#but this is like my uneven picture in a room with a with moment

[moonlightdreamzz]

DISPATCH — ENHYPEN.

SUMMARY. When Dispatch exposes your relationship to the world, the backlash is relentless. Every word, every picture, every rumor becomes a test of how strong your love truly is. Will the pressure drive you apart, or will you hold on to each other against all odds?

GENRE. (A)

AUTHORS NOTE. Let me know if you all want a Part 2 <3. I love you.

Heeseung

The Dispatch article feels like a death sentence, glaring at Heesung from his phone screen. His hand trembles as he scrolls through the pictures—grainy but unmistakable. You, smiling at him like he hung the stars in the sky. Him, holding your hand, his guard down for once. Every glance, every touch, every stolen moment between you now dissected and exposed.

“Heesung,” you say softly, breaking the suffocating silence.

He doesn’t look at you. His jaw clenches, his chest swelling and deflating as though the weight of the world is pressing down on it. He swipes out of the article and tosses his phone onto the coffee table, pacing the room like a caged animal.

“They’re going to ruin you,” he says bitterly, his voice cracking. “They’re going to tear you apart.”

You flinch but force yourself to stay composed. “I knew the risks, Heesung. I knew what I was getting into.”

He lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t. You couldn’t have. You didn’t sign up for this. The threats, the stalking, the hate campaigns—it’s going to get so much worse now.” He finally turns to face you, his eyes dark with fear and frustration. “And it’s all my fault.”

Your heart aches at the sight of him unraveling, but anger flickers in your chest. “This isn’t just about you!” you snap, standing up. “Don’t you think I’ve thought about what this means for me? For us? I’m terrified too, Heesung. But sitting here blaming yourself isn’t going to fix anything.”

His eyes narrow, but his shoulders slump, the fight draining out of him. “What are we supposed to do, then? Huh? Pretend this didn’t happen? Apologize and say it was all a misunderstanding?” He runs a hand through his hair, his voice swelling with frustration. “Do you have any idea what they’re going to say? What they’re going to do to you?”

Your chest tightens, but you stand your ground. “Of course I do. I’m not stupid, Heesung. I know what people are capable of.” Your voice softens, cracking slightly. “But what do you want me to say? That I’ll leave? That I’ll run away to make it easier for you?”

Heesung stares at you, his eyes glistening. “Maybe you should,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

The words hit you like a slap, and you take a shaky step back. “Do you mean that?”

“No,” he says immediately, his voice swelling with desperation. “God, no. I don’t mean it. But I don’t know how to protect you from this. From them.”

Tears blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. “I don’t need you to protect me, Heesung. I need you to be with me. To choose me, no matter how hard it gets.”

He hesitates, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “But what about my members? What about everything we’ve worked for? If this spirals out of control, it could ruin us all.”

Your lip quivers, and you force yourself to take a steadying breath. “I would never ask you to choose between me and your career. But you have to decide if this is worth fighting for. If we are worth it.”

He’s silent for what feels like an eternity, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Then, finally, he steps closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared. I’m so scared, Y/N.”

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “So am I. But we can’t let them win. Not if this—” your voice wavers as you motion between the two of you—“means anything to you.”

He pulls you into his arms, holding you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the ground. His lips press to the top of your head, lingering there. “It means everything to me,” he whispers, his voice raw.

For a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and it’s just the two of you clinging to each other in the eye of the storm.

Jay

Jay leaned against the edge of the table in his dorm, the harsh glow of his phone screen casting long shadows across his face. His mind feels like it’s short-circuiting, the Dispatch article looping endlessly in his thoughts. The pictures. The headline. The comments.

The messages from the company had already started pouring in, frantic and demanding damage control. The members hadn’t said much yet, but Jay knows the weight of their silence.

Across the room, you sit curled into yourself on the couch, your face pale but composed. You’re scrolling through your own phone, but the way your hands tremble betrays the calm you’re trying to exude.

“We need to talk,” Jay says finally, his voice flat, hollow.

You look up, meeting his eyes. “Okay.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, dragging a hand down his face as he searches for the words. “This… this isn’t just a scandal. This is everything. My career, my group’s career. You’ve seen what happens when fans turn like this.”

“I know,” you say softly, bracing yourself for what’s coming next.

Jay’s lips part, but for a long moment, he doesn’t speak. He wants to say it. He wants to tell you that it’s over, that he can’t risk everything he’s worked for, everything his members have worked for, just because he’d been reckless enough to fall for you.

But when he looks at you—your eyes wide and glassy, your shoulders set despite the storm surrounding you—something inside him cracks.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice breaking.

“You already are,” you reply, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Jay’s chest tightens. He pushes off the table and paces to the other side of the room, his movements sharp with tension. “I don’t know how we fix this. I don’t even know if we can fix this.”

You stand, your movements deliberate as you walk toward him. “So what are you saying? That this is it? You’re just going to throw everything away?”

He flinches. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How else am I supposed to say it, Jay?” Your voice swells with emotion, but you refuse to yell. “We both knew what we were risking, and now that it’s real, you’re telling me what? That I was just some phase?”

Jay’s head snaps up, his eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re not a phase, Y/N. You’re—” He cuts himself off, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re everything. That’s the problem.”

Your breath catches, and you stare at him, stunned. “What?”

He exhales shakily, his hands flexing at his sides. “You’re everything, and that scares me. Because I can’t lose you. But if I stay, I risk everything else. My group, my family, my future—everything.”

You reach out, your fingers grazing his wrist. “Jay,” you say softly. “I’m not asking you to choose. I’m asking you to think about what we could be. What we already are.”

He looks down at your hand, then back up at you, his throat tightening. “I need time,” he says finally, his voice raw. “I need to figure out how to protect you, how to protect us. Because if I can’t… I don’t know how to do this.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

You nod slowly, your lips trembling. “Okay. Take your time,” you say, though it kills you to say the words. “But don’t make me wait forever, Jay. If you love me, you’ll find a way.”

He closes his eyes, your words slicing through him like glass. He doesn’t know how to respond, so he just pulls you into his arms, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I’ll try,” he whispers against your hair, his voice so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

But for now, that’s all you can ask for.

Jake

Jake sat across from you in the dim living room of the apartment he hadn’t been able to step into since Dispatch released those photos. The air between you swells with a tension neither of you dared to cut through. His jaw flexes as his hand runs through his hair for what must be the hundredth time tonight. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he whispers, his voice tight, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“Maybe with how you feel,” you say softly. You’re sitting on the edge of the couch, knees pulled into your chest, arms wrapped around them. Your voice doesn’t waver, but your eyes sting from hours of holding back tears.

Jake looks up at you, his dark eyes flickering with conflict. “How I feel? I feel like I’ve destroyed everything,” he says, his voice rising for the first time tonight. “Do you know what the guys must be thinking right now? What HYBE is doing to contain this? The fans—”

“They’re already losing their minds,” you finish for him. Your throat feels tight, but you swallow hard. “I know, Jake. I know.”

The crack in your voice makes him pause. For a moment, he looks like he wants to move toward you, to hold you, to fix this in the only way he knows how, but he doesn’t. He stays where he is, gripping his knees until his knuckles turn white.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” he whispers, and your breath catches.

Your heart drops, but you nod slowly, forcing yourself to be the calm one when you feel anything but. “Do you really think we were a mistake?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

Jake stands abruptly, pacing the small room as if he’s searching for an answer in the air. “I don’t know! I don’t know, okay? I love you—God, I love you—but I didn’t think it would come to this. And now I’m risking everything—my group, my career, you. Do you get that? You’ll be dragged through hell because of me.”

“Jake…”

“No,” he says, spinning around to face you. His eyes are glossy now, his voice raw. “Do you know the kinds of things they’ll say about you? The kinds of things they’ll do to you? I don’t care what they say about me, but you…you don’t deserve that.”

“I don’t care about them!” you snap, your own emotions finally breaking through. “Do you think I didn’t know what I was getting into when we started this? I love you, Jake. I knew it would be hard, but I chose you.”

“And maybe you shouldn’t have!” he shouts, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them. The second they’re out, he freezes, horror flooding his face. “No. No, I didn’t mean that—”

You stand now, the weight of his words slamming into you. “Maybe you’re right,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Y/N, don’t,” Jake whispers, stepping toward you, but you hold up a hand to stop him.

“No. You’re scared, and I get it. So am I. But don’t push me away just because you don’t know how to deal with this.” Your voice steadies now, and you look him in the eye. “You don’t get to decide for me how much I can handle. And you don’t get to say you love me and then act like this.”

Jake’s face crumples, and for the first time tonight, he looks like a boy who’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I’m just—God, I’m so scared, Y/N.”

You step forward, closing the gap between you, and gently take his hands. He flinches at first, but when you don’t let go, his shoulders finally sag. “We’ll figure this out,” you say softly. “Together. But only if you stop pushing me away.”

Jake doesn’t say anything, but the way he pulls you into his arms says everything. His hold is desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair, his voice breaking. “I love you so much it terrifies me.

You squeeze him tighter, your own tears finally falling. “I love you too, Jake. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Sunoo

Sunoo was standing by the window, his back to you, his hands pressed against the glass as if the city outside could offer him any sort of relief from the storm inside. The constant buzz of his phone—messages, calls, alerts—kept ringing in his ears, but he didn’t look at it. Not yet. He couldn’t.

He had never been one for confrontation, always the type to ease into things and let them unfold, but this—this was a different kind of chaos, one that he had never prepared himself for. His relationship with you, which had started out so quietly, so secretly, had now become the most public thing in his life.

“Sunoo,” you call softly from the couch, your voice a gentle tug at his heart. “Look at me.”

He finally turns, his face pale, eyes clouded with a mixture of fear and disbelief. “What are we supposed to do now?” he whispers, his voice barely audible as he moves toward you.

You stand up, reaching for him, your heart aching at how much he’s carrying. Sunoo, who had always been so careful, so measured with his emotions, now looked broken. The weight of the situation had crushed his usual sense of optimism, and for the first time, you saw him vulnerable, unsure of everything.

“I don’t know,” you say softly, “But we’re going to figure it out, okay?” You reach out and take his hand, his fingers trembling slightly under your touch.

Sunoo glances down at your intertwined hands, his heart heavy. “But what if it’s too much? The fans, the media, my members… our members…” His voice breaks at the last part, and it feels like a dagger to your chest. You know how deeply he values his group, how much he needs them.

“You think they’d want you to be miserable?” you ask, the question simple, but it cuts through the air with undeniable truth. “You think they’d want you to lose the one thing that makes you happy?”

Sunoo bites his lip, his eyes welling up. His throat tightens as he tries to fight back the tears, but you can see them. “But what about everything else? My career, my future… what if this ruins everything we’ve worked for?”

“You think I haven’t been thinking about that too?” you reply softly, stepping closer to him. “But I’m not going anywhere, Sunoo. And neither are you. I know this is a mess, but we’re in this together. We’ll figure out how to clean it up. You’re not alone in this.”

He looks down at you then, his gaze full of longing and a quiet gratitude, but also something else—something deeper. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. And in this moment, you are.

Sunoo pulls you into him, enveloping you in the kind of embrace that feels like home. “I never thought love would find me,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “But here you are. And I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

You hold him tighter, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. The world outside might be crumbling, but in this moment, with him in your arms, everything felt like it would be okay. You weren’t going to lose each other. You couldn’t.

“I love you, Sunoo,” you whisper, your voice full of emotion.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice firm now, like a promise. “And nothing will ever change that. Nothing.”

The rest of the world could burn, but for now, you had each other. And that was enough to get through this.

Sunghoon

Sunghoon’s phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time. Every vibration sent a wave of dread crashing into his chest. He knew it was over. The truth had come out, and there was no turning back. Dispatch had exposed the two of you, and now the whole world knew.

He paced around the room, trying to drown out the noise of his thoughts—the sound of his manager’s frantic voice on the other end of the line, the stream of messages from his members, and worst of all, the overwhelming silence from you, who was sitting on the couch, watching him with eyes that broke his heart every time they met his.

His usual calm, his usually composed demeanor, felt like a thin, cracking veneer now. Sunghoon wasn’t like this. He was always the steady one, the one who kept everything together. But now, with the weight of this secret out in the open, his grip on control was slipping.

“Sunghoon…” your voice is soft, almost hesitant. You had been quiet for a while, giving him space to figure out what to do, but it was clear that he was losing himself in the chaos.

He pauses, turning to look at you. His heart swells with a rush of emotion—guilt, panic, frustration, but most of all, a deep, overwhelming love. This wasn’t just some casual fling for him. It was real. It was everything. And yet, the fear of what would happen next, of what this might cost, was suffocating.

“I didn’t mean for any of this,” he says hoarsely, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t deserve this… the attention, the hate… I never wanted this to happen. Not to you. Not to us.”

You stand up slowly, approaching him. You could tell he was struggling with guilt, torn between wanting to keep you and wanting to protect you. You could feel it in the air. His love for you was deep, but so was his sense of responsibility for everything else—the group, his career, the expectations he had put on himself.

“Sunghoon,” you begin, your voice soft but resolute, “I know this is hard. I know it’s a mess, but we can’t ignore what’s happening. I can’t sway you. If breaking up is what you need to do, then we’ll do it. But this… this was real for me. And no matter what happens, I’ll always love you. Even if we can’t be together, I’ll always be here.”

He looks at you, his chest tightening with the weight of your words. There’s a moment of silence as his thoughts swirl, his eyes searching yours, trying to find an answer to all the uncertainty flooding his mind. He feels a mix of relief and fear, guilt and love, but mostly, he feels completely overwhelmed by the consequences of it all.

“You’re… you’re willing to just let go if that’s what we have to do?” he whispers, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and pain. “I’m terrified of losing you, but I don’t want to drag you into this mess.”

You nod, your hand reaching up to gently cup his face. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not saying it won’t hurt. But we’re both grown enough to understand what’s at stake. And I’ll love you either way. If we can’t be together, I’ll still carry you with me. But I’m not going to beg you to stay in something that’s going to destroy everything.”

Sunghoon’s breath hitches, his emotions breaking through his usual composure. His hands tremble as he reaches out, pulling you into him. His heart pounds against yours, and he can’t help but feel the weight of everything pressing on him—the fear, the loss, and the love that he had never intended to let go of.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “I never wanted this to happen. And I’m so sorry.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady despite everything. “No matter what happens, no matter what this does to us, I’ll never stop loving you. But we have to do what’s right. We both know that.”

The room is silent except for the sound of your breathing, both of you standing on the edge of an unknown future. There’s a heartbreaking clarity in your words, an understanding of the gravity of the situation. No matter how painful it might be, you both knew that you couldn’t ignore the consequences of this.

But despite everything, the love you shared still lingered between you both, raw and real.

And whatever happens next, you’d hold onto that love, even if it wasn’t enough to keep you together.

Jungwon

Jungwon’s gaze was distant, his usually warm eyes hollow with an unspoken pain that neither of you could ignore. He stood in front of you, his hands clenched at his sides, the weight of the world bearing down on him. He hadn’t said a word for what felt like an eternity, but you could already feel it—the thick tension in the air, the heaviness of a decision that was about to tear both of you apart.

“Jungwon…” your voice trembled, a whisper that barely carried over the noise in your mind. You were afraid of what he was about to say, but you knew deep down that this moment had been coming. You couldn’t ignore the silence between you two anymore.

He finally turned to face you, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. “I don’t want this to happen,” he said quietly, the words almost strangled as they left his lips. “But the company… they’re not giving me a choice. I’m not allowed to be with you. They’re saying I have to let you go.” His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to keep his composure.

You froze, unable to speak for a moment. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. The person you loved—the person who had become your everything—was being ripped away from you by forces you couldn’t control.

“You—” you tried to speak, but your voice faltered as the tears welled up. “Jungwon, you don’t have to do this. We can fight it. I—I love you. I’m not asking you to choose the company over me, but I can’t just—”

He shook his head, cutting you off gently but firmly. “You don’t understand. I love you too. More than you could ever know. But I can’t risk everything for us. You deserve better than this chaos. I can’t let you be dragged down by me. The hate… it’s too much. The company’s making it clear that if we don’t end this now, it’ll destroy both of us. I don’t want to see you hurt because of me.”

The tears that you had been fighting back now slid down your cheeks, and you stepped forward, desperate to close the distance between you. “I don’t care about the hate, Jungwon. I don’t care about the company. I just care about you.”

His heart clenched at the sight of your tears, but he couldn’t let himself fall apart in front of you. Not now. He had to be strong. “This isn’t something I want, but it’s something I have to do. For both of us.”

You reached for him, your fingers brushing his, but he pulled away, as if the physical contact would unravel him completely. The space between you felt like an ocean now, impossible to cross.

His eyes flickered with a pain that matched yours, but he held it in. He could see the hurt in your eyes—the same hurt that reflected in his own soul. But he couldn’t be the one to keep you in this situation any longer. He couldn’t stand to see you suffer because of his love.

“I’m sorry,” Jungwon whispered, his voice breaking despite his best efforts. “This is the only way.”

You looked up at him, your voice barely a whisper, but it was firm, unwavering despite the tears. “Okay.” Your eyes that were just looking at him with so much pure love, go cold without a second thought. And he knows that it’s just you coping in the only way you know how—to pretend that you don’t care and that you’ll be alright until the thought becomes a reality.

Jungwon’s breath hitched, but he couldn’t respond. He simply turned and walked away, each step dragging him further from you. And the moment he was out of sight, the mask that had held his composure cracked.

The door to his dorm clicked shut, and he collapsed onto his bed, his body wracked with silent sobs. The tears he’d been holding in, the anguish he had forced down for so long, finally broke free. He buried his face in his pillow, muffling his cries, unable to escape the pain of losing you. Of losing everything.

He loved you. He had never been more sure of anything in his life. But love wasn’t enough when the world was determined to tear it apart.

And as much as he hated it, he couldn’t protect you anymore.

Niki

Niki’s phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with an incoming message. His heart skipped a beat. He already knew what it was. He had been staring at it for what felt like an eternity—his mind racing, his stomach in knots. The company had made it clear. You can’t be together anymore.

He stared at the text from you, the one that had come through a while ago, asking if everything was okay. His thumb hovered over his phone, but he didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know how to explain the reality of the situation. The pressure from the company was too much, and the love he felt for you was only making it harder.

We need to talk, he typed out, his fingers trembling slightly. He hesitated before hitting send, the words feeling too heavy.

A moment passed before you replied, I’m scared.

Niki wrote back quickly. We can’t keep doing this.

His heart felt like it had been torn from his chest as he continued to type. He had to make this decision, even though it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much for both of us.

He pressed send, staring at the screen, barely breathing. The silence between the two of you had never been so deafening. He didn’t know what he expected from you, but his stomach churned as he waited for your reply. This was the end, but the finality of it was more suffocating than he could have imagined.

Your reply came quickly.

What do you mean?

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling a mixture of guilt, regret, and sadness. His eyes burned with the effort of holding back tears. I love you. I really do. But this is too much for me right now. I can’t keep pretending like everything is okay when it’s not. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t give you what you deserve either.

He couldn’t even look at the screen. He could feel your pain through every word. This wasn’t how he wanted it to end. But his career, everything he had worked for, the constant demands—it was overwhelming, and he didn’t know how to make it work anymore.

I just want you to be okay, he typed. I can’t give you what you need. I can’t keep pretending.

Another long pause. Niki sat with his phone, his hands shaking, staring at the screen.

Then came your reply.

You can’t just walk away from this, Niki. This is real for me. Don’t you get it? Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. He wanted to scream, to tell you how much he wished he didn’t have to make this choice. But the reality of the situation felt like a trap he couldn’t escape.

I’m sorry, he typed, his throat tight. I don’t want to do this, but I don’t know how to make it work anymore. This is the only way I can protect you… protect us.

He paused, staring at the words, wishing he could take them back. But it was too late. The damage had been done.

Your last message came through. If you really loved me, you wouldn’t do this. Not like this.

His heart shattered at the finality of your words. He couldn’t take it back. He didn’t want to let you go, but in that moment, he thought it was the only way to make sure neither of you would get hurt further.

With shaking hands, he typed his final message.

Goodbye.

And just like that, he hit send. The weight of his decision crashed over him, and he let the tears fall. He lay back on his bed, the silence of the room closing in on him. He wanted to pick up his phone, to beg you to forgive him, to say he was sorry. But he knew there was nothing left to say.

The love he had for you was real. But the world they lived in—this life—made it impossible for him to keep you in it.

He had just let you go, and it felt like the worst thing he’d ever done.

[kissmefriendly]

Being a reenactor and being a big fan of Monstrous Regiment is so hard because I love every single piece of fan art but also. The uniforms. The epaulets. Why’s bunch of privates have double epaulets. I implore. I beg. I love you all so much. Kissing all MR artists with tears in my eyes.

[girlrotterr]

✩ ⁺ ∿ oh baby, can you hear me moan? ◦　 ♩

roommate!ellie x reader Summary: You come home earlier than usual to find your roommates door slightly ajar. You can’t help but peek inside.

You’re home earlier than usual, and the place is eerily quiet—no random guitar strumming or the faint hum of a video game in the background. Ellie’s always got something going on, whether it’s tinkering with her beat-up acoustic guitar or completely failing at some cooking experiment that leaves the kitchen smelling like burned regret. 

You shrug off your jacket, the familiar scent of scorched food hits you—a sure sign Ellie’s been at it again. 

You can almost picture the disaster waiting in the kitchen. 

Maybe she attempted a stir-fry or tried to get fancy with eggs, which, for some reason, she consistently messes up. You remember the last time: the pan had been abandoned in the sink, its bottom crusted with what could only be described as scrambled cement, and Ellie had offered you an apologetic grin as she flicked at her guitar strings, mumbling something like, my bad…

Still smirking at the thought, you head toward the kitchen, but surprisingly, the mess isn’t as bad as you expected. A single burnt toast sits abandoned on a plate, and beside it, a bottle of peanut butter left open, its lid placed on the edge of the counter. You grab a spoon to clean up, noticing that Ellie’s nowhere in sight. Usually, she’s hovering near her messes, trying to fix it or making self-deprecating jokes to play off the mess.

Curious, you wander down the narrow hallway toward her room, your steps thudding along  the old wood floor. You pass by her door, which is slightly ajar, and immediately slow your pace. 

It’s not like Ellie to leave her door cracked. 

Your hand pauses on the doorframe, a soft click as your knuckles accidentally tap against it. 

You hesitate, thinking maybe you should leave her be, but then—before you can make the decision—a faint noise escapes from inside, followed by a sharp, quick breath. 

Your brow furrows as you inch closer, pushing the door open a little more.

Ellie was sprawled across her bed, her head thrown back against the pillows, messy hair fanning out in every direction. Her breath came in uneven gasps, wet, squelching sounds filling the room. 

Fuck, she was too desperate to even bother taking off her clothes. 

Her brown jacket hung loosely off her shoulders, the fabric wrinkled and tugged from her movements. Her half-unbuttoned flannel exposed her perky nipples, her jeans were pushed down just past her thighs, the belt hanging loosely, the metal buckle clinking against her skin as her hips rocked. 

Your breath hitches, catching in your throat as you take in the sight of her hand pumping beneath her boxers, her movements quick, almost frantic. Heat floods your body, cheeks burning as your eyes lock onto her. 

"Oh fuck, yes," she breathes, her voice low and rough. 

You can’t tear your eyes away. 

Ellie spread her legs wider, her right thigh twitching slightly as her fingers pump deeper inside.  Your cunt began to ache as your eyes caught on what she was holding. It was your panties—your favorite pair—clutched tightly in her fist, the soft lace crumpled and wrinkled between her fingers. You swallowed hard, eyes tracing the wet patch staining the fabric, the glistening spot a clear sign that she had been grinding against them. 

“Just a little more…” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as she loses herself in the moment, her lips parting slightly. “God, I needed this…” 

“Come on, don’t stop,” she murmurs, biting her lip, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Just a bit more… just like that.” There’s desperation in her voice, a plea.

“Fuck, why is this so good?” she gasps, her voice whining with need, eyes still closed, lost in the sensations of her aching cunt“Why does it feel so much better when I think of you?” 

“Ellie…” you breathe, barely a whisper, but she doesn’t hear you.

She’s too lost in her own fantasy. 

"God, I love this," she moaned softly, her voice husky, as her hand moved frantically between her legs. Her fingers pumped faster and faster, her perky tits bouncing with each thrust, the bed beneath her squeaking. "Can’t get fucking enough."

You knew you should turn away, that you’d crossed a line simply by staying. 

Your breath hitched, the air suddenly too hot, as your hand slipped beneath your waistband, trembling fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. You shifted them to the side, biting your lip as your fingers found your aching clit, tracing small circles. 

You tried to keep your breathing shallow, hoping she wouldn’t hear you over her own sounds. Your soft moans mingled with the wet, squelching sounds filling the room. The heat between your legs became unbearable, a pulse that only grew stronger with each passing second. 

“Need you to fucking take it," Ellie breathed, her voice low and ragged. Her hips bucking harder, the pace of her fingers desperate. 

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, your voice shaky as the ache in your hole pulasated. The need was overwhelming, your hole throbbing with a desperate hunger you couldn’t ignore, your fingers moving faster to keep up with ellie’s pace. 

Ellie’s eyes narrowed, her brows furrowing together as her movements slowed. You watched, breathless, as she pulled her fingers out of her drenched hole, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Without hesitation, she pressed your panties against her soaked pussy, the lace clothing her cunt as her slickness coated the fabric.

With a low groan, she began to grind against it, her hips bucking, pressing harder and faster into the softness of the fabric. Her lips parted, a ragged breath escaping as her eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back against the pillows. The wet lace clung to her, the friction of it only making her grind harder.

"Love this... fuck, your panties... can’t get enough..." Her head fell back again, and she let out a deep groan, her fingers pressing the lace even harder against her aching clit.

A moan escapes your lips, quiet at first, but growing louder as the pleasure builds inside you. 

But in your desperation, you leaned a little too close to the door, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. 

You and Ellie freeze, eyes locking in a moment of shock. 

Ellie’s eyes widen, her mouth agape.Her gaze drops slowly, lingering on your body, taking in the sight of your drenched pussy, your panties pushed to the side, the fabric clinging to your trembling thighs. 

You can hardly breathe. 

Oh fuuck.

You try to speak, to form a coherent thought, but all that escapes your lips is a breathless, “I…” 

Heat floods your cheeks, mingling with the aching throb of your pussy, pulsing with an urgent need. God— the way she’s staring at you, with that raw hunger in her eyes.

“Come here,” Ellie whispered, her chest heaving, struggling to catch her breath. 

You couldn’t resist it.

Ellie shuddered as you slid your hand between her trembling thighs. Shuddering as your fingertip circled her dripping entrance, her soft folds parting easily under your touch. With a needy moan, she guided your finger deeper, gasping as you penetrated her hole. The slick walls of her cunt clenched greedily around your fingers as Ellie bucked her hips, fucking herself on your hand with desperation.

"Fuuuck.." *she groaned, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Her cunt was absolutely drenched, leaking down her thighs as she rutted against you shamelessly. Ellie's needy whimpers filled the room, growing louder and more frenzied by the second.

"Fuck, just like that!" Ellie gasped, her hips bucking wildly. She gripped your shoulders tightly, her nails digging into your skin as she rode your fingers. Her juices flowed freely, coating your fingers and dripping down your wrist.

“Ohh fuckk mee…” She groaned as your fingers slipped out of her dripping hole. 

Without wasting a second, she quickly positioned herself above you, her slick folds hovering mere inches from your own. With a swift movement, Ellie slammed her cunt down onto yours, your aching clits rubbing together as your slick juices mixed. 

“ellie! please please please!" you moaned, tightening your grip onto her wrinkled bedsheets. 

"That's it, baby," she groaned, grinding her hips in tight circles.

She gripped your hips tightly, pulling you closer. The sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoed, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. Ellie's perky breats bounced with each thrust, her hardened nipples grazing against yours. She gripped your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat, which she attacked with biting kisses and sensual licks.

"Atta girl," Ellie whsipered, "Take what I give you."

[chexnluv]

COZY VIBES ONLY: CUDDLING WITH ENHYPEN , (💤)

pairing: boyfriend ! enhypen × girlfriend ! afab reader, genre: fluff, kisses, pet names, headcanon, [NAV] [MASTERLIST]

LEE HEESEUNG ,

Laughter filled the room as you and Heeseung draped another blanket over the chairs, the two of you tangled in fabric like giddy middle schoolers. The fort was uneven and a little lopsided, but it didn’t matter—every mishap only made it more special. Heeseung peeked at you from under the half-finished canopy, a playful grin on his face as his hair flopped into his eyes. “This is definitely not Pinterest-worthy,” you teased, nudging his arm. Heeseung laughed, his eyes crinkling with mischief. “Who cares? It’s perfect because we made it.” Once the final pillow was tossed inside, you both crawled into the cozy fortress, collapsing in a heap of blankets and laughter. You snuggled close to Heeseung, his arms wrapping around you as you nestled into his warmth. “Look at us,” he whispered, his voice soft, “professional fort builders.” You giggled, pressing your cheek against his chest. “I think we missed our calling.” Heeseung smiled, pulling you closer. “Maybe, but this is the best career move I’ve made.”

rest of the members below !!

PARK JONGSEONG ,

You were sprawled on top of Jay, your body sinking into the comforting warmth of his as you slept soundly, completely unaware of the soft drool pooling on his chest. Jay glanced down, chuckling quietly to himself. Your hair was tousled, your mouth slightly open, and your peaceful expression made his heart flutter. “Really?” he whispered, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. He carefully reached for his phone, making sure not to disturb you too much. With a soft click, he captured the adorable scene, your drool glistening on his shirt like a badge of honor. At the sound, you stirred, your nose scrunching up in confusion as you blinked your eyes open groggily. “Did you just take a picture?” Jay bit his lip to stifle a laugh. “How could I not? You’re drooling on me. It’s a moment to remember.” You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Delete it.” He kissed the top of your head, his chest shaking with laughter. “Not a chance.”

SIM JAEYUN ,

Your head rested comfortably on Jake’s chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear as the glow of the TV flickered across the room. Wrapped in the warmth of his arms, you felt safe, the softness of his hoodie brushing against your cheek. The action movie played on, explosions lighting up the screen, but you were too focused on the way Jake absentmindedly traced small circles on your back. “Are you even watching, or did I lose you after the first car chase?” he teased, his voice a low hum that rumbled through his chest. You tilted your head up, meeting his amused gaze. “Maybe I’m more interested in cuddling my personal heater,” you quipped with a grin. Jake chuckled, tightening his hold on you. “Well, if I’m your heater, I’ll need some compensation,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Hmm, you’re overpaid already,” you murmured, smiling.

PARK SUNGHOON ,

Sunghoon’s soft voice filled the room, his arm wrapped securely around you as you nestled into his side. The melody he hummed was gentle, sweet, and soothing, a stark contrast to his usual cool demeanor. He leaned his cheek against your head, his lips brushing your hair as he sang quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You’re supposed to be sleeping by now,” he teased in a low whisper, glancing down at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Your voice is too good,” you murmured, half-asleep but fighting the urge to drift off. “How am I supposed to sleep when I just want to listen?” He chuckled softly, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “You’re impossible, you know that?” His fingers lightly traced patterns on your arm, the motion lulling you further into a peaceful daze. “Sing me another,” you mumbled, eyes closed, and Sunghoon smiled, his heart melting as he softly began the next song. “Anything for you.”

KIM SUNOO ,

Sunoo had practically ambushed you with an armful of skincare products, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Before you knew it, you were sprawled out on the bed, face covered in a cooling mask as he gently patted his own in place, a look of pure satisfaction on his face. “Admit it, you feel refreshed already,” he grinned, snuggling closer to you, his legs tangled with yours under the covers. You gave a playful groan, fighting back a smile. “I don’t know… maybe I just wanted to cuddle without feeling like I’m wrapped in seaweed.” Sunoo laughed, the sound soft and warm, his eyes crinkling behind his own mask. “Beauty is pain, darling.” You rolled your eyes but melted into his embrace, the scent of the masks filling the air as his arm draped over your waist. “Fine, but you’re washing this off when I fall asleep.” “Deal,” Sunoo whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, “if you don’t fall in love with the glow first.”

YANG JUNGWON ,

Jungwon’s lips fluttered against your skin like butterfly wings, peppering your face with kisses as he giggled with every one he planted. You squirmed, half-laughing and half-melting under the playful assault. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and you could feel the warmth of his smile radiating as he leaned back for a moment, admiring his handiwork. “Okay, okay, you win, but why so many kisses?” you asked, trying to catch your breath between giggles. He grinned, his dimples deepening. “Because you’re too cute not to kiss.” Then, without warning, he snuggled down, resting his head on your chest, his hair tickling your chin as he sighed in contentment. “Now, this is the perfect spot,” he mumbled, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your arm. You smiled, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re like a kitten,” you teased. He chuckled softly, looking up at you with that adorable smile. “And you’re my favorite pillow.”

NISHIMURA RIKI ,

Niki and you lay cuddled up on the couch, completely spent after your wild karaoke session. “Can you believe we actually tried to hit that high note?” Niki chuckled, his voice still breathy as he tucked you closer against him. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. You giggled, looking up at him. “I think the neighbors are still recovering from our rendition! I’m surprised they didn’t call the cops!” “Or ask for an encore,” he teased, a wide grin spreading across his face. The sound of his laughter sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You nudged his side playfully, feeling cozy against his chest. “Next time, let’s leave the high notes to the pros.” “Agreed,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “But I wouldn’t trade our crazy performances for anything.” You smiled, nestling deeper into his embrace, feeling perfectly content in your little bubble of warmth and laughter.

taglist: @iconchae @enreveriee

© senascoop | tumblr

[mrsmangi]

found - luigi mangione

♡ summary: luigi spends his nights haunted by dreams of you—vivid, tender, and impossibly real. each morning, he wakes with the ache of losing you, over and over, with no foreseeable end. how much more can he take? ♡ w.c.: 6.3k ♡ a/n: hi. this is a continuation of my fic, past life. it was absolutely devastating to write, but i will post this with pictures of luigi in his red sweater (again) to make myself feel better because it's my favorite outfit of his thus far. hope you guys enjoy!

♡ trigger warnings: this work contains themes of depression, grief, and suggestive content. please proceed with care.

—

The soft click of the apartment door echoes in the stillness as Luigi steps inside, his hand lingering on the cold metal doorknob for support. The familiar scent of perfume drifts toward him, engulfing him in a warmth that feels too good to be true. He pauses, a faint flicker of awareness settling in his mind. 

Luigi is dreaming, again–he knows it. The clarity of the moment, the way every detail feels sharper than reality feels unmistakable, but he knows this isn’t his world. 

These dreams had become more frequent since the first–when he had met you. He felt each of them pulling him into this world, further and further down the rabbit hole, where you waited for him. Although he was beginning to become acquainted with it–his abnormal awareness in his dreams–, it never stopped feeling strange to him. It was as though he continuously existed in two places at once: as the man in his dreams, showered with intimacy from his lover, and the man outside of it, alone. 

He is unsettled. Not just by the vividness of his illusions, but how natural it all feels, as if this version of his life is just as real as the one he always returns to in the morning. The longer Luigi stands, the harder it is to ignore the whispers of longing plaguing the back of his mind. Despite knowing it isn’t real, he can’t help but wish it were. 

So, he chooses to stand and take it all in. It feels like home. 

That’s when he sees it. 

Streamers criss-cross on the ceiling in haphazard lines. Balloons floating lazily in corners of the living room. Taped to the wall in large, uneven letters is a banner that reads: “WELCOME HOME, LUIGI! ♡” Glittery, colorful, slightly crooked letters–but perfect. He blinks, heart dropping to his stomach. An overwhelming sensation; one that pleasantly surprises him. 

You stand in the center of it all, clutching a poster board almost as tall as you, the word “HI” scrawled across it in colorful marker and uneven glitter glue. Your grin (that beautiful grin he just adores) stretches wide. You are sunshine personified, he realizes fondly, a dazzling beam of joy. You only grow brighter the moment your eyes lock. 

Immediately, you burst into laughter, poster board slipping from your hands and clattering to the floor as you sprint toward him. 

“Luigi!” you call out, voice bursting with excitement and relief. 

Before he can react, you crash into him, arms wrapping gently around his waist. He stumbles slightly, caught off guard, body stiff and protesting the sudden movement. He doesn’t care. Dropping his bag to the floor, he folds himself around you, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair. The warmth of your body against his is almost enough to make him forget the ache in his back and the heaviness of his legs. 

Your lips find his in a kiss so tender, he thinks his knees might buckle from beneath him. For a moment, Luigi feels no pain. The accident never happened and he was never escorted to the hospital, or bedridden for over a week. There’s just you, soft and warm and impossibly close. He leans into you, hands curving around your waist, melting into place. 

When you finally pull away, your hands cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you study him. “Hi,” you whisper cheekily. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

“I missed you so much,” you sigh. “You have no idea.”

Luigi’s lips twitch into a faint smile. His chest swells with gratitude. “I missed you more,” he confesses softly. Luigi knows this won’t last. It never does. 

The welcome banner, the streamers, your smile–none of it will follow him when he wakes. He’ll wake up, alone in a bed half empty because you won’t be there. But even knowing all of it, Luigi lets himself savor every moment he has with you, holding onto you like a lifeline. 

He will let himself believe it’s real, even if it’s just for a fraction of a second. The pain in his spine becomes more pronounced, and he can’t tell if it’s just because he’s post-recovery or because he knows this is only temporary, especially when he wants it to be permanent so desperately. 

“Are you still with me?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He snaps out of it, looking down at you as you smile up at him, teasingly. You always seem to know when his mind begins to wander. You are so patient. He likes that about you. 

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking,” he pauses, arms still hooked around your waist. He looks over the room once more. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble just for me.” 

“Don’t be silly. It wasn’t any trouble and even if it was, yes, I did,” you say. “You’ve been stuck in bed for over a week in that awful hospital room. I just couldn’t wait for you to come home. I wanted so badly to remind you how loved you are.” 

Luigi swallows hard. There’s a lump in his throat that makes it impossible to speak. Instead, he tightens his hold on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You only laugh and run your fingers through his curls. For however long it lasts, he wants to lose himself in you. Pretend this fleeting world of light and warmth and all things good will last forever. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs into your skin, quietly.

“Stop that,” you scold gently, pulling back to meet his eyes. “You deserve everything, Luigi. I’m just getting started.” 

You take his hand and lead him to the couch, guiding him to sit down. He winces slightly as he lowers himself onto the cushions, a strain in his back reminding him of his limitations. You notice in an instant, as perceptive as always. Your hands flutter over him as though you could soothe his pain with sheer willpower. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, worry etched into your features. “How is your back? Do you need a pillow? A hot pad? Water? Anything?” 

He chuckles despite himself, shaking his head. “I’m okay,” he reassures you, although the throbbing of his spine indicates otherwise. “Better now that I’m home. With you.” 

You kneel between his legs, resting your hands lightly on his knees as you tilt your head up to look at him. “Bedridden for over a week and still handsome as ever,” you tease. The tone of your voice is playful, but there’s something in your expression that feels darker. He releases a shaky breath, clearing his throat subtly. 

“Talent,” he replies dryly, a small smirk curving across his lips. 

You laugh. It sends a pang of languish straight to his heart. It hasn’t hit him just how much he’s missed hearing that sound until now. It’s only been a few days since the last dream, but to him, it’s felt like years. 

“Seriously, though,” you say, eyes softening. “How are you really feeling?” 

He hesitates, smile faltering. “I’m getting there,” he admits. “It’s still difficult. The pain isn’t great, and I’m not exactly thrilled about having to take it easy for who knows how long. But…” He gazes at you, then around the room. All the effort you had put into making this moment as special as possible. All for him. “Coming home to this? To you? It helps so much more than you know.” 

His heart skips three beats at once when you grin, leaning forward and resting your cheek against his knee. “Good,” you say gently. “I’m so excited to have you home. It’s so boring without you.” 

He breathes out another laugh, but before he can reply, your hands slide upward. Your fingertips trace the pattern of his jeans–slowly, deliberately. He feels his breath hitch as you gently pry his legs apart, movements unhurried but undeniably calculated. There’s a lustful glint in your eye that sends a jolt of heat through him. He doesn’t find it in himself to look away, entranced by your movements. 

“You’re stuck with me now,” you whisper, kissing the inside of his lower thigh gently. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

Luigi’s breathing becomes heavier as you work your way up his thigh, and he opens his mouth to reply, but the words never come.  

—

When he awakes, Luigi stirs in discomfort. His eyelids feel heavy as they open slowly. The emptiness of his apartment hits him like a tsunami. The silence washes over his body, drowning him. His legs feel sore, his chest throbbing as he lays motionless, staring at the ceiling.

He rubs a hand over his face, as if he could chase away the remnants of the dream, but it’s done in vain. He knows he couldn’t erase you from his mind, even if he tried.

“Are you even real?” he wonders aloud, eyes boring into the plain paper of the ceiling above. 

When no one answers, he sighs. He sits up and the pain returns. In his head, in his back, in his stomach, and within his heart. His mind feels foggy. 

It’s not just the dream that haunts him, but the life within it: the life where you exist, where he isn’t so fucking miserable and alone. 

The day unfolds sluggishly, each hour stretching longer than the last. Reluctantly, Luigi forces himself out of bed, his body protesting every movement. He spends the morning shuffling through small, mindless tasks–folding laundry he forgot to put away, wiping down the counters in his kitchen, and clearing the clutter off his nightstand. All things that should distract him, but in reality, it does little to lift the weight pressing down on his chest. 

Even as his apartment is neater and cleaner, he feels no real sense of accomplishment nor satisfaction, only a quiet, gnawing emptiness eating away at his being. His thoughts always seem to drift back to you. 

By midday, he stares blankly at his computer screen, shuffling through emails he has no intention of answering. A notification from a friend briefly catches his eye, but he hesitates to respond. What could he even say? There’s nothing to say, he tells himself. The words feel distant, unreachable. Instead, he closes the laptop and sits in silence. 

The hum of the fridge in the next room is the only sound that breaks the stillness. When his stomach eventually growls, he throws together a half-assed sandwich, eating it mechanically while staring at the muted television. The show he puts on–once a comedy that made him laugh–fails to hold his attention. The afternoon drags on. Luigi drifts from task to task with no real purpose, his movement more on autopilot than anything else. He tries to focus on a book he’s been meaning to finish, but the words blur together on the page. 

“Fuck off,” he groans, setting it aside and leaning back into the couch he sits on. The ceiling stares back at him. 

The evening settles in. He makes another half-hearted attempt at cooking dinner, though the plate ends up sitting untouched on the counter. The hours stretch endlessly, and all he can think about is how desperately he wants for the day to end. He misses you. 

He needs you. 

He needs to feel tethered to something real, even if it’s only fleeting. 

Luigi’s eyes drift to close, the corners of the room growing hazy and darkening as he dozes off.

—

“You don’t have to push me away, Luigi.” 

Something is different about this dream, Luigi notices. He can hear it in the way you say his name: unbearably frustrated, but somehow still gentle. He feels it in the strange sense of detachment that ties him to his spot before you. Although he knows this is just a dream–just another insufferably short dream–, the words manage to make him flinch, as if he’s a match struck against sandpaper. There’s a fire catching in his heart before he has the chance to smother it, and the flame is your voice.

His body reacts before he even has the chance to register that it’s your voice. He feels like a passenger in his own skin when it hits him: he’s not in control. 

He feels his hands curl into fists at his sides, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. There’s a familiar tightness in his back sending sharp, burning pulses of discomfort through his body down to his legs, one he can’t simply ignore, but it seems painless in comparison to the throbbing of his stomach.

Are you two fighting? He doesn’t want to fight. 

“I–” Luigi begins, but the words get caught in his throat, trapped by the weight of his shame as he gazes at your confused expression. He can’t look at you like this, so he doesn’t. He shifts his gaze away. 

“You’re shutting me out again,” you say. Your voice is steady, but he hears the tinge of pain it carries. It’s familiar, it’s recognizable; a pain similar to his own. “I know you’re hurting. I know this feels absolutely frustrating and impossible to overcome, but do you really think I would leave you because of something like this?” 

He hears himself release a sharp, harsh breath, turning his face away as his jaw tightens. He runs a hand over his mouth before holding his head in both hands. “It’s not as simple as that,” he hears his voice mutter. There’s a bitterness in his tone that he can see startles you from his peripheral vision. It startles him, too. He pretends it doesn’t bother him. He sees the flicker of hurt in your expression; he wants to reach for you, to tell you that he’s not in his right mind, but his hands remain motionless. He keeps talking. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then help me get it,” you urge him, stepping closer to him. 

He’s sitting on the couch. You kneel before him and take the hands that carry his head into your own. 

“Luigi,” you breathe, eyes scanning his face for a sign of understanding. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Please, let me be here for you. I want to stay.” 

He can’t look at you. He trains his eyes to burn holes into the carpet rug of the apartment floor.

There’s a numbness that he feels settling in, brushing against the nape of his neck, crawling its way down his chest and curling upward to his temples. His heart churns and twists beneath his skin. He’s caught between his desire to let you in–let you hug him, console him, reassure him–and the fear of his inescapable reality: he will drag you down with him if he allows you to remain with him any longer. 

I don’t want to hurt you, he thinks. The words you hear instead are: “You have no idea what it’s like.” His voice is low, tremors racking his throat. “You have no idea what it feels like to wake up, knowing I can’t be everything that you deserve.” 

“Luigi,” you plead. “Luigi, you are everything to me.” 

“You say that now,” he laughs bitterly, shaking his head, “but what happens when it’s too much?” He finally looks up at you. He feels the word vomit creeping up his throat. This doesn’t feel like him. He can sense it–he’s about to say something he’s going to regret, but he can’t help himself. You need to know. 

“I can’t do the things I used to,” he says as a matter of fact. “I’m 24-years-old. I’ve barely lived. I can’t surf or hike or go to the gym like I did before. I can’t even fucking sit for too long without feeling like my spine might shatter. It seems like every single, miniscule movement I make fucks with the way my entire body feels. My friends are getting sick of hearing how depressed I feel–” He pauses, making eye contact with your broken gaze before continuing. “And you,” he breathes, watching your nostrils flare as tears well in your eyes. “You’ve been so fucking patient with me, baby. You’ve been so damn good, and you know, I can’t even fucking make love to you,” he hears his voice crack. He sees your eyes glint with indignance and he knows you’ll attempt to protest. He continues. 

“Do you know what that’s like? To look at you and not be able to give you that part of me anymore.” His hands twitch on his lap, fists clenching and loosening.

Luigi sits in horror of himself. He wants to take the words back, to silence the voice coming from his mouth, but he can’t do anything but watch. It’s torture. Can’t he just shut up? 

No, he can’t. The person in charge of his body keeps going.

“It might be a stupid thing to be worried about, but I know I can’t pleasure you like I used to. You can sit here and deny it all you want, but you and I both know ever since that stupid, fucking accident happened, everything has been different and it’s not just about the sex. You drop everything for me to go to doctor’s appointments, pick up my prescriptions, you don’t go out with your friends or see your family anymore. I mean, for fuck’s sake, baby,” he places emphasis on your name, tearing his hands out of yours to grasp your face. 

His thumbs brush your cheekbones, holding your face as if it was made of porcelain. They wipe away your tears. Tears he’s responsible for prying out of you. Luigi has never hated himself more. 

“Your whole life has been placed on hold for me,” he whispers. “You’ve given up so much. How am I supposed to live with myself knowing that? I’m a burden to you.” 

You’re staring up at him, helpless. He knows the words hang in the air, igniting an overwhelming silence to suffocate the two of you. The thought that he’s pushed you too far, teetered your state of being over the edge, crosses his mind. He desperately hopes that isn’t the case. 

As your tear-filled stare searches his face, he has a feeling it isn’t, but there’s something unreadable in your expression. There are hints of perplexion, hurt, and confusion, but something else. Something healing: tender, unrelenting love. 

Slowly, you reach up and he feels your small hands over his own where they hold your face. 

“Luigi, I love you,” you say softly, “I love you so much. That’s why I’m here, not out of obligation. You could never be a burden to me, Luigi. You never have been and never will be.” 

He feels his hands falter, dropping from your face as his shoulders sag. I believe you, he wants to scream out. His body won’t allow him to. There’s doubt that lingers in the back of his mind–doubt he refuses to claim as his own. 

For a moment, Luigi thinks his body will finally relent. That, by some kind of miracle, he’ll collapse into you and let the heat of your body consume his own. But instead, he feels himself pull away from you. His hands fall completely, weight shifting as he pushes himself up from the couch. His legs feel as heavy as ever, but they move him away anyway, carrying him to the door. 

“What are you doing?” he hears your voice rise, panicked. “Luigi–where are you going? Please, let’s talk about this.” 

He hears the steps of your feet against the cold, wood floor, the quick catch in your breath as you follow after him. 

Stop, Luigi pleads. Turn around. Don’t do this.

When Luigi realizes he doesn’t, a scream builds in his chest, desperate to escape. He feels his jaw tighten, shoulders tense, and his steps are automatic. Then, you do something that makes him falter–you throw your arms around him, wrapping yourself tightly against his back. Your fingers grip the fabric of his shirt to anchor yourself to him, refusing to let go.

He freezes as he feels the warmth of your body pressed to his, your trembling breath against his shoulder. 

“Please,” you beg, voice raw and breaking. “Don’t do this.” 

He feels it then: a tender, desperate kiss pressed between his shoulder blades. The warmth of it burns through the layers of fabric resting on his back, searing into his skin like a brand. Your lips linger there, trembling, and it feels as though you’re willing him to stay. He feels every ounce of love and hope that you’ve poured into a single touch. 

This is what you want, he hears his own voice urging him to accept it. To stay. This is what you need. Don’t let her go. He feels nauseated when his hands reach down and pry yours from his torso. His movements are gentle but firm. To Luigi, it feels like the cruelest betrayal. He’s a prisoner in his own skin. 

“I can’t make you happy anymore, (Name).” Your name rolls off his tongue without him even having to think about it. Luigi can feel defeat ruminating in his soul, causing him to tremble. He finally knows your name and it’s come to him in the worst way possible. It’s wrong, it’s unfair. He can do absolutely nothing to console you or wipe away the tears that continue to spill from your cheeks because his asshole body won’t let him. His voice sounds muffled, distorted and distant, yet unmistakably his own. The words spill out like they belong to someone else. He doesn’t recognize himself. “This isn’t the life you deserve.” 

He steps forward, heading for the door, slipping out of your grasp completely. He misses your warmth already. Your arms fall to your sides. He feels a sense of relief that isn’t his own wash over him when you don’t move to follow him, but an overwhelming sense of grief overcomes him.

“Luigi,” he hears you call out to him. 

Stop.

His legs halt with his hand on the doorknob. He doesn’t dare to look back.

“I’ve never cared about having a perfect life,” he hears you say, voice mirroring his own defeat. “Ever since I met you, I,” you pause to release a shaky breath, voice cracking with each syllable you verbalize. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.” 

Luigi’s heart plummets, the weight of your words settling heavily in his chest. 

Luigi has never loved anyone the way he has learned to love you. It was ridiculous of him to believe he could love someone the way he loves you–relentlessly, unconditionally, and all-consuming–without consequence.

The phrase still punctures him right to the core, like a knife being plunged into him, over and over. The tremble in your voice, your unmistakable sincerity, cuts him deeper than any pain he’s ever known. All Luigi truly wants to do is turn around. 

To fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness, to tell you you’re everything he’s never known that he’s always wanted. 

But his fingers only tighten around the doorknob, legs trembling as they continue to push him forward. Slowly, he pulls the door open. The hinges creak softly, the sound piercing through your shared silence. 

Once he steps into the threshold, the warmth of the room behind him–your warmth–slips away, right between his fingers. The cool air of the hallway bites at his skin, but it’s nothing compared to the chill in his chest. He feels himself hesitate, shoulders falling under the heaviness of it all. 

Say something. Anything. He screams at himself, but his lips remain shut. 

He closes the door behind him. When the latch clicks gently, its sound feels deafening. A symbol of the finality of his choice. He only stands for a moment, just as he did before, when the warmth of your love came over his body. He ruminates in the cold. He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding when the stifled sound of your muffled sobs bleeds through the wood of the door behind him. 

He nearly breaks, right then and there. Nearly. 

He turns and wills himself to walk down the hallway, each of his steps feeling heavier than the last. The fluorescent lights above cast long, harsh shadows upon him, but he pays them no mind. He ignores his vision blurring, head spinning with grief, helplessness, and anger. Your words only ring in his ears, growing louder with every echo of his heels. 

All I’ve ever wanted is you.

It becomes a chant in his head–a mantra playing on a constant, never ending loop in his mind. Everything else becomes drowned out. He feels his fist clench at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms as if the pain might awake him. It doesn’t. He reaches the elevator, feet dragging. He presses the button, the weak ding of the elevator arriving and pulling him from his haze. 

The doors slide open, he steps inside. The metallic chill of the space envelops him. The light of the elevator reflects off its stainless steel walls, making him feel small. 

He reaches for the button for his floor but hesitates, hand overing over the button, mid-air. 

Don’t.

He does anyway. He presses it with the sharp exhale through his nose. 

Just before the doors slide shut, Luigi feels his legs finally give out, and he leans against the wall. His head falls back as he stares up at the metal ceiling. His chest heaves, breathing uneven, legs numb, vision blurring even further. 

All I’ve ever wanted is you. 

It begins before he processes what happens. The tears fall from his eyes quicker than he can manage to wipe them away. Luigi heaves a gut-wrenching sob as the pain in his chest blooms. His body shakes with the force of his anguish, raw and irrepressible. 

As the elevator doors close with a dull thud, he’s finally able to scream. 

The dream shatters.

—

When Luigi wakes, the tears are already falling, hot and heavy against his cheeks, flooding his ears. His chest wracks his being with silent sobs. His fingers brush against his damp face as if trying to wipe away the echoes of your voice and leave them behind him. But it doesn’t leave him. He has a feeling it never will. 

He lays there for what feels like hours, unmoving. He feels like a corpse. 

It takes him longer than he would like to admit to realize something is missing. The realization doesn’t hit him until later that evening, when he’s standing under the steady hot stream of the shower. The water pelts his skin, but does nothing to soothe the ache of his entire body. He runs a hand through his curly, wet locks. He tries to scrub away the fog in his mind, scrub you away, but it’s no use. The fog and the memory of you cling to him like a second skin. 

He steps out of the shower, towel tied loosely around his waist, he stops in front of the mirror. The steam blurs his reflection, so he wipes away the condensation of the mirror when something catches his eye in its reflection. In another mirror behind him, there’s the trace of a mole on his back, faint. 

A mole on his back, in the exact same place you had kissed in his dream. He freezes as the fragments of the dream rush back to him. 

The name–your name. It was there, in that horrendous God-awful dream, vivid and sharp. It echoed in his mind just moments ago. Now, it’s slipped away from him, gone as quickly as it came. It’s there, on the tip of his tongue, he can feel it but he just can’t remember. The harder he tries to hold on to it, the faster it disappears and fades farther away. He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the glass of his mirror, and exhales shakily. 

You were gone.

After that, so were the dreams. 

Days without dreams blurred into weeks. The dreams that had once been a cruel comfort had abandoned him entirely. The rest of his life drags on in a haze of monotony, each day more dreary than the last. He wakes up, gets himself out of the house, comes home, and repeats the cycle. 

There’s an emptiness gnawing at him from the inside out. 

The flowers of the corner stand he passes when he leaves the house used to catch his eye–the bright daffodils and carnations bursting with life–but now, they’re dull. The colors of their petals muted by the overcast sky of New York. Luigi finds himself stopping to stare at times, hands buried in the pockets of his coat. He gazes at them as if they will remind him of something, anything. They don’t. 

When the silence of his apartment is insufferable, Luigi goes out to eat instead of cooking at home. Yet, every coffee he orders tastes bitter, no matter how much sugar he adds, and every piece of food he shoves into his mouth leaves a bland aftertaste in his mouth. 

Occasionally, his friends text or call, asking him to meet up. He finds himself declining more often than not. It’s not that he doesn’t care, really, it’s not. It’s simply because he can’t find the energy to fake being “okay.” On the rare instance that he does go, however, he finds that their laughter and lighthearted conversations–that should be comforting–feel static in his ears. So, he sits silently, nursing a drink he can’t muster the willpower to finish.

He takes midnight strolls to avoid resting, wandering the city aimlessly. He lets the cold air penetrate his skin as he searches for something he can’t name. Perhaps a purpose, maybe a sign, an indicator of your presence. Anything to fill the empty pit in his stomach that has grown every day since you’ve been gone. It all feels so futile.

 When Luigi is home, the clock ticks loudly. The hum of the fridge grates on his nerves. The TV drowns out his silence, but the dialogue of the shows he plays are nothing but meaningless background noise. 

The ache in his chest persists.

—

Months pass before Luigi begins to convince himself he is moving on. Slowly, reluctantly, but moving on nonetheless. The dreams never returned, and with them, the constant emptiness in his gut that made him feel hollow. The name–the one he couldn’t bring himself to remember–had grown quieter in his mind.

His days filled with monotonous routines ground him. Errands, nights out with friends, light exercise, reading helps him from thinking about you for too long. He’s forced himself to return texts more regularly, forcing himself to engage. 

He tells himself it’s progress. That he’s healing, maybe even healed completely. Deep down, he knows better. 

The ache hasn’t disappeared, but he’s learned to live with it. It’s only buried itself deeper, settling into a quiet part of his mind he tries not to pay any mind to. Though, it sometimes resurfaces in unexpected ways: in the warmth of sunlight creeping through his blinds or in seeing signs with bright, colorful lettering as he walks through his neighborhood. Small things. Things that should be insignificant to him but now, because of you, aren’t.

Still, Luigi tells himself it’s enough–that the progress he’s made, however small or hollow it feels, is better than being stuck. For a while, it is. He believes it. 

Until he sees you. 

It’s a quiet afternoon, the kind he’s found usually blur into the rest. Luigi wanders the streets without purpose, allowing his legs to move him along wherever they please. Then, through the fog of his rumination, you appear. 

You sit in a coffee shop, your head bent over a book, a mug of coffee settled beside your hand on the table. The gentle glow of the afternoon light spills through the window and catches in your hair. Just like in his dreams. 

For a moment, the world stops and all Luigi can do is stand there, across the street, frozen on the sidewalk, staring like a deer caught in headlights. 

It was you–unmistakably, indubitably you. 

His breath hitches. He wants to look away; convince himself this is some cruel trick of his imagination. He can’t. There’s no mistaking you. The gentle curve of your face, the way your lips press together in concentration as you turn a page. He could cry. 

Without realizing it, his legs begin to move, carrying him across the street, weaving through the bustling crowd. 

The bell above the coffee shop door chimes as he steps inside. The cheerful, bright sound cuts through the muffled conversations and clinking dishes of the shop. 

It’s fate, his heart says. The universe rings a bell, just for him, to tell him this is exactly where he needs to be. 

You look up at the sound, your eyes scanning the room briefly before they land on him. Everything else fades away. The noisy hum of the coffee shop fades to a distant murmur, the busy streets outside a blur of motion he can no longer see. All that exists is you. 

Your eyes lock onto his, your expression shifting into something resembling recognition–or maybe confusion. But then your lips part slightly, and the smallest hint of a smile forms as your eyes soften. The smile he’s seen so many times in his dreams, now real. He can feel it: that familiar flick of a flame igniting itself in his heart, spreading across the space between you. 

Luigi steps closer, the weight he had been carrying on his back for weeks giving way to something lighter. He focuses on making his way to you without his legs giving out, heart thrumming against his ribcage like a trapped animal. 

As he reaches your table, you close your book gently, placing it on the table beside your coffee. Your head titles slightly, eyes never leaving his as the faint smile on your lips grows just a little wider. His chest tightens, his mind racing to find the words he’s always wanted to say to you, but now that you’re here–now that you’re real–they vanish. 

Once he’s before you, he stops stupidly. You stare up at him, expectantly. 

What does he say now that you’re here? Do you even know who he is? He must look like such a freak right now, but still, you manage to look as beautiful as ever–even more so in person. 

“Hi,” your voice rips him away from his thoughts. The single word carries more familiarity than he thought possible. 

His throat tightens as he swallows, sound barely audible over the pounding in his ears. His lips part, and for a moment, nothing comes out. He panics but masks it when he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, managing to find his voice. 

“Hi,” he whispers breathlessly.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask gently.

He tenses. The truth gnaws at him. You don’t recognize him, don’t feel the connection he had spent months dreaming about. The world feels like it’s been tilted on its axis. He stares at you, breath catching in his lungs, unable to comprehend the realness of it all. Every detail of you: from the way the light frames your face to the soft curve of your lips, all down to the bridge of your nose. Every detail of your figure he had spent all those weeks dreaming about, every part of you he memorized with meticulous care, it’s all here. He can’t look away, can’t tell himself it’s an illusion. 

“I,” his voice comes out softer than he expects. He clears his throat gently, to steady himself as he speaks. “My name is Luigi,” he says. “I just wanted to say…” He pauses, looking you over from head to toe. It’s you. The girl of his dreams. “How beautiful I think you are,” he breathes.  

He watches your confusion melt into bashfulness. Your face quickly softens into a flustered smile.

“Oh,” you say, heat blossoming in your cheeks. “Thank you so much, Luigi. That’s very sweet of you.” A pause before you laugh–a melodic, gorgeous sound. “I’m (Name).” 

“(Name),” he repeats. It tastes sweet on his tongue. It feels good, it feels right. “You’re very beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” you repeat, laughing once more. Luigi knows at that moment, he’d dedicate himself to making you laugh for the rest of his life if you’d let him. 

He lets out a small, shaky laugh of his own, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I should let you get back to your book,” he says, gesturing awkwardly toward the table. He forces a smile and takes a step back. “That was really all I wanted to tell you.” 

What a lie, but you don’t recognize him. What more can he do? 

“It was nice meeting you, (Name),” he says gently, and he sees your mouth open to speak, but it feels like too much.

Before you say anything, he turns to leave, moving for the door. The bell above it chimes as he prepares to step out. Just as he reaches the threshold, your voice stops him. 

“Luigi?” 

This feels like deja vu. He makes sure to turn this time, though, meeting your gaze. He watches you hesitate slightly, before gesturing to the chair across from you. 

“Would you like to join me?”

Luigi stares at you, his mind struggling to process what you’ve just said. Then, something shifts within him, just as it did all those months ago as he laid in bed, before the first dream had ever occurred. It eases the ache that has lingered for so long.  

He nods, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he takes a step back toward you. He sits in the seat across from you and you smile once more. He is whole. 

For the first time in his life, Luigi feels the fullness of a love that is unwavering. He has found everything he never knew he needed, and it’s more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. 

[knoepfl]

Perfectly Imperfect Love

Here we are again this time with our lovely Dottore! I noticed there seem to be a lot of people who like him (including myself) so this was a must! If you enjoy this and/or want to see other characters check out the Masterlist or/and write a comment or request for a character and I will be happy to do them!^^ Again the inspiration and the picture was from @devotion-disorder so check them out!!! Have fun^^

Masterlist

---

The sterile walls of the lab seemed colder than usual. At first, Il Dottore—the infamous Harbinger—was amused. His sharp gaze scanned the room filled with photos plastered from wall to wall. Dozens of them. Every picture contained your smiling face, radiating warmth and joy.

It wasn’t unusual for Dottore to obsess over things that intrigued him—and you were one of them. But then his expression stiffened. You weren’t alone in these photos. Another figure stood beside you in each one, arms draped over your shoulder, fingers intertwined with yours. They smiled down at you like they owned you.

The corners of Dottore’s mouth twitched as irritation boiled beneath his skin.

How interesting… What kind of experiment is this?

5 Minutes in:

He stood there, silent, his gaze dragging across each photo in unnerving detail. At first, he tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his red, glinting eyes.

“Hm… Strange,” he muttered. “How perfectly inconvenient.”

Dottore chuckled, a sound both sharp and dangerous. “A foolish attempt to get under my skin, is that it? How quaint.” He tapped his gloved finger against his chin, observing the way your head leaned against the stranger’s shoulder in one image, your hand caught in theirs in another.

“Sloppy work… But I can’t deny, it’s convincing.” His voice dropped to a whisper, a smile still gracing his face. “I wonder if you’d let them touch you like this.”

The mask of indifference cracked for just a moment as something vile flickered in his gaze—something possessive.

1 Hour in:

He was still standing in the same spot, staring at the photos with an unsettling intensity. The small grin on his lips had twisted into a sneer.

“Did you think you could run from me?” His voice dripped with venom, though he directed it more toward the photos than you.

He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently against his bicep. “These are fake… They must be. You wouldn’t betray me. Not after everything.”

His heart pounded beneath the cold exterior, irritation morphing into something more dangerous—doubt. And he hated it.

Dottore pulled one of the photos off the wall, his hands tightening until the paper crumpled under his grasp. Why does it bother me? Why does this stranger in the photo seem more real with each passing second?

A low, bitter chuckle escaped him. “What a fascinating experiment,” he muttered to himself, though his eyes betrayed his growing frustration. “I wonder… how much longer until I break?”

3 Hours in:

Dottore’s breathing was uneven now, each exhale coming in short bursts.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls closing in as his mind spiraled. His hands tugged at the mask over his face, as if trying to stop the intrusive thoughts that gnawed at him. He muttered your name under his breath—again and again—like a mantra to keep himself sane.

“It isn’t real,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “It can’t be. You would never leave me… You wouldn’t.”

He dragged his gloved hands down his face, nails biting into his skin through the material. His grin was wide, teeth bared like a wolf, but his eyes were wild—unfocused.

“And if it were real…” His voice dipped into a low, dangerous hum. “Then I’ll simply… correct it. Remove the imperfection. Yes… I could fix it.”

He laughed quietly, the sound brittle and laced with mania. He would find a way to erase whoever thought they could take you from him. He was the only one worthy of having you. Not them.

Never them.

6+ Hours in:

By now, the Dottore standing in that room was a different creature entirely.

He sat in the corner, legs sprawled out as he gazed at the photos on the walls, his mask lying discarded beside him. His grin stretched too wide, teeth gleaming beneath the dim light, and his red eyes shimmered with twisted delight.

“It’s not real…” he whispered, as if trying to convince himself. “Not real. Not real. Not real.”

But even if it was a lie, Dottore didn’t care anymore. His obsession had consumed him whole, leaving no room for rational thought. He pressed a hand to one of the photos, tracing your image with unsettling tenderness.

“Mine,” he murmured, his voice soft but unwavering. “You are mine. You’ve always been mine.” His words felt like a promise—and a threat.

He sat still for a moment longer, before his smile widened. “Ah… but I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

He stood abruptly, brushing off his coat with a calmness that didn’t match the crazed look in his eyes. “We’ll have to fix this. You won’t need them when you have me.”

He tilted his head, as if imagining your face when you saw him next—saw the mess he would make to bring you back to his side. “I’ll erase this blemish… and you’ll love me. Like you always should have.”

The Aftermath:

When the door to the room finally creaked open, you barely had a second to react.

Dottore was on you instantly, his gloved hands grasping your arms with a firm but oddly gentle grip. His eyes shimmered with a mixture of glee and relief, the madness beneath them bubbling just below the surface.

“Ah, there you are,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “I knew you’d come back to me.” He pressed closer, ignoring the way your body stiffened under his touch.

Before you could say a word, his hands moved to cup your face, his smile a cruel mockery of affection. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he whispered, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Those photos… they don’t mean anything. They were a mistake—an… illusion.”

His laugh was soft, but it held an edge sharp enough to cut. “You won’t need anyone else. Not anymore.”

And in that moment, you realized just how deeply you had fallen into Dottore’s web.

There was no escape from him now—no way to free yourself from the twisted obsession that bound you to him. Because in his mind, you were his.

Forever.

---

[dcandmarvelimagines]

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 3)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, canon typical violence (mostly all off screen), descriptions of dead/dismembered bodies, reader is injured (leg injury and slapped), the kidnapper emotionally manipulates the reader, on page murder. Author's note: Thank you so much for all the support it's been crazy!!! This chapter is a bit intense, I'm not going to lie. We just need to hold hands and get through this. But I swear, the next part of this will be sooo tooth rottingly sweet. It's so long that I actually had to make this five parts lmao. I could not stop with the comfort and softness. ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know. If I forgot someone I'm so sorry!!): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o  @thedevilsaysthings @jaeyuni @redmitsuru5 @jeffs77 @spideybv28 @trumanbluee @jennapearce13 @chxrrybomb22 @7soulstars @what-the-jams @lostinheavensworld @purplestars222 @movieat @whiskeyghoul @paintballkid711 @unmotivated-artist164 @sun7lowxr @minniekitties @ceobuggy @amararoseblog @harryshousewhore

The first thing I felt was rough rope as it scraped against my skin. I worked my eyes open, the task feeling too great. I was strapped to an old chair. Nausea swirled in my head as I tried to take in my surroundings. It was a plain, nondescript gray room. The walls were concrete. In the middle of the room, directly in front of me, was a large iron door. It looked like something you would find in a bomb shelter. Around my chair were shafts of moonlight provided by a skylight above. There was a bite in the air that made me shiver. My breathing was uneven as I weakly struggled against the ropes. 

“I see you’re awake. Wonderful.” The man with ice cold eyes appeared from the corner of my vision, a folder in his hand. “I don’t want to waste either of our time.” He lugged a metal chair in front of me and I cringed at the horrible screech as it echoed around the room. “Where is Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett?” I blinked, my brain foggy. 

“I don't know who those people are.” The man tsked. There was a flash of anger across his calm face before it was replaced by cool indifference. 

“Bullshit, we see you coming in and out of their apartment.” My stomach churned, either from whatever they shot me with or from the creeping anxiety.

“Oh you mean Al’s roommates? I work for social services for her. I don’t know anything about them.” The man grinned. It was vicious and predatory. 

“You are a bad liar.”He sat on the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Why do we have photos of you with both men? What? One not enough for you?” He flicked open the folder and pulled out two pictures. One was of Logan and I on the fire escape. It had been captured at the perfect moment to have clear shots of our profiles in it. The other was of Wade and I at the bar. No, not just the bar, the bathroom. I was half exposed, Wade’s face against my bare breast. The woman who interrupted us had worked for him. Now I was actually going to throw up. I had been followed for months at this point. “Now, I’m going to ask again. Where are they?” 

“They don’t tell me about their jobs, I swear. Please just let me go.” The man shook his head with a hum, sounding like a disappointed teacher, sliding the photos back into the folder. 

“I’ll leave you here for a couple days, see if that jogs your memory.” Days? 

“Wait no! Please!” But he had already disappeared through the metal door. In the doorway, I saw a woman waiting. I blinked in shock. The woman, the one from the dingy bar bathroom. She was the one who had taken our picture.  My kidnapper nodded at her before the heavy door thudded shut. Days did pass, the skylight allowing me to count by the motion of the sun. My body soon grew stiff and achy as I sat on the chair. I wanted to sleep, anything to pass the time, but I wasn’t able to calm my mind enough. The shadow of the woman never moved from the small window. I could feel her watching me, my arm hair standing up at the feeling. To distract myself, I thought of Wade and Logan, of them bursting in here and rescuing me in a blaze of glory. But as the days bled into one another, hope started to fade. 

The man reappeared after four days. He removed the chair from in front of me, opting to just stand. “Have you thought about your answer?” 

“I don’t know where they are.” It was the truth. They didn’t give me any information about their jobs. They could be on Everest for all I knew. 

“I don’t believe you!” He began to pace, wearing a line into the concrete floor. 

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me, it’s the truth.” He rushed at me suddenly, fingers digging brutally into my cheeks as he gripped me. My fists clenched as I forced myself not to jerk away. 

“Stop bullshitting me,” his voice was a venomous hiss. “Tell me now.”

“Do you not understand me?” My voice had lowered too, anger boiling inside me. “Get it through your fucking head that I. Don’t. Know. You are wasting your time. Let me go. Do it before they find me here. They’ll kill you before you can even try to fight back.” 

“Oh is that right?” I knew he was toying with me, but I fell stupidly into his trap anyways. I was angry and tired and so fucking scared. My brain was barely functioning. 

“Wade’s gonna make a necklace of your intestines.” 

The slap made a stomach churning crack. My mouth filled instantly with blood from my split lip. My cheek throbbed in the aftershocks. Tears pooled and trickled down my pulsating cheek. Another thunderous slap caught my other side. Blood splattered across my sweats. It was so hot, it practically burned through to my skin. 

“What a shame.” His hand wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back, neck stretched too far. The warm blood rushed down my throat and I gagged. “You had such a pretty face. I see why those two kept you around. It’s so nice to have some stress relief. But it seems that they’ve moved on to a better piece of meat now.” He winced when I spat at him, the saliva and blood sticking to his cheek. He touched it like he couldn’t believe it, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb. 

“When they get here they’re gonna eat you fucking alive!!” His face twisted in rage. His grip tore at my hair as he ripped my head to the side. Something pricked my neck, cool liquid rushing through my veins. My vision began to fog, body feeling too dense, brain going fuzzy. 

“Sleep well.” 

It had been days. 

I watched the sun beams make their slow progression across the dusty floor, only to be replaced by the darkness of night. My face still stung and my lip kept dripping blood. I called to the woman who was still standing there, hoping that she would take mercy and help me. But I might as well have been shouting at the wall. No one came. No one helped. All I could do was wallow in my pain and loneliness. Maybe they had really abandoned me. What was I to them anyways? Exactly what he said, stress relief. Nothing more than a convenient body. Something to pass the time. If I was worth anything, they would have been here.

My eyes had just slipped shut, head lolling to my shoulder, when the door opened. “Good morning!” It was him. My shoulders slumped, hoping I could just ignore him, that he was just some hallucination. “Your saviors haven’t appeared. So we have come up with a solution.” I opened my bleary eyes when I heard the chair in front of me creak. He clutched my phone in one hand and a wickedly sharp knife in the other. He swiped my phone open before clicking on the screen. I could hear ringing and then someone picked it up on the second one. My eyes were fixated on the knife as he flipped it, catching the hilt each time. 

“Baby cakes?! Where are you? What happened?” Wade’s voice was horrifyingly panicked. 

“Aw baby cakes?” The tip of his knife traced my cheekbone and I held my breath, hoping I wouldn't flinch and cut myself. “What a cute name.” 

“It’s not as cute when you say it,” I grumbled. My voice was thick through my swollen lip. 

“What happened? Why do you sound like you have cotton in your mouth?” The man pinched my busted lip, fresh blood bursting forward, and I whined in pain. My nails bit into my palms. Over the line, I heard a growl, letting me know Logan was also listening in. 

“Sometimes I just don’t know how to handle myself around such a pretty lady.” Wade let off a string of choice swears and Logan snarled. “She has such a naughty mouth. I see why you keep her around. But it seems you’ve left her for good, huh? She won’t be too pretty once I’m done with her.” 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” Logan was spitting in rage. “If you do I swear I’ll rip that worm you call a dick and ram it down your throat.” I smiled despite myself, something warm unfurling in my chest. They were still trying to find me. After over a week, they were still hunting. 

“I told you,” I hissed, “they are going to eat you alive.” 

There was a split moment where I knew I had fucked up. His eyes snapped to me, lips pulled back in a horrifying smile.

Then the knife flashed.

The pain in my leg was indescribable. I thrashed, desperate to escape the blade stuck through my thigh. I knew I was screaming but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding in my ears. Fresh blood from my lip and tears traveled down my chin. More blood pooled under my thigh, soaking into my ruined pants. I was only faintly aware that others were shouting and someone was laughing. 

His hand hammered the knife in deeper, the wood seat cracking under me, the hilt flush with my leg. I wailed, pleading sobs of mercy clogging my throat. “Stop moving so much.” There was more shouting. My head knocked against the back of my chair. The corners of my vision grew dark. “Do you want to say goodbye? Who knows if you’ll make it to see them.” All I could do was weakly whimper. “She seems preoccupied. I’ll see you two soon.” He tapped my face, the force just under another slap. “You sound so nice screaming. Maybe I will actually keep you around.” 

He left me like this, bleeding, trembling, pinned to the chair like a piece of meat. More days passed and the bleeding didn’t stop. It wasn’t normal. I should have died like this. Cold was lingering on my skin and small shivers racked my body. My bare feet had long gone numb. Someone, my foggy vision only registered them as a blob of white, entered the room. They carefully removed the knife and then eased me out of my pants. They methodically stitched my skin together, the haze of shock covered the pain of the stitches. Once a thick white bandage covered the wound, they turned and left. 

On the fourteenth day, I heard shouting. Then gunshots. My head jerked from where I had been sleeping. Panic spiked. I needed to run. “Fuck,” I mumbled, looking around desperately for something, anything, to save me. The room was mostly bare besides a table against the opposite wall. Then I saw it. 

The knife. 

I tried to wiggle closer, but failed to move an inch. “Fuck,” I repeated, desperate now. More shouting and gunshots, closer this time. The more I fidgeted, the more of the seat fell away from under me. Think think think. I continued to sway, lifting the chair onto its sides before it cracked against the floor as it fell. Then I heard a splinter in one of the legs. I took a breath to steel myself before I tipped myself completely over. I nearly sobbed in relief when the chair leg connected to my uninjured leg was the one that snapped off. I awkwardly propelled myself across the scratchy ground, the exposed skin on my left side becoming ragged. The rope on my left wrist began to fray, just enough that when I got to the table, I was able to yank my hand off and reach blindly for the knife. The blade caught my palm but I gripped it tightly, ignoring the bite of pain. 

I made quick work of my other binds, the knife almost slipping from my wet grip, and rose to my freezing feet. My injured leg protested instantly, nearly giving out when I put weight down. But I had to run, had to escape. I limped toward the door, and looked through the small window. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard screaming. I had to yank hard on the door to get it open. There was a dead end to the right and a long twisty hallway to my left. I took a few tentative steps out. When no alarm sounded, I sprinted. 

The stitches in my thigh ripped right away. I couldn’t think about the pain. Only escape. I clutched my stolen knife close and ducked into any small nook I could when I heard people thundering by. I should have followed them, maybe found an exit, but the squelching sounds of limbs being severed launched me forward. I turned left, left, right, middle at a fork, up a flight of stairs. I was hopelessly lost but all I could think of was escape, running on pure instinct to find it.  

The smell of blood hit me first as I turned a corner. Body parts were strewn across the wide room. Intestines dangled from the ceiling beams. Heads, half crushed, lolled away from their torsos. I wretched, nothing came up besides bile. But I could see outside through large bay windows. My legs were like water under me as I moved to the door. I stepped on an eyeball, the firm jelly bursting between my toes. Just keep going. My head was swimming, nausea from the gore around me mingling with the searing pain in my leg. 

I collapsed. I could barely feel the pain as my hands slammed down on broken glass. Then I heard two men’s voices. I scrambled to hide behind a stack of boxes, jamming my sore body into the smallest crack I could find. “I know she’s in here, can smell her.” My knuckles turned white around the knife. My breath was weak, I had lost too much blood. 

“Could you maybe sound less like a pervy vampire?” I heard boots lightly hitting the floor as they spread out. “Do you think this scared her?” He sounded timid, maybe even a little afraid. The first man laughed. 

“What do you think? You pulled this guy’s entire spine out! Of course she’s fucking scared!” The shout made me jump, huddling deeper into my hiding spot. “Fucking idiot.” A pair of red boots passed my hiding spot, then planted back in front of me. I sucked in a breath as fear rippled through me. My eyes closed tight.

“Hey,” the voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “There you are.” I was so on edge, so terrified, that the hand with the knife whipped out on pure impulse. The tip pushed through something firm, before that gave way to softness. It sunk deep, blood rapidly flowing over my hand. I couldn’t open my eyes. I had attacked someone and they were bleeding all over me. My victim barely made a noise when I stabbed them. 

“You can let go of the knife, you're okay.” A hand caressed my face and my teeth sunk into the leather glove, jaw latched tight. I felt like a cornered animal, ready to tear into anything that came near. “Sweetheart,” the name, the voice, pulled me back. I released the hand and opened my blurry eyes. Logan and Wade were squatted down in front of me. Their faces were covered but I recognized the suits. 

My knife was stuck through Wade’s neck. 

“Wade,” my voice shattered, tears welling. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see it was you.” He pulled the blade out with a little grunt. There was a hole straight through his throat. My stomach churned again but I held it back. The muscles and tendons laced together rapidly before the skin closed over it completely. 

“Don’t apologize. I said the height of romance was stabbing, didn't I?” Logan reached out again and brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. A frown drew down his lips when he saw the bruises on my cheeks. “What do you say we get you out of here, yeah? I don’t think extreme violence is really your scene.” 

Logan was examining my leg the best he could without touching me. I could hear him sniffing as he leaned closer. “We need to take her to a doctor. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“They stitched me up but I think all of them have ripped now.” My head felt so heavy. “My fingers are cold…is that normal?” 

“We have to carry you out, is that okay?” As Logan asked, Wade was already reaching for me. He scooped me into his arms and clutched me tight to him. I hissed as my thigh stretched, head falling heavily against Wade’s chest. Logan walked beside us and I reached blindly for his hand. He gave it a small kiss, but didn’t hold it. 

After two weeks, I was safe. 

I was safe. 

But we had to get out of this building first. Logan walked a head to peer down corners before signaling we could move forward. Wade moved slowly, keeping a firm hold on me. He stayed uncharacteristically quiet. I felt limp and weak in his arms, ready to sink into sleep as soon as I could. To keep myself conscious, I tried to remember all our turns, but it felt like there was an impossible amount. There was a round of clicking and the shuffle of feet as we rounded a corner. 

“Ah shit.” 

“Fuck.” 

My sore eyes opened to find rows and rows of armed men. In front of them was him. There was a cruel smile on his face as he took me in. The woman was tucked behind him, her eyes pinned on me. “I see you pulled your stitches. You should have waited for me to get you instead of trying to run off on your own.” Logan snarled as his claws extended. 

“Listen here bub. I don’t make idle threats. So best believe I’m going to follow through with skinning you alive.” Wade moved suddenly, his back to the men. He moved far quicker than he had before. I heard men readjusting their guns, their anxiousness clear.

“And where are you going Mister Wilson?” 

“First off, Mister Wilson is my father.” I groaned as Wade placed me on the hard concrete floor, safely tucked behind a stack of boxes. He stood, “you can call me Marvel Jesus.” I watched with an unfocused gaze as his hand snapped open a holster and handed me the gun that it held. “Just dropping off special cargo.” I took it, my hands shook at the light weight. There was a flash of gold along the black metal but my hazy brain couldn’t make out the text. I carefully tucked it under my leg to hide it from view. Once that was done, Wade traveled back to Logan’s side. “What do you say darling?”

“Let’s fucking go.” My hands slapped over my ears at the thunderous noise of all those guns firing. I was desperate to drown out the screams, the wet slap of limbs falling to the floor. My first instinct was to take deep, calming breaths, but my nose was too full of the scent of iron. The time stretched, the fight going for hours. 

Just as a sense of shaky calm fell over me, hands grabbed me. I recoiled instantly. “Don’t be difficult.” It was him. He was trying to pick me up, trying to move me. But my body was dead weight and he struggled to lift me. Something cool pressed under my thigh. 

Now don’t be afraid of it. If you show fear around guns, you’ll end up shooting yourself in the foot. 

Okay, see this little switch? No, not me you insatiable minx. This. Get a feel for it. If you are ever in danger you have to know where it is right away. 

He was distracted, watching something over the boxes next to me, his arms suspended in mid air. A female scream cut through the rest of the deep shouts. That rush of time, the feeling that wasn’t easy to explain, snapped. I blinked in confusion. With the man’s focus somewhere else, I put every ounce of concentration into my hands, willing them to stay still, as I lifted the gun. I found the safety and flicked it back.

Now don’t get any big action hero dreams of just pulling this trigger and letting bullets fly. It requires a lot of force, so you have to pull the hammer back first. Make sure you hold it with both hands, okay? Last thing you need is a concussion from it flying back and hitting you in the head. 

My sweaty thumb slipped from the hammer. The movement seemed to catch the man’s attention. There was a split moment where neither of us moved. Then, as if in slow motion, he reached for his own gun. I raised mine and pressed the barrel to his forehead. Both of my index fingers wrapped around the trigger. I squeezed with every ounce of strength I had left. 

You can’t look away, pumpkin. 

You gotta make sure anyone who is trying to hurt you is dead. 

I didn’t. 

One second his head was there, eyes bulging in fear. The next, just a cloud of red remained. Squishy chunks of brain, shards of skull, and a splatter of blood went everywhere. It was in my mouth, in my hair, across my bare legs. All sound died and was replaced by a dull ringing. His body slumped before it fell. I stared at it, dark red spluttering from the exposed veins of his neck, the liquid pooling on the floor. The concrete was quick to drink it up. Logan was the first to appear at my feet. He took me in, his face unreadable under his mask. I saw his mouth move but it was jumbled, words half broken. I shook my head, tapping my ears. It was like a dial slowly moving up on the radio. The sound of bullet casings hitting the ground, screams of pain, the thud of bodies. 

“You alright?” Logan sounded panicked, his loud gruff voice cutting through the renewed sound. I nodded. “We’ll get you out of here, don’t worry sweetheart.” I nodded again. There was one last shout of agony before silence fell again. Logan maneuvered the dead man off me, throwing the body carelessly away. He slipped the gun from my sticky hands before hoisting me into his arms. I buried my face in his neck, taking in his scent. Sweet, earthy, the tang of sweat. 

“We got you. I got you, sweetheart. Always will.” 

[pbaz7]

CROSSING THE LINE — PART TEN ♡

paige x azzi

warnings: sexual content (at the end)

word count: 9.8k

A/N: Alright this is the last chapter of the series 🥹. I really enjoyed writing this one honestly and this won't be my last story! I tried to combine the things people requested the most for the last chapter so it's honestly just a really cute chapter to wrap up their storyline. There is some sexual content at the end but if you don't like that kind of thing you don't have to read it and won't miss much as it's just the end of the series. But for those of you who do like it, it's there lol! Please leave live reactions and comments, thank you so much for reading this series 🫶🏼🤭.

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March 2029

Paige paced back and forth in her dressing room, her footsteps quick and uneven as she muttered under her breath. Nika, lounging on the couch, watched her with an amused expression, while everyone else was still getting dressed. 

“Twin, you need to chill and sit down,” Nika said, shaking her head. “You’re gonna get sweaty, and Azzi’s going to kill you and probably me for letting you do this.”

“How am I supposed to sit down?” Paige shot back, throwing her hands in the air. “I haven’t seen my fiancée all day! I have no idea what she’s thinking!”

Nika stifled a laugh. “Yeah, that’s the point. You’re not supposed to see her today. It’s tradition or whatever.”

Paige groaned, reluctantly plopping down onto the edge of the couch. She adjusted her button up carefully, making sure she didn’t wrinkle it. “This is torture, who came up with this ridiculous tradition anyway. Who wouldn’t want to see their wife before they got married,” she muttered.

A few seconds later, as if the universe was reading her mind, a knock sounded at the door. Nika stood up to answer it, sharing a quick glance at Paige whose face lit up a little bit. When Nika opened the door, Caroline stood on the other side, a playful smirk on her face.

“Azzi wants Paige to come to the door,” Caroline said, her tone light, “but she can’t look.”

Nika laughed quietly as she turned to Paige. “Come on, drama queen. Get up.”

With exaggerated reluctance, Paige got to her feet. Nika guided her to the door, positioning her by the wall so she and Azzi couldn’t see each other.

Paige felt a familiar hand slide into hers from the other side of the door frame, their fingers intertwining. Azzi’s voice came softly, almost a whisper. “Hi, baby.”

A wide grin broke out on Paige’s face. “Hi, mama.”

Azzi chuckled at the name, her thoughts drifting briefly to their son, who Geno had whisked away the moment he’d arrived.

“Have you seen him yet?” Paige asked, her tone softening as her thoughts turned to their little boy just like Azzi.

“Not since this morning,” Azzi replied. “But Geno promised he’d keep him entertained. I heard him say something about introducing him to everyone in the building before getting him dressed.”

Paige laughed quietly. “So basically, he’s spoiling him.”

“Of course,” Azzi said with a smile. “I think Geno likes being a grandpa more than he did coaching sometimes.”

Paige’s heart melted as she pictured her son’s bright blue eyes and laughter filling the building. “I still can’t believe we have him sometimes Az. He’s perfect.”

Azzi’s voice softened. “He really is. And he’s going to be so proud of his moms today.”

“Which is why you need to calm down goofball,” Azzi continued gently as she squeezed Paige’s hand.

Paige scoffed, trying to sound confident. “Psh, what are you talking about? I’m cool as a cucumber.”

A laugh bubbled up from Azzi. “I could feel your stress from the other side of the building, Paige and your hands are sweaty.”

At that, Paige tried to pull her hand away to wipe it on a towel, but Azzi held onto her firmly. “Nope, not so fast,” Azzi teased.

Paige sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. “This is so unfair,” she mumbled. “I can’t even see you.”

“I know,” Azzi replied, her voice warm. “But I’m here. We’ve got this.”

Paige exhaled a shaky breath, a grin tugging at her lips. “We’re getting married today, baby.” Her voice wavered with emotion, the reality of the moment hitting her all over again.

Azzi smiled on the other side of the door, her thumb gently stroking the back of Paige’s hand. “Yeah, we are,” she said, her voice filled with awe. “Can you believe it?”

“No,” Paige admitted with a small laugh. “Six years ago, I didn’t think I’d be this lucky.”

Azzi’s grip tightened slightly. “Paige, you deserve this. You deserve everything.”

Paige’s heart swelled, and she closed her eyes, leaning her head against the wall. “You’re everything, Az. I can’t wait to see you walk down that aisle.”

“And I can’t wait to marry you,” Azzi whispered.

A moment of silence passed between them, filled only with the quiet sound of their breathing.

Finally, Azzi spoke again. “Okay, I have to go put my dress on now.”

Paige smiled, her head still resting against the wall. “I know you’re going to look so beautiful, Az.”

Azzi’s laugh was like a perfect melody in Paige’s ears. “I love you, P.”

“I love you, too,” Paige replied without hesitation, her voice soft and full of adoration.

Their hands parted reluctantly, and Paige went back to sit down, her chest lighter than it had been all day. She reached for a bottle of water, taking a long sip as a calmness settled over her.

…

Paige now stood outside the double doors, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a few deep breaths trying to steady herself. 

Behind her, Jayden squirmed in Ice’s arms, reaching out toward his mom with a determined pout. His little hands stretched forward, and his soft curly hair bounded as he wriggled in Ice’s arms. 

“Paige, he wants you,” Ice said with a grin, already moving to set the toddler down. 

Paige bent down as his tiny feet touched the floor, her hands immediately going to straighten his miniature suit. “Hey, buddy,” she said softly, her voice instantly calm as she smoothed the lapels of his jacket. 

Jayden beamed up at her, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement, “Mommy,” he said, his voice sweet and slightly wobbly 

Paige smiled at him as she booped his nose with her finger. “Hey, little man. Look at you in your suit. You look so handsome. Mama’s gonna love it.”

Jayden grinned proudly, then pointed to the doors. “Mama ‘dere?” he asked, his small finger jabbing in the direction of where Azzi was going to be eventually.

Paige’s heart melted as she nodded. “Yeah, mama’s gonna be in there. But she’s not there yet, she’s waiting for us.”

Jayden tilted his head, his little brow furrowed in thought. “Why?” he asked, the single word clear amidst his toddler babble.

Paige chuckled softly, fixing the curls that had fallen over his forehead just the way Azzi liked it. “Because today’s a special day Jay. Mama and I are getting married.”

Jayden’s eyes widened with the kind of awe only a toddler could muster. “Mawwy?” he repeated, his tone high and curious.

Paige nodded, her smile growing. “Yeah, married. It means we’re gonna be a family forever. You, me, and Mama.”

Jayden clapped his hands together, clearly pleased with the idea. “Jayden, too?” he asked, his words slightly jumbled but unmistakable.

“Of course, Jayden, too,” Paige said, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “You’re the most important part of this family, you know that?”

Jayden giggled, his small hands reaching up to pat Paige’s cheeks. “Love you, Mommy,” he said suddenly, his little voice bursting with affection.

Paige felt her throat tighten as she pulled him into a quick hug. “I love you, too, Jay. So much.”

From behind her, Ice cleared her throat. “Alright, ma’am, time to stand up. You’ve got a wedding to get to.”

Paige laughed, releasing Jayden reluctantly. She straightened up, brushing off her suit and taking another deep breath. Looking down at Jayden, she gave him a reassuring smile. “You ready?”

Jayden nodded eagerly, excited to see his mama finally. 

With one last deep breath, Paige straightened her shoulders, feeling calmer than she had moments ago.

…

Paige stood at the end of the aisle, her hands nervously crossed in front of her as she waited for Azzi. The soft murmur of the audience faded into the background, and all she could feel was the weight of the moment. On her side of the aisle stood Nika, Ice, KK, and Drew, each of them smiling at her with proud, knowing looks. On Azzi’s side were Caroline, Jon, Jose, and Jana, equally as proud, their faces radiating warmth as they stood together, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Each of them wore the same light magenta in their respective styles, the magenta represented the union of their lives, the perfect balance between purple and pink, of Paige and Azzi.

The guests in the audience were a mix of family, friends, and basketball royalty, each one a piece of Paige and Azzi’s shared journey. Paige could see familiar faces scattered throughout the crowd: their families, their old UConn teammates, UConn alumni, some of their WNBA teammates–old and new–even some players they had never played with but had grown close to, all of these people supported Paige and Azzi through different phases of their careers and their relationship. The room was a true reflection of their journey. The air felt heavy with history and yet it was brimming with hope for the future.

All of a sudden the orchestra began to play, its soft melodies filling the air and soothing the nervous tension in the room. At the front of the aisle, Paige couldn’t help but smile as she saw the first person of the day making his way down the aisle. With his little legs, he moved slowly, but with an adorable determination. He was wearing a little suit that mirrored his uncles, and he was holding his aunt Lauren’s hand. Every now and then, Lauren would hand him a few flowers to toss down the aisle which he thoroughly enjoyed. The crowd cooed at the two-year-old as he made his way toward the front, taking in all the attention with the charm that Paige swore he got from her. 

Jay was their perfect miracle. Paige and Azzi had adopted him as soon as both of their rookie contracts were up, and they were finally able to play for the same team in Washington. It had been nothing short of hitting the adoption lottery. With his blue eyes and blonde hair, he looked like a perfect blend of both his moms somehow. His blonde hair was curly like Azzi’s, and his dimples were almost an exact replica of her’s. As he threw flowers along the aisle, occasionally getting distracted by familiar faces in the crowd, Paige couldn’t help but beam with pride.

When Jayden reached the end of the aisle, he attempted to walk toward Paige, his arms reaching out to his mommy. But before he could take another step, Lauren scooped him up, and his pout deepened. The crowd couldn’t help but chuckle at the little boy’s dramatic expression as he was whisked away. Despite the momentary disappointment, he was soon settled in the arms of his grandmother, Katie, who had been eagerly waiting to hold him.

Paige smiled at the adorable scene. Jayden was just like his moms in every way. And Paige felt her heart swell as she watched him interact with the family, knowing this day, this moment, was just the beginning of their future together.

The laughter from the wedding party gradually faded, settling into a peaceful silence that seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. The music, once soft and light, swelled into a more solemn, heartfelt melody. It was time for Azzi to walk down the aisle. As the first few notes of the song filled the air, the entire audience stood in unison, their eyes instinctively shifting toward the doors.

Paige’s heart was pounding in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears as she fought to steady her breath. This is it, she thought, her palms damp against the fabric of her pants. Her heart swelled with love, nervous excitement, and a deep, overwhelming joy. She glanced at her family and friends—Nika, Ice, KK, Drew—all standing at her side. Her gaze then flicked to the guests filling the rows, each face radiating love and warmth, all of them there to witness this monumental moment. Azzi is about to walk toward me. The love of my life is about to walk towards me.

Then the doors opened.

Azzi’s presence filled the room like a wave, drawing every eye, yet somehow the world seemed to narrow. There she was—walking slowly towards Paige, glowing with a quiet confidence, her every step in perfect harmony with the music. The lighting caught her white dress just right, casting a soft, ethereal glow around her. She looked like something out of a dream—angelic, breathtaking.

Paige’s breath hitched, and her heart raced faster as her eyes locked with Azzi’s. Her legs almost gave way beneath her and Drew patted her shoulder chuckling slightly, but she stood tall, transfixed by the sight of the woman she loved. The woman she had waited for. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision, but all she could see was Azzi, walking toward her as if the world had led them here, to this moment.

At the same time Azzi’s thoughts swirled as she took each step. This moment is everything I’ve dreamed of. Fuck she looks so good. My heart beats for her. It always has, always will. Her pulse raced as she scanned Paige’s face. I’ve fought for this love, for her. I’ve seen everything we’ve been through, and it’s been worth it. Every moment, every struggle—this is the culmination of all of it.

Her eyes were locked on Paige as if nothing else existed in the world. There was so much emotion swirling within her—gratitude, awe, love—but most of all, there was a profound peace. This is where I belong. Right here, with her.

As she walked closer, she couldn’t help but smile at Paige’s teary eyes, her heart swelling at the way she was looking at her. She’s everything to me. How did I get so lucky? Her legs felt like they were moving on their own, carried by the sheer force of the love between them.

When Azzi finally reached the altar, Paige’s hands, which had been tightly clasped in front of her, suddenly felt empty. She reached out instinctively, her fingers trembling as she tried to follow through with the practiced firm handshake she was supposed to give Tim. But before she could, Tim pulled her into a tight, heartfelt hug. It was unexpected, but so full of meaning—so full of everything he felt about the woman who was about to marry his daughter. Paige’s arms wrapped around him as she smiled through her tears. She had grown so close to him, and in that moment, it felt like all their shared memories—good and bad—were coming together.

Azzi’s eyes softened as she watched the embrace, her chest tightening with emotion. Her lips curled into a soft smile as she finally took her place beside Paige, her hand sliding into Paige’s like it was meant to be there all along.

Paige helped Azzi settle in front of her, taking Azzi’s hand in hers, feeling the familiar warmth that had comforted her for so long. Azzi handed her flowers to Caroline, a fleeting moment of lightness before their attention fully turned to each other.

They stood there, face to face at last. The weight of the moment settled in their hearts, and the world seemed to slow. As their eyes locked for a few precious seconds, it was as if the room had disappeared. Everything faded away except for the two of them, standing together, ready to begin the rest of their lives.

Azzi’s voice, soft but clear, broke the silence, carrying a tenderness that only Paige could feel. She whispered, so only Paige could hear, but it felt as if the entire room was listening. “You look beautiful P.” Her fingers gently brushed a tear from Paige’s cheek, her touch as delicate as the moment itself.

Paige’s heart swelled, and she blinked away more tears as she whispered back, her voice slightly trembling, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, baby.” She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself, but the emotion in her chest was overwhelming.

Before the intimacy of the moment could envelop them entirely, Jayden’s voice rang out from the audience. His little voice echoed with excitement as he saw Azzi standing in front of Paige. “Mama!” he shouted, his chubby little arms reaching for her. He was so happy to see his mother, and his pure joy filled the room, drawing smiles from every corner.

Azzi’s heart fluttered at the sound of his voice, and she winked at him, her eyes softening with affection. Jayden, always a mama’s boy, blushed furiously at the attention from Azzi and immediately hid his face in Katie’s neck. The crowd couldn’t help but laugh, touched by his shyness and his love for his mom.

Paige and Azzi exchanged a glance, their faces breaking into smiles at their son’s antics. They shared a quiet laugh, the kind that only they could understand, before turning back to each other. Their love for Jayden, for each other, was tangible in the air around them—an unspoken bond that only deepened as the moment passed.

The ceremony continued, but the two of them were lost in the love they shared, the life they had built, and the promise of all the moments yet to come.

Paige hadn’t really heard a word CD had said as she officiated the wedding. All Paige could do was stare at Azzi in awe, her heart swelling in her chest. In that moment, everything around her faded—the audience, CD’s voice, the sound of the light music—all she could see was Azzi, standing there before her. Azzi, the woman who had become everything to her. Even after all these years, Paige still looked at her the way she did the first time she realized she loved her—like she was the most beautiful thing on this earth, like she would do anything, give everything, to the girl standing in front of her.

It was now time for the vows, and Paige took a deep breath, steadying herself as her heart raced in her chest. Her voice wavered as she began, but the words came from the deepest place inside her, raw and honest. There were no rehearsed lines, no prepared speeches. She didn’t need them to tell Azzi how much she loved her, how much she meant to her. 

“Azzi,” Paige began, her voice trembling slightly, “To put it simply you’re everything to me baby. I didn’t realize it at first, but... when you got to UConn that summer, I thought I was just being a leader, you know doing my job—helping the new girl get comfortable and fit in. But you weren’t like anyone I had ever met.”

Paige paused, her eyes locked with Azzi’s, the love in her gaze unmistakable. “You were this constant, steady presence. And without even trying, you made me trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone in my entire life. You had this way of getting under my skin and somehow, you did it without me even realizing what was happening. You became someone I couldn’t imagine life without before I even realized it.”

Paige’s eyes softened, remembering a moment that had changed everything. “And then... you made me watch Frozen for the first time. The movie had been out for like... eleven years at that point, and I’d never seen it because, honestly, who would want to waste time watching a Disney cartoon? I needed to be in the gym. But there you were, trying to put it on because it was your turn to pick the movie, and I looked at you like you were insane.” Paige chuckled softly at the memory, the love in her eyes only growing. “But then... you gave me this look. We were on my bed sitting too close to be just friends, and for the first time, I really saw you. Your eyes. God, your eyes. My breath caught in my throat, and I think that’s when I first really noticed how breathtaking you were.”

Paige’s voice softened as she spoke of that pivotal moment. “Your dimples, your smile, your laugh—everything about you. That was the moment I think I knew. I didn’t admit it to myself then, but something clicked that day. And before I knew it, you had me watching Frozen every week.”

A bittersweet smile crossed Paige’s face. “And then, we fought. God, we fought, and we hurt each other in ways I didn’t think were possible. But even then... even when we weren’t speaking, even when I thought you’d broken my heart and left me, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’d wonder if you’d eaten, how you were feeling, if you were getting enough sleep, if you were icing your knee or taking care of yourself. I couldn’t stop caring even when I wanted to.”

Paige’s voice faltered for a moment as she fought to control the tears threatening to fall. She looked at Azzi, who stood before her, looking at Paige with such intensity that it made her heart ache. “You’re so beautiful, Azzi,” Paige whispered, her words faltering slightly as she lost herself in the depth of Azzi’s gaze.

But she didn’t stop there. “But it’s not just the way you look... You’re so smart, so much smarter than you give yourself credit for. And you’re so damn stubborn. You fight me tooth and nail for what you believe in, even if it’s something as small as what Jay’s going to wear that day. And I love that about you. You make me feel safe, but you also push me to be better. You call me out when I’m being an idiot, but you do it with so much love. I’ve never met anyone who made me feel like I’m enough just as I am. You taught me that I don’t need to be perfect all the time. That I don’t always need to be in control.”

Paige’s voice cracked a little as she continued. “You’re my balance, Azzi. When I’m all over the place, loud, and impulsive, you ground me. You’re patient when I’m not, calm when I’m chaotic. And somehow, you push me to be better, to be a better version of myself for you and Jay, every single day, without ever making me feel like I have to change who I am.”

Tears brimmed in Paige’s eyes, and she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Baby, you’re not just someone I love. You’re my home. My heart. And I thank God every single day that he brought you to me the way he did.”

The room fell silent, and as Paige finished her vows, the emotion in the air was almost tangible. Her eyes never left Azzi’s, and both women had tears glistening in their eyes. The guests, who knew Paige as the composed, often reserved leader, were stunned. This side of her—this vulnerability, this raw, open love—was something most of them had never seen. This moment, though, was different. It was soft, delicate, and full of so much meaning. It was the clearest, most heartfelt expression of Paige’s love for Azzi.

Azzi, her heart swelling with emotion, fought to hold back the tears. She looked at Paige, struggling to find her words. After a long pause, she laughed softly, a slight chuckle escaping her lips despite the tears pooling in her eyes. “I have no idea how I’m going to follow that,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, the crowd chuckling lightly at her attempt to regain composure.

Azzi’s laugh broke the tension, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything had slowed down, as though time itself had stopped to allow them this perfect, unspoken connection.

Azzi takes a deep breath, still a little shaky from the weight of Paige's vows. "Okay," she starts, her voice soft but steady. "First of all, Paige, you're so incredibly annoying."

The crowd chuckles, and Paige rolls her eyes playfully, her smile wide. Azzi glances at her, her teasing grin softening. "But you also have the purest soul I've ever seen. You're selfless, generous, forgiving, and so incredibly caring. And every single day, I hope we’re able to raise a son who has even a fraction of those qualities."

Azzi pauses, her eyes flickering with emotion. "The night you walked into our suite when I moved in... I knew I was done for," she admits, drawing laughter from the audience. "You had this confidence, this charm, this energy that just pulled me in immediately. And, honestly, it almost got me in trouble a few times. Because I had these thoughts and all these feelings I wasn’t supposed to have for my best friend, for my teammate—especially my teammate who had a bit of a reputation."

The room erupts in laughter, and Paige mock-glares at Azzi, who shrugs innocently before continuing. "But the more I got to know you—not Paige Bueckers, the golden girl, but just Paige—the more that attraction turned into something I couldn't even put into words. I saw a side of you that no one else did. You weren’t just cocky and larger-than-life; you were thoughtful, attentive, and so incredibly soft. You showed me sides of yourself that I don’t think anyone else got to see. And those parts of you—they were the ones I fell in love with."

Azzi’s voice trembles slightly as she goes on. "With everyone else, you were carefree, like nothing could touch you. But with me, you let me see your heart. You were vulnerable in a way I know wasn’t easy for you. You trusted me with your fears, your insecurities, the things you tried so hard to keep hidden from the world. And that trust? It means more to me than I could ever say."

Azzi glances at Paige, her expression softening even further. "You made me believe in a kind of love I didn’t think was possible. The kind they write about in poems and movies. The kind of love that doesn't just show up—it stays, no matter what. You never stopped dating me, even after we were together. You used to bring me flowers every week—every single week—and when you couldn’t be there to give them to me in person, you had them shipped to my door. You made sure I never doubted how much I meant to you."

The audience murmurs softly, some wiping away tears, as Azzi’s voice grows steadier. "And it wasn’t just the big gestures. It was the way you made me laugh when I didn’t think I could. The way you remembered every little thing about me, like how I hate the dark but love the gloominess of rain. You made me feel seen in a way I didn’t even know I needed. You loved me in ways I didn’t know were possible."

Azzi pauses to collect herself, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. She lets out a watery laugh. "And somehow, through all of that, you still kept surprising me. You never stopped pushing me to be better, to dream bigger. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself, and you stood by me every step of the way. You were my biggest supporter, my safe space, my everything."

Her voice softens even more, and she looks directly at Paige, her gaze unwavering. "You’re not just someone I love, Paige. You’re my best friend, my soulmate, my home. And I thank God every day that he brought you into my life. Because with you, I have everything I could ever need."

By the time Azzi finishes, slow tears are streaming down Paige’s face, her lips trembling as she tries to smile. Azzi steps closer, her thumb brushing the tears from Paige’s cheeks.

In the quiet room, their son Jayden’s sweet little voice pipes up again, breaking the silence. "Mama, Mommy crying!"

The crowd laughs warmly, and Paige lets out a watery laugh of her own, "Yeah, buddy. Happy tears."

After their vows, CD steps forward with a warm smile, gently pulling everyone’s attention back to the ceremony. "Alright," she says, her voice calm yet celebratory. "Now, if you’ll both repeat after me, we’ll make this official."

Azzi and Paige exchange a brief glance, their hands still joined, both visibly brimming with anticipation. They go through the official readings, their voices steady yet filled with emotion, each word cementing their commitment to one another.

When it’s time for the rings, CD turns to Azzi first. "Azzi, do you take Paige to be your wife, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

Azzi doesn’t hesitate. She nods, her voice clear and sure. "I do."

Taking the wedding band, she gently slides it onto Paige’s left ring finger, her touch lingering as she finishes. Her eyes meet Paige’s, filled with love and certainty.

CD then turns to Paige. "Paige, do you take Azzi to be your wife, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

Paige’s breath catches for a moment, her lips curving into a smile as she says, "I do." Her hand shakes slightly as she picks up the ring, her fingers brushing Azzi’s as she slides it onto her left ring finger. Her voice softens, barely audible except to Azzi. "Forever."

CD looks at them both, her own smile growing as she says, "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss your wife."

Before Azzi can fully process the words, Paige is already moving, pulling Azzi toward her. Their lips meet in a deep, heartfelt kiss, a culmination of everything they’ve been through and everything they’ve been waiting for. Both of them sigh into the kiss, their arms wrapping around each other as the world melts away.

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, their families and friends celebrating the long-awaited union. But for Paige and Azzi, in that moment, nothing else matters but the person in their arms—their forever.

As they pull back from the kiss, a ripple of laughter runs through the crowd, drawing Paige and Azzi’s attention to a small commotion near the aisle. Jayden, who had somehow managed to wiggle free from Katie’s grasp, was clumsily making his way up the altar, his tiny legs moving with determined speed.

"Jayden!" Katie whispered out, trying to catch him, but he was already halfway there, his little face beaming with excitement at his mothers.

Paige chuckled, bending down to meet him as he reached the top. "Hey, buddy, what are you doing up here?" she asked, scooping him up effortlessly. But as soon as he was in her arms, Jayden leaned forward, his small hands reaching for Azzi.

"Mamma!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with pure joy.

Azzi laughed softly, stepping closer to take him from Paige’s hands. "You just couldn’t wait, could you?" she murmured, cradling him easily.

Jayden nestled into Azzi’s arms, his tiny fingers brushing her face as he babbled happily, completely oblivious to the significance of the moment. Paige leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Jayden’s temple, her heart full as she took in the sight of their little family.

Together, the three of them turned to face their guests, who were still applauding and cheering. Paige reached for Azzi’s free hand, lacing their fingers together, while Jayden waved excitedly at the crowd, basking in the attention he thought he was getting.

As they began their exit, walking down the aisle as a newly married couple, Jayden’s laughter filled the air, a perfect counterpoint to the joyous celebration around them. The three of them moved in sync, a seamless unit, their love evident to everyone watching.

As they reached the dressing room, Azzi gently shifted Jayden in her arms before setting him down on the carpeted floor. "Alright, Jay," she said with a grin, ruffling his hair. "Go burn off some of that energy while Mommy and I get ready."

He didn’t need any more encouragement. He immediately toddled over to the vanity table, his tiny hands reaching for a brush and a bottle of lotion, his curiosity piqued at their shapes.

Azzi shook her head with a soft laugh. "He's always into something," she said, turning toward Paige, who was already stepping closer.

"Let him," Paige murmured, her voice low as she reached for Azzi's hands, pulling her gently toward her. Without hesitation, Paige leaned in, her lips capturing Azzi's in a slow, deliberate kiss. Her hands slid up Azzi's arms, pulling her closer as her body pressed against hers.

Azzi exhaled softly, her resolve melting as she got lost in the kiss, her hands instinctively resting on Paige’s neck. For a moment, everything else disappeared—their surroundings, the noise from outside the dressing room, even Jayden’s little voice humming in the background. It was just them, tangled in each other, the weight of the day momentarily forgotten.

But then, a soft clattering noise from Jayden’s direction pulled Azzi back to reality. She broke the kiss reluctantly, her forehead pressing against Paige's as she laughed breathlessly. "Paige," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of amusement and warning, "We can’t. Jay’s right there, baby."

Paige grinned, her lips brushing against Azzi’s again in a teasing peck. "He’s busy," she said, her tone playful.

Azzi shook her head, stepping back slightly but not releasing Paige’s hands. "I know, but if he turns around and sees anything, we’re going to have to explain why Mommy and Mama are glued together."

Paige smirked, her thumb brushing over the back of Azzi's hand. "Fair point," she conceded with a soft laugh, stealing one last quick kiss before stepping back.

They both turned toward Jay, who was now intensely focused on trying to twist the cap off the lotion bottle now. Azzi crossed her arms, shaking her head. "We should probably intervene before he figures out how to make a mess."

Paige chuckled, walking over to scoop Jayden up in one swift motion. "Come here, troublemaker," she said, peppering his cheek with kisses as he giggled and squirmed in her arms.

Azzi watched them with a smile, her heart full as she took in the sight of her wife and son. "Alright," she said, grabbing the garment bag hanging on the nearby chair. "Let’s get ready for the reception before mister here decides to redecorate the room."

With laughter and lighthearted teasing, the three of them prepared for the next part of their perfect day.

…

The reception was in full swing, a joyful whirlwind of music, dancing, and heartfelt laughter. Azzi and Paige had been glued to each other all evening, their newlywed glow impossible to miss. Jayden had been whisked away earlier by Geno, who proclaimed his role as babysitter with such conviction that even Katie and Tim had no choice but to relent, laughing as they handed over the toddler and his overnight bag. 

As the night progressed, Paige’s affection toward Azzi grew bolder, fueled by a steady stream of drinks courtesy of Jon, Jose, and Drew, who had made it their personal mission to keep her glass perpetually full for whatever reason.

Earlier in the evening, as they moved through the crowd, Azzi mingled effortlessly, stopping every so often to chat with family and friends. Paige, however, was focused entirely on her wife, trailing close behind and using every opportunity to whisper suggestive comments into Azzi’s ear.

“Baby, do you realize how good you look tonight?” Paige murmured as they paused near the bar. Her lips brushed against Azzi’s ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

Azzi tried to keep her composure, offering polite smiles to those around them. “Thank you, love. So do you.”

“Hmm, you think so?” Paige teased, her hand resting on the small of Azzi’s back. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Because I think this dress is unfair. Do you know how hard it is to keep my hands to myself when you look this good?”

Azzi blushed, shooting her a look. “Paige, behave. We’re not alone.”

Paige grinned, unbothered by the warning. “Doesn’t matter. I’m your wife now. Pretty sure that gives me the right to tell you exactly how much I want to peel this dress off you later.”

Azzi’s cheeks burned as she bit back a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re irresistible,” Paige countered smoothly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s neck just enough to make her catch her breath before lightly smacking Paige’s stomach.

By the time they made it back around to the table, Paige’s teasing had reached new heights. They sat among a group of their old UConn teammates—Nika, KK, Ice, Aubrey, Caroline, Jana, Sarah, and Morgan—all of whom were thoroughly entertained by Paige’s antics.

Azzi was trying her best to engage in the lively conversation about their time in college, but Paige was making it nearly impossible. She kissed Azzi’s arm, then her shoulder, her lips trailing up to her neck as Azzi squirmed slightly in her seat.

"Paige, baby," Azzi whispered softly, attempting to pull back.

"Shh," Paige murmured, brushing her lips against Azzi’s ear. "Just let me kiss you. I’ve been waiting all day for this."

"She��s been waiting all day, Azzi," Nika quipped, laughing as she caught sight of Paige’s antics. "Let the girl have her moment."

Azzi shot her a playful glare. "You’re not helping."

"She’s a lover, what can we say?" KK added with a smirk.

"I can’t help it," Paige declared dramatically, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s waist. "Have you seen her tonight? She’s perfect."

“Okay, Paige, we get it,” Ice teased, raising her glass. “You’re married now. You won.”

"Exactly," Paige said, her voice dropping as she leaned closer to Azzi again. Her hand slid to Azzi’s thigh under the table, her lips brushing against her ear. "And later, when we’re alone, I promise I’m going to show you just how much I love you."

Azzi’s breath hitched, and she gently pushed Paige’s hand away. "Paige," she murmured, her voice firm but affectionate. "Not here baby."

Paige pouted, but the glint in her eye remained mischievous. "You’re no fun," she teased, resting her head on Azzi’s shoulder as the table erupted in laughter.

"You would think after all these years Paige wouldn’t still be this horny," Jana remarked, grinning from ear to ear.

Azzi laughed, her shoulders shaking as she responded, "I knew I was never going to get a break from day one, but I’ve learned to accept it," she added, looking at Paige.

"She’s going to tear into you," Aubrey said, shaking her head with a grin.

"You don’t say," Azzi replied dryly, though the fondness in her tone was unmistakable.

As the conversation continued, Paige remained firmly attached to Azzi, her lips brushing against her neck and cheek whenever she thought no one was looking. Azzi did her best to stay composed, but her teammates saw through it, exchanging amused glances.

"Azzi," Caroline teased, raising an eyebrow. "How are you even still upright right now?"

Azzi laughed, giving Paige’s hand a light squeeze. "It’s not easy, trust me," she replied, her gaze softening as she looked at her wife.

Paige grinned, pressing another kiss to Azzi’s cheek. "Good thing you’re strong, then," she murmured, her voice low enough that only Azzi could hear.

"Good thing I love you," Azzi replied, shaking her head as Paige beamed at her, utterly unapologetic.

…

The two of them had drifted away from the group trying to get a moment alone amidst all the chaos. They were now tucked into a quieter corner table, the low lighting casting a warm glow over their entwined figures. Paige was still draped over Azzi, her lips brushing against her neck and collarbone as her hand rested possessively on Azzi’s thigh. By now, Azzi, having indulged in her fair share of drinks, was no longer holding back. She leaned fully into Paige’s affection, a soft, pleased smile tugging at her lips.

Azzi leaned into Paige’s touch, her breath quickening as Paige’s fingers gently tugged at the fabric of her dress. She let out a soft, pleased hum, feeling the heat between her legs intensify. Her hand found its way into Paige’s hair, gently pulling her closer, encouraging her to kiss the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” Azzi whispered, her voice thick with desire as she tilted her head, giving Paige more access.

Paige’s lips brushed over Azzi’s skin, her voice low and urgent. “I can’t stop,” she murmured, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric of Azzi’s dress again, her touch sending sparks through Azzi’s body. “You feel so good, just like this.”

Azzi’s breath caught, and she leaned in, her lips brushing against Paige’s ear. “You make me feel good, too,” she purred, the warmth of her breath sending a shiver down Paige’s spine.

Paige’s eyes darkened, the intensity of her gaze never leaving Azzi’s. Her fingers moved higher on Azzi’s thigh, inching dangerously close to where they both wanted her touch the most. “You’re so perfect,” Paige whispered, her lips grazing the side of Azzi’s neck again, her words dripping with want. “I can’t wait to feel all of you in my hand.”

Azzi’s body responded immediately, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as she bit her lip, fighting the urge to close the space between them completely with them still being in public. “You’ve been teasing me all night,” she murmured, her voice coming out breathlessly as she met Paige’s eyes. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.”

Paige’s lips found Azzi’s neck again, this time lingering there, pressing slow kisses along the skin. Her fingers traced the hem of Azzi’s dress, slipping under it just slightly as she tugged the fabric again, a subtle but clear request for more.

Azzi let out a low moan, her hand gripping Paige’s shoulder as she gave in to the temptation. “Paige...” she whispered, her voice rough with desire. “I can’t wait, baby. I want you. Right now.”

Paige’s breath hitched at the sound of Azzi’s words, the intensity of her longing for her wife growing. “God, Azzi,” she murmured, her lips brushing against her wife’s ear again, voice thick with need. “You have no idea what I wanna do to you.”

Azzi purred softly, her fingers now threading through Paige’s hair, tugging her face closer, her lips meeting Paige’s in a desperate, desperate kiss. “I think I do,” she whispered between kisses. “And I love every second of imagining it.”

Paige responded with a hum of satisfaction, her hand sliding higher on Azzi’s thigh, pulling her even closer. Their bodies moved against each other, the urgency of their desire palpable in their kiss. Neither of them could get enough.

But just as their kiss deepened, the air around them changed with a loud laugh echoing from the main reception area, shattering their intimate bubble. The sound cut through the haze of desire, pulling their attention back to reality.

Azzi broke the kiss, her eyes flicking to Paige, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Guess we’re not alone after all,” she murmured, reluctantly pulling back just enough to meet Paige’s gaze.

Paige let out a frustrated sigh, her fingers still tracing the curve of Azzi’s thigh. “Too bad,” she said, her voice low and husky, though there was a playful spark in her eyes. “I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

Azzi chuckled softly, resting her forehead against Paige’s for a brief moment before pulling back to glance toward the reception. “Me too,” she agreed, though the fire in her eyes remained undiminished. 

Both women groaned softly, reluctant to return to the party. Paige rested her forehead against Azzi’s again for a moment, her voice quiet but firm. “This isn’t over,” she murmured, her lips brushing against Azzi’s.

Azzi smirked, her thumb brushing over Paige’s cheek. “It better not be,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Their stolen moment left them both buzzing, hearts racing as they turned their attention back to the lively reception, counting down the moments until they could finally be alone.

…

When they finally reached their hotel room, the door had barely clicked shut before Paige spun Azzi around and pressed her firmly against it. The force of the move drew a startled gasp from Azzi, her back hitting the wood as Paige’s long fingers wrapped possessively around her throat.

Their lips immediately collided in a messy, passionate kiss, all restraint from earlier completely gone now. Paige’s movements were uncoordinated but intense, her need for Azzi clear as their tongues tangled. Azzi moaned into her mouth, her hands gripping Paige’s shoulders for balance, completely lost in the moment.

Paige didn’t waste a second. Her knee slid between Azzi’s legs, pressing up just enough to draw a sharp inhale from her wife. Azzi panted against Paige’s lips, her head tipping back slightly as Paige broke the kiss and began trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

“You look so good like this ma,” Paige whispered against Azzi’s skin, her voice a mix of slur and desire. Her teeth grazed Azzi’s collarbone before her lips followed, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about this? About making you mine like this?”

Azzi shuddered, her hands clutching the fabric of Paige’s shirt as she let out a soft laugh, her voice shaky but teasing. “You’re acting like you haven’t already had me a million times,” she murmured, her words broken by a gasp as Paige’s knee pressed harder against her.

Paige smirked against her neck, her grip on Azzi’s throat tightening ever so slightly. “Not like this baby,” she murmured, her voice thick with intent. “This is different. You’re my wife now. Forever mine.”

Paige’s words hung in the air, thick with promise, but before she could fully process the weight of them, Azzi’s hands were on her shoulders, pulling her in for another kiss. This one was frantic, desperate—a reflection of both their needs, the alcohol still thick on their breaths as they kissed wildly. Their lips barely met before they pulled away, only to crash together again. The kiss was messy, unrefined, but that was the point—it was as if neither of them could get close enough, couldn’t have enough of the other after today.

Azzi’s fingers tightened in Paige’s hair as she broke the kiss, panting against her lips. “You’re mine too, Paige,” Azzi breathed out, voice ragged. “Forever.”

Paige’s heart raced at the sound of Azzi’s declaration, but Azzi wasn’t done. She pushed gently against Paige’s shoulders, urging her to kneel before her. Paige didn’t hesitate, following the command without question. She sank to her knees in front of Azzi, eyes dark with desire as she looked up at her wife.

Azzi took a small step back, then looked down at Paige, her own eyes dark and needy. Without missing a beat, she ran her fingers through Paige’s hair, guiding her forward. Paige’s lips trailed up Azzi’s legs, leaving kisses as she went, the sensation sending tremors through Azzi’s body.

Azzi’s breath hitched with every kiss. “God, Paige,” she gasped, her voice shaky as Paige’s lips pressed against her thighs as she pushed her dress up, leaving marks in their wake. Each kiss made her more vocal, unable to hold back the sounds of pleasure bubbling up from deep within her. Her fingers tightened in Paige’s hair as she pulled her closer, desperate for more.

Paige’s lips moved higher, leaving teasing kisses up the inside of Azzi’s thigh. “Imma make you feel so good baby,” Paige muttered against her skin, the words almost reverent. She wasn’t just speaking, she was showing it—the pressure of her lips and hands as she kissed Azzi’s thinly covered center, fueling the desire that had been building since the moment they stepped into the room.

Azzi’s body shivered with each kiss. “Fuck, Paige,” she breathed, her voice raw. She ran her fingers through Paige’s hair, pulling impossibly closer to her as she looked down at her wife. “You don’t even know how much I need you right now.”

Paige responded with a low groan as she pushed her underwear to the side, her lips and tongue brushing against Azzi, this time slower, more deliberate, as she gazed up at her wife through her hooded blue eyes. “Nah baby I can tell. You taste so good for me.” 

Azzi’s breath catches in her throat, her chest rising and falling with each labored inhale. She runs her fingers through Paige’s hair, tugging her closer, as if desperate for more. “You make it so hard to think, Paige…” Azzi whispers, her voice shaky. “Every time you look at me like that, I forget everything. I forget who I am.”

Paige smiles, as she continues her work as Azzi grinds her hips into Paige trying to create more friction despite Paige lapping at her like she hadn’t had Azzi in years. “Baby, fuck, you feel so good” Azzi whimpers. Paige simply hums at this as she drapes Azzi’s leg over her shoulder to drive her tongue in deeper.

Azzi throws her head back against the door, gripping Paige’s head and anything else she can to steady herself. With her voice low and breathy and tinged with awe she says, “Mmm I knew you’d be like this tonight–Fuck baby don’t stop–I love it when you fuck me like this baby. Feels so good.”  

Azzi’s words spur Paige on more as she continues her work expertly, knowing exactly what Azzi likes after all these years. The pressure of Paige’s tongue makes Azzi’s breath catch, her eyes fluttering closed as she becomes overwhelmed with the feeling but she leans into it, pushing her hips towards Paige as the tension coils tighter in her stomach. 

Azzi is basically riding Paige’s face as Paige looks up at her mumbling, “You gonna come for me baby?” 

She makes the mistake of looking down at Paige whose mouth is wet and her pupils are completely dilated. Azzi immediately throws her head back as she starts making pornographic sounds with her throat, “Mmm fuck Paige baby–No…no not yet baby. Fuck I don’t want it to end you’re doing so good.” 

This only spurs Paige on more at her wife not wanting to come undone for her so she drives her tongue deeper as she works her thumb in circles. Azzi’s body trembles, her eyes now watching Paige despite every instinct inside her wanting her to look away. She’s fighting the pull of pleasure that wants her to come undone right at this moment even though she knows Paige doesn’t like that. 

Azzi’s eyes are blurry now as she tries to keep herself under control for a few more seconds but Paige curls her tongue a certain way and Azzi finds releasing the tension in her stomach, “Yes…yes right there baby… don’t stop baby. Right there please. I’m ready to cum for you baby” Azzi gasps her body arching off of the door as she feels a wave of sensation crashing through her as her mouth falls open in pure bliss, her legs shaking as Paige holds her up.  

Before Azzi can fully recover Paige is kissing up her body leaving open mouth kisses in Azzi’s favorite spots. Once she reaches her lips Paige immediately pulls Azzi in for a kiss, putting her tongue in her wifes mouth so she can taste herself causing Azzi to moan. 

As their kiss deepens, Paige’s hands slide down Azzi’s body, one of them drifting behind her, fingers grazing her spine. And with a slight tug, she unzips Azzi’s dress, the sound of the zipper scraping against the fabric filling the air between them. Azzi moans into the kiss as the fabric loosens exposing her back to the air, before Paige pulls it down with ease, revealing the purple lingerie beneath. The sight makes Paige’s breath hitch, her eyes darkening further if possible as she gazes at her wife standing in front of her.

Azzi's hands press firmly against Paige’s chest, gently pushing her back toward the bed, her lips swollen and flushed, her breathing ragged. "Get on the bed for me, baby," Azzi demands in a voice thick with need, her hands already moving to the buttons of Paige’s shirt before she just pulls at the fabric with urgency, the buttons flying off in every direction, scattering across the floor.

Paige lets out a breathy laugh, the moment only spurring her desire. She stands still, letting Azzi remove the shirt, her skin now exposed except for the tight-fitting tank top she’s wearing underneath. Azzi runs her hands over Paige’s bare skin, her fingers grazing over her ribs, before locking eyes with her and dragging her hand down her torso. “You look so good, baby,” Azzi whispers, her voice low, full of hunger and admiration.

Paige smiles, her heart racing, as she climbs onto the bed, pulling Azzi along with her. Azzi follows, crawling up to her in the most seductive way as she moves with an almost hypnotic rhythm that makes Paige want to take her right there again and again. When Azzi finally straddles Paige, the sight is enough to send Paige’s heart into overdrive. Her breath catches as she whispers, "You have no idea what you do to me. Even after all these years.” 

Azzi’s lips curled into a teasing smile, her confidence radiating as she leaned down to press her mouth against Paige’s neck. She moved slowly, her kisses deliberate and sensual, each one igniting a trail of shivers that coursed through Paige’s body. Azzi had perfected this art over time, each touch an unspoken testament to how well she knew Paige—every sensitive spot, every little weakness.

Her long hair tumbled to one side, the strands brushing against Paige’s skin and adding to the electric intimacy of the moment. Azzi kissed her way lower, unhurried, savoring the effect she was having as Paige’s breath quickened, her body instinctively arching into Azzi’s.

When Azzi’s hands found their way to Paige’s belt, her movements were smooth and practiced, each motion deliberate, carrying the weight of countless nights like this, where Azzi had mastered the balance of teasing and taking control. With a flick of her fingers, the belt came undone, her slow pace almost maddening, a silent assertion of her dominance in this moment which started as soon as she had Paige on her knees for her. Paige’s breath hitched, a sound that sent a satisfied smirk spreading across Azzi’s lips.

The way Azzi carried herself now, every kiss, every touch, was brimming with the ease of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. Their years together had transformed their intimacy into something deeper, richer—a choreography of passion honed by countless nights of exploration and learning each other’s bodies.

“Still with me, baby?” Azzi whispered against Paige’s skin, her voice velvet-soft but dripping with confidence, knowing full well that Paige was at her mercy.

Paige throws her head back in pleasure, her hands gripping the sheets. In that moment, she realizes how completely she’s fallen into Azzi’s orbit—how grateful she is that she crossed that line with her all those years ago. That night, when she had first given in to Azzi's pull, back when they were just friends, and how it changed everything between them. Now, after everything they’ve been through, after their wedding, this moment felt like the perfect culmination of everything they had built together. She’s never been this sure, this needy for someone in the way she is for Azzi.. 

“God, Azzi,” Paige breathes out, her voice raw with desire as she lifts her hips slightly, giving Azzi more access.

Azzi grins, pulling the belt free with a soft tug before gliding her hands under the waistband of Paige’s pants. The anticipation is almost unbearable, and yet, Azzi takes her time, savoring every second. “You’re my wife now,” Azzi murmurs, her voice low and full of intention, as her hands slowly inch the fabric down.

The words send a rush of heat through Paige, and for a split second, she’s left wondering how she ever lived without this intensity, this connection. The thought lingers, and she shivers in anticipation as Azzi finally pulls the pants down, exposing more of Paige’s skin.

Azzi runs her hands over Paige’s legs, feeling the warmth of her body, the soft curves beneath her fingertips. The contact is electric, and it’s almost too much for Paige to handle. "God Azzi, I don’t know how you make me feel like this," Paige manages to gasp, lifting her hips again, silently begging Azzi to take control, to take her.

Azzi pauses, her gaze locking with Paige’s, her eyes dark with desire. “Let me show you,” Azzi whispers, leaning down to kiss her again. But this time, it’s slower—deeper. Azzi’s lips trace the curve of Paige’s jaw, down her neck, stopping to leave a trail of heated kisses that make Paige’s pulse quicken.

Each kiss is a promise, each touch a question Azzi asks without words. Paige can’t help but respond, her hands reaching for Azzi’s bra, unclasping it free from her body, desperate to feel her bare skin against hers. The fabric falls to the floor, and Paige’s fingers wander to the skimpy waistband of Azzi’s underwear, mimicking the way Azzi had undressed her moments ago, eager to return the pleasure.

Azzi’s lips find their way to Paige’s ear, where she whispers, “You want me again, don’t you? Want me as much as I want you?”

Paige nods, her breathing ragged as she pulls Azzi closer, wrapping her legs around her waist. “More than anything,” she whispers back, her voice trembling with the intensity of the moment.

Azzi pulls back just enough to meet her eyes again, her gaze softening for a moment, a glimmer of affection mixed with the raw desire between them. “You have me, Paige. All of me…forever.” Then she kisses her deeply once more, taking the time to savor the connection between them, each kiss a declaration of everything they’ve built, everything they’re about to share.

The weight of everything settles in as Paige pulls Azzi close, the years of being apart, of growing their family together, and the joy of finally, fully being together. This moment is everything they’ve worked for, everything they’ve fought for. And as their hands trace each other’s bodies, as they continue to lose themselves in each other, Paige realizes that this is it—the final chapter. Their journey, their story, culminating here, in this moment of complete love and understanding. It’s not just the start of a new life together; it’s the closing of a long, beautiful journey.

As the kiss lingers between them, soft and filled with everything they’ve learned about each other, about love, the two of them finally fall into the peace that only being truly with each other can bring. There are no more games, no more uncertainties, just the two of them, completely and utterly intertwined in a love that has lasted years, and will continue forever.

[maccaronimassacre]

Going to a haunted house with them <3

Ada Wong

Can tell when something is about to happen moments before it does.

A slightly uneven floorboard? A prop is going to drop from the ceiling.

A small hole in the wall? A scare actor is going to jumpscare the two of you.

Would she tell you though? Absolutely not.

She finds your reactions too adorable and makes a mental note to take some pictures for later down the road.

Ada isn’t a screamer though. She’d either gasp very loudly or stiffen up like a tree.

She enjoyed it though and decides to search for more horror attractions around the area to go to with you.

Chris Redfield

You constantly had to remind him that nothing bad will happen and it’s all staged.

That doesn’t stop Chris from being over protective anyway by constantly shielding you whenever a prop would pop up to jumpscare you.

Even a sudden loud noise and Chris has his arms wrapped around you like a bear.

That is until he sees how shitty all the props and costumes are and he starts to roast them.

“Who made zombies green? Are you seeing this shit, babe? You know I used to punch through these like they were cardboard-”

He ends up rambling about how inaccurate the monsters are but overall has a good time.

Claire Redfield

Would be screaming with you most likely.

The type to spend most of it laughing out of fear but also enjoyment. Mostly fear though.

Claire would definitely hype you up if you got too freaked out and would drag you along the whole journey.

Or similarly to Chris she would be roasting the shit out of all the props in the house.

With Claire’s track record the two of you end up in a completely different part of the house that you definitely should not be in.

She tried to climb through the windows and gaps the scare actors are in.

Probably ends in the two of you getting kicked out but Claire manages to steal one of the props as a souvenir.

Ethan Winters

Considering this man looked at spider Maguerite and said “well that’s special” I feel like he wouldn’t be fazed at all.

Would also find your reactions amusing and occasionally tease you for it.

Tries to touch everything or figure out the mechanics of each room

He’d give the scare actors his iconic 500 yard stare whenever they would try to jumpscare him.

He would hold your hand through out the whole thing though.

But as soon as Ethan hears a chainsaw he is bolting and screaming like his life depends on it.

Also bugs.

And with bugs means lots of swearing.

Leon Kennedy

Would pretend to be unfazed for the most part but internally he is screaming.

He promises to protect you from the spooky ghosts and zombies.

He would tease you constantly whenever you got spooked but would immediately eat shit afterwards.

“Aww did that scare you? Honestly you wouldn't last a day at my-”

He’s immediately cut off by his own scream after someone grabs his shoulder.

Holds your hand to ‘make sure you don’t get lost by wandering off’ but really he needs you for support.

Leon really hates clowns though.

If he spots one its either getting roundhouse kicked or he’s turning around and never coming back.

[xuchiya]

"a special gift" || jeong yunho || one-shot

|genre: non!idol yunho. fluff. girlfriend! reader |mentions: nothing. just fluff.

The cozy living room was bathed in the soft glow of Christmas lights strung along the walls and tree. The faint sound of holiday classics played in the background, blending with the crackling warmth of the fireplace. You sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by rolls of festive wrapping paper, tangled ribbons, and a small mountain of gifts waiting to be adorned.

Across from you, Yunho was meticulously wrapping a box, his brows furrowed in concentration. His large hands fumbled slightly with the delicate paper, but his determination to make each present perfect was endearing.

"You know," you teased, glancing at the uneven edges of his handiwork, "you could always let me help you with the tricky ones."

Yunho shot you a playful glare, his lips quirking up in a smirk. "And miss out on the satisfaction of doing it myself? Never."

A comfortable silence settled between you as the two of you worked side by side, occasionally passing scissors or tape. You’d just finished tying a neat bow when you noticed Yunho had stopped wrapping. Instead, he was staring at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What?” you asked suspiciously, narrowing your gaze at him.

“Nothing,” he replied, his voice too innocent to be believable.

Moments later, you were distracted by a particularly stubborn roll of ribbon. When you looked up again, Yunho had vanished from his spot on the floor.

"Yunho?" you called, glancing around.

Before you could stand to search for him, a deep chuckle came from behind the tree. Your brows furrowed, and then you saw it—him. Your mouth hangs open in surprise as your eyes gaze on the tall man.

Jeong Yunho had wrapped himself in Christmas paper, the shiny red and green material crinkling as he moved into position beneath the tree. He had a red ribbon clamped between his teeth, his grin wide and proud as he stretched out on the floor like a hilariously oversized present. 

"Ta-da!" he announced, wiggling his brows and attempting a mock pose. You blinked, momentarily stunned into silence, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. “Yunho! What are you doing?”

“Being the best gift you’ll ever get,” he said cheekily, his voice slightly muffled by the ribbon still in his mouth.

Your laughter grew louder as you clutched your stomach, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "You’re ridiculous!"

“Ridiculously cute,” he corrected, wagging his brows again.

Shaking your head, you grabbed your phone, snapping a picture of him in all his absurd glory. “This is going in the family album,” you said between giggles.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned, though the amused grin on his face betrayed his protests. "I did this for you, you know."

You moved closer, kneeling beside him as he sat up slightly, the crinkling of the wrapping paper filling the air. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his gaze softening.

“All jokes aside,” he said, his voice dropping to a tender tone, “being with you is the best part of this Christmas. You’re my favorite person, my favorite everything.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, your heart swelling. “You’re lucky you’re so sweet,” you murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven for being ridiculous?”

You laughed, pulling back to meet his twinkling eyes. “Maybe. But only if you help me finish wrapping these presents."

“Deal,” he said, unwrapping himself from the paper with a dramatic flair. As he joined you again by the pile of gifts, the two of you worked together, your laughter and playful banter filling the room with the kind of warmth that only Christmas could bring.

[l4ndonorizz]

like a prayer / carlos sainz x reader

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

song:madonna - like a prayer

summary: overwhelmed by panic in the paddock, you seek refuge in Carlos’ driver’s room, where his calming presence helps you find peace again

wc: 900

The noise of the paddock was overwhelming. The crowd, the cameras, the endless stream of voices—normally, you could handle it. But today, it felt like everything was closing in. Your chest tightened and your breathing grew shallow as panic crept in. You needed to escape, to find somewhere—anywhere—quiet. Somewhere you could breathe.

Without thinking, your legs carried you away from the chaos, leading you to the only place you knew would feel safe: Carlos’ driver’s room. You slipped inside, shutting the door behind you and pressing your back against it, your heart racing. The room was cool, dimly lit, and blessedly silent. But your body wouldn’t relax. Your breathing was still erratic, your chest heavy with anxiety.

You stumbled to the bed, curling up under the blanket, pulling it tight as if the soft fabric could shield you from the panic. You tried to focus on your breathing, but the pounding in your chest wouldn’t let you calm down.

That’s when you heard it. The door clicked softly as it opened, and you felt Carlos’ presence fill the room before you even saw him. He must have noticed you were missing in the paddock, and his first instinct was to find you. Without a word, he crossed the room, his footsteps light and careful, as if not wanting to disturb the fragile calm you had tried to create.

“Hey, cariño,” he said softly, his voice a balm against the storm raging in your mind. “What’s going on?”

You stayed silent, your face buried in the pillow, trying to catch your breath. Carlos didn’t push. He knew. Instead, he sat down on the bed beside you, gently running his fingers through your hair. The touch was grounding, and you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to melt just a little.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice soothing and warm. “Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breathing remained uneven, shallow gasps that barely seemed to fill your lungs, but you focused on his voice—his calm, steady presence. Carlos shifted closer, one arm wrapping around you protectively, pulling you closer against his chest. “Shhh,” he soothed, brushing your hair back. “Take it slow, baby. No rush, no pressure.”

His words, the sound of his heart beating steadily under your ear, were slowly working their way through the haze of panic that had taken hold of you. You closed your eyes, letting the rhythm of his breathing guide yours, even if it still felt like an uphill battle.

“I know it feels like the world’s closing in,” Carlos continued, his voice low and gentle. “But right now, it’s just us. Just you and me. Nothing else matters.”

His fingers drew slow, soothing patterns along your arm, and with every pass, it felt like he was pulling you further from the edge. “Focus on my voice,” he whispered, “just me. You don’t have to do anything else right now.”

You nodded slightly, still unable to speak, but Carlos didn’t mind. He kept talking, his voice soft but persistent, always there, always bringing you back. “Remember that time in the mountains? When we sat by the fire and watched the stars?” His lips curved into a gentle smile as he recalled the memory. “That night, it was so quiet, wasn’t it? Just the two of us. No noise, no distractions. I remember how peaceful you looked.”

His words painted pictures in your mind, pulling you back to a moment of stillness, of calm. The tension in your chest slowly began to unravel as you focused on the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“You’re safe here,” he murmured. “With me, always.”

You felt the weight of his words sinking into your bones, bringing with them a peace you hadn’t thought possible in the middle of a panic attack. Your breathing was finally beginning to slow, each inhale coming a little easier, each exhale no longer feeling like a battle.

Carlos noticed the change, his hand resting gently on your back. “That’s it,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. “You’re doing so well. Just breathe with me, okay?”

He continued speaking, his voice steady and comforting as he reminded you of all the quiet, beautiful moments you’d shared together. The day you watched the sunset on the beach, the rainy afternoons spent tangled up in each other’s arms, the mornings when the world didn’t exist beyond your shared space.

“Whenever it gets too much,” Carlos said softly, “just remember those moments. They’re always here, waiting for you. And I’m always here.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink fully into his embrace, the last remnants of panic finally loosening their grip on you. The world outside faded, leaving only his soft voice, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his arms around you.

After what felt like forever, you finally lifted your head, your eyes still glassy with the remnants of tears. Carlos met your gaze, his eyes full of concern but also so much love.

For a moment, the words stuck in your throat, but when you finally found your voice, it was quiet, raw. “Your voice…” you whispered, “it’s like a prayer. Every time I hear it… it brings me back.”

Carlos’ expression softened as he cupped your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll keep talking then,” he whispered against your skin, “for as long as you need.”

And in that moment, with Carlos holding you so close, you knew you didn’t need anything else. His voice, his presence—it was your safe space. It always had been.

[writingforstraykids]

Letters Of Love - Jisung🖤

Pairing: Jisung x gn!Reader (poly!skz)

Word Count: 896

Summary: Your next message is for Jisung, about a day where all he needed was some rest in your lap.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, comfort

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

Your gaze lands on a photo that makes your heart ache in the softest way possible. It’s a picture of Jisung, curled up on your lap, his face completely relaxed in sleep, his body almost melting into yours as if seeking comfort. His cheek is smushed adorably against your thigh, one hand curled loosely over your knee, the other hidden beneath his head like a makeshift pillow. The angle of the photo captures just the side of your face, a gentle smile on your lips as you gaze down at him. His hair falls messily across his forehead, still slightly damp with sweat, and there’s a faint pink tinge to his cheeks, as if he’s finally let go of the tension he’d been carrying all day.

The living room around you is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamp beside the sofa. The evening light outside filters through the curtains, casting a golden sheen over everything. You can almost hear the soft rhythm of his breathing, the way it had been so shallow and uneven at first before it slowly evened out, settling into a steady, comforting beat. In the picture, his expression is completely peaceful—no trace of the exhaustion and strain that had marked his features just a few hours earlier.

That day had started off as a whirlwind for him. He’d had to attend several social events—all of which required him to be “on” for hours, smiling and interacting with people. It wasn’t until he came home, his shoulders tense and his smile strained, that you realized just how overwhelmed he really was.

You’d noticed it the moment he walked through the door, his gaze dropping almost instantly as if even making eye contact felt too much. You hadn’t said a word, just opened your arms, and he’d melted into you, his face buried in your shoulder as he released a long, shuddering sigh. Without a second thought, you’d guided him to the sofa, coaxing him to lie down with his head in your lap. It took a while for him to settle, to stop fidgeting as if he couldn’t let go of the day’s weight. But you ran your fingers softly through his hair, whispering soothing words, letting him know it was okay to rest. That he didn’t have to keep up the act with you.

Gradually, he’d relaxed, the tension bleeding away from his body until his breathing slowed, his eyes fluttering closed. It wasn’t long before he was fast asleep, the worry lines on his forehead smoothing out, leaving him looking so young and vulnerable. You’d stayed like that for a long time, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his scalp, marveling at how someone who shines so brightly on stage could look so fragile, so in need of shelter.

You smile softly as you attach the photo, already imagining the way Jisung’s cheeks will flush when he sees it. Fingers poised over the keyboard, you let your thoughts pour out, the love and admiration you feel for him filling each word.

---

Message to Hannie🐿️🩷:

Hannie,

I found this picture of you from the other night, when you fell asleep in my lap after that crazy long day. I know how hard it is for you to be around people for so long, even when you put on that brave smile. You always push yourself so much, and I just… I want you to know that it’s okay to rest. You don’t have to be the beloved ace all the time.

Seeing you like this, finally relaxed and at peace, made me realize something. I love every side of you—the bright, energetic Sungie who lights up every room, but also the quiet, overwhelmed Sungie who needs to just hide away for a little while. I love that you trust me enough to show me both. You don’t always have to be strong, you know? I want to be the place where you can let it all go and just… breathe.

Thank you for letting me be that for you. For choosing to lean on me, even when you’re too tired to say a word. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know, and I hope you never feel like you have to carry it all alone.

Happy anniversary, my little quokka. Here’s to more naps, more quiet moments, and more nights when you don’t have to be anything but yourself.

Love you forever,

One of your safe places

---

You read over the message again, feeling the words settle deep in your heart. You know Jisung will probably get flustered when he reads it, that he might grumble something about how he didn’t want you to see him so drained, but you also know that he’ll treasure it. Because that’s who he is—someone who loves fiercely, who feels deeply, and who sometimes just needs to be reminded that he’s loved for everything he is, even on the days when he feels like he’s not enough.

You hit send and lean back, closing your eyes as you remember the way he looked in your lap, so small and tired, but so beautifully at peace. Because even though he always says he doesn’t want to be a burden, he’s never been one to you. He never could be. He’s your dear Hannie - bright, beautiful, and perfect just as he is.

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

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[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four Five Six

The car’s gone. Lets go now.

Eddie sighs, but at least this is still the trailer park and at least it’s dark, so they stand a chance of not getting caught.

Max says her room is around back.

“I am aware,” Eddie huffs under his breath, “I was there for the conversation, if you recall.”

Eddie finds the right window and sort of shimmies it until it gives, just like Max said it would. Eddie’s still not one hundred percent healed up, so pulling himself up and then flopping through the window is a little painful and not his best moment.

At least he lands right on Max’s bed.

He looks around to orientate himself, then heads for the wardrobe, right at the bottom there are two scrunched up paper grocery bags, right where Max said they would be. Eddie checks real quick; yeah, clothes. Not much, just a few of Billy’s things Max managed to salvage before they downsized to move to the trailer.

Eddie hits the bathroom next, bottom shelf of the cabinet, right at the back, a half bottle of Billy’s preferred cologne and a couple of half used bottles of fancy shampoo and conditioner, “you’re so fucking vain.”

You will thank me later.

Eddie looks at Billy. The bathroom in the trailer is still pretty small, so Billy is currently standing in the shower cubicle, watching Eddie brush his teeth. He looks perfect; perfect hair, perfect tanned skin, shiny earring dangling from one ear, chain flashing at his throat. He’s wearing a white button down, undone to between his pecs. And Billy actually has pecs, because Billy also has a perfect muscled body.

Take a picture, it’ll last longer.

Ha Ha.

“Right,” Eddie spits and rinses, “lets go.”

What. You’re not ready.

“Errr….yeah I am,” Eddie looks down at himself, he even got out the nice jeans for this. It’s his first real proper date with Steve, just Steve, and he is not going to fuck this up. They’re having dinner at Steve’s, and then going to catch a movie, and then maybe milkshakes after.

Perfect.

Absolutely not. You are not going out looking like that.

“But I did the fancy hair stuff. I even dried it the way you said.”

And it looks like, a million percent better, but you gotta’ change. We can’t go looking like this. You want to bag Harrington, don’t you?

“I...alright, fine. Make your suggestions.”

You’re going to ditch those dumb fucking white sneakers for a start.

“Billy, man, I’m not sure about this.”

Eddie eyes himself in the mirror, same jeans, but now with a belt cinching his waist in tight, and tucked into a beat up pair of black boots. His leather jacket over top of a tee shirt that Billy had insisted he cut the arms off of and around six inches off the bottom.

You look good.

Eddie wraps an arm around himself, the scarring is still pink and shiny in places, raised and uneven...ugly looking. The tee shirt gives a couple of inches clearance for bare skin to show above Eddie’s belt.

Trust me, you need to show off those ridiculous hips.

“I don’t have any hips!” Eddie says desperately.

Exactly, stand up straight. Turn side ways, look in the mirror. See how the jacket hangs, it makes your waist look even tinier. He’s going to want to get his hands on that, trust me.

“You can’t know that.”

Yeah I can.

“How?”

Because I want to get my hands on it. Trust me.

Eddie frowns at himself in the mirror, “the scars look fucking terrible. I’m just. Billy man, I don’t think I can do this...”

And then Billy’s there, sliding in behind him, turn, Eddie does, goes where Billy wants him, watches as Billy’s fingers creep around his hips.

“That’s...that’s so weird,” Eddie breathes, it’s like a tingle. Like the ghost of a touch, “I think I can feel you.”

Billy smirks, good, because I can definitely feel you.

One hand creeps further around, Billy watching them both in the mirror over Eddie’s shoulder, his fingers tracing softly across the visible scars on Eddie’s tummy, finding his belly button under his shirt and then moving on. It makes Eddie shiver. He watches, unsure where this is going, but too quickly it’s over, Billy stepping back, and Eddie finding he immediately misses the feeling of Billy’s hands on him.

Billy clears his throat, looking away, come on, lets go bag you your guy.

Okay, so this is about the millionth time Eddie has caught Steve starring at his bare middle and he’s only been in the house for twenty minutes...so I guess you were right.

I’m never wrong about shit like this. Ask him if he sees something he likes.

“See something you like Stevie?”

Steve splutters, going pink to the tips of his ears, “yeah, I, sorry, I’ll just. Sauce.”

In his head, Billy is absolutely braying like a donkey. Wild, joyful laughter that Eddie didn’t even think Billy was capable of. It’s beautiful, and weirdly charming, making Eddie smile at him. But he’s watching Steve turn away with his shoulders hunched up around his ears with embarrassment, and he shouldn’t leave that.

“This okay?” Eddie asks quietly, carefully hugging Steve from behind as he stirs sauce on the stove.

Steve sighs and relaxes back into him, “yeah, yeah it’s good.”

It’s dark as they stand shoulder to shoulder, doing the dishes. Eddie had taken off his jacket, and even though Eddie thinks his arms are stick thin and pale as fuck, that doesn’t seem to stop Steve from looking at them.

He’s so into you.

“What?”

“What?” Eddie grins at Steve, with it dark out and the lights on, he can clearly see their reflections in the windows over the sink.

“You’re grinning.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m enjoying myself.”

“Doing dishes?”

“Doing dishes with you,” Eddie amends, hip checking Steve and handing him another dish to dry.

Steve leans over and flicks some suds at him before giggling and moving to put the dish away. Eddie just might be in love. They had decided to skip the movies, staying in and watching something instead. Eddie was immediately up for the change in plans simply because it means he can hold Steve’s hand.

He’s not really expecting Steve to kiss him, not right now. Not lent up against the kitchen counter, and definitely not with his hands still a little wet with sudsy water.

But that’s exactly what happens. It’s a soft press of lips, at first, uncertain. Gentle. And then Steve sighs through his nose, relaxes, and they move together. Steve’s mouth is soft and, when it slides open, damp. Then wet. Eddie finds himself pressing Steve into the counter without really thinking about it, and Steve goes easily.

It’s so good. So fucking good. It’s slow and sweet and gentle, everything Eddie ever dreamed it would be. They part, but Eddie just wants to kiss him again. Wants to kiss him forever. Steve presses in with his tongue first and Eddie’s never been kissed before today, never mind this, and reflexively sucks on Steve’s tongue before he can even think about it.

Steve moans.

Okay then.

Steve’s fingers are squeezing at Eddie’s waist, and he can’t help but shiver, thinking for a moment about Billy’s hands on him. The tingly feeling he felt when Billy touched him and...Eddie blinks, pulling back to look at Steve.

Steve’s beautiful, his lips shiny and a little kiss bitten pink, his cheeks are rosy and he might be the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen. He's probably the only person on the planet who's on a par with Billy.

Steve kisses him, but over Steve’s shoulder, on the other side of the kitchen, Eddie can see Billy. He’s watching them, arms crossed over his chest. Glaring.

He looks...angry. Sad. Fucking furious and fucking devastated in turn and-

“Eddie?” Eddie blinks again, looks back to Steve. “You okay, you kind of...zoned out. That wasn’t like, too much was it?” Sorry if I…”

“No. No it, was great it was. Shit. It’s the best Steve, it was great it was just...”

Steve seems to curls up into himself, pulling his hands back and wrapping himself up instead. “Right. Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll just uhm…” And Eddie’s getting his jacket before he can even think it through, putting it on on autopilot.

What are you doing?

I can’t do this.

Why the fuck not, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?

But is it what you want?

Billy goes silent as Eddie climbs into the van. Steve’s standing at the front door, and jesus, he looks devastated. Fuck.

Eddie can’t do that either.

He angles his mirror, finds Billy hunched moodily in the passenger seat, glaring out of the window. His eyes look suspiciously pink and shiny.

Shit.

Eddie scrambles back out of the van, jogging up to Steve on the porch.

Now what the fuck are you doing?

“Steve, I’m really sorry…”

Oh Munson don’t you fucking dare.

“...but I really have to tell you something.”

Part Eight

[sluttysanemi]

Hiiii I wanted to ask if I could get a nude sending fanfic cause I rarely see any like Giyuu x reader sending nudes please!! I would be on my knees begging 😞

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

PHOTOS

c/w: suggestive / smut ,, subtle masturbation, sending nudes, established relationship

a/n: ok slut nation. i lied. there was no sanemi snippet. I WAS TIRED!!! and it was my birthday on the 20th, so sorry 4 the late post!

a quick clear-up as well, because someone else had asked, i dont think i'll do nsfw of minors, even aged up. it's jst a bit.. iffy? you know what i mean? cuz u know, what's the age in which its wrong to write nsfw 4 the character, even if its aged up? its sort of hard to explain.. sorry!

An unexpected notification in the midst of silence. Giyuu glances upwards, along his phone, pleased to see your note. 

You and Tomioka had recently engaged in a long-distance romance, whilst you had traveled to visit family. Despite the physical distance, the connection with Giyuu stood tightly, as you both took effort to communicate regularly. The prospect of rejoining swelled his heart with delight. 

He swiftly taps the rectangular frame of the notification, opening your conversation. 

Your intimacy was potent, with many rekindling sceneries of passion within the sheets. This distance had interrupted their romantic endeavors, which rationally irked you both.

You missed one another- both sensually yet emotionally. You wanted little else than to relive those driven moments again.

Your ravenous instincts had triumphed across your thoughts, and you had craved the surge of dopamine that Giyuu delivered. 

He was surprised, as he witnessed the content you had sent.

In the dank silence of his room, with his phone a single dimly lit source of light, an energy of lust envelopes his senses, as he gazes at your picture.

His mind becomes graphic, with erotic detail, as he stares at your nude body. His eyes trail over, his thoughts recalling the sensation of your physique whilst you had been together. 

He watches your breast, your delicate nipple pointed. The curved shape of your ass, the soft plush of your skin addictive to knead. 

His eyes scanned over your text, as you detailed how you had missed him. He knew. 

His cheeks tinge in color, as his shaft begins to thicken within the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

His hands carefully trail to his stiffening bulge, palming and caressing in a forlorn attempt to relieve himself. His brows knit closely, as his breath began to stream in uneven layers.

You'd caused something to him. You struck him harshly. You always could. It was the influence you had over him. Despite his best initiatives, he could never withstand your effect. Your impact on him was undeniable and yet so pleasurable. 

He gently tugs on the waistband of his clothing, allowing his cock to spring upwards eagerly. 

He needed to show your lasting effects on him. 

He holds the base of his shaft, his lips quivering as his fingertips grasp the pulsing veins of his eager dick.

Angling his phone near it, he captures a picture of his spilling shaft, illustrating its eager state.

He promptly sends it to you, as he had clarified how much he misses you. Needs you.

He expresses a longing for your presence, desiring deeply, lecherously, to see you once more. His message conveys an urgent desire for your company.

And God, he couldn’t wait to feel your cunt around him again. 

To watch your gentle face retort in thrill as he would please you over and over, endlessly.

It tortured him.

[hd-junglebook]

Its Always Been You

Part 4 / Word Count 5816

Masterlist

Summary: And so, the trip to Michigan begins with a little surprise guest.

In the dim glow of his bedroom, Jack's world felt like it was crumbling around him. The shadows danced across the walls, mirroring the chaos within his mind.  Jack's hands trembled as he held the phone to his ear, his breathing uneven and his heart racing.

"Luke, I don't know what to do with myself," Jack's voice trembled, a mix of anguish and vulnerability. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, and his free hand clenched into a tight fist.  

"I've acted like a complete fool all week. Y/n hates me. I'm feeling… I'm feeling things I never felt before for y/n, and I think I've finally lost my mind."

Luke's harsh tone cut through the silence, his confusion evident. "Jack, what the hell are you talking about?" There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line, as if Luke was sitting up in bed, suddenly alert.

Jack's pacing resumed, his frustration palpable. He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, his footsteps heavy against the carpeted floor.

The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in on him as he struggled to contain his emotions.

"I told y/n I knew how she felt about me, and then I broke her heart. She left me all alone for three days. Jesus, I just saw her locking lips with some loser in the hallway. It's taking everything in me not to go out there and drag him outside."

"Jack…" Luke barely got out before he was interrupted again.

Before Luke could respond, Jack's voice rose again, defiant and emotional. "I'm not done." He halted his pacing, standing in front of his dresser where a picture of y/n and him sat.

It was from the night of his draft party, a snapshot of happier times. Jack's fingers traced the edges of the frame, his eyes fixated on y/n's smiling face. The photograph seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of what he had thrown away.

He thought back to that night, his emotions, how he begged her to leave her life behind and move to New Jersey. The memory was vivid, the excitement and hope he felt then now replaced by a crushing sense of regret.

The scent of her perfume, the warmth of her hand in his, the sparkle in her eyes—it all came flooding back, intensifying the ache in his chest.

Rustling came through the speaker of Jack's phone. "I ruined us, Luke. I've ruined the best thing I've ever had." Jack's voice cracked, a single tear escaping and rolling down his cheek.

"Dude, it's almost 12am, and you're babbling about something everyone and their mom knew already. How long did you think you could fight your feelings?" Luke's tone softened, a mix of exasperation and concern.

"I don't know, Luke." Jack stayed still for a moment, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The door of their apartment closed, and he hung up on Luke when he heard footsteps approaching.

Jack perked up, holding his breath as he listened to them get closer. His heart raced, a glimmer of hope sparking in his chest.

Another door closed, leading Jack to swing open his door. Y/n had already closed her door, the click of her lock reverberating through the silent apartment.

Jack's hand hovered over her doorknob, his fingers trembling. He wanted to knock, to apologize, to pour his heart out, but fear and uncertainty held him back.

…

The sound of her alarm woke her from her restless sleep, the shrill beeping cutting through the stillness of the early morning. Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the darkness around her.

The room was bathed in a deep, melancholic blue, the shadows clinging to the corners and casting an air of despair. The curtains, a soft, sheer fabric, billowed gently in the breeze from the slightly open window, allowing a sliver of pale moonlight to penetrate the gloom.

"Here we go again," she mumbled groggily, her voice heavy with exhaustion and resignation. The words felt thick on her tongue.

She sat up in her bed, allowing the blanket to fall in a heap on her waist. The sheets, once a comforting embrace, now felt suffocating, tangled around her legs like the thoughts that consumed her mind.

y/n looked around the room with despair, her gaze lingering on the familiar objects that held countless memories—the framed photographs on the dresser, the stack of well-worn books on the nightstand, the discarded clothing strewn across the floor.

Y/n sighed again, the sound echoing in the emptiness of the room. She pushed the blanket off of herself fully, the cool air of the apartment sending a shiver down her spine.

Her steps were light as she dressed herself, opting for comfort over style for the plane ride back to Michigan. She pulled on a soft, oversized sweater, the fabric enveloping her like a comforting hug, and a pair of well-worn leggings that had seen better days.

As she moved about the room, gathering her belongings, the floorboards creaked beneath her feet, the sound amplified by the silence that hung heavy in the air. The scent of stale coffee and the lingering aroma of chocolate chip cookies wafted through the apartment.

Jack's door opened across from her room, his yawning loud against the stark silence of the world outside their little apartment. The sound made her flinch, her body tensing as she braced herself for the inevitable encounter.

She could hear his footsteps, the shuffling of his feet against the hardwood floor, and the rustling of his clothing as he moved about his room.

Y/n rolled her eyes, not ready to interact with Jack just yet. The thought of facing him, of seeing the guilt and regret in his eyes, made her stomach churn. She focused on the task at hand, pulling her suitcase up to the door, the wheels squeaking against the floor.

Her eyes landed on the corkboard that hung on the wall beside the door, the pictures of their innocent smiles and young faces causing her heart to break even more.

In one picture, they were grinning broadly, their arms wrapped around each other's waists as they posed in front of a sunset on the beach. In another, they were dressed in formal attire, attending a friend's wedding, their eyes sparkling with happiness and love.

Y/n's fingers traced the edges of the photographs, the glossy paper cool beneath her touch. A lump formed in her throat as she studied each image. She could feel the sting of tears behind her eyes, the emotions she had been trying so hard to suppress threatening to spill over.

She pulled the door open, rushing past the open bathroom where Jack stood in the mirror, his toothbrush dangling from his mouth and a look of surprise etched on his face.

Y/n moved with the speed of a cheetah, her feet pounding against the floor as she made a beeline for the safety of the kitchen.

Just as she thought she had escaped the awkwardness, the front door jingled, keys rattling against the metal knob like a mischievous poltergeist trying to gain entry.

Y/N stood frozen in place, her body rigid with shock as the door to the apartment swung open. The sudden intrusion had caught her completely off guard, and she felt as if she had been turned to stone, unable to move or speak.

As she watched, a tuft of blonde hair bounced into view, the golden locks reminding her of the fairy tale character Goldilocks. But this was no innocent child stumbling upon a bear's cottage; this was a full-grown woman barging into her home uninvited.

"Daphne? What the hell are you doing here?" Y/N managed to choke out, her voice rising in pitch with each word until it reached a near-shriek. The disbelief and anger dripped from her tongue like bitter honey, leaving a foul taste in her mouth.

Jack's girlfriend fully entered the apartment, dragging a garishly pink suitcase behind her. It was as if she had packed her entire life into that one piece of luggage, ready to move in and stake her claim.

The suitcase was so bright it hurt Y/N's eyes, a beacon of chaos signaling the impending doom that was about to unfold.

From the corner of her eye, Y/N saw Jack emerge from the bathroom, toothbrush still dangling from his mouth. White foam dripped down his chin, making him look like a rabid dog caught in the act.

His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him, darting back and forth between the two women as if trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation he had found himself in.

Daphne's gaze flicked between Jack and Y/N, her initial smile slowly fading as realization dawned on her face. "We planned this months ago, silly," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

"Non-refundable ticket. We talked about this, Jack. It's only been three months; you can't get rid of me that easily."

She let out a laugh that sounded more like a witch's cackle, her eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief and something darker, more possessive. It was clear that she had no intention of leaving, no matter how unwelcome her presence might be.

Y/N felt her heart sink into her stomach, a wave of nausea washing over her as the reality of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. Daphne was here, in their home, and it seemed that Jack had been keeping even more secrets than she had realized.

The air in the apartment suddenly felt thick and suffocating, the tension so palpable you could cut it with a knife. Y/N's mind raced with a million questions, a million accusations, but she couldn't seem to form the words.

All she could do was stand there, frozen in place, as the world she had built with Jack came crashing down around her like a house of cards.

Jack let out a heavy sigh, his hand rubbing the front of his scalp as if trying to erase the memory of ever agreeing to this disastrous plan. His face scrunched up like he had just bitten into a particularly sour lemon, the bitterness of the situation leaving a foul taste in his mouth.

He glanced sheepishly at Y/N, his eyes darting between the two women like a puppy who had been caught chewing on his owner's favorite pair of shoes.

"Can you give us a sec? Please?" he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid that speaking any louder would cause the fragile peace to shatter.

Y/N scoffed, her arms crossing over her chest as she fixed Jack with a withering stare. "No, we have to leave soon, and if I don't have my coffee, I just might jump off the plane dealing with you both," she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Her eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline, the thought of being trapped on a plane with these two making her seriously consider grabbing a parachute and taking her chances with gravity.

Jack's face reddened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "We need privacy though!" he said, his voice tinged with annoyance.

He threw his hands up in the air, as if he were trying to physically push away the awkwardness that had settled over the room like a thick fog. "Could you give us some time?"

Y/N let out a humorless laugh, the sound harsh and grating in the tense silence of the apartment. "Oh, you need privacy? That's rich, coming from the guy who couldn't even bother to tell his best friend that his girlfriend was coming to visit."

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing as she fixed Jack with a look that could have melted steel. "You know what? Fine. You two lovebirds enjoy your little reunion. I'll be in my room, packing my bags and booking a one-way ticket to anywhere but here."

With that, she spun on her heel and stalked off towards her bedroom, her footsteps echoing like gunshots in the stillness of the apartment. She could feel Daphne's eyes boring into her back, could sense the smug satisfaction radiating off the other woman in waves.

But Y/N refused to let it get to her, refused to let the hurt and betrayal show on her face. She had always prided herself on being strong, on being able to handle whatever life threw her way. And she sure as hell wasn't going to let Jack or his girlfriend see her crumble.

As she reached her bedroom door, Y/N paused, her hand resting on the knob. For a moment, she was tempted to turn back, to march right up to Jack and demand an explanation.

But she knew that it would be pointless, knew that whatever he had to say would only make the pain worse.

So instead, she took a deep breath and stepped inside, slamming the door behind her with a resounding thud. And as she sank down onto her bed, her head in her hands and her heart in pieces, Y/N couldn't help but wonder how everything had gone so wrong, so fast.

…

Y/N walked back out into the living room, Daphne turned to her with an expression of exaggerated surprise. Her eyes were wide, and a cute smile was plastered on her face, the kind of smile that made you want to pinch her cheeks but also question the sincerity behind it.

"This is your best friend, right? She's a lot shorter than I remember," Daphne said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. It was clear that she was trying to get under Y/N's skin, to establish her dominance in the situation.

Y/N couldn't help but scoff, her eyes rolling so far back in her head that she nearly caught a glimpse of her own brain. "And you're the EX-girlfriend, right?" she retorted, putting extra emphasis on the "ex" part. Two could play at this game, and Y/N wasn't about to let Daphne win.

Jack let out a groan, his head falling back in frustration. "God, just my luck," he grumbled, his eyes rolling so hard they nearly got stuck in the back of his head.

He knew that he was in for a long and uncomfortable conversation with Daphne, and the thought of it made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Y/N took a deep breath grabbing her coffee, the warm liquid providing a momentary comfort before made her way back out to the kitchen. Y/N grasped the cold metal handle, the chill sending a shiver down her spine.

"Let's go before I change my mind," she said, her voice flat and emotionless. She didn't want to give Jack or Daphne the satisfaction of seeing how much this situation was affecting her, didn't want to let them see the cracks in her carefully constructed façade.

…

The journey to the airport had been a tense affair, with Y/N pointedly ignoring Jack's attempts at conversation and Daphne chattering away obliviously in the background.

Y/N could feel Jack's eyes on her, his gaze heavy with unspoken apologies and explanations, but she refused to meet his eye, focusing instead on the passing scenery outside the car window.

they made their way through the bustling terminal, Jack tried once more to pull Y/N aside, his hand gently grasping her elbow. "Y/N, please, can we just talk about this?" he pleaded, his voice low and urgent.

Y/N yanked her arm away, her eyes flashing with barely contained anger. "There's nothing to talk about, Jack," she hissed, her voice sharp as a knife. "You made your choice, and now we all have to live with the consequences."

Jack's face fell, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "It's not like that, Y/N. If you would just let me explain..."

But Y/N cut him off with a bitter laugh, her head shaking in disbelief. "Explain what, Jack? How you don’t like me? How you play this stupid hot and cold game with me? No, I think I've heard enough explanations to last a lifetime."

She turned to walk away, but Jack's hand shot out once more, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. "Please, Y/N," he whispered, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe that."

For a moment, Y/N wavered, her resolve crumbling in the face of Jack's obvious distress. But then she caught sight of Daphne waiting impatiently by the gate, her foot tapping, and her arms crossed, and the anger came rushing back in full force.

"I don't have to believe anything, Jack," she said, her voice cold and distant. "You made your bed, and now you have to lie in it. I just want to forget about all of this and move on with my life. So please, just leave me alone."

With that, she wrenched her arm from his grasp and strode towards the gate, her head held high and her heart shattered into a million pieces.

The seating arrangement on the plane felt like a cruel joke, a twisted game of fate that had placed Y/N in the middle of the very chaos she had been trying to escape.

She found herself sandwiched between Jack and Daphne, her body pressed against the cool glass of the window as if she could somehow merge with the clouds and drift away from the awkwardness that permeated the air.

Jack sat rigidly in the middle seat, his body a tense barrier between Y/N and Daphne. Y/N could feel the heat of his skin, could smell the familiar scent of his cologne, and it made her heart ache with a longing she couldn't quite suppress.

On Jack's other side, Daphne slept peacefully, her head lolling against his shoulder and her soft snores filling the space between them. She seemed blissfully unaware of the silent war raging within Y/N's mind, the turmoil that threatened to consume her from the inside out.

Y/N's foot tapped incessantly against the floor, a nervous habit that betrayed the inner chaos she was desperately trying to conceal. Each tap was like a metronome, counting down the seconds until she could escape the confines of the plane and the suffocating proximity to Jack.

She could feel his eyes on her once more, could sense the weight of his gaze boring into the side of her head. But she refused to look at him. Instead, she focused on the clouds outside the window, on the endless expanse of blue sky that stretched out before her.

Y/N was lost in thought, her mind a whirlwind of emotions and memories, when Jack's hand suddenly shot out, startling her back to reality. Before she could react, he had shoved a headphone into her ear, ignoring the sputtered questions and the look of indignation that flashed across her face.

His fingers brushed against her skin, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. It was a reminder of the connection they once shared, the easy intimacy that had defined their friendship for so many years. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing as she tried to process the unexpected gesture.

As the familiar opening credits of her favorite episode of Game of Thrones filled her ear, Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. She glanced at Jack, searching his face for an explanation, but he steadfastly refused to meet her gaze.

His eyes remained fixed on the screen in front of him, as if the answers to all of life's questions could be found in the flickering images.

Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Jack, her eyes tracing the contours of his face, the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

Each glance was a silent question, a plea for him to acknowledge the unspoken words that hung between them. But Jack remained stoic, his attention unwavering, as if he had erected an impenetrable wall around himself.

Even as she tried to immerse herself in the show, Y/N couldn't shake the awareness of Jack's presence beside her. The warmth of his body seemed to seep into her skin, igniting a longing that she had tried so hard to suppress.

She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, could hear the soft whisper of his breath, and it made her heart ache with a bittersweet mixture of love and loss.

Beside her, Jack remained a silent presence, his body so close and yet so far away. Y/N couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

…

Y/N stepped out of the airport, the crisp Michigan air filling her lungs and invigorating her senses. She took a deep breath, savoring the familiar scent of pine and freshly cut grass that always seemed to linger in the air.

The sun peeked through the scattered clouds, casting a warm glow on her surroundings and making the world seem a little brighter, a little more hopeful.

She scanned the crowd of people waiting outside the terminal, her eyes searching for a familiar face. And then, like a beacon in the chaos, she spotted him.

There, leaning against a sleek black car, was Luke. A grin spread across his face as he caught sight of her, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that had always made her heart skip a beat. "Y/N!" he called out, pushing himself off the car and striding towards her with open arms.

Without hesitation, Y/N dropped her bags and ran to meet him halfway. She threw her arms around his neck, feeling the solid warmth of his body as he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground in a spirited hug. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, and all that mattered was the comfort and familiarity of Luke's embrace.

"I missed you so much," Y/N mumbled into his shoulder, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. She breathed in the scent of him, a mixture of cologne and something uniquely Luke, and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her.

Luke chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against her own. "I missed you too, shorty. It's good to have you back."

He set her back down on the ground, but kept his arms around her, as if he was afraid she might disappear if he let go. Y/N couldn't help but smile up at him, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging that she hadn't felt in a long time.

Behind them, the sound of footsteps on the pavement broke the spell. Y/N turned to see Jack and Daphne approaching, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and something else, something harder to define. Jack's eyes met hers for a brief moment, a flash of emotion passing between them before he looked away, his jaw clenching.

Luke's arms tightened around Y/N, a silent show of support and protection. "Hey Jack, Daphne," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Glad you could make it."

Daphne smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "Thanks for picking us up, Luke. It's been a long flight."

Y/N could feel the tension crackling in the air, the unspoken words and unresolved issues hanging between them like a thick fog. But for now, she pushed them aside, focusing instead on the feeling of Luke's arms around her and the promise of a few days away from the chaos of her life in New Jersey.

Jack moved forward, his arms open wide and a grin plastered on his face, Y/N felt a flicker of hesitation. There was something about his expression that seemed forced, as if he was trying too hard to appear casual and unaffected by the tension that hung thick in the air.

But before Jack could reach them, Luke's hand shot out, smacking the side of his head with a resounding thwack. The sound echoed through the parking lot, drawing the attention of a few curious onlookers. Jack stumbled back, a bewildered look on his face as he rubbed the spot where Luke's hand had made contact.

"Ow, what was that for?" Jack asked, his voice a mix of surprise and mock indignation. His brows furrowed as he looked at Luke, trying to decipher the reason behind the sudden attack. Y/N could see the gears turning in his head, the confusion and hurt flickering behind his eyes.

Luke lowered his voice, his tone stern yet laced with underlying concern. He leaned in closer to Jack, his eyes locked on his brother's, as if he was trying to convey a message that went beyond words.

"For being an idiot and for bringing her here. Did you forget about what you said on the phone?"

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, her mind racing with the implications of Luke's words. What had Jack said on the phone? What secrets had he been keeping from her, even as he tried to bridge the gap between them?

Jack's face flushed with guilt, the color rising in his cheeks like a crimson tide. His eyes darted to Y/N, then back to Luke, a silent plea for understanding.

For a moment, no one spoke. Y/N could feel Daphne's eyes on her, could sense the other woman's curiosity and suspicion. But she refused to meet her gaze.

Finally, Luke broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Come on," Luke said, releasing Y/N and grabbing her bags. "Mom's waiting at home with lunch. She's been cooking up a storm all morning."

Y/N grinned, the thought of Luke's mother's cooking making her mouth water. "Lead the way," she said, falling into step beside him as they made their way to the car.

As they walked, Y/N could feel Jack's eyes on her back, could sense the weight of his gaze boring into her. But she refused to look back, refused to acknowledge the part of her that still longed for his touch, his presence, his love.

Instead, she focused on the warmth of Luke's hand in hers, on the promise of a few days of respite and healing. And as they drove away from the airport, the skyline of Detroit rising up in the distance, Y/N couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope igniting in her chest.

Maybe, just maybe, this trip would be the start of something new, a chance to leave behind the pain and heartache of the past and find a way forward, one step at a time. And with Luke by her side, and the love of her family to guide her, Y/N knew that anything was possible.

…

Lukes’s car pulled up to the familiar two-story house, Y/N felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. The red brick facade, the white wooden porch, the sprawling oak tree in the front yard - every detail was exactly as she remembered.

She stepped out of the car, the warm breeze caressing her face and tousling her hair. The scent of freshly cut grass filled the air, a sweet perfume that brought back memories of lazy afternoons spent lounging in the sun and late-night conversations under the stars.

Y/N took a deep breath, letting the peace and tranquility of the moment settle over her like a comforting blanket. For the first time in days, she felt the knots of tension in her shoulders begin to loosen, the weight of her worries and fears slowly melting away.

Beside her, Jack and Daphne were unloading their bags from the trunk, their voices a low murmur against the backdrop of chirping birds and rustling leaves. Y/N hesitated for a moment, her eyes lingering on Jack's face, taking in the lines of stress and fatigue that creased his brow.

In that moment, she made a decision. She was tired of being angry, tired of holding onto the hurt and betrayal that had consumed her for so long. Life was too short to waste on grudges and resentment, too precious to let slip away in a haze of bitterness and regret.

With a determined set to her jaw, Y/N strode over to Jack, her steps purposeful and sure. He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise and a flicker of hope.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I just wanted to say... I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. I know things have been tough lately, but I don't want to keep dwelling on the past. You're my best friend, Jack, and that's never going to change."

Jack's face softened, his eyes shining with a mix of relief and gratitude. "Y/N, I..." he started, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry too. For everything. I never meant to hurt you, and I know I have a lot to make up for. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, the sincerity in Jack's words tugging at her heartstrings. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I know," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "let's just focus on enjoying this trip and being there for each other, okay?"

Jack nodded, his own smile breaking through the clouds of tension that had hung over them for so long. "Okay," he said, his voice filled with a tentative hope. "That sounds perfect."

Together, they made their way up the porch steps, their hands still intertwined. Y/N could feel the warmth of Jack's skin against her own.

"Welcome back, sweetheart," Ellen said, her voice warm and rich like honey. "We've missed you so much."

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I've missed you too," she said, her voice muffled against the older woman's shoulder. "It's so good to be home."

…

Luke led Daphne and Y/N up the stairs, their footsteps echoing on the hardwood, Jack seized the opportunity to pull his mother aside. His heart raced, palms sweaty as he glanced nervously between her and the staircase, his body practically vibrating with anxiety.

Ellen's brows furrowed, her maternal instincts kicking into high gear as she sensed her son's distress. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch a silent invitation to share his troubles.

"Jack, honey, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice soft and filled with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jack swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. But there was none to be found, and he knew that he owed his mother the truth.

With a heavy sigh, he guided her to the couch, his movements stiff and awkward. They sat down, the worn cushions sinking beneath their weight, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Jack broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mom, I... I messed up. Y/N and I, we had a fight. A big one. And I don't know how to fix it."

Ellen's eyes widened, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. But she remained silent, allowing her son to continue.

"I didn't tell her about Daphne, and she found out in the worst way possible. And now... now she can barely look at me. I don't know what to do, Mom. I can't lose her."

Jack's voice cracked, the tears he had been holding back for so long finally spilling over. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs.

Ellen's heart ached for her son, for the pain and regret that radiated off him in waves. She reached out and pulled him into a hug, her arms wrapping around him like a protective cocoon.

"Oh, Jack," she murmured, her voice filled with a mix of sympathy and gentle chastisement. "I know it's hard, but you have to be honest with the people you love. Secrets have a way of coming out, and they always hurt more in the end."

Jack nodded, his face still buried in his mother's shoulder. "I know," he said, his voice muffled by the fabric of her shirt.

"I just... I didn't want to hurt her. But I ended up doing exactly that." Ellen pulled back, her hands coming up to cup Jack's face. She looked him in the eye, her gaze filled with a wisdom born of years of love and experience.

"Do you remember the time that boy was bothering Y/N in school?" she asked, her voice soft and reminiscent. "You came home with a black eye and a split lip, but you were so proud of yourself for defending her."

Jack's lips twitched, a hint of a smile breaking through the tears. "Yeah, I remember. She was so upset, but I just wanted to make her feel safe."

Ellen nodded, her own smile mirroring her son's. "You brought her back here, to this very house. And you let her lay her head on your lap, and you caressed her hair until she fell asleep. Do you remember what I told you then?"

Jack's brow furrowed, his mind stretching back to that distant memory. "You said... you said that love is the most pure thing you can feel."

Ellen nodded, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. "And I see it in you, Jack. When you look at her. You love her, don't you?"

Jack took a deep breath, his shoulders straightening his heart skipping a beat at his mother's words. He had always known, deep down, that his feelings for Y/N went beyond friendship. But to hear it spoken aloud, to have his deepest secret laid bare... it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I... I don't know what to say, Mom," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and longing. "Y/N and I, we're just friends. And besides, Daphne...” He trailed off, his eyes flickering towards the staircase where his ex-girlfriend had disappeared just moments before.

Ellen sighed "Jack, honey, the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be. Sooner or later, you're going to decide whether you want to be with her in that way or let her go and find love in someone else.”

Jack stood up, his heart lighter than it had been in days. He hugged his mother one last time, breathing in the comforting scent of her perfume. "You're right, Mom. I need to be honest with myself, and with Y/N. But... but I can't do it now. Not with Daphne here. It wouldn't be fair to anyone."

"Ellen patted his cheek, her touch a silent benediction. "I understand, sweetheart. But don't wait too long, okay?

…

Tag List <3

@favsrachz @jacktoria4ever @bunbunbl0gs @ivy-34 @rebelatbay @bxtchopolis

[lovezbrownies]

Mood swings. (Yandere!Bully x GN!Reader.) Chapter 2

Lauren's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: Lauren is pregnant, you're the parent. Now you live with Lauren, trying to navigate the new parent life before your baby comes.

Second part to this

Warnings: Pregnancy, mood swings, possessive stuff, obsessivestuff, the usual.

“I’m pregnant.”

Lauren's voice, though quiet, echoed like a bomb in the room. The weight of her words hung in the air, sinking into your chest, leaving a cold, empty space where your thoughts used to be. Your gaze locked with hers, both of you frozen in the moment—her eyes wide, pupils dilated with fear, as if she had just admitted the worst secret of her life. Your stomach churned, confusion and disbelief swirling inside you like a storm. Did she just say what you think she said?

“H-Huh??” The words stumbled out of your mouth, a mix of bewilderment and denial. “What—what are you saying?” Your pulse raced as you stared at Lauren, your girlfriend—were you even officially dating? You hadn't even gotten to the point where you labeled whatever this was. And now, now she was saying she was pregnant?

Your mind tried to process the implications, but they felt too big, too overwhelming. She’s 18! You’re 18! Who—who in the world could she have been with for this to happen? Certainly not you. The thought hit you with a strange, disorienting weight. The denial wrapped around your mind like a security blanket, trying to shield you from the reality that was quickly closing in. But that shield? It was paper-thin, crumbling under the pressure of the truth.

Lauren looked equally terrified, her fingers gripping the fabric of her jeans like a lifeline. Her breath was uneven, her chest rising and falling too quickly as if she was waiting for you to react, to explode, to say something that would either make or break her fragile world. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond with anything coherent.

If she’s telling the truth—and you know deep down that she is—what are you supposed to do? Your mind raced with every possible consequence. How will your parents react when they find out you’ve impregnated someone at 18? How are you supposed to react? Are you expected to suddenly strap on the armor of adulthood, get a job, and support a child when you can barely take care of yourself? And with Lauren’s lifestyle—luxury, excess, the constant need for the finer things in life—you’d need at least four jobs just to scratch the surface of the financial burden.

The weight of responsibility loomed, suffocating you. You had never even thought about parenting, not seriously. You’ve never even been good at taking care of anything more than yourself. And now, a baby?

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by sobs. Lauren’s face crumpled, her composure dissolving as tears streamed down her cheeks. The mascara that lined her eyes ran in dark streaks, creating a haunting, tragic picture of guilt and fear. “I’ham so sorrryy!!” she wailed, her voice breaking as her emotions crashed over her like waves.

You were about to step forward when a cold, steady voice behind you cut through the air like a knife. “You should comfort her.” You jumped, startled by the sudden presence of Julie, Lauren’s mother, who had entered the room without you noticing. Her tone was so emotionless, so analytical, that it almost felt inappropriate for the situation. Julie’s icy demeanor always unnerved you. She was a brilliant scientist, sharp as a blade and just as unfeeling, but her coldness was notorious—especially when it came to her daughter.

“D-Doctor McCanister!” You stammered, caught off guard by her calm presence in such a chaotic moment.

“You should comfort her,” Julie repeated, her eyes flickering to her daughter before returning to you. “Pregnant women are highly emotional at this time. Thank science I never had to go through it.” Her words were clinical, detached, but they carried an unspoken expectation. “You’re a decent person, L/N. Take care of my daughter. You’ll live here from now on to be present for the child. I will support you both financially until you finish your degrees. I’ll babysit occasionally. Just ensure you do not impregnate her again for at least five years.”

You blinked, stunned by how easily Julie outlined the next steps of your life, as if this was all part of some grand experiment. You just stood there, staring at the scientist as she blabbed about logistics and support for you and Lauren's unborn child, as if she were discussing a lab project instead of her grandchild.

She continued, unflinching, “Of course, if you both decided to abort it, I am licensed to perform the procedure safely—”

“NO!!” Lauren’s voice ripped through the air, louder than anything before, her sobs intensifying. She was a mess of emotions, tears still streaming as she waved her hands in dismissal. “H-Hormohohoness!! Let me cryyy!” Her voice cracked, and she blew her nose dramatically, making you instinctively step back, cringing at the sight.

You turned back to Julie, your mind still reeling from the speed of everything. It wasn’t a decision; it wasn’t even a conversation anymore. This was happening—Lauren was keeping the baby, and you were moving in. There was no escaping the future that was now rushing toward you at breakneck speed.

Julie continued speaking with calm efficiency, talking about how you’d move in, how you’d inform your parents, and even giving a small lecture about the importance of protection during intercourse. But all you could do was nod absently, your mind still trying to catch up with the whirlwind your life had become in the span of a single conversation.

Third Month – 1st Trimester

The days blurred together after that. Before you knew it, you had moved into the McCanister home—well, not exactly. You moved into Lauren’s room at her insistence, not into a separate space. There was no chance of having your own room. “You impregnated me; the least you could do is cud—h-hol—sleep beside me!” she would grumble with a pout, her emotions flickering between demanding and fragile, a pendulum swinging from one extreme to another.

So you did. You held her every night, wrapping her in your arms as if your presence alone could soothe her fears. Sometimes, you’d wake up to find her snuggled so tightly against you that it was clear she needed the comfort more than ever.

The third month wasn’t the nightmare you had feared, though. Most of the school was blissfully unaware of Lauren’s pregnancy, and she managed to hide it beneath oversized sweaters and loose-fitting clothes. You kept telling yourself that if you could just make it to graduation without the news slipping out, things would be fine. Maybe, just maybe, you could avoid the inevitable social disaster.

But Lauren didn’t make it easy. She sobbed over everything—her clothes not fitting, her once-perfect figure changing, the sheer terror of people finding out. “It’s embarrassing!” she’d wail. “Pregnancy is social suicide!” Her face would be tear-streaked, her voice cracking as she mourned the loss of her pre-pregnancy body. Julie would stand by, unimpressed, staring at her daughter’s emotional outbursts with an expression that barely registered acknowledgment.

Despite the chaos, you still couldn’t fully comprehend it all. The fact that Lauren was pregnant still felt surreal, like it was happening to someone else. But every night when you held her, felt her stomach slowly growing against you, the reality chipped away at your denial. In six months, you were going to be a parent. You were going to have a baby.

The weight of it gnawed at you every time you saw baby clothes, baby cribs, diapers, formula—endless lists of things you hadn’t even begun to wrap your head around. Would you really be able to handle all of this? Were you ready for this monumental shift in your life, in your future?

And then, there was the possessiveness. Lauren’s need for you was palpable, suffocating. If you so much as stepped out of the room without telling her, she’d accuse you of abandoning her. “Are you cheating on me?!” she would cry, her voice hysterical, her fear palpable. It was as if the weight of her emotions had formed chains around you, binding you to her in a way that felt more like a prison than a commitment.

You tried to reassure her, wrapping your arms around her tightly, whispering words of comfort. But the fear in her eyes only grew. “Don’t leave,” she would plead, her fingers clutching your shirt as if you might slip away at any moment. “You’re mine, you know that, right? No one else can have you. I won’t let anyone take you from me.” The urgency in her voice made your heart race, a conflicting mix of fear and sympathy swelling within you. It was sweet and terrifying all at once, her need for you spilling over into something almost desperate.

Fifth Month – 2nd Trimester

By the fifth month, the secret was out. Lauren’s pregnancy was no longer something that could be hidden. Her stomach had grown noticeably, and despite her best efforts with baggy clothes and careful positioning, people at school started whispering. You had graduated by this point, and your focus was entirely on helping Lauren navigate her ever-growing list of needs. She cried for hours over her changing body, blaming you, then apologizing, then blaming you again.

Shopping trips with Lauren and Julie had become a warzone. No matter what you or Julie picked out, Lauren hated it. “That’s hideous!” she would declare, her tone laced with a mix of scorn and disappointment. You would watch her narrow her eyes, her mouth twisting into a snarl at every piece of clothing that didn’t fit her vision of what a pregnant girl should wear. In her mind, this was a fashion catastrophe, and it was somehow your fault.

“Why can’t you just pick something nice for once?” she demanded one afternoon, the frustration in her voice echoing off the walls of the store. Her hands were on her hips, and her brows were drawn together as she glared at you, a tiny frown deepening her delicate features.

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “I thought you liked the color,” you said, holding up a soft, lavender maternity dress. “It would look really pretty on you.”

“Pretty?!” she scoffed, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m not trying to look pretty! I want to look stunning!” She turned away, crossing her arms as if the dress had personally offended her.

Julie, who had been standing nearby with an amused smirk, stepped in with her clinical efficiency. “Lauren, you know you’re in a delicate state. Stunning is subjective and not necessarily the goal here. Comfort should be prioritized.”

“Yeah, and I want to look good while being comfortable!” Lauren shot back, exasperation lacing her words. “Why is that so hard for everyone to understand?”

You felt your heart sink a little, the pit of despair growing deeper as you tried to navigate the emotional minefield that was Lauren. “Let’s just pick a few things,” you suggested tentatively, hoping to defuse the situation. “Maybe something flowy for now, and we can look for something fancier later?”

Lauren turned to you, her expression softening momentarily. “Fine. But if I look like a potato in these clothes, you’re the one buying my next set of outfits!” she huffed, before suddenly breaking into a smile, her bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “And if you don’t, I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re the one who got me pregnant!”

A mix of relief and anxiety surged through you. “Okay, okay! You look beautiful in anything, really!” you assured her, trying to keep the lightness in your tone, though the joke only partially masked your rising panic.

As the days passed, the physical changes in Lauren became impossible to ignore. The bump was undeniable now, and she frequently ran her hands over it as if trying to feel the baby’s presence—her expression a mix of awe and anxiety. You often caught her staring into mirrors, scrutinizing every detail of her reflection, the joy of motherhood battling with the fear of losing herself in the process.

“Am I going to be a good mom?” she would ask you in hushed tones late at night, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “What if I mess everything up? What if I’m not ready for this?”

You would wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, your heartbeat steadying her frazzled nerves. “You’re going to be amazing, Lauren,” you promised. “You’re strong and smart. You’ll figure it out.”

“But I don’t want to be just a mom,” she whispered, the vulnerability in her voice slicing through you. “What if I lose myself?”

“You won’t lose yourself,” you insisted gently, your hand tracing soothing patterns on her back. “You’ll just be… more. You’ll be you, but also a mother. It’s okay to feel scared. It’s a big change. But you’ll still be you.”

But even as you said the words, a nagging fear settled in your stomach. What if she wasn’t okay? What if this was all too much? Lauren’s possessiveness was slowly morphing into something darker, her need for control tightening around you like a vise. It scared you, and you could see her veering toward a precipice, a line she might cross without even realizing it.

Seventh Month – The Final Stretch

By the seventh month, Lauren’s possessiveness had become all-consuming. Every movement you made was under her watchful, obsessive gaze. If you shifted slightly in bed, her hand would immediately clutch yours, as if even in her sleep, she was terrified of you slipping away. Her dependency on you was like nothing you had ever experienced before—it was suffocating.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered constantly, even when you were sitting right beside her. Her hands, trembling from the weight of her belly and the hormones racing through her, would grip your arm so tightly it felt like she was trying to bind you to her. There was something almost desperate in her touch, a need that went beyond simple affection—it was like she was afraid you would vanish if she didn’t keep her hold on you.

You weren’t used to this kind of affection—so intense, so overwhelming. Your heart would stutter every time Lauren curled into you, her fingers tracing the lines of your face as if memorizing every detail. You’d freeze up, unsure how to respond, your body stiff under her touch. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for her—you did, deeply—but the way she latched onto you like you were her entire world was... unnerving.

“Y-Yeah, I’m not going anywhere,” you’d stammer awkwardly, trying to give her the comfort she craved. But it never felt like enough. She always wanted more—more of your presence, more of your attention, more of you.

Her eyes, wide and shining with that obsessive light, would meet yours, and you could see the underlying fear beneath the possessiveness. “You promise?” she’d ask, her voice trembling, almost like a child afraid of being abandoned. It made you uneasy—like you were tiptoeing around a fragile part of her psyche, one wrong move away from setting off another emotional storm.

There were moments when her touch made your skin prickle, not because you didn’t want it, but because it felt too intense, too much. You weren't used to someone needing you this badly. Sometimes it felt like Lauren didn’t just want to be near you—she wanted to consume every part of you, to have you completely. It left you feeling unsteady, like you were losing control of where you ended and she began.

And Julie, of course, stood by, watching all of this unfold with her typical detached manner. “It’s normal for pregnant women to be more attached,” she’d say matter-of-factly, as if Lauren’s obsession was nothing more than a passing symptom of the pregnancy. But you knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just hormones—Lauren had always been possessive, but now it was like the pregnancy had intensified every one of her fears and desires.

Labor Day – The Panic

You were jolted awake by the sound of Lauren’s voice, frantic and panicked. “Babe—oh my God—I think it’s happening!” Her hands clutched her swollen belly, her breathing erratic and shallow. Fear hit you like a tidal wave, your body stiffening as the reality of the situation set in.

“W-Wait—now? Are you sure?” Your words came out in a rushed jumble as you scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet in your rush to get to her. The panic in her voice sent shockwaves through you, your own fear mirroring hers, though you tried desperately to stay calm. You weren’t used to this—this level of responsibility, of having to be the one in control when everything around you was spiraling.

Julie appeared at the door, her voice cutting through the chaos like ice. “Get her in the car. I’ll drive.”

Everything became a blur after that—Lauren’s grip tightening on your arm as you helped her into the car, her tears and whimpers filling the silence. “You’re not leaving me, right?” she asked, her voice quivering as she leaned into you, her breath ragged. The desperation in her eyes was unbearable, her hands clutching you like you were her only lifeline in the storm.

“Of course not,” you replied, though the words felt hollow in the face of the overwhelming situation. You weren’t used to this. How were you supposed to calm her when your own heart was racing in your chest, fear and uncertainty swirling inside you?

Julie, as always, remained calm, driving you both to the hospital with unnerving composure. “It’ll be fine,” she said, her tone as cold and detached as ever. But you couldn’t believe her, not when Lauren’s grip on you tightened with every passing minute, her breathing growing more labored, her fear so palpable it hung in the air.

The hospital lights flickered by in a blur, and before you knew it, Lauren was being wheeled away, leaving you standing there, feeling utterly useless. You had been by her side this entire pregnancy—dealing with her possessiveness, her fears, her obsession—but now, in this critical moment, you were left on the outside, powerless to help.

Time felt like it stretched and collapsed all at once as you waited, pacing the sterile hospital floor. The panic and the fear never truly left, lingering at the edges of your mind, gnawing at you as you waited for any word, any sign that everything was okay.

When the nurse finally led you to the room, you could barely breathe. Lauren lay there, exhausted but beaming, her face soft and peaceful for the first time in months. In her arms was a tiny, fragile bundle, your newborn child—so small, so perfect it almost didn’t feel real.

Your breath hitched, emotions crashing over you in a wave so intense it left you dizzy. This was your child—your family. The reality of it hit you all at once, and for a moment, you felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying. Could you do this? Could you really be the person Lauren needed, the parent this child deserved?

Lauren looked up at you, her eyes shining with something fierce, something more than love. Possession. “We’re a family now,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. “No one can take you from me now. Not ever.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine, but as you looked at the tiny newborn in her arms, all you could feel was the overwhelming weight of responsibility—and love. In that moment, you knew you were bound to Lauren, inextricably tied to her and this child. You weren’t used to this—being so needed, so wanted—but there was no turning back now.