Paige’s lips at the sound, emboldened by how easily she could unravel her.

Trying to turn in Paige’s arms to face her fully, Azzi shifted, but Paige tightened her hold, her hands firm as they kept Azzi in place. “Stay like this,” Paige murmured against her lips, her voice rough and breathless.

Azzi sighed softly at the words, her body relaxing into Paige’s as she allowed herself to be guided, her hands coming up to rest on top of Paige’s that were trailing up Azzi’s stomach to palm her breast under her sports bra. Making Azzi moan quietly.

Her head tilting slightly to give Paige more space, their lips meeting again in a kiss that was softer this time but no less consuming.

The world outside their little bubble ceased to exist. There was nothing but the sound of their uneven breaths and the muffled sounds of their kisses filling the 3 a.m. silence. Paige squeezed Azzi’s chest slightly, her palm warm as it anchored Azz here and there, Azzi couldn’t help the way her chest rose and fell a little quicker, her heart racing each time Paige palmed her breast or circling her fingers, as she surrendered to the moment.

The air between them is a little sticky with heat, the silence punctuated only by the occasional gasp or hum of pleasure as Paige's hand explores more boldly. Azzi's breath hitches when Paige's lips trail lower again, brushing against the soft skin of her neck, as she sucks softly here and there. A warmth spreads through Azzi and she tilts her head to give Paige more room, her body quickly reacting in ways she hadn't expected. It usually took her so much longer.

Paige is completely lost in the moment too, her fingers grazing over Azzi's skin, exploring the curves of her body with a gentle urgency.

She can feel the quick rhythm of Azzi's heartbeat beneath her touch and the slight tremor in her movements every time she takes a deep breath. It's a silent conversation between them, that speaks of trust and longing, of desires barely held in check.

Paige pauses just for a moment, her lips hovering over Azzi's skin. "Can I leave marks?" she whispers again, her voice still soft but filled with a hint of need. Azzi reaches back as her fingers curl into Paige's hair, tugging her down to meet her lips for a moment. "Just make sure it’s below my jersey," she murmurs.

Paige nods at this as she goes back to sucking on Azzi’s neck, only sucking harshly when she angled herself enough to be near her chest. This made Azzi hum quietly each time as she grew more needy.

The tension between them thickens as Azzi, unable to hold herself back, pushes herself back against Paige with more urgency.

Paige doesn't hesitate, sensing her need, and her hand slides into Azzi’s shorts down to where Azzi's body is calling out for more. The touch alone causes a soft whimper to escape Azzi’s as Paige drags her fingers through her wetness.

Azzi's whimpers, her body reacting immediately to the feeling. Paige smiles to herself, the sound of Azzi's breathless response sending a rush of heat through her.

"How do you like it, pretty girl?" Paige whispers, her voice low and teasing Azzi a little as she continues rubbing against her, brushing her lips along Azzi's neck.

Azzi barely manages to catch her breath, her eyes fluttering closed. It's almost too much for her to process, her body demanding more but her mind clouded with desire that she never wants to end. She struggles to find her voice, a soft tremble in her response. "I don’t know... I haven’t done a lot," she breathes, her words catching.

Paige chuckles softly, her lips gently tracing the outline of Azzi's jaw, coaxing her to speak. "You still gotta tell me what you want," she murmurs, her thumb brushing Azzi's lips.

Azzi, breath hitching, whines quietly in response, the word spilling out of her before she even fully realizes it. "Rough."

A slow hum escapes Paige at the confession. There's a slight pause, a moment where she evaluates, making sure Azzi is sure. "You wanna try it?" she asks.

Azzi nods, eyes half-lidded, her voice almost a whisper. "Just a little for now."

Paige nods with a small, satisfied smile.

"Mm. Okay." She adjusts so she can tangle her fingers in Azzi’s hair to tug slightly, pulling her head back just enough to expose more of her neck. Her other hand continues its journey, her movements deliberate as she works Azzi up, feeling Azzi's pulse quicken beneath her touch.

Azzi immediately gasps as Paige yanks her hair back again and inserts her fingers at the same time. Paige keeping Azzi close as she works her fingers in and out.

Azzi, who has always prided herself on her composure, found herself straining to stay silent. Every brush of Paige’s lips, every gentle tug of her hands in Azzi’s hair and the way she was moving in and out of her with ease, sent shockwaves through Azzi that begged for release in the form of a sound. But she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, refusing to let the smallest escape.

Their situation was far too complicated for anyone to find out like this, especially not their teammates. Azzi’s mind flickered briefly to how disastrous it would be if someone heard them, but even that thought wasn’t enough to fully pull her back from the haze of desire Paige had her in.

Paige noticed the tension in Azzi’s body and the shallow rise and fall of her chest. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she trailed kisses and bites along the column of Azzi’s neck, testing just how far she could push her.

“Struggling, huh?” Paige whispered, her lips brushing the shell of Azzi’s ear.

Azzi shivered but didn’t respond, her nails digging slightly into Paige’s arm definitely leaving nail marks. She bit her lip harder, trying to focus on anything other than the way Paige’s mouth was wreaking havoc on her self-control.

Paige chuckled softly at her silence, the sound vibrating against Azzi’s skin and making it even harder for her to stay quiet. “Relax,” Paige murmured, her voice softer now, her lips pressing a kiss just below Azzi’s ear. “I’ll make sure you stay quiet.”

The reassurance helped, only a little, but it was still a battle for Azzi to keep her composure. Her heart raced as she nodded faintly, leaning back into Paige, trusting her to keep them both grounded.

They stayed just like that for some time. Paige whispering in Azzi’s ear as she worked in and out of her and Azzi biting her lip or pushing her face into the pillow to try to muffle some of the sounds slipping out of her.

Eventually Azzi starts pushing herself further into Paige trying to match her rhythm as Paige's grip tightens in Azzi's hair, pulling her head back just enough for her lips to brush against Azzi's ear. Her voice a little rough, full of her restrained desire as she mumbled, “You feel so fucking good.”

Azzi whimpered at the words, her breathing unsteady as she said, “It’s so hard to stay quiet.” Her voice cracked slightly, her desperation evident, and it made Paige’s chest tighten in the best way.

“I know,” Paige chuckled softly, her tone laced with amusement. “I can tell.” Her lips grazed Azzi’s jawline before she whispered, “You’re doing so good.”

The praise sent heat through Azzi’s legs, and before she could stop herself, she was desperately reaching back to grab Paige's head and pulling her into a desperate kiss. It was the only way she could think to quiet herself, to channel everything she was feeling without letting any more sounds escape.

Paige groaned softly into her kiss, her hands sinking deeper into Azzi, her other hand still tangled in her hair as she held her firmly in place. She met Azzi’s need with her own, kissing her deeply, almost possessively. Azzi whimpered again at the new angle, and Paige swallowed the sound, her lips and tongue moving against Azzi’s in a way that made the world around them disappear.

Azzi’s neediness grew, her hands clutching at Paige as if letting go would shatter her. The kiss deepened further, their breaths mingling as Azzi melted into Paige, unable to think of anything but the way her body responded to Paige as if it had never been touched before.

Paige pulled back just enough to murmur against Azzi’s lips, her voice breathless but teasing. “You still good on being quiet?”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed as she whispered, “Not if you keep fucking me like this.”

Paige chuckles before leaning back down to pull Assi into a kiss as she continues working her fingers in and out of Azzi. She wants to do so much more to her but she’s taking it slow for Azzi who is less experienced. Not long after, Azzi's legs are squeezing around Paige's hand as she starts to chase her release.

Paige senses Azzi's growing struggle to stay quiet, knowing just how difficult it’s going to be. So she brings her free arm under Azzi, guiding her hand to Azzi’s lips. “Bite down,” Paige whispers, her voice low.

Azzi hesitates for a moment, confusion flashing across her face before the pressure builds as Paige starts curling her fingers perfectly as she adds her thumb to Azzi’s clit. Feeling overwhelmed by this she does exactly as Paige instructed. Her teeth sinking into Paige’s hand, a sharp, almost desperate grip as her body starts trembling. Her legs squeezing Paige’s hand impossibly tight as she finishes all over her hand.

The sensation sends a wave of heat through Paige, but the bite is harsh, almost painful, as Azzi fights to stay silent. Paige, feeling the intensity of the bite, clenches her jaw but when that's not enough she quickly presses her lips to Azzi's shoulder, the sting of her own discomfort igniting a need to counter it. Her teeth graze Azzi's skin, just enough to distract from the sharp bite, as both of them are caught in the tension of the moment as Paige coaxes Azzi through her release.

As Azzi’s breathing finally began to slow, still uneven but no longer shaky as Paige pressed soft kisses to her shoulder and the back of her neck. Grounding Azzi as she murmured against her skin, “You’re so beautiful... so perfect Azzi….” Her voice was a soothing balm, wrapping Azzi in warmth.

Azzi felt herself going limp against Paige, her body almost like dead weight, but Paige didn’t let go. She held her firmly.

After some time, Azzi shifted, turning to face Paige. Her brown eyes were hazy, her lips slightly parted as she tried to process the moment. Paige reached up, her wet fingers brushing Azzi’s lips gently.

“Open,” Paige whispered, her voice soft but commanding.

Still in a daze, Azzi obeyed without hesitation, parting her lips as Paige slid her fingers into Azzi’s mouth letting her taste herself. Azzi instinctively wrapped her lips around them, her eyes fluttering as she felt the intimacy of the gesture. Paige’s eyes softened, a quiet smile gracing her lips as she watched Azzi experience something new, her thumb of her free hand brushing over Azzi’s cheek.

Paige slowly withdrew her fingers, leaning in to kiss Azzi tenderly. Their lips met in a slow kiss that felt like a question and an answer all at once. When they finally broke apart, Paige cupped Azzi’s face, her thumb grazing her jawline.

“You okay?” Paige asked, her blue eyes searching Azzi’s for any hint of hesitation or regret.

Azzi nodded, her eyes hooded, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “Yeah... I’m more than okay.”

"Come here," Paige whispered softly, as she tugged Azzi closer. Azzi let herself be pulled, settling onto Paige’s chest with ease. Her head rested just over Paige’s heart, and the steady, rhythmic sound filled her ears. It wasn’t completely calm, though—it was hammering in her chest, quick and unsteady, a stark contrast to the soothing hand Paige had resting on her back.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, her voice quiet. “Your heart’s beating fast.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle, the vibrations against Azzi’s cheek. “Of course it is,” she admitted, but she didn’t offer any further explanation. She didn’t need to—Azzi already knew what it meant.

Azzi opened her mouth to say something, to ask if Paige was sure about all of this, but before she could, Paige leaned down and caught her lips in another kiss. It wasn’t rushed or full of heat like the others they’d shared tonight—it was grounding, a soft reassurance.

When they broke apart, Paige murmured, “Just relax Az. We can talk about it later.”

Azzi nodded, settling back into Paige’s chest as her breathing evened out. She reached down to intertwine their hands, wanting the simple connection, but she froze when her fingers brushed against Paige’s hand. Her eyes widened slightly as she felt the harsh indentations there.

She gasped softly. “Oh my God,” Azzi whispered, realizing she’d left marks.

Paige chuckled again, her tone more playful this time. “Yeah… I don’t know what the hell you’re going to do when I start doing everything else.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, letting out a small laugh as she tucked herself back against Paige’s chest. The teasing didn’t faze her at all because she knew it was lighthearted. Instead, she focused on the comforting rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat, the sound lulling her further into a state of peace she hasn’t felt in a while.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Azzi allowed herself to sink into the moment fully. As she listened to Paige’s heartbeat, soothing her to sleep, the truth she’d been fighting hard to ignore surfaced in her mind. She was in love with Paige. Completely and irrevocably.

And for once, she didn’t feel the need to push it away as she kissed Paige’s neck softly before drifting in her arms.

[sammyluvr]

✶ blabbermouth — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, talkative!reader, hurt/comfort, insecurity, unedited, 845 words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .

prompt : under a street lamp + “i’m right here, you know. i’m right here.”

sam pulls you to stand up with both hands. you’re not really sure why, and don’t notice that he’s pulled you under the orange light of a street lamp. he’d found you sitting on the curb in the dark, in the chilly almost-autumn air. and you haven’t gone far from the motel, but he’d still been worried when he got to the room and you weren’t there. he gets paranoid sometimes; he had burst out the front door. he nearly ran down the street until he saw your silhouette hunched over in a patch of darkness.

at first, he sat with you, but he hates not being able to see your face very well, so he gently pulls you up and into the light. it casts your face in warmth, and you look a little teary. he expected it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t send a pang through his chest. so before asking what’s wrong, he pulls you into a soft hug. you melt into him, but your shoulders retain some of their tension.

he parts, though his hands linger for a moment. “what is it?” he asks quietly. the bare skin of your arms are a bit cold to the touch. “you cold?”

you shake your head, “the wind is nice,” is all you can manage, followed but a stretch of quiet. a car rolls past, no music or voices floating out of the cracked window. there’s just the sound of tires on the road as your eyes leave him to follow its movement until you can’t crane your neck any further. then you’re forced to look back at him, knowing you haven’t answered his first question.

“sam… do i talk too much?” you ask, voice quiet for once and undeniably insecure. you hate the way it sounds, but you can’t bear to take up much space right now.

“mm?” he almost calls you babe, but catches himself at the last moment, “what are you talking about? of course you don’t. you don’t talk too much at all.”

you’re not convinced, unfortunately. he knows so by the way you don’t meet his eyes. “i just feel like… i feel like people get annoyed. and– dammit,” you curse under your breath, probably the only one bothered by your apparent inability to keep your mouth shut. you have this silly urge to come across as composed, maybe even a little mysterious for a bit of intrigue. but it never works, and you’re just always talking. even now, you can’t stop yourself from telling sam exactly what you’re feeling. “and– and sometimes it makes me worried that people won’t want to be around me because of it. i mean, no one likes a blabbermouth. even now i can’t seem to shut up.” your voice grows frustrated, almost aggressive at yourself. you wish you could keep it down, but you can’t even manage that.

“hey,” he quickly interrupts before you can say anything else self-deprecating, “don’t say that,” he says firmly, tilting his head to try and get you to look at him. “you’re not a blabbermouth, alright? and there’s nothing wrong with talking a lot. no one wants you to shut up, so don’t say that.”

“dean does,” you mutter bitterly. his hand twitches, as if trying to seek out yours to hold it tight. he frowns, so you explain, “dean gets annoyed. i know that he thinks i talk too much sometimes.”

“it doesn’t matter what dean thinks,” sam insists, “he’s an ass, you know that. doesn’t mean he wants you to stop talking.” he doesn’t even like saying the words ‘shut up’ in reference to you.

you frown back at him. “it matters to me,” you stress, “and what about bobby? and–”

he cuts you off with another gentle, imploring, “hey. i’m right here, you know. i’m right here.” that finally gets you to look him in the eye. you’re looking at him like you’re not sure what he means, but that you’re hoping for something. so he keeps going. “doesn’t it matter what i think about it?” he asks at a murmur, “i like how much you talk. i like– i like to listen to you. i don’t want you to stop. you could never annoy me and you could never do anything to make me not want to be around you.”

you eyes widen at his words. why does he have to say it like that? like he loves you, maybe. not just like he thinks you’re a great friend, and he wants to comfort and reassure you because of that. you struggle to respond. 

he notices and his hand drifts up towards your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “okay?” he murmurs.

to that, you can nod, the movement a bit halting and your eyes still teary. it means a lot to hear those words, but it means everything to hear them from him. “okay,” you whisper back.

“good.” he pulls you back into his arms, and presses a gentle, but firm kiss to the side of your head.

[d-z20]

The Therapist's Touch (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You sought out Dr. Harkness for clarity, for someone to help untangle the mess in your mind. But as your sessions progress, the line between guidance and something far more intoxicating begins to blur.

- OR -

Agatha manipulates you and your mind and uses it as a way to start fucking you in the name of 'therapy'

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon, smut, Dark Agatha, gaslighting, manipulation, other toxic behaviour, fingering (R recv), praise kink, lots of 'good girl', talking through orgasm, mild choking at the end

Words: 2.9k

A/N: Just to repeat: this fic contains dubcon smut, gaslighting, and manipulation so if that is something that triggers you, please do not read. Requested Fic

AO3 | Master List

You met Dr. Harkness after a particularly bad week. You hadn’t been sleeping, your thoughts a tangled mess of self-doubt and frustration. Friends—if you could even call them that anymore—had started pulling away, and work was becoming unbearable. It was one of those situations where you weren’t sure if you were the problem or if everyone else was. You needed clarity. You needed someone to untangle the mess in your head.

And Agatha was perfect for that.

The first few sessions felt normal, even helpful. She was warm but not overly so, sharp-witted with a knowing smile that made you feel like she already had you figured out. You liked that. You wanted to be understood. She had a way of pulling things out of you, teasing out the thoughts you hadn’t even fully realized were lurking under the surface.

"You feel like you're being abandoned," she told you during a session, her voice smooth and steady. "Like the people around you are slipping through your fingers, and you don’t know why."

You nodded, relieved that someone finally understood.

"It must be frustrating," she continued, tilting her head slightly as if weighing her words carefully. "To always be the one reaching out, only to be left in the cold."

Your breath hitched. Was that true? You hadn’t really thought about it that way, but… now that she said it, it felt right.

"Maybe you expect too much from people," she mused, watching you carefully. "Or maybe they don’t appreciate you like they should."

A quiet pressure built behind your ribs, something heavy and unseen. That wasn’t a comforting thought, but there was something… validating about it. Like all the hurt you felt wasn’t just in your head.

"Maybe," you admitted.

She smiled, pleased. "I think people take advantage of your kindness. You let them, don’t you?"

You did, didn’t you?

—

The shift was slow, insidious. Agatha never outright told you what to think—she just guided you there, nudging you toward conclusions you weren’t sure were yours or hers. Your relationships became strained, but Agatha was always there to reassure you.

"You’re growing," she told you after a particularly emotional session. "You’re starting to see things for what they really are."

Warmth unfurled in your chest, wrapping around your ribs like a protective embrace. The weight of her gaze felt like an anchor, steadying you in a way nothing else had.

Agatha was dangerous in the way that only truly intelligent people could be. She never raised her voice, never forced an idea on you—she simply led you there, guiding you through your own thoughts like she was pulling a thread loose from a tangled knot.

And God, she was beautiful.

You noticed it in pieces at first. The sharp line of her cheekbones, the way her eyes stayed locked onto yours just a little too long, the elegant way she moved. She always dressed immaculately, sleek dark blouses that clung to her just right, lips painted in deep shades of red or plum. And then there was her voice. The kind of voice that settled into your bones and curled up there, wrapping itself around your ribs like it belonged to you.

It was embarrassing, really. You were falling for your therapist. But she made you feel seen in a way no one else had. And she never discouraged it.

Not directly.

"You hesitate when you talk about what you want," she noted, her voice gentle. "Why do you do that?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "I—what?"

"You second-guess yourself." She studied you carefully, fingers tapping lightly against the arm of her chair. "I’ve noticed it. You’ll start to say something, then stop. Like you’re afraid of being too much."

Your pulse fluttered. "I guess I just… don’t want to be a burden."

Her lips curled into something almost like amusement. "A burden?" she echoed, as if the idea itself was absurd. "Who told you that?"

You hesitated. Everyone, you wanted to say. Every time someone stopped texting back, every time you felt like you were grasping too hard to keep people close.

Agatha hummed, tilting her head just slightly. “Who have you been talking to about this?”

You blinked. “What?”

Her gaze was steady, expectant. “You said you feel like a burden. Who put that thought in your head?”

You hesitated. “I mean… I don’t know. I guess I mentioned it to a friend the other day, and they—”

Agatha tsked softly, shaking her head. “And what did they say?”

“They told me I was overthinking.”

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips. “Ah. Overthinking.” She leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against the arm of her chair. “That’s an easy way to dismiss you, isn’t it?”

You frowned. “I don’t think they meant it like that—”

“But it made you feel unheard,” she pressed gently. “Didn’t it?”

Your breath came a little faster. “I… maybe?”

Agatha nodded, like she’d expected that answer. “It’s interesting,” she mused, voice low and thoughtful. “How often people minimise your feelings. How quickly they brush you off.” Her gaze flickered back to yours, something soft and reassuring in it. “I would never do that to you.”

A tightness bloomed behind your ribs, bittersweet and impossible to ignore. “I know,” you murmured.

Her lips curled in satisfaction. “Of course you do.”

She leaned forward slightly, voice softening. "They made you feel that way," she spoke, like it was some kind of revelation. "Not because you are a burden, but because they don’t know how to appreciate you properly."

Something about the way she said it made your stomach twist.

"They don’t see you the way I do."

The words hung between you, electric.

You exhaled slowly, suddenly hyperaware of how close she was, how intimate these sessions had started to feelThe space between you felt thinner than before, her voice dipping into something softer, closer—like a secret meant only for you.

And then, like she knew exactly what you were thinking, she smiled.

"Tell me," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "When’s the last time someone truly listened to you?"

Your pulse hammered.

It should have set off alarms. But it didn’t. Because she was listening. She was there for you. More than anyone else has been.

Had anyone ever really listened?

—

The next session, Agatha watched you with something unreadable in her expression. Like she was studying a puzzle, waiting for the pieces to click into place.

“You seem tense,” she noted, her voice low, honey-smooth.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, but it came out strained. “Yeah, well. Life’s a little stressful.”

She tilted her head, gaze sharp, like she was peeling you apart layer by layer. “You hold yourself so tightly,” she stated, studying you like a specimen under glass. “You don’t even realise it, do you?”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Your shoulders.” A flick of her fingers. “Your jaw. Your hands.”

You followed her gaze, your fingers curling instinctively before you forced them to relax.

“I think,” she continued, voice slow, deliberate, “you’ve spent so long bracing for impact that you don’t know how to let go.”

A strange heat curled in your stomach, something unspoken threading through the air between you.

She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees. “Would you let me help you?”

Your stomach flipped. “Help me how?”

Agatha smiled—calm, measured, soothing. “A simple exercise. One that might help you process the tension you’re carrying.”

You hesitated, but there was no reason to refuse. It was therapy. She was your therapist.

“Okay,” you said finally.

Her smile deepened, approval warm in her gaze. “Close your eyes,” she instructed.

You obeyed, exhaling softly.

“Now,” she assured, “I want you to focus on the weight of your body. The way your spine curves. The way your breath moves through you.”

Her voice was hypnotic, her words weaving their way into your bones.

And then—

Fingertips against your jaw.

You startled, eyes flying open, but Agatha hushed you gently.

“Shh,” she soothed, thumb brushing along your cheek. “It’s alright. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your breath came a little faster. The warmth of her touch was dizzying. “I—yes,” you whispered.

Her lips curled in satisfaction. “Good.”

Her fingers trailed lightly, tracing the curve of your throat. You swallowed, pulse hammering against her touch.

“Your body reacts before you do,” she noted, head tilting slightly. “You don’t even realise how much you hold back.”

Heat rushed to your face. You couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or something else entirely.

Agatha’s grip firmed just slightly—not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you she was there. “I want you to let go,” she murmured. “Trust me to guide you.”

Your mind spun, tangled between this is fine, she’s my therapist and why does this feel so good?

But you trusted her. So you nodded.

Her smile was slow, knowing. “Good girl.”

Your stomach flipped again. A rush of warmth curled through you, unsettling in its intensity.

She let her touch linger a moment longer before finally pulling back, leaving you bereft. “See?” she said, as if the moment hadn’t just unraveled something inside you. “You hold onto so much. But I can help you carry it.”

You swallowed hard, clinging to her words like a lifeline. ���…Thank you,” you murmured.

“We’ll work through it together,” she promised.

You believed her.

You wanted to believe her.

Even as something in the back of your mind whispered that maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t.

—

The session after that felt different from the moment you stepped into the room. The air in Agatha’s office was heavier, charged with something unspoken. It coiled around you, wrapping tight around your ribs as her eyes tracked your movements, assessing, waiting.

“Welcome back,” she said smoothly, gesturing for you to come further in. You obeyed, feeling strangely exposed under her gaze. She hummed, studying you. “You look tense again.”

You exhaled sharply. “I mean… I guess?”

Her smile deepened. “You’ve been thinking too much. Haven’t you?”

Your breath caught. Because—yes.

She chuckled softly. “I told you, darling. You carry everything too tightly.”

You swallowed.

“I want to try something different today,” she announced. “Something a little more… physical.”

Your brain short-circuited at the word.

She leaned forward, voice dipping into something lower, more intimate. “Have you ever done guided breathwork before?”

You shook your head.

She nodded, as if she expected that. “It’s about control,” she said. “Releasing what no longer serves you.”

Your breath hitched.

“May I touch you?” she asked, voice velvety smooth.

“Y—yeah,” you stammered, your pulse pounded in your ears.

She stood, stepping behind you. The air shifted as she moved closer, the heat of her body ghosting along your back before her hands settled on your shoulders—firm, warm, grounding.

“You’re so wound up,” she murmured, her thumbs pressing in, kneading slowly. A soft sigh slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

“Breathe with me,” she instructed, her lips near your ear now. “In…”

You inhaled shakily.

“Good,” she praised. “Now out.”

Her hands moved lower, gliding down your arms, her touch light but deliberate. “Again,” she hummed.

You obeyed, and as you exhaled, her hands skimmed lower, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ribs, her thumbs teasing at the sides of your breasts. You stiffened, heat pooling between your thighs, but she only hummed in approval.

“You’re still holding back,” she whispered, breath warm against your skin. “I need you to let go.”

Her hands drifted lower, over your waist, her grip firm as she guided you back against her body. A quiet, shuddering exhale left you, your head swimming, warmth pooling low in your stomach.

“Good,” she praised, voice like silk. “You’re doing so well for me.”

A shiver ran down your spine as she pressed closer, the solid heat of her flush against your back.

“This tension you carry,” she sighed, her breath hot against your skin, “it needs to be released.”

Her hands slipped lower, over your hips, nails scraping lightly against fabric. A slow, deliberate drag that sent fire licking through your veins.

“Let me help,”

And then her hands moved lower. Your whole body went still.

Agatha hummed in approval. “You feel that, don’t you?”

A sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—escaped your lips, as your body burned with arousal.

“Good,” she praised again, like she could feel you unravelling beneath her touch. “You’re doing perfectly.”

Her touch dipped between your thighs causing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat as your body jolted, nerves alight.

“Shh, this is part of the process,” she soothed, her lips grazing your ear, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. “Trust me.”

You did. You shouldn’t, but you did.

Her hands were steady, patient, coaxing you back against her body. Heat seeped into your skin where she pressed, her perfume—something dark, heady, intoxicating—curling around you like smoke.

“This is what you need,” she declared, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your clothed clit. “A full release.”

Your body arched, a broken moan slipping past your lips before you could swallow it down.

“There it is.” Agatha’s voice was rich with satisfaction, her free hand dragging lazy patterns over your torso, her nails grazing just enough to make you shiver. “That’s my good girl.”

Shame curled low in your stomach, but it was drowned out by the pleasure winding tighter, by the way she spoke like she knew you better than you knew yourself. Maybe she did. No one else had reached this part of you—no one else had understood what you truly needed.

Only Agatha.

“You’ve been holding so much inside,” she mused, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. “I think it’s time to let me take care of you.”

You whimpered, your breath coming in uneven bursts, but you didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to.

A pleased hum vibrated in her throat as she pressed her fingers against your slick heat.

“Oh, darling,” she cooed, her lips brushing against your temple, “you do need me.”

Your head lolled back against her shoulder, your lips parting in a breathless moan as she circled your clit with practiced ease, teasing and coaxing you into submission.

“Such a sweet thing,” she remarked, her other hand coming up to tilt your chin, guiding your gaze to hers. “Look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy, and the look she gave you made your stomach tighten.

“There’s my good girl.”

The praise sent a pulse of heat through you, something deep and desperate unraveling at the sound of it. You wanted to please her. To prove that you trusted her.

Her mouth slanted over yours, swallowing your gasped moans as her fingers slid inside you, slow and purposeful. A sharp cry left you as she stretched you open, her thumb still circling, teasing, never letting you sink too deep into mindlessness. She wanted you present. Aware.

Your body jerked, overwhelmed by the sensation, but her hands were steady, guiding you through it. “Breathe,” she instructed, her lips brushing against your cheek. “In through your nose… there you go, good girl… and out.”

You tried. You really did. But every exhale was a stuttering moan, your body trembling against hers.

“That’s it,” she soothed, her fingers curling just enough to make you keen. “Let yourself feel it. Let yourself fall.”

Your fingers grasped at her sleeve, desperate for something to hold onto as she worked you open, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’ve spent so long running from this,” she murmured, voice low, hypnotic, each word coiling around your ribs and pulling tight. “From what you need. From what I can give you.”

You shook your head weakly, barely processing her words through the pleasure threatening to swallow you whole.

“No?” She tutted, her fingers never ceasing. “Then tell me, darling… why are you shaking?”

You couldn’t answer. She had you undone, every nerve alight, every thought consumed by her.

“Let go,” she commanded, her voice velvet-soft but unyielding. “Let me take care of you.”

As the pleasure coiled tighter, your body trembled against her, every muscle wound impossibly tense. Agatha’s touch never wavered—precise, knowing, relentless.

"That's it," she murmured, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. "You’re so close, aren’t you?"

A breathless whimper escaped you, your hips bucking into her hand, chasing that final push. She chuckled softly, her fingers maintaining their rhythm, teasing you to the brink.

"Good girl," she praised, her voice dipping into something darker, richer. "Give it to me. I want to feel you cum on my fingers."

Your breath hitched, your body straining under the weight of pleasure, but she didn’t let you fall just yet. Her free hand dragged up your torso, nails grazing along your ribs before curling around your throat, a light, possessive pressure that made you gasp.

"You've been holding onto this for so long," she crooned. "But not anymore. Let. Go."

Her grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly as her fingers curled against your g-spot, pushing you past the point of no return. A sharp cry tore from your lips, your entire body arching as the pleasure finally snapped, pleasure ripping through you in waves.

"That’s it, my sweet girl," Agatha cooed, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Ride it out—just like that. So perfect for me."

Your walls clenched around her fingers, the aftershocks making you shudder, but she didn’t stop. Not yet. She drew out every last pulse of pleasure, her touch easing from devastating to indulgent, dragging you through the bliss until you were nothing but a boneless, gasping mess in her arms.

"Such a good girl," she muttered, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple as her fingers finally stilled, her palm resting possessively against your slick heat. "I knew you could do it."

She let you catch your breath, but her fingers traced slow, lazy circles over your sensitive skin, teasing, reminding you who had brought you to this point.

Your breath still came in uneven shudders as she finally pulled her hand away. You barely had a chance to process the loss before she brought her fingers to her lips, her darkened eyes never leaving yours as she sucked them clean.

Heat flared in your cheeks.

Agatha only smiled.“We’ll continue this next session,” she promised, brushing a stray bead of sweat from your forehead. “I think we’re making real progress.”

-----

In this AU Agatha totally only became a therapist so she could mess around with people's minds and get paid for it.

N.B Agatha's behaviour is extremely toxic and manipulative due to the power she holds over reader. This work is purely fiction and such actions have no place in the real world.

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @jujuu23 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19

[markleessodalite]

What Scares Them About Love: NCT Dream

Haedcanon: what are the dreamies most scared of when it comes to falling in (or out of) love?

content: mentions of general insecurity, but nothing specific... i don't think there's anything specific to warn about here but lmk if i miss something!!

Mark:

 Mark is scared of being a fool for love. Mark likes to think of himself as a clever guy, quick on his feet, nothing and no one can get the better of him. On the other hand, though, he knows how he gets when he’s in love. Its like any finesse or composure he has flies out the window as soon as that certain someone appears. Yeah, its cute and charming, a usually cool and collected guy suddenly becoming a bumbling, rambling mess– unless a lovesick Mark lands in the hands of the wrong person. Mark knows he’d be so easy, too easy to take advantage of if he’s in love. And he’s terrified of being the fool who gets his heart played with, just because he was too dumb to notice the game.

Renjun:

Renjun is scared of not being enough. So much of his life is already under scrutiny, the very nature of his career is dependent on millions of people watching his every move, every performance, every look on his face at every second. You might think that with him being judged so often, he would become immune to it– but its different when Renjun is in love. People talk about love making you feel light and secure, safe, like nothing in the world could hurt you now. For Renjun, love just makes him remember all the things he’s insecure about, and all the ways someone might be dissatisfied with him. He’s scared of wanting to be everything for someone, but not being able to amount to anything.

Jeno:

Jeno is scared of exposing himself. He’s most comfortable when he can keep others at arm’s length, and there’s a very, very select few people in his life who actually get to see Jeno’s true self. Yes, he’s a member of one of the most popular idol groups, he performs to thousands of people on a regular basis who completely adore him, he posts a selfie that he took two seconds to snap and the comments are flooded with praise and affection. But he's in control of all of that– he knows exactly what to say and do to get the exact reaction he wants from others. When it comes to love, its an entirely different story. He knows that for a relationship to truly grow, he must show his true self to someone. And he knows that when he shows his true self, his most vulnerable insecurities and transparently naked thoughts, he loses all control over how that someone thinks of him. Jeno is so afraid of someone seeing him in such an exposed state, and deciding that they don’t like what they see.

Haechan:

 Haechan is afraid of effort. Not in the sense that he’s lazy– in fact, its the exact opposite. Haechan might just be the busiest man on the planet, and he puts an extreme amount of care and effort into everything he does. He’s constantly moving, constantly thinking, he’s not sure he even knows how to stop moving or thinking. But there’s only so far he can stretch himself without tearing apart at the seams. So really, what Haechan is afraid of is giving what little of himself he has left to somebody, and it ends up not being enough. He doesn’t have enough time, enough focus, enough energy to really give to someone. His biggest fear about love is losing it altogether because the effort he puts in just isn’t enough.

Jaemin:

Nothing about love scares Jaemin. The only thing he’s afraid of is seeing his love story end. Jaemin is a romantic at heart, he loves the very idea of love, and love truly means something very special and important to him. So, he doesn’t give his love easily to just anybody. He’s picky, because to him, his love story is meant to be the only love story he’ll experience, and it’s supposed to last until the end of time. He’s built to love someone until his last breath; he is not built to suffer through love fading, to go through a break up with someone he thought he’d be with forever, to watch everything he hoped and worked for dissolve into dust. When Jaemin’s incredibly high standards prevent him from finding someone, its not because he has an aversion to love. Jaemin is just terrified of what happens when love ceases to exist.

Chenle:

Chenle is afraid of backing down. Chenle is a prideful man, confident and sure. So confident and sure that he’s sometimes uncompromising, and a successful relationship is all about compromise. Chenle is perfectly aware of how important compromise is, yet there’s just something in him that refuses to let go, refuses to give up, refuses to compromise when he knows that he’s in the right. In a way, Chenle knows that a potential roadblock on his journey to love is his tendency to sabotage himself. He’s not just afraid of conceding defeat, he’s afraid that his stubbornness will be the death of his love.

Jisung:

Jisung is afraid of what love might mean for him. Jisung is still so young. Not to mention with how busy he is, how much stuff he has going on in every aspect of his life, how he’s still trying to fit into his own skin and figure out who he is… he just knows that if he were to fall in love at this stage in his life, it wouldn’t last. It would result in some sort of heartbreak that would change him in some way, and Jisung is terrified of what that change could be. He doesn’t want to become someone hardened and bitter, he doesn’t want to be heartbroken and sad all the time. He’s so scared of feeling all the emotions that come with love and the end of it, that for him, it seems better to avoid it altogether.

[novashelby]

"His Desk Pet"- Tommy Shelby x Reader

Pairing: Tommy Shelby Warnings: Sub!reader, Dom!Tommy, cock warming, degrading language, humiliation, voyeurism, exhibition, choking, rough. Slight dubcon. Word Count: 1.2k Summary: Tommy wants his little pet to sit under his desk, be quiet, and warm his aching cock. The catch? His brothers are sitting just across from him.

War does things to people, and for Tommy Shelby, it was the blanket feeling of not giving a fuck. ‘Not giving a fuck’ was, of course, subjective. Though, it made his company quite uncomfortable. Tucked away, under his desk like the good pet he told her that she was, he undid his trousers. There was a hidden attempt at being discreet. While she was under there, his two brothers sat across from him; playing the role of oblivious. Of course, neither of them were. Arthur had caught the shadow of her foot through the space between the desk and the floor. John? He eyed Tommy as his hands fumbled with the belt. But remember, Tommy does not give a fuck. 

John offered him an amused look, motioning to the desk. “Really? Are we a bloody audience to your fookin’ circus?” Arthur on the other hand leaned back, nursing his whiskey. He eyed his slightly younger, but more demanding younger brother with equal disgust and curiosity.

Tommy one handedly flipped through the accounts booklet that was scribbled with numbers and names. Drying he said, “I don’t know what you are talking about, John.” Meanwhile, just under that desk, she rested a bit hunched on her knees. He had one rule, one request; cockwarm him. Don’t move your mouth was what he had said to her. No licking, sucking, bobbing your head. Just warm me with that pretty mouth, Eh? With his left hand, he stroked himself hard, rubbing the precum at the top. She watched as he pushed his fingers at her. Without being told, she took his fingers in and cleaned them, devouring his taste. She had to hold back a little whine as he pulled them from her mouth and hit the back on her head to silently tell her to take him. “Now, boys-”

“You can’t be fookin’ serious,” John laughed with a wheeze. “What is she doing? Sucking your langer under the fucking desk?” He turned to Arthur, hitting his chest. “Are we seriously going to talk fixed boxing matches with-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, John,” Tommy repeated, his eyes looking down at her, unimpressed. Her lips rested comfortably half way; his cock filling just before her gag reflex. Even so, her jaw felt sore. Little bubbles of drool decorated the corners of her lips. With a heavy hand on the back of her head, he pushed her down. Just with a look, he reminded her that you need to warm the whole cock, not only what you can take. 

Arthur rubbed his temple. “A maid?”

Tommy let out a sigh as she took him down completely, her mouth warm and comforting around him. She on the other hand fought against the gags and chokes, drool streaming down her chin. But she was to just keep herself like that. It felt so…degrading? But the tingle between her legs told her that she liked it. Very much, actually. The fact that they knew she was under there, being obedient and good, but also very much a fucking slut. Or how he so casually ignored their curiosities. She fought through the pain radiating around her lips, jaw, and throat for her own sick, twisted pleasure for being humiliated. “Friday night, we will have to-”

“Is it Lizzie?” John asked.

“A whore?”

“That horse lady that you were fucking when-”

Tommy snorted. “Listen, she likes to be ignored. In fact, the more you ignore her, the faster I get off on the whole ordeal.” Arthur and John uncomfortably shifted in their seats and motioned for him to continue. Tommy droned on. But her, the toy under the desk, drowned them out with the sounds of her own spit gurgling. She did her best not lick or suck, or come across as bratty. Drool streamed from her lips, pooling around the floor and on his boots. Her once crisp, neat white blouse was stained with wet marks, clinging to her skin. Tommy eyed her, grinning as her nostrils flared, trying to keep up with breathing. Her whole face was red and flushed. As the gentleman he was, his hand kindly stroked her warm cheek. 

Arthur was starting to become intrigued. “So, lemme ask one question.”

Tommy, lost in her eyes, smiled at her before touching the other cheek. “Good girl,” he mouthed before responding to his brother. “I prefer if you didn’t-”

“But I am,” Arthur cut him off, scratching at his ear. “Is she some type of…ah…um, what do they call it, Johnny boy?” John shrugged, laughing how if anyone was going to know, it’d be him. “A fetish thing…a pet-”

“A pet?” Tommy scoffed, amused, looking at him before at her. Her eyes never left him; big, round, and beautiful. So innocent and telling, yet he knew her too well. “Are you a pet?” he asked, laughing a little. “Hm?” He spoke to her as if she had limited brain cells. She sank a bit, moaning against him. “No, I don’t think you're a pet.” That is when his fingers squeezed her nose and she flipped out, hands slapping against his legs. The overwhelming feeling of not being able to breathe made her gain a sense of severity. Trapped and stuck with another holding her life in his hands. For what was only a few seconds felt like minutes. When he let go of her nose, she fought to suck in all of the air in the room. Tommy laughed, rubbing her cheek again. “No, Arthur, I care about my pets-”

“Tommy!” John choked. “Fookin’ ‘ell,” he sighed, scratching his nose. Arthur had to look away for a second, trying to compose his thoughts. He started to believe he didn’t have any; lost and shocked.

“Get off,” Tommy told her and she was thankful to finally relax her face. It was red, puffy, and messy, and her lips were swollen and pathetic. He swiped at her wet eyes that watered from the pain before he ‘kindly’ massaged her jaw. “Good girl…stand up, come on.” She crawled from under the desk and stood up. John and Arthur immediately looked at her before each other. Tommy pulled her in, enjoying the mess she made of herself. “You’re all messy,” he cooed, wiping her face with his handkerchief. “Come here, hm?” She got closer as he tended to her, rubbing her back. He tossed the cloth to the table before looking at his brothers. She felt a bit embarrassed, turning her head. Without saying anything, he pinched her chin to look forward. “Now, which one are you going to suck off first, eh?” She choked out, turning to him, unsure of what he was asking. He matched her frown with a smirk. “Choose wisely, one is an animal and the other likes to slap his whores around.”

Arthur coughed, nearly dropping his whiskey. “The fuck you’re gonna ask us that!” John blushed a bit in the cheeks, averting his eyes with a grin. 

“Tommy, no…not after she just had you balls deep down her throat-”

Tommy leaned back, taking a smoke from his back and throwing it. His eyes scanned over her before saying. She felt like an animal in a cage at the zoo, everyone studying her. “She’s got two other holes, John. She has no objection to being used in any way needed of her. Isn’t that right?” He looked up at her.

Swallowing, she replied in a hoarse, unsure voice, “yes, sir.”

That made Tommy pleased. “Good girl. Now choose.”

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 25 - 'For You' | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 10.9 k

Layla had left, and with her went the familiar comfort she always brought. You felt a sudden pang of loneliness settle in your chest, even though you weren’t alone. Most of the boys were still there, a few lingering outside, their chatter and laughter filling the air. You leaned up against a chair, watching the group. Your eyes drifted to Jack, and your mind began to race. Layla had planted a seed—how was tonight going to go? Was this your moment to act natural with Trent in front of Jack? Or was there some unspoken rule you hadn’t caught onto yet? It felt strange, like you were walking a tightrope. You didn’t know the plan—didn’t even know if there was a plan. But you felt uneasy, caught between the newness of this dynamic and the familiarity of the people around you. Slowly, you made your way over to Trent. You slipped your hands around his strong bicep, seeking reassurance more than anything else. He looked down at you, and the warm smile that spread across his face made your chest feel lighter, if only for a moment.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. The gesture was natural, instinctive, but it sent a ripple of awareness through you. You wondered what their friend he was talking to thought. You were caught in your own head, drowning in overthinking.  "Everything alright?" Trent's voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see him looking at you earnestly, his expression soft, his eyes full of concern as he took you in. You smiled, nodding.

"Yeah, just said bye to Layla." You explained masking. He pulled you in a little closer, his hand moving to the small of your back. The boys decided to head inside, and Trent took a step to follow them, his hand staying in its place on your lower back. It was a subtle motion, one that spoke volumes about the way he claimed you, even in the smallest of ways. He guided you gently, expecting you to follow. But to Trent’s surprise, you didn’t. You grabbed his hand, halting his movement. He turned back to you, his brows furrowing slightly in question. 

“What’s up, baby?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear, mildly confused why you stopped. You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you glanced at Jack across the patio. He was laughing at something Noah said as they walked inside, oblivious to the storm brewing in your mind.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted quietly, your eyes searching Trent’s for guidance. Trent’s expression softened immediately. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before cupping your cheek gently. 

“You don’t have to do anything, yeah? Just stay with me. That’s all.” He smirked. And you wanted to but you were anxious. 

“But Jack…” you trailed off, glancing over at your brother again.

“Jack knows now, baby,” Trent said simply, his tone steady. “It’s okay. He might not love it, but he’s okay with it. I promise. He’s just… adjusting, that’s all. It'll take time.” He explained gently. You nodded, though the knot in your stomach didn’t completely ease.

“It just feels… weird. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.” You admitted. Trent leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. 

“You’re not. And if he’s got a problem, he’ll tell me, not you. Alright?” He whispered. You nodded again, exhaling softly as his words began to settle. “C’mon,” Trent said with a small smile, squeezing your hand still entwined with his. “Let’s go inside. I’ll stay close, yeah?” He attempted to step forward again. You appreciated it, but you just wanted another minute alone with him… actually a few more moments sounded a lot better than one and then as you looked at Trent, his tanned skin glowing under the moonlight in only his swimshorts, an idea popped into your head.  

"T..." you cooed softly, your voice dripping with mischief. Your wide, doe-like eyes tried to feign innocence, but the playful smirk on your lips gave you away instantly. Trent looked down at you, his brow raising slightly as his own lips twitched into a knowing grin. 

"I know that look. What do you need, pretty girl?" he teased, stepping closer until there was no space left between you. His hand found its favorite place of the evening, resting possessively on your ass.

"Do you wanna go swimming with me?" you asked, your voice light and sweet. Trent's smile widened into something blinding, his lips curling up, his eyes squinting as his teeth peeked through. It was a signature Trent full smile-the kind that made your heart flutter every time.

"Yeah," he said without hesitation, his hand giving your ass a squeeze. "I'll do anything with you. C'mon." The night had cooled, the garden lights casting a soft glow over the patio and illuminating the still surface of the pool. You stepped in first, the water biting against your warm skin. You shivered but took another step before diving in fully. Trent followed cautiously, dipping one foot in and immediately tensing.

 "Oh my days, baby. Nah, it's too cold, you know," he said, his voice half-laughing as he stopped dead on the first step.

"C'mon, baby! What happened to anything?" you teased, your voice carrying across the water. You floated toward him, the lights reflecting off your wet skin, making it glisten. Trent looked at you, his cheeks dimpling as his smile turned cheeky. 

"Baby... it's cold as shit," he quipped, his eyes flicking down briefly before meeting yours again. He hadn't moved, and at first, you thought he was just being a wuss. But then his gaze dipped again back down to his shorts, a silent explanation, and then it clicked. Your own cheeks flushed slightly, a soft laugh escaping you. 

"Oh..." you murmured, realization dawning. You waded over to the edge of the pool and climbed out, water cascading off your body in shimmering rivulets. Trent's breath hitched slightly, and he reached out instinctively, his big hands finding your waist.

"Cold water and I’ve got you looking like this? Nah, not fair at all," he muttered under his breath, his fingers trailing over your wet skin. He hummed softly, a sound that vibrated between you, his hands warming your chilled body.

"I would've kept you warm. You should've followed me in," you teased, leaning closer.

"Trust me, I had planned to," he murmured, his eyes tracing the droplets of water running down your collarbone. "But this bikini..." He shook his head in disbelief at the way you looked, his hands sliding down to your hips. "It's too much for me and you’re asking me to get in there?" He looked at you pleadingly. You smirked, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Driving me mad tonight, you know?" Trent let out a dramatic sigh, glancing at the pool and then back at you. 

"Always," you replied, stepping back toward the water with a giggle in an attempt to lure him in this time. He watched you with another shake of his head, his resolve crumbling but he pulled your arm back towards him. Trent smirked, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint as he nodded toward the hot tub, still covered and untouched at the corner of the garden.

"At least give me a fair playing field here, baby," he teasingly pleaded, his lips curling into that devastatingly smug smile that always made your knees weak. You followed his gaze to the hot tub and then back at him, tilting your head. 

"I don't even know how to turn it on... or take that cover off," you admitted with a small pout. It was true-Jack or one of the boys always dealt with it. The mechanics of the thing were completely foreign to you.

"Baby, baby, baby," Trent drawled, his voice dripping with affection as he walked toward the control unit by the edge of the pool. "You act like I haven't been here a hundred times before. C'mon now." You raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued but unsure of what he was planning. "Do me a favor and unzip that f'me," he added, nodding toward the zipper of the hot tub cover with a cheeky grin. Your lips parted in mock disbelief at the audacity of his request to ask you to do anything, asking you to put in work, but the look on his face was too irresistible. You rolled your eyes playfully before crouching down by the hot tub, reaching for the zipper. Trent's attention flicked back to you, and he couldn't help but smirk as he caught sight of you squatting there, focused on the task. As you slowly unzipped the cover, Trent turned toward the control unit, flicking a few switches like it was second nature. Over his shoulder, he shot you another cheeky smile. "C'mon, now, lift it up," he called out instructions, laughing softly. You grabbed the edge of the cover with one hand, careful not to damage your nails, and gave it a tug. To your surprise, the weight of it didn't budge, and the resistance yanked you forward slightly, forcing a soft gasp from your lips. You stumbled, catching yourself before you fell completely. Your eyes darted up to Trent, who had turned just in time to see your struggle. His laugh was immediate, low and rich.

"It's heavy, T," you whined, your bottom lip rolling out in a pout as you stepped back from the cover. You weren't even trying to hide the puppy-dog stare you were giving him, the kind you'd mastered over the years. Trent's brow lifted, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. This wasn't new. He knew this game-he'd seen it time and time again, in fact he’d played it time and time again. You could easily lift the cover if you wanted to. You worked out, you were strong enough, but one half-hearted attempt followed by that look always had him crumbling.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. Heavy," he muttered a tease with a dramatic eye roll, his smirk never faltering. "So too heavy for my pretty girl?" he teased, crouching down next to you and brushing a strand of wet hair away from your face. You pouted, your bottom lip jutting out slightly.

"You didn't warn me it weighed a ton." You complained. Trent chuckled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your pouty lips. 

"That's why you've got me, yeah?" He stood back up, grabbing the edge of the cover with one hand. He effortlessly picked up the cover, lifting it with ease and tossing it aside. You watched, amused and a little smug, as the bubbling water beneath came into view.  "Easy," he said, flexing a little just to be cheeky. 

"You're so strong, T," you said with a dramatic swoon, wrapping your arms around his bicep and batting your lashes at him.

"And you're so full of shit," he shot back, his teasing smile breaking into a laugh as he glanced down at you. You giggled, stepping into the hot tub first, the warm water instantly melting away the chill of the night air. You shivered slightly as the steam rose around you, and before you could fully settle, Trent climbed in right after you. His big hands found your waist almost immediately, pulling you back into him. 

"C'mere," he cooed, his voice soft as he shifted you into his lap. "You okay?" You nodded, leaning your head back against his chest, the contrast between the cold night air and the hot water making your body relax completely. "Much nicer, no?" he teased, his cheek brushing against your temple as he smiled down at you.

"Much," you murmured, turning in his lap before your hands sliding over his chest. The slick water ran under your palms, gliding over the hard planes of his pecs. Trent hummed softly, his hands roaming over your hips and thighs beneath the water. His thumbs drew small, lazy circles on your skin, his touch making you feel like the only person in the world. You were now facing him, your eyes meeting his. His gaze was warm and heavy, his smile soft but full of something deeper. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his in a slow, tender kiss that spoke more than words ever could. "Better now?" you asked quietly, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw as you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

"Always better with you," he murmured, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as he kissed you again, this time with a little more heat. The bubbling water swirled around you, but it was nothing compared to the way Trent made you feel-completely and utterly adored. You straddled Trent's lap, the warm water bubbling around you as you locked eyes with him. His hands moved slowly, deliberately, gliding over your waist and thighs under the water. Every touch sent little sparks through your skin, leaving you completely breathless. "Look so sexy, baby," he whispered, his voice low and rich as his lips pressed against your jaw. He kissed his way to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe and pulling it gently between his teeth. Your breath hitched, a quiet gasp escaping your lips as heat flooded your body. Your hands draped around his shoulders, your fingers tracing slow circles on the back of his neck as you arched into him. Trent's kisses trailed down your neck, lingering on your collarbone before moving lower, his lips leaving a path of fire as he kissed your damp skin. "You were killing me today," he murmured against you, his breath warm and teasing. He pressed his lips just above the curve of your bikini top, his hands sliding up your sides to settle just under your chest. "I really, really hate this," he mumbled, pushing the triangles of fabric aside to reveal your bare skin. "About time you take it off f’me, yeah?" Your heart pounded as his thumbs brushed over your exposed nipples, making you whimper softly. You nodded, your hands trembling slightly as you reached behind your neck to untie the top.

"All the way off," you hummed, letting the material fall away and float aimlessly in the bubbling water. Trent's gaze darkened, his eyes locking on your bare chest as his thumbs continued to tease you, his touch light but electrifying.

"Such a good girl," he whispered, his voice a little raspier now. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss that made your toes curl. His hands roamed freely now, his palms sliding up your back and pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with an intensity that left you breathless. You moaned softly into his mouth, your fingers threading through his damp curls at the top of his head as the heat between you grew. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word from Trent made the world outside the hot tub melt away, leaving only the two of you lost in each other. He rolled your nipples in his fingers, pinching them ever so slightly now and then to make you squirm.

“T, I want you.” You whimpered, desperate for more of him. Even without Trent touching your pussy, you were completely a mess for him. You didn’t need foreplay tonight.   

“I got you, baby.” He whispered. His voice low, only for you, padded only by the sound of the bubbles. His hand slipped under the water and pulled the string of your bikini bottoms. You were completely naked for him perched on his lap. Trent took his time kissing your neck, making sure you knew how perfect you were with each kiss. He snuck one hand under you. You gasped into his mouth, his kiss muffling the noise. Slightly and subconsciously you began to grind against his hand.

“Please, fuck me.” You begged. It was like when he turned on the hot tub, he turned your switches on along with it. It didn’t take long. A bit of teasing from Trent, your hands eager to get to him and suddenly, you were sinking down on his cock. You gasped as a mixture of pleasure and pain washed over you. Trent was big, and you could feel every inch of him stretching you, claiming you as his own. You moved at a torturously slow rate. You wanted to feel him. Trent’s breath hitched reveling in how you felt around him. He’d never get over it. It was special. It was perfect every time.  You could barely keep your head up with the pleasure and stretch. You dropped your head, laying in the crook of Trent’s neck. You bit down on his sensitive skin with heavy breaths as he filled you to the hilt.

“So good f’me baby. Feel so fucking good. This pussy’s perfect.” Trent babbled, biting on your ear lobe as you began to ride him. You moaned as you created the perfect rhythm, you didn’t have the consciousness for it at the moment, but you were pretty sure any of the boys remotely near the windows inside would’ve been able to hear you two but you wouldn’t have cared. Trent certainly didn’t, it felt too good, your brains fogged by the rising steam in the hot tub and eachother.   

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, clenching tighter around him, eliciting a sinful groan from him. Trent was hypnotized by your body as you began to ride him. You shut your eyes tight with your mouth agape as your tits bounced. The sight of you falling a part on him in the water was enough to make him cum. You flashed your eyes up to look at him in desperation. The look in your eyes made Trent tense again. His big hands moved to palm your ass, squeezing it and kneading it beneath the water. You squeezed your pussy tighter around him feeling him twitch inside you.

"That's it, take all of me, baby. Doing do good," he grunted, his voice filled with primal desire as his length slid in and out of you. "Fuck! You're so tight around me, baby. I love seeing you like this." Trent’s eyes were lit up completely engrossed at the sight of you, wet, desperate, and drenched in moonlight.  You moaned, your body responding to his. The pleasure was intense, and you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge. The hot water lapped at your bodies, adding a sensual touch to the roughness of his possession. Trent's hands held you firmly, his fingers digging into your ass as he guided your movements, his hips meeting yours half way, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Trent's fingers found your sensitive clit, desperate to push you. He began to rub it in firm circles, his touch successfully sending you over the edge. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as pleasure coursed through you.

"Fuck, fuck! T! I’m cumming.” You whined, with a pout unable to stop your high from crashing over you.  Your body shook as the waves of pleasure consumed you. Trent's thrusts became more urgent, and you knew he was close to his own release. His eyes were wild with passion, and he leaned down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss. As your tongues danced, you could taste the heat of his desire. Trent's kiss was demanding, possessive, and it only added to the intensity of the moment. He broke the kiss, his breath coming in short pants as he stared into your eyes.

“That’s it, I got you, baby,” he whispered, his voice filled with raw need. You caught his lips curve into a soft smile before your eyes fluttered closed. You moaned his name again and again. “Cum for me one more time. Just relax, pretty girl. Cum for me.” His words vibrated against you. You nodded, your heart pounding in anticipation. Trent's dominance and his desire to claim you completely were exactly what you craved. 

“T…” You whimpered. You held onto him tightly, your nails digging into his broad shoulders as you felt his cock twitch inside you. You felt white hot pleasure crashed over you. A symphony of whines flowed out of you with every bounce on his cock as he drew out another orgasm.

”Good girl. Fuck baby, squeezing me so tight.” He grunted torn between not wanting this to stop and the undeniable physical urge to finish. You could only manage another whine, too focused on the slow drag of his cock, you could feel every hard vein and ridge of it slowly fucking into you.

“Please.” It came out as a whisper, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock, the friction of his solid stomach against your clit under the water as you grinded against him. 

“I gotcha, gonna cum, yeah? I’m gonna cum. Fuck, baby. You’re fucking perfect, your pussy’s so perfect for me, made for my cock.” Trent spoke between heaving breaths as his fingers dug into your skin and his head falling into your tits, as he pushed his hips up one last time before he spilled into your tight heat. Trent's body stiffened as you felt his hot cum filling you, his release triggering another wave of pleasure in your sensitive pussy. Trent rolled his eyes at the way you gently moved your hips against his to help him ride out his high.  “Oh my god, Y/N.”  He groaned as you clenched around him. You didn’t want him to pull out yet. You gripped your fingers on his hair and massaged his scalp with your nails, causing Trent to hum in contentment, whilst his hands caressed your back in soothing motions. “My good fucking girl. Hmm? So fucking sexy.” He whispered as he pulled you tight to his chest. 

You stayed like that for what felt like forever, the world outside of the hot tub slipping away entirely; unable to separate, unable to pull your body off his, and Trent unable to let you go either.  Trent’s hands never left your body, one arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other caressing your thigh under the water. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, feeling safe, warm, and utterly content in his hold. His fingers tracing lazy circles along your skin, grounding you further with each gentle motion.

“I love you,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you so much, pretty girl,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. His voice was low, tender, and filled with a kind of reassurance that made your heart ache. You turned your head slightly, looking up at him. His dark eyes gazed back at you with so much warmth, and you couldn’t help but lean up to capture his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. He hummed against your mouth, a deep sound of contentment that vibrated through your chest. But the moment was shattered by the loud laughter echoing from inside the house, pulling you both back to reality. Your cheeks flushed as you realized how long you’d been wrapped up in each other. You looked at him and he smiled realizing that it was time to go.

“Whoops!” You giggled with a shy smile, grabbing your bikini from the tiling besides the hot tub behind Trent. Trent let out a small chuckle, his thumb brushing against your hip. 

“You sure you want to put that on?” He asked you with a cheeky grin as his chest still rapidly rose and fell, knackered after sex that felt more like a workout. 

“Do you want me to go inside like this?” You raised your brow teasingly as you tied the side of your bikini bottom back on. Trent laughed breathily. He reached out to you and pulled you into him.

“Nah. When you’re like this, you’re just for me.” He whispered, pressing his nose against yours. You nodded hesitantly. A part of you recalled Josh saying those very words, using them to gaslight you, and yet when Trent said it, it felt different. 

“Just for you?” You asked softly and inquisitively, your voice barely above a whisper. You prayed he would be nothing like Josh. When Josh said it, it meant, you only were for him, yet he could still do as he pleased, aka see other girls. Trent's words hung in the air, their weight undeniable. A part of you felt vulnerable asking such a question, afraid of the answer, of what it could mean. Josh's words from the past haunted you, a constant reminder of control disguised as affection. But Trent-he wasn't Josh.

"Yeah, just for me," Trent said firmly, his voice gentle but unwavering. He ran his hands purposefully over your damp skin, tracing the curves of your waist like he was memorizing every inch of you. "This is private—me and you. No one else. No one gets to see you like this but me." His gaze locked onto yours, dark and steady, filled with something raw and unspoken. He paused, his thumbs brushing over your hips as if grounding you. "This body's sacred. And as long as you’re in it,” He smirked hoping you’d maybe crack a smile at a little joke but you were stoic, terrified to trust him. “I'll take care of you. Always." He reminded you. 

"Oh..." you whimpered, your throat tightening as the sincerity of his words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. It wasn't possessive; it wasn't controlling. It was reverence-something you weren't used to but craved deeply. You couldn't help the tear that slipped down your cheek, overwhelmed by the difference. "You mean that?" you asked shakily, needing to hear it again, to be reassured.

"I mean it,' he said, his voice gentle but firm. He cupped your face, his fingers warm against your cheeks. "It's me and you, baby. Just us. I've got you." The sincerity in his eyes made you feel like the safest person in the world. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face into the curve of his shoulder. He pulled you in even closer, his large hands sliding up your back, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. You let out a shaky breath, finally finding the courage to let the moment soothe the part of you that had doubted. 

"Okay," you murmured against his skin.

“And I’m just for you. You’re the only one that gets me, pretty girl. Gets my attention, gets me to lift hot tub covers off, gets me to cuddle during films, gets me to kiss goodnight, you name it. Only you get it. Only you.” He told you earnestly. Your eyes got a bit glossy so Trent paused. He sympathetically smiled at you. “That alright with you?” He asked patiently, knowing this wasn’t easy. 

 "I like it that way. Just us." You weakly told him. Trent pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up so you were looking at him again. His thumb brushed against your jaw before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

"Good. It's not gonna be any other way." He smirked. You nodded, smiling softly. 

"So... bikini on?" you asked with a cheeky grin, breaking the moment's intensity.

"Till I get you in bed, yeah," Trent teased, his lips twitching into that signature smile. His hands moved to your waist again, giving you a playful squeeze. "But just remember-only me, alright? Don't want all the other lads getting jealous." He cooed. You giggled, draping your arms around him tighter, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

"Only you," you promised, letting yourself believe in the love he was offering, trusting in the safety of his words. As you buried your face into Trent’s neck, his arms tightened around you protectively, the heat from the hot tub lingering on your skin. 

“I mean it, you know,” he murmured softly, his breath warm against your temple. “This is our world, just me and you. No one else matters when I have you like this.” He confessed. You let out a shaky breath, your heart swelling at his words. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had this,” you whispered against his neck, your voice trembling slightly. “Someone who just…wants me, for me. I didn’t think I could have this.” You shyly told him. Trent leaned back slightly to look at you, his hands cradling your face. 

“You've always had me. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted, Y/N,” he said earnestly, his deep brown eyes locked onto yours. “You don’t have to be scared, yeah? I’ll never make you feel like you’re not enough. Never. Because you are a fucking dream to me. I want you, every little bit.” He whispered kissing your skin again and again, emphasizing that he wanted every bit. You nodded slowly, your tears threatening to spill again. But this time, they weren’t tears of pain or fear—they were tears of gratitude, of relief. You hadn’t felt this safe in someone’s arms… ever.

“C’mon, pretty girl” Trent whispered, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Let’s get inside before I change my mind about letting you put that bikini back on.” He smirked, trying to lighten the mood, and you couldn’t help but giggle softly, wiping at your eyes.

“Fine, but you’re carrying me, there are always slugs by the pool at night this late,” you teasingly instructed, leaning back into him, your hands lacing around his neck. He rolled his eyes with a little laugh you wished you could bottle and keep forever.

“Yeah, yeah, so it’s the slugs now, huh?” He smiled at you. You rolled your bottom lip pleadingly. “Do whatever you want. I always will,” he said, scooping you up effortlessly in the hot tub. He stood up as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, the cool night air biting at your skin as he stepped out of the hot tub, with you in his arms. He carried you inside, his chest rising and falling steadily against you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed things could actually be okay.

Trent hesitated, his hand lingering on the small of your back as you both quietly slipped into the house. He looked down at you, his brow furrowed slightly, caught in a silent debate.

“Hey, baby. Can I just go grab a water quick? Then I’ll meet you up there,” he murmured softly, his voice gentle but distracted. You tilted your head at him, seeing right through his attempt to sidestep the real issue. 

“You can go ask him, T,” you said quietly, your pout making it impossible for him to avoid your gaze. You were nervous about tonight as well, but you could tell Trent felt like he needed to do things right. That he was walking somehow on an even thinner tightrope. That if there was a misstep, he would feel at fault. It was sweet, you liked knowing he cared but you also felt a bit guilty. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced toward the hallway that led to the cinema, where he knew Jack was still sitting with Noah. He didn’t want to overstep, even if the thought of not being by your side tonight was inconceivable. Even if Jack said no, he knew he was weak for you, that he'd find a way to be with you and that's exactly why he needed to go above board tonight.

“Baby…” he started, his tone unsure. You leaned into him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you looked up at him. Trent was going to stay in your room no matter what, but he also didn’t want to go to bed feeling like a snake either. 

“As long as you are going to come back and sleep with me, T, go. I know you, I know you want to do it right.” You smiled at him sympathetically. “You’re the sweetest, baby.” You cooed softly. “So if it’s bothering you, you can go talk it over with your best friend,” you said softly, stroking your fingers over his back in slow, soothing circles. Trent let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. 

“You know me too well, pretty girl,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I just… I don’t want to be a dick about it, yeah? I know this is all new for him, for everyone.” He unnecessarily explained. You nodded, understanding. 

“He’ll get it. He knows how much you mean to me. How much I love you.” You told him, although you were saying it mostly to convince yourself that Jack would understand. Trent hummed, leaning his forehead against yours for a moment before stepping back. 

“Alright, wait for me upstairs, please. Gotta go tell your brother how much I love you.” He smirked. You smiled, brushing a quick kiss over his lips before turning to head up the stairs.  

Trent made his way into the cinema room, his heart pounding slightly. Jack and Noah were mid-conversation, a half-empty beer in front of each of them. They both looked up as Trent stepped into the room, and Jack raised an eyebrow, already guessing where this was going.

“Alright, mate?” Jack asked, leaning back in his chair, pausing the show on the screen. Trent nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stood awkwardly in the doorway. 

“Yeah, bro…” Trent said softly as he stepped into the dimly lit room. Jack hadn’t gone to bed yet—he couldn’t, he was afraid of what he might hear if he were to go up before you. So to save himself, he sacrificed sleep and instead roped Noah into a marathon of a show he knew he’d stay awake for. They were sitting there, the glow of the now paused screen illuminating their faces. Jack was patient, he had subconsciously hoped this would be Trent’s move tonight, getting his approval, so he waited, but Noah immediately nodded his head, cueing Trent to say something. Trent ran a hand over his face attempting to compose himself after Noah's nudge. “Just wanted to, erm… check in.” Trent spoke vaguely. Noah smirked, taking a sip of his beer and leaning back to watch the exchange unfold.

“Check in?” Jack repeated, his brow furrowing slightly. “She okay?” Jack asked, concern evident in his voice. His thoughts immediately jumped to you—had you gotten upset again? Why was Trent being so weird?

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Trent nodded quickly, easing Jack’s worry. “She’s fine.” But the way Trent shifted nervously on his feet, fidgeting slightly with his hands, didn’t go unnoticed. Jack’s brows furrowed. 

“Are you, bro?” he asked, with a subtle smile. It was soft though, not teasing. Jack was confused by the sudden change in Trent’s demeanor. 

“Uh…” Trent hesitated, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Noah grinned enjoying this. He wasn't sure he had seen Trent this awkward since they were little boys. “No, I guess. I just wanted to, uh, make sure it’s cool with you if I’m in her room tonight.” The words came out awkwardly, and Trent’s usual calm and confident demeanor seemed to falter. He was clearly uneasy, and Jack picked up on it instantly. Jack leaned back in his seat, smirking a little. 

“Trentski, I’m not her dad,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood. Noah laughed. He had comments and jokes at the ready but he could feel Trent’s nerves radiating off him. So he bit his tongue. But when Trent didn’t laugh, Jack realized he wasn’t joking around. He sighed, sitting up straighter. He knew what this was about, he understood it. As much as he didn’t want to be, Jack had been like a parental figure to you in a lot of ways. It wasn’t just about Trent staying in your room—it was about respect, about boundaries, and about making sure this wasn’t going to mess up the delicate balance of their lives. He appreciated Trent for acknowledging it, even if it stayed just under the surface. Jack took a deep breath before speaking again. “Mate, it’s fine. I actually will kill you if I hear anything but… it’s fine. If it’s you, it’s all good. You’ve got her.” Jack explained earnestly, accepting the fate that his best mate would be up in his little sister’s room. At least it was Trent, he tried to rationalize with himself.

“Yeah, just, you know…” Trent trailed off, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Trent nodded once over taking in what Jack had said, visibly relieved but still fidgeting. “Mate, I just didn’t want you to feel like I’ve dropped caring about you or us because I’m with her,” he said earnestly. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’ve lost me or something.” Trent admitted. Jack paused at that. He hadn’t expected Trent to say something like that, and it hit him harder than he anticipated. He valued that more than he was willing to vocalize tonight so he shoved the unexpected emotion down, taking a swig of his beer to buy himself a second.

“Nah, bro. I appreciate it,” Jack said, his voice genuine. “We’re cool. Like I said, I just don’t want to hear it. Trust me, I know it’s happening.” He forced a laugh, trying to mask how weird it still was for him to think about Trent and you together. Noah chuckled first, Trent quick to follow, his shoulders relaxing a bit more. 

“Thanks, mate. Love you,” he said, leaning down to dap Jack up, their handshake turning into a brief hug.

“All good. Love you, bro,” Jack said, shaking his head as Trent walked out. He stayed seated for a moment longer, staring at the screen but not really watching it. He appreciated Trent coming down to ask—it showed he cared. But still, Jack wasn’t quite sure how he’d survive a whole summer of this, let alone a lifetime without losing his mind. Noah raised his brows with a smug smirk leaning back in his chair suppressing a laugh. Jack heard the stifled chuckle. “Noah, say one fucking thing…” Jack threatened him knowing there were a million teasing remarks at the ready. Noah just raised his hands in innocence with a cheeky giggle thinking the whole thing was quite amusing. 

When Trent opened the door, you were already curled up in bed, propped against a pile of pillows, the glow of your bedside lamp casting a warm light on your features. You smiled up at him as he stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him.

“All sorted,” he murmured, his voice low as he crossed the room, his eyes softening the moment they landed on you.

“Did you get bestie’s approval?” you teased, your lips curling into a sly grin. You sat up, watching him as he made his way to your bed. “Told you it’d be fine,” you added with a knowing smirk. Trent rolled his eyes playfully, crouching slightly as he rested his hands on the edge of the bed. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his tone laced with fondness. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your hair, the familiar gesture sending a wave of warmth through you.

“I still have to shower….” you murmured, your voice taking on a teasing lilt. Your eyes lit up with faux innocence as you smirked up at him. “But I was waiting for you.” Trent raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into an amused grin. 

“Nah, see, you’re gonna get me in trouble!” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Please,” you giggled, reaching out to grab his arms, tugging at him playfully. 

“Ah, yeah, fine, only because you waited for me,” he teased, sarcasm dripping from his words as he let you pull him closer. You flashed him a beaming smile, your laughter filling the room. “C’mon, pretty girl,” he said with a low laugh, bending down to scoop you up into his arms effortlessly. You squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you toward the ensuite. His grip on you was secure, his warmth seeping into your skin as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck.

“Shhh, I’m serious, gonna get me in trouble,” he murmured, his lips curled into a smile brushed against your temple.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get into maybe just a little bit of trouble tonight with me, baby?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He chuckled softly, shaking his head, his chest vibrating against yours as he pushed the bathroom door open with his foot. 

“Fucks sake,” he laughed, setting you down gently on the cool tiles. Trent knew he was cooked, he couldn't resist you. He’d spent too many years dreaming of getting invited up, he wasn’t going to waste it now. 

The morning light spilled softly through your curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. You stirred awake to the sound of steady, rhythmic breathing and the comforting weight of Trent’s arm draped around your waist. His chest rose and fell against your cheek, and you could feel the heat of his body pressed into yours. You blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, and let out a quiet sigh. The night before had been so full of emotion, laughter, and a bit of chaos, but here, in the stillness of your room, it was just the two of you. Trent’s presence was grounding, and you found yourself tracing lazy patterns on his forearm with your nails, smiling faintly at how calm he looked in his sleep. You tilted your head slightly, catching a glimpse of his face. His hair was messy and his lips were slightly parted as he slept. He looked peaceful, boyish almost, and it made your heart ache in the best way. The soft movement of your fingers must have stirred him because Trent let out a low hum, his arm tightening around your waist. 

“Mmm… morning, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough from sleep. You smiled at the sound, nuzzling your face against his chest. 

“Morning,” you whispered back, your voice soft and sweet. Trent shifted slightly, pressing his lips to the top of your head in a lazy kiss. 

“How long have you been up?” he asked, his hand slipping under the hem of his shirt you nicked last night after a cheeky shared shower to rest on the warm skin of your stomach.

“Not long,” you replied, your voice still hushed. “Just… thinking.” You cooed.

“Thinking about what, baby?” he asked, his voice curious but gentle as his fingers traced small circles on your skin.

“About how nice this feels,” you admitted shyly, your cheeks warming. Trent chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Excited for breakfast with your bestie?” You hummed with a sleepy soft giggle. 

“Breakfast with you? Yeah, always.” Trent cooed, rubbing his hands up and down your back. His voice was quieter now, more sincere. You shifted slightly in his arms to look at him, his face still relaxed but his brown eyes now focused entirely on you.

“No.” You giggled. “Jack, baby,” you murmured, reminding Trent as your fingers brushing against his jawline. You were teasing him about waking up at your house, with your brother aka his best friend just down the hall. He smiled with a shake of the head, leaning down to kiss your forehead before pulling you closer against him, his legs tangling with yours under the blanket. 

“Eh, not interested, got you.” He whispered, cupping your cheek and tilting your face upwards to kiss your sleepy pouty lips. 

“I’m telling him you said that.” You giggled again teasing him. You began to pretend as if you were going to get out of bed to go tell Jack but he held you down to him playfully.  

“Nah, Nah, can’t do that. Shhh!” He hushed you with a cheeky quiet laugh.  The room filled with soft laughter as you squirmed playfully against Trent’s hold. His deep chuckles vibrated through his chest, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him despite your faux protests. 

“What, baby?” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him, your lips curling into a smirk with a furrowed brow. Trent pulled you roughly tighter into him until your faces were mere inches apart. 

“Shhh, need you to be quiet.” He hushed you with a smile, kissing you, wrapping his arms tighter around you, refusing to let you move. You shook your head in defiance. "My best friend told me he’d kill me if he heard us.”  Trent admitted with a sly grin. He laughed a little seeing your cheeky smile unable to hold it in.  He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight kiss. “So shhh,” he whispered again, his tone playful. You arched a brow, mischief dancing in your eyes. 

“Oh, so you’re worried about noise? I think I remember someone who wasn’t so quiet last night in the shower,” you teased, your voice low but full of cheek. Trent’s ears turned a faint shade of pink as he chuckled, shaking his head.

 “Alright, alright, but that’s on you, not me,” he muttered. Your jaw slacked offended he’d try to place the blame on you. He smiled loving that he knew exactly how to get under your skin. “Hey, pretty girl, you’re the one who makes me feel that good, baby. Not my fault and to be honest, I’d rather face a right hook from Jack than give you up last night.” He smirked with some cheek.

“Hmm,” you hummed sarcastically with a roll of the eyes, acting as if you didn’t believe him. You tried to roll away once more out of his arms.

��Nah, serious!” He yelped playful yet desperate to get you to believe him. Trent’s hands found your waist, his strong grip easily pinning you back down against his chest before you could make your escape. He got closer to you, dropping his forehead to rest against yours. “This fucking pussy has me a complete mess. Do anything to have more of you. I need you, baby.” He whispered, dropping his voice and octave lower as his lips ghosted over yours. 

“Wow.” You giggled at the serious look on his face. “Well maybe I should make sure your old besties know they’ve been replaced, all because you just like getting your dick wet.” You teased, your lips brushing over his as you spoke. Trent kissed his teeth. 

“Nah, c’mere. You know you’re more than that to me.” His big hand came up and grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you into a messy kiss. You pulled away with a stupid grin and a giggle. “You know I love you, just being with you, and seeing that smile.” Trent shot you the most dangerous smile in return. It was conniving and mocking and beautiful. Your heart faltered at how pretty he was but also how much he genuinely care about you. That you weren't just a body to him. Trent giggled before he spoke again. The childish little boy laugh you'd heard your whole life. You raised your brows awaiting his next words because clearly he thought they were funny. “But it also doesn't hurt if I get to have my hands on this perfect body, take all these clothes off, have my lips all over you, be inside that pretty pussy, seeing you whining for me, making you cum over and over… That’s not so bad, little bit more than getting my dick wet, but… If you ever want to let me just get my dick wet, I won’t stop ya.” He smirked smugly. Your eyes widened with faux offense.

“So I should tell them that instead?” You asked teasingly.

“Not a chance, pretty girl,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours as his fingers tickled your sides, earning a squeal from you. You wiggled and giggled against him, completely wrapped in his hold.

“Okay! Okay! T! Stop, I won’t tell them! Baby!!” you finally cried out between laughs, breathless and flushed.

“Good,” Trent said with a satisfied smirk, his hands stilling on your waist. He looked at you for a moment, his smile softening as his thumb brushed over your cheek. “Because I don’t care about them. Just want to be with you.” He confessed. Your laughter quieted as your heart melted at his words. You leaned down, kissing him softly, your fingers tangling in his curls. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, baby,” you murmured against his lips.

“And I’m so lucky you love me, pretty girl,” he whispered back, his voice full of affection, pulling you back down into his arms as the morning sun filtered through your curtains. You hummed as you nestled into him, letting his words and the steady rhythm of his breathing soothe you. For a moment, the world outside didn’t matter—it was just you and Trent, cocooned in the warmth of each other. 

“T!” you squealed, sprinting down the stairs, your laugh echoing through the house as Trent chased after you, his fingers darting out to pinch your side. The silly morning you were having with him, filled with cheeky jokes, and sloppy kisses didn’t stay confined to your bedroom. You hadn't dropped the idea of telling Noah and Jack you'd replaced them as Trent's best friend.

“Baby! Don’t throw me under the bus, hmm?” Trent yelped, catching you at the bottom of the stairs. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off the ground. You squirmed in his hold, your laughter spilling out as he spun you around like a rag doll. “C’mere, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he pressed kisses to your neck, playfully, his stubble tickling your skin.

In the kitchen, Noah and Jack exchanged looks over their mugs of coffee, the sound of your giggles and Trent’s playful hums breaking the morning’s quiet. Noah’s smirk grew wide, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress a comment. Jack, on the other hand, merely shook his head, his lips pressed into a tight line. You and Trent attempted to compose yourselves as you entered the kitchen, both of you flushed from laughing. 

“Do you want eggs, baby?” you asked, your voice soft and affectionate, the pet name rolling off your tongue like it was second nature. Noah’s smirk turned into a full-blown grin at the exchange, his eyes flicking between the two of you like he was watching his favorite sitcom. 

“Baby now, huh, Trenty?” he teased under his breath, just loud enough for you all to hear. You ignored him, focusing instead on Trent, who had just walked over to dap up Noah and Jack.

“Yes, please,” he answered, his voice warm and easy as he continued his path around the kitchen island back to move to stand behind you. Trent’s hands found their place on your waist, pulling you close so your back was flush against his chest.  “You know you’re the best, pretty girl?” His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered. You smiled, leaning into him as his big hands splayed across your stomach, his fingers flexing gently against the fabric of his shirt you were still in. Something definitely not lost on anyone in the kitchen. Jack let out an exaggerated groan, setting his coffee mug down with a thud. 

“This much? Seriously, this early?” Jack asked, watching you and Trent.

“Let them live, Jacky boy,” Noah laughed, leaning back in his chair with a shake of his head enjoying watching Jack squirm. You turned to glance at Jack over your shoulder, an innocent smile gracing your lips. 

“We’re not doing anything, Jack!” you protested, though the way Trent’s lips skimmed the side of your neck as you spoke said otherwise.

“Not doing anything, huh?” Jack shot back, raising an eyebrow nodding at Trent with a teasing grin. “Maybe try keeping your hands to yourselves for five minutes, or giving eachother even an inch of space, yeah?” He gave you a feigned look of disgust watching Trent’s big hands stay on your body, unmoved by his words. Trent chuckled against your skin, his arms tightening around you protectively. 

“Can’t make any promises, mate,” he quipped, kissing the spot just behind your ear as if to prove a point. Jack groaned again, muttering something under his breath about ‘never-ending,’ while Noah just laughed, shaking his head again at the whole ordeal.

“Also, I wouldn’t mind eggs either, just saying…” Noah eventually chirped, leaning back in his chair with a smirk watching you begin to make Trent’s.

“Nah, mate, we’re not ‘baby,’” Jack quipped, piling on the teasing. “I don’t think we’re getting breakfast.” You let out a small giggle, secretly relieved by the playful banter. As long as it wasn’t awkward tension, you could handle the teasing.

“Tough work, mate, getting ‘baby’ status,” Trent shot back, his lips quirking into a smug grin. “I won’t lie, but the perks… let me tell you...” He cheekily left the statement open ended as he kissed your temple for emphasis before turning back to Jack and Noah with a look. Noah caught the tone and immediately smirked, reading between the lines. 

“Ah, yeah, we know the perks, don’t we, Jack?” Noah chuckled. Jack made an exaggerated, grossed-out face, covering his eyes. 

“Don’t even start, mate. No one needs that mental image.” He scoffed with a teasing smile knowing that joking was the only way this would ever be normal. Joking was a fundamental part of their friendship, and with their friendship and you, humor was a lifeline.  

“Nah, hold on,” Trent laughed, waving his hands defensively. “That’s not what I meant—just breakfast!” He attempted to defend himself. Like second nature, you opted not to help him out, you chimed in with a cheeky grin.

“I know, comes with taking that number one best friend spot too, huh?” You giggled. Trent’s jaw dropped at your betrayal, his hands quick to come playfully squeeze your sides, dragging you into him.

“Nah, can’t believe you just sold me out like that!” He yelped, wrapping his arms around you so tightly, you couldn’t even struggle. “Baby!” He pleaded, annoyed you just did that in front of his best mates. Jack and Noah burst into laughter seeing Trent get called out for being a simp. Years of friendship be damned, it was always great to see Trent whine about a joke.

“Wow, bro! Took you one movie night to drop Noah and I? You fucking piece of shit! ” Jack said through his cackles. Even you couldn’t help giggling, your face tucked into Trent’s chest as he shook his head in disbelief.

“Awh, Trenty,” Noah teased, clearly enjoying himself. “Even your girl’s selling you out, bro. That’s tough.” He mocked him.  Trent let out an exaggerated groan but couldn’t hide the smile on his face. 

“Alright, alright, fuck off. Come on, lads. It’s different.” He smiled shyly realizing you were in fact his best friend, he just didn’t want to get into the semantics of what made you a different kind of best friend compared to the two boys. Noah and Jack rolled their eyes in unison continuing to torment Trent. “Whatever, don't need you lot anyway.” He puffed out air squeezing you tighter. “I’ll just keep my perks and my eggs to myself.” He smirked. You turned to kiss his cheek in consolation, with a hum of agreement. “Absolute snake,” Trent whispered in your ear, pulling you closer as you giggled.

Noah and Jack continued to tease Trent relentlessly, their laughter echoing through the kitchen as Trent tried to defend himself in vain. Finally, you slid three plates of eggs over to the boys, their teasing momentarily pausing as they eyed their breakfast.

“Alright, alright,” Jack said, mockingly holding up his hands in surrender as he took a bite. “At least ‘baby’ knows how to cook up.”

“Can’t say the same for you,” Noah added with a smirk, earning a glare from Jack. Ignoring them, you came around the counter, wrapping your arms around Trent from behind. He immediately leaned back into your embrace, his warm smile easing any guilt you might’ve felt for teasing him earlier.

“I’m sorry, baby. I love you,” you whispered softly into his ear before pressing a kiss just below it. Trent turned his head slightly, catching your gaze with that signature cheeky glint in his eye. 

“Nah, don’t be,” he replied casually, his voice at a normal volume so everyone could hear. “You are my best friend.” He smirked, awaiting Jack and Noah’s inevitable response. They instantly looked offended, their reactions in perfect synchronization as they both dropped their forks.

“Excuse me, bro?!” Jack snapped, with a laugh, feeling like this actually could be okay, that this could work if you and Trent were so light hearted about it all, so welcoming of the teasing. 

“I thought we were kidding. Fuck you!” Noah chimed in, looking dramatically betrayed. Trent couldn’t hold back his laugh, his grin smug and playful as he leaned forward to take a bite of his eggs.

“What? Just being honest,” he muffled out words with his mouth full, savoring the moment of turning the tables on them. You couldn’t help but giggle at the chaos, leaning down to kiss his cheek again. 

“Baby… Stop stirring the pot,” you whispered. 

“Nah, they deserve it.” He smirked, taking another bite of food. “Mmm, so good, pretty girl. This is why you're my best friend. Thank you,” Trent hummed contentedly, turning his head to kiss your lips this time. The kiss was quick, sweet, but enough to make Noah groan and Jack roll his eyes.

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Jack muttered, picking up his fork again. “Gross. But also, true, eggs are good Y/N. Thank you.” Jack would tease you but he was sure to never take you for granted. You smiled and grabbed your own plate, finally taking a seat next to Trent.

“Yeah, eggs are boss, Y/N. Thank you.” Noah added as you all continued to eat your breakfast. “So, was thinking a little last night….” Noah began with a mischievous smile. “Just curious does anyone know how you clean a hot tub? What do you do... You know if it gets dirty.” He smirked, taking a big bite of eggs, stuffing his mouth full. Your jaw slacked a little. Jack snapped his head towards you, turning to face you with a disapproving look. Trent kicked the leg of Noah’s seat in retaliation, causing him to stumble and choke a little on his food. There was no real harm though, and that was clear the moment Noah finally swallowed his eggs and fell into a loud laugh. “Gonna be a good summer, lads!” He grinned triumphantly knowing his bit landed; Jack having to accept his fate, Trent being knocked down a peg, and you reminded someone was always watching. As the boys continued their banter, your gaze flickered between them and Trent, his hand caressing on your thigh under the counter top. This was it. The teasing, the laughter, the love—it all felt right. This was your new normal, and you realized you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The gym hummed with low energy, a mix of clinking weights and faint music filtering through the speakers. It wasn’t overly crowded, just a few people scattered around, focused on their routines. Devon stood by a bench, leaning against it with a towel draped over his shoulders. His mind wasn’t on his workout anymore; it hadn’t been since he’d walked in and seen Josh.

He watched as Josh stood at the weight rack, effortlessly curling dumbbells, his expression smug and self-satisfied as usual. Devon felt a wave of discomfort wash over him. He’d always thought Josh was cocky, maybe a bit of a prick, but this? The things Layla had told him—the video, the way Josh talked about you—it was so much worse than he could have imagined. Devon hesitated, fiddling with the towel in his hands as he debated whether to approach. Confronting Josh wasn’t exactly something he wanted to do, but it was becoming harder to ignore the nagging voice in his head. This isn’t right. Someone has to say something. Taking a deep breath, he finally pushed off the bench and made his way over.

“Hey, mate,” Devon said, his voice casual but tight as he came to stand near Josh. Josh glanced over, setting the dumbbells down with a clang. 

“Yo, bro. You good?” he asked, his tone easy but laced with confusion. Devon shifted uncomfortably, glancing around the gym before finally speaking. 

“Erm… So you and Y/N—what’s the deal there?” Devon asked haphazardly trying to figure out what was going. Josh raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“What do you mean, ‘what’s the deal’? She’s mine. Simple.” The casual possessiveness in his tone made Devon’s stomach churn. He tried to keep his composure, but his jaw tightened. 

“Mate, you can’t really believe that, yeah? She’s not… yours. She’s moved on.” Josh’s smirk faltered slightly, his expression darkening. 

“Fuck off, Dev. What’s up with you?” He questioned. Devon hesitated, but he knew there was no turning back now. 

“No, serious, bro” Devon tone was bordering on pleading. “It’s just cause, the video you have of her… It’s not… you know…” Devon mumbled, not really able to formulate a compelling argument detailing how morally wrong it was. 

“Dev, bro… She’s a whore, things like that, of girls like that, are meant to be shared, yeah?” He explained with a smirk as if that was the most normal thing in the world. Devon’s stomach flipped. He knew Josh was kind of an ass, but they were teammates, they had fun together but this had gone too far. 

“Bro, it’s not cool, you know. Can’t hold that shit over people, it obviously wasn’t for you.” Devon snipped and it struck a nerve. 

“No, it was for me.” Josh stood up with force. “She’s mine, that piece of shit, Alexander-Arnold can’t have her. She’s a whore. So I’ll use that video to get her doing what she does best, to come back, and take Trent down in the process. Easy. Fuck them, bro.” Josh explained seriously. He truly believe this was sound logic.

“Nah, mate. There just isn’t an excuse for it. None of that is true and even if…” Devon stuttered, not sure if he could convince Josh but he’d try. “Bro, even if she was a whore or whatever you want to think, it doesn’t make it okay to do this type of shit.” Devon didn’t defend Trent, he didn’t really know him at the end of the day, but the thought of Layla crying was something he felt inclined to fix. He was just trying to get Josh to see how outlandish what he was saying was. 

“Dev, who the fuck do you think you are telling me what to do with that whore of all people… Fuck Alexander-Arnold.” Josh snapped looking at Devon with daggers in his eyes. “You need to relax. Get laid or something.” He quipped shoving down any thought that Devon could have a point.  

“Bro they’re in a relationship!” Devon yelped. “That’s his girlfriend. It’s just time you let that one lie. Plenty of girls elsewhere. Come on.” Devon begged. Josh froze, his grip tightening on the towel in his hand. 

“What.” Josh bit furiously. 

“What? I’m just saying. That it’s one thing to play dirty and try to get a girl but she has a boyfriend. It wasn’t a video meant for you… Just.” Devon sighed. “Just let it go.”  He looked at Josh pleadingly.

“Boyfriend?” Josh asked.  “You’re not serious…He’s her boyfriend?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. Devon nodded slowly. 

“Yeah, mate. It’s serious. Her mate Layla…” Devon began to cite Layla as a source but Josh cut himoff. 

“Oh I see. Y/N having everyone do her dirty work again.” He said with a cocky grin and cynical laugh.

“Bro, stop. Come on, just time to move on from that one. They’re in love or some shit.” Devon sheepishly but surely explained. Josh let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“Love? Trent doesn’t love her. He doesn’t even know her. She’s a whore, mate. Girls like her don’t get love—they get what I give them.” The words hit Devon like a punch to the gut. His face hardened, and he clenched his fists at his sides. 

“Aye, bro.” Devon cautioned Josh, starting to get pissed off. “I get it, you like to have that dom shit going with girls but you can’t talk about girls like that. You don’t get to talk about someone like that,” he said sharply, his voice rising. Josh scoffed, stepping closer to Devon. 

“Don’t start preaching to me, Dev. You’ve had your fun with Layla, yeah? Stay in your lane. This isn’t your business. Maybe you need to fuck her again, loosen up.” Josh spit back. 

“Mate, this is my business,” Devon shot back. “That video? That’s extortion. It’s disgusting. And you’re holding it over them like some sick game.” Josh’s eyes narrowed, and his smirk returned, more sinister than ever. 

“She’s mine. She’ll come back to me, and Trent? He’s done. Local lad, big dreams? Whatever the fuck his whole brand is. Bullshit and I’ll burn it down with this. Just stay the fuck out of it.” Josh explained simply. Devon shook his head, his voice dripping with disgust. 

“You’re fucking tapped, mate! This isn’t about her coming back to you. You gotta accept she with a lad who does beat the shit out of her.” Devon bit back and Josh’s smirk faltered for a moment, he was pissed. Josh quickly recovered though, stepping even closer. 

“Keep talking, Dev, and you’ll regret it. I always win. Always.” Devon held his ground, refusing to back down. 

“Nah, mate. Not this time. You’ve already lost. This has nothing to do with anything other than just being a good person. This isn't something you can win. Just delete the video. Let her go.” Devon begged Josh once over hoping maybe he’d have a revelation.  Josh let out a humorless laugh before turning on his heel and walking away. The tension in the gym was palpable as Devon stood rooted in place, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Josh’s words reverberated through his mind, each syllable dripping with venom and delusion. Devon stared at his own reflection in the mirror, trying to process what he’d just heard. He had always known Josh could be a bit of an dick—a cocky, arrogant type who liked to push boundaries. But this? This wasn’t just crossing a line; it was obliterating it.

Josh had walked off, smug and confident, leaving Devon standing alone at the weight rack, his stomach churning. He had never felt so conflicted. A part of him wanted to brush it off, to stay out of it like Josh had demanded. But the other part—the part that had spent time with Layla, the part that imagined if he was the one in Trent’s shoes—couldn’t ignore how completely messed up the situation had become. Josh’s insistence that he ‘owned’ you made Devon sick. The way he spat your name, the way he dismissed Trent and twisted everything into his own warped narrative—it was beyond disgusting. Devon let out a frustrated sigh, raking a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in the middle of this mess, but he knew one thing: Josh wasn’t going to let it go. And now, with Josh fully aware that you and Trent were in a serious relationship, Devon knew things were only going to escalate. He grabbed a towel off the bench, his mind racing. He couldn’t go back to pretending this wasn’t happening. Not anymore. He wondered if he should talk to Layla— If Josh was planning something, you and Trent deserved a heads up.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 26 xx

[itsnesss]

hii maybe a yandere!junho ?? I cant stop thinking about him 😩 i love your writing btw💕

𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | you wake up restrained in a small room, facing jun-ho, who reveals his obsessive love for you. his yandere tendencies surface as he believes he's protecting you from the world. you must navigate his dangerous devotion and find a way to escape

warnings | junho!yandere, kidnapping/restraint, psychological manipulation

word count | 2.1 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You wake up with a start, the cold floor chilling your bones. It’s hard to remember how you got here. The faint flicker of a hanging light bulb illuminates the room. It’s a small, almost claustrophobic space, with gray concrete walls. In front of you, sitting on an old metal chair, is him: Jun-ho. His dark eyes watch you with an intensity that makes you shiver.

"Finally awake," he says in a serene voice, but it’s loaded with something else, something unsettling. "Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?"

You try to speak, but your throat is dry. Your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

"What… what’s going on?"

He smiles, and the gesture should comfort you, but there’s something strange in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before.

"I saved you," he replies, leaning forward. "They were going to hurt you. I couldn’t let that happen."

"They? What are you talking about?" you ask, your heart pounding rapidly.

You try to move, but your wrists are tied with a thick scarf. You look at Jun-ho in disbelief.

"This… this isn’t real."

He slowly gets to his feet, brushing his hands off like he’s just finished an important task.

"Don’t worry. You’re safe with me. No one will ever hurt you again. No one will ever look at you that way again."

His voice, though soft, has a sharp edge. Memories begin to return in fragmented flashes. The last time you saw him was at the café near your workplace. He was always there, sitting at the same table with his black coffee, watching you. There was something about him that unsettled you but also intrigued you, like a mystery impossible to ignore.

"Jun-ho… why am I here?" you manage to ask, though the answer seems clear in your mind.

He leans closer, dangerously close. His warm breath brushes against your face, and you can smell the faint aroma of coffee he always carried.

"Because I love you."

The confession hits you like a punch. You instinctively recoil, but you can’t go far because of the restraints.

"Love me? This isn’t love…" you say, trying to stay calm.

His expression hardens.

"Not love?" he repeats, as if tasting the words for the first time. He paces around you, each step echoing in the small room. "Didn’t you see me? I was always there, watching over you, protecting you from all those men who didn’t deserve you."

"Jun-ho… this isn’t right. Let me go, please."

He stops behind you and places his hands on your shoulders. His touch is firm but not rough.

"Not right?" he murmurs near your ear. "Isn’t it right to want the best for the person you love?"

Your body tenses. The danger in his voice is palpable.

"If you really love me, you wouldn’t do this," you try to reason with him.

He chuckles softly, a sound that makes you tremble.

"You don’t understand. This is for you. For us. You can’t keep living in that world full of people who don’t value you. I’m the only one who can."

"It’s not your decision…" you protest, but he moves quickly in front of you, leaning down until his eyes are level with yours.

"Of course, it’s my decision. Because no one else cares as much as I do."

His gaze is so intense it feels like it could pierce your soul. His obsession is undeniable, but behind it, you see something else: pain, loneliness, desperation.

"Jun-ho, listen… you don’t have to do this. We can talk, find a solution," you say, trying to keep your voice gentle, though inside, you’re terrified.

He smiles again, but this time there’s sadness in his eyes.

"You’ve always been so kind… so understanding. But you don’t get it. If I let you go, they’ll hurt you. I can’t let that happen."

"Who are they?" you ask, hoping to buy time to think of a way out.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he steps back a few paces, as if lost in thought. Finally, he speaks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Everyone. Everyone who tried to get close to you. Everyone who didn’t deserve you."

The air feels heavier. The idea of what he might have done to "protect" you starts to sink in.

"What did you do, Jun-ho?"

He looks at you, and for the first time, he seems vulnerable.

"What I had to."

His words are simple, but the weight behind them leaves you breathless. Your mind fills with horrible images, but you force yourself to stay composed.

"Jun-ho… let me help you. This doesn’t have to go on like this."

He shakes his head.

"I don’t need help. I’ve already done everything necessary."

You start to notice a slight tremor in his hands, as if guilt is beginning to catch up with him.

"If you really love me… trust me. Let me go, and we can figure this out together."

For a moment, it seems like your words are reaching him. He lowers his gaze, and you can see the internal struggle on his face. But then, he straightens up, and his expression hardens again.

"I can’t risk it. If I let you go, you’ll go back to that world… and I can’t allow that."

Desperation grips you. You need to find a way to make him see reason before it’s too late.

"What do you want, Jun-ho? What do you really want?" you ask, trying to keep his attention.

He steps closer again, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I just want you to be mine."

His answer feels like a sentence, and you know words won’t be enough to change his mind. But you can’t give up. Not now.

"Jun-ho, if you keep going down this path, we’ll never truly be together. This isn’t love. It’s fear."

The word seems to affect him. He takes a step back, his gaze faltering.

"Fear?" he repeats, as if trying to process it.

You nod, even though the fear in your own heart threatens to overwhelm you.

"You’re afraid of losing me. But keeping me here isn’t the solution. If you love me, trust me."

The silence that follows is unbearable. Finally, Jun-ho sighs and lowers his head.

"I don’t want to lose you…" he admits, almost in a whisper.

"You won’t," you reply, summoning all the conviction you can. "But you have to trust me."

For a moment, you think you’ve reached him. But then he lifts his gaze, and his expression is a storm of emotions.

"Fine," he finally says, with an eerie calm. "But if I let you go, promise me you’ll never abandon me."

Your heart stops. You know any wrong response could trigger something worse.

"I promise we’ll talk about this. But first, I need you to give me a chance."

Jun-ho stares at you, assessing you. Finally, he pulls a knife from his pocket and cuts the ties around your wrists.

"Don’t make me regret this," he warns.

You rub your aching wrists and look at him carefully. Every move has to be calculated.

"I won’t," you respond, though your mind is already planning how to escape this place.

[hiddengiggles]

Let’s talk about consent and smart ways to play

Yes, consent can be revoked at any time. That’s normal and your boundaries should be reexamined regularly as part of your own check ins.

No, it doesn’t mean either party did anything wrong, it can just be a change of what either wants. Shaming either party for changing their mind serves no one. Don’t act like the person who was receiving the action is unfair or a “tease” for changing their mind. Don’t act like the person giving the action was bad or wrong for doing the thing for which they had consent at the time because you didn’t like it.

Yes, it’s awesome to be able to open yourself up and be vulnerable for different activities and kinks. When you don’t have a partner to engage with regularly, it can be thrilling to finally find a person to play with, I know.

No, blanket consent for EVERYTHING right from the jump is NOT a good idea. If you’re connecting with a play partner the first few times, start slow and expand. Feeling enough trust to give consent for some kinks can and probably should take time so uou can be really comfortably vulnerable

Yes, it is exciting to safely meet play partners from the online world when you are BOTH ready for it! When you’re safe about meeting (getting to know them slowly, setting a neutral meeting point, letting a few people know where you’re going and the name of your friend, etc) it can be a great way to get time with your kinks. When it isn’t forced, rushed, or for too long a time period, the organic connection can be magical!

No, you should not assume each party is on the same page unless you’ve communicated multiple times, especially in writing. If you had a phone call a month ago that talked about boundaries and assume all is well, you’re not actually playing safely. Some people write out rules, some BDSM players sometimes make it a “contract”, but a verbal conversation will not protect you or help you if worse comes to worst. This is especially important for partners still new to playing together. Record the hard conversations in some way.

Yes, you can start a conversation on boundaries and kinks with generalization. Example on my end, my husband and I both are okay with pictures and videos taken of us and posting them. In the early days of our relationship, we checked every time we played “Is it okay if I film this?” but after years together we’ve both agreed it’s okay to take them anytime, though we check with each other if we’re comfortable with what was captured regularly.

No, a general conversation is not enough. Continuing my example, we both have boundaries for ourselves and for each other to make sure we’re okay with it being posted (or sometimes sold). Earlier today, I put on a really pretty lingerie set for some birthday giggles. However, I stopped and asked “If you wanted to film this, would you be comfortable with me being seen in this publicly? Our usually boundaries call for a top and bottoms covering”. He paused, considered, and said no, so I put on a tank top and shorts too. Get specific with every aspect of your play, from your comfortable clothing levels, to where content can be posted, to areas you don’t want touched that day that you might normally be okay with otherwise. Assuming you already know the answer is not enough, say it again.

Consent is a lot bigger and more complicated than just this post, so talk about it A LOT with your partner(s). The biggest key to a good relationship in and out of kink (friendship, mentorship, romantic relationship) is to NEVER STOP TALKING. Communication is key, talk about your boundaries and consent over and over and over. They will change and grow, and so will you.

Mistakes and miscommunications will happen, but it’s important to talk about them like the grown people you are. A lot of consent issues with new partners aren’t malicious, they can easily stem from either party being unclear or simply not thinkinh to ask about something that could be a boundary issue. Unless it was a blatant “I KNEW the boundary and disregarded it purposely because I wanted to do it” situation, be an adult and talk about it. If you’re adult enough to be engaging in activities or kinks for adults, you need to follow through and talk about what went right and wrong. Learn and grow from the stuff you didn’t do as well before, accept responsibility for your part, and move on, with or without that partner.

[wchswift]

HABZHSBAH HIII LINAAA (it's me again 😭) gosh i don't want to appear as a desperate but it seems that you're the only who opens your request for leopold 😔😭

just a small request :3 from a prompt that i encountered "... sorry, i talked too much" "no no no not at all, keep talking. i love listening to you."

well, we all know what a gentleman leopold is HABSUSBSH (I NEED HIM SO BAD MY BABY), i don't have any plot in mind so maybe you could create yours based on the prompt?? thank you!! (i love your writings)

Every Word You Say

Pairing: Leopold Mountbatten x Reader Content: strangers to friends to lovers (kind of), yapping, fluff, reader is a bookworm, Leopold is head over heels, English isn’t my first language :) Word count: 2.6k (maybe I got a little excited) a/n: HIII ZAYN BESTIE!! I'm so happy you're sending me requests yayy, thanks to you I could write to Leopold my baby again (pls keep going)! okay I have to admit that I loved this prompt and maybe I got a little carried away about the plot... Maybe I've strayed a little from what you wanted (I hope not), but I really hope you like it cause I really enjoyed writing it <3

It was a good afternoon. The store was quiet, as usual, with only a few customers coming and going and not much activity. Afternoons like that were nice—there wasn't much work to do, but sales were enough to keep the place from feeling forgotten. This allowed some time to relax behind the counter and arrange books on the shelves.

The faint jingling of the brass bell above the door broke the comforting silence of the shop. The sound made her look up from the stack of books on the counter, brushing a stray hair from her face as she spotted the man who had just entered.

He was tall and impeccably dressed, with an air of calm that seemed at odds with the frenetic city outside. His coat was neatly buttoned, his shoes polished, and he carried himself with a poise that made her pause. New Yorkers weren’t usually this... composed. It was weird. But most importantly, he was so beautiful.

“Hi, good afternoon,” she greeted, flashing him a polite smile. “Let me know if I can help you find anything.”

The man hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes scanning the shelves. “Thank you,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, the kind of voice that made even the most mundane words sound elegant.

She went back to organizing her stack of books, sneaking a glance now and then as he browsed. He moved slowly, as though savoring the sight of each title, his fingers brushing over the spines like they were relics. Finally, he stopped at the classics section and pulled out a leather-bound book.

He turned to her, holding the book aloft. “This edition of The Odyssey... it’s rather splendid. Do you recommend it?”

She blinked, surprised at his formality. “Oh, definitely. It’s one of my favorites. That edition has some great commentary in the back, too. Though, fair warning, if you get me started on books, I might not shut up.” She confessed, her tone amusing but gentle.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I assure you, I regret nothing. Please, continue.”

She smiled genuinely at him, feeling a small flutter of surprise at his response. Most people gave a polite nod or chuckle when she rambled, but this man seemed really interested. Encouraged, she leaned against the counter, her hands gesturing animatedly as she began talking.

“You can’t go wrong with The Odyssey,” she said. “I mean, it’s a classic for a reason, right? Epic journeys, gods meddling in human affairs, monsters… And don’t get me started on Odysseus himself. Brilliant, but also kind of an idiot, if you ask me.” She laughed, then quickly added, “Oh, but you know... I mean that in the best way, of course.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Hm, Is that so? Fascinating perspective. You find fault with his decisions?”

“Oh, plenty,” she replied, warming to the topic. “Some of his problems are his own fault—like the whole Cyclops thing? That could’ve been avoided if he’d just kept his mouth shut. But that’s what makes him interesting. He’s flawed. Human. It makes the story feel timeless, even though it’s thousands of years old.”

As the words tumbled out of her, she noticed his expression soften. His gaze didn’t waver, his posture relaxed yet attentive, as though he were cataloging every word she said.

So she just kept talking, completely oblivious to him or how he was mesmerized watching her, the excitement and ease with which she lost herself in the topic. After a moment like that, it was like something hit her, realizing how much she’d been talking, she stopped abruptly, her cheeks heating. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that. You came for the books and probably weren’t expecting an impromptu lecture on Greek mythology.”

He tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening. “Not at all. Your enthusiasm is... refreshing. Please, go on.”

Her lips twitched in a smile of her own. “You’re dangerous, you know that? Most people try to shut me up, but not you. You’re encouraging me.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would wish you to stop,” he replied earnestly.

The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard, leaving her momentarily speechless. She licked her lips, momentarily speechless and lost in him. After that, she just knew she would want to keep him in her life for as long as possible.

After that, it didn’t take long for him to return.

As she rearranged a display near the window the next afternoon, the bell above the door jingled again. She glanced up, half-expecting the usual flow of customers, only to see the same man from the day before.

He greeted her with the same polite nod and reserved smile, his gaze sweeping over the shop like he was committing every detail to memory.

“Back so soon?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

He stopped near the counter, his posture impeccably straight. “I enjoyed our conversation yesterday. And I have a fondness for bookshops.”

“Well, then you’ve come to the right place,” she said, gesturing to the shelves around them. “Find anything interesting today?”

He paused, his gaze flicking to the classics section before returning to her. “Not yet, but I have no doubt you will recommend something.”

“Challenge accepted,” she said, already scanning the shelves in her mind for the perfect book. "Oh, sorry. What's your name again?"

As the days passed, Leopold's visits became routine. He would step into the shop with that same calm air, and they would talk—about books, history, the city, and whatever topic struck her fancy. He never seemed to mind when she rambled, always listening with the kind of focus that made her feel like the most fascinating person in the room. Something she wasn't even a little bit used to, by the way.

Their interaction was so easy and natural. When she talked to him, was always exciting and gave her a feeling of comfort. So it wasn't exactly a surprise when she quickly grew accustomed to his presence. It was strange how easily he fit into the rhythm of her days, even though she knew so little about him.

Each time he came in, she found herself lighting up in ways she hadn’t expected. She would recommend books, tease him about his formal speech, and talk about whatever was on her mind, and he never failed to listen with unwavering attention. She never, not once, felt uncomfortable or unseen in his presence. He was like a prince in a fairy tale.

One rainy afternoon, as she stacked a new shipment of books behind the counter, the man who wouldn't leave her thoughts walked in with droplets clinging to his coat and hair. She glanced up, smiling automatically.

“Caught in the rain, huh?” she asked, setting down the stack.

“Indeed,” he said, brushing water from his sleeves. “Though I find it a small price to pay for the solace this shop provides.” He complimented, in his usual formal way.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You always know how to make the place sound fancier than it is. It’s just a bookshop, you know.”

He tilted his head, a faint smile gracing his lips. “To you, perhaps. To me, it is quite extraordinary.”

The quiet sincerity in his voice made her breath catch for a moment. She quickly looked away, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve.

“Well,” she said, her tone lighter, “if you’re going to keep flattering the place, I should at least give you a tour of the neighborhood. There are some other spots I think you’d like—if you’re interested.”

His eyebrows rose slightly, as though the suggestion surprised him. “I would be delighted,” he said, feeling his heart race.

This finally happened two days later.

The city bustled around them, cars honking and voices blending into a constant hum, but she took him down quieter streets, pointing out her favorite spots.

“This café has the best pastries,” she said, gesturing to a small storefront with a faded awning. “And the park a few blocks down is great if you need to get away from all this.”

He listened attentively, nodding at her words but occasionally glancing around with a furrowed brow, as though trying to make sense of his surroundings.

When they reached a crosswalk she stepped forward without thinking, only to realize he hadn’t moved. She turned back to see him standing on the curb, watching the cars zip by with a look of mild apprehension.

“Hey, you coming?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Is it always this... chaotic?” he asked, his tone half-amused, half-exasperated.

“Pretty much. You just have to commit to it.�� She grabbed his arm lightly, tugging him forward as the light changed. “Come on—don’t think, just go.”

He followed reluctantly, muttering under his breath, “This city has no regard for decorum—or the sanctity of life.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, I swear you'll get used to it. Well, eventually.”

As they walked through the park, the noise of the streets faded behind them, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of joggers. She led him to a bench near a small fountain, sitting down and patting the spot next to her.

“See? Not so bad, right?” she said, leaning back with a contented sigh.

He settled beside her, his posture as upright as ever. “It is... quieter than I expected,” he admitted. “Rather pleasant, in fact.”

“I knew you’d like it,” she said, smiling. “You know, You're not as hard to please as you seem.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “Oh, I imagine this is good?”

She laughed softly, and for a moment they sat in comfortable silence, watching the fountain's water ripple in the breeze. They enjoyed being at peace, simply appreciating each other's company.

That evening, he returned to the bookshop. The streets were quieter now, the glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across the floor as she tidied up before closing.

He lingered by the counter as she talked, her words spilling out in an excited stream as she recounted a childhood memory sparked by a book she’d come across earlier that day.

“So when I was ten, I had this phase where I was obsessed with The Secret Garden,” she said, gesturing as she spoke. “I even convinced my dad to help me plant this tiny garden in our backyard. Except, I was an awful gardener—I kept forgetting to water it, and half the flowers were just weeds I thought looked cool.”

She laughed, shaking her head at the memory. “But I’d still sit out there for hours, waiting for my own magical door to appear. My dad always called it my ‘weed palace.’”

Leopold chuckled softly, his smile warm. “A ‘weed palace,’ you say? Peculiar, but at the same time charming.”

“Well, maybe to you,” she replied, grinning. “To everyone else, it was probably an eyesore.”

She paused, glancing at the clock and suddenly realizing how long she’d been talking. Her cheeks flushed as she glanced at him.

“Oh God... I’m sorry, I talked too much. I really need to learn when to stop.”

Leopold, who has been utterly captivated, loses the humor in his eyes, his expression shifting to something quieter, warmer as he tries to reassure her.

“No, no, not at all. Keep talking. I love listening to you.” he said softly.

Her breath caught at the earnestness in his voice, the way his gaze held hers as though he truly meant every word. For a few seconds, she could only stare, her usual quick wit failing her.

“Thanks,” she murmured finally, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

The warmth in his eyes didn’t waver, and in that quiet moment, the bustling world outside seemed to fade away entirely.

A comfortable silence settled in for a few minutes. Leaving them there, just staring at each other, observing each other. For a moment, she didn't know what else to say. People didn’t usually look at her the way he was now—like every word she said was worth hearing. It was flattering, a little unnerving, but mostly... nice. She blinked a few times, adjusting her posture while lightly playing with her hair, hoping to dispel the warmth creeping into her cheeks.

The quiet between them was the kind of silence that felt full, warm, and fascinating. She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, glancing at him as he remained by the counter, looking as though he had something more to say.

Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke, her voice soft. “You know, you’re a pretty good listener. Most people get bored with my stories halfway through.”

He shook his head slightly, his lips curving into that faint, knowing smile she was beginning to adore. “I find your stories enchanting. They are... a window into a world I often feel I’m only just discovering.”

Her brow furrowed at the odd phrasing, but before she could question it, he stepped a little closer, his hands gently resting on the counter. His gaze softened, the usual formality in his expression giving way to something more vulnerable.

“It’s rare,” he continued, his voice low, “to find someone who speaks with such passion. Most people... say so little of consequence. But you—your words, your thoughts—they breathe life into even the most mundane things.”

Her heart gave a tiny flutter, and she felt warmth creep up her neck again. “That’s... really sweet of you to say,” she murmured, looking down at her hands.

For a brief moment, uncertainty flickered across his face. He took a deep breath, then, with a soft, deliberate motion, tilted his head to meet her eyes. The sincerity in his eyes was unmistakable as he declared, “I speak only the truth.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a spark of something unnameable through her chest, and she met his gaze, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“Well,” she said lightly, trying to steady her voice, “if you keep flattering me like that, I might start to think you enjoy my company.”

His smile deepened, feeling more real, with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I should hope that has been apparent for some time.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re kind of a mystery, you know that? But... I think I like that about you.”

“And you,” he said, his tone softening again, “are an open book. A rare and beautiful one.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t look away from him. The faint glow of the shop’s dim lighting reflected in his eyes, and the quiet hum of the world outside seemed to fade entirely. She momentarily dropped her gaze to his lips before his voice brought her back.

“Would you,” he began, his voice careful, almost hesitant, “permit me the honor of accompanying you on another of your walks? Perhaps tomorrow?”

She bit her lip, her heart racing in a way that felt new and thrilling, together with the urge to jump into his arms. “I think I’d like that,” she replied, her voice just above a whisper.

He straightened slightly, a look of quiet satisfaction crossing his face. “Then it’s settled.”

As the bell above the door jingled softly, signaling his departure, she stood there for a moment, watching him disappear into the night. She closed her eyes as a painful smile appeared on her face, she quickly did a happy dance before lightly resting her hands on the counter.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 05

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: subtle yn lore gets dropped here…

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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After Bakugou had been generous enough to help haul in your endless pile of boxes—a consequence of your admittedly irresponsible spending—it seemed he decided to spare you further torment by announcing his departure.

Something about heading to the training arena to "get some real work done."

Not that his presence was bad.

No, it was torturous in the best way possible!

The I-want-him-to-stay-in-my-room-forever-and-keep-calling-me-princess kind of way.

Did that sound crazy?

Even with your ever-growing crush on the blonde, you couldn’t deny the wave of relief that washed over you at his exit.

He’d seen you like this—flustered, fumbling, barely holding yourself together—had even insisted you put on those stupid glasses, and yet…

Somehow, it wasn’t as horrible as you expected.

A warm flutter settled in your chest at the realization. He hadn’t cared about your appearance, hadn’t picked you apart like so many others had. It was a refreshing change from the judgment you’d grown used to.

You never quite understood why people felt so comfortable talking about your looks.

You barely felt comfortable talking to people, period.

And yet, strangers—people who didn’t know a thing about you—felt entitled to comment.

Your figure was amazing. Your hair looked great. What diets had you gone on?

God…

Bakugou didn’t seem to care about any of that.

His focus had been on your vision—or lack thereof. A stupid little thing, but the fact that he didn't seem to care about your looks made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

Now, left alone in the quiet of your room, you sat cross-legged on your bed, manicured fingers scrolling through your phone.

Your official account, @OfficiallyFlora, gleamed on the screen. The blue checkmark beside your username felt more like a weight than an accomplishment.

Your profile picture, an overly polished shot of you in your glittering hero costume—stared back at you. The flawless image, taken against a pristine white backdrop, was the product of your mother’s money and marketing efforts.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

Too pretty. Too refined. Too far from the girl sitting here now, sock clad in her bedroom, still reeling from the lingering scent of caramel and smoke that Bakugou had left behind.

Are your teeth really even that white in person?

You don’t know…

Your bio reads: Official Page of Pro-Hero Prospect Flora, making your hearts bloom with every step towards justice!

You sighed, rolling your eyes hard enough to strain something. The bio had been written by your mother’s PR team, dripping with saccharine energy that made you cringe every time you read it.

The rest of your feed wasn’t much better: high-definition shots of battles, cherry blossom-themed merch promotions, and glamorous magazine features.

It was a glossy, manufactured version of you that bore little resemblance to the person staring at the screen, glasses perpetually sliding down her nose.

Growing bored of the staged content, you switched to your private account.

Your followers on this one are, well. Your classmates, surprisingly enough, and one of your mother's pool boys who had asked for your Instagram years ago before you ever even had an official page in hopes of getting to talk to you more?!

You can't help but quirk a brow, you should really get him off your page...

Here, the photos were more personal: snapshots of your travels, close-ups of meals you’d enjoyed, and a random assortment of things that caught your eye.

The likes rarely climb beyond single digits, but it was real and a better representation of yourself than the other page.

A pang of curiosity struck as your fingers moved on autopilot, typing in Bakugou’s name.

His official account, curated by Best Jeanist’s team, popped up first. His posts were as structured as yours—action shots, hero promotions, and carefully orchestrated PR moves.

But unlike how you felt about your feed, his action shots were breathtaking.

One image, in particular, caught your attention: Bakugou holding a tiny kitten that had been stuck in a tree. His sharp features softened as he cradled the fluffy creature, his biceps bulging against his hero suit.

You snorted, amused by the juxtaposition. No matter how intimidating he looked, the sight of him with a kitten was almost too much.

Shaking your head, you scrolled through some of your classmates’ accounts. Their updates showed them at the beach, enjoying pizza nights, and huddled around a glowing campfire.

Seems like without Bakugou around to act as head chef, they had to order takeout instead.

You frowned, an unshakable pit forming in your stomach.

You drop your phone onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. Maybe what you needed was a nice meal—something indulgent to shake off the restless energy.

The thought of heading to the nearest convenience store for another pint of ice cream crosses your mind, the idea warm and tempting. But no.

Not this time.

Instead, maybe you could make an effort. Doll yourself up a bit, put on some makeup, and head out into town. Who needs a big group when you’ve got yourself?

Determined to follow through, you sit up and scan the endless boxes of your new purchases. Finally, you land on a little buttercup-yellow tweed Chanel set, complete with a mini skirt and cropped blazer.

You slip it on, the fabric hugging your figure perfectly and highlighting your silhouette in all the right places.

Hell, for this price point, it better do all of the above!

You turn to your vanity, reaching for your makeup bag. You opt for a soft, casual look—subtle yet radiant, with just enough shimmer to catch the light. Twinkly in all the right places.

To complete the look, you sling a new ivory-colored purse over your shoulder. A cute yellow dandelion charm clipped to the side adds just the right touch of cuteness.

Standing in front of the mirror, you take a moment to admire your reflection. You look polished, confident, like someone ready to take on the evening—even if it’s a solo adventure.

Maybe you’d check out that new sushi spot closer to home!

Yeah, it’s fine that your classmates wouldn’t join you! They'd probably just make you more anxious anyways.

But as you’re heading downstairs and toward the door, you suddenly freeze. A realization dawns on you.

Hajime has the weekend off.

You groan out loud. How are you going to get there? You can’t drive!

Frustration bubbles up, and you slap your forehead. Were you really this helpless? The thought makes you wince, embarrassment creeping in at the edges of your thoughts.

"If I speak, you gonna jump and scream again?" A voice, an irritatingly familiar voice announces his presence.

The familiar gruff voice startles you, and admittedly, you do almost scream. Holding it back though, you whirl around to see Bakugou having just walked out of the elevator behind you.

He seems freshly showered, with his hair still a bit damp, out and pushed back from his handsome face. You could smell him from where you're standing.

Ugh, delicious as usual.

“You did kind of surprise me,” you admit, voice sheepish as your eyes dart away from him.

His eyes roam over your figure quickly, though you don't notice the action over your own mourning of the evening.

“You’re going out?”

The question leaves his mouth before he can stop it, and if he could, he’d smack himself upside the head. Why the hell did he even ask? It’s obvious you are. And more importantly—why is he even starting a conversation in the first place?

Up until literally yesterday, you were just another classmate. Background noise. But these back-to-back interactions are becoming unavoidable, and unfortunately, you’re slipping out of the backdrop and into his world.

You shake your head, lips pulling into a soft, resigned smile. “Well, I was going to, but… I just realized I don’t have any way of getting there.”

“Hah? Can’t take the train?”

Heat blooms across your face, creeping down your neck. “Oh, well… I’ve never taken public transportation.”

There’s a beat of silence—just long enough for you to see the exact moment Bakugou short-circuits.

“Is that some shitty joke?”

You thought your cheeks couldn’t possibly burn hotter, but—oh, look at that! They can!

“I- um, well, no. It’s not.” You swallow, fiddling with the strap of your ivory purse. “Hajime’s driven me everywhere since I was little.”

He blinks, slowly. More in disbelief than anything.

“Hajime?”

You nod. “Yeah, um… my personal driver.”

For a second, you think he might actually roll his eyes. On anyone else, the whole spoiled rich kid routine would piss him off. But with you, it’s different.

Maybe it’s the way you look so flustered, like you’re embarrassed to admit it. Or maybe it’s the way your voice dips, like you’re apologizing for just existing.

Either way, it leaves him feeling something weird—something dangerously close to wanting to help. Again.

Twice in one day. A world record, if he says so himself.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

You wince, shoulders curling inward. “I know! It’s bad, okay? But it’s just how I was raised…”

How you were raised?

Bakugou’s brow lifts slightly. So what, you were raised to be a stay-at-home daughter? Spend money like it’s a full-time job?

He knows about your family. Everyone does.

A mother who inherited an entire hero firm from your grandparents—a dynasty so powerful its stocks and investments practically fuel Japan’s economy. And a father who died in the field before you were even born—a rising star in the hero world, gone far too soon.

Your mother, a young heiress to millions. Your father, a pro hero at the height of his career. Expecting their first child. A baby girl—you.

And then, just like that, it all came crashing down.

A mission gone wrong.

A hero lost.

Your father’s death sent shockwaves through the country, leaving Japan in mourning—not just for the man he was, but for the legend he never got the chance to become.

He doesn’t say anything right away—just stares at you with an unreadable expression that makes your stomach churn.

Then, without warning, he mutters, “Get your stuff. We’re going.”

Your head snaps up. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me.” He’s already pulling on his sneakers, his movements brisk and determined. “No way in hell am I letting you graduate from U.A. without knowing how to take a damn train. That’s pathetic.”

“Bakugou, you really don’t have to—”

“Second time today.” He cuts you off with a sharp look over his shoulder. “It’s already happening. Move it, princess.”

Your mouth opens, ready to argue—but the words die in your throat when you see the set of his jaw, the fire in his gaze. He’s not going to back down.

You’re not sure what’s more overwhelming—the idea of taking your first train ride…

Or the fact that Bakugou Katsuki is the one dragging you along for the ride.

You gulp, hurrying after him as he strides out of the dormitory, his natural pace effortlessly long and brisk. You almost trip trying to keep up, the heels of your boots clicking against the pavement.

God, why does he walk so fast?

“We’ve got a station down the block from the UA gates,” he says, barely glancing at you. “We’ll go to that one.”

You nod, stiff as a board. “Gotcha. So, um… where did you want to go?”

His blonde brow arches, the side of his lip curling like you just said something unbelievably stupid. “What? This isn’t about me. This is about teaching you how to get on a damn train.”

You wince, embarrassed. “Right. That makes sense.”

The two of you walk in relative silence, the crisp evening air settling over you like a thin veil.

The streets leading to the station aren’t crowded, but there are enough people out that you can feel the occasional passing glance—whether they recognize you as a hero-in-training or simply because you look like you don’t belong in a place as mundane as a train station, you’re not sure.

Your perfectly tailored blazer, Italian leather purse, and neatly manicured nails feel almost too polished for the scuffed pavement beneath your feet.

Bakugou, on the other hand, fits in seamlessly.

His hands are shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his comfy sweatpants loose around his legs and tight at his waist.

He looks completely at ease, like this is just another part of his day—meanwhile, your heartbeat is rattling in your ears at the thought of navigating a train station for the first time.

After a few minutes, you reach the station entrance, the underground stairway yawning open before you. A few commuters shuffle past, swiping their cards at the turnstiles, moving like they’ve done this a million times.

You, however, stay frozen at the top of the stairs.

Bakugou doesn’t notice at first, too busy pulling out his own train pass. But when he looks up and sees you still standing there, brows drawn tight with hesitation, he sighs.

“Seriously?” He tilts his head, exasperation flickering in his red eyes. “It’s just a staircase, princess.”

“I know it’s just a staircase,” you huff, crossing your arms. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing down at the tiled steps leading into the station.

You’ve never been in one of these before, never had to navigate the organized chaos of public transport, never had to think about swiping a train card or picking a route.

A ridiculous thought hits you—you’re not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you don’t know how to take a train… or the fact that Bakugou Katsuki is the one who has to teach you.

You bite your lip, it's silly and you know it. “What if I mess up?”

Bakugou stares at you for a beat, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he snorts.

“With that attitude, you’re definitely gonna mess up. Sour face you got going on”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

His smirk is almost smug. “But that’s the whole damn point. You mess up, you figure it out, and then you won’t be a clueless dumbass next time.”

You scowl. “Your motivational speeches suck.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes before nudging your shoulder—just a small push, barely enough to make you step forward, but it’s enough to shake you out of your own head.

“Come on,” he mutters, starting down the stairs. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

You inhale sharply and, with no other choice, follow him down.

The air shifts as you descend—cooler, tinged with the metallic scent of rails and the distant hum of an approaching train. Your grip tightens around the strap of your purse, nerves bubbling in your chest.

Why is everything so loud down here?!

Bakugou moves ahead, seamlessly navigating through the turnstiles. He scans his card with an effortless flick of his wrist, stepping through without hesitation.

You, on the other hand, stop in front of the machine, frowning at it like it’s a puzzle you weren’t given the pieces to.

Bakugou turns, watching you expectantly.

“Well?” he drawls.

You glance at the screen, then back at your card. “Do I just… tap it?”

“No, you rub it on the damn thing and hope it opens.”

Your glare is sharp, but you say nothing, instead hesitantly pressing the card against the sensor. The gate beeps, unlocking with a mechanical click.

You blink. That’s it?

“Wow, you did it.” Bakugou’s tone is mockingly slow, like he’s congratulating a toddler for taking their first steps.

You don’t know how, when, or what possesses you with a sudden surge of confidence, but before you can stop yourself, your hand reaches out, shoving his shoulder.

His muscled frame barely budges under your touch, solid beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

He snorts, a short chuckle slipping out as he steps toward the platform, the train’s arrival chime ringing through the station.

Then, as you approach the edge of the platform, a realization slams into you like a ton of bricks.

“…Wait.” You stop in your tracks, eyes widening. “How do I know which train to take?”

Bakugou exhales so deeply it sounds like his soul is actively trying to escape his body.

“God help me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, his jaw tightening as if he’s physically restraining himself from saying something he’ll regret.

For the first time today, you swear he actually looks pained.

Oh lord. Oh good grief. If you were just about anybody else right now, Bakugou wouldn’t just be snapping—he’d be out of here so fast, you’d be left choking on smoke.

The fact that a pro-hero-in-training, someone who’s supposed to be saving lives, has never taken a damn train is the kind of thing that should be illegal.

So why is he still here?

Why hasn’t he turned on his heel, thrown up his hands, and left you to fend for yourself like any rational, self-respecting person would?

He blinks, his gaze lingering on your face, and for a brief moment—so fast you almost miss it—you swear there’s something unreadable flickering behind those sharp red eyes.

Maybe it’s the way your lashes frame your doe-like eyes, dark and long, casting delicate shadows across your cheeks. Curse you and your stupid, stupid eyes. Is this some kind of second quirk? A hypnosis ability?

Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the way you fidget without realizing it.

Your hands twist together, fingers tangling like they’re trying to hold onto something steady.

Absentmindedly, you twirl the diamond-encrusted eternity band on your index finger, turning it over and over in a nervous rhythm. It catches the dim station light, flashing every time you spin it.

Bakugou’s gaze follows the movement, and something about the unconscious gesture makes his scowl deepen.

“…Tch.” He clicks his tongue, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “You really are helpless, huh?”

The words are gruff, edged with frustration, but he still doesn’t walk away.

Instead, he takes a step toward you, nodding toward the digital display overhead. The glowing letters flicker slightly, listing station names, times, and train lines in a way that makes your head spin.

“C’mon, dumbass. I’ll show you how to read the damn schedule before you get yourself lost in the middle of the city.”

Relief washes over you as you quickly follow his lead. “Ah, thank you!”

“Don’t thank me… just pay attention.”

And you do. You pay such good attention that by the time you finally grasp how the whole system works, you’re practically bouncing on your heels in excitement, a bright grin stretching across your face.

You stand on the platform, buzzing with a newfound confidence, while Bakugou—looking as perpetually unimpressed as ever—waits beside you with his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

Then, the distant hum of the train grows louder, and soon enough, the sleek cars pull into the station with a sharp metallic whir.

The doors slide open, and you eagerly step forward, your heeled boots clicking against the platform as you move inside. Bakugou follows closely behind, scanning the interior in one quick glance.

The train is relatively full—enough that only one open seat remains near the doors. Without hesitation, Bakugou nudges you toward it.

“Sit,” he says gruffly, grabbing onto the nearest safety pole as the doors begin to close.

You shake your head, brushing him off. “I’m okay.”

He scoffs, tilting his chin toward your feet. “The train moves fast and isn’t super smooth. I’m sure you don’t wanna go through all that with those on.”

You glance down at your shoes—sleek, heeled boots, stylish but sturdy. Your lips curve into a small smile.

“I’ll have you know my hero costume boots are even higher than these.”

His brow arches slightly, the hint of sarcasm sparking in his eyes. “Yeah? I’m impressed, considering how fast you ran away from me on day one.”

Oh, hell.

Heat creeps up your neck at the reminder, your confidence faltering for a split second. But you recover quickly, squaring your shoulders with a dramatic huff.

“Wow, Bakugou Katsuki, impressed? By little ol’ me?” You place a hand over your heart, feigning exaggerated awe. “It’s an honor.”

He snorts, shaking his head, but there’s something unreadable in the way his gaze lingers on you for just a moment longer.

Then, the train lurches forward.

Despite all your earlier bravado, you do wobble slightly—just enough for Bakugou’s smirk to return in full force.

“…Told you to sit, dumbass.”

But you can’t.

Not because you’re too stubborn. Not because you’re still trying to prove a point.

But because—oh.

A singular, large hand is suddenly tight on your waist, steadying you with an effortless grip.

Oh my.

Who needs a safety rail when Pro Hero Dynamight is holding you like this?!

You internally scream, the realization hitting you all at once. The touch itself isn’t anything crazy—it’s barely even a thing, just a reflex, something automatic, instinctual. Nothing compared to the absolute torture of this morning’s, uh, straddling situation.

And yet, this feels just as bad—if not worse.

Why? Because Bakugou, in all his brash, loud, obnoxious glory, doesn’t even seem to realize he’s still holding onto you.

His grip is firm, warm even through the thick expensive fabric of your clothes, and worst of all? It lingers.

Still there.

Still present.

Still burning through your skin like a brand.

Oh, hell.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

[28harryssunflower]

In love against all odds

The hum of the city outside feels distant as you sit beside Harry on the couch in his cozy flat. The soft glow of the lamps casts a warm, amber light across the room, but no amount of light could chase away the heavy tension in the air between you two.

You notice it immediately - his fidgeting. Harry’s not the type to sit still, but today, he’s especially restless. His eyes keep flickering toward his phone, then away again, and his fingers tap an anxious rhythm against the armrest. The weight of the past few days hangs in the space between you, the unspoken words filling the room like a thick fog.

You’ve noticed it. People’s comments, the sideways glances. How could you not? When you’re 19, and he’s 28, it feels like the world has a constant opinion about you and Harry. The age gap, they call it. They don’t understand how you can make it work - how he can be with someone so young, someone who hasn’t even lived fully yet. You’ve heard the whispers, seen the way people look at the two of you when you’re out in public. They don’t see what you see, what Harry sees.

But Harry? He’s always been the one to carry the weight of their judgment. And tonight, you can feel it even more than usual.

Finally, Harry sighs, his voice soft but heavy with worry. “Y/N, we need to talk.”

Your stomach churns at his tone, because you know where this is headed. His eyes meet yours, but there’s something distant in them, something that makes your heart sink.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” you ask quietly, your fingers reaching for his, trying to offer him some comfort, though you feel like you might need it just as much as he does.

He pulls his hand away, running it through his hair in frustration. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says in a low voice, as though he’s rehearsed these words a thousand times in his mind, trying to make them sound right.

Your heart beats faster, the sudden chill in his tone making you uneasy. “What are you talking about?”

He hesitates, looking down at his hands, the words tangled in his throat. “It’s just… everything. The age gap. The way people look at us. I can see it getting to you, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to be the reason you’re hurt by their bullshit. You’re young, Y/N. You deserve to be free of all this. Free of the judgment. You shouldn’t have to put up with it.”

Your chest tightens, and the words hit you like a punch in the gut. “You’re saying you want to break up?”

Harry looks up at you then, his eyes full of regret, pain, and something else. Fear. “I don’t want to, but I think it might be better for you. The longer we go, the harder it gets. And I can’t stand seeing the way people talk about us. It’s messing with you, and it’s only going to get worse.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve heard him worry about this before, but never with this much finality in his voice. It feels like he’s already decided, and the idea of losing him, of losing this - your relationship, your connection, your love - makes your chest ache in ways you can’t even begin to describe.

You swallow hard, forcing the lump in your throat down. “I’m not the one who’s hurt by this, Harry. I know the comments. I hear the whispers. But I’m not going anywhere. Not because of some stupid age gap or because of what people think.”

He shakes his head, his voice cracking with emotion. “But I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared that one day, it’s all going to get to you. I don’t want to see you get crushed by their judgement. I don’t want you to resent me for it.”

You stand up, feeling the anger and hurt surge in your chest. “Do you really think so little of me? Do you think I’m too weak to handle this? I love you, Harry. I chose you. I’m not some naive kid who doesn’t understand the consequences of this relationship. I know exactly what I’m doing. And I’m not going to let anyone make me doubt that.”

Harry looks up at you with wide eyes, as if your words are slowly sinking in, but doubt still lingers in the lines of his face. “But it’s not just about us, is it? It’s about everything else. The pressure, the constant comments, the whispers. It gets to you, Y/N. It has to.”

You take a step toward him, your eyes fierce and unwavering. “It does get to me sometimes. But you know what? That’s not your fault. And it’s not mine, either. We’re not responsible for other people’s opinions. We’re not here to live for them. We’re here for each other. And I’m not going to let you go just because it’s hard. That’s not what love is. Love isn’t giving up when things get tough. It’s fighting for each other.”

Tears well in Harry’s eyes, but he quickly blinks them away. “I just… I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to see you sad because of something I can’t control.”

You kneel down in front of him, lifting his chin so that he’s forced to look into your eyes. “Harry, listen to me. You are in control. You’re in control of us. And I love you. I love us. That’s the only thing that matters.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a shaky breath, and when he opens them again, there’s something different there. Something more certain.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers, his voice breaking, the rawness of his feelings spilling out.

“You won’t,” you reply firmly. “We’re in this together. No matter what people say, no matter how hard it gets, we’ll get through it. I love you, Harry. And that’s never going to change.”

He reaches for your hand then, his fingers trembling slightly, but his grip firm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile softly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that. We’re not going anywhere.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, the words of doubt and fear starting to fade away, replaced by something more certain. Something that feels like hope.

You lean in, kissing him gently, your lips soft against his, a promise sealed with every touch. He responds slowly, his arms pulling you closer, and in this moment, you know that nothing - nothing - can break the bond you share. Not the age gap. Not the judgment. Not the noise of the world.

Because what you have is real. And it’s worth fighting for.

And as the kiss deepens, you know one thing for sure: you and Harry will always face everything together. No matter what.

[cautionwetspiralstaircase]

gonna be writing down some of my favourite bits from pili's out-of-character Q&A today ^^ here's him talking about his character's relationship with pangi and badboyhalo

(source: Dtowngato 22 Jan 2025 TALKING ABOUT MY CHARACTER The Realm SMP --- ( Main Account @/dtowncat ), around 1h9min)

Pili: Talking about Pangi and Pili... I feel like my character definitely senses that Pangi has some sort of, like, feelings (...) that aren’t actually mentioned directly. And he feels like- cause a lot of people are like “Why is Pili flirting with a million people when Pangi is there? Like he doesn’t see that Pangi is literally giving so many clues and things, and (...)”. That’s where the avoidant attachment thing goes through, because since he sees these other things (Pili flirting with everyone) as little silly games (...) and just being silly and whimsical... It’s like, when he’s with Pangi, he knows that Pangi may actually mean it. (...) And that’s where he gets like kinda- push him away, or whatever. 

It’s just like... complicated. So since he doesn’t really want that to happen, he doesn’t really actually want a romantic relationship- (...) that’s where he kinda starts pushing Pangi away. And I feel like a great example for this is that my character does not want deep emotions or attachments to anyone. To anyone at all. Even Pangi. And that’s why he hates him, in a way, and that’s why he calls him his weakness. Because for example, the reason why to this point I feel like my character has been more comfortable with Badboyhalo, telling him more secret things, being more open to him, is because I think my character and Badboyhalo both understand themselves very well in that aspect. And he also knows that Badboyhalo won’t actually get a deep attachment to him. Like if he dies, he knows Badboyhalo will be like “Aww, that’s sad” and then he’ll just move on with his life. Cause that’s kinda like his normal thing to do. He knows that if something happens and he has to ditch Badboyhalo, he won’t have some sort of explosive emotional reaction to it, and he won’t throw his life away, he’ll just keep going. Which I think that’s why right now my character and Badboyhalo are very close, even closer than Pangi and Pili. 

For example, on the first divorce arc, Pangi- it was also kind of a test, because Pili knew that he was gonna go fight people, that he may not come out alive. And he was trying to push him away so Pangi wouldn’t do something stupid to try and save him. (...) Because he knew that Badboyhalo wouldn’t do anything to save him. That’s the difference, okay? Because he knew that Pangi would be dumb enough to act emotionally and try to stop the fight or do something to stop it or like, if he died, he would go crazy. And I think Pangi proved my character’s point, which was- when he tried to push him away, he was like “Alright, that’s it, I’m killing everyone, I’m ending the world, and I’m ending myself”. Which my character really doesn’t like that sort of- thing. 

My character knows that he’s not a good person, he knows that he’s not done good things, he knows that sometimes he’s an asshole, and... he knows that he has insanely self-destructive tendencies. He just has this sort of thing where he keeps putting himself to suffer and suffer and suffer, and that’s part of how he is, all the time. And he knows that Pangi won’t take that well, and Pangi will be like “No, Pili! You don’t need to die! I’ll die if you die!” And that kinda rubs him the wrong way, which is also why he kinda has been more distant with Pangi I think. It’s just too complicated, really. It definitely hurts, cause he definitely knows that he has a weak spot for Pangi and vice versa, and they’re definitely some sort of like, platonic soulmates type of situation.

(chatter mentions his conversation with Pangi on Clown’s tower about not wanting Pangi to avenge him) Yeah. He’s just like, dude, I want to do this, and I’ve been doing this for so long, you don’t need to avenge me, you don’t need to go into this villain arc just because I wanted this thing. (...) That’s why nowadays he- I don’t know if you guys noticed, but my character barely tells any secrets to Pangi, and tells everything to Badboyhalo. Which is odd, cause I feel like technically Pangi and Pili were the closer ones, but it’s more like that kind of- avoidant attachment thing. That is just like pushing him away, in a way. So Pangi doesn’t get hurt, or get involved too much into it.

(chatter suggests that tr!Pili doesn’t like others showing too much emotion) I feel like it’s also a thing like, for example, with Clown, he knows that it’s one-sided, and he likes it being one-sided. Because he- it’s also this thing like, I don’t know how to translate it, but you get the love that you think you deserve. (...) So basically it’s just more like he feels like Pangi is too good for him, and he doesn’t deserve that type of good attention or things. And that’s why he’s always saying like “Oh you should move on with your life, you should find someone else that actually can give you what you probably deserve, because I’m not that person (...). Because I don’t have that sort of behaviour and I don’t have that sort of tendencies and I don’t have that sort of things”. 

(chatter asks how tr!Pili would react to Badboyhalo also becoming strongly attached to him) I feel like in the same way, it would definitely start rubbing him the wrong way.

(chatter suggests that he also pushes Pangi away and refuses to become attached because of his mental health) Yeah. Definitely that is true, I feel like my character has definitely suffered a lot and there’s a lotta traumas and things (...) inside. So I feel like he has repeated the cycle so many times, and (...) he doesn’t wanna keep repeating it anymore. He’s down to suffer and be in pain and whatever, be a masochist, just not that route when it implies other people are involved and (...) suffering because of him. 

(chatter suggests that Badboyhalo has more predictable reactions to secrets while there are more unknowns with Pangi, and more secrets that might cause Pangi to take immediate action) I don’t know. I don’t know how- Pangi is sometimes too chill about this. I think Pangi definitely has a lot of trust in Mocha (note: mocha is his character (the cat)'s name, although ofc everyone on the realm just uses "pili").

[avonne-writes]

Once he and Bucky reconcile, Gale falls into a brief depression and ignores his hair — I would love it if you wanted to expand on this! (And anything from the rough patch they go through)

Thank you for the question! You probably saw the latest post since then. I talk a bit more about their rough patch there.

Let's see, a few things about Gale's depression afterwards:

Gale gets hired by NASA not long after he and Bucky reconcile. He goes through the application process, the interviews etc. while still reeling from the aftermath of the rough patch in his marriage. Still, he actually gets the job, and he and Bucky need to move.

This is, of course, a stressful change. Bucky is allowed to work more or less remotely but they both know he needs a new job long-term as well, and they need to find a new place too. But they go for it anyway, because it was Gale's dream and their plan for the future all along.

All this stress adds on to the issues their fight stirred in Gale, resulting in depression.

In short, their rough patch revealed to Gale just how alone he is in the world. There aren't many people who are primarily his loved ones and only secondarily Bucky's. He doesn’t really have a family outside of Bucky. The friends he has who are closer to him than Bucky (e.g. Alex) are more distant than for example Curt. This is something that Gale struggles with deeply in the period after his and Bucky's fight.

But, thankfully, he manages to climb out of this depression relatively soon. He meets Marge at NASA, he goes back to therapy and works on his relationship with Bucky.

Bucky is very sweet to Gale in this healing period. He regrets the way he handled their conflict (although Gale was just as much at fault). After several discussions with Gale, he understands why it affected Gale the way it did and he tries to do things differently. It’s difficult, because he has to be careful not to make Gale feel like something is wrong with him.

So it's quite an adjustment period. They're both trying to make amends and they both need to recover from how they hurt each other. It’s more difficult for Gale because he doesn’t quite have the relationships Bucky does. Rather than feeling comforted by Curt and Georgia, he feels ashamed for a while (this is only in Gale's head, they don’t blame him for anything).

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

come high water

tw- referenced domestic abuse

There was something on Darry’s mind, Pony could see it. He had a little frown on his face and Pony could practically see the thoughts spinning behind his eyes. All throughout dinner, Ponyboy’s eyes kept flickering to his big brother. Anxiety was growing in his chest. Was there something he forgot? Was it his turn to cook? 

But Darry didn’t say anything. And while Soda surely noticed his demeanor, he said nothing. Soda just went on and on about his day as usual. Soda volunteered to wash dishes. Ponyboy stood up, intending to go read his book, but Darry called, "Hey, Pone, I wanna talk to you for a sec."

Pony’s heart started thundering in his chest. What did he do? But there wasn’t anger on Darry’s face as he put a hand on Pony’s shoulder and guided him onto the front steps. This was where they used to have important talks with their dad. 

As they sat on the steps, Pony's leg was jogging as he waited for the yelling to start. But Darry didn't say anything for a long moment. Ponyboy looked up at his older brother and saw the furrow of his brow and the melancholy look in his eyes. Something was wrong.

Darry sighed and then looked over at him, "You and I need to have a serious conversation." Pony's heart started to race. Darry's hand squeezed Ponyboy's shoulder, "And before you start panicking, you're not in trouble."

Pony exhaled in relief. "Coulda started with that," he muttered. Darry chuckled. He leaned forward on his knees for a moment, saying nothing. Ponyboy nudged him a little, "What's so serious?"

Darry turned to face Pony and met his eyes. "I fucked up when I hit you that night." Pony started to look away, but Darry caught his chin gently. "Honey, I need you to look at me for this, okay?" Pony fought the urge to look away. He always struggled to meet people's eyes, but for Darry, he would. When their eyes met, Darry smiled sadly. "I love you so much, Ponykid, and I am so fucking sorry that I ever raised a hand to you."

Ponyboy shrugged, "I know you didn't mean it, not really." They’d talked about it a bit when Ponyboy got out of the hospital. Ponyboy knew Darry was still beating himself up for it.

Darry shook his head. "That don't mean anything. You ain't ever supposed to hurt the people you love. Even if it was an accident or I didn't mean it, I still hurt you." Darry took a deep breath. "The point I'm trying to make is that...that's not how you show that you love people."

"I know," Pony said softly. Darry's face was emotional in a way that was unusual. He was earnest in his need to get this point across. "I know that, Dar."

He wrapped his arms around Darry and hugged him. He didn’t know what else to do when there was such clear distress on his brother’s face. Darry returned the embrace, laying one hand on the back of Pony's head and sighing into his hair. They sat like that for a long moment before Darry started to talk again.

"I know you ain't interested in girls yet, but-"

"I wouldn't ever hit someone like that," Pony said quickly, intuiting where Darry was headed.

Darry kissed his head and held him a little firmer, "I know that. You're a good kid. I don’t think you got a mean bone in your body. But if anyone hits you, a girlfriend, a soc, a friend, I need to know, okay? And if you don’t feel comfortable talking to me about it, you talk to someone you do."

Pony pulled out of their embrace to look at Darry's face. There was such an intense look on his face and suddenly Pony understood why they were having this conversation. Darry wasn't concerned that Pony would be an abuser. He was terrified that Pony would be hurt again.

"Why are you so worried about that?" Pony asked with a confused frown. "Boys don’t get hit like that."

Darry sighed sadly, "They do, baby, more than you would think. It ain’t about bein’ tough what you can take in a fight. Being hurt by someone in your family, by a partner, it’s different." Ponyboy thought of Johnny and Steve, how bruised they’d been and their pain in their eyes when they talked about their folks. But he’d never heard of a boy being beat on by their girl. "So if you got a girlfriend and she hurts ya, I need to know."

"Why?"

Darry opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, "It’s because of me." The turned around to see Soda standing by the door with his arms wrapped around himself. His hands were still a little wet from the dishes. Soda shuffled over and sat down between the two of them. Immediately, Darry wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his head.

Pony’s heart began to pound, "What are you talking about?"

Soda looked over at Pony with sad eyes, heavy with emotion. "When I…When I was with Sandy, she would hit me sometimes." 

Pony’s eyes widened and he reached out to take Soda’s hand. "I didn’t know."

Soda smiled sadly, "I know, baby. I didn’t want you to. Darry saw her do it one night and he stepped in and stopped her. I made him swear not to tell you what happened." Pony whined and threw his arms around Soda’s waist and squeezed him as hard as he could. He didn’t like the thought of his brother being hurt one bit.

Soda brought a hand up to Pony’s head and ran his fingers through his hair. "I’m so sorry, Soda."

Soda took a deep breath, "That’s why Darry’s so worried, he doesn’t want either of us to get hurt like that again."

"Which is why," Darry continued, touching Pony’s face, "if something like that ever happens, I need you to tell me, savvy?"

Pony nodded quickly, "I will." 

He looked at Soda. There was a question on his mind. Soda never talked about Sandy so Ponyboy never really asked about her. But now he couldn’t help himself, "Did you love Sandy even though she hurt you?"

Soda swallowed thickly, giving himself time to think. Darry reached over and squeezed the back of Soda’s neck in comfort. "Yeah, I did. Part of me still loves her now. It’s complicated, honey. Things aren’t so black and white."

"But she hurt you."

"I know." Soda looked down at his hands, almost in shame. "I know. But that ain’t how you show someone you love them and I…I didn’t realize until ." Ponyboy embraced his older brother again, hearing Soda sniff softly as tears filled his eyes. 

Soda pulled back, "Only if you ask her, should a girl ever hit you."

"Which is a different topic," Darry cut in sharply, giving Soda a look that made him laugh, "that we will discuss when you’re older." Pony was sure his face was the color of a beet. But his brother was laughing so he didn’t mind the embarrassment. "I know I seem overbearing," Darry said softly, "but I’m just trying to keep you boys safe."

Soda leaned into Darry, taking Pony along with him. The three brothers sat embraced on the front steps. Darry wished he could protected his brothers from anyone that wished them harm, but he’d have to make due with just holding them whenever he could and drying their tears.

[emmlef]

Headcanons about Yelena and fashion!

Ohio-

She loved to play dress up. She used to wear Melina’s high heel (the only pair she own) and try to put on make up. It was a disaster but she loved it.

She owned a princess dress, plastic glittery rings, and fairy tail wings. And she loved to create weird clothes for her Barbies.

One time Natasha allowed her to give her a “make over” and yelena used permanent marker. Needless to say, Natasha didn’t say yes the next time Yelena asked.

I love to imagine little yelena loving fashion but also loving nature and playing outside, like wearing her princess dress and rolling in the dirt.

After the red room-

She knows nothing about herself anymore (subjugated from 13 to like 27 that’s crazy). Thrifting is a way to try a bunch of different style. She find herself like a kid again, trying on a bunch of colourful stuff, putting on all the accessories, wearing all the clashing patterns.

It’s a way to distance herself from the red room, she can be visible now, she can be loud and playful.

All the items in her wardrobe are items that make her smile. A very kitsch wool sweater with dogs on it, pink heart shaped glasses, a very warm fur coat (thrifted obv she doesn’t want to harm animals), vintage male suits that make her look really professional, silk pjs for maximum comfort, pirate pants that are really great for movements and for looking like a pirate, a bunch of crazy looking jewelry (her favorite is the dog broach that her sister bought her).

Every occasion call for a new outfit. Going to Greece to save a widow ? Need a new sun hat. Going to kill one of the red room associates ? Need new make up for a good last impression.

She is the self-titled widow fashion designer. After they wake up, and if they want to, she help them shop and find their style.

If they are not working, or at the club or museum, Yelena and Sonya are often shopping.

During Hawkeye-

She is a bit in her villain era (we don’t blame her), so now she steal too.

She steal from high fashion shop and from the rich people house because fuck them.

Her apparence is one of the only thing she control anymore so she like to dress according to who she wants to be perceived.

A really cool badass aloof assassin for her first dinner with Kate, she wear her pirate coat and big boots that make her taller. A clueless tourist, her big fur coat and an iconic ilny shirt. And to avenge her sister ? She does her make up like she is going to her funeral, one last good impression.

She is cheeky and like to play with people and their perception of her. She leaves clues on herself like wearing urss flag socks or gun earrings.

Thunderbolt-

I think after Hawkeye, when the grief really hit, she loses a lot of her joy for the craft. She is depressed so nothing really bring her happiness anymore. In the thunderbolt movie, I imagine she doesn’t care anymore and just get the job done. She put on the first hoodie she see that doesn’t smell to bad and go kill some (hopefully) bad people.

She will wear make up when she has to play a persona like when she has a meeting with Valentina. And it makes her sad because she want to enjoy it so bad again but she just doesn’t.

She want to enjoy it, like she used to when she shared her Pinterest board of make up inspiration to Natasha, or when Sonya painted her face with most random palette they could find (“it smells like chocolat yelena!”) or when she was 5 and wearing her daddy’s tie to school. But now she is alone and sad and it all seems stupid but she still does it hopping to feel something.

Bishova-

Maybe she learns to have fun with fashion again once she get in touch with Kate again.

She see her purple wardrobe and is like “that is not a style kate bishop, not a style” and Kate is like “well you only wear black and dark green you are one to talk” and yelena is like “that’s not true!” but it’s true.

So she buy (or steal) clothes for Kate, stupid clothes that make her laugh like ugly itchy grandma sweaters or a funny scarf that looks like a caterpillar, and clothes that she think Kate will genuinely like, fitted black slack pants, arrow earrings, great warm socks.

Kate wears everything even the silly things, she loves it. And yelena is having fun playing dress up with her.

Little by little she feels more confident in her life again and she perfect her edgy, grunge style. She donate most of her colourful before blip wardrobe, and buys more combat boots and get more piercings.

Thinking about it, it’s almost like she went from being a child in an adult body to being an emo teen in an adult body.

Her favorites are an oversized vintage leather jacket, a pair of dark jeans that she cut holes in, a ring that has a tiny blade in it (really cool), and a designer sweater that looks like it’s falling appart.

Maybe she learn to sew even more and create cool shirt by Frankensteining multiple garments together ?

And instead of leaving hints that she is a spy widow in her outfit, she leaves hints about Kate. Or maybe it’s not intentional but it just happens. Arrows earring, purple socks, purple nails, purple mascara, KB ring that she stole from Kate and Kate still hasn’t realized.

Random-

Her widows friends also influence her style. They do girls night where they paint each other nails, style their hairs, choose outfits for one another. That’s really cute and it always feels a bit like healing for yelena.

That’s all for me, thank you for coming to my Ted talk I hope it made sense!

A fic that talks about Yelena’s sense of style and that I love :

[bouquetface]

Hi❤️ what are some synastry aspects that you see a lot in soulmate relationships?

Hi. how ppl define soulmates is kinda subjective so this is just going to be my opinion. i don’t believe there is one sure way to tell, it’s just how 2 ppl feel.

When I think soulmate synastry tho, i think of the water houses (4th house, 8th house, 12th house) + the rulers of these houses. These houses can have a lot of depth to them. Someone who has personal planets that get into these houses can (for better or for worse) really get to your soul - go beyond the superficial and wordly matters.

however, if someone lacks water placements and placements in these houses in natal, they may disagree. The natal won’t active much for these houses if there are no personal planets in them.

Examples of a few placements:

Soulmate Synastry

Moon in 8th House - Both Moon + 8th H person are likely to feel this deeply. You can feely deeply understood and connected to the other person. Depending on sign, aspects + entire synastry, Moon can be a non-judgemental figure that allows 8th H to be open. They can get very close, experience and share many personal with one another.

The negative to this is after creating so much history with one another, there can be almost like an obligatory feeling to stick together. If you lose that closeness, you can easily become nostalgic for it - missing the old times. The connection can be life informing/transforming.

Venus conjunct Moon - Venus person's expression of love matches Moon's emotional needs to feel secure. Moon and Venus can be each other's biggest supporters. The connection can feel very easy - at times possibly enabling. However, IRL, I have noticed a few times that Moon feels this more than Venus. While Venus can provide a lot of support and comfort to Moon, they may not match Moon's emotional attachment to the connection. Moon may be absorbing the energy while Venus is just being Venus.

Moon or Venus in 12th House - There can be sense of familiarity and understanding. If this is supported by positive synastry, this is a nurturing placement - the other person has your back even when you aren't in the room. Most likely Moon or Venus may protect 12th H in ways 12th H person isn't even aware of - like they deal with the situation before it even gets to you (however it could be the other way around too). This situation can turn sour if one begins to feel unappreciated.

If accompanied by negative synastry, the two can be close yet a feeling of distrust remains. Most likely 12th H feels Moon or Venus could have hidden intentions (however it could be the other way around too). One can feel the other is manipulative and deceptive.

IRL EX: Venus in 12th H Scorpio - Venus person was very supportive of 12th H person. They were close for a long time until 12th H became suspicious of Venus. 12th H felt Venus may be talking behind their back - when in reality, it was Venus defending them and a different person talking badly about 12th H person. 12th H proceeded to not appreciate Venus's friendship and began talking badly about Venus to other people. This ended their decade-long friendship. There was a harsh Mars aspect in this synastry too.