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faithsmadhouse · 3 days ago

Note

Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen with Christian’s daughter or Helmut’s Granddaughter. A fuck you to Red Bull literally

No one has to know||Max Verstappen x Daniel Ricciardo x Reader (Y/N Marko)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content: M/F, M/M, M/M/F threesome, Double penetration Power dynamics / mild Dom/Sub themes Light choking / breath play Oral sex (receiving & giving, M & F) Marking Possessive behavior Secret relationship Mentions of family tension (Helmut Marko) Discussion of retirement and identity crisis (Daniel) Emotional vulnerability / aftercare

Word count—2434

A/n — this has been sitting in my inbox since the 21st of December I’ve finally finished it 😭😭😭

The low hum of the city below was muffled by the thick glass of Max’s penthouse windows. The Monaco skyline glittered, casting a soft glow over the living room, where a half-finished bottle of wine rested on the table, and laughter still lingered in the air.

Y/N sat curled between Max and Daniel on the plush sectional sofa, her legs draped over Daniel’s lap while Max’s fingers lazily trailed along her thigh. There was something about nights like this stolen, quiet, hidden in the dark that made everything burn hotter.

“You’re not going to be able to keep this quiet forever,” Daniel murmured, his voice low and full of heat, but teasing.

Y/N smirked, her head tilting back onto Max’s shoulder. “Helmut doesn’t exactly follow gossip blogs.”

“Still…” Max’s hand slid further up her leg, under the hem of her oversized Red Bull tee his, of course until his fingers brushed the edge of lace. “You do like testing fate.”

“Maybe I just like testing you.”

Max’s gaze snapped down to her, and something flickered behind his eyes dark, hungry. Daniel’s fingers tightened on her calf at the same time, his grin widening.

“Oh, you’ve definitely got a death wish,” Daniel said, leaning in, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “Max gets possessive when you talk like that.”

Max didn’t deny it. He just kissed her slow and deep, while his hand slipped between her legs, pressing the heat of his palm against the soaked lace. Y/N gasped into his mouth, only for the sound to be swallowed by Daniel’s lips replacing his, a seamless shift that made her dizzy.

The taste of wine, Max, and Daniel all tangled on her tongue as Max kissed his way down her neck, pushing the shirt up and over her head. His mouth found her chest while Daniel’s hand slid behind her neck, keeping her gaze on him, on the glint in his eye as he dipped down and captured her lips again.

“You’re so good like this,” Daniel whispered, kissing down her jaw. “All soft. All ours.”

Max hummed against her skin in agreement. “She likes when we take our time.”

“But you don’t always,” Daniel muttered, and there was a look something electric between them. A smirk from Daniel. A sharp flash in Max’s eyes.

Y/N felt the shift in the air before it happened.

Max pulled back and looked at Daniel. “You gonna keep teasing or are you going to show her how good you taste?”

Daniel raised a brow but didn’t hesitate. He leaned over, crashing his mouth against Max’s in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Y/N’s breath hitched as she watched, heat coiling low in her belly. There was tongue and teeth, fingers curling into fabric, and tension that had clearly been simmering between the two of them far longer than they admitted.

Max pulled back, just enough to speak his voice low and dark. “Watch closely, lieverd. We want you squirming.”

Y/N didn’t think she could not watch, not when Daniel’s hand slid over Max’s thigh, fingers tracing the outline of his hard cock through his jeans. Max hissed, tilting his head back, and Daniel took advantage mouth on his throat, sucking, biting lightly, just to make him groan.

It was almost too much.

Almost.

And then Max was tugging Daniel back by the collar, dragging him into another filthy kiss, before glancing back at Y/N his voice like velvet and smoke.

“Your turn,” he said, eyes burning. “On your knees.”

She slid off the couch without a word, heart pounding and thighs clenched. The silk of the rug met her bare knees as she knelt before them, already stripped down to nothing but her panties. Max stayed seated, legs spread wide, the golden city light haloing his figure while Daniel lounged beside him, flushed and smirking.

“God, you look good like that,” Daniel murmured, brushing her hair off her face, fingers lingering at her jaw.

“She always does,” Max said, voice low. He let his hand drift lazily over her chest, thumb brushing her nipple. “But tonight, I think you want to be used, hm?”

Y/N’s breath caught. She looked between them Daniel’s teasing warmth, Max’s simmering intensity and nodded.

Max’s lips quirked. “Words.”

“Yes. I want it.”

Max shifted forward, his fingers curling under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. “Who do you belong to, Y/N?”

Her lips parted, heat pooling in her stomach. “You. Both of you.”

“Good girl,” Max whispered.

Daniel chuckled. “I think she’s being too good. Makes me want to ruin her a little.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, thighs pressing together instinctively. Max’s eyes darkened as he watched.

“Take your panties off,” Max commanded.

She obeyed slowly, letting the lace glide down her legs, adding to the tension until she was completely bare before them.

Daniel leaned forward, palming himself through his jeans. “Fuck, look at her. Dripping and we haven’t even touched her properly yet.”

Max stood, towering over her, then gave Daniel a look. “You want to make her beg first, or should I?”

Daniel grinned, then leaned close to whisper in her ear. “You decide, baby. Want Max’s fingers or my mouth first?”

Y/N’s voice trembled. “Daniel. Your mouth.”

That grin turned wicked.

She barely had time to steady herself before Daniel had her flat on her back, dragging her closer by the hips. His mouth was on her immediately hot, slow, and maddening. His tongue traced over her folds, teasing, never giving her quite enough, while Max knelt behind her head, pulling her up against his thighs.

“You can be loud,” Max said, stroking her hair. “We’re high up. No one will hear you scream.”

And she nearly did when Daniel sucked her clit into his mouth, one hand gripping her thigh, the other teasing at her entrance. His tongue worked her like he’d memorized every spot that made her tremble. She gasped, eyes fluttering open only to find Max unzipping his pants.

“You’re not getting off yet,” Max murmured. “But you are going to be useful.”

He guided himself to her mouth, dragging the tip of his cock along her lips. “Open.”

She obeyed instantly, tasting the salt of his skin, the weight of him heavy on her tongue. Max groaned low in his throat, threading his fingers in her hair as he rocked into her mouth.

Below, Daniel slipped two fingers into her, curling them just right, mouth still latched to her clit. The combination was overwhelming. Max’s cock filling her mouth, Daniel’s fingers stroking her inside, tongue relentless it was too much. She moaned around Max, eyes squeezing shut, thighs shaking as her orgasm slammed into her.

Max pulled out with a hiss just as her cry was muffled against his thigh. “Fuck, she’s perfect like this.”

Daniel pulled back, his lips and chin glistening, pupils blown wide. “Let me have her,” he said, voice thick with want.

Max’s smirk was dark. “Not yet.”

Then he turned to Y/N. “Your turn.”

She blinked up at him, breath still shaky. “M-My turn?”

Max leaned in, eyes glinting. “Make him lose control. You know how.”

Daniel chuckled, letting himself fall back onto the couch again, arms wide. “You heard the man.”

The shift was electric. One second she was their plaything, the next she was crawling toward Daniel with hunger in her eyes. She straddled him, grinding down on the bulge in his jeans as her fingers worked to undo his zipper.

Daniel’s hands gripped her hips tightly. “Fuck, baby, you’re soaked.”

“Your fault,” she whispered, before sliding down and taking him into her mouth.

Max stayed standing, watching like a king admiring his empire stroking himself slowly as Y/N hollowed her cheeks, bobbing her head in Daniel’s lap, tongue working him just right. Daniel groaned, head falling back.

“Shit—she’s better every time.”

Y/N didn’t stop, not even when Max circled behind her and bent down, hand spreading her open from behind. She gasped around Daniel when Max pressed two fingers back into her.

“Can you take both of us tonight?” Max murmured against her back, breath hot. “One in your mouth, one in your pussy. Then we’ll see if you’re good enough to ride us both.”

Daniel let out a choked laugh. “Now that’s what I call teamwork.”

Y/N moaned her answer, overwhelmed and blissed out.

Y/N was glowing flushed, slick, lips swollen from sucking Daniel off, and back arched from Max’s fingers still inside her. But the shift was already happening. The second Max pulled back to watch her work Daniel’s cock, she sat up on her knees, dragging her fingers down Daniel’s chest and staring Max dead in the eye.

“My turn.”

Daniel chuckled breathlessly. “Oh, she’s dangerous when she gets like this.”

Max didn’t move. He just raised a brow, intrigued.

Y/N rose, slow and confident, and straddled Max’s lap. She took his cock in her hand, dragged the head through her folds, and sank down with a breathy moan ompletely in control.

Max let out a growl, hands gripping her hips, head falling back as she rocked into him. “Fucking—Y/N.”

“You said you wanted to watch me take him, right?” she whispered, leaning forward, biting his earlobe. “But now I want you both.”

From the couch, Daniel sat up, eyes dark, hungry. “Shit. I think I’m in love.”

She turned her head, meeting Daniel’s gaze as she rode Max slowly, teasingly. “Then come prove it.”

It didn’t take long. Daniel was behind her in seconds, kissing down her spine, hands rough and possessive as he spread her open. Max was fully sheathed inside her, and the idea of both of them filling her, owning her sent a fresh wave of heat spiraling through her.

“Ready?” Daniel murmured against her neck.

She nodded, voice trembling but sure. “I want it. I want both of you.”

Max’s grip tightened, his voice a low warning. “Tell us if it’s too much.”

But she just smirked, eyes wicked. “You can’t break me.”

The stretch was slow Daniel taking his time, his cock pressing in alongside Max’s and she gasped, pleasure sharp and overwhelming. Max was already shaking under her, jaw clenched. Daniel groaned behind her, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

“Fuck, baby. You’re unreal.”

She whimpered, body twitching, caught in the fullness, the way they moved together each thrust measured, building up until she couldn’t tell whose moan was whose. Hands everywhere Daniel on her breasts, Max on her throat, her thighs trembling from being stretched to her limit.

Then something shifted again.

Max grabbed her jaw and kissed her hard, dominating her mouth while Daniel reached around and circled her clit, rubbing in slow, torturous circles.

“You thought you were in control,” Max whispered darkly. “That was cute.”

Daniel bit down on her shoulder, a soft growl. “But now it’s our turn.”

And then they took her.

Thrusts quickened, their rhythm brutal and perfect, each stroke dragging fire through her veins. She was sobbing with pleasure, body barely holding up, nails digging into Max’s shoulders as her second orgasm crashed through her louder, rawer, leaving her boneless.

But they didn’t stop.

Max was the first to fall apart, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her with a deep, broken groan. Daniel followed moments later, pulling her back against him as he came, biting down on her shoulder to muffle the noise.

All of them stilled.

Breathing ragged. Sweat-slicked. Bodies shaking.

Y/N let out a dazed laugh as she collapsed between them, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I can’t believe I have to face Helmut at family dinner tomorrow.”

Daniel chuckled against her neck. “If he finds out what we did to his granddaughter, I’m a dead man.”

Max’s arm curled around her waist. “Then we better make tonight worth it.”

The bedroom was quiet now, wrapped in a blanket of gold light and cooling skin. Y/N lay nestled between them, Max’s arm draped over her waist, Daniel close on her other side, one leg tangled with hers like he had no plans of letting go.

For a long time, no one spoke.

Daniel was the first to break the silence, voice low and scratchy. “I missed this.”

Y/N turned her head slightly, eyes fluttering open. “What—sex?”

He gave a soft, lazy laugh. “Well, yeah. But… more than that. I missed this. Being in the middle of something that makes me feel alive.”

Max’s hand rubbed slow circles into Y/N’s side. “You are in the middle of something. Right here.”

“I know.” Daniel paused, then shrugged a little. “It’s just weird sometimes. Not being part of the circus anymore. Watching from the outside. I thought I’d feel lighter after retiring but there’s this itch under my skin. Like I left a piece of myself out there on the track.”

Y/N reached for his hand without thinking, lacing her fingers with his. “You didn’t leave anything behind, Dan. You gave all of it. And we—” she glanced between them, “we still want you. Need you.”

Max nodded, chin resting on her shoulder. “You’re still you. Still the annoying, loud-mouthed, overly affectionate pain in the ass we love.”

Daniel snorted, but his smile was softer now. “Careful, Verstappen. Sounds like you’re getting sentimental.”

“Must be the post-orgasm haze.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a laugh and squeezed Daniel’s hand tighter. “You’re still part of this world. Even if you’re not behind the wheel anymore. You’re still ours.”

The way Daniel looked at her then like she’d just peeled away the last layer of doubt made her chest ache.

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to her temple, then shifted to rest his head against her collarbone. “If Helmut ever finds out I’m sleeping with his granddaughter, he’s gonna take a tire iron to my knees.”

Max didn’t miss a beat. “You’re retired anyway. He’d be doing the grid a favor.”

“Rude,” Daniel mumbled into Y/N’s skin, but he was smiling again. “Maybe I should’ve picked a safer post-career hobby. Like beekeeping.”

Y/N giggled. “You’d flirt with the bees.”

“Flirt with anything that buzzes,” Max added, smirking.

They dissolved into quiet laughter, their limbs tangled, heat still radiating between them but softer now, slower. Y/N let her eyes drift shut, the weight of their bodies anchoring her, the warmth of their affection so thick she could sink into it.

And just before sleep started to claim her, she heard Daniel whisper—

“I don’t know what this is, but I don’t want to lose it.”

Max’s hand tightened on her waist. “You won’t.”

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tinysunshine · 2 days ago

Text

i don’t even know where to start. another masterpiece from miss-oranje-disco-dancer 😍

the plot, the dynamic between leon and reader and chris - my itch is scratched. this fic and this dynamic is everything to me. i could write an essay on what this fic means to me, but i’ll settle for some of my favorite moments 😋

for starters: when chris is telling leon not to fuck reader’s throat even though he fucks leon’s throat 😭 everything about that…gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. leon kennedy my favorite switch (bottom) i love you so much 😚

Chris can deny you his cock and still get sucked off, and you know this. Dada is a slut. The good thing is that when Chris is done using Leon to quell his frustrations, Leon will come find you, dick hard and ready in his hand. DELICIOUS. ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS. leon being used by chris and then using reader? i’m - 🤤🤤🤤

Leon can hear Chris taunting him with one hand around his cock, jerking him off from behind and the other clamped over his mouth so he doesn't wake you up as you sleep soundly - in a t-shirt and panties - on the other side of the bed. It's a memory, not a fantasy. you’re spoiling us with all these little details that add up to beautiful world building. i notice this in all of your fics - you are truly talented <3

You hum and nod before bringing Chris' hand to your mouth. He knows what you want, and he happily gives it over. You suck on his thumb - and, his ring finger might have a vein running straight to his heart, but this one's got a direct line down to his dick. this is so romantic to me…like i’m literally going to be thinking about this piece of text forever lmao

“God, just fuck me already," Leon groans, trying to act peeved, but coming off desperate. mhm my leon being pathetic and desperate i know that’s fucking right!!! 😋

If he has to end up on his knees, begging for something, he'd much rather it be his husband's dick than his job – both of which fuck him on the regular. YES 😊

overall, i enjoyed this fic so so so much. special mentions of leon calling reader pretty while sliding inside 🫦 and blowing leon while she jerks chris off and he helps her with his big ass hand 😀 i will be rereading this. such a unique fic, and you’re such a talented writer. i have so much more to say, but i’ll sum it up by saying: 5 stars! ⭐️

i will be thinking about this fic for years to come idc <3 thank you for posting this 🩷 delicious beautiful changed my life etc

three's company too!

pairing: chreon x reader

cws/tags: pwp, ddlg, breeding kink, oral, unprotected p in v, anal, threesome, two dudes jerking each other off and it is gay bc they're married (but also they have a girlfriend?!), use of princess parts (sorry), pacifier mention, age gap, degradation but only towards leon, praise towards reader

summary: filth. leon and chris are married (old man yaoi is real), and they meet reader on a dating app and she becomes their little girl.

a/n: i audibly sighed while trying to think of what to say here. sorry for the random three's company reference at the end? i don't really plan when I write and that song is now stuck in my head.

i have not proofread this enough but i've been working on it for so long i'm falling asleep at my computer

wc: 4k

taglist:

@rigorwhoring @pawrincss @xoxoloveless @admirxation @onlyasimp4-2dbitches @pr3ttyd0llie @angelstargel

taglist | ko-fi | masterlist

You met on a dating site. You used to hate those profiles of married couples “looking for a third”, but it was two men, which was novel, and both of them were sexy as Hell to put it mildly. DILFs, yeah, that’s the word.

You met up at a bar despite the fact that neither of them were very into drinking. You were nervous about the idea of going on a date with two middle-aged men, and were grateful for the liquid courage, especially after you learned they were both hotter in person. The taller one smelled like cigarettes, and the shorter one smelled like the leather of his jacket. Both of them had naturally sultry voices that already made you feel an aching sensation building between your thighs despite the conversation being innocuous.

Chris and Leon. Taller and shorter. Older and younger. Brown-eyed and blue-eyed. Top and bottom, you later found out. The fact that they worked in the same field and were both physically attractive were the only two things the two had in common. Oh, and the fact that they slept in the same bed.

Their profile indicated that they were looking for someone to be their little girl. You, of course, inquired further through messages before meeting up, but there was still much to work out in regards to this unusual situation.

“Are you looking for a girlfriend or a child to adopt?” you asked, playfully, knowing - hoping - the former was the answer.

“We might be old, but we still understand how dating apps work. We would’ve gone to an adoption agency if we wanted a literal baby.”

DD/LG was just a fantasy until then.

“How far are you willing to go?”

Pacifier? Yes. Plastic cutlery? Yes. “Princess parts”? Yes, Daddy.

Daddy and Dada.

Sometimes Daddy’s gone, sometimes Dada’s gone, but someone has to be there to take care of baby.

Someone has to dress you, brush your hair and kiss your cheeks. Most importantly, someone has to fuck you. Living with one hot man is hard enough, but two – you feel like you’re constantly going shopping for new panties since you’re always wet around them. It’s a good thing you don’t have to pay for anything yourself.

The idea of three people being in a romantic partnership is still pretty new to the world, so you have your worries about the stares you might get when people see you out on dates. Luckily, your busy boyfriends like to spend most of their free time in the bedroom - or on the couch, the living room floor, the kitchen counter, and of course, the shower.

You’re their little toy, in a way. It’s like playing with a Barbie doll, except Barbie usually gets dressed up, while you spend a lot of your time undressed. Plus, Barbie has a career outside of being a hot girl. You don’t - and it’s fucking phenomenal. Currently, besides playing with your daddies, you’re working on finishing all 43 animated Barbie movies. So far, Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses has proved to be the best. You’re halfway through the movie and three-quarters of the way through a bowl of popcorn when Leon - Dada - comes through the door, looking worn out despite the fact that it’s early afternoon.

He gains energy quickly when you greet him with a hug and a kiss. Without even bothering to turn the TV off, Leon throws you over his shoulder and walks you to the bedroom.

“Hey! What are you doing? I was busy,” you whine, flailing helplessly - not that you’re trying very hard to get away.

All you get in response is a light smack on the ass, and maybe it’s the blood rushing to your head while you’re in this position, or maybe it’s anticipation of the pleasure that’s to come, but it makes you feel dizzy.

It feels like your mind is going fuzzy, and all you can think about is Leon’s body above yours, his warm hands and gentle touch, the way his stubble tickles your skin from your neck to your inner thighs, his lips, his tongue, his teeth. By the time his cock is in your mouth, your brain is blank.

You’re more than satisfied by Dada, but when Daddy comes home, you’re happy to have him too.

Daddy gets to have you the way he wants you: completely fucked-out since Dada has already taken his turn with you. When Chris' cock slides into you, drool is already dripping from the corners of your mouth. He wipes it off with the pad of his thumb and coos at you, "got yourself all messy, huh, baby girl?"

You babbled on and on while Leon had his way with you - so much so that he shoved a pacifier between your lips - now you've got nothing but the occasional, hoarse, 'Daddy'. Chris can tell that Leon fucked your throat, which he has insisted that Leon not do, even if (and when) you ask for it.

"It's too much for her. I worry about her, okay?"

"But not about me? You did that to me yesterday." (Leon's voice is hoarse like yours).

"You're a grown man, Leon. You can take it. Plus, I know you like it."

It's not like Leon can argue with that.

When Daddy finds you, you've got nothing on but mismatched socks - which you clearly picked out yourself - and panties covered in a white sticky substance, another sign that Dada had gotten to be inside you first.

There's no rivalry between Chris and Leon - that's the kind of thing that exists between friends who try to share a woman, but Chris and Leon are not friends. Friends don't have matching wedding bands.

Yeah, your Dada and Daddy don't only fuck you, they also fuck each other. You're the only one who gets jealous - that is, when they have sex without you.

Chris was already deep inside Leon when they both heard a whimper in the doorway and craned their necks to see you with a trembling lower lip and tears threatening to fall from your glossy eyes.

"Oh, baby," Leon coos. He's quick to shove Chris off of him, so he can coddle you. Luckily, Chris finds it amusing the way Leon breaks so easily. All you have to do is pout and he caves to your every wish.

You learn that Dada caves easier, but Daddy caves harder. Dada will give you a snack and sit you down in front of the TV, but Daddy - after a bit more convincing - will hold you until you both fall asleep on the couch, watching your favorite movie for the umpteenth time.

This is the dynamic, not only in regards to rewards, but also in regards to punishments. Dada is irritable and will give you a light smack on the bottom if you bother him after he told you not to, but Daddy will give you the silent treatment after you throw a tantrum.

Of course, when Chris sees the consequences of his own actions - you, teary-eyed in Leon's lap - he apologizes in the way he knows you like most.

With kisses.

Everywhere. Especially there.

It's a weekend, so everyone's in a good mood, but you are particularly cheery when Chris takes you to bed to have playtime with him. When he lays you down on the bed, intending to kiss you, you begin to sing a little tune to him.

Daddy and Baby sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage.

Chris can get on board with the first part of your song. He sure as Hell is going to kiss you, and fuck, if he doesn't love you, and if it were possible to be married to more than one person, he might do just that.

It's the final detail that concerns him.

"Uh-uh. No baby in a carriage."

"Why not, Daddy?" you whine.

"Because I've got my baby right here." The kisses have already begun trailing down your neck, and continue to make their way downwards.

"But, Daddy, I want you to give me a baby."

"If you keep whining, you're not gonna get anything."

So, when you sing the song to Dada because it's very catchy and now it's stuck in your head, he shushes you sweetly and then, takes one tit in each hand, giving one a playful suck and pulling off with a pop and saliva slick lips.

You get your spit-covered chin from your Dada. Daddy doesn't have those same pathetic tendencies. You're not pathetic, Leon is. You once got confused when Chris said this, so Daddy had to rush over to hold you and kiss your teary cheeks.

Your eyes are a little watery by the time Dada actually takes your panties off - you've nearly cum from him licking you through the fabric. You kick your legs in excitement when Leon spits on your clit, dragging it down your cunt with his fingers which work you open efficiently. He has you cum once on his tongue while you tug at his hair - you're the only person allowed to do that - before he positions himself at your entrance.

Simultaneously more and less clear-headed, you say to Leon, "Daddy didn't like my song. Did you like it?"

He could say 'yes' and move on but he can't think straight so he blurts out, "what song?" and has to hear the verse again. "It's pretty baby," Leon says when you finish singing. He kisses your forehead before sliding into you. "Just like you."

"He said 'no baby'," you pout.

"What did he say 'no' about, baby?" Leon caresses your cheek, trying to soothe you after Daddy denied his baby something. Leon can't handle seeing you even the slightest bit sad.

"Dada," you whine, though Leon's not poking fun, he really doesn't understand the miscommunication. "No baby in the baby carriage!"

"You asked him for a baby?" Leon's breath hitches as he bottoms out. You must be doing this on purpose, he thinks. Talking to him about making a baby while he's inside you. You haven't even asked him yet and he's ready to say 'yes'. He's ready to beg.

"Yeah, I wanted Daddy to put a baby in me."

Leon doesn't care that you're not talking about him, he's lost all semblance of rational thought when you say, 'put a baby in me'.

"Dada, can you give me a baby?"

"Shit, baby," he hisses, "gonna make me cum."

Leon should be embarrassed – he's been inside you for less than five minutes and he's already nearing the edge. He's closer to 50 than 20. Chris cannot find out about this. Leon can hear Chris taunting him with one hand around his cock, jerking him off from behind and the other clamped over his mouth so he doesn't wake you up as you sleep soundly - in a t-shirt and panties - on the other side of the bed. It's a memory, not a fantasy.

The memory brings him closer. He's moaning loudly, but he's still quieter than you when you beg him not to pull out.

"Dada, please, oh, please." The way you squeeze around him is unintentional. "Want it inside."

"Yeah? Not gonna let me pull out?'

You wrap your legs around him as you cry out in pleasure, orgasm coursing through your veins.

"Oh fuck," Leon groans. "Dada's gonna put a baby in you, yeah?"

You hear the last few words as you come down from your high, shaking and squirming.

"Gotta stay still and be good, baby. I know you can do it. You're my good girl."

Leon grips your thighs and increases his speed. He wants to get there faster, knowing you're overstimulated. He also wants to make you scream. He wants Chris to hear you begging him to get you pregnant.

"Please, Dada, please. I want you to put a baby in me"

"I know, baby, I know. I–" You clamp down around him, your body trying to take what you so desperately need from him. He tries so hard to be gentle with you but you make it nearly impossible. Leon holds your legs to your chest so he fuck you deeper.

With a string of expletives, Leon cums inside you.

Once he regains the thoughts in his mind and the feeling in his dick, Leon pulls out of you and watches you ruin his sheets more than you already had. He's sweating like he just ran a marathon, he realizes when he runs his hand through his hair and finds it sticking to his forehead.

When he leans down to kiss you, you tell him, "Ew, Dada, you're all sticky!"

"I'm all sticky?" He swipes his fingers across your cunt and brings them to your face. "No, you're all sticky."

You pout and he takes the opportunity to wipe his fingers clean on your bottom lip.

"I'm gonna go get something to clean up with, alright?" he says, leaving you with a kiss on each temple.

Leon's barely left the bed when Chris walks in with a look on his face that makes Leon feel guilty for an unknown reason.

"Dada said bad words," you announce with a grin.

"Oh, did he now?" Chris asks, looking at Leon.

"When? Was it when I came? I don't remember what I said - I probably blacked out."

"Daddy, he needs a spanking."

Chris stifles a laugh - he's never even thought to spank Leon despite the fact that, if his actions were put up against the rules you're supposed to abide by, he would be considered very naughty.

"Oh yeah?" Chris gives you a wink before reaching over to smack Leon on the ass, hard enough to leave a handprint.

"What the f- heck was that? Are you really going to reward tattletale behavior?" The cheeks on Leon's face are as red as the ones on his ass because Chris has a face that can make anyone feel guilty. It must be a cop thing, Leon thinks.

You're laughing so hard your eyes are watering as you watch from the bed until Chris turns to you and says, "You think this is funny? It's gonna be your turn next."

Chris drops his hardass act when Leon's finally out of the room and he's alone with you.

"I'm just kidding, baby," he says, all soft and sweet. "I would never give you a spanking. You're too cute."

Your tits are out, and Chris can't help but take the opportunity to play with them. When his fingertips meet your sensitive nipples, your whole body jolts in response.

"Too much, baby? Was Dada too rough with you?"

"No, Dada did a good job."

"A good job?"

"Yeah, I asked him for a baby and he said 'yes'."

"So, you wanna have his baby now? Not mine?"

"No, I want both, but you said 'no'."

"I changed my mind, baby. I'll give it to you whenever you want it."

"Now. I want it now."

Chris wants it now too, but you look so tired with those half-lidded sleepy eyes.

"How about a nap first?"

You agree on the condition that he takes one too. He's too lazy to put on pajamas, so he strips down to his underwear, turns out the light, and climbs into bed with you. It's a stupid mistake. He should know you better by now.

When he thinks you're asleep, he hears a rustle in the covers and feels your fingers make their way to his waistband.

"What are you doing?"

"I can't sleep."

Too tired and too hard to argue, he lets you have your way.

"Here," he says, replacing your hands with his own. "Let me do it."

You're already lubed up thanks to Leon so it's easier for him to fuck you, but he's gentle still.

"Can't sleep without me inside you? Is that it?"

Chris fucks you nice and slow, letting you nod off while he's balls-deep inside you. There's something satisfying about filling you up while you're sound asleep, making you his while you're still in your dream state, pliant and quiet. He knows you'll be happy to find the mess he left behind when you wake up. The orgasm hits him hard, and he's too tired to pull out and he succumbs to sleep while he's still inside you.

Leon is your alarm clock.

"Had some fun without me?" He's almost offended. Almost.

Chris shushes him, and points to you. He and Leon have mastered the art of silent communication. After a back-and-forth of furrowed brows and grimaces, Leon climbs into bed on the other side of Chris.

With practiced stealth, Chris turns to Leon. "Are you jealous that I came inside her instead of you?"

"No, I'm not jealous at all. I think you're the jealous one. You only wanted to cum inside her because I already did."

Both things can be true.

"So you don't want Daddy to fill you up?" Chris asks, serious about the sex, but at least half-joking about the daddy comment.

"God, just fuck me already," Leon groans, trying to act peeved, but coming off desperate.

“No," Chris says simply. "I'm not rewarding rude behavior."

He gets off on power, on dishing out orders and discipline. It's what he's used to, anyway. It's easy to transition from Captain to Daddy.

Leon's naturally nurturing, and had everything turned out differently, he'd be a great dad – thus, he's a great Dada. But just as that comes naturally, so does submission. He's been trained into it. The leader says and Leon does, shutting off the part of his brain that wants to rebel makes him feel safe. Being a good, mostly obedient agent is what's kept him alive.

He much prefers the consequences for his misbehavior in the bedroom to the ones at work. If he has to end up on his knees, begging for something, he'd much rather it be his husband's dick than his job – both of which fuck him on the regular.

"Want me to apologize? Is that it?" Leon asks.

"No, I want you to shut the fuck up." Chris lifts the covers and Leon knows what to do. He's a well-trained dog when it comes to earning a bone.

Chris turns on the lamp on the bedside table and lowers the bedsheets so that he can see Leon while he fucks his throat. 'Cause he's the type of guy to get sentimental in times like these.

You wake up to the sound of Chris grunting and Leon gagging. It's obvious even in your sleepy haze what they're up to. You turn around, not wanting to be left out.

To everyone's surprise, you take the initiative. "Dada, it's mine," you say nudging him.

Chris looks at you, confused and curious, but the truth is: his cock is yours, just as much as your pussy is his.

Leon, equally intrigued, pulls back and wipes the spit from his mouth. "Want a turn, baby?"

You nod and swiftly take Leon's place. You're even messier than he is – leaving sloppy kisses all over Chris' cock. You're barely awake and already needy. His hands behind his head grip the pillowcase as he hangs on for dear life.

Leon's half-lidded, glossy eyes are perceptive as ever, and one look at Chris has him sliding down his sweatpants so he can fuck his own fist to the sight.

Your fixation on Chris lets Leon get away with stroking himself off for a moment until you notice. The look you give him makes him think you'll scold him somehow, but when you remove his hand – as he suspected you would – you replace it with your own, repeating your words from before, "Dada, it's mine."

"It's yours, baby," he agrees, breathless and dying for your touch.

When your lips meet Leon's cock, he pets the top of your head. "So sweet, baby," he mumbles.

All the while one hand remains on Chris' cock, trying your best to jerk him off simultaneously. Doing two things at once is difficult when you're so passionate about both acts, so Chris wraps his hand around yours, guiding your movements.

"Daddy's so proud of you, doing so good for me."

His praise fuels your dedication, and it doesn't take long for Chris to cum into your hand and Leon in your mouth.

While Chris and Leon are cleaning themselves up, you slip out of bed, but before you get to the door, Chris says, "Where do you think you're going, baby?"

You turn around and shrug.

He stretches his arms out and mouths 'come here' and you climb back into bed to accept the affection he offers you. But while you're in Chris' arms, Leon's lips meet the nape of your neck and his hands trail down your body with a mission in mind.

"I think we need to reward our good girl," Leon says.

Chris’ agreement isn’t verbal. Instead, he turns you around so Leon can have better access to you. You part your legs for Leon, putting your cunt on display, slick with your arousal and his husband’s release.

“Wow, baby, you’ve got the prettiest princess parts I’ve ever seen.”

It’s something you’ve heard him say countless times before but it never fails to make your cheeks feel hot.

“Wish I could see ‘em,” Chris says.

Leon’s hands massage your thighs, marveling at the sight before him, before he lays flat on his stomach so that his head is level with your pussy.

“Will you let Daddy kiss these pretty lips, baby?” Chris whispers in your ear.

You nod and he cups your chin to guide you gently towards his own lips. It’s hard to kiss him when Leon plays with you. You whimper as his fingers glide along your slit.

“I think you deserve some special kisses from Dada too,” Leon mumbles before pressing a kiss to your clit.

You’re a sensitive girl. The pleasure you feel is almost overwhelming as Leon laps at your folds. Your legs quiver as you get closer to the edge, and Leon has to hold them open while Chris soothes you, running his hands down your sides and whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

What sounds like ‘Dada’ comes out as a sob as your body jolts with your orgasm. Pleasure courses through you in waves, and you shudder through the aftershocks.

Once you’ve caught your breath, Chris hoists you up and off the bed.

“We really need to shower now, baby,” he says, patting you on the bottom as a sign to make your way to the en suite.

“And clean the sheets,” Leon adds.

Leon is about to strip the bed when you and Chris stop in the bathroom doorway. “Are you coming?” Chris asks.

“You think we’ll all fit?” Leon asks.

“You know what they say…” You chime in.

“What? Are you gonna sing the Three’s Company song again?”

“No, I was going to say, ‘the more the merrier’, but I can sing it if you want me to.”

Leon sees the glint in your eye and immediately regrets bringing it up. “I’m okay, thanks,” he says with an expectant grin as he walks towards you.

“Come and knock on our door…” you begin quietly.

“Alright, Suzanne Somers, get in before the hot water runs out,” Chris says.

“We’ve been waiting for you…” You sing, looking at Leon, as you step in.

He follows behind in both step and verse with, “Where the kisses are hers, and his, and his…”

Chris sighs and mutters the final words, “Three’s company too.”

#leon kennedy ㅤ♡#💖 recs!

380 notes · View notes

masorciereviolette · 11 hours ago

Note

Could I request one of Agatha Harkness x reader? Friends with benefits to lovers!

Agatha and Reader are friends with benefits but their connection is deeper despite that they don't say it out loud. Reader is the one who takes the initiative, Reader asks Agatha to spent the night together, because they are already sleeping together, so why not actually sleep together in the same bed. Agatha doesn't accept

After that, Reader surprises Agatha with the end of her agreement. Reader wants them to be just friends again without sex.

Agatha accepts but, in truth, she doesn't want to finish what they have even though she pretends it doesn't affect her. Agatha tries to get on with her life and even tries to sleep with other people (maybe Rio) but those encounters don't feel the same as with Reader, they don't feel good

Agatha is still in denial and increasingly in a worse mood. Then Agatha hears from mutual friends that Reader is looking for a real relationship. Agatha tries not to take it seriously until she can't take it anymore, she realizes that she fell in love with Reader and doesn't want Reader to go out or sleep with anyone else

Agatha asks her friends about Reader but they tell her that Reader is on a date. Although Agatha looks for her in all the places she can think of, she doesn’t find Reader so Agatha stays waiting at the door of Reader's house for her to return - begging her to return - because that Reader doesn’t return means that Reader will spend the night with her date

Reader returns late. Her date brings her home and tries to kiss her and Agatha loses control

Angst with happy ending (+ smut)

Sorry if it's too long. Maybe it's worth two requests 😂 so multi chapter(?). I just love your writing. Have a great day/evening 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Never, Just Friends.

Pairing: Au Agatha Harkness x Reader

Warnings: Small Time Jumps, Unresolved Emotions, Hurt, Angst, Pining, Comfort, Minors DNI 18+, Jealousy, Graphic Sexual Descriptions, Happy Ending.

Word count: 10.8k

A/N: Thank you!!! Dude this request was phenomenal to read and more fun to write, stg y’all are literally amazing, please keep these coming✋🏽😭. If yall can’t already tell, climactic romantic tropes are quite literally my kryptonite. Slight POV switching but not too bad.

Taglist: @harknessshi

Masterlist Link

The sheets are still warm from the way Agatha moved against them. From the way her hands held your hips like they were the last thing tethering her to the earth—fingertips digging in just a little too long, a little too desperately, like she didn’t want to let go even as she pulled away.

Her breath had still been shallow against your skin when she collapsed beside you for a moment, her arm slung over your waist, legs tangled lazily in yours. For a heartbeat, it felt like something real. Like something that meant more than it should.

Now she’s already halfway out of bed. The absence of her weight beside you is instant. The cool air rushes in where her body used to be, and it stings. You sit up slowly, pulling the blanket over your chest like armor, trying not to show how exposed you suddenly feel.

Her silhouette is dimly lit by the lamp she didn’t bother to turn off, bent at the waist as she grabs her shirt from the floor. Her bare back is tense, every line of her spine sharp with hesitation. You’re breathless. Undone. And somehow—still not satisfied. Not in the way you need to be “Agatha,” you say softly. She doesn’t turn “I know it’s late,” you continue, voice careful, unsure. “You don’t have to leave tonight.”

She stills, her hand frozen around the bra she just picked up. The muscles in her shoulders go rigid “You could stay,” you murmur. “Actually stay.” There’s a silence that follows—thick, weighted, fragile. It takes everything in you not to reach for her. To ask her again. Beg her, even. But you don’t. You just wait “We sleep together all the time,” you say gently. “So why not sleep, too?”

That gets her. She straightens slowly, back still to you, her breath a little sharper now. Her arms move mechanically as she slides the bra straps up and over her shoulders, fumbling slightly with the clasp behind her back.

You watch her chest rise and fall. Watch her try to compose herself. Then she glances back, just for a moment, eyes flicking toward you with something you can’t name “You know that’s not what this is,” she says finally, her voice low. Measured. Controlled. Like she’s forcing herself not to say too much.

Your heart twists. “I know,” you whisper. “But I want more.”

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. Because it’s already written across her face—conflict, fear, maybe guilt. But not agreement. Never that. She slips her shirt over her head and finishes dressing without another word, without another glance. Her silence cuts deeper than a no.

You nod once, slow and small. It’s enough. Not for your heart. Not for the ache that keeps crawling further up your throat. But it’s enough to stop you from asking again. And that, somehow, hurts the most.

Agatha shifts on the edge of the bed, clearly uncomfortable now. Her back is half-turned to you, and her fingers are fumbling with the clasp of her bra like she’s racing against a clock only she can hear. Her movements are sharp, too quick, like the silence between you has become unbearable.

“I—I should go,” she says abruptly, her voice a little too high, a little too rushed. “I’ve got some early calls tomorrow.”

She doesn’t look at you when she says it. You nod anyway, slow and steady, like your heart isn’t fracturing one quiet crack at a time. Like you believe her. But you know her schedule. You always do. Brunch at eleven, drinks with a friend she doesn’t even like at four.

Nothing urgent. Nothing that should pull her away from you. But you don’t say any of that. Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around yourself, the edges clutched in your fists like they can hold you together. The warmth of her touch is already cooling on your skin, leaving behind a hollow echo that your body doesn’t know how to fill.

She fumbles for her shirt next, pulling it over her head backward. The tag pokes out near her throat. She curses softly under her breath, dragging it back off in a flurry of annoyance, then flips it right and tries again. You watch her—not because you want to make this harder on yourself, but because you can’t help it. Because she’s still beautiful in this state: disheveled, uncertain.

She grabs her jeans next, hopping a little on one leg as she pulls them on, her hair falling in messy waves around her face “I’ll text you soon” she says lightly, flashing a smile that’s too casual, too forced. A smirk meant to play it cool. “We’ll… set something up again. I promise.”

You return it with a smile of your own—tight, automatic, practiced. The kind of smile that’s meant to make everything easier, even when it costs you something to wear it “Sure,” you say. Your voice doesn’t shake. Not yet. You won’t let it. She leans down to grab her boots, tugging one on, then the other, in silence. She still doesn’t look at you. Not once. Not even a glance.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most. Not the excuse. Not even the way she’s be already halfway out the door before her body’s fully dressed. But the way she avoids your eyes like they might tell the truth too loudly. Like if she meets your gaze, she’ll crumble—or worse, you will. When the door finally closes behind her, the sound is louder than it should be. Too final. Too sharp. It echoes through the apartment like something breaking.

You don’t move for a moment. You just sit there, blanketed in fading warmth and growing silence, staring at the same spot on the wall you’ve looked at a hundred times before. It never felt empty until now.

You try to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. But your chest feels tight, too full and too hollow all at once. Your lip trembles before you can stop it. Your eyes sting. And then the tears come—not fast, not dramatic, just soft. Quiet. Unapologetic. They trail down your cheeks as if they’ve been waiting for her to leave. As if your body knew what she’d take with her when she did.

Because you weren’t asking her to love you. You weren’t even asking her to say it. You just wanted her to stay. To want you in the stillness, not just the heat. To want you when there was nothing left to take. But Agatha Harkness always leaves before morning. And this time, she didn’t even say goodbye.

It’s almost two days later before you hear from her again. The café is loud. Too loud. The kind of overstimulating clatter that would usually fade into the background like white noise—comforting in its own way. But today, it feels like every cup clink and every hiss of steam from the espresso machine is a jab to your nerves. The chatter is too bright, too alive. And your heart won’t stop pounding.

You spot her before she spots you. She’s tucked into the corner booth, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown she forgot to take off, her fingers lazily stirring a drink that’s already watered down. She looks… casual. Effortless. Comfortable in her skin in the way only Agatha Harkness ever could be. Like none of this is serious. Like she has no idea what’s coming.

Her hair is half-pinned back, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. She looks soft in the sunlight, radiant and out of reach. You almost turn around, running feels easier. Your hand even twitches toward the door—but then she looks up and sees you.

Her face shifts. Not dramatically. Not in the way people do in movies. Just a small smile curling at the corners of her lips. A spark of familiarity in her eyes. The kind of expression she never gives anyone else. The kind you used to live for. It hits you right in the chest.

She stands when you reach the table, slow and graceful, like always. She leans in without thinking, arms coming around you in that easy, instinctive way that speaks to how often you’ve done this before. You let her. Let yourself be held for just a second, inhaling the familiar scent of her skin—cedar and something warm, something uniquely her.

You pull away, carefully, and sit down across from her. She mirrors you, sliding back into her seat, fingers brushing over the rim of her glass. “Sorry for bailing the other night,” she says casually. “I really did have an early morning.”

You meet her eyes. You nod “Don’t worry about it.” The lie comes out smooth. Polished. You’ve had forty eight hours to practice it.

She relaxes slightly, as if that’s all she needed—permission to believe her own excuse. Her shoulders drop, and she toys with her straw, glancing at you with a flicker of something hopeful “I was thinking,” she starts, her voice lighter now, like she’s testing the waters, “maybe this weekend—”

“I don’t think we should do this anymore.” Your voice cuts in gently. Not sharp. Not cold. Just… final. Even. Honest. You watch as her expression freezes, the words hanging between you like broken glass. Her fingers still against her glass. Her lips part slightly, but no sound comes out.

You can see it happen in real time—the shift in her posture, the flicker of confusion that gives way to something darker. But she doesn’t say anything. Not yet. And you don’t move. Because this is the moment there’s no going back from it “What?”

Her voice is quiet but sharp, like she heard you the first time and still needed to ask again, just to be sure she didn’t imagine it.

You glance around the café, suddenly all too aware of how public this is. Of the couple laughing two tables over, the barista shouting out names, the clatter of cups and silverware. But in your world, in this tiny bubble between you and Agatha, everything else blurs.

“This.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, fingers trembling slightly before you curl them into a loose fist in your lap. “The sex. The�� ‘benefits.’ I think we should just be friends. Real friends.”

She blinks at you—once, then again—her mouth parted like she’s struggling to catch up. Her brows rise, almost incredulously, like she’s expecting a laugh to follow. A grin. Some sign this is all a joke “You’re being serious?”

You nod, your stomach twisting with the movement. It feels like a betrayal—to her, to yourself—but you do it anyway. Because it’s the only thing left to do. Her smile falters. That easy, cocky grin that so often saves her from sincerity slips from her face. “Is this about the other night?”

“No,” you lied smoothly, though it tasted like ash on your tongue. “It’s about all the nights.” You take a breath, then another “I just… I need something else. Something dependable, real—” The silence that follows is thick, heavy. Like a storm on the edge of breaking.

Agatha leans back slowly, folding her arms across her chest—not casually, not comfortably, but like she’s building a wall between you. Her jaw tightens, her eyes flicker down and away “So you’re saying you don’t want me anymore?” The question lands between you like a knife. Your chest clenches.

“I’m saying,” you construed your next answer carefully, voice softer now, “that I want more than you’re offering. And if you can’t give me that… I’d rather just be your friend than keep pretending this isn’t hurting me. I don’t want to hate you, but if we stay this way I fear I might—”

Her mouth opens like she has a retort ready, like she wants to fire something sharp back at you. But nothing comes out. She looks down at her drink, her fingers tracing the condensation on the glass like it might hold the answer she needs.

You wonder if she feels the same pressure in her chest. That suffocating ache that tells you you’re doing the right thing while it tears you apart “Okay,” she says finally, and the word is so small it barely makes it across the table. “If that’s what you want.”

You nod again, slower this time. Every motion feels like walking uphill through water. You manage a smile—tight around the edges, brittle behind the eyes—but you give it to her anyway. Agatha’s expression goes still. Neutral. Like a mask sliding into place. “So….. friends.”

“Friends,” you echo, and it feels like the word tastes different in your mouth than it does in hers. She nods again, but it’s almost mechanical now. Like she’s trying to practice it. To rehearse for a role she never wanted.

She finishes her drink in silence, the ice clinking softly against the glass. Neither of you says anything else. When she finally stands, she doesn’t touch you. Not a brush of her hand. Not a teasing nudge of her knee against yours. Nothing. She walks away without looking back. And you let her.

You sit there long after she’s gone, staring at the seat she left behind, the ghost of her presence still imprinted in the cushion, in your lungs, in every aching inch of you. You tell yourself it was the right decision. Even though it feels like you just cut out a part of yourself and watched it walk out the door.

Weeks pass. Not a single text from you. Not a half-thought “hope you’re good,” not a late-night question mark, not even a like on her Instagram story. It’s complete silence. And Agatha… Agatha pretends that’s fine.

Because that’s what she does. She pretends. She wakes up with her cheek pressed against the cool side of the pillow, throws on her robe like it’s armor, makes her coffee too strong, and moves through her morning routine like muscle memory. Her makeup is flawless.

Her smirks are still sharp. Her laugh still comes easy—too easy. But underneath all of it, there’s something burning. Low and constant. A slow ache that tightens in her chest when her phone lights up and it’s not your name.

She tells herself it’s for the best. You wanted this. You asked for it. You said friends, and she agreed. She told herself she didn’t need more than that. But the silence? That wasn’t part of the deal.

So she starts going out again. Dull, meaningless dates arranged by friends or stumbled into at events. Glasses of wine with strangers who ask too many questions or not enough. She leans into it, into the distraction, the performance.

One woman takes her to an overpriced French bistro and spends the entire night talking about her vacation home in Italy. She smiles, nods, stabs at her food like it personally offended her. When she leans in to kiss her, she lets her. It’s short, dry, disconnected. Like she’s checking a box off a list.

She never texts the woman back. The next is a woman named Cora, who wears red lipstick and leans too far forward when she talks. Her stories are wild. Her laugh is real. But the moment she brushes her hand across Agatha’s wrist, something twists inside her. It’s not the same. None of them are. Then comes the infamous Rio Vidal.

They bump into each other at an art opening downtown, one of the first times they’ve seen each other since the break up. Its one of those sleek, modern installations full of tortured sculptures and overpriced wine. The room buzzes with chatter, the kind that clings to Agatha’s skin and feels more exhausting than thrilling.

And then she hears that voice “Well, well,” Rio says from behind her. “I didn’t know they let witches into this place.”

Agatha turns, already smirking. “Only the hot ones I fear…..” Rio looks good, almost sinisterly so. Tailored black blazer over a dark satin top, heels that click with every step like punctuation. She moves like she owns the space. Like she always knows exactly what she’s doing.

They talk. They flirt. It’s easy. Agatha laughs more than she means to. Lets Rio pour her another drink. Lets the brush of fingers along her arm linger too long. By the time they end up back at Rio’s apartment, it feels like inevitability. When Rio kisses her—mouth confident, hands roaming, breath hot against her jaw—Agatha doesn’t feel a thing. No thrill. No heat. No ache. Not like she felt with you.

Not like she still feels with you. She breaks the kiss first, gently stepping back, her palm on Rio’s chest to create space she desperately needs “I should go,” she says, breathless but not because of desire. “Early morning.”

Rio cocks an eyebrow, smirking as she leans against the back of her sleek leather couch. “You’re a terrible liar. You’re hung up on someone—I can almost taste it. ”

Agatha doesn’t argue. She just grabs her coat from where it’s draped over a nearby chair, fingers shaking slightly as she slips it on. “Goodnight, Rio.” And then she’s out the door. The next morning, she tries everything to get the feeling out of her system. Coffee. Tea. A strong pour of whiskey before noon. A long shower so hot it scalds her skin. Loud music. Work. A run around the park until her lungs burn and her legs feel like jelly. But nothing works. Because no matter what she tries, the touch left lingering isn’t Rio’s. It’s yours. And it won’t go away.

It gets worse when she hears it from a friend. A mutual friend, no less. The kind who always overshares without realizing it—who means well but doesn’t know when to stop talking. They’re seated outside at a sunny sidewalk café, umbrellas flaring overhead, silverware clinking, the clatter of weekend traffic just far enough away to dull into a hum. Agatha’s wearing her sunglasses, oversized and tinted, but even that doesn’t hide the exhaustion behind her eyes.

She’s halfway through her second cappuccino when she unknowingly spills it, just like that—casual, careless, and cruel in its innocence “She’s dating now, you know?” A sip of mimosa. A swipe of lipstick from the rim of her glass. “Finally looking for something serious.”

Agatha freezes mid-sip. The coffee burns against her tongue, but she doesn’t react. Not visibly. Not yet. “She deserves that,” the friend continues, totally oblivious to the way Agatha’s posture shifts, her spine just a little straighter, her grip on the mug just a little tighter. “Someone to settle down with.”

The words punch harder than they should. Agatha forces a smile. It feels like pulling a rubber band to its breaking point. “Yeah,” she says smoothly, her voice even, her tone betraying nothing. “She does.”

She takes another drink, her eyes hidden behind the tinted lenses, her lips pressed tight. The conversation moves on. Brunch is finished. She parts ways with the friend, gives the usual air-kiss goodbye, waves like she’s unbothered. She even makes it to the next block before she lets herself breathe again.

But her mood?

Ruined.

For the rest of the day, she’s quiet, distracted. The next day, the restlessness sets in. The one after that, she doesn’t even pretend to try. She stops answering Rio’s texts, the ones that ping with a brightness she suddenly finds annoying. She leaves them unread, doesn’t even bother coming up with an excuse.

She cancels a dinner date she wasn’t excited about. Deletes an unopened dating app. Lets her phone sit face-down on her desk for hours at a time. Her house feels colder somehow, even with the thermostat cranked up and every candle she owns flickering like little distractions. The music she plays is too loud and too curated—an attempt to fill the space, to drown out the silence she swore she liked.

It doesn’t work.

Because every time she turns a corner, she thinks of you. Every time her phone lights up, her heart stutters like maybe, maybe, you finally reached out. You haven’t. And when she’s alone, when the noise dies down, when it’s just her and the ache she refuses to name—she does the one thing she swore she wouldn’t.

She opens your profile. Scrolls. Lingers. Refreshes. Just to see if you’re smiling. Just to see if you’re with someone new. Just to see if you look happy without her. But what finally breaks her is a Thursday night, cold and sharp, the city lights smeared by mist on her windshield as she drives in circles with nowhere in mind. The evening feels too quiet, too still, until she picks up her phone and, without thinking, sends a text to one of your mutual friends. Something harmless. Something casual.

“Hey. You heard from y/n tonight?” The reply comes fast. Thoughtless as always. “Oh, she’s out on another date with that finance type woman I think. Sweet. Polite. Took her to that Italian place on Fifth.”

Agatha stares at the message, fingers frozen around her phone. Her heart skips once. Then again. The air feels too thin. Her throat too tight. She reads the message over and over, like it might change if she just blinks enough times. You’re out. With someone else. Again. And this time, you’re at that place— specifically the little Italian spot with the wine you liked, the one you used to walk past together, always saying we should go there sometime, make an evening of it. The same one she never grew the courage to take you to….

Her pulse kicks up. Her skin feels too hot under her coat. She doesn’t even remember turning the car around, but suddenly she’s there—parked across the street from the restaurant, craning her neck to peer through the fogged windows. You’re not there.

She steps out anyway. Paces once. Twice. The air stings her cheeks. Still, no sign of you. So she tries the bookstore. The cozy one tucked on the corner with crooked shelves and handwritten staff picks. You always linger there, fingers trailing spines like secrets. It’s quiet now. Closing.

You’re not there either. She moves quickly now, her panic disguised as urgency. The wine bar. The café with the rooftop you always loved. The bench near the fountain where you often like to sit and talk about nothing for hours.

Empty. All of it. It’s only then that she finally lets herself go to your house. She sits on the front steps , breath visible in the cool night air, her coat drawn tight around her like a poor excuse for comfort. Her hair’s a mess from the wind—loose strands clinging to her lips, the pins long fallen out. Her mascara’s smudged at the corners of her eyes, not from crying—not yet—but from rubbing at her face in frustration. In disbelief.

Her hands are shaking. She clasps them together, digging her nails into her palms just to feel something solid. Something real. Because if you don’t come home alone tonight, If you don’t come home at all…Agatha knows she won’t be able to take it. She can lie to herself about a lot of things. She’s had a lifetime of practice. But not this. Not the thought of someone else holding you the way she used to.

Not the image of your laugh softened under someone else’s hands. Not the finality of knowing she pushed you too far, too fast, and now there’s no going back. Because if you don’t return…Then she’s lost you. Completely. And this time—it’s no one’s fault but her own.

11:42 p.m.

Agatha is still sitting on your front steps. The stone beneath her is biting cold, seeping through her coat and jeans, but she doesn’t move. Her legs have gone numb, her fingers trembling where they clutch the wrought iron railing beside her. She shifts slightly, trying to relieve the ache in her back, but it’s no use—the stiffness has settled in, just like the dread blooming in her chest.

Every sound on the street makes her flinch. The hum of a car engine blocks away. A group of teenagers laughing as they pass, their sneakers scuffing the sidewalk. Someone’s dog barking behind a fence across the street. And none of it is you.

She pulls her coat tighter, tucking her knees closer to her chest. Her hair is a wind-blown mess, strands clinging to her damp cheeks. The air is damp with the kind of cold that clings to skin and makes everything feel heavier. She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there—an hour? Two? Time warped the second she realized you weren’t at the restaurant. Or anywhere she hoped you��d be for that matter.

Now she’s waiting—without a plan, without dignity, without a single excuse for being here except the ache in her ribs and the words she never said when it still would’ve mattered. She’s been rehearsing the whole time—what she’ll say, how she’ll say it. She runs over every version in her head. An apology. A confession. A plea.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

Please don’t choose her. But none of it feels like enough. None of it sounds right. And then, finally—headlights. They wash across the street slowly, the engine quiet as the car creeps toward your driveway. Her breath hitches when the vehicle pulls to a stop, tires crunching softly over gravel.

A familiar silhouette sits in the passenger seat. You. Agatha stands too quickly, her knees protesting the movement. She runs her palms down the front of her coat, trying to smooth out the wrinkles, trying to look composed—but her hands are shaking too hard.

You don’t see her at first. You’re laughing. That laugh she used to think belonged only to her. The one that melted every wall she ever put up. You toss your head back slightly, your eyes crinkling at something your date says. Agatha watches from the shadows, stomach lurching.

Your date—gets out first. She’s tall. Polished. Confident. She opens your door and walks you to the porch with a sense of ease that makes Agatha’s teeth clench. And then she leans in. Agatha sees red. Not rage. Not exactly. Just heat. Panic. Something visceral and splitting in her chest. Something old and terrifying and unspoken. But then you tilt your head, gently—deliberately avoiding the kiss “Thank you for tonight,” you say, soft and kind. “I had a nice time.”

And then your eyes lift.

They land on her standing just behind your date in the dark, her figure barely lit by the porch light. Her face pale. Her shoulders hunched like she’s been holding the weight of the world and only now realized how heavy it truly is.

Your body stiffens. “Agatha?” Her name comes out quiet. Surprised. Disbelieving. You take a half-step back, instinctive, your date completely forgotten. The warmth from the conversation dies instantly.

Agatha exhales a shaky breath, one that almost sounds like a laugh—but there’s nothing funny about the way she looks at you. Like you’re the only thing tethering her to the ground. Your date glances between the two of you, her brow creased. “Everything okay?”

Agatha doesn’t even blink in her direction. Her eyes are on you. Only you. You manage a quick, quiet: “I’ll call you,” but even you know it’s not true. Not really. The other woman hesitates, then nods. She gives Agatha one last look—part wary, part understanding—and walks back to her car.

Then it’s just the two of you. Silence crashes in, thick and breathless. Agatha’s lips part. Her hands twitch at her sides. She looks like she wants to speak, to explain herself, to crawl inside your skin just to be closer—but nothing comes out.

You step forward making your way up the porch, unlocking your front door. You don’t look at her when you say it, but your voice slices through the air “Are you coming in,” you murmur, “or just planning to haunt my steps all night?”

You step inside. And without a word, she follows. You shrug out of your coat with trembling hands, hanging it on the hook by the door out of habit, even as your heart thuds wildly against your ribs. Your shoes come off next, the scrape of the soles against the floor impossibly loud in the heavy silence between you. The space feels too small now. Too intimate. Like your home is holding its breath along with you.

Agatha doesn’t move. She stands just inside the doorway, soaked in moonlight and hesitation. Her coat hangs awkwardly off one shoulder, hair slightly wind-tossed, eyes wide and unguarded in a way you’ve almost never seen. She looks like a storm that finally broke open “I didn’t mean to interrupt your date,” she says finally, her voice low and hoarse.

You glance at her, tired and unimpressed. “Yes, you did.” Her lips twitch in a ghost of a smile, the guilt clear in the tilt of her brows, the faint flush rising in her cheeks. Caught.

You cross your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “What do you want, Agatha?” She hesitates. Opens her mouth. Shuts it. You see the war behind her eyes—the part of her that wants to run and the part that dragged her to your front steps to begin with. Finally, she draws in a shaky breath.

“I want you.” You blink. Your throat tightens.

“For the night?” you ask, your voice sharper than intended. It’s a defense. A scar.

“No,” she blurts, voice breaking with urgency. “Not like that. Not anymore.” She looks at you like she’s standing on a ledge with no safety net beneath her.

“I know I ruined it,” she says, stepping forward, her voice trembling. “I know you offered me something real, and I—God—I was too scared to take it. I thought I didn’t need it. That I could keep you close without letting you in. But I was wrong.”

She stops in front of you now, barely a foot away. The tension between you is thick, alive “You’re all I think about,” she whispers. “I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe without wondering if someone else is holding you the way I used to. I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone else to touch you. I—” Her voice breaks off completely.

Then, softer than anything she’s said tonight “I love you. I’m in love with you.” The words are raw. Terrified. Honest in a way that steals the air from the room. You don’t answer. Not right away. You just stare at her, the sting of every lonely night and unanswered ache sitting in your chest like a bruise. She watches you too, eyes rimmed with the threat of tears, but she doesn’t dare move “you don’t have to say it back,” she adds quickly, voice cracking. “I just… I needed you to know. Before I lost you completely.”

You take a breath. One shaky, reluctant breath. And then, you take a step toward her “You already did lose me, Agatha.” She flinches like you slapped her “But…” you say, eyes on hers, “I didn’t stop loving you.” Her breath catches, lips parting. “I just got tired of begging for scraps…” you add, voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha nods, a tear finally breaking loose and slipping down her cheek. “You won’t have to again. I swear it. I swear it.” And when you reach for her—fingers sliding along her coat, gripping the lapels, dragging her toward you like you can’t stand the distance anymore—she falls into your arms like gravity itself gave up trying to hold her back.

She doesn’t kiss you gently. She kisses you like she’s been drowning for weeks and just found oxygen. Like she’s starving and you’re the only thing she’s ever wanted. It’s desperate. Fierce. Her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you in closer like she’s terrified you’ll vanish again if she lets go for even a second.

There’s no teasing, no hesitation, no games. Just heat. Possession. Truth. She kisses you like she’s furious at herself for ever letting you go. And you kiss her back like you��re done pretending it didn’t kill you to watch her leave. When you finally pull apart, breathless, her hands are still gripping your face like she’s anchoring herself to it.

“Mine,” she breathes, the word not a question, not a plea—just a fact. A vow. And you nod. Because of course you are. You always were. Your back hits the nearest wall with a soft thud, her mouth meeting yours once more. Agatha’s hands are everywhere—your jaw, your waist, the curve of your spine, like she can’t decide where to anchor herself first. She kisses you with a desperation that’s part apology, part hunger, and part something she’s never let herself say out loud until now.

You kiss her like you’re trying to burn every moment of pain out of your skin. Like you’re reclaiming the pieces of yourself that were left behind in every night she walked away. It’s not soft. Not at first. It’s fire. Her coat slips from her shoulders as your fingers work blindly at the tie.

Yours is next, discarded somewhere by your feet. Agatha’s lips move to your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you with her mouth “I missed you,” she breathes between kisses, her voice wrecked. “God, I missed you.”

You tangle your fingers in her hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp. “You don’t get to miss me,” you say, though the words lack real venom. They come out wounded. “You left.”

She pulls back, just enough to look you in the eye. Her chest rises and falls in uneven bursts. Her hands come to cup your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she blinks “I know,” she whispers. “And it kills me.”

Tears mix with the heat on both your cheeks, your mouths crashing together again before either of you can say something softer—something that might shatter what’s already so fragile. The dam breaks. You stumble together down the hall, still kissing, hands shedding clothing like it’s holding you back from something inevitable. Shirts pulled off, discarded without care. Skin meets skin, and everything feels sharper—like a reminder, like a promise.

She lifts you—literally lifts you—and you let her, legs wrapping around her waist like second nature. Her mouth trails down your neck, nipping, worshiping, claiming. You gasp her name like a prayer, and she groans against your skin like she’s been waiting weeks to hear it again.

By the time she lays you down on your bed, both of you are flushed, breathless, wide-eyed and aching. But this isn’t the same as before. Because when she looks at you now—bare beneath her, hair splayed across your pillow, eyes full of everything you never said—her expression shifts. Softens. And something raw glows behind her gaze.

Love. Not lust. Not curiosity. Not convenience. Love. She leans down and kisses you slow this time. Reverent. Like she’s sorry it took this long. Like she’s not sure she deserves to be here—but she’s going to spend the rest of her life proving that she does “I’m yours,” she murmurs against your lips. “If you’ll still have me.”

You run your fingers down her back, anchoring her there. Right where she belongs “Stay,” you whisper. “Just… stay.”

Agatha pauses, her breath catching in her throat at your whispered plea. She looks into your eyes, searching for any hint of uncertainty or doubt. But all she finds is a steady, sure gaze that mirrors her own longing. With a soft, shuddering breath, she nods, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

She settles her weight more fully onto you, fitting the curves of her body against yours like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. Her hands roam over your skin, mapping the dips and swells of your form, committing every inch of you to memory. Agatha leans in, resting her forehead against yours, nose to nose, breath intermingling with each exhale. "I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs, "Not now, not ever again if I can help it."

Her fingers trace the delicate line of your jaw, the angle of your cheekbone, the flutter of your lashes as you blink up at her. "You're mine," she whispers, "And I am irrevocably, completely, yours." She seals her promise with another kiss, softer this time - a brush of lips against yours, a breath shared, a silent vow. Her heart beats against your own, a steady, slowly building rhythm that syncs with your own as if they've always been one.

You pressed yourself harder into the kiss, arms tightening around her neck, nipping her bottom lip roughly, you pulled away soothing the skin with your tongue “Then prove it-“ you whispered into her mouth, one of you legs dropping from around her waist and slipping deftly between her own, grinding up against her waiting core. Agatha groans into the fierce kiss, your arms pulling her impossibly closer, your teasing nips sending sparks of pleasure-pain straight to her core. When you whisper the challenge against her mouth, she feels a surge of determination, a hunger to prove to you the depth of her devotion.

As your leg slips between her own, pressing against her aching sex, Agatha rocked her hips forward, grinding down to spread her folds against your thigh, her clit grazing your skin on each pass, she moans softly into your mouth. You can feel the slick heat of her arousal coating your skin, the evidence of her own desire stoking the flames of your own.

"Fuck, baby..." Agatha pants against your lips, her hands slipping down to grip your ass, holding you in place as she grinds against you with increasing urgency. "I'll prove it. I'll prove it in every way imaginable..." She claims your mouth in another searing kiss, her tongue delving deep, swirling around yours, tasting every inch of you. At the same time, one of her hands slips between your bodies, fingers cupping your dripping sex, stroking and teasing your sensitive flesh.

Agatha breaks the kiss to trail her lips down your neck, sucking and nipping at the delicate skin as her fingers continue their teasing assault. Spreading your slick folds apart, stroking her fingers languidly against your sensitive flesh "I'll prove it every day," she murmurs against you, her breath hot and heavy on your throat. "Every fucking day, until you never doubt it again...never doubt me again"

Two fingers slipped lower, sinking deep into your tight heat, pumping slowly, steadily. Agatha sets a sensual rhythm, her touch intent on building you back up to that peak "Tell me what you need, sweetheart," she urges, fingers never pausing their sensual dance.

Her thumb circles your clit, rubbing firm and fast, the dual sensations of her fingers delving deep and stroking your most sensitive place pushing you towards your climax. Agatha can feel your walls starting to flutter, your body tensing as your pleasure builds. Your head lolled to the side fully exposing your neck to her assault “Fuck—mommy please—“ you whimpered hips rolling pathetically against her hand chasing her restless pleasure “need you so bad…”

Agatha growls against the column of your throat when as expose more of your delicate skin to her hungry mouth, your breathless plea spurring on the raging lust that's been building inside her "Fuck—" she rasps, sinking her teeth into the tender flesh where your neck meets your shoulder, marking you momentarily as her own.

Emboldened by your begging, Agatha pistons her fingers faster, driving into you harder, the obscene sound of your juices squelching filling the room. She grinds the heel of her palm against your clit with each thrust, a delicious pressure that borders on pain but brings only pleasure "You need mommy to ruin this perfect pussy don’t you sweetheart?" Agatha purrs, voice dripping with filthy promise. “Need me to stuff you so full that the only thing this slutty thing remembers is the feeling of my fingers?"

Her fingers curl against your inner walls, stroking that secret spot inside you that makes your vision go spotty and your toes curl. She rubs it firmly, relentlessly, while her thumb strums your clit with expert precision "Come all over mommy like a good girl…please baby"

Agatha rears back just enough to meet your gaze head-on, her eyes blazing with a fever that threatens to consume you both. She looks like a woman possessed, a woman on a mission to utterly wreck you, to ruin you for all others "Now baby," Agatha commands, punctuating her words with a harsh twist of her fingers, a vicious grind of her thumb. "Come now."

You hands shoot up around her back as you nails raked her delicate skin, leaving a trail of red marks in their wake “Fuck—Mommy I—“ you could form much more of a sentence, breath seizing in your chest. Agatha whimpers as your nails scraped down her back, the sharp sting only fueling her. She grins fiercely when your breath hitches and catches, your body going rigid beneath her touch as your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave.

"That's it, sweetheart. Fuck yes, give it to me—" Agatha growls, fucking you through your orgasm with wild abandon, every thrust pushing you higher, every jolt of her hips driving you closer to oblivion.

Your cunt clamps down viciously around her invading fingers, the rhythmic squeezing and fluttering sending bolts of pleasure shooting up Agatha's arm. She can feel every clench, every spasm, your climax playing out exquisitely across her fingers, painting them with your slick release.

"That my girl" Agatha hums out, pressure building at the base of her spine from the exquisite sensation of feeling you come undone. "Fuck, just like that sweetheart—absolutely fucking perfect” With a final thrust, Agatha buries her fingers deep inside your spasming cunt, grinding against your bundle of nerves, your eyes rolled back in your head as your orgasm crests, pushing you to the very brink of euphoria.

"Good girl..." Agatha praises breathlessly as your spasms slowly start to ease, your walls fluttering and clenching around her fingers as your climax recedes. She leans down to brush a tender kiss against your sweat-slicked brow, a stark contrast to the ferocious passion of just moments before. "Such a perfect, beautiful girl..."

With ragged breath you skimmed you hand up her side rest on her jaw, grip slightly tight. Turning her gaze to your own you leaned up brushing your nose against her own “I think it’s only fair you clean up the mess you made…” you whisper leg slowly drawing from between her own opening your up to her once more.

Agatha settled back between your spread thighs, the loss of your touch against her aching sex making her groan. But tonight wasn’t about her, she knew that. It was about convincing you. Agatha shivers at your commanding touch, your grip tightening almost possessively on her jaw. She turns her gaze to meet yours, Her eyes locking with your own, the air between you charged with lingering lust and something deeper, more profound.

A slow, wicked smile spreads across her face at your whispered words, the corner of her mouth kicking up in a grin that holds a promise of sin and satisfaction. "You may be right my love—" Agatha purrs, her voice a low, husky rasp in the aftermath of your shared passion. She leans in, brushing her nose against yours in a gesture of intimate familiarity, her breath mingling with your own as she speaks. "And I intend to clean up every last trace..."

With a final, gentle caress of your inner walls, Agatha slowly withdraws her fingers, dragging them out in a way that makes you whimper and squirm. She brings them up between your bodies, coated in your slick, glistening with your climax. She makes a show of suckling your essence from her fingers, her tongue laving each digit clean until not a single trace of your release remains. "Delicious," she murmurs, eyes fluttering closed in bliss. "The sweetest fuckin' nectar..."

She leans down to capture your lips in a deep, filthy kiss, your mixed flavors mingling on your tongue as she presses you back against the mattress. One of her hands tangles in your hair, gripping gently as she ravages your mouth with a renewed sense of hunger. Nipping you bottom lip she begins a trail across your jaw, down your neck and chest stop just at you stomach, stopping to suck a deep claiming mark.

Your fingers tangled in her hair and your hips starting to rock forward softly, her mouth always was a weakness of yours, your nails dug into her scalp in an exquisite blend of pleasure and slight pain. A low, approving growl rumbles from her throat at your touch, telling a story of desperate, aching need.

Your hips start to undulate, rocking slowly against her as her mouth blazes a searing path down your over-sensitized skin. Agatha can feel the heat radiating from your core, the residual warmth of your climax against her belly as you grind yourself against her "How do you want me to clean you up, sweetheart?" Agatha murmurs against your skin teasingly, her breath hot and heavy, her words disjointed and ragged with lingering lust. "Tell me, baby. Tell me just how much you need mommy’s mouth—"

She nips and sucks at the soft skin just below your belly button, pausing to circle the small indentation with the tip of her tongue. Her hands skim up your ribcage, cupping the soft swell of your breasts, palming the tender flesh and rolling your nipples between her fingers until they stiffen into tight, aching peaks.

"Do you want mommy's tongue buried deep in this greedy little cunt?" Agatha purrs, one hand drifting down to stroke through your soaked folds, teasingly spreading them, brushing against your clit as she spoke. She licks a slow broad stripe up your slit, her tongue delving deep to gather your slick on every pass. "Or maybe you want me here…." Agatha continued on, now circling your puckered rear hole with the tip of her finger, pressing teasingly at the entrance. "Stuff it full of mommy's fingers and tongue until this gorgeous body remembers nothing but the feeling of me..."

“Oh fuck—“ you whimpered softly hips snapping forward. Even in the few short weeks apart you’ve truly forgotten just how bad you missed this—missed her. Agatha feels your grip tighten almost painfully in her hair, your fingers pulling the strands nearly to the point of tears springing to your eyes. The sharp sting only serves to ignite the hunger burning inside her, the need to utterly consume you, to claim you in every way possible.

With a low, feral growl, Agatha surges forward, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as she throws your legs over her shoulders. She buried her face between your thighs, inhaling deeply the musky, heady scent of your arousal "Fuck, I love how fuckin' wet you always are for me," Agatha rasps, her voice muffled against your sex.

She doesn't waste any more time, her tongue delving deep into your folds to lap up the slick evidence of your pleasure. Agatha groans at the taste of you, hot and sweet and utterly intoxicating on her tongue. She can't get enough, can't seem to stop until she's tased every inch.

Her tongue swirls around your clit, flicking and sucking at the sensitive bud until your hips buck and writhe beneath her touch. At the same time, Agatha plunges two fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping channel, pumping slowly, steadily, curling against that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Come on, baby," Agatha coaxes, voice heavy with lust as she fucks you with single-minded determination. She seals her lips around your clit and sucks hard, flicking the tip of her tongue against it rapidly as she drives her fingers deeper, fucking you harder, pushing you towards your peak with every thrust. The obscene sound of your juices fills the room, the slick squelch of her fingers pumping into your soaked hole spurring on your impending climax.

Agatha can feel your body tensing, your breath coming in sharp, keening cries as your pleasure builds to a fevered pitch. She doubles her efforts, fucking you with wild abandon, the obscene slap of flesh against flesh echoing through the room as she chases your release with single-minded focus.

Suddenly, your grip on her hair tightens once more as your back arches clean off the bed, a silent scream tearing from your throat. Agatha feels your pussy clamp down viciously around her fingers, the rhythmic squeezing and fluttering a telltale sign of your impending climax.

"Yes baby, fuck yes!" Agatha growls against your sex, the vibrations sending shockwaves of ecstasy straight up your spine. "Come on my fucking face sweetheart " She pistons her fingers in tandem with the movements of her tongue, each curl and thrust pushing you closer to the edge. Just as your scream turns into a hoarse, piercing wail, Agatha feels your pussy spasm around her invading digits, milking them, greedily trying to suck them in deeper.

"FUCK! Oh god—!" you cry out, body writhing as your orgasm crashes over you in fierce, unrelenting waves. Your release gushes from your cunt in thick, creamy spurts, flooding Agatha's mouth and chin as she works tirelessly to prolong your pleasure. Agatha swallows every drop, greedy for your essence, starved for the taste of your completion. She laps and suckles until your thighs start to tremble, until your grip on her hair turns to gentle petting as the aftershocks start to ebb.

Finally, as the last waves of your release roll through you, leaving you boneless and spent beneath her, Agatha slowly lifts her head. She keeps your thighs hitched high over her shoulders, her fingers still buried deep inside your fluttering sheath as she gazes up at you with a look of pure, unadulterated adoration.

"Just as addictive as I remembered," she murmurs, voice low and sated. She leans in to brush a tender kiss against your inner thigh before slowly, reluctantly, withdrawing her fingers from your still-twitching hole. Bringing them up to her mouth, Agatha makes a show of licking them clean, savoring the flavor of your climax on her tongue.

Satisfied that every last drop has been licked away, Agatha shifts back softly placing your legs down before crawling up to lie beside you, draping one arm across your waist and pulling your limp, pliant body flush against her own. She buries her face in the sweat-damp hair at the nape of your neck, breathing in the scent of sex and satisfaction.

“There’s no place I’d rather be than right here, sweetheart,” Agatha murmurs, her voice low and intimate, the kind of tone that vibrates against your skin more than it touches your ears. Her hand glides slowly, reverently, down your side—her fingers tracing the gentle slope of your waist, the soft give of your hip. The caress is tender, almost worshipful, her palm wide and warm as it soothes the small tremors still lingering in your muscles.

You can’t speak yet. Your body’s still humming, the aftershocks of your intense climax still pulsing through your limbs like echoes. But it’s different now. No longer electric, just… warm. Lingering. Gentle. Like your body finally knows it’s safe to let go.

Agatha feels the shift. She senses the way you begin to melt against her, the way your breathing evens out as your cheek presses to her chest. Her arms wrap tighter around you, holding you close like something she can’t believe she gets to keep. And she cradles you like that—protective, unyielding, reverent. As if you’re something sacred.

As if she’ll never let you go again. You nuzzle instinctively into the crook of her neck, your nose brushing the soft line beneath her jaw, chasing her warmth. You breathe her in—her scent, her skin, her presence—like it’s air and you’d been starving for it.

Agatha tilts her head to press a kiss to the top of your hair—soft, lingering, full of something unspoken and endless. Her fingers resume their slow path down your spine, tracing every curve and hollow with care, memorizing the feel of you beneath her touch.

“I’ve got you, baby—” she whispers, her breath a soothing rush over your ear. “You’re safe with me…” The words settle into your bones like a lullaby. Her voice is warm and steady, a low, calming rumble that sinks into the quiet spaces inside you and fills them with something like peace.

She shifts then, gently guiding you as she rolls onto her back, taking you with her. Your body drapes over hers effortlessly, like you were always meant to fit there. One of her arms wraps securely around your waist, fingers spreading over the small of your back, grounding you. The other rises to cup your cheek, thumb stroking softly along the edge of your jaw before brushing against your bottom lip.

You feel her eyes on you, and when you look up, what you see nearly steals your breath. Agatha is gazing at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. Her eyes are darker, molten with warmth, glowing with a depth of tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

“You were so good for me, sweetheart,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “So perfect. So beautiful. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you…” She leans in slowly, giving you time to meet her halfway—and when your lips touch again, it’s nothing like before. This kiss isn’t rushed. It’s not urgent, or desperate, or wild. It’s slow. Deep. Full.

Agatha kisses you like she’s laying down roots. Like she’s planting something in you that will never stop growing. She pours everything into that kiss—every apology she never voiced, every night she spent aching for you, every ounce of devotion she only now feels brave enough to show. It seeps into you with every press of her lips, every sigh, every quiet, sacred pass of her thumb along your skin.

When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests gently against yours, nose brushing yours, breaths intermingling in the soft dark. “I’m not going anywhere,” she murmurs, the promise stitched into every syllable. “And I need you to know I mean that—”She pauses, her thumb sweeping across your cheek. “Not now. Not ever again.” Her fingers trail across your face, gentle as starlight, tracing the curve of your cheekbone, the line of your jaw, the flutter of your lashes as you blink up at her. Her gaze never leaves yours.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, voice breaking just slightly. “And I am irrevocably, completely, yours.” She seals the vow with another kiss. This one is soft—barely a brush. A breath shared. A silent promise. Her hand settles at the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, holding you close.

Your heartbeat syncs with hers as your body fully relaxes against her, chests rising and falling in tandem, the rhythm natural, familiar. Home. Agatha kisses your forehead, then your temple, then your lips one last time before pulling the blanket up around your shoulders. She keeps you pressed to her, arm tight around you, skin-to-skin, heart-to-heart.

“I love you,” she says again, so quietly it’s almost a prayer. Wonder drips from her voice, like she still can’t believe she’s allowed to say it. “I love you so damn much.” You respond only by curling into her, your breath warm against her collarbone, your body sighing against hers. And finally, together, limbs tangled and hearts steady, you both begin to drift—safe, wrapped in each other, love settling around you like the softest kind of peace.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #kathryn hahn x reader #kathryn hahn #rio vidal

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divadepreshawn · 3 days ago

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𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader ×popstar

Okay, maybe I exaggerated a little, I don't know if this story makes sense because I've read and reread it a thousand times - and honestly at this point words and languages seem like a distant concept. I swear I try not to write notes, but they are so cute. Aaron is secretly a big gossip, period. wc: 3 592 Omg😭😭 I took three exams worth 1,000 points. I got full marks in two and 950 (in math). CHAMPAGNE POP🍾 Continuation

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You had a date.

Romantic? Just friends?

It doesn’t matter because it was with him, and you would be whatever he needed right now. Talking to him was good, not just because he was handsome – that certainly didn’t hurt the eyes. But because you could be yourself. Not the star. Not the phenomenon. Not the face in the campaigns, on the covers, on the playlists of the whole world. And best of all? He sees you, appreciates your humor without the intention of adjusting it, accepts your excesses, your intensity, your clumsy way of expressing affection disguised as sarcasm.

This is so rare it hurts.

He’s not the kind of person who lies to please. You realized that the first time you met him, when he made no effort to pretend he knew who you were. And his frankness in admitting it was almost disconcerting. But more than that, there was a silent certainty – one that grew inside you every time he looked at you in silence.

He’s not going to expose you.

You just know. Even if everything goes wrong, he won’t turn memories into ammunition. He won’t rush to the first interview or podcast with twisted stories and empty words. Maybe this will all go up in smoke when the tour starts, when you’re crossing time zones and your schedule eats up everything. But for now, it’s worth a try.

You adjusted your dress one more time in front of the mirror, twisting your body from side to side to make sure it was exactly how you wanted it: elegant, sexy, but simple – as if you hadn’t spent a lot of time choosing it.

Were you looking forward to seeing Aaron again? Of course not, why would you be? Just because he’s gorgeous, smart, polite – and extremely hot? No, of course not. You’d just spent an hour on makeup, half an hour choosing the perfect dress, twenty minutes fixing your hair, and at least ten minutes applying your lotion and perfume. A self-esteem ritual that you followed to the letter.

But this has nothing to do with him, it’s about feeling good about yourself. Totally about that.

“Wow,” Lisa’s voice snapped you out of your trance. You blinked slowly, trying to absorb your own image in the mirror.

“Did I overdo it?” you asked, adjusting your diamond necklace as you watched her in the mirror.

She looked you up and down. “I wouldn’t say it was overdone…” she replied with an amused smile on her lips. “That outfit and that perfume. Do you want this man to survive dinner or are you trying to cause a breakdown in his nervous system?”

You let out a low laugh – which came out more nervous than you’d like to admit. “So, he could have run when I sent flowers to his office, but he didn’t. So I think he can handle this.”

She looked down at your body again, pointing to your ass. She looked back up at your eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, I don’t think this man has ever seen an ass like that.”

“Lisa!” You scolded her with an incredulous laugh.

She just raises her arms in false surrender, her smile full of provocation. “Are you sure you’re not trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I’m not going to answer that.” You go to the closet to look for an oversized jacket that matches the dress.

“Cinderella, your Prince Charming is at the door-” Chris walks in with his cell phone in his hand, his sentence trailing off halfway. His eyes run up and down you, he stops, leaning against the doorframe. “Wow… I was going to make a joke,” he continues, still dazed. “Something like ‘don’t come back after midnight or I’ll turn you into a pumpkin’… but honestly? If this man has two brain cells working, he’ll propose to you before dessert.”

“I told you,” Lisa adds in the background, her arms crossed and a smug smile on her lips.

“You guys are a constant attack on my humility.” You stop in front of the mirror, taking one last look at your appearance, applying lip gloss with precision. Taking a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “Okay, wish me luck.”

“We know you, you’re not the one who needs luck. I just hope he doesn’t have a family history of heart disease.”

“Christopher,” you hummed in warning as you walked to the door. He held his hands up in surrender—clearly enjoying himself.

When you opened the door, for a full second you forgot how to breathe. There he was—standing just inside the entryway, in the soft light of the garden.

Aaron Hotchner.

His casual attire said more than any expensive suit ever could. The lack of a tie, the slight crease in his shirt sleeves, the perfectly tailored dark jeans—everything about him screamed carefully unpretentious elegance.

“You need to step up the—” the sentence trailed off in your throat as his eyes met yours.

You smile, frowning slightly. “I need to emphasize what exactly?”

“I… I was going to say something, but right now I can’t remember,” he confesses, almost in a whisper, his eyes still locked on you. “You look beautiful.”

Your smile grows. For a second, you forget the nervousness you’ve been feeling all afternoon. Everything feels so… light.

He swallows hard, trying to compose himself as he holds out the bouquet to you. “I… I got this for you.” The sound of your laughter as you accept the bouquet makes something bubble in his chest—had he really noticed how beautiful you are already?

“You’re officially forgiven,” you say, looking up at him over the petals. “But only because I brought flowers… and these jeans.”

He arches an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” you continue, your tone soft. “But I feel like I’m at a disadvantage. I might need to fill your office with flowers just to balance things out.”

He chuckles softly, opening the car door for you. “While I appreciate the thought, it would raise a lot of questions that I wouldn’t have the answers to. And consequently, my phone would be hacked before the third delivery.”

You nod slightly, settling into the seat. “Delivery before eight o’clock, noted.”

He gets in on the other side with a slight smile on his lips. “If I may ask, what’s the deal with the flowers?”

You smile, looking at the bouquet for a moment before turning your eyes back to him.

"They're pretty, they smell nice… they have this way of accompanying people on both good and bad days." You pause for a moment, looking away at the road ahead. "I usually send flowers when I want to thank or congratulate someone… Sometimes, just to let them know I'm thinking of them." An amused smile plays on your lips. "There's this crazy conspiracy theory that says I 'silence' my competitors. My fans like to joke that I send them flowers just so they know I know where they live."

He lets out a short laugh, looking at you as he keeps his hands firmly on the steering wheel. "Well, now I'm wondering why you want to fill my office with flowers."

"I can send one to thank you for picking me up, one to congratulate you on being so handsome, and one just to let you know I'm thinking of you." You shrug, your eyes turning to him with mock innocence. "You can interpret it however you want."

Aaron turns his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “I have to give credit to your quick wit, the way you combine conversation with flirting is admirable.”

You laugh, bowing. “It’s a gift, thank you.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, the silence between you comfortable. The restaurant was beautiful. The tables were dark wood, with crisp white tablecloths and fresh flowers in the center. The walls were adorned with subtle artwork and pendant lights that reflected a golden hue into the room, giving it a soft, cozy glow.

But the place felt… deserted.

You let Aaron guide you to a table, murmuring a “thank you” as he pulls out the chair for you to sit, still silently scanning the room, a little confused. He sits across from you and just watches you for a moment, as if trying to figure out what you were thinking before you have to put it into words.

“Um…” He clears his throat, hesitating a bit before continuing. “I… asked my friend if I could bring you here after they closed.”

Your jaw drops before you can stop it, surprise written all over your face. He notices it instantly. His gaze changes—almost alert.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says quickly, leaning forward slightly. “I still remember how big the crowd was that day. I just wanted to make sure you felt comfortable.”

You blink in surprise. The revelation hits you like a warm wave—unexpected, but gentle.

Your gaze softens as you watch him silently, absorbing the warmth behind the gesture.

“That’s…very kind, Aaron. Thank you.”

He looks away, unsure what to make of your thanks. But you notice the way his shoulders relax. The slight twitch at the corners of his mouth—and the way he tilts his head slightly downward to try to hide it.

“I haven’t told you this yet, but I recently found out that someone on my team is a fan of yours.”

“Really?” You raise your eyebrows, genuinely curious. “How did you find out?”

“Remember that gala event you showed up at unannounced?”

You hum in response, tearing off a piece of bread the waiter had just brought to the table.

“So… Events like this usually don’t require the entire staff to be present, one representative is enough – in this case, the boss. As usual, everyone came up with some crazy excuse to leave.”

“Wait.” You hand him half of the slice. “I get that these events can be kind of… boring. But giving away free food and drinks? That’s almost a crime. Do they really try so hard not to go?”

Aaron smiles, accepting the piece of bread with a slight nod. "You have no idea. Morgan once said he couldn't come because he had an appointment to get his hair cut."

You frown, chewing slowly. "That sounds pretty plausible to me," you mutter in confusion. "How exactly does that fall into the category of lame excuses?"

Aaron raises an eyebrow, his smirk slowly widening. "Morgan is bald."

You stop mid-chew, your eyes widening—and then you burst out laughing, putting your hand in front of your lips, trying not to spit out the bread you just put in your mouth.

"You've got to be kidding," you say, still laughing, biting your lower lip—in an attempt to maintain your composure.

"I wish it was." He shakes his head with a feigned tired expression. "He even tried to explain that it was specifically 'keeping up with the finishing touches.'"

Your laughter intensifies—this time uncontrollably. You lean back slightly in your chair, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye with the tip of your finger.

“Keep up with the polish?” you repeat, panting between laughs. “That’s brilliant. Absurd, but brilliant.”

Aaron smiles, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep your composure at that moment.”

“And what did you say?”

“I couldn’t answer at the time, I just stared at him trying not to laugh. It was one of those moments where you have to look away, as if you were breaking the fourth wall, it was so absurd.”

You fan yourself with your hand and take a deep breath, trying to stop laughing. “Okay, I understand the level of commitment, I can get back to the main topic.”

“Well, the other day, Penelope was waiting for me at the elevator door. As soon as I got on the floor, she bombarded me with questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

"Was it true, was she there? Did you see her up close? Is she pretty? Oh my god wait, did you talk to her? Did you get close enough to smell her perfume? If so, was it good?" He counts on his fingers as he speaks. "When I said you stayed a while after the presentation and talked to whoever came near, I thought she was going to cry."

You let out a low laugh, raising your hands in surrender. "Okay, you convinced me, now I have to meet her in person."

"Just let me know, she would sort out that office if she didn't take a sedative first."

"Imagine if she found out who took me home."

You notice how your shoulders tense at the comment, quickly correcting yourself. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, if my flowers bother you you can tell me, I won't be upset."

He seems to hesitate before lifting the glass of whiskey to his lips. “I don’t want to seem disinterested – believe me, that’s not the case. You’re so beautiful, smart and funny, it would be a sin not to notice you. I just…” He avoids your eyes, focusing on the glass of wine on the table. “I just have to be honest, I’m at least ten years older than you, I’m divorced with a child, my work takes up practically all of my time.”

You smile, the uncertainty in your voice so palpable that you want to walk around the table and hug him. “Well, if it comforts you in any way, I already knew all of this and I still chose to be here.”

“I don’t really know how to deal with this,” he admits, a little embarrassed. “I mean… I’ve been with Haley since college. That was twenty years ago.” He lets out a laugh "And I found that I could handle it all. Work, marriage, being a father. I thought the silence between us was so tired. Part of the routine. But deep down, I knew. I knew she was pulling away… And yet, I stood still. I didn't get closer, I didn't try to stop her." His eyes lower, looking at the glass in his hands. "And now, every time I think about opening up again, it feels like I'm leading you into a minefield. That at any moment, something will happen. I don't want to hurt anyone again. Especially you."

He pauses, still avoiding your eyes "That's what I have to offer you. I don't want to start something I can't sustain. You deserve more than halves."

You stay silent for a few seconds, absorbing the weight of his words, trying to find the right words to react to his sudden confession.

"Well, since we're talking about it…" you begin with a small smile. "My life is chaotic, I can't do anything outdoors without some crazy guy with a camera following me around - and that's been the case since I was twenty. I'm barely at home, when I'm not traveling on tour I'm in the studio recording, or in the warehouse rehearsing, or doing interviews and performing at festivals."

He raises his eyebrows gently, turning his gaze to you.

“I’m a huge perfectionist, and it interferes with pretty much every aspect of my life. I know I seem confident, with the flirting and all, but I went to therapy for a few years and realized that I have a tendency to sabotage my relationships. I figured out that it was because, deep down, I don’t think I’m good enough.” You pause, laughing humorlessly, absently fiddling with the napkin next to your glass.

He watches your monologue in silence.

“Oh, I can be a bitch too when I’m focused on my work and it’s not working out as it should. You have your demons, I have mine.” You rest your face on your hand. “For now, just tell me what’s good.”

He doesn’t answer right away, just keeps looking at you with a small smile. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

You were getting ready to leave when a tall man came out of the kitchen. He approached, drying his hands on a kitchen towel as his eyes went from you to Aaron, and then back to you.

“No way,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you. When recognition dawned on him, he looked directly at Aaron with an expression that was a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Man… there’s no way you pulled that off.”

Aaron looked away with a low sigh, a slight blush appearing on his face. “James…”

“Sorry, it’s just that when you asked to bring someone here after hours I thought it was a serial killer, like dinner with Hannibal. It didn’t cross my mind for a second that you’d come here with what? The third most famous person in the world, behind only Jesus Christ and Michael Jackson?”

You let out an amused laugh, partly at his audacity in comparing you to Jesus and Michael, partly at the way Aaron closed his eyes—almost as if he was praying for the ground to open up and swallow him.

The man continued, addressing you with genuine enthusiasm. “I know you probably hear this all the time, but… my wife is a huge fan. Like, a huge fan. She has all your CDs, vinyls, even a limited edition that I don’t even know how she got. She’s been to all your shows. All of them. And just last night she spent the whole night trying to buy tickets for your new tour. She almost cried because the digital queue froze. She screamed when she got it. I thought some room in the house had caught on fire.” James continued, now pulling a pen out of his pocket with an almost shy expression. “So… if it’s not too much to ask, could you sign something? Anything. A napkin, my arm, the restaurant bill—she’ll frame it anyway.”

You smiled, grabbing the nearest napkin with the restaurant’s gold logo on it. "Sure. What's her name?"

"Helena, with an H." He stares at Aaron for a few seconds before turning to you. "Look, with all due respect, I don't know what's more impressive… You managing to drag Hotchner out of that office or the fact that Mr. "nobody-knows-about-my-life" is meeting a pop culture icon. It's like watching a shooting star leave with a comet. If I tell anyone about this, they'll think I hit my head."

Aaron blushed slightly, his stoic expression crumbling for a moment. "I'm starting to think that being chased and possibly trampled isn't such a bad option."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you wrote carefully.

“Dear Helena Knowing that you appreciate my art enough to be with me for these fourteen years leaves me speechless. It is an immense honor to know that my music has touched your life in some way. Now, between you and me: how lucky you are, my friend. The food here is some of the best I have ever tasted in my life — I hope it tastes as good to you as it does to the spices. I can’t wait to see you at my show. With love, Miss Honey”

James held the piece of paper like it was a sacred artifact. “Thank you. She’s going to make an altar, probably put candles around it.” You smiled as he walked away, protecting the napkin with the palm of your hand as if it were made of thin glass.

Aaron opened the door for you, and as you left, he muttered under his breath, “I’m sorry about him. Apparently, there’s no hiding from all the fans.”

You smiled, glancing at him sideways. “It’s okay, and honestly, he was adorable.”

On the way back, he seemed quieter than usual. You could feel his gaze, disguised by quick sideways glances, as if he was studying you.

“You’re staring,” you tease.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a tight smile. “I’m trying to figure out how someone like you would be interested in someone like me.”

You frowned, tilting your head slightly. “I thought we talked about this already.”

“We talked,” he nodded slowly. “But sometimes, even when someone says the right words… it’s hard to believe them. You’re the kind of person you double-check to make sure they’re real.”

You laughed awkwardly, looking away to the window, trying to hide the blush that was rising in your cheeks. “Okay, stop it, you’re embarrassing me.”

He tilted his head, his eyes shining with amusement. “What? Did I manage to embarrass you? Should I go back and order some champagne to celebrate?”

“I could double your teasing, but I’ll spare you, as an act of kindness.”

“Oh really?” He parked in front of your house, turning slightly to look at you, a cocky smile playing on his lips. “And how would you do that?”

You didn’t answer, instead, you took off your belt and leaned towards him, pressing your lips against his. He stood still for a second, stunned by your boldness, but soon he kissed you back, his lips moving against yours with the same intensity.

When you pulled away, still a few inches away from him, both of you were breathing quickly, his eyes fixed on yours, trying to process what had just happened.

“Goodnight, Aaron.” You said softly with a smile, before opening the car door and getting out.

He stood there, motionless, his eyes still fixed on you as you walked away. The scent of your perfume was still in every corner of the car.

He had just crossed the line.

And he didn’t regret it at all.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel I will be happy to receive them :)

tag: @duchesz @midnghtprentiss @jazzimac1967 @queenofnothng @leathynn @camihotchner @yourallaround-simp @pastelpinkflowerlife @padlockedheartsreading @tomhiddlestonforever-blog @michasia24 @sweetpianoxoxo

#aaron hotch imagine #spotify #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #alien superstar #reader!diva #reader!popstar #Spotify #aaron hotchner fanfiction #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x female reader

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prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue · 3 days ago

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Girl dad! Joker I literally need more bat!reader turned mini joker, Harley getting a daughter and they have fun little mother daughter playdates blowing all of Jokers money😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

hihi ty for the ask !!!

okay so I would like to think contrary to everyone - i think Joker before what's happened to him - back when he was a normal functioning human being was actually thinking about having a kid.

Like he genuinely wanted a kid with someone he loved and appreciated- just wanted to make another being genuinely happy . Then tragedy strikes and he turns into Joker and for a good few years - his morality changes drastically and the thought of a kid is pretty far fetched.

So when he sees this little girl in the the rain crying her heart of because someone ran over her doll - he feels an ache in his cold heart and it scares him at first - he literally avoids her for a good while but then one day he sees her fall while sliding fown a lil slide.

And he just rush over to pick her up and from then on she became his daughter.

Him and Harley loves her- I mean how could they not ? All they ever wanted was a chance at domestic life after everything they've been through - contrary to popular opinions I don't think they'd involve her in their criminal endeavors .

I feel like they'd hold onto her as their ine chance at feeling normal so they just have someone trusted watch over her til they get back. Notably they don't do alot of messes that could land them in jail because after all they have a little girl to go home too.

I feel like Joker would read her a bedtime story and Harley would wear matching pj's with her. Like I said before in a precious post , Harley is that mom he's on the pda board and goes to every meeting and Joker is a big sponsor of the school.

Hey they might kot be good role models and they're both equally insane and fucked up but they make good parents.

#dc universe #batfam #dcu #dc x reader #dcu imagine #dcu imagines #dc joker #harley quinn #anon ask #ask

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starlightuniverse2 · 24 hours ago

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1 - yes, 200000 of us(and possibly more)

👾 - yes, mainly the littles but some others do too(Adrian will change r and l with w and the number system write in numbers instead of letters)

🚀 - tbh most of us are non-human, it's one of our biggest coping strategies

4 - majorly(AUDHD and just some general mental health things too)

5 - collectively we use any pronouns so technically? And some personal alters do

🌠- most of us do as most of us fit in the alt aesthetic

🌙- yes, most of the littles are and some others are too

🪐- yes, avenger alters, abuser alters and general persecutors

💫- yes and they type like it too

🌌- our amnesia depends on 2 factors 1 if the alter wants the memories secret and 2 if the events are too triggering for alters to know, otherwise we have no amnesia except for very little things between switches. Also even in either case an alter who "knows everything" needs to front after to keep the amnesia.

🌟 - very clear communication, most of us are either dating, best friends or strongly don't like eachother. Everyone has access to the inner world where daily life happens so communication is very clear.

🌘 - it's an entire multiverse so yes😭

🛸- almost all of us do especially about "families and our lives" in the inner world

👽 - both collectively and alter wise. Collectively it's only a little bit(however it seems to be getting worst) but there's some alters that have it on the very extreme side [like Ocean who has tourettes in the inner world and very bad tics when fronting]

☀️ - I wouldn't say so but some alters couldn't mask to save their life, most of us are pretty good at it tho[however know for those systems that are your still valid!!]

✨ - yes, take Melody for example, she has one of the strongest russian/German accents

🌍 - in the inner world everyone speaks different languages, we're currently teaching the body some languages to make fronting more comfortable for those that speak other languages

☁️ - both but we use simply plural more often

⭐ - Yes, been so since 2020!!

Space themed System ask game based on common fakeclaim "criteria" because these things are valid and cool actually

🛰-Do you have a large headcount?

👾-Do any alters in your system have typing quirks?

🚀-Does your system have any Non-human alters?

☄️-Is your system neurodivergent?

🔭-Does your system use neo Pronouns?

🌠-Do any of the alters in your system have dyed hair?

🌙-Are there any nonverbal alters in your system?

🪐-Does your system have Angry or "dangerous" persecutors?

💫-Do your littles use 'little-speech?'

🌌-Does your system have little to no amnesia between switches?

🌟-Does your system have fairly clear communication?

🌘-Do you have a large or complex headspace?

🛸-Do any alters in your system have exo-memories?

👽Does your system have any tics?

☀️-is your system bad at masking?

✨️-Do any alters in your system have an accent?

🌎-Do any alters in your system speak in a different language?

☁️-Does your system use things like pluralkit and simply plural?

⭐️-are you out about being a system?

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lokisbxtches · 3 days ago

Text

New You

You leave Sylus alone for two months, and surprise him with a whole new look, unintentionally.

Find photo here

Sylus x thick black reader (anyone can read though)!

Warnings: SMUT, Somnophilia, nervous Sylus, reader is oblivious, yearning Sylus, first time writing smut kinda, all came from my fantasies in my head about Sylus, virgin reader/first time for both. Let me know if I miss anything.

Words: 3.4k

A/N: I am not thick or chubby! I just thought of this because I thought it was cute considering how much sylus loves squeezing and poking MC. Please let me know if you think it is wrong of me to write this! I don’t want to offend anyone!!! I also wrote this with nails on 😭 so if there are any mistakes, please forgive me and if there’s any lore that sounds wrong, let me know! This isn’t proofread, and I’m using Grammarly to help correct this, so it might sound dumb .. I’m not the best writer.

Sylus has been without you for two months, TWO MONTHS!!! It felt like an eternity for him (and that’s saying a lot since he’s lived lifetimes without you). He couldn’t wait for you to come back, couldn’t wait until he put his mighty claws on you and hold you.

He hoped that everything was going well, considering this was the longest you’d been on a mission, especially without him being there to assist and spy on you. He even thought about finding a way to be with you and help you on that mission, but decided against it so he wouldn’t ruin it for you. God, did it hurt to fight against that urge.

He didn’t know when you’d be back, and he couldn’t even text you since the signal was so terrible—I mean, you went into the deepspace tunnel… could you really communicate with anyone from there?—but he was patient, like always, and just waited for you to come back and be with him again.

Soon enough, you came back, but instead of going straight to Sylus's house like you usually do after every mission, you went to your apartment. It wasn't your fault, though, you were so tired that you weren't thinking straight. You were thinking on default, you know? You took the route that you knew by heart—the route straight to your big comfy bed—all you thought about was sleep. You came home and hopped straight into bed, not even taking a shower, just right to bed.

After 30 minutes of sleeping, you hear the doorbell ring. You don’t move a muscle in the hope that the person will leave, but nope. They keep ringing, and you ignore them until they stop after the 25th ring. You sighed and went back to sleep.

Sylus was confused and a bit heartbroken that you didn’t text him when you returned. He saw you on the cameras—that he discreetly put in your house without you knowing… it was for a good purpose, not for anything weird, of course not. It was just in case you were in trouble, like if a burglar broke in or if someone was after you (or if you had company over…), he would know asap, nothing crazy, seriously—when he reached your apartment, he decided to just ring the doorbell like a normal person, he didn’t want to scare you or anything but after you didn’t answer it for so long he grew weary. He decidedly teleported into your house instead of breaking down the door—don’t want the cops to be called, do we?—he flickered with the switch but nothing came on… the house looked neat enough, its small but neat, no sign of forced entry and he doesn’t hear any water running so why didn’t you answer the door?

He snuck towards your room, slightly opening the door, only to see you lying there in your bed, sleeping, not moving a muscle. From a distance, it’d look like you were dead, considering how you were laying, but he knew you and your sleeping positions. For others, it looked crazy, but it was comfortable for you and he didn’t judge—hell, he sleeps laying up so he can’t judge anyway.—he walked towards the side of the bed where you laid, and for a moment, he stood there, watching. He watched as the moonlight spilled into your room and sat perfectly on your drooling face, watched how your eyes were still slightly open—that’s how he knew you were in a deep sleep—you must’ve been tired, he thought, since you didn’t change and you still had your shoes on.

Sylus didn’t want to disturb you, so he walked around the house for a little wondering why the lights were out. He soon saw paperwork scattered on the kitchen counter, It was bills after bills stacked up, you’ve been gone so long, of course, no one paid for them. He curses himself internally for not thinking of your bills sooner, but can you blame him? You practically lived with him now, but still, he’ll pay for them later on.

Since your house had no power, no water, or air, he took that as a reason to take you to his house, which, of course, brought deep joy from within him.

Sylus was surprised when you didn't wake from him carrying you or driving to his house. After making it to his house and laying you on your side of his bed, he waited patiently for you to wake (but not until after he took your shoes off. He didn’t want to take your clothes off, though—not yet at least—he didn’t want that to wake you up, and you just so happen to see him stripping you… How would that make him look?)

The next morning, you woke to classical music playing and the smell of breakfast. You were disheveled, but soon got your thoughts together and realized you weren’t at the place you drove an hour to last night. No, this wasn’t your bedroom, this was Sylus’s room… how did you get here, you wondered, surely you would’ve gotten up if you felt someone touch you? You’re not a heavy sleeper. Were you that tired? So many thoughts run through you as you lie there still.

“Good morning, my love” you heard from the doorway. You got up to see Sylus standing there smiling slyly.

“Sylus?” You asked. “How did I-” Sylus cuts you off, “are you hungry? Or do you want to shower first?” He says getting closer to you, sitting on the edge of the bed in no time with his long legs. He cuffed your face, admiring how beautiful you looked, though he noticed something different about you… Did your cheeks get more chubbier, or was his mind making up things since it’s been so long without you? Perhaps it’s nothing. You were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen and ever been in love with. Thinking those thoughts, he proceeded to squeeze them, smiling as he watched your face scrunched up.

“Sylus!” You exclaimed softly, laughing while pushing his hand away. “I’ve missed you so much,” he says softly, trying to go in for a kiss, but was rejected when you move away. He looks at you with confusion and heartbreak in his eyes. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” you say, pouting, “so?” He says still trying to go in for a kiss, but this time he succeeds, grabbing your face with both his hands, kissing you passionately. “I don’t care if you haven’t brushed your teeth in days or months.” You push him away, “Ewww,” you laugh, he takes this chance to grab your face and kiss you all over.

“I’ve missed you so much, my dear,” he speaks out, “I had to fight the urge to come find you myself and bring you home” he confesses, looking you into your eyes as he caresses your face. “I've missed you too honey, god it was so hard not being able to text you,” you say, leaning into his touch and then kissing his cheek.

After much time, you decidedly get up to shower after realizing you’ve had the same clothes on for two days. “My love…” Sylus speaks up, stopping you in your tracks as you turn around to face him. he gets up and looks at you—this whole time of him being over you he didn’t realize your body has changed significantly. You watch as he stares at you up and down with a wondering look. You let out a sigh, “You’ve changed?” He asks, “I did.” You look down, pressing your lips together, “you’ve gotten…” he trails off, “bigger?” You say looking into his eyes but his eyes are fixated on your thighs, watching as your hunter uniform—aka your shorts—gets engulfed by them, he’s admiring them, “I wouldn’t say that” and he’s right, you shouldn’t say that because it’s not true, “you’ve gotten thicker I might say” that’s right… thicker.

He trails his eyes from your thighs to your belly pudge then your chest, watching as your boobs almost bulge out of your shirt. They were poking and sitting so rightfully good that he could just launch himself at you and rip that shirt off right but he held himself together, he did wonder though how could you change so much in two months?

You watch as he stares and looks at you with confusion, “but how? It’s been two months,” He asks, “Time in the deepspace tunnel works differently than it does here, 1 month here is almost a year there, I guess.” You admit still a bit surprised about that, realizing you’ve been gone for 2 years in the tunnel. “While I was there, I got into an accident, which caused me to be on bed rest. They fed me a lot and wouldn’t let me work out,” his heart sank, “an accident?” He's rushing to your side, scanning you, “It was just my ankle, I broke it, but I’m healed up a bit, though they sent me back here early since I’m still at risk,” you say as you show off your ankle. He slightly calms down.

“I’ll lose the weight in no time, I just need to exercise” you say smiling lightly, “you don’t have to,” He looks you up and down holding your waist, almost buckling in at the knees as he saw your belly pudge, “yea but I can't go fighting wanderers out of breath can I?” You laughed, causing Sylus to roll his eyes, “You know you can always-,” You shush him “I love my job Sylus, and I won’t give it up because im out of shape,” you explained, Sylus just laughs, “but if you change your mind…” he trails off, “I know I know” you laugh finally turning around, retreating into the bathroom to shower.

After showering and finishing eating breakfast, you ask Sylus to come work out with you, “You sure that’s a good idea? You should be resting on that still-healing ankle,” Sylus says, unwilling to help you lose weight.

“Oh, please, I’m fine. It’s practically healed enough for me to walk without a limp. That bed rest and amazing medicine helped me,” you say, still not enough to convince Sylus, “if you don’t want to work out with me, then I’ll just go back to Linkon and work out by myself.” Sylus sighed, giving in to your “threat”, not wanting to be away from you anymore, “fine, but not for long. Can’t risk your ankle getting injured again.” You rolled your eyes, turning on your heels, heading straight for Sylus's personal gym.

Working out was a bit tough for you since you had been on bed rest in the tunnel, it cost you the ability to exercise but you didn’t give up, Sylus knew it was hard for you but didn’t pressure you to stop, he knew you could handle it but he also knew when you couldn’t, when you would push yourself past your limit—he loved that about you but damn did it make him worry—he knew when and when not to step in.

You two worked out all day, only because you didn’t want to stop, but soon enough you tired yourself out and headed back to Sylus’s room to take another shower.

“Weird I haven’t seen or heard from the twin's none today,” you say as you walk through the threshold of Sylus’s bedroom, “I sent them away on a mission two days ago, they should be back by the weekend” he discloses, you've been so out of it you didn't realize today was Tuesday—honestly you didn’t know what day it was, you only knew it was Tuesday because of the calendar on the wall—“where’s my phone?” You asked, looking everywhere, “It’s on the charger over there on the nightstand, it was dead when I came and got you. That explains why you didn’t text me when you got back.” You look at him with a wondering face, “Speaking of that, how did you know I was back?” Sylus was silent for a moment before saying, “Oh, kitten, you must not know I have my ways.” he smirked, which only creeped you out just a bit, “stalker,” you say, grinning.

Just as you were about to enter the bathroom, you turned to Sylus, who was now sitting in his chair, reading a book. It always amazed you how fast he moved, especially without making any noise. “You coming?” You ask curiously, he looks up with a quizzical expression, almost as if you’re speaking to someone else, “Pardon?” “Do you want to shower together?” You ask properly, Sylus was shocked… You asked him to shower with you! You’ve never done that before… I mean, you guys have never done anything! He hasn’t even seen you naked!! Is this a joke? Is he dreaming??? He thinks to himself, “Unless you don’t want to”, Sylus damn near jumps out of his skin trying to get to his feet, “of course I do” he says hurriedly but soon calms himself, “alright well I’ll go run the water” you say walking into the bathroom.

Sylus watched you retreat into the bathroom, he stood there astonished because you asked him to shower with you. He had to be dreaming… was this the next step in the relationship? Either way, he was excited, but of course, he had to keep his cool and pretend like it didn’t affect him the way it did.

He finally strides his way to the bathroom, where he saw you already naked showering, he damned the way the glass was made because if it wasn’t for that he would be able to see your body clearly from where he was standing. Obviously, He was going to see it clearly once he hopped in with you, that thought made him fly out of his clothes and jump right into that shower.

Oh did he enjoy the view of your very plump ass, took everything in him not to grab it that instance. He didn’t realize he was staring until you asked him to wash your back. He grabbed the towel, lathering it up with your Dove soap, and proceeded to wash your back. As he washed it he got lower and lower until he reached just above your ass, he was staring again. He kept rubbing that same area until you spoke up, “I think it's clean enough, Sylus.” You laughed, turning around and grabbing the towel from him.

You let the water wash all the soap off your back, hoping your bonnet wasn’t getting wet because of how big it was—Sylus didn’t even realize you put it on—He watched as you raised your arms to pick the back of your bonnet up and leaned over just a little bit so the water could fully get to your neck and back, noticing the water flowing from your back to the bottom of your hanging breast. That sight immediately turned him on, seeing them drip and jiggle just a little bit, he couldn’t contain himself—luckily you turned around just before his cock got fully erect— he grabbed and pushed his cock down so it wouldn’t hit the back of your ass since you were so close to one another.

He had to focus his mind elsewhere so it would go away but you just had to bend over slightly to wash your feet, that’s when he got a perfect glimpse of your wet pussy and lord did he lose it. He let out the whiniest groan you’ve ever heard, only to immediately stop himself and clear his throat, trying to keep his composure. “You said something?” You asked, rising back to your feet and turning your head slightly to look at him, “No,” he says bluntly, “sorry I’m taking up all the water, it’s your turn now.” You finished washing off and maneuvered to get behind him.

You helped him wash his back off, soon stepping out of the shower to get dressed. Sylus, on the other hand, stayed in the shower a bit longer to calm himself down.

Sometime after that, he got out, put on a pair of boxers, and headed out of the bathroom. He saw you already halfway asleep with one of his oversized shirts on, which turned him on even more, but he didn’t think about it too much, sliding into bed right with you soon after.

Later that night, he couldn't sleep, still thinking about that shower you too had together, he couldn’t get over it, and that thought made something else rise in him. He ignored it, turning on his side to cuddle you. You turned too—still being in a deep sleep—you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs intertwined with his, breathing into his neck, he pulled you closer. Snaking his hands underneath his shirt to grab your ass just a bit only to realize you weren’t wearing any underwear.

Fuck.

He thought to himself—that one little thing just threw him completely over the edge—his cock only got harder by the minute and he couldn’t take it anymore, “shit,” he breathed out hesitantly, fingers slowly getting closer to the entrance of your pussy, once he reached it he rubbed just a little bit making him whimper so slightly.

He should stop, he thought, this is wrong but fuck did your pussy feel good. He wanted to stick a finger in but stopped himself, he moved his hand away from your entrance and down to his aching cock. He had to pull it out… He had to relieve some pressure from it.

He didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to be away from you, from your scent, from your touch… he stroked his cock ever so slow, groaning each time his tip touched your clit. He was getting hot and tenser, he had to move you, laying you on your back, pushing the shirt up so he could get a good look at your pretty pink pussy. He wanted to see your boobs too but then he would be getting too greedy… this was already wrong as it is… he shouldn’t make it worse.

Seeing your pussy made him want to jump right on in but he had to control himself and focus on getting his problem out the way before you awake to see what he was doing, his mouth was drooling at the sight of your pussy… he couldn’t hold in his whimpers, he was on his knees in the bed, stroking his dick faster and harder to reach his climax but it wasn’t enough. He had to wake you up.

Getting in-between your legs, face inches from yours, he kissed you—Hoping it would wake you up—peppering kisses all over until you finally awake.

“Sylus?” You ask sleepily, opening your eyes just a bit, “What’s wrong baby?”

Baby

Oh boy did that make him even harder? He pushed his tip into your folds, hoping you would get the message. “Won’t you help me kitten? Please my love I need help,” he begged, you looked down to see his aching red tip leaking with pre cum. At that sight you immediately got turned on, already leaking, “I would love to but I’m tired,” you say hoping he’d understand that you didn’t have the energy. “That’s alright baby… just lay there and look pretty,” you nod as he goes down on you.

You were nervous but he soon washed that away once he grabbed your legs, putting them over his shoulders and immediately diving in.

He was eating you like a starving dog, you couldn’t help but let out loud moans, and you thanked the gods above that the twins weren’t here. They’d be traumatized.

He sucked, bit, and licked at your clit, it was too much for you, pushing at his shoulders only made him dive in deeper, using his evol to hold your hands down. This was your first time experiencing head and god did it feel good… so good that you thought it was too much, it was a feeling in your stomach that only got tighter. You didn’t know what it was, but you didn’t want him to stop although you were nervous.

“S-SYLUS!” You screamed, shaking and trembling, “PLEASE! I-I FEEL,” you utter out of breath, but he doesn’t stop, in fact, he goes even faster, sticking a finger in, fucking you at an inhumane rate with them

That’s when you were pushed over the edge, squirting all over his face and bed—which he gladly slurped up—he added another finger and slowly fucked you through your orgasm, you were shaking and breathing hard.

“Oh hope you don’t think we’re done, kitten.” He says as he hovers over you with smirk that could only mean something crazy.

Part 2 ! Sorry if this didn’t make sense I tried 😫

#sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus #sylus smut #lads sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #lnds #lnds sylus #lnds x reader #lads mc #lads #loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction

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returnofeternity · 12 hours ago

Note

obsessed with the idea of moms new friend van x reader…

reader is home from college or lives with mom and mom likes to invite van over often and that’s how you meet her/often meet her.

then one day your car had issues or something so you ask your mom to come pick you up from someplace but she can’t so van does and then bow chicka wow wow LOL.

· · 𓃦 · ·

being happy that your mom found a new friend, but she keeps you trapped in conversation for hours, just talking about her. you feel like you know her as well as your mom, despite never meeting her 😭 all you know is that her name is vanessa, but she likes to be called van, and that she owns a movie store that "you would love!"

van's heard all about you too. maybe it's pathetic of her, but she loves when your mom talks about you. you seem so sweet and innocent, and you have some stuff in common!

she's so excited and nervous when your mom invites her over for the first time. you know she spends hours picking out her best outfit and best smelling cologne in hopes that you'd be there 😭 she just wants to make a good impression!! she's so disappointed when your mom tells her that you're being a bore in your room and that you don't wanna come out 😞 van who asks where the bathroom is and tries to look in open doors to get a peek of you 😳

but when you meet her....or, when you first catch a glimpse of her after coming down for a drink, oh...you're infatuated. thinking of locking eyes with her as you pour your drink, blushing and trying not to smile because she's so handsome.... van starts doing one of her nervous tics while talking to your mom because she thinks ur cute too... silently being grateful when ur mom stops you and yells for you to get ur ass in here to meet her friend. you blush SO hard when van says she's heard so much about you as she shakes your hand, the whiff of her cologne making your head spin.

from then on, you always float near your mom and van when she comes over.... watching them talk outside from inside the living room, inviting yourself on little trips they take because "i need to get out of the house anyway," visiting van's store with your friends and making awkward conversation..

there's obvious tension the more you see each other. there's little looks you share with van when your mom isn't looking, subtle touches when van sits next to you at family-friend dinners, van sometimes rubbing up against you when she puts her dishes in the sink as you wash them. van who recommends you films from her store that are Very suggestive. van who watches you on the store cameras when you're in with your friends. van who has snuck into your room while you were out there in the living room with everyone during a hangout, just to see everything...the way you have ur bed made, the way it smells like you, the way you have your things set up...it makes her fall even harder somehow.

when your car breaks down, and your mom tells you that she's sending you van to pick you up because she got called into work, your stomach drops. you've never been alone with her. you're nervous as fuck as you wait for her to come pick you up, every car that drives past making you sweat from the anxiety. and slight excitement? you know she feels something for you, she's not exactlyyy subtle. you love the way she stutters and messes with her hands and her overall mannerisms when you're near her. you're just as smitten with this autistic loser butch.

mumbling a tiny "hi," as you get in, looking around her car and thinking that it is So her. and smells like her.....you can barely even register her telling you that she'll get your car fixed because the scent is just intoxicating. turning your head to her when she calls out your name, van thinking how adorable you are when you say, "hm?"

"am i making you nervous?" she chuckles softly, feeling just as nervous as she rubs her thumb repeatedly over her steering wheel. the close proximity to you excites her, and as she looks at you, your face flushed, she thinks you're thinking the same thing.

should she? what if she's wrong about those looks you've been giving her? what if she fucks everything up and ruins things with you and your mom? and then you speak for her.

you clear your throat. "that film you gave me... did you think of me during the sex scene?" you think back to when van brought a movie for you when she came over one time, telling you that she thought you'd like it. one of the main characters reminded you of yourself so much it was scary. they kind of looked like you too.

van's silent as she continues driving, but you can spot the way her pale cheeks burn bright red as her face twitches. suddenly, she pulls over to the side of the empty road, putting her car in park as she wipes her hands on her pant legs before looking at you.

"did you touch yourself to it like i hoped you would?" she responds.

the next thing you know, you're being pulled onto her lap, kissing her so hard that teeth clash together. you can barely stop yourself from whining as she kisses you and runs her hands up your thighs, so thankful that you're finally doing this with her. it's like a dream come true. you almost can't believe it, especially when she starts guiding your hips to hump her thigh, her hand coming down to palm your groin.

#van palmer thoughts 💭#anon #van palmer x reader

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rqsie63 · 2 days ago

Text

the claim has been made ; yuki tsunoda.

Of course Yuki in his navy Red Bull tee goes viral. And of course you get a little jealous of those thirsty comments. But he makes sure you know you're the only one whose attention he needs.

🏁: yuki tsunoda x jealous girlfriend! reader.

🏁: SMUT. (nothing too crazy bc I suck at writing smut). smau ending. english is not my first language. i think that's it.

🪻: who else cried after yukierre crashed?, anyways let's forget about that and appreciate how good yuki looks in the red bull t-shirt. a whole snack. sorry if this is kinda bad or feels rushed , I'm trying my best to exercise the written fanfic more😭. enjoy 💙.

Mónaco, late afternoon. The sun's casting golden lights trough the windows.

You're scrolling on the couch, phone in hand, biting the inside of your cheek.

"You've gone viral again", you say.

He raises a brow. "Yeah?"

You turn your phone towards him, and sure enough is that photo - him in the navy Red Bull tee, sleeves hugging his arms like a second skin. The comments are chaos.

"Wait, when did Yuki get HOT-hot?"

"Staring at those biceps like it's my full time job"

He grins. "I mean... I do look kinda good."

You roll your eyes, tossing the phone down. "I'm very aware, those comments make sure I know everyone wants a piece of you now."

Yuki's smirks widens as he padd over to you. Towel slug around his neck. "Wait... are you jealous?"

You cross your arms, but the way your eyes rake down his chest says yes, absolutely. "I'm not jealous, I just - some of those comments were a lot, okay?"

Yuki steps between your legs, hands resting on your thighs. “Baby…”

“Don’t.”

“I only want one person’s attention,” he murmurs, leaning in, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Yours.”

You´re still pouting, just a little. He trails kisses down your jaw.

“I don’t care how many people zoom in on my photos,” he says, hands sliding under your hoodie, “because no one else gets this.”

Your breath hitches. “Gets what?”

“This mouth,” he whispers, lips ghosting over yours. “These hands.” He grabs your thighs, squeezing. “And all the things I want to do to you.”

Your legs wrap around his waist like instinct. “You’re cocky today.”

“Mm.” He grinds against you just enough for you to feel him. “Wonder why.”

“Tell me what they said again.”, He continued.

Yuki’s voice is low, closer to a growl than a question—as he kneels in front of you, pulling your panties down your thighs at an excruciatingly slow pace. His hands are warm, steady.

You exhale sharply, back arching as he leans in to kiss the inside of your knee.

“They said… your arms looked good.”

He hums. “Just my arms?”

Your back shivers. “Your jaw. Your neck. Your thighs. Your everything.”

He chuckles, kisses higher. “But they don’t get to touch, do they?”

You shake your head, eyes already glassy. “No.”

His mouth is so close now, breath hot against you. “They don’t know what you taste like.”

Then he finally drags his tongue through your folds; slow, deliberate. You gasp, hips jerking, and he locks his arms around your thighs, anchoring you in place.

“I do,” he murmurs against you, voice ragged. “I know.”

He eats you out like he has something to prove—like every flick of his tongue is a love letter, every moan he draws out of you is a trophy. One hand slides up to your stomach, grounding you, the other tangled in yours—fingers laced tight.

When you come, it’s with his name on your lips, thighs shaking around his head. But he’s not done.

Yuki stands, mouth slick, eyes dark with devotion and heat. “You think I’m gonna let anyone else even imagine making you feel like that?”

You barely catch your breath before he’s kissing you—deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He lifts you, carries you to the bedroom like you weigh nothing, and lays you down on the bed.

“I love you,” he says, lining himself up, voice wrecked. “So much it scares me sometimes.”

You cup his face, eyes soft even as your legs pull him closer. “Then show me.”

He pushes in slowly—so slowly, savoring every inch, forehead pressed to yours. You both moan, breathing each other in.

The rhythm builds—deep and unhurried. It’s about claiming. About connection.

He keeps whispering to you as he moves: “You’re the only one I want.”, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And when you finally fall apart together, it’s quiet—no screaming, no chaos. Just trembling limbs, whispered names, hands never letting go. Afterward, you lie tangled in each other, skin flushed and hearts racing.

Yuki brushes your hair from your face, eyes searching yours like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

“You know they can thirst all they want,” he murmurs. “But I’m already taken.”

You smile lazily, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Damn right you are.”

liked by yukitsunoda0511, pierregasly, carlossainz55 and others.

yourusername he's hot. he's perfect. he's mine. stay hydrated babes.

view all comments...

yukitsunoda0511: i bet the person who took these is even hotter and perfect 🤭

username1: no way she saw those thirsty comments about yuki and now she's giving us more material

pierregasly: miss possessive

yourusername: no seriously, get your eyes off my man

#rqsie63 writes #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 smau #formula 1 fanfic #yuki tsunoda x y/n #yuki tsunoda x you #yuki tsunoda imagine #yuki tsunoda x reader #formula 1 smut #yuki tsunoda smut #formula 1 social media au #formula 1 fluff #formula 1

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hereforuconnwbb · 50 minutes ago

Text

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 5

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 10k

warning: language

hey guysss !! i was planning to edit this tmrw after finishing my schedule, but honestly thats probably gonna take forever and tmrw is gonna be a long day for me 😭 so i js pushed through the drowsiness and edited the chapter now to finally post it. i feel bad for delaying releases so much lately 😓 its almost 12 rn while im writing this note but im scheduling this to post at 12:30am not like that rlly matters but if there are any mistakes or parts that dont add up, js um pls ignore them—i am half asleep while doing this ABSAHHSA anywayssss i hope you guys enjoy and tysm for being patient 🫶🏽

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

There were very few things Azzi enjoyed more than sleeping in on a Friday morning, especially when she didn’t have class. No alarms. No deadlines. Just her, her pillow, and a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

That is until her door nearly exploded.

BANG BANG BANG

“AZZIIIIIIII. OPEN UP. I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

Azzi groaned, yanking her comforter over her head. “Goddamn, Caroline…”

BANG BANG

“I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL PICK THE LOCK. YOU KNOW I KNOW HOW—”

Azzi flung the blanket off, shuffled out of bed with all the grace of a sleep-deprived zombie, and opened the door with a slow, dramatic pull.

Caroline stood there, too bright-eyed for someone who had clearly been awake for hours, wearing leggings, an oversized UConn hoodie, and a knowing-ass smirk. Phone in one hand. Coffee in the other.

“Good morning, my beautiful sunshine,” she sang, stepping inside without waiting for an invite.

Azzi scowled and shut the door behind her. “You’re psychotic.”

Caroline beamed, completely unbothered. “Aubrey texted me.”

Azzi froze mid-turn. “…About what?”

Caroline dropped herself onto Azzi’s desk chair and spun in a half-circle. “About you. And Paige. And about the—what was it? 3 hours? Yea I think 3 hour tutoring session you had last night. And the pizza. And the Uno.”

Azzi sighed, dragging her hand down her face. “It was not 3 hours—”

“Azzi. It was 3 hours,” Caroline deadpanned.

Azzi flopped back onto her bed, pressing a pillow over her face. “Why is everyone making this such a big deal?”

“Because,” Caroline said, crossing her legs, “you never hang out with anyone that long. You barely even tolerate me for 3 hours.”

“True.”

Caroline glared. “Rude.”

Azzi cracked a smile under the pillow.

“So?” Caroline said, kicking Azzi’s foot. “How was it? What happened?”

Azzi lifted the pillow just enough to breathe. “We ate. Talked. Played Uno. Studied.”

“And?”

“And… that’s it,” Azzi shrugged.

Caroline gave her a look. “You’re being vague on purpose.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Caroline said. “Because I know you. You never just talk to people. You don’t really talk to anyone unless you’re comfortable. And you’re not exactly the ‘let’s play Uno and bond over pizza’ type unless something’s different.”

Azzi stared at the ceiling.

Caroline smirked. “Is it still awkward?”

Azzi hesitated. “Less.”

“Oh ?” Caroline leaned forward dramatically.

Azzi sat up, running a hand through her messy morning hair. “It was awkward at first, but… not in a bad way. I don’t know. She’s actually different in person.”

Caroline raised her brows. “Different how?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She thought back to Paige last night, curled up with her hood down and glasses on, talking about her siblings, quietly listening when Azzi talked about her family and basketball. The way she’d smiled when Azzi joked about beating her in 1v1. The way she laughed when she lost in uno and threatened to throw the whole deck.

“She’s just… more real than I thought,” Azzi said quietly.

Caroline tilted her head. “Real like…?”

Azzi rolled her eyes and got up, walking over to her dresser. “Why are you analyzing everything I say like I’m on a therapy couch?”

“Because I’m your best friend and this is so much more interesting than scrolling on insta.”

Azzi huffed a small laugh.

Caroline grinned. “So? What do you think of her?”

Azzi glanced over her shoulder.

Caroline’s grin widened. “You like her, don’t you?”

Azzi turned back around quickly. “We’re just getting to know each other.”

“That’s not a no,” Caroline sang, giddy.

Azzi didn’t respond. Her heart felt annoyingly warm and fluttery and she hated that Caroline could see through her like a glass door.

Caroline leaned back in the chair. “It’s just funny how every time I ask you to come to a game, you’re suddenly busy or you have ‘homework’ or you’re too tired. But Paige asks? Boom. You’re in.”

Azzi crossed her arms. “I was gonna say no.”

“But you didn’t.”

Azzi rolled her eyes again, cheeks faintly pink.

Caroline sipped her coffee with a smug look. “You know, it’s kind of hilarious. You’re usually the most unbothered person I know. But now? Look at you. Blushing and awkward.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. Fully.”

Azzi sighed dramatically and sat down on the bed again. “Whatever.”

Caroline softened a little. “So you’re really coming?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. I said I would.”

Caroline smiled, this time less teasing, more genuine. “Good. It’ll mean a lot to her.”

Azzi blinked. “You think?”

“I mean even though Aubrey and I asked her to tell you, do you really think Paige just invites anyone to her game?” Caroline said

Azzi didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, she grabbed the pillow again and hugged it to her chest.

Caroline stood and headed for the door. “I’m telling Aubrey you’re officially down bad.”

Azzi groaned. “Don’t you dare.”

“Too late.”

“CAROLINE—”

The door slammed shut with Caroline’s cackling echoing down the hallway.

Azzi sighed again, falling back on the bed.

—---------------------------------

The second the doors to Gampel opened and that familiar blast of cold air hit her face, Paige felt her brain officially switch to game mode.

It was 2 pm. 3 hours to tip.

She walked in with Caroline and Aubrey, all of them still in sweats and slides, bags slung over their shoulders. They didn’t say much, didn’t need to. The place just had a vibe on game days. Everything buzzed.

The second they pushed open the locker room door, the noise hit.

Ice and KK were playing some weird game of reflex catch with a rolled-up pair of socks. Sarah had both legs up on the wall doing stretches while scrolling on her phone like she wasn’t upside down. The others are doing their stretches.

Caroline took one look and muttered, “Circus.”

“No place like home,” Aubrey said, grinning as she kicked her slides off.

“Yo, Jana,” Paige called, already unzipping her bag.

Jana looked up. “You ready?”

“Yep.”

Jana grabbed her comb and stood behind her, already parting Paige’s hair.

Paige sat still, phone in her lap, as Jana’s hands moved. She always liked getting this part out of the way early. Hair done. Locked in. No distractions.

Ayanna walked past and clapped Paige on the shoulder. “You better show out tonight. Geno’s already in his pacing era.”

“He’s pacing at 2?” Caroline said.

“Full-on hallway laps,” Ayanna replied. “He yelled at Ice for chewing too loud.”

KK snorted from across the room. “It was one cheeto bro.”

“Yall are cursed,” Jana muttered, finishing the last braid and tying it off. “Okay. You’re good.”

“Bless you,” Paige said, standing and stretching her neck. “I’m gonna go sort out that ticket thing real quick.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “For Azzi?”

Paige froze mid-step. “…yeah.”

Aubrey immediately perked up. “We’re coming.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes we are,” Caroline said, already pulling her sweatshirt back on. “We wanna witness.”

Paige groaned. “It’s literally just a ticket.”

“You’re personally escorting her to the bench,” Aubrey said dramatically.

“I’m making sure she doesn’t get stuck in the student line.”

“Mhm,” Caroline said. “So romantic.”

“Can’t believe we’re third-wheeling to the box office,” Aubrey muttered as they walked out.

“Y’all need help,” Paige said, but she didn’t stop them from coming.

They crossed the main hallway and turned into the little hallway where the ticket box was set up for player comps. It was quiet, just one event staff guy at the desk.

He looked up and smiled. “Hey, Paige.”

“Hey,” she said, stepping up. “I just wanted to make sure a name got added. Azzi Fudd.”

He scrolled through his list. “Yep. She’s on here. One comp ticket. You want her behind the bench?”

“Yes, please.”

“She need a pass for tunnel entry?”

“Yea.”

“Got it. I’ll leave it at security.”

“Thanks,” Paige said.

Behind her, Caroline stage-whispered, “Wow. Behind the bench and a tunnel pass.”

“She’s so special,” Aubrey whispered back.

“Ok, shut up,” Paige muttered, cheeks warm.

As they walked back toward the locker room, Paige pulled her phone out and typed fast.

Paige: ur all set—come thru the player entrance & tell them ur name. theyll give u a pass n walk u down. u will be behind the bench

The reply came quick.

Azzi: ok cool ! thanks i cant wait ☺️

Paige stared at her screen for a second too long, smiling like an idiot.

“Did she text back?” Caroline asked, peeking.

“Mind your business.”

“She did,” Aubrey said. “Look at her face.”

“She’s blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“Azzi’s got you in a chokehold,” Aubrey said, grinning.

“She does not”

“She does,” Caroline said. “And honestly, it’s kinda adorable.”

Paige shook her head and pushed open the locker room door again.

“Y’all are worse than Geno.”

“Geno doesn’t call you out when you get all heart-eyes,” Aubrey said. “We do. You’re welcome.”

“I hate both of you,” Paige said, dropping back onto the bench.

She didn’t. Not even a little.

—---------------------------------

Azzi backed away from the mirror and stepped into her baggy jeans, loose and frayed a little at the knees, then slipped on her fresh white AF1s. Classic. Reliable. A little creased but still got the job done. She looked down, gave her outfit a quick once-over in the full-length mirror on her door. Oversized hoodie, chill jeans, clean kicks. Comfortable but not sloppy. Casual but… ok, maybe a little cute.

But whatever. It wasn’t for anyone. She was just going to a game. A basketball game. Just to watch. That’s it… Well, maybe there is a reason.

She grabbed her small crossbody bag, double-checked that her student ID and phone were in there, then slipped in her lip balm and airpods for good measure..

A small little jittery feeling crawled under her ribs as she walked out the door.

—---------------------------------

The closer she got to Gampel, the louder everything became—students yelling across the sidewalk, music from somebody’s speaker, the steady hum of gameday energy. It was barely 4, and the lines outside the arena were already long, stretching past the fencing with people buzzing about seats and rankings and starting lineups. She could see the security checkpoint from the road. The air was cool but not cold, and people were already filing in through the main entrances.

Azzi bypassed the crowd, headed toward the smaller side door—the one Paige told her to go to.

She had to show her ID twice, and the security guard looked skeptical until she said her name.

“Oh,” the woman said, flipping through a clipboard. “Fudd, right? Got you here. You’re with player comps. You’re good.”

She handed Azzi a pass on a lanyard and pointed toward the tunnel.

“Just walk straight down. Someone will meet you at the end to bring you to your seat in the section behind the bench.”

“Thanks,” Azzi said, slipping the lanyard over her hoodie.

She followed the path inside, the noise of the crowd behind the walls growing louder with every step. She passed volunteers setting up last-minute signage and workers wheeling coolers and towels toward the team hall. Everything looked busy. Real. Like a behind-the-scenes of a movie, except everyone had a job and no one was pretending.

As she reached the mouth of the tunnel, she slowed down.

The court was right there. Empty for now—no players, no layup lines, just a few staff in polos walking around, checking things off clipboards. The arena lights were already blazing, bleachers half-filled and still moving. Students were trickling in. Families and season ticket holders were already chatting and pointing. One little kid in a No. 5 jersey ran past, trailed by a tired-looking dad with a soft drink in each hand.

Azzi stood off to the side, unsure if she should keep walking or wait. A staff member spotted her and walked over.

“You Azzi?”

“Yeah.”

“Right this way. You’ll be just behind the bench. You’re early, but that’s good. It gets crazy in here fast.”

Azzi followed, heart thumping way harder than she expected. It wasn’t nerves, she wasn’t nervous. Not really. Just… out of place.

The staff guy pointed her to a seat directly behind the team bench.

Azzi sat slowly, eyes scanning the whole space. Gampel looked different from down here. Bigger. Brighter. Louder, even though it wasn’t full yet. She rested her hands in her lap, curling her fingers around the fabric of her hoodie sleeves, and tried not to smile too much.

Behind the bench. Just like Paige said.

She let her eyes wander the court again, then up toward the tunnel on the far side.

Still no players out.

But soon.

—---------------------------------

5 minutes later, the lights dimmed just slightly and the music shifted to something deeper, bass-heavy. The student section roared.

South Carolina jogged out first, shoes squeaking loud as they fanned out into layup lines. The cheers were mixed—loud, but not for them. More like respectful hype. Some boos too, mostly from the students already fired up.

Azzi leaned back in her seat, watching. They looked sharp, no doubt. Big. Fast. Focused.

And then exactly five minutes after the place exploded.

Cue the hype music. Cue the lights shifting again. Cue the announcer’s voice booming over the speakers.

“HERE COME YOUR UCONN HUSKIESSSSS!”

The tunnel across the court erupted, and the team ran out in a wave—Paige leading the team, followed by Ice, KK, Caroline, Aubrey, and the rest. The noise was unreal. Azzi flinched at how loud it was down here.

She stood halfway, not sure if she was supposed to. Paige hadn’t even looked her way yet—none of them had. They were all in that pregame zone, clapping, calling plays, running straight into warm-up drills. It made her grin. They moved like they belonged. Like they owned the place.

A few minutes passed then Caroline glanced over mid-drill and did a double take. Her whole face lit up.

She jogged over first, grinning and breathless. “Ok, you’re officially the most committed tutor I’ve ever seen.”

Azzi laughed. “Gotta keep my clients in check.”

Aubrey appeared a second later, pulling up beside her with a grin. “You look good! Not, like—you look good—like you look good here. This is so cool.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh. You almost stuck that landing.”

“Shut up,” Aubrey said, bumping her shoulder. “She’s coming. Brace yourself.”

Azzi didn’t have to ask who.

Paige had peeled off from the group, jogging over with a slight smirk, ball tucked under her arm

“Hey,” she said, voice a little breathy from drills.

“Hey,” Azzi said back, smiling.

They hesitated for half a second then Paige leaned in, and Azzi hugged her. It was quick but warm, familiar. Paige held on a beat longer than necessary.

Behind them, Caroline immediately made a sound like a dying seagull. “Awwwwwwwww”

“Tragic,” Aubrey added. “She’s down bad.”

“I am not,” Paige said, pulling back but very much still standing way too close.

KK appeared like she’d been summoned by the drama, spinning a ball on one finger. “Ooooo we really doing hugs now? That’s cute.”

Ice showed up behind her, sipping from a Gatorade like it was tea. “What’s next? Matching jewellery?”

Paige groaned and stepped away, dramatically throwing her hands up. “Y’all need to worry about your own business.”

“We are, that’s why we’re invested,” Ice said.

Azzi laughed.

“Okay, okay,” Caroline said, backing up. “We’ll leave you alone now. Just don’t make out in front of the children.”

KK saluted Azzi as they trotted back toward drills. “Good luck, scholar. You’re doing the Lord’s work.”

And then it was just Paige and Azzi.

Paige rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry. They’re… always like that.”

“I kinda love it,” Azzi said. “Feels like a sitcom. A slightly chaotic one.”

Paige chuckled. “Yeah. Welcome to the show.”

Azzi tilted her head. “So. You remember what I said last night?”

Paige blinked. “Uh… which part?”

She crossed her arms, mock serious. “If you play shit, I’m not tutoring you anymore.”

Paige put a hand to her heart. “Wow. Cold.”

“But…” Azzi’s eyes sparkled a little. “Put on a masterclass…”

Paige’s grin turned smug. “And we hang out after the game.”

“Exactly.”

“Define your version of masterclass.”

“Score a bunch. Flashy passes. Maybe make someone fall. I want drama.”

Paige nodded solemnly. “Say less.”

Azzi lifted her brows. “No pressure or anything.”

“Oh, I’m pressure-proof,” Paige said, backing away toward the court. “Just wait.”

Azzi watched her jog back into the drill line and shook her head, still smiling.

—---------------------------------

The pregame announcements came and went in a blur of thunderous applause, blinding lights, and player-by-player videos flashing across the screens. UConn’s starting five had been called—Kaitlyn, Paige, Ashlynn, Sarah, and Jana—each jogging out to their own roar, each moment louder than the last.

Now, the energy in Gampel had hit that strange, electric stillness that always came right before tip-off. Like a held breath.

The court was polished to a shine, the reflections of the overhead lights rippling off the hardwood in slow motion as the players took their positions. South Carolina huddled near their bench, focused and bouncing on the balls of their feet. UConn mirrored them.

Azzi sat forward in her seat, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on the court. Or more accurately… on Paige.

She was in her element now—shoulders rolled back, stance low and ready, head slightly tilted like she was listening to something only she could hear. Her jersey fit perfectly. Obviously. But something about the way the lights above caught her arms, casting shadows under each line of muscle, made Azzi’s thoughts derail for a second. Maybe even longer than a second.

She wasn’t trying to be dramatic. Really. But the lighting in this arena? Insane. She could practically sketch out the definition in Paige’s arms just from the way the overheads hit them. Her arms were flexed, loose but brimming with potential energy, the way athletes looked when they were seconds from exploding off the ground. Even the veins on her forearms were visible, subtle but right there, and Azzi had to drag her eyes away before her brain gave up entirely.

Unfortunately, she didn’t drag them fast enough.

Caroline, perched at the end of the bench just a few feet away, half-turned and caught the look on Azzi’s face.

“Oh my God,” she said under her breath but not quietly enough.

Aubrey leaned over behind her. “What?” she whispered back, eyes scanning and then landing right on Azzi’s very, very red face.

“Oh my GOD,” Aubrey repeated, laughing this time.

Azzi’s head snapped around, lips already parting in protest. “Don’t.”

“No, no, it’s cute,” Caroline whispered, clearly not about to stop. “That was a full-on thirst face. Like, textbook.”

“I was not—” Azzi’s voice squeaked, which didn’t help her case.

“She was admiring the… ‘lighting’” Aubrey said, using air quotes and everything.

“It’s excellent lighting,” Azzi muttered, tugging her hoodie sleeves over her hands like they might hide her mortification.

“It’s ok,” Caroline said, barely holding in a grin. “I stare at her arms in practice all the time. It’s healthy. Builds character.”

“Yea same” Aubrey added.

Azzi buried her face in her sleeve.

“God, yall are terrible,” came in Ice, from two seats down, who must’ve caught enough of the exchange to weigh in. “Let her blush in peace.”

“She’s got front-row view of the gun show, what do you expect?” KK added from beside her, sipping from her Gatorade again.

Azzi didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She was too busy trying not to pass out from secondhand embarrassment.

And then the ref blew the whistle for tip-off.

A ripple of noise surged through the crowd, a wave of cheers rolling up from the student section like thunder. Kaitlyn stepped to center court for the jump, crouched, poised. Paige was already bouncing on the balls of her feet, smirking at her matchup like she was born for this.

Azzi peeked up through her fingers.

Paige glanced toward the bench and for a split second, their eyes met.

Azzi wasn’t sure if Paige could see her blushing from there, but the little smirk that tugged at her mouth?

It said yes.

The ball was tipped, and the game began with a burst of adrenaline that pulsed through the entire arena. Jana got her fingers to it first, tapping the ball back to Paige, who immediately corralled it and pushed up the court to a roar from the crowd.

Azzi sat on the edge of her seat, practically vibrating.

From the jump, South Carolina came out locked in. Their defense was tight, switching everything, bodies quick to rotate, hands always in passing lanes. UConn’s offense opened a little jittery—hesitations, missed timing on cuts, a rushed shot or two. And Paige… Paige looked like she was pressing.

Azzi noticed it instantly.

She still looked good, poised, focused, but there was something off in the rhythm of her game. A half-second delay in decisions. A loose dribble here. A contested pull-up that bricked long. Not bad, just… not her usual smooth.

By the third possession, Paige had missed 2 jumpers, both slightly off-balance. She passed up a look from 3, choosing instead to drive and kick to Aslynn in the corner who missed.

South Carolina was capitalising early, too. A fast break off a turnover turned into a clean and-one finish, and UConn trailed 9–3 before they could get settled.

Geno stood with arms crossed, deadpan. “Let’s settle, huh? Find a flow. Let the game come to you.”

Paige nodded, but Azzi could tell—she was in her head.

She kept glancing toward the sideline. Not overtly. Just little looks. Between free throws. After a whistle. That barely-there flick of her eyes toward the bench and just past it.

Toward Azzi.

Azzi flushed every time it happened, like she’d been caught eavesdropping on a secret.

Caroline, now seated two down from Coach, leaned back during a break in play and whispered to Aubrey, “She’s tight. You see that?”

“Yeah,” Aubrey said. “She’ll settle. She’s just trying to act normal with her here.” She tilted her chin toward Azzi without looking.

Azzi caught it. She pretended not to.

Midway through the first quarter, UConn had made some changes. Still, the Huskies couldn’t get their rhythm right. The passes were clean, the movement was there, but it didn’t click yet.

By the end of the first quarter, the score was 16–12, South Carolina up. Paige had just 2 points on 1 of 5 shooting.

Second quarter, it started to shift.

Not all at once but in moments.

Paige called a high screen and crossed over into a hesitation step-back, nailing a mid-range jumper over the outstretched arms of the defender. She didn’t celebrate but she looked straight to the side of the court again.

Right at Azzi.

Azzi raised her brows. Smiled. Gave her a small nod.

Paige cracked the tiniest smirk before turning and jogging back on defense.

It built from there.

A backdoor cut caught South Carolina off guard, and Paige hit Kaitlyn on a dime with a no-look bounce pass for an easy two. The crowd roared.

On the next possession, Paige pushed in transition, split two defenders with a lightning-quick change of pace, absorbed contact, and threw up a scoop off the glass—

Whistle. Bucket.

“AND FUCKEN ONE!”

The scream cut through the arena like a blade. Paige banged her fist into her chest once, fire in her eyes. The student section lost it.

Azzi blinked, caught between shock and—yep. That was hot.

Caroline turned halfway around, caught the expression again, and just snorted.

“Pray for her,” she murmured to Aubrey. “She’s a goner.”

UConn closed the quarter strong. Ashlynn hit a corner three off a skip pass. Paige pulled off a slick behind the back dribble that had her defender stumbling. The bench exploded. Even Coach Geno surprisingly cracked a small smile as the lead trimmed to two before the half.

Halftime score: 34–32, South Carolina still ahead.

But momentum? Shifting.

The third quarter opened like a different game.

Paige didn’t hesitate now.

She wasn’t thinking anymore, just hooping.

She blew past her defender early in the quarter with a hard right drive, finishing with a reverse that spun off the glass and went in perfectly. The next trip down, she sized up a slower defender in isolation and drilled a stepback 3 with a hand in her face. Bang.

The crowd went absolutely wild.

Paige smirked, holding up 3 fingers as she backpedaled.

Azzi jumped to her feet without even realizing it.

By now, the bench was up on every play. Morgan and Aubrey waving towels, Caroline yelling, KK throwing up 3 fingers after every 3 point shot Paige hit.

Which kept coming.

A fast break? Paige picked the pocket clean, weaved through 2 defenders, euro-stepped around a third, and finished with finesse.

Then, late in the quarter, a hesi-crossover-spin move that left her defender frozen. Paige went up strong through contact, landed awkwardly but the shot dropped.

Whistle.

She didn’t say a word—just smirked, rolling her shoulder forward in a slow, deliberate flex. Then she pounded her chest twice, her eyes saying everything her mouth didn’t.

Azzi just about melted into her chair.

Caroline didn’t even try to be subtle. She turned full-body and said, “Be honest. You’re making out with her later, right?”

Azzi covered her face. “Caroline!”

“Just checking.”

Paige ended the third with 24 points and counting.

4th quarter?

A clinic.

She was everywhere. Her footwork was surgical, her vision insane. She skipped a pass through 3 defenders for a layup, then came down and hit a transition 3 in rhythm off a kick-out from Sarah. The team was cooking.

Geno didn’t sub her once. He didn’t need to.

Final minute, Paige hit a deep 3 from the top of the key to seal it.

32 points.

Gampel was shaking.

The buzzer sounded, and the final score lit up: UConn 74, South Carolina 65.

Paige stood near mid court, hands on her hips, chest heaving, the crowd roaring around her. Her teammates mobbed her—chest bumps, shoulder slaps, screams.

But once the initial chaos died down, she pulled away gently. Walked toward the sideline.

Toward Azzi.

She looked nervous now, like the adrenaline had dropped just enough to let the rest of her rush in. Her hair was damp, sweat still clinging to her neck, but she had that grin. That stupid, crooked, overly confident one that almost hid how unsure she really was.

She stopped in front of Azzi, still catching her breath.

“So…” she said, voice light but a little unsure. “About that hangout. Or… what do you think?”

Azzi smiled, heart thudding in her chest. “I think you earned it.”

Paige’s grin went bright.

Before she could say anything else, Caroline popped up between them like she’d been waiting. “Okay lovers,” she gestured toward Aubrey and Ice, who were now approaching too, “we’re all hitting Ted’s after. So she,” she pointed to Azzi, “is walking with us to the locker room, and you,” she turned to Paige, “are gonna meet us outside.”

“Wait, me?” Azzi blinked.

“Yeah, we’re just grabbing our stuff. Be quick,” Aubrey added. “You can wait by the tunnel. VIP access.”

Azzi hesitated, then nodded. “Ok, yea. Cool.”

“Cool,” Paige said, clearly trying not to look too pleased. “See you soon.”

Caroline pulled Azzi along with them toward the tunnel, throwing a wink back at Paige as they walked.

Paige stood there, wiping her wrist across her forehead, still riding the high of the game, the crowd, the win.

But her eyes?

They were only on Azzi.

—---------------------------------

The locker room buzzed with chatter and laughter as the team's victory sunk in. The players were all talking, half-showered, still catching their breath from the frenetic pace of the game. Paige, however, was in her own little world, the high of the game still pulsing through her veins. Her teammates had already started to scatter, some heading straight for their things, others lingering in the hallway.

She quickly finished wiping down with a towel, the heat from the shower clinging to her skin, but her mind was elsewhere on Azzi. The idea of spending time with her after the game had her stomach doing backflips. She couldn’t explain why she was suddenly so nervous, considering she had just put up 32 points in a game that felt like a war. It was almost funny how her brain switched gears so fast—one moment, she was locked in the zone, the next, she was just a girl hoping Azzi would say yes.

As she walked to the locker room exit, she found Caroline talking to Azzi near the tunnel, laughing and chatting. Caroline gave her a knowing look, a smirk pulling at her lips. “You two better make it quick,” she said, as if she had orchestrated this entire thing.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Paige said, trying to sound cool, but there was no hiding the excitement under her voice.

Azzi smiled as she approached, still in her game-day hoodie, her hoodie strings pulled tight against the slight chill of the hallway. “You did great out there,” Azzi said, her voice calm but sincere.

“Thanks,” Paige said, her grin spreading. “I had a slow start, though. Just needed to get into a rhythm.” She shrugged, hands on her hips as they made their way outside the arena, the cool night air hitting them.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Slow start? That’s one way to put it. But you definitely found your groove. I was impressed.”

“Hey, I’m not perfect,” Paige said, rolling her eyes. “But you know how it is. Nerves. Playing in front of everyone with… you know, you in the crowd.” She didn’t really know how to say it without sounding like a total mess, but Azzi just nodded like she understood, no big deal.

They made their way down the street, with Azzi walking just a little bit ahead of Paige. Azzi was quiet, observing the world around her with the calculated calm she always carried with her. Even now, after watching Paige play, she was still analyzing, assessing.

“So, yeah,” Paige started, trying to fill the silence, “what did you think of my shooting tonight? I felt like I missed a bunch early, but I found it eventually.”

Azzi glanced over at her, her lips curling into the smallest smile. “I mean, you were taking shots from everywhere. Some of them were a little rushed early on, but you adjusted. Your footwork on that step-back three was solid. You just need to stay patient and trust the shot.”

Paige felt a little relieved, hearing Azzi’s constructive take on it. She didn’t want to come off like she was fishing for compliments, but it felt good to hear that the tweaks she’d made in her head were obvious to Azzi.

“Yeah, I was thinking too much,” Paige admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “Once I stopped caring so much about… I don’t know. I could just play. It’s like something clicked. Then, I couldn’t miss.”

Azzi nodded. “That’s how it goes. Sometimes you’ve got to let go of all that extra stuff and just play.”

They arrived at Ted’s, the place where their team frequently hung out after big games, and Paige immediately ordered hot chips for the table. It wasn’t even a question—she just knew Azzi liked them. She didn’t need to ask. They slid into the booth, a comfortable space, away from the chaos of their teammates who were already deep into drinks and dancing.

Azzi slipped her hoodie off, revealing the black cropped tank beneath. Her arms were toned, and the cool air inside the restaurant made her look effortlessly chic. She adjusted her seat, her gaze falling on the other girls as they shouted and laughed at the bar.

Paige grabbed a shot, but as she took it, Azzi raised a hand. “I’m not drinking,” she said lightly, and Paige immediately set it down, her expression flickering with surprise.

“Alright, no drinks for me either,” Paige said with a shrug, pushing the shot glass away. “Guess we’re just here for the chips then,” Paige added, giving her a wink.

Azzi snorted, looking over at the table as the drinks continued to flow. “You sure about that? Because it looks like half the team is planning on taking shots ‘til they pass out.”

Paige laughed, leaning back in the booth and trying to get comfortable, even as her teammates got more rowdy. “I don’t need to be that wild. Maybe I’ll just have a few more chips instead.”

“Right,” Azzi said, sipping her water. “Because chips are so much better than shots.”

The server came over, bringing the massive bowl of hot chips to their booth, and Paige eagerly grabbed a handful. They ate in quiet contentment, the conversation ebbing and flowing, sometimes about the game, sometimes about nothing at all.

The team’s energy was infectious, but Azzi and Paige were perfectly content in their little bubble. Paige’s arm found its way over Azzi’s shoulders, a natural motion, something unspoken, as they both relaxed into the quiet moment, watching their teammates in the distance.

Azzi leaned in a little, her cheek resting against Paige’s shoulder, the gesture so simple, but it felt like they had been doing it forever. Paige’s heart fluttered at the gesture, but she didn’t overthink it. She simply put her arm around Azzi like it was the most natural thing in the world.

—---------------------------------

As Paige and Azzi continued to settle into their little corner of the restaurant, the noise from the team started to blur into a distant hum. It felt like they were in a bubble, just the two of them, a quiet, contented space that Paige had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Paige’s arm was still casually draped over Azzi’s shoulder, and the contact felt so natural, like it had always been this way. Azzi had leaned into the touch, her head resting lightly against Paige’s shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

The clinking of glasses and laughter from the rest of the team rang out across the room, but it felt like they were in a world of their own. Paige’s heart raced a little faster every time Azzi shifted slightly closer, and she had to stop herself from overthinking it.

Just as Paige was about to say something, Caroline’s voice cut through the cozy atmosphere, full of energy and more than a little tipsy.

“Hey, you 2!” Caroline’s words were a little louder than intended, and her presence swayed across the booth like a gust of wind. She was grinning, clearly enjoying the drinks she’d had so far. She leaned in toward the 2 of them, practically collapsing onto the table with a half-laugh, half-giggle. “What’s going on over here, huh? You 2 lovebirds look way too cozy.”

Paige immediately felt her face heat up. She was trying so hard not to overthink it with Azzi, but now Caroline’s teasing was making it ten times worse. “What are you even talking about?” Paige’s voice was a little higher than usual as she glanced at Azzi, who remained leaned against her shoulder.

“I mean, look at you two,” Caroline teased, waving a hand around dramatically, her eyes sparkling from the alcohol. “You’re, like, totally in sync right now. This is a new level of cute. Someone get the cameras, I’m shipping it.”

Azzi, though her face was flushed from the warmth of the moment, just rolled her eyes with a tiny smile. “You’re drunk, Caroline.”

“Am not!” Caroline retorted immediately, before bursting into a fit of giggles. “Okay, maybe I am. But seriously, you 2? This is precious. It’s like you’re both the same person but in different outfits, you know?” She looked between them, giving them a knowing wink.

Paige couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re insane, Caroline,” she muttered, but the smile on her face betrayed her.

Caroline leaned forward, elbows on the table, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “No, I’m right, Paige. I know exactly what’s going on here. I’ve seen this movie. You’re, like, one step away from making it official. I’m here for it.” She raised an eyebrow, clearly proud of herself for her “wisdom.”

Azzi, still tucked into Paige’s side, let out a soft laugh. “Well, you’re wrong, but thanks for the insight.”

Caroline tilted her head dramatically, as if considering this. “Ok, ok, I get it. No labels. Yet.” She sat back, pouting slightly before giving Paige an exaggerated wink. “But you gotta admit, it’s pretty cute.”

Before Paige could respond, Aubrey came swaggering over, clearly on a mission. She was holding a tray full of shot glasses in one hand, her other arm draped over a teammate who was stumbling behind her. “Shots, anyone?!” Aubrey announced loudly, her voice booming across the table.

She slid into the booth beside Caroline, her grin mischievous. “Paige, I know you usually don’t pass up a drink after a game, what’s up with you tonight?” She eyed the untouched beer in front of Paige with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not telling me you’ve gone soft on me now, are you?”

Paige’s lips parted, unsure how to answer, but Azzi’s voice cut in before she could. “She’s just here with me,” Azzi said with a shrug, a soft smile playing at her lips. “No need for the shots.”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, glancing between the 2 of them, clearly sensing something more than. “Ohh, I get it now,” she said with a teasing tone, but she was far too drunk to make it anything more than a playful remark. “You 2 are real cute. Alright, no shots for you then.”

Caroline laughed and stood up, wobbling a bit. “Imma go join the others,” she said, clearly not paying attention to the fact that she was still holding onto a shot glass. She waved, drunkenly tipping over to another table. “Enjoy,” she called out, giving them both a cheesy wink before stumbling away.

Aubrey lingered for a moment longer before turning to Paige with a raised glass. “Don’t forget, you’re still my partner in crime, alright?” She smiled and then wandered back into the mix of the team, disappearing into the crowd.

As soon as the noise of the bar filled the space again, Azzi finally leaned back into Paige’s side, her cheek resting lightly on Paige’s shoulder once more. Paige smiled down at her, her heart still racing from the attention, but also grateful for the quiet.

“So,” Azzi said, her voice soft but clear. “What do you think? Ice cream?”

Paige blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Ice cream?” she asked with a smile, still processing the energy of the last few minutes.

Azzi nodded eagerly, her excitement apparent. “Yeah, I’m craving some. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Paige grinned, feeling a spark of energy at the idea. “Well, if you’re craving it, I’m definitely down.” She gave a quick look to her teammates still sitting at the table—Sarah, Allie, and Morgan—who weren’t drinking and were busy having a quieter conversation. Paige stood up, grabbing Azzi’s hand with a soft tug. “Let’s go tell them, make sure they’re cool, and then we can head out.”

Azzi looked up at her, her eyes lighting up at the idea of leaving the craziness behind for a little while. “I’m so down.”

Paige waved to the table of freshmen, who were all sitting together, and walked over to them with Azzi at her side. She leaned in and whispered, “We’re heading out for ice cream, you guys good here? Make sure everyone else is fine, alright?” She glanced back at the table full of noise and chaos.

Sarah, Allie, and Morgan looked up, nodding with understanding. “Yea, we got it,” Sarah said with a grin, her eyes glancing over at the wild energy of their teammates. “Go get that ice cream, we’ll make sure the rest of them don’t do anything stupid.”

Paige smiled and gave a quick nod before turning to Azzi, her heart racing with excitement. “Alright, let’s go.”

Azzi gave her a smile that made everything feel even better. “Let’s get ice cream.”

The night air hit them as soon as they stepped outside, crisp and cool against their flushed cheeks. The sky was a deep navy, scattered with stars barely visible against the glow of the campus lights. Paige immediately reached for the zipper of her jacket, tugging it up just a bit, but next to her, Azzi shivered slightly.

Without a word, Azzi pulled the same hoodie she’d worn earlier and slipped it back on. Her fingers worked quickly, tugging it over her head before she stuffed her hands into the front pocket with a little sigh. The hoodie was a bit oversized, the sleeves just brushing her knuckles, and it made her look even cozier. Paige glanced over, smiling quietly to herself.

“Cold?” Paige asked, even though it was obvious.

Azzi nodded, blowing out a puff of air that hung briefly in front of them like fog. “I thought it was gonna be warmer tonight. Rookie mistake.”

“You were inside a packed restaurant full of drunk 20-somethings,” Paige said, nudging her lightly with her elbow. “It probably felt like summer in there.”

Azzi gave a soft laugh, bumping her back gently. “Yea, well… my body regrets that confidence.”

They started down the path toward the main strip near campus, their steps naturally in sync without either of them trying. It was one of those peaceful silences, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. Paige kept glancing sideways at Azzi every now and then, not even meaning to—just checking in, like her brain hadn’t caught up to the fact that they’d actually left together. Just the 2 of them.

“You ever notice how food cravings hit way harder after games? How I felt back in my basketball days.” Azzi asked suddenly, her voice casual.

Paige grinned. “Literally every time. I’ll finish a game, chug half a Gatorade, and 10 minutes later I’m like, ‘You know what sounds good? 17 pancakes.’”

Azzi snorted. “You would eat 17 pancakes.”

“If the stakes were high enough? Hell yea.”

“What stakes would require 17 pancakes?”

“World peace. Or, like… if someone dared me.”

Azzi laughed, the kind of laugh that crinkled her eyes and made Paige’s chest feel a little too tight for a second.

They turned the corner toward the strip of late-night food spots, the ice cream place glowing warm and welcoming. It was mostly empty inside, just a couple people scattered in booths. Paige held the door open, letting Azzi step in first, and they both headed straight to the counter.

“I’m going mint chocolate chip,” Paige said confidently. “I need that refreshing hit. Cleans the soul.”

Azzi gave her a look. “It tastes like toothpaste.”

“That’s slander. You’re just uncultured.”

Azzi raised her eyebrows. “Uncultured? I’ll have you know I’m a chocolate traditionalist.”

“Boring,” Paige muttered, grinning.

Azzi stuck out her tongue. “Delicious.”

Paige paid for both of them and got their cones and walked back out into the night. The cold air was a little sharper now, but it was quiet, peaceful. They strolled aimlessly, just enjoying the calmness.

About halfway through her cone, Paige paused. They were walking near the rec center, and just beyond the sidewalk, the outdoor court sat under the dim glow of overhead lights. It was deserted at this hour, just the faint echo of music from someone’s speaker in the distance. And right there, abandoned like it had fallen from the sky, was a basketball.

Paige’s eyes lit up.

“Ohhhhh,” she said, already veering off the path. “Look at that. Fate.”

Azzi followed her gaze. “What, the ball?”

“Yep.” Paige scooped it up with one hand, spinning it in her palm. “You know what this means.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, licking her ice cream. “That some rec bro forgot his ball?”

Paige pointed the ball at her dramatically. “That we have been chosen by the basketball Gods to honour this sacred space.”

Azzi gave her a look that was about 90% amusement and 10% fake disbelief. “You’re such a dork.”

Paige smirked. “A dork who can cross you up in one try.”

Azzi took another bite of her ice cream and said with the straightest face possible, “Let me finish this chocolate masterpiece, and then you can embarrass yourself.”

Paige laughed and bumped her gently with her hip, careful not to knock her cone. “You’re lucky I’m letting you warm up first.”

They wandered toward the edge of the court but didn’t step on it just yet, choosing instead to sit on the bench nearby and enjoy their cones. Paige took a dramatic bite of her mint chocolate chip, shivering exaggeratedly like she’d just ascended to flavor heaven.

“Tell me that’s not the most refreshing thing ever.”

Azzi stared at her. “It’s literally minty milk.”

“It’s rejuvenating,” Paige insisted, licking the drip that slid down the side.

Azzi grinned, taking a bite of her chocolate. “You know what’s rejuvenating? Something that doesn’t taste like mouthwash.”

“You’re so wrong it physically hurts me.”

They both laughed, their knees lightly touching where they sat side by side. Neither moved away.

Paige leaned back slightly, balancing the basketball on her knee. “You know, this night didn’t suck.”

Azzi gave a quiet hum of agreement. “Yeah. It really didn’t.”

Paige looked over at her. There was a peace about her right now, something soft and grounded. Paige looked away before she could linger too long.

“You still good for balling after this?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Azzi licked the edge of her cone, then gave her a sideways glance. “I was born ready. I just didn’t know I’d be playing in a hoodie and jeans.”

“I mean, I’m in Jordans and vibes. We’ll survive.”

Azzi snorted. “Jordans and vibes? That should be your next Instagram caption.”

“Please, like I’d waste that level of genius on a random post.”

They sat in companionable silence for another minute, each of them working through the last of their cones. Paige’s fingers were a little sticky, her mouth tingling from the cold. Azzi was licking the last bit of chocolate from the tip of her cone with a soft hum of satisfaction.

“Alright,” Paige said, standing up and tossing her napkin into a nearby trash can. She spun the ball once in her hands and looked down at Azzi, a playful glint in her eyes. “Game on?”

Azzi stood slowly, brushing the crumbs from her hands, hoodie sleeves flopping slightly over her fingers. “Game on.”

And with that, they stepped onto the court, just two silhouettes under the glow of the campus lights, still riding the warmth of laughter and sugar. The night wasn’t over just yet.

The basketball echoed softly against the court as Paige bounced the ball a couple of times, her eyes narrowing playfully at Azzi. They’d gone from laughing and joking to this, a one-on-one game. Azzi was looking at her like she was about to put up a fight, and that… that was exactly what Paige needed.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Paige grinned, dribbling the ball between her legs, flashing a quick, confident look at Azzi. “I warned you, I’m in elite form tonight.”

Azzi crossed her arms, leaning back against the court’s outer boundary, watching Paige with a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Elite, huh? We’ll see how ‘elite’ you are when you can’t keep up with me.”

“Oh, it’s on,” Paige said, eyes locking onto Azzi’s with playful intensity.

The first point was quick. Paige faked right, then spun left, finishing with a smooth layup. “Boom. 1-0, me.”

Azzi didn’t miss a beat, bouncing the ball with a practiced hand. “Yeah, you’re real smooth. Let’s see if you can keep that up.”

The game quickly turned into an all-out battle. Paige was fast and agile, but Azzi wasn’t letting her off the hook. With every move, Azzi made Paige work harder. At one point, Paige tried to fake a jumper but Azzi was right in her face, her hand up, challenging her to make the shot.

“Oh shit, you’re not gonna let me get anything easy, are you?” Paige grunted, trying to slip around Azzi’s defense but failing as Azzi’s hand swatted the ball away.

“Not a chance,” Azzi grinned, stealing the ball and dribbling it down the court with fluid ease, taking her own shot for 1-1.

They kept exchanging points like that. Paige, despite all the cocky smirks and back-and-forth banter, couldn’t deny Azzi was holding her own.

The score was tied at 8-8, and Paige was starting to feel the burn.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. “I’m sore as hell. My legs are still feeling that game earlier.”

Azzi, not buying the excuse, shot her a sly look. “Sore, huh? You seem fine to me.”

“I’m telling you,” Paige huffed, bending slightly at the waist. “If I’m not careful, I’ll pull something. Might even tear my hamstring.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Uh huhhhh. Sure.”

“Ok, look,” Paige said, stepping back to reset, “Maybe a little hamstring tear will help with your defense.”

Azzi smirked, taking a deep breath before getting back into position. “That so? Bring it.”

It wasn’t long before they were back at it, and Paige, feeling the heat of the competition, decided to pull out some tricks. On the next possession, she faked a shot and instead went for a quick spin to the right, aiming for an easy drive to the basket.

But Azzi, as usual, was right there, her hand shooting up to contest the shot. They collided, their bodies pressing together in defense, and Paige let out a surprised laugh, nearly losing her balance. “Damn, Azzi, no need to get so handsy.”

Azzi shot her a knowing grin. “What can I say? I play d like a pro.”

They were up to 12-12 now, and Paige was starting to feel the pressure. Azzi wasn’t giving her an inch, and Paige’s energy was starting to flag.

She came up with an idea—tickling. As Azzi came at her with her signature defense stance, arms wide, Paige couldn’t help but smirk.

As Azzi lunged to block, Paige slipped a hand under her ribs, giving a quick poke. Azzi jumped, her posture faltering for just a second, which was all Paige needed. “Gotcha!” Paige yelled, driving for the basket and scoring easily. “That’s 13-12, baby!”

Azzi shot her a playful glare, shaking her head as she bounced the ball. “You are so lucky that was a game move.”

Paige laughed, throwing her hands up in mock victory. “I’m just that good.”

Azzi came back with a vengeance, charging at Paige like a freight train. “Oh, you think you’re good?” she teased, getting in Paige’s face, her arms up in perfect defensive form. Paige stepped back, trying to pull off another quick move, but Azzi stayed glued to her like a shadow.

Paige could feel her exhaustion creeping in, her muscles sore from the earlier game, the endless dribbling, and now the added pressure of Azzi’s perfect defense. “Shit,” Paige grunted, trying to push past her. “No way. I’m not losing this.”

Azzi grinned. “We’ll see. It’s 16-15 now, so you better pull something out of your bag of tricks.”

Paige wiped her forehead again, eyeing the ball. She was getting cocky, maybe a little too cocky. “Watch and learn,” she muttered, then launched herself into a spin move, faking a pass to her left and then driving right.

Azzi wasn’t fooled. She blocked the shot cleanly, sending the ball flying off toward the side. “Not so fast, superstar,” she taunted, scooping the ball and taking it to the hoop. She finished the layup, making it 17-15.

Paige’s jaw dropped. “What the hell? That was supposed to be my shot!”

Azzi shrugged, clearly pleased with herself. “Guess you’re not as elite as you thought.”

Now Paige was scrambling. “Oh, it’s on, Azzi. I’m about to turn this around.”

But it was too late. Azzi, cool and composed, didn’t let up. With every move, Paige felt herself getting slower, her excuses sounding weaker. Finally, after a contested shot, Azzi knocked it down to make the score 19-15. The game was almost over.

“You good?” Azzi teased, eyes sparkling with playful victory. “You sure you don’t want to just give up now?”

“No fucking way,” Paige snapped, trying to dig deep, but it was clear the fight was out of her.

Azzi crossed her arms, leaning against the hoop with a smug grin. “1 point left. You ready to admit defeat?”

Paige put her hands on her knees, out of breath and just a little defeated, but still smiling. “Alright, alright. You’re gonna make me do the walk of shame, huh?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Yup. And when you do, you can call me ‘the one who took you down.’”

Paige scoffed, trying one last desperate shot, but Azzi was right there. She grabbed the ball and bounced it once before driving to the basket and finishing with a smooth layup.

The game was over.

“20-15,” Azzi said, grinning. “You didn’t even come close in the end.”

Paige sank to her knees dramatically, holding a hand to her chest like she’d just played the game of her life. “Alright, you win. But next time? I’m going all out. No excuses.”

Azzi laughed, offering a hand to Paige to help her up. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Paige grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling herself up. “You’ve been warned. I’m gonna get you back for this.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, chuckling. “I’m looking forward to it.”

The sound of their heavy breathing slowly filled the quiet space between them as they both collapsed onto the bench, feeling the cool night air wrap around them like a soft blanket. The basketball court lay empty now, the only sound being the occasional squeak of their shoes shifting as they stretched their legs, their bodies sore from the intense game.

Paige wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, breathing in deeply, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t help but chuckle at how worked up they both had gotten. The whole game had been a battle, but somehow, the competition had felt like nothing more than a way to spend time with Azzi. They were both sweaty and exhausted, but there was something calming about the stillness now that the game was over.

Azzi, sitting beside her, leaned back, staring up at the stars. The light from the nearby lampposts bathed their surroundings in a soft, golden glow, making everything seem peaceful. Azzi’s gaze drifted to the sky, her face a little more relaxed now that the adrenaline was fading.

“You know,” Paige said, breaking the silence, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a game quite like that. You actually made me work for every point.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, a smile tugging at her lips. “I told you, you weren’t gonna get anything easy tonight.”

Paige grinned, leaning back on the bench, her eyes following the stars as well. “Yeah, you sure weren’t kidding. I’ve got to give it to you, Azzi. You’ve got some serious game.”

Azzi shrugged, her eyes still locked on the stars. “It’s nothing, really. Just the usual. I’ve played for a long time.” She paused, and for a second, her voice softened. “But you… you’ve got a real competitive streak. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in Azzi’s voice. She wanted to say something more, to ask her what she meant, but instead, she just nodded, taking in the peacefulness of the moment. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, just staring up at the vastness above them, listening to the occasional rustling of the trees in the distance.

A few moments passed, and Paige couldn’t help but feel a pull to Azzi. She looked over at her, noticing the soft curve of her neck and the way the moonlight seemed to highlight her profile. Without really thinking, Paige shifted a little closer, her leg brushing against Azzi’s, the faintest of touches.

Azzi didn’t pull away. Instead, she subtly leaned into Paige’s side, her shoulder gently bumping against hers. Paige’s pulse quickened slightly, but she didn’t move away. She wanted to stay right there, close to Azzi.

After a beat, Azzi shifted even closer, her head resting gently on Paige’s shoulder. Paige’s breath caught in her throat, and she could feel the warmth of Azzi’s presence seeping into her. It felt natural, easy, like they’d been sitting this way for years.

Paige’s arm moved instinctively, draping over Azzi’s shoulder. Her fingers brushed lightly against the soft fabric of Azzi’s hoodie, then lightly caressed her, almost as if to reassure herself that this was real. It was a small gesture, but it felt significant, as if it were something more than just a casual touch.

Azzi let out a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering closed as she settled deeper into Paige’s side. “I’m a little tired,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. “But… I don’t really want to leave yet. This is nice.”

Paige’s heart fluttered, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips. She couldn’t explain why, but hearing Azzi say that, in that tone of voice, made her feel… warm. Safe. She felt her own exhaustion creeping up on her, but she wanted to savor this moment just a little longer.

“I get it,” Paige murmured, her voice low and soft. She tilted her head slightly, resting her cheek gently on the top of Azzi’s head. Her hair was soft against Paige’s skin, and the feeling of Azzi so close made Paige’s chest tighten in a way that was almost unexplainable.

Azzi shifted slightly, her breath even and calm, and Paige’s heart fluttered again at the closeness between them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so… connected to someone like this. There was something about Azzi that made her want to protect her, to keep her close, and it wasn’t just the competitive edge that had drawn her in during the game. No, this felt different. Something deeper.

The two of them just sat there in the quiet, the only sound was their breathing and the faint hum of the world around them. Paige didn’t want to break the silence, not yet. It felt perfect. Just being with Azzi like this, in this moment, was all she needed.

—---------------------------------

The night had grown even quieter, the sounds of the world fading into the background as the two of them sat there, still and content. Azzi’s breathing had become slower, more even, and before Paige even realized it, Azzi’s head had tilted slightly, resting more comfortably against her shoulder. Paige noticed the softness of Azzi’s breath against her skin, the way her body had relaxed completely, sinking into the warmth of their shared space. Azzi was falling asleep.

Paige’s heart fluttered again, but this time, it was with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. She watched her for a few moments, unable to tear her eyes away from the peaceful look on Azzi’s face. She almost didn’t want to disturb her, not when things felt this good, this right. But as time passed, Paige felt her own exhaustion creeping back in, and she knew it was time to head back to their dorms.

She carefully shifted, adjusting her arm around Azzi’s shoulder, and gently nudged her. “Hey… Azzi,” she murmured softly, a little hesitant, not wanting to disrupt the calm atmosphere they’d settled into. “You should get some real sleep. You can’t just crash here.”

Azzi stirred, blinking sleepily. She rubbed her eyes, groaning softly as she adjusted herself, her face still nestled against Paige’s shoulder. “Mmm… it’s fine,” she mumbled, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep. “I’m good.”

Paige smiled softly, amused by how stubborn Azzi could be. “I know you’re good, but I’m walking you back to your dorm,” she said, a gentle firmness in her voice. “Come on, let’s go. It’s just a 10 minute walk.”

Azzi gave a half-hearted sigh but didn’t argue. “You really don’t have to—” she started, but Paige was already standing, pulling Azzi to her feet with a gentle hand on her back.

“I know, but I want to,” Paige said, grinning. “It’s just a short walk. Plus, I get to spend a little more time with you, so I’m good.”

Azzi chuckled softly, adjusting the sleeve of her hoodie, but let Paige guide her toward the path that led to her dorm. The walk was quiet but comfortable, the night air still warm enough for them to walk side by side without shivering. Paige kept glancing at Azzi, noticing how tired she looked but also how content. It made something inside Paige stir, something she couldn’t quite place but knew she didn’t want to let go of.

—---------------------------------

When they finally reached Azzi’s dorm, Paige stopped at the entrance, her hand resting on the doorframe. Azzi turned to face her, eyes still a little heavy from sleep, but a soft smile tugged at her lips.

“Thanks for walking me back,” Azzi said quietly, her voice low but sincere. “And for the game tonight. It was… fun. I really needed it.”

Paige smiled, her heart doing a little flip at Azzi’s words. “No problem,” she said, voice soft. “Thanks for coming out, Azzi. It was… honestly one of the best parts of my day.”

Azzi looked at her for a moment, her gaze lingering, and then, without saying anything more, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Paige in a slow, steady hug. Paige froze for just a second, her arms instinctively going around Azzi’s back. The warmth between them felt different this time. Deeper. Something unspoken passed between them, something soft and vulnerable.

Azzi held the hug a little longer than usual, her cheek resting gently against Paige’s, and Paige couldn’t help but feel a rush of emotions swirl in her chest. When they finally pulled away, Azzi gave a small, almost shy smile. “You wanna come over tomorrow?” she asked, her voice casual, but Paige could hear the quiet invitation behind her words. “Just to hang out. Not for tutoring or anything. I’ll make you coffee, or whatever.”

Paige blinked for a moment, surprised by the offer, but the thought of spending more time with Azzi made her pulse quicken. “Yeah,” she said, her voice soft but certain. “I’d like that.”

Azzi smiled again, a little more brightly this time. “Cool. I’ll text you when I wake up.”

Paige felt a warmth spread through her chest, and for a brief moment, she didn’t know what to say. She just stood there, looking at Azzi with a soft smile, her heart pounding in her chest.

Azzi, still blinking a little, smiled back, a quiet but genuine expression on her face. There was something in the way they stood there, something that made Paige feel like this moment was more than just a goodbye. It was the kind of silence that said everything and nothing all at once.

“Well,” Paige started, clearing her throat, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Azzi nodded, her smile still lingering. “Yea, tomorrow. Goodnight, Paige.”

“Goodnight, Azzi,” Paige replied softly, giving her one last lingering glance before Azzi walked back into her dorm.

As she made her way down the path, she could feel the warmth of their moments still radiating through her chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. A spark of something she couldn’t quite name, but one she was more than willing to explore.

And as she walked, Paige couldn’t help but think—tomorrow was something she was already looking forward to. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #ncaa wbb #wbb #wnba #dallas wings

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lessersole · 1 day ago

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Aah, still so sad 😭 but it's starting to feel like there's hope. Definitely with her friends. And it was so good to see that even while they've not fully forgiven her, Aditi and Hanna are angry at Bucky for lying to her, along with everything else. I reckon once they're back in her life she'll be able to finally talk to Bucky about everything. And love Winnie getting involved! Coming to the rescue with her pies 😄 I hope Bucky got one too, poor guy.

24: THE SPACE BETWEEN US

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

Summary: Bucky struggles with regret, trying desperately to communicate with you, but every attempt is met with silence— until you leave him a message of your own. As your friendships remain strained and trust shattered, Bucky takes a step toward making amends. Meanwhile, an unexpected visitor reminds you that even in grief, you don’t have to be alone.

Warnings: Angst, emotional distress, strained friendships, themes of betrayal, mentions of past deception.

Word Count: 3518

It had been a long two weeks for Bucky. He tried repeatedly to talk to you in any way possible, short of forcing himself through your door. He knocked every day, sent you text after text until he noticed that you weren’t even reading them anymore.

Finally he decided to write it all down. He sat at his kitchen table, an untouched bottle of beer sweating next to him. It was almost two in the morning and the sound of traffic outside his window had finally died down. His hand hovered over a piece of paper, the pen in his hand tapping against the page in a nervous manner. His fingers on his vibranium hand twitched softly as he resisted the urge to crumple it up and throw it in the trash.

There was already a pile of balled up pages on the floor where he had started over four times. Every time, the words felt wrong, or impersonal. Like it was too little and too late.

But if this was his last chance, he would be damned before he let it slip away.

He took in a deep breath and then exhaled sharply, forcing himself to hold the pen and write. He had never been good with words, not like Sam was now or Steve had been. His specialty in the past has been charm, but that wasn’t what you were looking for now, it was about finding the perfect thing to say— it was about telling you the truth.

With every word, every sentence, his chest tightened, making the events that had transpired feel more real. The way he had hurt you, the way you had looked at him, like a stranger instead of a friend, instead of a partner.

He pressed harder against the page as he signed his name, creating a blot of ink next to the ‘Y’. He knew he had no right to ask you anything, let alone read this letter. But he owed you an explanation.

He stared at the finished product, not daring to read the words back for fear of getting cold feet. But he could see how uneven his writing had become from how his hand shook while he wrote. Slowly, he folded the paper, his thumb and forefinger running over the crease, lingering at the edge for a moment before he stood up.

His throat felt tight, as he stood in the hallway outside your apartment door. There was silence in the building except for Alpine purring around his feet. He bent down and scooped the cat into his chest.

“What do you think, girl?”

He let the feline sniff the letter before she gave him a look of disgust.

“Yeah, girl, I know. But I don’t have any other choice.”

Alpine climbed onto his shoulder and he bent down and pushed the letter under your door before he had the chance to second-guess himself. He returned to his apartment and settled down on the floor in front of the television.

Would you read the letter? Would you tear it up? Would you ever forgive him?

He sighed. This wasn’t about him anymore.

The same two weeks were as agonizing for you as they were for Bucky. Your phone screen time had gone up dramatically as you spent hours staring at the tiny device. It wasn’t only the bright light that was affecting your sleep, it was the maelstrom of negative emotions that waged a war for dominance of your attention.

It was 11 AM on a Saturday morning, and normally you’d have already been to the gym and showered to start your day, but today you could barely bring yourself to get out of bed to use the toilet. You stared down at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard as you typed out message after message in the Power of Three group chat, only to delete them before hitting send.

Finally, you forced yourself to press send.

11:11 AM - You: Can we talk? Please.

11:11 AM - You: I know you guys are mad, and I don’t blame you. But I miss you both.

11:12 AM - You: I didn’t know, you guys. I swear I didn’t know. I would never have brought him if I did.

11:12 AM - You: I’m so sorry.

The messages were marked as read almost instantly, but no one replied. Aditi, the one person in your group who always had an opinion, stayed eerily silent. And Hanna, the peacekeeper, didn’t rush to smooth over your transgressions.

11:15 AM - You: I love you.

You texted before putting your phone down, a tear slipping down your cheek. Crawling out of bed, you decided to take a shower and try to work on some commission designs. But as soon as you sat down with your tablet, you couldn’t concentrate. Your mind drifting back to the way Aditi looked at you, like you were just as bad as Bucky. And the disappointment in Hanna’s eyes. It made your heart ache.

Hours passed by with nothing. And just when you were ready to give up hope altogether, your phone vibrated. You snatched up your phone to find a message from Hanna.

3:57 PM - Hanna: I’m not mad at you. Just… disappointed. I don’t understand why you thought you had to pretend. I thought we told each other everything.

3:57 PM - You: I know. And I hate that I hurt you. Please can we just talk?

Hanna didn’t reply right away, but her answer gave you some hope.

4:14 PM - Hanna: I’ll let you know when I’m ready.

Aditi, on the other hand, hadn’t said a word.

Bucky didn’t know what else to do. It was coming up to a month since you’d last spoken to him. You showed no signs of wanting to speak to him. He had stopped knocking on your door. His text messages went unanswered. Calls sent to voicemail. And on the off chance you met in the corridor, you went out of your way to take the stairs to avoid him. You showed no signs of having read the letter he had left.

In short, he was running out of options to reach you.

So he decided to go back to basics.

The little whiteboard on your door was still there— the one the two of you had shared notes and jokes on when you’d started out in this doomed venture. The last thing you’d scrawled on it was “Don’t stay up too late, grumpy pants” was still there, albeit a little smudged.

Now, it felt like the only form of communication he had left.

So, he rubbed off your writing and uncapped the marker, writing the only thing that would fit.

I’M SORRY.

It didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how he felt… but it was all he had. He stood there in the hallway, gripping the marker so tight, his knuckles were turning white. He let out a shaky sigh as he replaced the marker and turned back to his door.

The next morning, Bucky opened his door. There was a crunch under his feet. When he looked down… there it was. Snapped in half.

He crouched down, picking up the pieces, he ran his fingers over the jagged edges of the broken plastic.

He turned it over and saw the smudged angry writing.

One piece had the letters

TED YOU

He frowned and turned over the second half.

I TRUS

He put the pieces together with shaking hands.

I TRUSTED YOU.

The marker had bled over some of the letters where you’d pressed too hard. He could feel your rage, your hurt.

You hadn’t just broken the whiteboard. You had broken him.

He let out a shuddering sigh, holding the pieces of your shattered connection. For a second, he thought about throwing them away.

But he didn’t. He turned back into his apartment and shut the door behind him.

Bucky stood outside the gates of the Sharma Estate, fists clenched and shoved in his pockets. The tall metal gates made him feel like he was standing outside a guarded fortress. The residence looked different now, in the cold light of day, without the decorative flourishes. It felt as though the weight of everything that had transpired still lingered in the air despite three weeks having passed. He had pressed the buzzer but there wasn’t an answer yet. He wasn’t sure if they would even let him inside after what happened. Not that he would blame them. He half expected them to slam the door in his face. But none of that mattered, he couldn’t let that deter him. He owed them an explanation, he owed it to you.

What was it Sam had said to him a year ago? You go to these people and say "sorry" because you think it'll make you feel better, right? But you gotta make them feel better. You gotta go to them and be of service.

Seconds stretched to minutes as he waited, his collar popped up around his neck, shoulders tense. It was something he should be used to by now— being a man who stood outside begging for any scrap of forgiveness for the crimes he hadn’t meant to commit. But today he didn’t plan on leaving until he had said what needed to be said.

Finally, the door swung open, and Hanna stood at the entrance, her arms crossed and expression tempestuous. The warmth that he had seen reflected in her eyes was gone, replaced with an icy fury,

Her voice was cold and commanding, almost cutting through Bucky’s resolve. “What do you want, Barnes?”

Bucky met her hard glare. “To explain.”

Hanna scoffed. “Explain? Now you want to talk? After the fact?”

Before he had the chance to say anything further, Aditi appeared behind her wife.

The feeling of guilt in Bucky’s chest deepened as she emerged from the shadows. She looked… exhausted. Not just tired, but worn down, like the fire inside her had been smothered, leaving the ashes of sorrow and disillusionment behind. It looked like she had lost the will to fight, overwhelmed by the feeling of sadness and betrayal.

Aditi pulled the oversized cardigan around her slim frame, tightly folding her arms over her chest, as if it would shield her from any further heartbreak. “Why are you here?” she asked, her voice flat and lips pressed into a thin line.

Bucky hadn’t expected to meet such little resistance, he had thought they would have raged at him. He only hesitated for a second, not wanting to lose his opportunity. “I owe you both an apology.”

A sharp, bitter laugh left Aditi’s lips, making goosebumps rise on Bucky’s arms. “An apology?” she said hysterically. “For what, exactly? For getting my father arrested? For breaking up my family? Ruining my wedding? Oh, how about lying to my best friend and making her believe you actually cared about her?”

Her last question made him flinch. He had cared… still cared. But he knew that there was probably nothing he could say that would convince them otherwise at the moment. But he would do his best. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“For everything,” he admitted, sadly. “I had no intention of ruining your big day. I didn’t think they would try to hurt your father. And I sure as hell never wanted to hurt… Y/N.”

Hanna cut in, her expression dark with anger. “But you did.”

“I know,” Bucky’s voice was quiet and filled with sadness. “And I’m sorry.”

Aditi sighed heavily. “I thought I’d be more angry at you. But it’s my dad who I’m really mad at. I just can’t believe he’d do this. I feel like my whole life has been a lie. But… I miss him.” Her voice broke and Hanna wrapped her arms around her wife.

Bucky nodded, understanding. “I asked Sam to put in a good word for him. He’ll still have to answer for what he did, but… he won’t be locked up forever.”

Aditi fought back tears, clutching at Hanna for comfort and support, as though her wife was the only thing keeping her together. “That doesn’t fix anything,” she whispered.

“I know,” Bucky said. “But.. it’s the best I can do.”

Hanna shook her head. “That still doesn’t excuse what you did to Y/N.”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t—” he stopped, trying to catch his breath. “I wasn’t trying to… it wasn’t meant to be… Okay yeah, it started out as a mutual agreement… something fake. But it didn’t stay that way.” He poured his earnestness into his words. “It wasn’t fake to me.”

Hanna clicked her tongue in disbelief.

“It still isn’t,” Bucky insisted.

Hanna’s expression softened for a moment but she was still hesitant in her belief. Aditi, however, remained impassive, her body language closed off, her gaze unreadable. Bucky recognized the signs of depression, he was all too familiar with the signs, it was almost like looking into the mirror.

“I didn’t come here to make excuses for myself. I understand why you are angry at me. But Y/N—” His voice choked around your name. “She didn’t know anything… she wasn’t a part of this.”

Aditi’s lips pressed together, but she didn’t interrupt.

“She brought me to the wedding because she thought it was real. She even told me I didn’t have to come,” Bucky admitted, voice thick with regret. “But I insisted. I wanted to be there.”

He saw a flash of something in Hanna’s face and she looked away from him. He could see the moment of doubt in her resolve, the way her rigidity lessened at his words. He had to keep going.

“She’s hurting,” he went on. “And I know I’m the one who hurt her. But please… don’t take it out on her. If you need someone to be angry at, let it be me. I can take it.”

Aditi let out a tired breath, she snapped repeatedly at a hairband around her wrist. Her anger had already given way to grief. Hanna however hadn’t moved past that stage.

“She trusted you,” Hanna snapped.

Bucky flinched. He knew that. God, he knew that.

“I know,” he said hoarsely. “And I broke that trust. I don’t expect her to forgive me.” His hands curled into fists at his sides before he forced them to relax. “But she deserves better than to lose you two over this. Over something I did.”

Silence stretched out between them.

Finally, Hanna sighed. “You really fucked up, Barnes.”

“Yeah.” He let out a humorless chuckle and mumbled. “I know.” He looked at her wife. “Aditi?”

“We’ll see,” she muttered after a long pause, her eyes downcast, her affect totally flat.

Bucky stepped away, turning to leave. He’d done everything he could.

It wasn’t absolution, but Bucky would take what he could get.

Winnie pushed past you the second you opened the door. She was surprisingly spry for someone her age. She walked in, glancing around your apartment before settling herself at the kitchen table.

“You know, Arthur and I always liked this apartment,” she mused, setting down the box she had brought in with her. “But when we moved in, it was occupied and then once we got settled, we never had the heart to move. You’ve always kept it so cozy, not too cluttered. But… you could use a little more light, dear.” She gestured at the half-drawn curtains.

You managed a small smile, sitting down opposite the older woman. “Haven’t really been in the mood for bright or cheery.”

Winnie studied your face for a moment, humming softly. “That I can see.” She tapped on the round container she’d placed on the table. “Which is why I brought this. It’s one of my pies. Figured you could use a little comfort food.”

“A pie?” you repeated.

“Yes, dear, a pie,” she shook her head dramatically. “You know how much I love pies?”

You nodded.

“Well, it seems that my doctor has decided I can’t have pies anymore.” She folded her arms over her chest and hrmph’ed in disapproval.

“Wait, what?”

“Diabetes,” Winnie explained with a huff. “Mild, but still. They want me to cut back on sugar. No pies, no cookies, no fun, apparently.” She sighed again. “But I made one anyway. Couldn’t help myself. Then I thought— well, I shouldn’t eat it, but maybe someone else needs it.” She gave you a sympathetic look.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you answered, looking down at your hands.

“Oh, I know, my dear,” Winnie said lightly. “But I wanted to. But judging by the way you’ve been looking lately, I figured you needed it more than I do.”

You bit your lower lip lightly, a moment of silence stretched out between you, before you finally spoke. “Thank you,” you said, quietly.

Winnie patted your hand gently. “Of course.” Then, after a pause, she added, “Now, why don’t you tell me how you’re really doing?”

You let out a small laugh, reaching out for the pie container, finding it easier to occupy your hands than answering the question. “I’m fine. Just been… busy.”

Winnie snorted, making you look up at the unexpected noise in surprise. She shook her head and gave you a knowing look. “Is that what you call it these days?” She tilted her head, it was the same look your grandmother used to give you when she was working out how to address the fib you’d just told. “You know, my Arthur just used to say that when he was avoiding something. He had this way of fooling himself into thinking that keeping occupied would be easier than dealing with whatever was eating him up inside.” She tapped a finger on the table and then pointed at you. “You strike me as the same kind of stubborn.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” you grumbled.

“Mmm-hmm,” Winnie raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m not,” you insisted, avoiding Winnie’s gaze by prying the lid off the pie container.

“Alright, then,” Winnie went on, a little too casually. “If you’re not avoiding anything, I suppose you don’t mind me asking how you’ve been sleeping?”

“Fine,” you answered lightly, but your grip on the lid tightened.

“And eating?”

“Totally fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Winnie folded her arms. “And that big storm cloud hanging over your head— when’s that supposed to clear up?”

“Winnie!” you groaned, massaging your temples.

“Don’t ‘Winnie’ me, dear. I know heartbreak when I see it. And you’ve got that look.”

You shrugged, your throat suddenly feeling tight. “I just…” you let out a shaky sigh. “My best friends won’t talk to me. They might never talk to me again,” you voice cracked and you hated it, hated how hard it still was. “And Bucky—” You stopped, biting down on your lip again, holding back your tears.

Winnie listened and nodded as you spoke. “That’s what I thought.” Winnie leaned forward and took your hand in both of hers. “Y/N, losing people… really losing them… it’s awful. But you haven’t lost them yet.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Winnie squeezed your hand gently. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve been around long enough to know a thing or two about making amends. But first, you have to be willing to hear the whole story.”

Her words made you stiffen, an overwhelming feeling of weariness coming over you. “You agree with what he did?” you asked, quietly.

Winnie leaned back and sighed. “I won’t say I agree with everything… but I understand it.”

“What did he tell you?”

She studied your face for a moment. “He told me how things started between you— that you wanted a date, how it was supposed to be just for show.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Did he mention that it was his idea? And he wanted me to do the same for him?”

Winnie ignored your acerbic tone. “He also told me that he thought it stopped being just a deal. How somewhere along the way, he started feeling something real. That he was too afraid to tell you how he really felt, and now… now he’s terrified that he’s lost you for good.”

You closed your eyes and sighed heavily, looking away for a moment, trying to hide your pain.

“My dear, I’m not saying you have to forgive him. But you need to figure out why you’re so angry. Is it because of what he did? Or because you think he doesn’t care?”

You clenched your jaw. “I’m angry because he lied.”

“He did…” Winnie agreed. “And he’s sorry for it. But do you really believe he never cared?”

You looked down at your hands, picking at the remains of your manicure.

Winnie stood up, patting your shoulder. “It's time for me to go. Just think about it.”

And with that, she gave you one last knowing look before heading for the door.

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